#constantly using regalia like a costume

[maxellminidisc]

There this one artist I see pretty often amongst gay Mexicans that makes my eye twitch cause so much of his content raises red flags for me of being one of those mixed Mexicans that "reclaims" indigenaity (if you know what I'm talking about, you know, its hard to explain) but I am reluctant to say much cause I do not have the patience to be dealing with the inevitable bitching that would come from it cause I absolutely know how stupid mixed Mexicans can be when you tell them to use their fucking brains and quit being racist LMAO

[1800titz]

ᴋɪɴᴋᴛᴏʙᴇʀ — ᴘᴇᴛ ᴘʟᴀʏ (ꜱᴏꜰᴛ)

ROLL OVER | boyfriend!Harry (couples costumes gone wild)

The dalmatian/fire fighter duo runs a little deeper in the bedroom after the party.

★₁₈₊

ROLL OVER as the final installment to the KINKTOBER projects. Based on this ask.

If you enjoy this, consider checking out my patreon masterlist, constantly being updated, with loads of exclusive content. If you would like to see the other KINKTOBER projects, do so here.

CONTENT/WARNINGS: couple's costume gone wild. pet play (soft). soft dom. praise. leashing. collars. use of "puppy" as a pet name (pun unintended). oral (f to m). dumbification. dom/sub undertones.

WC: 1.7K

“Yeah,” Harry breathes and shifts his hips with a subtle flex that nudges a little more of him past your lips, cradling you close by the shape of your jaw and petting his palm across your heated cheek. 

You swallow, nostrils flaring, and you let the congealed dust— of this particular disposition— across your lashes lure you under a little harder. Let it crush you under the soporific wave of its gravity. 

But you don’t miss the way he swallows, tugs a little harder on the polypropylene end of the dog leash wrapped taut around the knobs of his naked knuckles, and purrs, “Such a good girl, puppy.”

You blink up at him. At the unstilted paradigm of your insatiable hunger (eating, eating, still so hungry for him); bare stomach flexing, shoulders swelling, jawbone tucked and face ducked to watch you swallow around him. Watch and feel you work your little tongue in crescent shapes against the underside of his cockhead. 

You’re drooling. Slobbering, like a needy, little puppy, and your spit dribbles across between the wedges of your knuckles, where you cup him around the base and squeeze every time he throbs. 

It’s good. It’s really, really good.

He sprawls back against the chair but keeps his chin tipped. Staring down at you— the way your lips suction around him and the way your eyes pool under your fluttery lashes with a dew. Inkpools unwavering. Unrelenting. 

His shirt is discarded, so all his ink is on show. The way it breathes alive under the tension of his musculature, his rippling abdomen when you dip the tip of your tongue into the slit on his head; moving, dancing over his skin. 

It feels dirty. Borderline gaudily pornographic; you, on your knees in that careful nook between his split thighs, with his suspenders dangling across his lap. The big, utility boots on his feet, either side of your haunches. The pried zipper on a set of work trousers, slouching low on his hips, multi-faceted into a costume. 

He’s heavy on your tongue. Takes up too much room in your mouth. Leaking and throbbing when you duck your head to take him just a little deeper, a little more.

“Christ,” Harry murmurs. It sounds a little dark. Hardly over a whisper— you make a wet, ugly sound around him and blink back up. 

From your angle, there’s this pastiche of sovereignty to him. Like blue-collar regalia; half-shed firefighter’s rig, shape of his face chiseled in self-possessed stolidity—

Save for his eyes, the little cinch in his jawbone. The glint in the charcoal vats, the sharp carve your lips make, the way it wobbles when his teeth grind together a little harder. Your tongue seeps out over your lower lip when you take a deep breath through your nose, open wide, and take him nearly to the root. 

The sound that crawls out of Harry is so battered that all you can do is claw into the fabric on the apex of his thighs and let your eyes screw. 

His cockhead bludgeons at the gummy lining on the back of your throat, and you’re sure the phlegm is collapsing in little broken pieces like a mirror shattering under the weight of a hammer. Spuming out over his face in creases and rapture. But you can’t look. 

All you can do is try to swallow around him when the hand that was on the side of your face glues to the back of your crown, his fingers tangling into your hair. His knuckles bleach a little whiter with the strain of the leash, the way he holds you in place. 

(When his palm moves, it smudges one of the little tar-black spots you painted on with a brush, across your temple.)

You can hear that he’s groaning, pressing himself into you and folding praise in with the shape of his fingers scratching at the back of your skull. Things like, “Yeah— fuck— just like that, sweet girl,” in rich husks that simmer across your porous bones and trickle when your shoulders shake. When your toes curl under you. But he holds the leash a little tighter for the angle, and the makeshift collar around your throat gets a little more taut—

Really, it’s all his fault. 

Taunting, Can’t be my proper puppy without— the lead he delicately clipped onto the cheap, old hot topic choker you dug out of the closet to use as a collar. The way that he kept his knuckles wrapped over the handle and his knuckles in his pocket at the party. Toting you around like a pet, keeping you rooted to his side when he settled. Tucked to the swell of his massive shoulder. 

The way he told you to stay like a dog when he went off to refill your drinks, the way he patted your head upon return to find your soles glued to the same spot. Scratching behind your ear derisively, fingertips riling a shudder across your shoulders. 

Such a good girl, you are, saturated in artificial, satirical delight. Corners of his mouth curling, the jeer dripping off the corners of his eyes. 

(Here’s your treat.)

It started as a joke. Mocking for the sake of watching the heat froth under your skin, across your cheekbones, the ruckled bridge of your nose. Faux praises and the condescending gravity of the lead across the base of your neck. The subtle tug into an isolated pigeonhole of a docility that soaked across the crown of your head. 

The mushroomed ridges of his tip bludgeon a splutter out from between your sopping lips, and more saliva oozes out and trickles across your tacky, wet fingers. 

You need to hear it again, need to hear him say it, that itch festering in the noxious tangle of your arousal when you rise on your haunches a touch to duck your chin and press your nose to the wiry smattering of hair bedding around the root of his cock—

“Fuck,” Harry drawls. Guttural, heated—

Varicolored phosphenes fleck behind your lids like constellations in the yawn of a mesmeric, caliginous sky. 

“You’re so good, sweetheart,” he grunts, hums, hips tensing and canting up into the wet heat of your mouth like it’s an undiluted reflex to an itch, feeding his cock deeper— “Gonna cum down this pretty, little throat f’you keep sucking my cock like that.”

You rest both palms on his thighs. Twist your fingers into the fabric until it’s soggy with spit. Gag around the swell of him until he wrenches you back with his fingers under the collar, at your nape, and leaves you sputtering for air with your neck craned. When you blink your lashes apart, your eyes are wet. Bleary. Burning like the back of your tongue, the soft lining at the back of your mouth, where the only place left to cram further is down into your esophagus. 

He looks like a hedonistic cover page for a pornographic issue. 

The coarse strip of dark hair from his navel pools in the bed of curls nesting the hilt of his cock, and his thighs are split in this kingly way that makes you dizzy. It’s vertiginous, staring up at him from your knees. Meaty shoulders, one burnt umber curl hanging to eclipse an eyebrow, and his cock is so spit-slick. Wet, and shimmery, and stupidly thick, sealed in his fist. Throbbing. Your spit puddles off onto his heavy sack, the sodden fabric wrenched apart by the zipper, and you watch a little, pearlescent bead drool off the tip when he squeezes and twists his palm up. 

“Want it in your mouth?” Harry muses. It’s a subconscious maneuver; canting forward on the hinges of your joints with your swollen lips parted as he drags the pad of his thumb across the blurting pre-cum and smears it over his frenulum. “Want it bad, don’t you?”

The way he pulls on the end of the lead isn’t sharp. It’s subtle, but it corners you into nestling your mouth against his cock. Against the swollen shaft, cockhead pulsing and leaking out over the sloping bridge of your nose. 

“Beg,” he tells you. It’s soft. The wisp of a breath; a sigh when you smush your cherry mouth to the little vein that rides up the underside and turns baby blue beneath the crown. 

But it’s chock-full of the command given to an animal— beg, and I’ll give you a treat. It makes you sizzle down to your marrow. His lips curl loosely into a lazy grin. So debauched, around the shape of his cock, coated in your own saliva, pressed to your face. 

“Go on,” he smiles, “Let me hear you whine for it. Show me what a needy, little puppy you are.”

The words sink into your underbelly and leave your hands cresting for surface-purchase under the spindrift. They slip to his knees, and tangle into the fabric there as your lashes flutter. 

“Please,” you breathe, mouthing the word along the shape of his cock. Your lashes are still fluttering. Batting. You scootch forward a little, scratching into the firm muscle under the nomex, and let him smear his shaft across the tip of your nose, tarnishing the borders of the snout you painted on.

He hums. His thumb catches on the corner of your mouth, just as you start to paste an open-mouthed, suckling kiss onto the underside of the root. Your tongue smudges out against his sack. 

He’s unconvinced— you watch it in the way his brows notch, hear it in the rumble that stems from his chest when he grips his cock by the hilt and taps it against you. “Come on, baby. I know you can do a little better than that. Really work for it, hm?”

“Please,” you say, rocking your hips. “Want it bad. Wanna keep sucking you. Please, please.”

A hand tucks into your hair. The fingertips there scratch into the spot behind the shell of your ear softly, and the sensation draws a shudder over your shoulders. You feel on fire. Molten, under the weight of his gaze, the unresistant pressure on the lead, the patronization that trickles off his tone.

“Go on, then, puppy,” Harry murmurs, finally, and loosens the white-knuckled, taut grip on the leash enough for you to clamber back, “Take me back into your mouth.”

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TAGLIST: @aprlmuse @babegoals @cinnamonone @lolalovespeaches @flubblubbb

@ivegotthecinema @bxtchboy69 @iloveharrystyles04 @littlenatilda @witch-rry

@watermelonsugarslut @hs1thea @boystepper @carolinaskiwii @kathleengrg

@madstyles3204 @fruity-harry

[shivasdarknight]

Time for your regularly scheduled, "Killjoy Hour with Enya" because we're being a killjoy about Dawntrail (:

So first and foremost: fuck Square and the XIV team for taking this angle. We could've gone any direction and we're going with Colonizer The Adventure. They looked at what we did on the Steppe with Hien and went "let's do it again! :D"

Mandatory CW for racism as it pertains to the indigenous peoples of North America, Mesoamerica and South America, and discussion of the genocide enacted by Spain against Mesoamerica and South America.

(Sections and the first letter of each sentence have been bolded for ease of reading)

But to explain further: Square has a really awful track record with their take on Tural, the "New World", especially in their handling of the Mamoolj'aa that are in Eorzea. This has been an issue since ARR and has been frequently criticized due to their extremely anti-indigenous writing. The way they handle the Eorzean tribes (which have been known as "beast tribes" and "beastmen" for a good part of the past decade that XIV has been around, I Should Not have to explain to you why that's deeply problematic) is an issue in its own right, but I'll only touch on what we've seen of Tural in the game itself and why this doesn't bode well for Dawntrail.

Let's get the obvious one out of the way first, this fucking shit:

For those unaware, this is the New World set. It's a craftable gear set from Heavensward that players can wear as a goddamned costume. I shouldn't have to be saying this in 2023, but this set has caused a great deal of controversy because it's a bastardization of plains tribe regalia. Square never should have added it to the game, but here it is and players constantly wear it in further offensive glams.

The only instance of this set being used with NPCs is in the Blue Mage quests and what we see of the Whalaqee. Again, to those unaware: the ARR Blue Mage quests are an extremely racist storyline that plays into white savior narratives and more offensive caricatures. The only representatives that we get to interact with of the Whalaqee are a little boy in this outfit (who's also extremely pale), and two Mamoolj'aa who are the lackeys of Martyn, the job trainer for Blue Mage - a white man! Further, the magic is notably not from Eorzea and is instead a cultural practice of the Whalaqee that Martyn took and turned into profit, and he's who you're supposed to work for. You are - yet again - considered a master of the practice, and this is written in mind with a default white man in mind considering Meteor being the stand in for everything. There is in-game appropriation of cultural practices, clothing, and tools but it gets worse the further you go into them.

The main plot of the ARR quests is that the Whalaqee are dying from a plague brought toTural by Martyn and other researchers with the Arcanist's guild 🙃 There were two trips: one to study Blue Magic, and one where people from the first trip went back because they found ceruleum in the sacred lands of the Whalaqee and began drilling for it. But remember: you only get to meet the Whalaqee through the two Mamoolj'aa and the Whalaqee child. The fate of the tribe rests in an Eorzean's hands because they put the medicine behind a bet for the further profit of Ul'dah. Win the carnival and make the owner a bunch of money and you get the medicine; lose, and they go raid the place for ceruleum and wipe out the tribe. It's a deeply offensive storyline that turns past and ongoing horrors that indigenous peoples - especially those of North America and Mesoamerica - have faced and are still facing into some trivial goal for a questline for a joke job that's solved through the white savior trope.

Then, of course, there's how the Mamoolj'aa are generally treated. Like the other ARR tribes and anyone the game doesn't consider civilized, their dialogue is written in broken speech patterns to reflect "lower intelligence." They're one of the only ARR tribes (next to the Qiqirn, who only got that somewhat through the SHB Qitari quests) that haven't gotten any kind of humanizing that the others have seen over the years (and even then, that's only been recently). Throughout ARR-HVW storylines, they're portrayed as extremely aggressive, are often throwaway mercs for hire around La Noscea, and they have them use this "cultural dance" of theirs that's described as extremely suggestive and is frequently used to sexually harass the white women of Eorzea. They're also seen in the Wanderer's Palace (Hard) as "aggressive barbarian" types who enslaved the Tonberries, which were originally the Spoken of Nym (so y'know, predominantly white society that became malformed and gangrenous tonberries). And your job as the Warrior of Light is, naturally, to exterminate them. There's other stuff like the naming of abilities they use (frequent use of barbarian/barbaric, which in it of itself is problematic), the totems and standards that you're actively encouraged to destroy, the shaman stuff + the fact that again: they're the only ARR tribe that never got the same kind of humanizing lens that tribes like the Sylphs got early on, or like the Amalj'aa got only recently.

Dawntrail looks to be as if it might be that humanizing effort that began in Stormblood and was most prominent in 5.X (ARR-SHB tribe side quests don't count as it's side content, not MSQ), but of course there comes the problem: beyond them never treating the Mamoolj'aa with any respect in the content we already have, they've already framed 7.0 as you meddling in the rite of succession for this new area. An area that is ruled by a two-headed Mamoolj'aa that we have to help overthrow (which is not new, as a two-headed Mamoolj'aa was already shown in The Wanderer's Palace (Hard) - but that one was portrayed as brutish, unintelligent, and played into inbred stuff as...the final boss of the dungeon who gets a special end dungeon cutscene to showcase the Tonberries brutalizing his corpse). And again, this plot thread isn't new! We already helped Hien do that to the Steppe back in Stormblood! This is yet another instance of the game treating imperialism and colonization as a fun thing for you to get in on, especially since they're using the setting and the getting to the setting as a summer vacation.

The fact that they are framing Dawntrail as summer vacation-like is insidious. You are a party of fantasy Europeans sailing to fantasy Mesoamerica/South America to meddle in their governing process.

And let's quickly go over that: the fact Tural is the "New World" as you search for "a city of gold."

These names are rooted heavily in European colonization. The idea that Europe is the "civilized Old World" and that the Americas were the "uncivilized, waiting-to-be-conquered New World" is what drove the colonization of the region, especially in Mesoamerica and South America. The term "New World" is inseparable from white supremacist narratives about the colonizers that engaged with the peoples of the Americas. It's bad enough that XIV introduced Tural as "the New World" to begin with and populated it with a fantasy race that's characterized by violence, a lack of intelligence, and sexual harassment + a gross caricature of North American plains nations, but they have now made it into the destination for the Scions' "summer vacation adventure"? So that you can go do an imperialism there, too? They even framed it as some tropical paradise as if that's not an extension of how colonization of these regions is perpetuated today through the tourism industry.

The other term - city of gold - was a myth that was used as the excuse to ransack Mesoamerica and South America. You've definitely seen it, as that was the entire plot of Road to El Dorado. It was under this pretense that Spanish colonizers decimated indigenous populations in the search of glory and gold. The search for the "city of gold" in the "New World" was a mass genocide - enabled through widespread massacre, and a vicious plague that wiped out 80% of just the population in Mexico alone.

In Mexico, the pestilence reached the Aztec capital, Tenochtitlan, before its fall in 1521. Pathogens also reached Peru, inciting a civil war among the Incas. Both of these situations were extremely favorable for Spain. The plague—cocoliztli—was the most devastating post-conquest epidemic in large parts of Mexico, wiping out somewhere around 80 percent of the native population.

(from "How Aztecs Reacted to Colonial Epidemics" by Richard Herzog on JSTOR)

This is not a subject to touch upon lightly in any respect. And for XIV to use it for their "fun adventure in a foreign land" is deeply inappropriate and frankly disgusting. But is anyone surprised? This is the same company that ignored the demands of the Saami council to remove the offensive Far Northern attire from the store.

What I'm disappointed the most about, however, is the number of fans chomping at the bit with angles about a tropical tourist destination, taking the summer vacation angle the devs are actively encouraging, and even stuff with pirates (do not get me started on how white pirates contributed to colonization of the Americas). As a friend put it very aptly: how do you see "new world," "city of gold," and a fleet of European ships sailing towards fantasy Mesoamerica and not get skeeved out at the prospect? This isn't something you should be excited about because they're having us role play imperialism Yet Again. But this time, it's all to the tune of "tropical summer vacation in a foreign land". And y'all are excited to join in?

I don't want the expansion to turn out this way. We barely have any information on this, I understand. But what I've laid out here is what the game has already done with regards to Tural's pre-7.0 depictions and what they've shown they want to continue perpetuating. If Dawntrail turns out to be somewhat decent (and it better be better handled than Thavnair and feature fewer white people populating the countries that are inspired by black and brown cultures), then fine. But as it stands, Square has not given us any reason to trust them in how they've handled their indigenous stories leading up to 7.0. This entire concept is rife with the potential to be extremely offensive and extremely racist, and the main takeaway most fans seem to have from this isn't that this is a gross depiction of indigenous cultures, but instead a fun summer vacation with the Scions?

Really?

[neechees]

There's that Ukrainian guy on tiktok who ki d of annoys me bc I know he means well but he always says something kind of microaggression towards Natives, like constantly calling pow wow regalia "costumes" despite being told multiple times in the comments not to, being scared by pow wow music, & kinda treating us like unicorns or magical Elves & ancient relics instead of like just another ppl with a different culture than him

[olowan-waphiya]

article: The movie itself is a commentary on patriarchy and the effects it has on women and femme-presenting people in society. In “Barbie Land,” the Barbies run everything. There’s a President Barbie, a Doctor Barbie, a Pulitzer Prize Winning Barbie, and more — all Barbies that have actually been created and sold. The Barbies represented multiple identities as well, with multiple Black characters, Asian characters, characters with disabilities and various body types, but not one Native Barbie was in the movie.

Despite the lack of Indigenous representation, the movie didn’t stray away from making an off-hand one-liner about the genocide of Native people. Mid-way through the movie Ken (Ryan Gosling) comes back from the “real world” and introduces patriarchy to the Barbies, disrupting their harmonious Barbie Land. America Ferrara’s character, Gloria from the human world, compares Barbie’s lack of immunity to patriarchy to Native people and the introduction of smallpox.

Although the movie included no Indigenous representation, this does not mean that there are no Native Barbies released by Mattel, the doll’s manufacturing company. Let’s dive into the history of the Native American Barbie.

The first Native Barbie was E**imo Barbie, using a derogatory slur for the Indigenous people who reside in Alaska and the Arctic regions, released in 1981 as part of the Dolls of the World International Series. She stood alone for over a decade until “First Edition Native American Barbie” was released in 1993 as part of the company’s “Dolls of the World” Collection. She was dressed in a white “buckskin” top and skirt with white fringe and adorned with long black hair and tanned skin.

Multiple Native Barbies have been released since then, including second, third and fourth editions of the original and a Barbie line titled the “Native Spirit Collection.” The first Barbie in that collection was Spirit of the Earth Barbie. There is even a Barbie at the Smithsonian, the Northwest Coast Barbie, released in 2000.

The dolls are always accompanied by an introduction of who they are and an explanation of their clothing. Third Edition Native American Barbie (1994) is described like this:

“My dancing outfit is an updated version of a tribal princess costume. It’s a mix of traditional style with the latest colors and accessories of today! I’ll be pretty in my pink tunic and skirt with geometric patterns, white fringe, and ribbon trim. My moccasins, beaded necklace, turquoise earrings, and ring complete my modern-day powwow look!”

The Native American Barbies are described as “princesses,” fueling the “Indian Princess” stereotype that we see every year during Halloween. It reduces Indigenous women’s experience to that of a costume, effectively eliminating the spiritual, cultural, and traditional importance of regalia and the sacred nature of what we wear and why.

Barbie herself is a product of patriarchy and colonization. Barbie movie explores the sad reality of women in a patriarchal society, and the movie pulls heartstrings. It shared the experience of growing up as a woman, the experience of constantly being told what to do, what to look like, what not to do, what not to wear, and overall just living a life policed and dominated by men.

As Indigenous women, we have a unique relationship with patriarchy and colonization, as the two go hand in hand. A 2016 study by the National Institute of Justice (NIJ) found that more than four in five American Indian and Alaska Native women have experienced violence in their lifetime, including 56.1 percent who have experienced sexual violence–trauma that has been ongoing since colonization.

The male gaze created Barbie, and the colonized gaze continues to misrepresent the Indigenous experience in both the product line and film inspired by it.

While doing a successful job of portraying the general experience of women under patriarchy, the film fails to include the intricate and unique experience of Indigenous women within the patriarchy–and under the colonized gaze of women and men alike.

Without this, the story is incomplete.

[dwellordream]

thoughts on the Rings of Power, episode 3

disclaimer that i am not a tolkien nerd. i have read the hobbit and the trilogy once. i’ve seen the movies multiple times. i’ve never read the silmarillion and i know next to nothing about the lore of middle-earth.

I’m pretty sure they used almost all practical special effects on the Orcs, and they look really good.

Is Halbrand secretly Sauron? I have heard this theory and if true, I think it’s fun lmao. Love the weird sexual tension between him and Galadriel.

The scene introducing Numenor was really beautifully shot and looked fantastic, with a real sense of scale of the island and city. 

Galadriel marching around proudly in a filthy shift like a queen in full regalia and not giving a fuck what anyone thinks is kind of peak Galadriel for this show.

Galadriel almost immediately starts shit at court with her blunt demands and Halbrand smoothing it over with his slick charisma seems like it’s going to be a recurring pattern with them. She is not used to ceding to anyone else’s authority and he’s a smooth talker who prefers not to confront things head-on.

I loved Tar Miriel’s costume design, especially her golden coral crown and the blue scales of her bodice.

I still don’t really care about Arondir as a character but I enjoy the Orcs, so.

I’m sorry but Galadriel constantly escaping while wearing brightly colored flowing clothes is incredibly funny to me.

Again, the cinematography of this show is fantastic, and the scene of Galadriel brimming with childlike delight for the first time in the show while riding on that magnificent white horse is amazing.

The sinister violin squealing kicking in when Halbrand finally loses his temper and beats the local grunts half to death is not lessening the ‘secretly the actual antagonist all along’ theories. 

The masks during the Harfoot festival were super cool.

Sadoc and Elrond. Two proud speech writers. 

Why do I feel like Galadriel’s about to launch a coup.

I will say a lot of authority figures in this show feel very hostile for no reason other than plot contrivance. Maybe one of the themes is intended to be ‘it’s right to question authority and challenge traditions’, which is fine, but at times it feels unreasonably portrayed because many of the leaders seem so stubborn and willing to assume the worst.

Are they teasing a hot Orc leader with a full head of hair at the end there? Time will tell...

[rosesisupposes]

you should see me in a gown

pairing: Logince, background sleepxiety

word count: 1,307

This was inspired by @skylagamingv2′s undying love for Logince and an excellent quote from @hawthornshadow

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Edited to add: Read on ao3!

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Logan is wearing this dress by @midnightcandy

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Roman Augustus was an asshole, and no, Logan Leavitt was not open to constructive criticism.

The fact that said asshole was also his boyfriend was irrelevant.

He just clearly knew exactly what he was doing, all the time. Like this morning, when Logan had woken up at his usual time of 5:30 am to make coffee and read the paper before work. At 6, just when the coffee always kicked in enough for him to start doing the crossword, Roman meandered into the kitchen. His auburn hair was tousled from sleep but still managed to look like he’d just walked out of a photoshoot. He was wearing nothing but sleep shirt and boxers, and it was one of Logan’s old t-shirts, the one that said “Science: It’s Like Magic, but Real.”

Roman had slouched over and sleepily kissed Logan on the cheek, muttering something about sunshine or starlight. Logan was not confident on the exact words, because he’d been a bit distracted, okay.

Then there’d been the time when Logan had gotten home from teaching, exhausted and with sore feet. Roman had been in his typical post-audition-jitters routine of cleaning the entire house while singing Disney songs. Normally Logan would replace the broom as Roman’s dance partner, but he was so tired that day, and had shuffled over to the couch. Roman had abandoned the broom and instead swept Logan off his feet, carrying him bridal style as he continued to turn and sway. “So this is loveee,” he crooned, waltzing around their living room. Logan would have insisted that he put him down right now but then Roman had kissed him on the forehead and his face started to light on fire as his head went into the clouds. Standing on his own would have been dangerous, surely. It was just common sense to stay in Roman’s arms instead. And if he stayed there until Roman gently deposited him in a kitchen chair and started serving dinner… Well. In his defense, his feet hurt.

Every time Roman dressed up to go out was far worse because he would act like he didn’t know. As if somehow, this gorgeous man was unaware of the effect he had on his poor boyfriend when he’d draw on perfectly sharp wings to his eyeliner, or smooth on lipstick in his signature red, or a hint of blush that reminded Logan far too much of what Roman’s faced looked like in the middle of…

Logan shook his head, resisting the urge to fan his warming cheeks. Now was not another time to get distracted, particularly when Roman wasn’t even home yet. No, today was the day to turn the tables. He’d been bemoaning how he’s just too pretty, all the time to his best friend Virgil when Virgil’s boyfriend had fixed him with a look.

“Okay, yes, your boy’s a snacc, but why not turn the tables, doll?”

Virgil had elbowed Remy with a teasing grin. “Hey, I better be the main course, you thot.”

“Oh hun you know I’d eat you up at any time. Including right now. Logan, will you excuse us?”

“Fuck off, that’s not what I meant!”

“I mean, he can stay, I’m easy,” Remy said, blowing a kiss at the teacher who was currently regretting every single decision of his entire life, particularly the one where he’d idly commented that Virgil’s tattoo artist was attractive and he should try talking to him.

Virgil rolled his eyes. “What did you mean by ‘turn the tables,’ love? Is this a scheme idea?”

Remy sat up from where he’d been draping himself across the entire couch and also both other men. “Oh Virge, you know me so well. Yes, I have a scheme idea against Roman.”

“Awesome, let’s do it,” Virgil said immediately, just as Logan said “Absolutely not.”

“Lo, baby, hear me out,” Remy said.

And, like a fool, he had.

But now he was waiting with a quivery anticipation as the clock ticked closer to the time Roman was scheduled to be home from rehearsal. He adjusted his glasses as he walked back to the window, staring out into the sunset. Was this whole thing ridiculous? It felt so excessive, and indulgent. What if Roman didn’t like it? He should just leave this alone, it had been a mistake to follow any advice of Remy’s.

He turned away from the window, running a hand through his hair, when a small sound in the doorway caught his attention.

Roman had entered silently and was staring, slack-jawed, at Logan’s outfit. His eyes caught on swirls of embroidery at Logan’s wrist and traveled down the navy silk along his arm to where his shoulders were exposed. Roman swallowed hard as he took in the sheer fabric stretched across Logan’s collarbone and down to the shimmery purple designs that spread across his skirt, starting at his navel. Like a nebula seen from galaxies away, the purple faded into greens and blues and even golds, pricked through with tiny specks of light and constellations. The skirt spread out in a wave from Logan’s waist, twinkling with his movements, holding Roman’s gaze as if he’d been hypnotized.

“...Lo?” he managed to squeak out.

Logan’s self-consciousness had vanished as he watched his love go entirely catatonic in contemplation of his dress. He walked to the door, relishing in the tiny whispers of silk against silk, and pulled Roman fully into their apartment. His boyfriend was still in his rehearsal costume, a prince’s regalia complete with epaulettes, but his face was rapidly turning the color of the bright crimson sash that crossed his chest.

“Hello, dearest,” Logan said, cupping Roman’s face with one hand. “How was rehearsal?”

“...grood. I mean, geat. I mean,” he stammered, still staring at the curve of Logan’s waist underneath the gown. “God, I’m so gay,” he whispered. He reached out tentatively to lay a hand on Logan’s hip.

Logan brought his other hand up to rest on Roman’s shoulder, still cupping his face in his hand. “I’m glad you’re home,” he said evenly.

Roman just nodded, face blazing red as he brought up a hand to Logan’s neck.

“Oh, do you like the dress?” Logan asked innocently.

Roman finally found his voice. “Lo, I… you’re a wonder. You are a vision of starlight and dreams, and I love you so, so much.”

“Because of the gown?”

“Of course not,” Roman said, kissing Logan’s cheek. “I love you because you’re brilliant, and passionate, and so driven to learn and help your students learn, and because you do that thing where you tap your pencil on your nose when you’re doing the crossword, and everytime I see it I just want to pull you back to bed to snuggle but I can’t so I just kiss you…”

Logan stopped him by kissing him softly on the mouth. “Like that?” he asked, only a little breathless as they parted.

“...yeah, just like that,” Roman said through a haze of smiles. “Dearheart, what is the occasion?”

“I wanted to fluster you the way you fluster me, daily and constantly,” Logan said with a smile. “Is it working?”

Roman giggled, then spoke seriously. “Darling, I have been flustered by you since the day we met. Every time I look in your eyes, my brain stops working, in complete and utter disbelief that a man like you is still in love with me. It’s an occupational hazard, and the best risk I ever take.”

Logan blushed again, but smiled through it. “Well, if nothing else, this dress has procured me a large number of compliments, so not a complete waste.”

Roman would have thrown his head back to laugh, but that would have meant looking away from the beautiful vision in front of him. Smiling, he leaned in to kiss Logan at least once more.

[shadowsfiguresfigments-blog]

A good place to die Chapter 13 Part 2 (Fluff)

Warning: harsh language, violence

My phone rang and I jumped a little. It was the hairdresser, informing me that auntie had called ‘about my situation’ and he was willing to take care of the mess now. I thanked him very much, though not quite honestly, and looked ruefully at Penny.

“I gotta go, Penny. I’ll see you tomorrow, right?”

“Yes, little one. But don’t you want to stay a little longer?” He slowly licked his lips, and my heart skipped a beat.

“Oh, you know I’d love to. Don’t make this hard for me, please. I promise I’ll make it up to you – tomorrow!”

He sighed, a very human sound. “Really?”

“Absolutely.”

I turned to go, but he grabbed my arm. “Think of me when you’re done, and I’ll be there to pick you up.”

I was surprised, but smiled at the idea. “Really?”

He winked at me. “Absolutely!”

And with that I left.

 I got lucky indeed. Brad, the hairdresser, was able to work with what Yaneesha had left me, and made it look cute – a sort of wild bob, shorter in the back than in the front, and messy bangs that actually framed my face nicely. The color didn’t turn out quite as fiery as I had originally planned, but I liked the vivid burgundy just as well, and I tipped Brad generously. When I was sure I had everything prepared – the costume, the make-up, the candy bags – I prepared dinner for auntie.

She couldn’t believe her eyes when she finally arrived. For ten minutes straight she gushed over my new look, walking around me every thirty seconds or so, ordering me to turn my face this way and that way. Only after I told her I felt ridiculous if she kept it up auntie stopped. I’ll admit I was a little flattered, but I’d never given much thought to my appearance, so it was an awkward situation as well. I excused myself soon, telling auntie I needed to get up early – she already knew my Halloween routine and didn’t complain.

Back in the safety of my room I unearthed teddy from his hiding place between my discarded clothes and snuggled into bed, watching the two red balloons floating around the ceiling. It wasn’t that surprising they were still high up – since they were presents of Penny I doubted they’d lose air anytime soon. I set my alarm two hours early and buried my nose in teddy’s fading fabric. Its sewer smell was almost gone, I noticed. Maybe I’d take teddy with me tomorrow and rub it against Penny or something. With such pleasant thoughts I drifted into a deep slumber.

The morning passed rather quickly. I had slightly underestimated the time I needed to apply my make-up, mainly because I couldn’t get the shape of my lips right, but when I stood in front of my mirror in full regalia I was exceedingly proud of myself. The jacket was longer than his, and I didn’t puff the sleeves as much, but I had nailed the rest. I didn’t even look as much like a skeleton than I normally did. I didn’t have the time to admire my work because I was running late for school. Auntie was pretty surprised when I finally came down to shove some cereals into my mouth, packing my bag with the other hand.

“You look so… normal. Why do you go as a clown?”

“Oh, uhm, it was Benny’s idea. You know, with all the creepy clown sightings, and American Horror Story. We’ll go trick or treating later, so I’ll probably be late. Don’t worry, okay?”

“Sure.”

She took a photo before I left, to line up with the other ones on our fridge. Auntie knew how much I enjoyed Halloween and the dressing-up, so she showed off my craftsmanship to encourage me. I didn’t wait to see how it turned out, though; I had to catch the bus.

School wasn’t too much of a drag – most teachers had given up teaching on Halloween, after some nasty tricks had been played on those who tried. Instead we talked about horror in all forms – movies, books, urban legends, creepy pastas, art. It was the one day of the year I voluntarily contributed information and my classmates actually listened. I could tell they were surprised at the comparatively modest costume I was wearing, but I didn’t care too much – after all I just wanted to impress the original clown. Some even complemented me on my new hairstyle.

During the last hour I kept thinking of Penny constantly, and soon my thoughts revolved around the kisses we had shared. It was a good thing I was wearing so much make-up – nobody could see me blush that way.  When the bell finally rang I darted out of the classroom so fast I almost tackled the teacher and very nearly fell down the stairs in front of the school.

He hadn’t promised too much – Pennywise stood there, in all his glory, and grinned at me. I couldn’t help myself; I threw myself into his arms. His laughter mingled with the sound of his bells as he picked me up and swirled me around.

“You look like me”, he cackled.

“I do! Do you like it?”, I asked somewhat nervously.

“You aren’t half as scary as me.”

“Yeah, well, since it takes me almost three hours to do the make-up, ten minutes to dress and I’m stuck in this form there’s really no competition there. And I’m not even talking about the hours I spend sewing the clothes.”

His expression became tender once more, his eyes rivaling the blue sky.

“You did that for me?”

I nodded, once again thankful for the thick white layer caked on my face. He planted a very wet kiss on my hair, then set me down. “That’s… nice.” He sounded genuine, and surprised too.

The butterflies in my belly multiplied by the second.

Students had started spilling out of the main building, most of them in some sort of costume. I noticed Penny eyeing them somewhat hungrily, so I took his hand and started walking.

“You know, I’d like to go to the movies with you. They always show the first Halloween in Aladdin’s, and you, of all people, should really see it. It should be dark when we get out, so we can start trick or treating right after.”

He looked at me quizzically, and I had just started explaining the entire procedure when I bumped into somebody.

“Oh, I’m sorry…”, I started. Then I realized who I had just run into. It was Yaneesha, accompanied by her mum.

The second that followed still counts as one of the longest ones in my life.

We stared at each other, her face showing first confusion, then fear, then anger and settled on hatred. She turned to her mum, whispered something in her ear and glared at me. Her mom retreated slowly, glancing over her shoulder.

“Yaneesha, I told both Mrs. Sherman and the principle I didn’t care about my hair. I’m sorry you were suspended, at least for that.”

“They kicked me out.” Her brows were drawn together so much they almost touched. “You’re dead. I swear, I’ll kill you, bitch.”

I felt Penny’s grip on my hand tighten.

“You know this is entirely on you. I’ve never done anything to you.”

She stepped towards me, and Penny lunged. I was dragged forward and tried to hold him back, but not very successfully. He bowed down to Yaneesha, his eyes blazing yellow, sharp teeth bared and drool running from his lips. I managed to get a hold of his other hand, so he wouldn’t use them against her.

“Did you do all this? Cut her hair, break her ribs?” His growl was so deep it was hard to understand.

Yaneesha’s eyes widened in horror as Penny’s teeth grew before her eyes.

“Penny, it’s fine, let’s just go. She’s not worth it.”

“DID YOU?”, he bellowed, spit spraying into her face.

“N-n-no…”, she cried. Tears started running down her face and I could almost feel how Penny’s anger grew simultaneously with his excitement.

“You threatened her. You said you’d kill her.”

“I, I didn’t mean that. I swear I won’t  do anything, please, please let me go…” I could see people stare at us, and Yaneesha’s mum had turned heels and was coming back.

“Penny, I told you, it’s fine. Please let’s just go, I don’t want to spend the day in jail because of you, okay? She said she won’t do anything.”

He brought his face even closer to hers. “You won’t touch her, you won’t talk to her, you won’t even think about her. Or I’ll make sure your worst nightmares will be kid’s tales in comparison to what I’ll do to you, understood?”

Yaneesha nodded quickly, unable to speak.

He whispered in her ear, but loud enough for me to hear: “She. Is. Mine.”

Yaneesha almost fainted, and we left quickly, me pulling Penny with all my might.

  The movie theatre was pretty packed, but we got seats at the very back nonetheless. If somebody had sat behind Penny they probably wouldn’t see anything, what with him being so freakishly tall. I bought sweet popcorn and cuddled against Pennywise, ignoring all the stares we got. The lights went out and I offered him popcorn. He took one piece, looked at it very critically, sniffed it and finally popped it into his mouth.

“Does it taste good?”, I whispered.

He just made a face in response. “How can you eat that?”

“I like it. After all, you smell a little like it as well.”

That made him quiet for the rest of the movie. I had never enjoyed a film so much, even though I had seen the original Halloween at least seven times before. After the first twenty minutes Penny started stroking my hair, then my arm and my back. Each touch left the sensation of fire burning beneath my skin and at the end of the movie I felt like a volcano just about to explode. I didn’t want him to stop, so we stayed for the credits and consequently were the last ones to leave the theatre.

As I had predicted it was already dark outside. At the end of the street a group of kids stood before a door, all dressed up and ready to receive some sweets. I winked at Penny. “And now the real fun shall begin.”

 I had to calm him down the first couple of times somebody opened their door, because he went a little overboard. After I had explained to him that I would be locked up and no longer able to visit him if somebody called the police on us, he held back a little. That didn’t mean Derry’s inhabitants got away lightly from the encounters with Pennywise, oh no. By the fifth door he had found the proper mixture of changing eye color, teeth and letting his face somewhat loose form to scare everybody unfortunate enough to respond to us. I could sense how much he thrived of the fear he instilled, and when a group of seven kids ran away screaming (he had grown tarantula fangs) he was positively overflowing with joy. I briefly texted auntie to tell her I would be very late – Pennywise had just spotted another group of kids and I was sure he wouldn’t call quits anytime soon – and not to wait for me. One of the poor kids dropped his bag of sweets and Penny picked it up.

He was brave enough to try a few, but didn’t like the taste at all, so I told him to just leave them there.

“Don’t you want them?”

I showed him my own over-flowing bag in response. “I have enough candy for a year, thank you.”

“Are you sure?”

“Hey, I’m not going home hungry tonight. Don’t worry about it.” I watched him dance around for a bit, before adding: “Neither are you, right?”

He turned to look at me carefully.

“You told me you feed on fear, right? So you wouldn’t go home hungry either.”

I could tell he was trying to read me, so I smiled reassuringly. He nodded slowly. “I haven’t fed on anything since I’ve woken up. Tonight has been not exactly a feast, but certainly a good snack.”

“I’m glad. I was worrying you might starve yourself, to be honest. Can you even do that? Starve yourself?”

“I don’t know”, he admitted.

“Anyways, let’s see if we can scare a couple more people.” Penny smiled at me, and proceeded to ring the next doorbell.

  I had to give up around one a.m. My feet started to hurt, we had so much candy I didn’t know how to carry it back home, and there were hardly any people left on the street. We had come to Bassey Park, and I collapsed onto the nearest bench.

“Penny, I’m done”, I proclaimed and stretched my legs. “I can’t take another step.”

He was beside me in an instant, gently rubbing my calves.

“So, did you enjoy yourself?”

He beamed at me, his buck teeth almost glowing in the light of a nearby lamp.

“It was a lot of fun. It was even better than normal chasing!”

“That was definitely my best Halloween, too. So our date… was good.” I rested my head against his shoulder for a bit.

“If that is how you measure the success of dates, definitely.”

“Oh, well, some people would argue there’s more than just that…”

He waited for me to go on, but I wasn’t exactly sure how.

“You know, there’s also… Physical… Being physically close.”

“Like kissing.”

“Yeah, but even more. You know… sex.”

He gently turned my head around to face him, and I was pretty convinced he somehow read my mind. I tried to think about it in a way that would make him understand, so I wouldn’t have to explain it verbally. After all he wasn’t human, and often puzzled by the myriads of absurdities we consider normal interaction.

This time I did something right, because he nodded after a while. “I see.”

“Really?” I couldn’t quite believe it.

“I think so. But, more importantly, do you think a date should end with sex?”

The heat came back in an instant and settled somewhere between my legs.

“Uhm, not necessarily. But it could.” My own courage surprised me.

He brought his mouth to my ear. “And how about this one?”

[scribblindown]

Final Fantasy XV (Actor AU)

Dang this ended up long, I guess I got carried away ;; I'll keep it under the cut. Also, I refer to them as [character]'s actor, or just [character] on and off, but I'm mostly referring to their actor.  

Final Fantasy (the television series): 

Final Fantasy is an anthology science fiction and fantasy series that started in late 1987. 

 Originally it was produced only by the Japanese studio Square Enix, but as it became more popular, different countries come together to help make this series. Therefore it is now under multiple production companies, distributors, and is aired in multiple networks worldwide.

They currently have fifteen seasons, not counting their many spin-offs, movies, and crossovers with their sister series, Kingdom Hearts.

Constantly gets questioned on why the actors wear so many belts and buckles.

Stella Nox Fleuret:

Was an elegant and kind actress that was in a handful of blockbuster movies, so she was already well-known. 

She was set to be in Final Fantasy Versus XIII, which was already in mid-way through filming, but they were making slow progress due to scheduling issues with Noctis' actor. 

However, Stella's actress was suddenly in a near-fatal car crash, putting a halt to Versus XIII completely. 

Not only was she hospitalized for many months, she decided that she wanted to take a break from acting because her traumatizing experience made her want to spend more time with her family.

She was even unsure if she wanted to go back to acting at all. Even if she were to take on any projects or roles, it would be the local ones, so she wouldn't be too far from her family. 

She specifically told director Tetsuya Nomura this and didn't want to hold them back. Nomura respected her decision and took her off her contract soon later. 

This was a very hard decision for her because she loves the series and her costars. Also, no one blames her for doing what she did. Everyone is still on great terms with one another. If another star is in the same town as her, they will call her up and they will have lunch together. 

But because of this they had to scrap Versus XIII completely. With one of the major actresses suddenly pulling out of the show, it left a major gap in the story and production. 

Money was lost, fans were left dumbfounded, and everyone was at a loss. 

This led to a change in teams, production companies, and Nomura passed the director role to Hajime Tabata. It was eventually reworked into Final Fantasy XV, with major changes happening to the story line and character designs. Such as:

"What??? A plain white button up??? No, give him a purple leopard print shirt!!!" 

Noctis Lucis Caelum: 

Is the same actor that played Sasuke in Naruto and Naruto Shippuden. That's right, I went there.

Because he was still working on Naruto Shippuden at the time, Versus XIII was in the works for the past five years (not ten years like irl) before it eventually became FFXV. But everything worked out in the end because he finished up with Naruto and was able to give FFXV all of his attention. 

He is a half-Japanese actor, and while he spent most of his life in Japan, he can speak English perfectly. This is due to the fact that his parents are divorced and used to pass him back and forth from their respective countries. 

His uncle is a talent agent, and suggested the role of Sasuke Uchiha to him. The rest is history. 

His personality is actually really close to Noctis'. While he can keep up the brooding, cold facade that he did for the past ten years for his other role, and work the cameras so he can come off as charismatic and charming, the actor is slightly socially awkward and introverted, but everything is smooth sailing if you get along with him and he's so kind to fans and tries to answer as many questions as he can on social media.

Cor's actor kind of intimidates him, and the actor who plays young Noctis drew a crude picture of the Immortal when he was off set. The two giggled about it like schoolgirls without realizing that Cor was right behind them. 

Cor later asked for the picture, had them both sign it, and keeps it on his fridge.

He met some of the other actors of the FF series. Sephiroth's actor scares him and Noct has a slight crush on Lightning's. 

He actually likes vegetables, so whenever he has to take them out and eat a burger or something on camera, he feels like they taste so bland. 

His favorite costume is the Moogle Chocobo Carnival one. Usually they're in sweltering weather and his regular leather costume and king costume aren't very forgiving.

He was playing a prank with Prompto's actor on set and it backfired and he got himself locked in the Regalia for an hour.  

He kept the Ring of Lucii after filming, the Moogle Chocobo hat, and his king costume. They made a king costume specifically for close ups and several copies for his fight scene with Ardyn that was meant to rip/be torn. He once wore the costume to take out the trash. 

He does most of his own stunts, but has a body double that does the fishing for him because the boy can't fish for shit. 

He is a cat person. The dogs who play Pryna and Umbra kind of sense this, so Noct has to keep dog treats inside his pockets when doing scenes with them. 

He loves Vincent Valentine the most out of the entire franchise. 

Prompto Argentum:

His older brother in real life is Loqi's actor (Thanks to @chocobro-hijinks this headcanon is giving me double vision.) who inspired him to act at a young age. 

Loqi's actor is mostly a theatre actor, and when Prompto saw his big bro on stage, he was like "Ah! That's what I want to do."

He was a child actor that was in small family movies that focus mostly on comedy. They're the type of movies with the cheesy front cover, and barely anyone has even heard of it. 

When he auditioned, his FF knowledge was zero to none, so he was like, "Oh, what about those clouds and lightning???" Nomura saw right through him, but felt like he fit the role of Prompto very well, so he gave him the benefit of the doubt. 

Is the social media king. He does some light vlogging on the side, and if acting doesn't work out he can become a full-time Youtuber, no problem. He also has a Tumblr under a common name like "FinalFantasyFan4Life" or something; no one knows that it's him. He spends his break time on set reading headcanons, adding comments to some of them, and reblogging fanart. 

He is a Promptis shipper. 

He doesn't take any of the pictures himself. When he takes a selfie, he turns the camera around and holds it, but there will be a crew member taking the picture for him. 

He says that his favorite moment on set is eating all the food that "Iggy" makes. 

Is a big fan of Cor's actor's work. When he first met him, he almost stopped breathing. 

Since he didn't do very many "large" productions like the rest of the crew, he is still considered sort of a rookie compared to the others. Because of this, he often goes to Cor's trailer when he is stuck on a scene and they figure it out together. 

After filming ended, he kept Prompto's bracelets and bandanna as a memento. 

He hates the cold, so when he was filming for "Episode Prompto" the second Tabata calls "Cut!" between scenes, he will legitimately jump into his trailer and sit in front of the heater for the entirety of his break. 

If he has to stay outside, you will see him curl up into a big ball on his snowmobile with at least five large jackets piled on top of him. You can only see his blue eyes when he does that. 

"So do you miss your crew members? Like Noct, Gladio, and Ignis..."  "Oh yeah, but I bet they have it really rough too. Like sitting by the fire, or in a heated hotel room." 

During a choreographed fight scene he accidentally slipped up and kicked Noctis in the head and gave him a concussion. Noctis insisted that it was okay, but Prompto felt so bad, and was so freaked out that he was apologizing through tears and sobs. 

Ignis Scientia:

Started his career by modeling as a child for luxury, designer brands with a couple of guest roles in soap operas. When he got into his teens he started to focus on acting. 

Never has any bad press on him?? He seems to do no wrong and never has any bad pictures taken of him, even if it was secretly. He's either the most boring person ever, or the most perfect. 

He mostly did psychological thrillers, or suave spy movies like 007. 

Is the Benedict Cumberbatch and Tom Hiddleston of their world. 

He doesn't cook any of the dishes seen on the series, but to get into character he took cooking lessons and can replicate any of them perfectly. Most of the time during his "cooking" scenes, he's just assembling things according to instructions. 

The line, "That's it! I've come up with a new recipeh!" was improv. He loves it so much, he repeats it often. 

Is a jokester despite his image, and loves fooling around on set. If he pranks you that means he likes you. 

During an interview he pulled out some Gladnis smut fanfiction the he found and read it in his most passive, monotone voice. 

Didn't know that he was supposed to go blind until the very day he was supposed to put on the makeup. 

Is allergic to coffee beans, but since he was cast into the role relatively late, they had already requested Ebony cans and vending machines to be made. The "coffee" that you see in mugs is dark hot chocolate and if he drinks out of the can it's usually water. 

Has scarily good twenty/twenty vision, and sometimes his glasses are just empty frames. He goes to push them up, and ooop he almost pokes himself in the eyes. 

He is fond of his current costume. He felt that his Versus XIII outfit was very plain and made him look like a "basic mafia mobster." 

Had a high fever while filming "Episode Ignis," but insisted that they film anyway because his sickness helped him act better. (Poor babe.)

Kept Iggy's gloves and glasses after filming. 

Gladiolus Amicitia:

He started out as a stunt double, fight choreographer/stunt coordinator. He was originally brought into the show to help the actors with their fight scenes, but they were looking for a forth member of the Chocobros and he already got along great with the crew and cast, so he got the job. 

Was totally pumped up to not wear a shirt most of the time in XV, because he worked so hard to get his rippling nine-pack. 

His favorite emoji is the flexing bicep. He uses it at the end of every caption he posts, even if it doesn't really make sense. The fans eat it up though. 

"It's such a nice day today! 💪"    "Just having lunch! 💪 "

His actor is the real mom friend of the crew. Iggy is responsible and all, but if Noctis or Prompto do anything stupid, he mostly watches in the background smugly. Gladdy Daddy to the rescue. 

The cast once got together and read complementing, positive tweets from real fans to Gladio for a video. Noctis looked Gladio right in the eye with a straight face, and said, "Sweet dreams...Daddy." Prompto continued this by saying, "Let me have your children, Daddy." 

Gladio burst out laughing and turned bright red. 

He is such a college student at heart that he doesn't mind eating all those cup noodles. But due to shooting the same scene over and over in one go, he sometimes has to go through eight cups at a time. He knows that it's not good for you, and occasionally has to spit it out off camera. It breaks his heart. 

Is bisexual. He doesn't bring it up often, but he came out publicly before, but to the media it seems as if they skipped over that fact. He doesn't really mind, but he get exasperated when interviewers constantly try to press that false facts that he's straight onto him. 

After a particularly tiring day filming, he fell asleep on a table with his head down. When he woke up, he found out that his tattoo body paint rubbed off on his cheek. He didn't know this, and the other guys wouldn't tell him until a crew member had to come up and stop him.  

He kept Gladio's necklace as a memento. 

LMK if you're interested in knowing more about the other characters, or even FFVII's actor au! Sorry for continually mentioning Sasuke though, I just love that asshole so much. 

[theconservativebrief]

Growing up in a predominantly Native American area of rural Oklahoma, it was almost unheard of for someone who wasn’t Native to claim our ancestry. For us, that would have spurred a communal backlash. Everyone knew everyone, and to make such a claim would have been seen as seen as dishonest or nefarious.

On Monday, I awoke to the news that Sen. Elizabeth Warren (D-MA) had provided the results of a DNA test to prove she was in fact Native American. I felt the immediate pangs of dread. As the editor of the Cherokee Phoenix — the nation’s oldest Native newspaper founded in 1828 — I’m constantly fielding requests from people trying to track down their heritage. I’m also constantly getting emails from angry tribal citizens wanting to report someone who is fictitiously claiming to be Native American.

This is our reality. We are faced with an onslaught of people who have never lived in our shoes saying, “Those are my shoes too,” simply because they spit into a small hermetically sealed glass tube and got back DNA results that say they are 7 percent Native American.

Too often, Native Americans hear the words “I took a DNA test and …” Too often, our heritage and racial identity has been coopted by others for monetary gain, to claim some exoticism in their identity, or simply because someone wanted an excuse to wear a really pretty Halloween costume. But Native identity is not just about tracing a distant ancestor back to our tribe. It’s about cultural heritage, our shared experiences, and participating in our community.

I’m often amazed at the lengths some people will go to in order to become “Native American.” Our newspaper has reported on groups that create fake organizations under tribal-sound names: For under $100, a person with no claim to Native American heritage is given a bogus membership card and walk away with the mindset that they are Native.

They post on online forums as Natives, they wear regalia from Eastern tribes mixed with Western tribes, they even go so far to start community groups and give themselves “Native” names that are often so laughable and stereotypical they cease to be insulting.

Our identity isn’t present in a faux buckskin outfit or a “Made in China” headdress. It is in our communities, it is in the words of our elders and the faces of our children. It goes beyond whom our ancestors were — it dictates how we live, how we raise our children, and who we are as a people.

For Cherokee Nation citizens to be recognized as such, we must retrace our roots back to a family member who signed the Dawes Roll, essentially a turn-of-the-century census for Cherokees. This is considered a legal status as we are members of a sovereign nation within the borders of the United States. But Warren has never claimed actual citizenship in our tribe. She has infringed on this without evidence or understanding that it takes more than a DNA test to claim an identity.

I understand why Warren released her DNA profile to the masses; she has been dogged by scandal since proclaiming she was in fact “Native American” based on her family’s oral history. President Donald Trump has repeatedly referred to Warren with the very racist moniker “Pocahontas” during several of his rallies. She is attempting to put to rest the only question mark on her otherwise upstanding character, but at what cost?

Warren made her DNA claims to stop the name calling. But she, in my opinion, has propped up a growing sect of people who think they can rely solely on a DNA test to confirm their identities. A DNA test will not explain the struggle or plight your ancestors had to go though to make it to a rough patch of dusty earth in exchange for their ancestral homelands. A DNA test will not help you determine what language your ancestors spoke, the food they ate, or where they essentially originated.

The Cherokee Nation is currently on the precipice of a court case decision that could have devastating consequences to our tribe. This month, a judge in Texas struck down a law governing the adoptions of Native American children by Native families as unconstitutional. Events surrounding Warren’s claims only add confusion to an already complex situation. When people are unclear about what makes someone a citizen of a tribe, misconceptions can lead to a change in the law, in this case it could prove costly to Native children.

I personally have no ill will toward Warren or others like her, they have simply been misled, and through no fault of their own they believe that they hold a claim to being Native American. Compared to other groups and individuals out there preying on the misinformed, Warren’s actions are relatively innocuous.

She does, however, add some legitimacy to the myth that Native American heritage is tied to DNA. Heritage is not just who you are biologically. It is about your community. It is the role you play inside of your tribe, large or small. Propagating the notion that a DNA test is all that a person needs to be Native American is damaging to tribes and the sovereignty they have earned through years of struggle and strife. It simplifies a process that was determined through lengthy courtroom battles and legal discussions.

Being Native American is an honor and privilege you are born with. It simply cannot be determined by scientific testing alone.

Brandon Scott is a Cherokee Nation citizen and lifelong resident of Oklahoma. He is the executive editor of the Cherokee Phoenix, the nation’s first Native newspaper.

First Person is Vox’s home for compelling, provocative narrative essays. Do you have a story to share? Read our submission guidelines, and pitch us at firstperson@vox.com.

Original Source -> Cherokee Nation citizens like me are used to people claiming our heritage. It’s exhausting.

via The Conservative Brief

[nastysnowflake-blog]

Intersectional Feminism

So I was browsing Facebook today, as I often do, when I happened across an album of screenshots. The screenshots were from a Twitter thread started by an indigenous woman who attended the Women’s March in D.C. on Saturday with a group of other native women. The women came dressed in traditional regalia and were prepared with songs and chants for the march. The woman, Hokte as the images said, began her thread with thanks to the organizers and a mention that the experience was invaluable. This quickly degenerated into talks of the toxicity of the movement, “plagued with white supremacy.” She mentioned that many women of color had already criticized the march and that she was disturbed in the moments when she left her prayer circle, her “home” as she called it, to be surrounded by the gaze of white women.

She went on to describe a very uncomfortable experience of being photographed, mocked, of having her culture questioned and of being approached by women who were more interested in fondling her regalia than discussing the fliers she and her partner were handing out. She talked about women walking through their prayer circle and about women approaching them wearing “R*skins” hats (Washington Redskins, a team that has been under fire for its racist depiction of American Natives).

She concludes her thread with a few statements that could be seen as slippery slope fallacies by the uninformed reader (generally anyone who listens to Faux News) and begins angrily attacking the values of all white women in attendance, listing off an experience with a woman who “is from Minnesota” and “knows Indian” because she can name all the lakes as her reason for feeling disrespected, finishing with, “White feminists treat us like we are burdens or that we are divisive. Because it’s inconvenient for you to let go of your whiteness.”

Being a white woman, this should be where I stop and put my tail between my legs and apologize for my support of the feminist movement I’ve been taught about. Being a middle-class, college-educated liberal in a blue state, this is where I should strip myself down and cry, clearly in the wrong.

Bullshit.

I’m not going to sit here and pretend I haven’t been ill-prepared for this moment. I’m not going to deny the inherent privilege I’ve grown up with my entire life being white, and I’m not going to deny that I’ve certainly been blinded by the white-washed education I’ve received. I’m certainly not going to deny that the women partaking in the genitalia-based marching that seemed to flood the social media sphere on Saturday were not excluding literally every other demographic in attendance. “Not all pussies are pink!” No shit they’re not. So let’s get started.

If you search for images of the Women’s March, you’ll undoubtedly be met with wave after wave of women sporting home-made beanies with pointed edges in all shades of pink imaginable. Thus, The Pussy Hat Project. According to their website, the mission of the project is to provide the people of D.C. with a visual statement that will help the activists be heard and to help those who could not be in the National Mall with a way to show their support. The mission statement then breaks into separate sections: “Power in Numbers,” which discusses the imagery that would spawn from every marcher wearing a pink hat, “Power of Pink,” which discusses the societally assigned femininity of the color pink, “Power of Individuality within Large Groups” which allows for varying shades and patterns of hats to show that we don’t have to be identical to be powerful, “Power of the Handmade” which covers the assigned femininity of certain crafts and how this has created a stronger unity among women, and, lastly, “Power of Pussy” which discusses the term that has since been turned into an insult and their desire to reclaim it as a symbol of power and resistance. This section is precisely the section I’d like to focus on.

The Pussy Hat Project has come under fire for being exclusive to white cis-women, or women with pink pussies. Because the color pink was selected it was seen as an attack on women of color, and because the term “pussy” was used it’s been seen as an attack on trans-women or intersex people. The project literally addresses this concern in their mission statement: “Women, whether transgender or cisgender, are mistreated in this society...A woman’s body is her own.” Right, but what about women of color!?

The color pink was literally selected as a statement, not to in some way elude to the color of genitalia. When I was in high school we often had “color war” nights for certain sporting events. A week before the game we’d all agree to wear all red or all black or all white in support of our team, and when the night finally rolled around we would show up in large numbers, looking unified in our goal to win whatever game it was we were playing. The intent with the hats was the same. Create a large group of people that, when seen from higher positions (both literally and figuratively), it appeared to be a unified mass with the intent of “supporting their team.” Pink just happens to be the color many of us are assigned at birth. Had that color been yellow or green the Pussy Hat Project would have patterns involving yellow or green worsted yarn. Not all pussies are green…?

Don’t get me wrong. I understand the necessity of intersectional feminism. I’m not going to pretend that a white feminist is going to have to fight in the same way as a black or latinx feminist. My concern, however, is in taking something as innocent as a knit beanie and dismantling the message. It is literally attempting to be all-inclusive and is somehow still not good enough. Don’t like that the color pink seems like it’s excluding you? Knit a black one. Knit a brown one. Knit a fucking rainbow one, it clearly didn’t matter. The beauty was in the difference. No two vaginas are the same, no two women are the same, and no two hats were the same. I’m sure no one was going to castrate you for showing up in a tan pussy hat, they’d have probably applauded your thoughtfulness with the issue at hand.

Which leads me to my last point, thoughtfulness. Returning to Hokte and her message, I must repeat for the people in the back that I AM A PRIVILEGED WHITE FEMINIST. I have never struggled to be taken as seriously as my counterparts, I have never been told my “costume is really pretty” or had my heritage brought into question. I will never know the struggle for clean drinking water, and I will only know the qualms of being hired second if I’m applying for the same job as a man. I will never be marginalized and stereotyped in the way that many other cultures have been (though there are plenty of stereotypes I face, that’s an argument for another day). That does not mean I cannot stand with you and that I will not support you.

It was her anger that triggered me. It was the way Hokte approached the issue that made me feel so disappointed. It’s the many women of color on my feed who argue and misplace messages that make me feel like nothing I do is safe. I am a child of the white-washed education system. I am born of the feminist movement, thinking it was merely a universal movement for all women to partake in. I was never taught to scrutinize photographs for their diversity, to choose my words carefully so as not to exclude people who do not identify as cis like I do. I was simply taught that if women wanted to fight for equality of the genders, they became feminists. So as I’m learning there are many facets to feminism I’m beginning to notice things like the exclusion of trans and intersex, I’m beginning to notice the silencing of women of color. I can see it. I am trying my best to understand it.

It’s when you attack me for being an uninformed cis white feminist that the power of our movement turns against us. Is that not the argument of those who fight against feminism? We’re constantly angry at those who do not identify as feminist, we call them names, we generalize them, right? At least that’s what they say. So when you perch on your branch of this great tree and shout at those perched on other branches that they’re uninformed, not good enough, and thoughtless, does it not alienate them? Is that not what we’re trying to end?

You have to educate us.

It’s work, and it takes time, and there are always going to be the bandwagon feminists who are simply unteachable. There’s always going to be someone who thinks they know more than they do because they took one women’s studies class during their freshman year of college. There’s always going to be someone who thinks saying, “I guess we’re Indians today!” is a good way to start conversation with the traditionally dressed women beside her. There’s always going to be someone who dresses up as a giant vagina and thinks they’re helping the cause. It’s still worth trying. There are more than a few women in those crowds that marched on Saturday and that are still knitting Pussy Hats (like myself) that would be genuinely interested in learning about your culture and learning how best to include you in our idea of feminism. There are going to be bumps in the road, but rather than call us disrespectful and force us to leave, explain why what we said was wrong and teach us how to work with you rather than against you.

We can make intersectional feminism a reality. You just have to understand that many of us are still fighting with what society has taught us and are blinded by misinformation. Help us learn so we can stop fighting one another and start supporting one another. While some of us may not want to part with the “convenience of our whiteness,” there are plenty of others who would like to learn how to use that convenience to help raise you up.