#and like they have characters of colours that aren’t grey like her

[jessiescock]

i was hoping theyd make cithis less grey in the anime :(

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Dirty Work 18

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as bullying, familial discord/abuse, and possible untagged elements. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: You start a new gig and find one of your clients to be hard to please.

Characters: Loki

Note: happy weekend.

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me.

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!)

I love you all immensely. Take care. 💖

“How do you like it?” Luciana asks as she spins you to face the mirror.

Your eyes round at your own reflection. You can’t help but lean forward to get a better look at yourself. You never had a haircut like this. Nothing more than the discount trims that were often worse than not just growing it out or your at-home hack job.

“Wow,” is all you can utter.

“I hope that’s a good wow,” she chimes.

“Uh, yes, yes,” you sit back and tear your eyes from the mirror. “Thank you, it’s–”

“Oh, aren’t you so lovely!” Frigga interrupts as her heels click across the salon, “oh, it’s so wonderful. Look at you!”

Before you can react, the chair’s turning again. Frigga sweeps your hands away from under the cape and pulls you to your feet. Luciana moves to undo the long black shroud and swipes it away from your body, littering more hair onto the floor.

“Just a moment,” Luciana girds and brushes the stray bits from the back of your shirt, “there we are.”

“I must say, darling, you are even more stunning than I thought,” she keeps a hold of your right hand, “oh, Eliana, El!” She tweets across the salon, “what about makeup? Hm? Nothing too heavy, maybe a lip and some mascara–”

The platinum blond chuckles, endeared by her demanding client. You see where Laufeyson inherited that; the way the command rather than ask. You could never.

“I’ll take the little fawn,” Eliana agrees, “I have just the thing in mind.” She approaches on her long slender legs, “she has perfect colouring.”

You can’t help but preen at the compliments. You’re not used to them yet, you doubt them. These women are all so put together and gorgeous, surely they’re just being nice. You’re so much the opposite, your like a novelty; a doll for them to dress up.

“Sit,” Eliana points to another chair, “just relax, honey, I’ll take care of you.”

Frigga lets you go and you obey. You climb up into the chair and gasp as the back reclines. Eliana starts by swabbing your face with a cool liquid then pats it dry. Next, she applies a fragrant moisturizer. Her touch is relaxing but strange. You’re not used to anyone touching you.

You close your eyes as she sets to her work. She explains that she’s applying some liner and how to get a little wing at the end. She says you should keep it thin and subtly, then has you check your first eye in the mirror.

“You see, a nice brown, or grey is all you need, black is so harsh,” she shows you the pencil she used.

“Oh, thanks,” you murmur.

“Let’s even that out,” she nudges you back again and you appease her.

As she draws on your other eyelid, you hear a subtle buzz, followed by Frigga’s shrill greeting. She apologises to someone unseen before she carries on her call, heels tapping further and further away. You can hardly focus between her, Eliana’s directions, and the chatter all around you.

“Mmhmm, yes we were thinking of the Garden…” Frigga trails off as the door rings then swiftly blocks out her conversation.

“Mascara, look up,” Eliana directs, again, you obey. There’s nothing else you can do.

As nice as it all is, the hair, the makeup, and all her lovely plans, you can’t help but be embarrassed. Frigga, and Mr. Laufeyson, know you can’t afford all this. It doesn’t feel as much like kindness as it does condescension. As if they are the blessed elite giving you, a noone, with all their privileges. 

It’s not a kind gesture, but a statement. You’re so far below them, you don’t even know what you don’t have. If you are to be anywhere near them, you have to fit their mold.

🧹

After the salon, Frigga drags you down the shopping strip. You shy away from the gleaming windows and the faceless mannequins in their luxurious outfits. You couldn’t wear any of it. It wouldn’t look right. Anyone would know in an instant that you don’t belong.

Inside the first shop, you make yourself as small as you can, crossing one arm to cling to the other, folding your shoulders in. You’re frightened of brushing against anything or knocking over that hand display with all the jewelry on it. As you pass a mirror, you nearly trip. You forget for a moment that it’s you staring back.

You shake your head and back away. You don’t like that feeling. You don’t recognize yourself. Even if you never really loved the girl looking back, she was familiar.

“Darling,” Frigga gives you a start as she nears, “how about this? Hm? It’s absolutely adorable.”

She holds up a purple dress; almost like an overall but more refined with three buttons along the right side. She has a plain white blouse behind it. It’s lovely but you don’t know if you like the length. You don’t think you’ve worn a skirt since grade school.

“Oh, it’s… nice.”

“Come on, try it on,” she pleads, “it would look so good on you, darling. With your figure.”

You gulp and blink, looking down at yourself. What figure? The boxy button-up and straight-legged tweed don’t betray much of that. Your body is your body; it’s just there.

“I’ll try,” you relent. It wouldn’t be polite to say no.

“Alright, you take this to a dressing room and I’ll find some shoes,” she shoves the hangers at you, “excuse me,” she turns and waves to the associate who greeted you on entry, “yes, please, she needs a room.”

The woman with ginger curls approaches and you hand over your, or rather, Frigga’s picks. Her name tag reminds you of her introduction; Celia. She guides you into the back to a large room lined with curtained stalls. She takes you to one and hangs the clothing within. You thank her quietly and turn to stare at the lilac fabric.

You sigh and pull the curtain shut. You strip away reluctantly. It’s all so surreal, you don’t want to believe it. You’re wary of the unusual good luck, the unearned generosity. Why would Mr. Laufeyson agree to this? And why would Frigga want to spend time with you, a maid wearing a title beyond her means?

“Darling, are you ready?” Frigga calls through as her heels tap out her arrival.

“Almost,” you call back, shimmying into the purple overall as you try not to rumble the sleeves of the blouse. 

You refuse to look at yourself before you face the curtain and brace yourself. You step out as Frigga waits patiently, sitting on one of the leather poufs with a pair of white loafer flats in her lap, little silver bows clasped by the toe.

“Oh my,” she gasps as she rises, “oh darling, that’s… that becomes you. Oh,” she nears and hands you the shoes, “put these on then. Let’s see the whole look.”

Like most things in life, you let her bowl you over. You just go along with what you’re told. You go through the motions numbly, waiting for it to be over.

You bend to slip into the shoes one at a time. Once you stand, she ushers you around to face the mirror. She squeezes your shoulders before playing with your hair, setting you straights as she stands behind you.

“Look at you, darling,” she purrs. 

You falter as you see the woman staring back at you. That’s you! You can hardly see yourself under it all. You press your hands to the skirt, wishing for a few more inches, and squeak the soles on the floor as you shift awkwardly in the stiff leather.

“This is it. It suits you so well. Sharp collars, cinched here,” she touches your waist, “I think we have a good start.”

“Um, thanks, but er…”

“You can wear that out. It’s a lovely outfit for lunch,” she insists, “but I’m thinking a few boucle jackets, some matching skirts, a splash of pastel,” she rambles on dreamily, “pearls, of course, maybe some rose gold…”

Your brow pinches over your nose. You don’t know what to do. You can’t say no and even if you were brave enough to, you don’t think she’d hear you. She’s like her son, that way. She only sees what she wants and there’s no denying her.

“Oh, thank you so much for humouring me,” she drawls, “you know, ever since the divorce, I’ve been terribly lonely.” You’re startled by her sudden shift. You blink at her, “my own daughter was never one for the shops, at least, not with me but Sif… she… well, c’est la vie.”

“I… I’m sorry.”

“Why? Oh, don’t apologise, it is me who should,” she laughs at herself as she leads you back into the shop room, “to you and your own mother. I have accosted her daughter!”

You nod and seal your lips. You feel the pluck in your chest. You distract yourself with a nearby dress; it’s beige and boring.

“I hate to overstep but Loki did mention your father is sick. I’m certain it can’t be easy,” she hums, “it never is. You and your mother–”

“My mother…” you pipe up, voice cracking. You shake off the wave of dizziness and sigh, “my mother is dead.”

“Oh dear, I’m so sorry,” she touches her chest, “dear me, I didn’t know. I shouldn’t have–”

“I’m not upset. I never knew her,” you shrug and move on to a more colourful dress. “Just me and dad.”

“Well, it’s nice you have each other,” she says.

“Yeah,” you agree dully.

She’s quiet as she browses beside you, sifting through hangers. Tension ripples between you. Neither of you know what to say.

“How about this?” She holds up a satin blouse in a dainty shade of rose, “it would compliment your complexion.”

“Um, sure,” you let the thickness in the air slake away, “I… I’m not picky.”

“Oh, darling, you are too agreeable,” she teases, “you best not let my son play on that. He could always hear a no or two, yes?”

You nod, uncertain what she means. He’s your boss, you don’t tell him no. He doesn’t ask for your input. He just says and you do. That’s why you’re here. He needed a toy to give his mother, and you’re playing along.

🧹

The restaurant is just as resplendent and upscale as the shops. You try to keep stride with Frigga as she struts up to the open doors, a hostess standing behind a podium just outside as the sunlight beams down in a mid-afternoon haze. She smiles at the elder blonde as she greets her with enthusiasm.

“Good afternoon, we were hoping for a table outside,” Frigga declares.

“For two?” The hostess asks as she looks down at the tablet in front of her.

“A bigger table, please, we have someone joining us,” she answers.

“Great, we can fit you in,” the woman assures and waves you through the small gate of the patio. 

She takes you to a table near the colourful flower beds and offers the drink menu. Frigga thanks her and sits as you mimic her. You do your best not to fidget despite the persistent displacement zinging through your nerves. She browses the menu and taps her groomed fingernail on the table.

“Is it too early for Zinfandel?” She wonders.

“Oh, I don’t… know,” you put your own menu down, content with a glass of cranberry juice.

“Or perhaps a white?” 

You shrug. You don’t drink. You never have and never really thought of trying it. You rub your cheek and look around, squirming at the other diners in their carefree conversations. What are you doing here?

A new server approaches and takes your orders. Frigga gets her wine and you murmur your request for a glass of juice. You hand over the menus and she checks her slender golden watch.

“Mm, I did say two,” she tuts and takes out her phone.

It’s almost amusing to see someone disappointed in Mr. Laufeyson. To be on the other side of the table. You’re not the one rushing to meet a deadline for once. You twiddle your hands in your lap and peer around at the din.

A table of women sit with cocktails and green salads, gabbing loudly. They are probably your age. Friends. Something you never had. Probably never will.

“Mother,” a voice proclaims across the patio and you wince. It’s familiar but not the timbre you expected. Maybe it’s a coincidence.

“There you are,” Frigga stands and you turn to look over your shoulder at the burly blond. Oh.

You rise too, not wanting to seem rude. Thor hugs his mother and kisses the top of her head, “I was caught behind an accident,” he explains, “oh,” he faces you, “and who… it is the little maid!” He takes you by the shoulders and you flinch as he bends to kiss your cheek, “you remember me, yes?”

You can only nod as you wriggle out of his grip. You resist the urge to wipe your cheek.

“Maid! Do not call her that,” Frigga chides as she sits.

You lower yourself back to your seat. Thor drags out the chair next to you and you try not to show your discomfort. He is almost too wide for the seat as his thigh presses to yours.

“I never got a name, you know? Brother hides everything away,” he sniffs, “so forgive me,” he leans as he tries to look you in the face, “a proper introduction is in order; I am Thor, you recall, hm?”

You nod again and eke out your name. He offers his large hand and you hesitate to take it. You won’t be rude though. His grip swallows your hand up, tight and unyielding. When he finally releases you, you let out a slow breath and stare at the table.

“Speaking of,” Frigga remarks, “he is late.”

“Not surprising, he can hardly be bothered to leave his cave,” Thor scoffs, “what a nice colour.”

He touches the button on your dress and you squeeze your legs together, trying to sidle away without being obvious.

“Thanks,” you murmur.

“Oh, we had a wonderful day shopping,” Frigga supplies, “she’s so sweet.”

“Ah, yes, I’m certain father will be happy to hear you had a spree,” Thor chortles.

“What he doesn’t know…” Frigga giggles.

The server returns and sets down the stemmed glass of dark wine and your juice. Thor orders rye as you lean forward to sip, the tangy flavour tautens your cheeks. You feel your chair shift and sit back, only to meet the curl of his fingers on the back rest. He doesn’t draw away, his leg splaying wider to touch yours again.

“So we are waiting on him?” Thor challenges and slaps his stomach with his other hand, “I’m starving.”

“We’ll give him another ten,” Frigga girds, “perhaps he is also stuck in traffic.”

“Not to worry,” Thor booms, “we can have fun without him, eh. Probably more.”

“Oh, don’t,” Frigga reproaches, “this is supposed to be a nice family meal, you will not start with him again.”

“It wasn’t me. He’s the one who stormed out–”

“Enough,” she interjects, “we are moving past it.”

“I’ve moved on,” Thor insists, “mother, really, I am not the one who keeps picking fights.”

“Mmm,” Frigga purses her lips, “nor do you discourage them.”

“Me?” Thor feigns innocence, his fingertips brushing the back of your collar, “I only said hello and he went out of his mind.”

“Um,” you sit forward, knocking the table slightly, “er, I… is there a bathroom?”

“Oh, yes, darling,” Frigga turns to you as if only then recalling your presence, “just through the front door to the right.”

“Thank you,” you stand, “sorry, uh, excuse me.”

You turn and scurry off, clutching the sides of the dress to keep it from riding up. Once you get inside, you roll your shoulders, trying to shake off the sensation of his touch. You reach back to tug at your collar.

It’s peculiar to think, but you hope Mr. Laufeyson gets there soon.

[kaitcreates]

Over analyzing the Sword Catcher official art because I can.

First up Kel. He has his sword catcher medallion on and his clothes look blue then green like he’s described wearing in the book because the Queen wanted him to wear her home country’s colours and it doesn’t look like what we see Conor wearing in his portrait so Kel might’ve picked this outfit himself. The coat also ruffed up’s little, one of the sleeves even has a tear in it, he doesn’t start getting into any serious fights in the book until he sides with the Ragpicker King, around the same time he starts finally exploring his own identity if only slightly so this’s probably around that time frame. He has the scar on his eyebrow that Conor is described as having which I can feel has some sort of importance to their characters. The background is some waves, clearly referencing his love of the ocean and sailing, along with swords indicating his sword catcher title. His foreground is one of the less interesting with just a pile coins for his wealth as the prince’s fake cousin, a pile of scroll for how much reading he does, and a pile of something back that I’m not quite sure what it is. It looks like it might be some black powder but he hasn’t done anything with black powder yet in the story. Maybe it’s a metaphor for life as he knows it getting blown up as the story goes along, who knows. It’s also worth noting that he doesn’t have any flowers in his portrait, this might be nothing but it’s almost like a theme with most of the other portraits so it’s worth noting.

More characters under the cut because this got long:

After that we have Conor. His clothes and jewelry aren’t anything to write home about, it looks properly royal with plenty of jewels showing of his wealth. Though I do take not that the eyebrow that has a scar though it is covered in his portrait. His background depicts the Castelane lion on top of the city state’s national colour of red obviously a nod to him being the prince of the City-State. The hour glasses seem to represent his limited time as pressure begins to build on him, and I’m not quite sure what the falling rings represent, maybe they’re supposed to be coins and represent something about his debt. Again the piles of money, books, and scrolls represents his wealth and being well read. We can see what one do the scrolls says but it’s not very clear and seem to be written in one of the world’s fictional languages, if anyone can translate it please send it to me but it might not be anything special. The banner/flag in the corner is certainly important but I can’t remember anywhere that it would belong to at the moment so again if you can think of anything that would be a huge help. It’s also once again worth noting he’s one of the few character to not have flowers in his portrait.

Lin’s is arguably the most obvious. She has her mystery-stone brooch, her ashkar ring, is wearing the ashkar’s mandatry colours of blue and grey, and her medical satchel. The background has a glyph behind her with runes in it since she’s trying to bring magic back, the golden whisps also look magical, and the herbs and plants are for healing. There are diagrams of human anatomy behind her and the flowers have vials of what I presume is medicine strewn in them. This is also the first showing of flowers in a characters portrait, I thought it was representing her medical herbs and flowers. In the flower bed you can also see a split open pomegranate which could symbolize her growing doesn’t into darkness and crime as she tries to find a cure to Mariam similar to Persephone and the underworld.

Antonetta’s is relatively simple. Her outfit is what her mom forces her to wear throughout most of the book and she’s wearing her heart locket. Her background is also pretty simple with no special patterns or symbols to speak of, just some lace patterning at the edge of the circle similar to her outfits. It’s really the foreground that interests me. The perfume bottle is slightly odd as we never get any focus on her using perfume or smelling nice, but it does fit the perfect noble woman image so it’s not out of place. The sword being mostly hidden except the hilt is a nod to the secret sword lessons she takes, which she’s hiding from nearly everyone. The rose is obvious symbolism for looking beautiful and pretty but having thorns if you try to grab it. Around this I started thinking that maybe the flowers represented characters who were trying to get more then their current position in life was giving them. The most confusing thing about her portrait though is the bloodied handkerchief and golden locket around it. Bloodied handkerchieves are pretty much solely used in fiction for someone with a deathly illness but as far as I know Antonetta isn’t sick in anyway and defiant not of the fatal kind. Maybe it’s a nod to her friendship with Mariam.

For The Ragpicker King I would like to bring your anterior to his right hand. As you can hopefully see it looks like some slights scars are peaking out from his sleeve. What does this mean? I don’t know. I have no memory of this being described in the book, and was just something interesting I noticed. In the background you can see something that almost looks like a jail cell, likely referring to him being a criminal. There are also many playing cards flying around behind him for some reason, I’m not really sure since it’s never made note of him being especially in to card games or to use card metaphors in his plans. The piles of envelopes are likely his letters to and from the King and the books represent him once again being well read and his enjoyment of research. The evolvement of flowers once again confuses me because from what we see he seems perfectly content in his current life. Maybe it’s about how he escaped a life he was unhappy in.

Ji-an doensy have much going on, neither do most of the characters moving forward. The most interesting thing I could find about her appearance is that she’s wearing makeup. She has the two black swans, which I’m pretty sure I’m not remembering the full importance of, from her line about the swan pulling her carriage. She has a variety of swords in the back ground, one of which is she is holding. This could both represent her status as a killer but also as sort of like ghosts of the family she killed. Her flowers continue to feed into my “escape from current life/escaped from past life” theory and there isn’t much else to say.

Merren has nothing super interesting about his appearance in this portrait. It suits his personality and that’s about all I could say. The background is an obvious nod to his poisoner status with the wisps of smoke(possibly from hot tea?) leading up to a skull. I’m not entirely sure what the quills are supposed to represent, maybe it’s supposed to be because he’s a student so quills are like pencils in their world. Mostly his foreground also just seems to be about him being smart if a little messy when it comes to parts of his life outside of poisons and antidotes. The most specific thing I can find is the spilt concoction which is likely poisons. Once again the flowers are confusing, I had a theory that the flowers represented someone studiously seeking out knowledge, except Ji-an and Antonetta don’t follow this pattern. Merren also doesn’t fit into the “run/ran away from a life they didn’t like” theory unless there’s a part of his backstory that we don’t know about that fits into it. If anything he was pushed out of a life he liked. The flowers aren’t a super big part of the portrait and more of just an accessory anyways so fine, maybe it’s not meant to connect to the other flower portraits.

Joss’s portrait has two elements worth taking note of. First, the abundance of arrows and bows. This is mostly likely a nod to indoor archery, but I do hope we get more archery in his character and fighting style down the line. Second, he has some flowers in the foreground. Which just adds to the confusion because, as far as we know, he’s pretty happy with his current life and he almost definitely hasn’t ran away from an old life.

And the flowers continue to be confusing. Vienne is special in the fact that the flowers are pretty much the only other element of her portrait outside of herself. They do kind of make it look like she’s buried in flowers, especially with her helmet resting on the bed, and does work with the fact that she died at the end since giving flowers is a common way to pay respects to the dead, at least in western culture. In my admittedly short research session, the flowers seem to be Marigolds. These flowers are commonly used in day of the dead and symbolized grief and mourning in the victorian era, continuing the idea that these flowers are being used to represent her death. In renaissance times(the time period Cassie says she took the most inspiration from for those world) Marigolds were gifted to woman that men wanted seduce. What this means for Vienne I have no idea but it felt worth mentioning.

Now at this point you might be thinking “Couldn’t the flowers not actually mean anything and instead it’s the lack of flowers that represents something?” And I was think that too until Jerrod and his lack of flowers came along! Why are the only characters without flowers Kel, Conor, and Jerrod?! In other news Jerrod has basically nothing to take note of. His fingers look much paler then the rest of his hand from the chalk and the daggers facing towards his head could either represent that he’s being threatened or that he’s threatening. That’s really it. The rope and keys seem to be vaguely related to being able to get into places, but at the current moment they don’t seem to really be that personally connected to him.

So over all I have three main questions after this:

What in the world do the presence or lack of presence of flowers mean?

Were the details that don’t make sense to us right now cut after the art was made or are they hinting at future developments?

Why didn’t Mariam get a portrait?

[stagefoureddiediaz]

Costume meta 6x10

Costume metas are back baby!!!! I’m so happy to be back writing these - you have no idea how much i missed writing them. This one is not quite as full on as my normal metas and has taken me far longer than I’d intended - if you’ve been following my posts over the last couple of days you will be fully aware of my insanity spiral over the Eddie of it all (as well as poker Buddie!) so I hope you’ll forgive me - I’ve not had the mental capacity I normally do to dedicate to costume spiralling!

No Eddie this week as he only appeared in uniform 😭 

A couple of more general things to point out - the use of Check - we see it on Nathaniel Greene and Phillip Buckley - which I think is a very interesting and loud choice considering this episode was all about fathers and fatherhood and the two fathers who are not all that (Mr Han is also in that number but his grey on grey suit was a deliberate choice that I will talk about in a minute) are the ones wearing check and tapping right on into my check theory!!! So Nathaniel is going to find himself in hot water very soon so the check is foreshadowing this for him. Philip (and Margaret as well actually!) in check is also foreshadowing whatever is about to go down with the Buckley parents (that happy family facade they’ve been putting on is about to crack big time!).

Grey is one of those colours that can be either warm grey (like we often see on Buck) or cool grey (which we have here on Mr Han) and that affects which meanings you attribute to it. Mr Han in double grey just about sums him up as a person - cold, conservative and controlling. Its also a colour that conveys gloom and frustration when worn in multiple like this, there is also the fact that ill people are often described as looking grey - which leads me to think that Mr Han being terminally ill is actually very likely!

The other thing I want to point out is the red harnesses - I know I don’t talk about the uniforms all that much except when there is something important an interesting in relation to them and this is very much that! Chim, Buck and Eddie are the ones we see in the red belt harnesses. Chimney removes his after Buck stakes his claim on it being his turn to go up the ladder and Chimney steps back from ladder detail. The reason I point this out is because its a very bright visual way of identifying and connecting both the fact that Chimney also has a red string of fate connected to Buck (I’m talking about family here and I know that technically all the firefam have strings of fate connecting them, but in this specific incidence its about the brotherly connection - the parallel to Kevin and Albert) which is relevant at that first moment but then the focus needs to shift. Eddie and Buck become the only ones distinguishable in the pouring rain - the only ones tied by that red string of fate - even when (and especially) when Buck is on the gurney.

over to our mains - below the cut to save your dashes!

Athena and May

I’m doing the two of them together this week because they are the costume version of yin and yang!

The silk blouse has a monstera leaf print - monstera symbolises suffocation in western culture which is a perfect symbol for this story arc - suppressing of evidence or information because of money etc. the use of navy red and white is also interesting - its very much a hint towards patriotism - a deliberate choice to play into the upperclass America vibe they’re claiming to be part of! 

Mays two main costumes are costumes themselves - they aren’t representative of who May is or her character, the are the clothes of the character she’s playing - Jada. As outfits for Jada - they are very much playing to type - teenager with issues who’s rebelling against straight laced parents - Both Athenas and Mays outfits work perfectly in sync with each other as the anthesis of the other. Mays are both in the same tonal range - burnt dusty reds, washed out blue greys and beiges - all in the same colour spectrum as Athenas ‘costume’ but tonally at the oposite end - where mays are dark and muted, Ahtenas are bright and bold

in the middle of the undercover work we get a reminder of who they really are - Athenas generally more muted palette - her comfort colour choices of black and olive khaki green, while May is back in her bold and bright blocks of colour. Perfectly summing up that while Athena is playing a role that is not a million miles away from who she is (and channeling a bit of Beatrice in the process because that blouse is a Beatrice blouse in every way!), Athena also tends to wear the olive khaki colour on top when she’s investigating something outside of work - and by this I don’t just mean full blown investigating, I also mean low key - clocking something is going on with a member of the extended firefam and she’s paying attention. May is at the opposite end of the spectrum from Jada! I’ve talked about May wearing this sugary bright pink before in season 5 and the scene here is somewhat of a parallel to the one in 5x15- youthful and considered feminine but also compassionate and caring. It is sensitive and intuitive. All things we see in this scene - May is using her intuition about Tamara and her being a ‘weak link’ that will get some information. We also see her showing compassion for Bobby in this scene.

Bobby

keeping it simple for Bobby this week - just the one outfit and its supposed to essentially blend in with his uniform - we see him working on things related to the wildfire that Wendell died in both at the station while in actual uniform, and then at home with Athena and May (as an aside the fact that we see bobby with his family esp his stepdaughter and then with Buck and no other members of the fire fam is very telling!!) - it’s all signalling Bobby is in work mode even when he’s at home.

Hen

If there was ever a cardigan to signal the fact that Hen is puzzled by Denny’s behaviour and new interests - this one is very definitely it - it literally has neutral face emojis all over it 😐😐😐 which are often used to convey mild irritation and concern - both things Hen is clearly feeling in this scene. Red is also a colour associated with both anger and and love - we know Hen loves Denny, but its very likely that there will be anger down the line when she discovers what Denny has been up to. This jumper also fits with my check theory - it is a big checkerboard - so its foreshadowing for the upcoming Denny issues!

I’m going to say something here which is being used as a narrative device - Hen is wearing maroon, because she is in the ‘male’ or ‘father’ parent role at this moment - I don’t prescribe to the concept of queer parents fitting into gender stereotypes of parenting (that theres a fatherly one and a motherly one!) nor do I believe sport is a fathers domain but in this particular instance the wardrobe team are playing into a costume theme they’ve developed - namely that maroon is the colour worn when (mostly male) characters are being fatherly in someway. It is implied in this scene and the one in the firehouse, that Hen is the one who has been the one mostly supporting Denny in his sporting interests - football (sorry soccer - Im British its football 😂) initially and now she wants to be supportive in his baseball interest. 

Not a costume thing, but I think its interesting and its costume adjacent, but I love the fact they’ve chosen two very different sports - one played with hands, the other with feet and the one Denny is taking up is the one where curveballs are a thing!

Denny

Or should I be calling him ‘D’?? 

we have this blue and black shirt - I have to confess my brain went off in 6 different directions on this one. Firstly there is the fact that its not that disimilar to what Christopher is wearing when Eddie catches him talking to his friends online late at night - the colours are different but the use of patterning is similar and the fact that Chris and Denny have paralleling story arcs is very 👀👀 It also ties Denny in with Hen as she also wears a lot of patterning similar to this. then there is the fact its black and blue - what is the first thing you think of when you say black and blue - being beaten up - potentially foreshadowing - not necessarily for a physical beating, more likely for the psychological bruising ahead. there is also the Rorschach test and camouflage elements as well. All in all its a shirt that speaks of secrecy pyschological trauma and trouble ahead!

This tee has me feeling all levels of insane. We have green for growth and renewal- its a bright green too, so its really reenforcing that idea. Then there is the design - a leopard in a jungle setting which is so many metaphors all rolled into one - the obvious ones of the jungle being dangerous, leopards not changing their spots and hiding in pain sight. But there are a few others - camouflage, the fact that leopards are nocturnal and solitary, they are also opportunistic. Then theres the jungle - jungles as well as being dangerous places, are also dense and in places impenetrable, they are overgrown and tangled. All of these things speaks volumes about what is going on with Denny right now, and the fact that he’s getting himself deeper and deeper into the jungle where opportunistic animals are waiting to strike. It a really clever use of imagery in graphic tee design to convey information and its something the show does a lot with the kids clothing!

Chimney

some really interesting stuff going on with Chimney in this episode - namely the fact that he’s wearing check - all the time, as well as the fact we get him in this lovely burnt orange colour!

Starting with the check - I’ve said it a million times and I’ll probably say it a million more, but the check is foreshadowing trouble ahead - in this instance its the unexpected arrival of the Han’s. The button down shirt under the jumper is maroon and burnt orange check - maroon is the colour of fatherhood in 911 verse so the maroon is a nod to that, both the fact that Chimney is a father (and a good one), but also that his father is the trouble ahead! While the orange - well orange is the colour of optimism, enthusiasm and emotional strength - the perfect colour for Chim in this scene - he’s being optimistic about what having the Buckleys to visit will be like - that together he and Maddie can get through anything. This opening outfit for 6b also shows us that Chim is in a much stronger place - things are going well for him - life is good and that has given him confidence and placed him in a better place emotionally.

then we get this blue check button down shirt - its light blue and a darker blue, and again the check is portending doom. I don’t want to make this all about Buck, (becasue it isn’t) but, the fact we see Chim in a blue check specifically while the Buckleys and Hans argue over Bucks sperm donation is super interesting. Its not only foreshadowing that Buck - who is also in blue, is about to come to harm in the place that was very nearly chimneys (as inBuck going up the ladder instead of Chim). It is also hinting at the fact that Chimney and his father (who is incidentally also in a blue shirt) are on a collision course. This check is about foreshadowing the two opposite disasters/ issues heading Chimneys way - the fact that he is about to potentially lose a brother - and one that has taken the place he was supposed to be in. That Chimney is going to have to reckon with the guilt and grief that causes - making this shirt about Chim’s connection to Buck but also connected to the idea of another man raising a child - much of Chimneys trauma stems from that very issue - he was raised by Mr Lee, had Kevin who was a brother in all but blood - who died in a work related accident and now he’s going to go through the same thing with Buck. the whole thing is setting up for Chimneys trauma to come and hit pretty hard - which all goes back to his own blood father - which is why we see Buck and Sang in the two very different blues and chimney in the check of both of them.

Maddie & Jee-Yun

Maddie going for full on black is such a choice! Black is a power colour, its sophisticated and mysterious, while also being authoritative and protective. It is also a colour of rebirth which is really important here for Maddie. This is a Maddie who is in the best possible place right now, but her choice to wear all black for the arrival of her parents is all about her wanting to but on a display of power while at the same time protecting herself and her family (Chim, Jee and Buck) its very much fake it till you make it - its not necessarily about her having power/control (which she does), but about the appearance of it.

This is about her rebirth as a person and as a mum and her showing that rebirth to those who have judged her in her life. 

the purple suit and bright blue top are an interesting choice. The jewel tones exude happiness and contentment. I’ve spoken before about how we often see characters in these brighter versions of colours when they’re in a good place or having fun (think of the times we’ve seen Athena in bright jewel colours, or even Buck) and here we see Maddie embracing that her daughter is having fun with her grandparents and her family is all together and not fighting or distant from one another - don’t forget this is likely the fist time she has experienced this ever. The purple blazer is in line with other things we’ve seen on Maddie this season - we’ve seen her in bright purple before. Purple is a really interesting choice to me because so much of its meaning is connected to mystery, but also the understanding of ones self better, building and strengthening emotional connections to our deepest thoughts and desires. its such a choice for this scene - the happy family Maddie wants, has wanted all her life and hasn’t had in her grasp until now, but also the Daniel of it all - that she is now free to talk about her brother, to share her knowledge of him and that she has been able to actually sit in her grief and come to terms with it. It’s a really powerful choice for her and speaks so much about how far Maddie has come.

Look I love love love what the show does with the kids clothes - its always so on point for the scene - and this Baby Jee tee is no exception. ‘Shapes I know’ - a literal point at the fact that families can look different - they come in different shapes and thats something Jee ‘knows’ and is experiencing. It’s literally one of the cornerstones of he show - that families look different and come in a multitude of shapes and sizes and in this scene the show is very much pointing out that the Buckley parents and Han parents don’t really understand that in any great depth. The Buckleys are only being supportive and nice when it suits them - when they’re in front of others and can be judged - creating a fantasy of a loving and supportive family to the outside world - while behind closed doors - they’re not really interested and are in fact the complete opposite. The Han’s have a very rigid view on family and that there is only one type of family (I’m expecting Sang Han to make some comment about Jee being born outside of marriage etc at some point) and anything that doesn’t conform to that isn’t acceptable.  

Buck

I so desperately wan to quiz the wardrobe department on the choice to have Buck in trousers that sit two inches above his ankle. 

You can’t see them in either of these pictures, but Buck is still wearing trousers far too short for his legs and its making me insane. I know Oliver has stupidly long legs, but its not like they don’t have the budget to get trousers made and tailored to fit him. I mean its been this way since season 2 and everything is intentional so they must have decided on it as a character thing but I for one cannot figure out what its supposed to tell us about him - the only thinking I’ve managed to come up with is that he’s stuck in this liminal space between child and adult - not really one or the other (because of the saviour baby and not knowing about it of it all) so its a play on the historic idea of breeching and short trousers! It’s literally the only reason I can think of as to why they would do this. Especially because the outfit he is wearing in his coma dream he’s wearing trousers that fit his leg length which only proves to me that its intentional!

If we see Buck figure things out this season and we then see him start wearing longer trousers going forwards - ones that are actually the right length for his legs I might actually ascend to the astral plane!!!

This green top continues the theme of seeing Buck in either blues or this light green shade - it echoes both the polo shirt from 6x07 when he made his donation, and the one he wore to the Ren Faire in 6x08 and continues to prove my theory about the use of these green shirts on Buck - the colour might not have gotten darker, but the fact its still the same light shade and we’ve had no further progress (in terms of where Buck is at mentally - the pregnancy is obviously progressing!) at this point in time - we know he’s wearing gree ni the coma - and its a darker/brighter shade - hinting that progress- growth etc is happening and that the coma will be the catalyst for that growth to start - I fully expect to see Buck in more green as the season progresses and to see it getting deeper and brighter as we go along.

I have so many thoughts about this dark navy blue shirt we see Buck wearing for the Buckley-Han showdown. Its yet more Buck in shades of blue - forget 50 shades of grey Buck is all about 50 shades of blue (I think were up to 12 blue tops now for him this season and the next highest colour he wears is green with 3)!!  theres the uniform aspect of it all - a bit like Bobby in this episode as well, but for Buck its almost like wearing the uniform gives him confidence and strength - superhero style - something he feels he needs to go through another experience with his parents. 

There is something to be said about the use of blues at opposite ends of the spectrum on Buck - from the light pastel blues to this dark navy almost black blue, almost like Buck is oscillating between where he’s at mentally - projecting confidence, reliability, loyalty and trustworthiness, while also suggesting that internally he is struggling - blue is also a colour depression and suppression. We have to remember that Buck is still trying to figure out who he is, what he wants and how to be at ease with himself and so the use of both dark and light blues speaks of the duality of Buck right now. I bring this up because looking back through my costume plots for each character its become obvious that this season its very much deliberate - all his blue outfits in previous seasons have been within a much smaller spectrum of colour - wearing blue but all similar in shade - tending toward bright blue or navies!

If you’ve made it to the end then I thank you - have a cookie on me 🍪🍪🍪 we all deserve them after that episode and we’re going to need out strength for next weeks!!

I hope you’ve enjoyed my deep dive ramblings on costume for 6x09 - drop me a reblog or a comment to let me see your thoughts - I love reading them!!

As always tagged people below - if anyone wants to be added (or removed from) to the list please let me know in the comments!

Until next week (when I have a feeling I might be being set up for a very very long meta post 😬😬😬) 

@mistmarauder @theladyyavilee @loveyourownsmiilee @leothil @girldadbuddie @kitkatpancakestack  @buckscurls @lemotmo @trashendence @elishareads  @clipboardsandstethoscopes @comfortbuddie @fiona-fififi  @callanee @calyssmarviss @pbandjeremiah @batgrldes  @spotsandsocks  @livingwherethesidewalkends  @idontshitpostbuttheolympicpark @diazboysbuckley @sweettsubaki @shortsighted-owl @sherlocking-out-loud @dickley-buddie  @favouritealias @hearteyesdiaz  @ktinastrikesback  @princesschez75 @bucksbuddie @oneawkwardcookie  @leatherat @moniquekatie @wanderingwomanwondering  @trickster-archangel @outrunningthedark @asharadaine @ajunerose  @talespinner230 @pop-kam @swiftiebuckleys @xxfiction-is-my-realityxx @butchjerry @mandzuking17 @yelenasbuddie​ @copyninjabuckley​ @name-code-black-widow​​ @rogerzsteven​

[violet-moonstone]

Heathers Part 2: Warrior Heather

Read Part 1 here

Option 1: Current Heather with a More Detailed Backstory

Before we discuss major alternatives, let’s go back to my question: Who was Heather’s mentor? I think it makes sense for them to be someone she met after her village was attacked, or who at least survived the attack. The combat skills and weapons/armour knowledge she exhibits in RTTE aren’t present in RoB, so they should be things this person taught her after the attack. Maybe in response to the trauma and danger she faced, she sought out a mentor who could teach her how to fend for herself and get revenge—or perhaps, this mentor found her and wanted to impart their knowledge to help her. And to explain why this mentor is no longer part of her life in RTTE, I’ve come up with 3 options.

1. Heather and her mentor mutually decided it was time to part ways once Heather was ready for her quest. This mentor was unable to join her due to some sort of illness or injury.

2. Her mentor taught her survival skills but didn’t do so in the hopes that she would enact vengeance and instead tried to dissuade her from going down that path. Their disagreement about revenge caused them to have a falling out, and Heather left the relative safety of living with/near them. The loss of the only stable/loving relationship she had since her adoptive parents died only worsened her abandonment issues.

3. Her mentor recently passed away, which prompted her to set out on her own. Again, really exacerbating that grief and anxiety.

If these changes to her backstory were made, I would be much happier with her new character direction in RTTE.

That being said, I have to say I’m still not a fan of the appearance of her design in general. I don’t like the brown and silvery blue colour combo. I would prefer something more desaturated so they don’t clash. Generally speaking, HTTYD characters designs are a great example of how to pair colours that don’t usually go together; by making their clothes earthy and desaturated, any clashing colours aren’t as glaring—plus, it makes the clothes look more lived in, which fits the vibe of the world these characters are in. The warmth and richness of the brown in Heather’s new outfit isn’t pairing well with the cold armour IMO. I want to see clothes that look well-made, but heavily worn. She’s not used to getting new clothes on a regular basis, so she’s going to make what she does have last.

I also think instead of forming what looks like a very hazardous skirt, the scales she’s wearing should be used as armour over her abdomen...you know...where all those very important organs are? I don’t get the leather vest thing for her when scale armour is an option. I think this is an example of another issue I have Heather’s design and how she functions in the show: she’s a warrior with a large, bulky weapon and a huge, armoured dragon..but she also has rogue/stealth elements (This is where the leather vest, hood, and occasional face covering comes in). It’s possible that I’m thinking too narrowly, but I think we should pick a lane—if not for believability, then at the very least to make her design more visually clear.

If we’re staying in the armoured warrior lane, then let’s ditch the vest and hood and go with armour over the abdomen, maybe with some chain mail too. Underneath, she can wear a tunic, anywhere from hip to knee length. The colour scheme of her tunic, leggings, and boots could range from dark/desaturated blues, greys, and black. These would work nicely with the colour of her armour. Maybe there could be some brown for variety, but in less rich hues than what’s in her design has now. I also think she should have a helmet (I’m thinking no horns though...and maybe it partially covers her face, so she can have a dramatic reveal when she takes it off) and coil her ponytail into a bun when she’s fighting. Finally, if she’s a warrior, she should have a bulkier, more muscular physique.

Here are some ideas for what I think her design could look like:

Imagine the armour over the woman’s chest and shoulders in the first image is made from Windshear’s scales instead.

Part 3 because my computer hates long posts

[voidsdamned]

Wicked Natures - The Ghoul/OC (Female Character) Chapter Five

Summary: Bounty hunters are frequent customers at Mulholland's Saloon, and Rue's taken quite a shine to one gunslinger in particular: a cantankerous, old Ghoul in a tattered duster. Witness her unabashedly lust after him in all his irradiated glory (as we are all currently doing), as well as navigate the precarious relationship she unfortunately has with local law enforcement.

Minors, do not interact.

Content Warnings: more spice. Blood. Begging. Spanking. Roughness.

Enjoy.

Chapter Five: Stray Cat

Rue is fitfully sore when she wakes, and her back aches mildly, the curled-up position she slept in having done her no favours. She stretches until something pops –her left shoulder, maybe– and looks around the sunlit room. There’s not a soul in sight. No Ghoul. No Artie. She’s not terribly surprised. Artie doesn’t like staying too still, and the Ghoul… well, Rue’s equating him to a stray cat. He’ll just come and go as he pleases.

She drags herself to her feet, an old, grey bedsheet falling off her. It drapes over her feet, and she just stares at it for a moment, heart warming stupidly. She folds and stows it quick before shutting herself in the bathroom.

In the cracked mirror hanging above a pedestal sink, she can see the events of the night spelled out plainly on her body. Her neck is covered in splotches, the area around her pulse –where the Ghoul must have concentrated his efforts– is particularly bruised. Then there’s an ugly spot on her left shoulder where dried blood stains honey skin. There’s an outline of teeth amongst the bruising and split flesh having scabbed over. Telling bruises litter her breasts, and her wrists are a little red where the ropes rubbed her.

Rue, for once, is thankful she works in a glorified whorehouse. She knows a few tricks to disguise the marks the Ghoul left on her, and she’ll definitely have to. Deck may be out of town and his posse isn’t being as attentive as they should be, but they do still pop in on her. If they saw her in this state…. There would be a shitstorm when Deck returns, one Rue isn’t too keen on imagining. So, she doesn’t, she just sets to fixing the problem.  

She’s quick about a bath. Quick to dress, donning a blouse with a more conservative neckline (but still standard for her). It covers the bitemark completely, and a bit of yellow concealer and some kind of cream almost her skin colour disguises the bruising on her neck decently well. She halves her hair, weaving twin braids to fall over her shoulders. With them providing more cover and a bit of shadow, Rue can’t even tell the Ghoul had gone to town on her.

As for the marks on her wrists… her blouse sleeves cover them mostly. But if anyone asks, she’ll say she got tangled up in the clothes line again.

Made up to the best of her abilities, Rue goes about the rest of the morning as she normally would: breakfast, laundry, and general tidying. There’s a period of time where she goes back into her bathroom, strips off her shirt, and studies the Ghoul’s handiwork again –and it gets her worked up horribly. She’s still sore, almost too sore to touch herself.

Almost.

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Rue leaves the house earlier than normal, heading straightaway to Artie’s to check on him. She finds him in the schoolyard, working on one of the garbage sculptures he likes to put together –and most of them aren’t bad at all. Some don’t even look like garbage anymore he’s done such a good job with them. Some of the smaller pieces, he even manages to sell.

He’s on his knees, bent over working on an abstract shape of jagged edges, all of metal bits and shards of glass. It glints brightly in the noon sun, causing Rue to shield her eyes as she picks her way across the yard to him. He doesn’t notice her, doesn’t look up from his project, until she’s tapping him on the shoulder and giving a very gentle, “Afternoon, Artie.”

Artie jumps a touch, head snapping up to look at her with wide eyes –well, eye. One of them is black and swollen nearly shut, and it hurts her heart to see it –and to see all those other bruises peppering him. The little cuts. But his nose looks straight and fine.

He settles once he realizes it’s her, giving her a bright, toothy smile. “Rue! Y’see this? Got the idea in a dream last night. A bright, burnin’ star sharp enough to cut.”

She crouches beside him, examining his work and nodding her approval. “It’s nice. Really does have a kinda starburst effect to it. …How ya feelin’ this mornin’?”

“Bit foggy when I first woke,” he tells her, fiddling with a piece of metal, “bit sore. And ‘course I can’t see all the way. Havin’ to keep an even sharper ear out for the Dust Devils.”

“Y’know, I haven’t even seen the first one today.” Rue hopes that will calm him, allow him to relax a touch more. “Thinkin’ that wind storm we had a few nights ago really scattered ‘em.”

Artie gives a deft nod. “Good. Real good. Get a breather in before they start congregatin’ again.”

“I plan to. …You manage to sleep okay?”

“Like a baby. That um… rum? Yeah, rum. It knocked my lights out. Don’t think I want it again, but it did help me last night.”

Rue smiles bright. “That’s good to hear, Artie. Oh, here. I brought ya this.” She pulls out a small, glass bottle of painkillers Doc Nguyen had given her when she twisted the hell out of her ankle a few months ago. “It won’t knock your lights out, and it’ll help if you’re havin’ any pain. Doc Nguyen told me it’s okay to take two every six or so hours.”

Artie takes the bottle from her hands, shaking it. Holding it to his ear as he listens to the contents clink around. “No worms?”

Rue shakes her head. “No worms.”

He nods again. “Thank ya, Rue. Can I keep the bottle once it’s empty?”

“Of course. I can bring you by that empty rum bottle, too, if ya want it.”

Artie nods ecstatically, that toothy grin taking his mouth again. “That’ll be just what I need.”

“Great.” Rue pulls herself up to her feet, dusting off her skirt as she rises. “I’ll bring it by tomorrow, and I’ll try to get your clothes patched in the next few days. Got ‘em dryin’ on the line right now.”

The artist’s toothy smile transforms, becoming something sweet and a little watery. “You’re always real good to me, Rue. I appreciate it.”

“You’re very welcome, Artie,” she assures, squeezing his shoulder. “And I’d love to stay and watch ya work on this lovely piece, but I’m already late gettin’ to work. Take the meds if ya need ‘em, and try to get some rest, okay?”

Artie nods dutifully. “Yes’m.”

Rue gives him another smile and a small wave as she bids him goodbye for the day, and Artie goes right back to working on his sculpture, pausing only for a moment to pop two pills into his mouth before moving right along.

She moves right along as well, into another long, busy night at Mulholland’s.

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When Jimmie Boone brings in a fresh shipment of moonshine, Mullholland’s tends to see a big crowd. It’s good shit, apparently. Volatile as rocket fuel. Rue’s never tried it, because it smells like it could kill her (she does have a gifted bottle of it at home, though). She also doesn’t like the particular brand of stupidity her tables exhibit when they’ve had moonshine. They get drunk, fast. They get clumsy. They get a little testy. They start throwing fists.

And then Rue finds herself watching full-out brawls transpiring in the midst of the saloon until Hal unholsters his revolver and fires a warning shot into an old dartboard pocked with bullet holes. That usually settles things down, but tonight… tonight, two men get a bullet to the ass and Hal gets so fed up he calls it early. He just about decides not to order anymore moonshine from Jimmie -but, of course, that’s a decision Deck will ultimately make once he gets back to town (and Rue already knows he won’t even consider it).

Rue meanders her way home in a fantastic mood. She seldom ever gets off early, and she really is looking forward to a long night of sleep after how hectic Mulholland’s has been lately. She also has a basket full of muffins curtesy of Hal, and she’s so excited to eat one in the morning for breakfast. They go beautifully with coffee, and she’d managed to get her hands on a small bag. She doesn’t have milk, though, which is unfortunate. But she can’t justify buying it when it doesn’t keep and she doesn’t have a fridge.

Home is quiet and dark. Rue sets all her belongings down on her wardrobe and shimmies out of her clothes, catching sight of bruises almost faded and a bite mark almost healed. All so faint, it’s almost like her encounter with the Ghoul didn’t happen. She needs him to come back around and leave some fresh ones (and she knows she’s stupid for that, considering the murderous prick of a warden she’s under the thumb of).

Rue dumps her caps into the slowly-filling, glass jar by her wardrobe, sighing long and deep through her nose as she gets on her tiptoes and stretches her arms high above her head. She doesn’t get a pop like she wants, but the stretch of her muscles feels good regardless. She tries again, rolling her shoulders, touching her toes, and twisting, but earns nothing for her efforts.

Giving up, Rue tosses herself onto the misshapen form of her couch, settling into the lumpy comfort of it. It doesn’t take long for her mind to go sleepily wandering, drifting further and further. She starts seeing a hare with antlers hopping around in her mind, every movement it makes sounding like the jingle-jangle of spurs.

Those jingle-jangles are a little too crisp and clear, and they tickle something in Rue’s mind into a state of quasi-awareness. Her eyes part a fraction, blearily focusing on a dark figure breezing towards her, steps soundless except for the jingle-jangle that excites her heart.

Rue pushes herself up onto her elbows, rubbing at her eyes with the heel of her hand as her lips tilt sleepily up at the Ghoul. “Hey you.” She yawns largely. “Want a muffin?”

The gunslinger pauses, giving her a look that tells her exactly how stupid he thinks she is –narrowed, tired eyes and incredulity. “I ain’t here for muffins, ya thick thing.”

“I know it.” Her grin stretches, teasing and smug. “You’re here ‘cause I’m stuck in your head.”

He rolls his eyes (why does Rue delight in that so much?) and shakes his head. His steps towards her are slow, resounding in the small space. The jingle-jangle of spurs stokes a heat in her belly. “I’m here ‘cause I got an open invitation to ruin you any-fucking-time I want. Remember?”

Rue rocks a hand from side to side, feet kicking idly. “That sounds like me, though.”

He comes to the edge of the couch, close enough Rue could lean forward and plant a through-the-clothes kiss to his dick if she wanted to (and she kind of wants to). She licks her lips, eyes picking their way up to his, holding. His gaze is always so severe, so serious. Rue thinks he could peel back the layers of her with eyes like that.

“Think you’re cute, huh?”

Rue, not looking away, dips her head forward and presses her lips to the front of his trousers. “I think I’m adorable.”

And there comes the fire, that smoldering glint in whiskey eyes. His voice is gruff, a growl, as he orders her to, “Get up.”

Rue complies, drawing herself to her feet to stand pressed to his body –firm and cool with all that leather. “I was thinkin’ ‘bout ya not too long ago,” she shares, stretching her arms above her head. Her back finally pops, and she can’t help the pleased, little moan that escapes her. “All my lil’ trophies are healin’ up, and I like havin’ somethin’ to remember you by.”  

Rue watches his trailing eyes, how they fix on a spot on her neck –one of the more lingering bruises. A cocky, little smirk twists at a corner of his mouth that she wants to pepper with kisses. “With the way you’re runnin’ that mouth, I dunno that you deserve ‘em.”

“Can’t help myself. You’re so fun to tease.” She reaches to touch his leather-vested chest, but he snags her wrist, holding tight enough to have her wincing.

He clicks his tongue in disapproval. “Ya ought not tease a man like me, sweetheart.”

Rue sticks her tongue out at the mean, old man. “Would ya rather me just sit there all quiet like and take it?” 

The Ghoul snorts. “I don’t think ya can be quiet.” His other hand ensnares her free one, and he pins them behind her back. “But I like to watch ya take it.”

Rue’s smile goes wide. “Challenge accepted.”

He cocks a browless brow at her in question.

“I won’t make a sound.”

He laughs, timber low and vibrating into Rue. “Shit, we both know I can getcha screamin’ if I want.”

Rue doesn’t say a word, only waggles her brows.

The bounty hunter gives an amused, “Hmp,” and tips his head. “Alright, then. Ya make a peep, and ya don’t come. I’ll just find out how deep I can shove my dick down your throat and be on my merry way.”

Just the threat of it makes Rue want to moan, but it’s much too early in the game. In fact, it just started. She raises her chin in a short motion she hopes he reads as, “Bring it.”

The Ghoul drags her in closer, letting her feel all his sharp edges and the hardening bulge of his cock beneath his trousers as he slowly ruts against her. Rue’s eyes flutter, and she bites down on her bottom lip to keep the whimpers in when his free hand tangles in her hair, pulling her head to the side so he can lavish her neck with his brutal brand of attention. 

Against her pulse, he tells her, “I guess I can admit to thinkin’ a bit about ya –the kinda games I’d play with ya. What positions I’d put ya in. Thinkin’ I want ya from behind this go ‘round.”

Rue shivers and squirms, wanting that desperately. They didn’t get to that position last time, and she thinks it would hit like nothing else. She nods her approval probably a little too exuberantly.

The Ghoul grinds against her a final time before his body pulls back a touch. He fetches a length of rope from his belt, and Rue holds still as he binds her wrists behind her back. Then he takes a few more steps back from her, eyes thoughtfully, hungrily, scanning her body before they latch on hers.

Pure wickedness brews in those whiskey eyes, and the devilish curl of his lips promises her undoing. So do those goddamn hands when he takes his gloves off. He really isn’t playing fair.

And he’s playing rough when those hands greet her breasts, the tweak of her nipple something that wracks its way down her spine and has her biting down on her lip. She doesn’t make a sound, only shakes as his fingertips ghost against the flesh he’d just abused. And he makes sure her other tit gets the same treatment. Along with her clit, and goddamnit, is he particularly thorough down there, hooking his fingers into her, curling and coaxing. Flicking. That has her eyes wide around, and her hold on her lip harsh enough she tastes blood.

Rue silently quivering, watches the Ghoul suck his fingers clean of her. “Huh. Guess I gotta admire your determination,” he comments, eyes raising from her cunt and to her face. They go straight to her lips. The grin that takes his is feral as he licks his fingers. “Now, look what ya did. Makin’ a mess. I’m the one who’s supposed to be doin’ that.”

Why is that when he speaks she wants to moan the most? To whimper and swear?

The Ghoul grabs hold of her face and presses his lips harshly to hers, tongue trailing. The taste of blood intensifies as he deepens the kiss, as he bites at her. When he pulls away, his mouth is smeared with crimson. He licks that clean, too.

Rue almost goes to her knees, a series of swears threatening to spill from her battered lips. But she’s good at games, and she’s resolved herself to win this one. She wants to feel his body pressed to hers from behind, fucking her absolutely silly.

She steels herself and smirks, winking at him for good measure.

His eyes go half-lidded, dangerous. He clicks his tongue, a short laugh rumbling from him. “You’re just a glutton for punishment, huh?

Rue’s first instinct is to fingergun at him, but with the state of her hands, cannot do so. She settles for a nod and a slow, exaggerated licking of her lips.

The Ghoul is fast, grabbing and spinning her around. Pulling her down as he plops back on her couch. She lands across his lap, ass in the air and his fingers digging into the plushness of her left cheek. Which is all just fantastic, but what really has her attention is the way his dick presses against her stomach. It’s all she can think about until a breath-stealing, skin-searing, open-handed smack lights up her rear.  

It robs her of her voice (most definitely the opposite of the desired effect), leaving her tense and wound tight as she awaits the next. And it does come, the sound sharp and the contact right where the first had been. But Rue was braced for it, ready, not a sound escapes her; but in her mind, she is gasping and giggling. On the outside, she squirms, toes curling and uncurling. Fingers clenching and unclenching. Her head hangs until a third smack has her snapping upright and biting down on her raw lip all over again.

“Tougher than you look.” The Ghoul hums, almost sounding impressed. His hand leaves her rear to grab her by the hair, tipping her head back further and making a “tch” sound. A scarred-up thumb drags across her cheekbone. “But ya sure are pretty with tears in your eyes.”

That small touch has her wanting to whine. She swallows thickly instead.

“That’s nice, too.” His thumb drags over her lips. “Wish I could see from this angle when you’re swallowin’ me down.”

Rue could make those dreams come true if she could get him on his back. Then she could approach from his right or left side, and he could have a nice side profile of her going to town. And if he was feeling sweet, he could finger or spank her. Or nice mix of the two.

Fuck.

Thinking of it has Rue squirming, needing some kind of friction below. There’s a pressure, a pulse, down there fast becoming unbearable.

Another disapproving sound from the Ghoul as his thumb withdraws from her mouth and his hand from her hair. “Nuh-uh, sweet. None of that. Not ‘til I say so.” One hand ghosts down her spine while the other rubs the tender spot on her ass in slow, lazy circles. Then pinches. Rue’s whole body goes tense, winding so tight it’s almost exhausting.

But I’m gonna win.

She chants that to herself, and almost immediately loses when that cruel hand slips between her legs to be so sinfully sweet she wants to purr and plead. Her head and eyes roll, breath gone completely erratic. Heart a mile a minute. Building and building and building, and-.

SMACK.

It truly takes every single drop of Rue’s resolve, stubbornness, and self not to scream. To shout and gasp raggedly and likely sob just a little. All she can do is shake and bleed and feel tears slip hotly down her cheeks.

The Ghoul huffs. “I was sure that’d get ya.... You don’t wanna sing for me, Rue?”

A dirty, fucking play to use her name, but she nods her head like crazy, curls spilling all around her shoulders and face until she’s shrouded by them.

He’s back to sweetness, touches gentle on her thighs and the spot on her ass likely to be as raw as her lips. Then he’s shoving her off his lap, and Rue’s hitting the floor with a bang that shakes her vision.

“You’re gonna,” the Ghoul promises, voice rough, husky, and even vaguely threatening. “You’re gonna sing and scream and pray for me.” His spurs jingle-jangle as his boots hit the floor as solidly as Rue had. She hears his belt buckle jingle, too. A zipper unzipping. Fabric sliding.

The Ghoul is on the floor with her, hands on her hips, jerking her onto her knees as the left side of her face scrapes against the floor. A knee firmly spreads her legs, and Rue, so excited, tries not to quiver as she feels the hot, rigid girth of him prodding at her from behind. The sharpness of his hip bones pressing into tender flesh.

She doesn’t expect gentleness, and she doesn’t get it. He’s as forthright as he was the first time, slamming his way into her completely in one, debilitating stroke that nearly pulls a whispered, “Fuck, fuck, fuck. Yes,” from her throat.

The Ghoul’s groan does something to her, that deep, throaty, purely pleasured sound. It stokes the fire he’s built up. She wants to hear more, loving to know the feel of her can draw out such a musical sound. That she can make him sing.

But the Ghoul’s grip is like iron, not allowing her to shift or angle her hips any differently. Or let her attempt bouncing off him herself. His fingers only dig in deeper, aggravating the spot he’d favoured, and Rue’s body clenches. The Ghoul’s hands hold tighter, an expletive hissing raggedly out of him.

He spanks and grasps her ass, tone rough and chiding, “That ain’t fair.”

Rue wants to laugh, to risk a glance up at him, but she thinks her smile would only work him up more –which isn’t really a bad thing, but it would only make the game harder. She’s struggling with it now. Really, really struggling when the Ghoul pulls back only to stroke roughly, fully again. Her eyes flutter. Her heart stutters. She needs to claw at the ground. She needs something to bite down on. It’s so good. The friction. The feel. Scratching at an itch so deep she wasn’t even aware of its existence.

She wants to tell him, “Again,” but doesn't have to. He’s a mind reader (more likely he planned on it already) because he does it again. Again. Again. Slow and deep and firm. Excruciatingly saccharine and biting. Something croaked and begging tries to escape from Rue, but she bites down on it with all her might, breathing roughly. Wildly.

She wonders if breathing counts as a noise? Hers is loud and unbelievably lewd right now –even to her own ears.

“So close,” the Ghoul muses, a genuine, wolfish delight underscoring the deep timber of his voice. His hips still. “Ya need a few more of those, huh?”

Rue bobs her head like a desperate fool.

“Ya gotta beg me.”

She shakes her head firmly. She wants to come. She needs to. She can’t have him running off on her tonight, not when she’s in such a twisted-up, terrible way.

A sharp smack greets her ass, and mercifully, it’s not on the likely-bruised cheek. She doesn’t make a sound, but her cunt throbs.

“Stubborn.” One of his steadying hands leaves her hips to fist in her hair, dragging Rue up, pulling her taught against his chest. The hand on her hip snakes to her front, between her legs to press firm, dragging circles against an overly sensitive bundle of nerves. The hand in her hair disengages, reaching around to grasp at her breasts.

Rue’s shaking from her head to her toes. Dizzy. So close to losing her mind.

“Beg me, Rue,” the Ghoul coaxes, voice low and beguiling. “And if it’s sweet enough, I’ll let you come.”

Grey eyes flutter open. She wants to ask him, “Promise?” but she doesn’t trust the offer in full. She wiggles her pinky against his chest.

The gunslinger pulls back a touch, the motions of both hands stilling. He scoffs out a disbelieving, “Really?”

Rue bobs her head.

An aggravated sigh and a grumbled, “Fine then.” A hand leaves her tit; the Ghoul’s pinky hooks with hers. “You’re a bit of a brat. Y’know that, right?”

“And you’re everything,” Rue gasps out. “Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Please, keep doin’ what you’re doin’. Please. I want you so bad it hurts. I’m about cryin’ over it in the best fuckin’ way.” She tilts her head back, hitting against his shoulder and finding his eyes. They’re hungry, dancing, delighted. And she knows hers only help her case. Wet, wide, and pleading. “You fill me up so fuckin’ good. It’s all I can think about. Please. Please. Fuck me. Fuck me ‘til I see stars. ‘Til I can’t walk. ‘Til I’m screamin’. Make me scream. Make me sing. And, darlin’, if ya gave me a name, I’d pray to it.”

The gunslinger’s hips buck –involuntarily or not, Rue doesn’t know. She just feels everything so acutely that a reedy, pitiful whine rips from her, her head dropping, lolling. Another plea marked by desperation.

A pull back. A stroke that sends her eyes to rolling. The Ghoul growls into her neck, “Ya don’t need a name. Anytime I hear ‘oh god’ come from ya, I’ll know it’s for me.”

Rue decides she’ll give him plenty of that, and she has every opportunity to. The Ghoul hears her pleas, and he answers. He gives her the slow, powerful thrusts that feel as if they reach to her gut. Hands pushing her buttons all the while. His pace alternates, him holding her tight and fucking into her with wild abandon, the snap of his hips quick and brutal.

She’s nonsensical. She hears her voice but cannot understand the words she might be speaking. No thoughts exist in her mind other than those of the Ghoul and everything he makes her feel. She’s lost completely to the mix of aching pleasure and too-sweet pain. And it really doesn’t take him long to send her toppling over the edge. Coming hard and shaky and loud. Her entire body tautens, especially around him. She can hear the way he swears around the buzzing in her ears. She feels every touch, how grasping and desperate his hands become. The unsteadiness his strokes devolve into.

His grip on her torso disappears, and Rue cannot hope to keep herself upright. She has no strength, no control, and no hands to catch herself with. Her chin strikes the floor, setting her teeth to ringing and eyes to swimming. And still the Ghoul fucks her, his hands on her waist and hips until a final, broad, shattering thrust spells out his end. As well as a second one for her that disconnects her brain from her body. She floats, overwhelmed and awash. She could happily drown in such pleasure. 

But the Ghoul's voice and touch keep her afloat. Has her trying to reattach her scattered parts as she picks up bits and pieces of what he says. A bit of praise, him telling her he loves the way her filthy, fuckin’ cunt milks him for all he’s worth. How she’s such a good girl taking it like she did, singing like she did. He could get used to being worshipped.

“I’d exalt ya every-goddamn-day,” Rue mumbles, barely there, not even realizing he’s untied her hands until he’s flipping her over and she doesn’t crush her own arms. They just flop out uselessly beside her. She hazily watches as the Ghoul spreads her legs and kneels between them, his half-hard cock on full, lovely display before her eyes roll back into her head and her body seizes at the way he fingerfucks his way back into her.

“Hell, that’s a fuckin’ sight,” he breathes. “Fillin’ you up and watchin’ me spill out.”

Rue half-whimpers/half-gasps/half-laughs. “Ohhhh, that’s... that's fi- filthy. I... l-love it. But ya -fuck– you’re killin’ me.”

The Ghoul laughs at the state of her (most likely), and through lidded eyes, she watches him sit with his back against the couch and tuck himself away. His head hangs, chest rising slow and steady, and sweat glistens on his forehead and neck. A fucking painting, a masterpiece, is what he is.

Rue can’t help herself. “You’re so handsome.”

He’s close enough to reach out and pinch her. “Gonna make you eat your own tongue.”

The pinch is easily ignored, nothing compared to what she just went through. “So, so handsome.” Rue rolls over on her side, grasping for the couch and using it to haul herself up. She’s not successful. Her limbs are useless. She grins lazily at the cowboy. “Think ya broke my arms… and my legs, maybe.”

A short, bark of a laugh. “Ain’t sorry ‘bout it.” 

“Neither am I.” Rue gives hoisting herself to her feet another go, barely managing to get on her knees. It’s an even greater feat that she manages to get to her feet. She feels wobblily, like a newborn radstag, as she crosses the floor. “I look as silly as I feel?”

“Like an idiot, but that’s nothin’ new.”

Rue snorts, sticking her tongue out at the Ghoul before shutting herself in the bathroom where she cleans up just a bit. When she emerges, she’s pleased to find the Ghoul sitting right where she left him, head tipped back and his boots kicked off. She leaves him to relax for the moment, going to her kitchenette and fishing out the sealed mason jar full of Jimmie Boone’s moonshine. She also fills two glasses with water.

She returns to the Ghoul, handing over the moonshine and a glass before joining him on the floor, back pressing into the couch. She upends her glass of water quickly before tilting her head back to relax and bask in the presence beside her. But the tired hits heavy, letting Rue know she's about to have a proper sleep whether she's ready for it or not. She fights to keep her eyes parted, to enjoy the Ghoul for just a little longer. She watches him unscrew the jar lid and take himself a sniff. Or as good of one as he can. She doesn’t know how much he can smell without a nose.

“Think I’ve had this before,” he mutters before taking a swig. His face screws up. “Goddamn.”

Rue grins smally, drowsily. “Two people got shot in the ass tonight ‘cause of that shit.”

“If they were drunk off this, bet they didn’t even feel it.”

“Sure howled like they did.”

The Ghoul snickers and takes another draw from the ‘shine.

She smothers a yawn, asking, “Ya set to head out after another bounty?”

“Yup. Got some raiders in the hills not too far from here goin’ after caravans. Boy standin’ in for Deck’s offering a hundred caps a head.”

Rue perks slightly at that. “Damn, that’s good money. …Ya sure I can’t bounty hunt with you?” It’s a question made in jest, but… some small part of Rue is stupidly hopeful.

The Ghoul tips back the moonshine, taking a deeper glug. When he pulls the jar away, his sharp intake of breath sounds like a hiss. He shakes his head. “I maintain that you ain’t built for it, sweetheart. I don’t even think ya got a gun.”

He’s not wrong about the gun. Rue doesn’t have one. Deck won’t let her have one. No one in Dust will sell her one either on account of her being not quite right in the head. They think she’ll hurt herself or someone else. But she has a fucking pocket knife. That’s all fine and dandy.

“I used to,” she mutters, eyes too heavy to keep open. He really does wear her out in the best way.... “It was pretty. Bolt-action rifle. Real antique lookin’ thing with gleamin’ wood and all these pretty lil’ whorls carved in it. I think it burned up with the ranch.” Her lips quirk at the thought of it, the mental picture in her head. The blurry sensation of what it felt like to hold it and fire. To feel the assuring weight of it strapped to her back.

She felt tough enough to take on the world back then. She knows that’s still somewhere in her. She feels it stirring sometimes, making her want to rip her skin off.

“Always noticed you take care of your guns,” Rue goes on, voice soft and sleepy. “Appreciate that ‘bout ya.”

“Gotta. They make me my money.” A pause. A shift she can feel vibrate through the couch they both lean into. He might be looking at her? She thinks she can feel his eyes on her, but she can't check. “Ya gonna fall asleep like that?”

“Yeah.”

And she does.

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The Ghoul is gone in the morning, not that Rue expected any different of the stray cat. But she didn’t expect to wake up in her bed with the covers draped over her –or to find the glasses and jar they used last night washed and drying by the sink. It’s a nice, small surprise. One that has her smiling while she brews her morning coffee.

And her smile takes in her ears when she goes to grab a muffin from the basket on the kitchen table, finding half of them gone.

[raisans-art]

In your Wing AU, are each of the characters based on specific birds and/or bird Pokémon? Because Emmet and Ingo give me some serious great grey owl vibes, and Akari looks a lot like a crow or raven.

Nope! Since irl birds aren’t a thing in the Pokémon universe and I didn’t want to limit myself to just Pokémon birds, I decided to make their plumage fall into patterns and colours that resemble their hair colour! After all, in my au they don’t have hair. It’s all feathers anyway.

I took creativity here and there to make some people’s plumage prettier, but I mostly stuck to that! Ingo and Emmet, I stuck to their grey hair and added a little bit of darker accents and there are some lighter accents on the insides of their wings. I mostly wanted to make sure they still looked like identical twins. Akari i decided to keep her feathers pure black but wanted to add the implication of iridescence to them!

At the end of the day I didn’t want them to feel like hybrids. I wanted them to feel like their own species without any ties to other animals.

[reindeerflotillafrr]

RUBY CHARACTER INFORMATIONS

„he didn’t protect us…he betrayed us too…“

Name: Ruby

Aliases: Little ISO, Pain in the ass, Sis (by Fixt)

Gender: Female

Origin: TRON System

Resides: Argon City

Species: ISO

Age: unknown (physical age 20)

Physique: Small built, curvy woman

Hair length and colour: Long and white

Eye colour: Light blue

Suit colour: White and grey, black (black guard disguise)

Circuitry colour: White, orange (black guard disguise)

Height: 149 cm | 4ft 11in

Weight: 49 kg | 108 lbs

Occupation: Soldier

Weapons: Identity Disc, Baton, Staff

Hobbies: Bullying some black guards, travelling, exploring

Mother: unknown ISO (deceased)

Father: unknown ISO (deceased)

Partner: Dyson

Offsping: -

Allies: Dyson, Clu (occasionally), Java, General Tesler, Paige, Linux, Fixt

Enemies: Dyson (formerly), Clu, Java (formerly), Pavel, Paige, General Tesler, The Renegade, Mara, Zed, Able, Kevin Flynn, Ava Flynn, Sam Flynn, Fixt (formerly), Eclipse, Tron, Biju, Querty

BACKSTORY

DISCLAIMER: my AU is built up differently, TRON: Uprising plays AFTER TRON: Legacy, plus they find Kevin in 1997, not 2010!

Ruby is an Isomorphic Algorithm that was created by two other ISOs. Together with her parents and her younger brother Fixt they would try to go to Argon City and try to continue living their lives in peace yet as programs saw them as enemies it wasn’t easy, until one day an angry mob tried to harm them in which they succeeded, derezzing Ruby‘s parents, being able to flee from the scene yet losing sight of her brother.

Over the cycles, Ruby would be taken in by a sympathetic program and gain some experience with fighting, until her guardian was derezzed when black guards discovered that they were hiding an ISO, ending up on killing the killers of her protector. From that day on, the young ISO despised Tron for not protecting them properly on that day and Clu for slaughtering her species as they were seen as an imperfection, swearing to avenge her parents and her ISO friends.

Ruby would occasionally go onto General Tesler‘s ship and try to challenge his guards and himself, which started off as a fun thing but ended up on being a true cat and mouse game, being wanted for basically being a nuisance, especially when Dyson arrived in Argon City, annoying the highest ranked soldier to the point where Ruby would start to have some kind of love-hate relationship with him as his anger intrigued her.

Eventually Ruby was sent to the games after being successful caught, yet winning after facing off several black guards and the Empress herself, which led to a repurposing process to make her being part of Clu‘s army…

PERSONALITY

Ruby mainly is a person driven by vengeance which can make her quite reckless and make her do decisions which aren’t that wise, but other than that she truly cares about the people that she likes, especially her brother although at the beginning of their reunion they weren’t really happy to see each other.

artwork by me!

[midorisudachi]

Two Grey Wardens: King Alistair Theirin & His Queen, Sairose Cousland.

This past [late] August & September, I played Dragon Age Origins again (I first played it back in 2011 or 2012: as a high elf and then as a regular/lower caste elf). I was feeling nostalgic in August and decided to play DAO after all this time & I still love it more than ever. It looked a lot smoother on my XBox Series X.

I had decided to play as the noble human from the Cousland family, but made her a warrior. I named her Sairose. And of course, Alistair is just way too adorable. He is the sweetest character ever. I loved his awkward attempts to flirt with my character & their interactions were precious. I wish I could find a real-life Alistair. ;) I also made the choices so that Alistair could become King of Ferelden at the end, with Sairose as his Queen. ^_^ So of course I had two draw them recently. I made Sairose wear a more simple armour (because the armour she had at the end of the game was super detailed & I just didn’t feel like drawing it, lol!). But I kept Alistair in his King armour.

I wanted Sairose to have a rose in her hair, since Alistair’s first gift had been a red rose. That moment was so sweet.

Another thing I absolutely love about DAO is the conversations between characters in your party and their bantering. Zevran’s dialogue is just the best & hilarious! I especially cracked up with this conversation (after Sairose & Alistair have been intimate in their relationship):

Zevran: Might I offer you a bit of advice, my good friend Alistair?

Alistair: I like my hair the way it is, thank you.

Zevran: Truly? As you wish… though my advice is regarding something else completely. It has to do with your recent… exertions with your fellow Grey Warden that I overheard.

Alistair: My…? Oh.

Zevran: It did seem as if you just got going when all grew quiet. You are… feeling all right, yes? Perhaps you are tired?

Alistair: We aren’t talking about this, are we? Did I hit my head?

Zevran: I have some roots from home that you may chew if you need energy. As for volume, perhaps you ought to try arching your-

Alistair: Whoa! Whoa! Awkward!

Zevran: You Fereldens are so finicky. How will you ever learn how to pleasure each other unless you talk about it?

Alistair: Not listening! La la la la la!

I also played Dragon Age II in late September & October, so I have fan art from that as well (with my character & her love interest, Zevran). I haven’t played DAII in a decade!

I started Dragon Age Inquisition about 3 weeks ago, and this is actually the first time I am playing the game. It’s incredibly detailed! And OMG, the maps/environments are HUGE! I love all the quests, too! I’m probably going to make Cullen my character’s love interest. ;)

This was drawn with Sakura Pigma Micron pens and then coloured in with a mix of Copic Markers (for the skin tones) and the rest is Ohuhu markers. The tan/beige parchment paper background was done in Photoshop Elements. I hope everybody likes this. Any other Dragon Age fans out there? Please let me know if you have drawn Dragon Age fan art! I’d love to see it!

[thestobingirlie]

The urge to make Steve’s parents good feels like people rebelling from angst sometimes. Like “why can’t he have a normal childhood” type of question. “Not every teenager whining about their dad is actually being abused”, also might be some people trying to protect the status-quo of parenthood.

Except that Steve having negligent parents is so, so normal. Stranger things has various types of parents, from the ideal Sinclairs and maybe overbearing Claudia to very, very grey Karen Wheeler, and of course horrible Hargrove senior and Max’s mom who is an alcoholic. And the same fic writers sometimes try to make Susan Hargrove not an alcoholic, too. Just a single mom.

But the thing is that both Susan being like that and Steve’s parents being like that is actually… well, not to sound cruel, but it’s pretty regular. So is Eddie’s story.

And the three of them (Steve, Max and Eddie) are different from the other kids. And it’s visible. And they sort of have a canon understanding with Max very quickly warming up to Steve and caring for Eddie enough to sound the alarm and believe that he is not a murderer. With Steve and Eddie actually becoming friends super quickly. It’s Eddie immediately calling Max “Red”, it’s Steve saying “why is the only one who’s helping me is this random girl”, it’s canon that they all immediately click, and not with this brotherly love, like with Dustin, no, there is this immediate understanding. And I just don’t get why do some authors want to erase that. Max, the character who suffers from parental abuse and abuse from her family very consistently through the series, trusts Steve and Eddie immediately for a reason. Them immediately acknowledging her and addressing her in a careful and not overbearing way that is probably very flattering for Max (“the only one who helps me”, “Red”, etc) is there for a reason.

I have shitty relationship with my parents, probably similar to Steve’s. I have been dismissed that I’m just a whiny, disrespectful teen, so it hurts me obviously, to see people try and erase Steve’s canon relationship at least with his father. So maybe I’m being unfair.

But like. It’s there for a reason! Otherwise they wouldn’t have had Max, Steve and Eddie gravitate to each other so obviously! They get each other and btw Dustin is not there with them. Dustin is friends with them, loves all thee of them, but he is not always there. Neither is Robin or Nancy.

Max and Will immediately liking each other is there for a reason, too, btw. So is Max being endlessly patient with El. Like. Like it’s canon, it’s just not said implicitly. But I swear to god, no one speaks about parental abuse and neglect openly at Steve’s age if they can hide it, and it’s the 80s, and he is a rich boy in a small town, where everyone knows his father. He’ll get in trouble! Max and Eddie can’t hide it. And they both try, but it’s impossible, their parents just don’t have the same social status that Harringtons enjoy! But Steve can hide it and he can’t speak about it because a) no one is going to believe him, b) he will protect his parents reputation because that’s important to them, c) he does speak about them like that! “Big house, no parents”, come on! To say that it’s debatable unless Steve will be abused on camera is idiotic! Steve’s dad will never abuse him in front of others, and Steve will always try to hide the abuse.

i do think some people giving steve good parents just… want their favourite character to have a happy childhood lmao. but a lot of them just seem to have this hatred over the idea that steve doesn’t have good parents. and i don’t get that. like, more than one character can have bad parents. they come in all shapes and colours!!

i do also see it coming from the fact that people aren’t always great at writing morally grey characters. some people don’t think steve’s parents horrifically beat him, so obviously they’re great parents! and it’s like, they can be neither.

parents, especially in the 80s, aren’t always great. it’s typical that they’ll fuck up in some way! that doesn’t mean they hate their children! like, i’m sure steve’s parents do love him in their own way, they’re just not good at parenting. honestly, even if steve never mentioned his parents, i would think they had some kind of issues, because just look at that boy lmao.

and that’s actually really interesting! i’ve never thought about max, eddie, and steve in that way, but i do see it. all of them have some kind of emotional detachment from their parents, and i could see them totally clicking because of it.

also, el and max are so special to me, and i wish we saw more will and max.

yeah, i really don’t see how you can look at canon and say, we never get concrete proof his dad’s a dick, so obviously steve is just a liar! like, what a jump.

this fandom is just not great at picking up information if it isn’t explicitly given to them. i mean, people forget jonathan is abused and we saw that on screen, though clearly it wasn’t brutal enough for the audience to pick up on lmao. clearly every bad parent needs a scene like neil and billy’s to be able to get that they’re not good parents.

[whiskey-bumblebee]

hotch headcanons

Pairing: Aaron Hotchner/Reader Warnings: College!Hotch, Dad!Hotch, mild angst, Haley and Jack don’t exist, smoking, Christianity A/N: A combination of some thoughts I had just now and my personal headcanons for his character. Mostly college and dad hotch!

-Coming of age in Seattle in the 90s, he was a big fan of the local rock music scene, which included such artists as Nirvana, Alice in Chains, Candlebox, the Foo Fighters, Pearl Jam.... He was definitely into the counter-culture!

-Which would have made him the butt of a lot of loving jokes I think, this guy in law school, normally pretty professional and clean-cut, but by night, he’s in the grungiest, dirtiest bars, singing along to songs like Lithium, wearing band tees and letting his hair grow out a little longer as he gets more into it

-Did a minor in creative writing because he wanted a creative outlet and a break from all of the law/ethics/philosophy/history stuff (and his writing is pretty good! A little stilted at first because he wasn’t used to expressing his emotions, but better over time)

-He smoked pretty heavily during his college years (cigarettes and.... not cigarettes), and to this day, keeps a pack of cigarettes in his desk at work. He lets himself have three or four a year, saving them for occasions when his other coping mechanisms aren’t working.

-He was raised in the church, since he grew up in the South, and his spirituality is still important to him, but he doesn’t attend church regularly because he’s seen a lot of people do terrible things and justify it with their religion, and he finds churches generally aren’t progressive enough, especially in Virginia

-That being said, this man has definitely read most of the Bible, and his favourite chapter is Romans 13 because he feels like it speaks to his life; a career in law enforcement, trying to be righteous and do good, but ultimately, recognizing that love, not vengeance, is the most important way to carry out God’s will 

-On a completely different note, he hasn’t had a lot of close female friendships or relationships in his life, so when you have a daughter, you have to start at square one and teach him everything. What to expect when she grows up, how to talk to her about her body in a positive way, all those important parenting things that he didn’t realize would be different from raising a boy

-There are smaller things you teach him too, like how to do her hair, how to paint her nails, how to pick clothes in colours that work together (because let’s be honest; this man has lived in shades of grey/navy/black for a while now)

-Every single morning, like clockwork, he presses a kiss to the top of her head before he drops her off at daycare, or before he leaves for work and you drop her off, or before he leaves you both for a work trip. The tradition starts as soon as he finishes his paternity leave and goes back to work, and lasts until she moves out of state for college

-He knows she’ll be safe, the two of you have taken every possible measure to ensure that your home is secure, her daycare is safe, the schools she attends are out of harm’s way, and she’s done age-appropriate self-defense training since she could walk. It’s probably overkill, but Hotch would not have it any other way. He’s seen too much carnage in his life to trust the world with his baby girl.

-When Hotch explains one day that he’s not doing it to be clingy, but because he never knows what will happen during his work day, you can’t help but cry. He’s right, nothing is certain, but it breaks your heart nonetheless.

-Maybe a little controversial, but I think Hotch would definitely be pro co-sleeping. Although the first few months are rough, defined by sleepless nights and being woken up by the sound of tiny cries, he sleeps a little bit better knowing that if anything goes wrong, he’s in the room with her, and so are you.

-On the topic of the first few months, while the baby gets hungry several times a night, you realize you’ve married the right man. When you groan softly and start to sit up so you can feed her, Hotch touches your arm gently and whispers “I’ve got it,” and gets up to put some milk in the warmer. You can’t quite fall back asleep, so you watch Hotch in the nursing chair, rocking gently and shushing the baby quietly, stroking her head with his index finger. 

-When he sees you watching him, he smiles. You smile too, watching the man of your dreams rocking the baby you made together back to sleep, the bottle looking so tiny in his hands.

[owlsandwich]

Alphabet Superset

F - Fine

I finally managed to write my story for F! So long burnout - I'm on 5% power now! You can't stop me!

Anyway, this one is an Eira story. I'm excited because she's having some character art done of her, so I'll likely re-post at some point with that attached. She deserves some love.

~

The mouse placed a front paw delicately on the chipped wood of the kitchen table. Its ears flicked forward. Whiskers flared around the twitching nose, soft grey fur shining in the milky winter sunlight that streamed through the half-shuttered window. Even the shadow it cast was perfect.

Carefully, the mouse lifted a second paw. As it did so, the grey fur blurred. Pink tail faded to a simple smudge of colour that vaguely glowed as Eira’s focus slipped. She bit her lip, trying to ignore the stiffness in her back from her hunched position. But as she tried to claw the image back, the mouse’s head flickered. For a moment, it froze in place, photographic detail changing to something more akin to a child’s cartoon, before the illusion dispersed completely.

Eira let out a breath. Then her face split into a grin.

"It moved! Did you see that! Even the fur." She flicked her dark blonde hair over her shoulder as she stretched back in the chair. "You know, no-one else in class is even trying fur. They said if we wanted a challenge, we could go organic, but just something static, like an apple. It’s the light you see-"

She cut off as she saw her mother. Her back was to the table, mug of tea in one hand and eyes passing over the colourful art magazine that lay in what little space was left between the piles of stacked dishes on the worksurface.

Eira’s smile faded.

"We’re you… We’re you even watching?"

The barest hum of acknowledgement answered her question. Paper crumpled as a page turned, and Eira swallowed.

"Mum?"

Her mother raised her head. A strand of blonde hair had worked its way free from her bun, and she flicked it back, much like Eira had done moments before.

"Hmmm?" She glanced down at the empty kitchen table. "Oh. Of course I was watching! It all looked fine to me."

Fine.

An empty hollow settled in Eira’s stomach. Weeks of practice. Endless studies of photos and recordings. Different rooms. Different times of day. The exhaustion and joy of seeing her mind take form into a vision she could share. The warming memory of her best friend’s excitement at the mouse’s first steps now seemed to fade to grey.

"I know a moving illusion isn’t that hard if you aren’t going for realism, but the teacher wants us to try and make something convincing. Pretty much eveyone still struggles with things glowing when they try to do movement. That’s why Charon said we should should start static." The explanation seemed to tumble out before she could stop herself. "She says a great illusionist doesn’t even need much magic-"

Eira stopped as her mother’s lips pressed into a thin line.

"Well, you won’t have any trouble there," she replied. "The way you’re going, you’re bound to end up with as much as your father. You won’t need to waste your time on practice like the rest of us rabble."

Her mother put her mug down with a clunk that made Eira flinch. When she spoke again, her voice sounded small. "I just meant-"

"It’s fine, Eira. I’m sure they’ll be very pleased with you."

Eira watched in silence as her mother picked up the magazine and rolled it up. She tucked it under her arm and added the empty mug to the stack. When she looked back, the frown had vanished from her face.

"Oh, cheer up! Life’s not that bad." She ruffled Eira’s hair as she moved towards the door, calling back as she left. "I’m just off out. Be a dear and sort the dishes while I’m gone, will you?"

A cloud shadowed the stream of weak sunlight as the door snapped shut.

[umbry-fic]

The Tomorrow With You

Summary: Every year, without fail, their moults arrive.

Fandom: Tales of Symphonia Characters: Colette Brunel, Lloyd Irving Relationships: Colette Brunel/Lloyd Irving Rating: G Word Count: 1884 Mirror Link: AO3 Original Post Date: 17/06/2023

Notes: This is a XC1 AU written for Day 1 of Colloyd Week where both Lloyd and Colette are High Entians. They're called the bird people by the Nopons because of the wings on the side of their heads! No XC1 knowledge needed, here's some additional context: Homs are the equivalent of humans in this world, everyone lives on a giant titan called the Bionis and Alcamoth is the city of the High Entians located in Eryth Sea. Pure-blooded High Entians have really long wings (see: Kallian Antiqua) while some Half-Homs have shorter wings (see: Melia Antiqua). Other Half-Homs appear virtually the same as pure-blooded High Entians, and have the same lifespan: three to four centuries. It's my personal headcanon that Half-Homs with shorter wings only live half that, but I'm not sure if this was ever unconfirmed/confirmed by the game... There's a longstanding social stigma towards showing signs of Homs' ancestry (i.e. the shorter wings). High Entians with longer wings have been shown to be able to fly in the game... Once, but still! Therefore they moult, because I say so.

The title is from a track in the XC2 OST! If you know, you know.

~~~

Humming under her breath, she reached for a new patch of year-old feathers on the bottom of Lloyd’s left wing. They were noticeably more worn out, their ends splitting apart and their colour faded from a pale white to a dull grey. Not that she was surprised at the extent of the damage, given how often his wings tended to smack into hard objects from all the shenanigans he got up to on the outskirts of Alcamoth, where the city met the azure waves of Eryth Sea.

Lloyd barely moved when she closed her hand around the bunch, pulling them all out as gently as possible, revealing the follicles beneath, from which new feathers were pushing their way out as best they could. Once a month had passed, they would be fully developed, and his wings would look a lot less naked than they did now.

Just a few days ago, when his moult had only touched the very top of his wings, he had squirmed like a fish caught in a net. She had to continually remind him to stay still, knowing just how much it hurt when feathers were pulled out while she was moving - she’d made that mistake when he’d helped her with her moult a month prior. A burning pain akin to the times she’d accidentally caught her hair in the jamb while shutting the door.

“All done!” she proclaimed, carefully dropping the feathers into the wastebasket that she’d strategically placed in front of the desk before they’d started. Regardless of how neat she had tried to be, there were still some stray feathers scattered about, stark white against the wooden floor. A sole feather was kept safe on the nightstand, tucked beneath a book - a sister to the one Lloyd had kept from her last moult. “That sure took a while.”

He let out a small huff in response, slumping forward on the desk and showing no signs of getting up.

“You’re all tired out, aren’t you?” she muttered, rising from the stool she’d been perched on, stretching. Her back was stiff from sitting for close to an hour, focussed solely on locating every old feather and making sure Lloyd was as comfortable as possible.

She smiled to herself as she found that he had dozed off, eyes shut and shoulders rising and falling peacefully. Her father would be home soon, yet she didn’t quite have the heart to wake him up and send him home. She’d just tell her father that Lloyd needed to recuperate the energy to grow out all his new feathers. It was true, after all.

His wings were so large now. When they’d met, they’d both had tiny stubs that had barely classified as wings. Now, his reached past his shoulders to the middle of his back, and they still had room to grow. They were impressive to gaze upon, and her favourite pastime was to do just that, watching their minute movements that shifted with his mood. How they would droop just slightly when he was feeling down, how they flared out when he was excited, how he shook them out to catch the breeze when they ventured out to the reefs to watch shooting stars light up the night sky, falling from the heavens towards the earth to dissipate into drops of ether. Whenever she had the opportunity to bury her fingers in his plumage and stroke against his down, she could only marvel at how soft it was, rivalling the silken sheets of her bed.

The tips of hers brushed her shoulders. They had remained that length for the past two years, and would grow no further. A permanent marker of her half-Homs blood, setting her apart from everyone else. Practically a glowing signpost that would soon brand her back with a target, beckoning ire.

She didn’t need to be a prophet to predict the future that awaited her - she had witnessed it countless times. The sneers, the derision, the refusal to reach out… They had all been directed at other half-Homs before her very eyes, and even towards her father. All from a small subset of the High Entia, yet the ones who were the most vicious, violently lashing out at others just for being different.

Already, suspicious gazes were being turned on her.

Still, even with that knowledge weighing heavy on her heart, there was one thing that wouldn’t change.

Come the next year, and the next, their moults would arrive again, like clockwork.

And she would help him with his once more, as they had promised to do for each other.

~~~

His touch was painfully gentle against her wings. His actions couldn’t be classified as tugging - it was more like persuading her old feathers to vacate what had been their home for the past year, making way for the new. It made her shiver when he took the time to stroke their sides after a particularly difficult bunch, attempting to soothe the small bout of pain that would flare up. Treating them as something precious, to be treasured and protected, when to her, they were nothing more than a curse.

A sigh travelled through the air, shattering the awkward silence that had descended upon them, his fingers reaching down to trace the scabbed-over cut on her cheek. A souvenir of her encounter with some less than pleasant individuals in the gardens a few days ago, who’d had nothing but barbed insults to fling at her. She’d ignored it, long since used to the tiny shards that would wedge their way under her skin and tear at her - up until they’d dragged Lloyd’s name into it.

“Hey, Colette. Do you hate my wings?”

What…?

“I know it’s because of me that you have it so much worse. They don’t like that I spend so much time with you. If it wasn’t for me…”

It was the ugly truth, that the both of them knew, yet kept hidden under wraps, unwilling to face it.

“I am… Slightly jealous of them,” she admitted. They were everything hers were not. Having reached their full length a few decades ago, they stretched to his waist, covered in feathers so white that they could be blinding in the sun sometimes, powerful enough to propel him into the wide, blue sky.

“But I could never hate them.”

How could she?

They were the same wings she had cried into when she’d had to bury her father, far away from Alcamoth. Watching the casket be lowered into the earth of the Bionis, she’d wondered if it was truly right for a child to have to bury their parent, when said child could pass for a Homs that had barely reached adulthood, if not for her wings. He had embraced her from behind, his wings soft against her cheek as he’d whispered calming words into her ear, promising they could return here whenever she wanted to.

They were the same wings which she had watched grow alongside her own, which she had lovingly tended to every year without fail, so much so that she might know them better than her own. Knew which spots were sensitive to the touch, and knew where best to soothe, so much so that she could groom his wings far more proficiently than she ever could her own.

They were the same wings that had ferried them both into the skies, his arms steadily carrying her, ensuring she would never fall. They’d hovered so close to the starry heavens that, if she were to reach out a hand, she might have been able to scoop up one of the sparkling diamonds that hung in that vast black canvas. Together, they had watched the shooting stars fall, countless of them, slipping through the gaps between her fingers to flit across the peak of Alcamoth, their vantage point allowing them to witness the reflection making the waves of Eryth Sea come alive with a myriad of colours. The wind had ruffled the feathers of her own wings as his continued to flap, keeping them in the air, as she admired the way the starlight played off their snowy white.

And besides, it’s not like she could ever bring herself to hate any part of him.

“If you had to ask me whose wings I hate…” she heaved a sigh, folding her hands in her lap as she dropped her gaze to the floor. “It would be my own.”

It felt wrong to even say it aloud, like she was desecrating the memory of her father. She had never blamed him or the mother she had barely known, yet sometimes even she could not help but wish she had been like some of the other Half-Homs, born with wings that would grow to a length similar to that of a pure-blooded High Entia, with minute differences only the most skilled of gazes could discern. It was tiring, to walk out the door every day, steeling herself to face an unbreachable wall of hatred that bid her shoulders slump more with each day that passed.

“That… I can’t accept,” he whispered, his lips tenderly brushing against the peak of her wings, caring not for their off-white colour or how patchy they were now, the new feathers still young. It made her melt against him - against his steady warmth and the broad wings that draped around her, that would always do their best to protect her. “There’s not a thing I’d change about them. They’re beautiful as they are.”

The unwavering belief in his voice, and the gentle way he handled her wings, always capable of warming her heart, could quiet even the loudest voice that occupied her head, telling her that they were worth nothing. His agile fingers had begun to untangle the complicated knot of emotions resting in her chest - and perhaps one day, he could fully unravel it.

His wings drooped, his head bowing slightly. “I’m sorry that I couldn’t protect you this time.”

“Nonsense,” she whispered, turning to press a kiss of her own to the wings she loved so much, watching a small shudder make its way from top to bottom, feathers quivering slightly. “There’s nothing for you to apologise for. You can’t be there all the time. I’m thankful, for everything you’ve done for me already.”

He’d stood up for her so many times, the expression on his face darker than even the worst thunderstorms that raged over the sea, causing powerful waves to crash into the shore. Enough to make anyone shut their mouths instantly, skulking away in terror.

No matter how bright the flames of indignation on her behalf burned within Lloyd, he was still just one person. He could not change the entirety of the High Entia race overnight. But every action, she was certain, had a small effect in turning the tides.

Perhaps the time when those like her would be treated favourably would not arrive within either of their lifetimes, long as they were. Regardless, just as when she was younger and had fewer scars across her heart, she continued to believe in one constant.

Come tomorrow, and the day after that, and for however long she lived, even if it ended up being only half of Lloyd’s lifespan…

She would spend each day with him.

[fortressofserenity]

Racist geeks and writers

As I said before about X-Men, even if X-Men may preach against prejudice such a story still has very prejudiced fans. I actually know one who related to the X-Men but is kind of anti-black in some regards, making fun of black people and stuff. They might not even be an isolated example, there could be more of them in the X-Men fandom than one realises. 

It doesn’t help when so many popular X-Men tend to be white, that it sets the tone for how these people see themselves in. Many popular X-Men characters tend to be white and western, so for every Jubilee and Storm there’s a Kate Pryde, Rogue, Emma Frost, Jean Grey and Mystique. For every Bishop, there’s a Scott Summers, Wolverine, Charles Xavier and Nightcrawler.

Did you see a pattern that some of the more popular X-Men tend to be white? To make matters worse, as pointed out by Cheryl Lynn Eaton Storm is divorced from any black culture. She’s even worse than Black Panther because she’s divorced from an actual African culture, especially Kenyan culture at that. Kenya is a real country, you could really go there if you wanted to.

I feel when it comes to a country like Kenya, you should really get the details right to make her better represent herself as such. There are even comic book fans in African countries, so Africans aren’t that ignorant of US superheroes really. But when Storm doesn’t celebrate Boxing Day, that is the day after Christmas in both Britain and former British African colonies like Kenya, this says a lot about how little they know about Kenya.

They don’t even have actual experience with Kenyans to better know what they celebrate, do and practise, to the point where Storm is pretty much a white person’s idea of an African. Not so much Africans as they see themselves as, if you go by comics like Aya de Yopougon though it’s set in Cote D’Ivoire. Even then, I get the impression most X-Men writers aren’t black and African.

Neither are they interested in any real African country and culture, which has the effect of whitewashing Storm a lot arguably until recently. It doesn’t help when Wolverine is X-Men’s biggest breakout character, that it seems easier to bank on the more popular characters (most of them being white) than to take advantage of mutants who come from nonwestern, nonwhite countries like Nigeria and Vietnam.

When it comes to most of the X-Men, especially most popular X-Men members being white and that most X-Men writers tend to be white as well, it makes any attempts at addressing racism and exploring nonwhite cultures really awkward at times. When Kwannon was in Betsy’s body, she wanted somebody to kill her but since she’s Japanese she should’ve killed herself out of dishonour.

Xian Coy Manh might have the potential to have her nation and culture be explored more deeply, though some of the biggest problems behind her is that the writers who portray her neither have experience with Vietnam in any way nor are they interested in Vietnam. Maybe that’s why she comes off as something of an afterthought, though one who really needs a writer of Vietnamese descent to do her right.

As far as I know about Vietnam, it doesn’t use Chinese characters that much anymore. In fact, at this point more Vietnamese people use Latin orthography these days instead, they also celebrate Year of the Cat instead of Year of the Rabbit. Since 2023 is Year of the Cat, I feel Marvel missed an opportunity to showcase covers with Xian hanging out with cats to celebrate that occasion.

The fact that Vietnamese farmers still use cats for pest control could’ve coloured many Vietnamese people’s decision to have cats instead of rabbits in their version of the Chinese zodiac is a real missed opportunity, even if this gives a glimpse into Xian’s culture better. You could say that Vietnam’s not that well known as China is.

But even then, it’s interesting in its own right and something that has to be explored more in light of Xian’s heritage and upbringing. When it comes to these two mutants whose cultures are misrepresented or underrepresented in some way or another, I feel they come off as missed opportunities when it comes to exploring their cultures and countries.

I feel these portrayals could’ve further coloured some X-Men fans’ racism, in the sense that if they do get represented at all they’re either afterthoughts (Karma) or made more exotic than they really are (Storm). Whatever their portrayals, they get othered in ways most X-Men writers wouldn’t do with American and to some extent, British cultures.

Well X-Men’s no stranger to having white British writers like Grant Morrison and Warren Ellis, both of whom wrote X-Men and X-Men related stories themselves. But when it comes to nonwhite, nonwestern X-Men writers Vita Ayala’s the only example to come to mind who writes or wrote a serialised story. I can’t think of any African or Asian writer who wrote X-Men stories.

This could’ve not only coloured why Xian and Storm are written the way they are, but also how this would’ve fed into some X-Men fans’ racism in the form of ignorance. When it comes to some X-Men fans being racist, it doesn’t help when some X-Men writers are racist themselves that it’s a self-perpetuating cycle.

It is getting better these days, but much work needs to be done when it comes to representing nonwestern cultures better as well as combatting fandom racism.

[starsong13]

Oc recycling centres #1 customer ✨

[I'm so fucking lazy]

I just wanted to waffle about these fuckers don’t mind me

1 [Star Song]

I tried to faithfully recreate how the colors looked on paper digitally (because 95% of my art was on paper at the time)

I can't remember what the black spots or red streaks were about

I know I put ties & bow ties on many characters during my times of gender confusion

The style of hair is a result of the times of the show, many background characters would often have rainbow dash looking hair, and while most of it is based off of the mare style, the back part is specifically the stallion

The wings are a result of the fandom at the time, with many people adding color to wings because of Cadence

2 [Star Song]

This one isn't exactly a TV head it's technically called a droid, this character was created very quickly in an ⬛⬛⬛⬛⬛ for the ⬛⬛⬛⬛⬛⬛⬛⬛ fandom

In their quick creation I basically reused most of the colors from the pony because I didn't have time to be creative

Many of their design aspects between both results you see here are because of challenge posted on the ⬛⬛⬛⬛⬛

Even the character being a fusion is because of these posts - however because of one person saying oh like "Garnet from Steven universe?" I've always explained the character in reference to Garnet (a character I didn't know, from the show I didn't watch)

3 [Star Song]

At this point the character being a fusion had been long established on the ⬛⬛⬛⬛⬛ and I had added more colour to the hair to make them full rainbow when combined and half rainbows when split. This is supported by the heart on the chest and the heterochromia

Sometime between the first design and this design, one half of the fusion became male (gender confusion strikes again)

4 [Star & Musica]

These characters were again rapidly created as a result of fleeing the ⬛⬛⬛⬛⬛⬛⬛⬛ - ⬛⬛⬛⬛⬛ now you can see how they split, hot & cold

While one of them was always more prone to anger, and lashing out when the other one was much quieter, and kept to themselves - polar opposites in the most boring way possible

Things like this where it's painful how lazily these were created, literally the only thing I changed about the designs was what they were, they were no longer a droid they were now humans, I didn't change their eyes didn't change their hair didn't even change their names

5 [Maya & Sam]

Wow I Actually Leared How To Colour A Character Without Making Your Eyes BLEED, It's A MIRACLE

I also stopped being a fucking coward and gave Sam his shaven sides that I had wanted to forever

And I made him trans in a way that made sense

Sam is his own person now with his own skills and abilities

He’s a gymnast and artist who practices astrology and studies chemistry

(although he's still neglected in comparison because I haven't been able to flesh him out as much as Maya, he's still much more of a character than before)

Despite the history of her original creation (and past gens) Maya has become my most fleshed out character out of any fandom (even earning multiple timelines, ex. the purple)

The scars on her lips were transformed into “joker” like scars on her mouth and they aren’t random (ex. the ones on her cheeks before)

Her grey teeth, rather than the off-white yellow that Sam has, is not a mistake either - the real ones were shattered in a fight

Same with the robotic arms being extra arms and not replacement ones, as well as the beep head not being permanent - she wants to remain has human as possible while still experiencing her work

I also changed their hot and cold, dynamic to Ying and Yang one and actually fleshed it out is that they have similarities and differences like real siblings

6 [Star Song]

Again I learned how to digitally color properly

Now with later seasons having more detailed background characters I felt more confident making a more unique design

Darkening the coat, throwing away the green and yellow, getting rid of those weird marks and tie

The hair now being just three shades/hues of blue that fit well over the cooler purple

They are no longer just a full pony

The wings being princess size rather than a normal Pegasus (+being unable to fly properly) and being a taller body type make them more unique

The heart on the hoof is a call back to gen 3 dolls

The feathers on the ears and legs are from hippogriffs

Coloured horseshoes/wings and the design of the feathered legs are from Gen 5 (the last being concept art only)

Anyways that’s all I wanted to waffle about for now, this whole page was about looking how far I’ve come with these characters and seeing how much I’ve learned over the years.

Looking back through my old art and looking at these old designs as I went... I can really see how some of my special interests in certain cartoons influenced the way I drew. One day I might go back and analyze all of it and write it all out for my own sake of self study... But not now

[djsherriff-responses]

If you know who is reading this , here’s some thoughts I got on your comic

While not an eye strain, your colouring is lacklustre when it comes to contrast and value. The characters blend together with each other and the background, it’s especially noticeable when you put the art into greyscale

Sometimes your colour choices just don’t mesh well (like some characters will have very bright red features but be mainly a soft grey/black , it hurts the eyes)

The writing and general aesthetic of your comic (that aren’t gag a day type strips) feels like you can’t decide if you want to write adult stories or something for a younger audience (Like you got one comic of characters being very horny towards each other and than the next one will be about kids playing in a tree house , and than the next will be about a random character’s trauma , and than the next completely something random to that. There’s a lot of whiplash there)

I don’t think it’s bad to take inspiration from other artists (even ones you don’t like) , that be massively hypocritical of me as a fellow artist. I just think you put yourself in a weird position where you got a blog full of dislike towards Vivziepop and make constant comparisons between Viv’s work and your own work

A majority of your character designs has the same face and body shape (seriously I could trace their bodies and face and besides a few character details like hair style and eye shape, there’s hardly a difference)

Side note but I think like, 99% of the people who read your comic don’t care for Vivziepop or even know about your opinions on her. I just happen to be that 1% who came across you because of your Viv opinions and will admit a bit of a biases when seeing some similarities between the two

No this does not mean I’m a Viv stan, her world building is also stupid (why have seven rings based on the seven sins if everyone who sinned is just gonna be on one ring!?) I just found it sorta amusing seeing you do the same pitfalls without any self awareness