#like I want them to Exist for me and for other people

[creatingblackcharacters]

“The Ambiguously Brown Character™”- The Attachment to Eurocentric Beauty Standards

“maybe im petty but i wish people knew how to draw like different nose shapes. Sometimes I’ll see a character I like but im like that is not what their nose would look like.” @the-eldritch-it-gay

You’ve seen them before. The one character that has brown skin… And everything else about them is… an enigma. They’re not supposed to be white! You know that much… right? You can see what the designated white characters look like, so at least it’s not that. You could claim them as Black, if you want, and sometimes creators even demand that this character is Black. Depending on the quality, you’re either like “no, what the fuck is this” or you’re like “okay they’re cool, we’ll take them”. Representation is important. But… There’s a pit in your stomach that wonders… Are they really? Are they really supposed to be Black, is this really representation, or did the creators just toss a brown person in so all the Brown™ people could “have something”, so that they would look like they cared about “diversity” on their art resume?

Examples

Theseus, in my opinion, looks like a white man with a tan. Dionysus looks a little better with the similar skin tone, due to his purple hair coloration. Apparently people do think that at least Dionysus is a man of color. What’s interesting about both of these characters, is that they’re only about two desaturated browns lighter than Patroclus, a character in the game that we’re supposed to believe is Black (whom, in my opinion, also looks like a brown bucket tool character. I’m still claiming him, he’s my guy. But his design should have been more explicitly Black). Theseus and Patroclus are the two darkest-skinned dead humans in the first game. So… what was I supposed to think about these two? Was I supposed to think they are really dark white people, due to the thin textures of their hair? Are they men of color? Are Theseus and Patroclus supposed to be ashy because they’re dead, is Dionysus ashy because he’s dehydrated from wine? Why don’t the white dead people look off color? Hades was entirely too striking a game in use of color for the browns to look like… this.

Noe and Hibana are interesting. It was complete coincidence, the purple hair and eyes thing btw. Hibana is interesting because Ogun is an unambiguously Black character in Fire Force, and there are at least three other unambiguously Black characters in Soul Eater as well. So we know the mangaka knows how to draw Black people in their style! So… was this on purpose? Is this another of those ‘tanned anime girls with titties’ meant for shounen fan service? I’ve claimed Noe (Case Study of Vanitas) because Black French people exist and France has stolen so much from us already, but it is never actually specified what Noe is. He’s just the One Singular Brown Guy in this show, with regular, untextured anime hair. Are there more brown people in the manga? Is this explained? Because we know who is supposed to be white! If anyone else wants to claim Noe, they absolutely can, because we have no idea what he’s supposed to be. Hot Chocolate thinks he’s Indian, and I’m not going to argue that because… who knows! He very well could be!

My very first lesson addressed this, albeit lightly! There’s a reason that I said that if you gained nothing else from me, that’s what I want you to walk away with. Now that I’m on stronger footing with this blog, I can really get into the nitty gritty of what that really means.

Obligatory disclaimer: we are not a monolith!* As of 2015, it has been researched that African populations have the highest genetic variation on Earth*, with a lot of that genetic diversity in sub-Saharan Africa alone. This means that YES, there very well can and will be Black people with naturally thinner textures of hair, blonde, light brown, and red hair, straight, narrow noses, monotone lips, and lighter skin that comes more often with white people. There are enough genetic combinations within African peoples and of the African diaspora that I’m sure there are plenty of people that look the way people seem to want Black people in art to look, if those genes so express within them.

*as a scientist, I will say: while these papers seem fairly legit and I looked at many related articles and their sources, take Nature with a grain of salt. Though their vetting process has become much better, you can and should always do further reading on your own!

Here’s the thing: the possibility is not the issue here!

The first issue: I don’t have to teach anyone how to draw those features on Black people! It is evident, from the professional and fan art I’ve seen, y’all already know how to draw the features deemed highly by Eurocentric beauty standards. Those features are excessively focused on and promoted as part of “good art”.

The second issue here is that the average artist drawing a poorly done Black person is not considering things like genetic diversity when they draw them (and if they are, it’s usually as an excuse post-confrontation. Yes, I have seen it.) These creators are not designing these characters with the intent of them being Black with those features, they are designing “Black” people with features that they deem most aesthetic and are most comfortable with drawing.

And why do they deem those features most aesthetic? We’ve circled back to the point of this lesson!

Eurocentric Beauty Standards

Definition: beauty standards as defined through a white, western cultural lens, including but not limited to: straight, blonde hair, light eyes, pale skin, high cheekbones, narrow noses, thinness. It’s a way that white western people want other white western people to look to be considered classically attractive… and then enforced that on everyone else.

It affects people of color worldwide. Anyone that has ever had to deal with European colonization or imperialism has to deal with the interjection of Eurocentric beauty standards.

Examples

-Black women, standing at the intersection of Blackness and womanhood, especially deal with the constant pressure of Eurocentric beauty standards, being consistently told to hate ourselves due to our own ethnic features. It’s incredibly damaging to your self-esteem growing up; my mom told me that until I went natural at 17, I was determined to look ‘like a white girl’ because I thought it would make me beautiful, and it hurt her. And as for me, it was a stunning realization that at 17 that I had never really seen my own natural curl pattern before. My hair was in ponytails and such as a child, but as a teenager, growing into my identity, I had always wanted straight hair. I was in love with my coily texture, I couldn’t believe that I’d never seen it. An entire part of my own body, gone unknown, because I wanted to fit a beauty standard I would never reach.

-Kenneth and Mamie Clark: The “Doll” Studies: Black children- age 3-7 were shown white and Black doll babies, and were asked a series of ‘positive’ and ‘negative’ identification questions. Even by that young an age, most of the Black children associated things like beauty, kindness, and positivity… with the white dolls.

-“The Golden Ratio”: a survey was done in Britain (oh boy, here we go) to determine what people felt was the ‘most beautiful’ face, and apparently it all came down to “symmetry”. “International blueprints of beauty” they claimed, were applied, as humans “naturally seek symmetry”. In 2015, according to ye olde Daily Mail, this was the most beautiful woman. You'll never guess:

(It’s not even her natural hair color!)

-Another “research study” using E-FIT (Electronic Facial Identification Technique -- a facial recognition software used to create criminal profiles based on eyewitness descriptions; no WAY that THAT could get problematic!!) to determine what 100 people thought was the “most archetypal face of beauty”.

They came up with a figure similar to Kendall Jenner as the female option.

(Guys, we’re never getting out of here at this rate.)

-We’ve spoken about discrimination against Black hair before, and how natural hairstyles will be deemed less professional or appropriate for school, regardless of the brilliant mind that sits underneath it, and even the history of Black women having to cover their hair so as to “not steal the desire of white men” and ruin the status of white women.

Appropriation:

I try to have nuance on the Kardashians, but I have never liked Kylie, and it’s not because she’s not allowed to do what she wants with her body. I watched the world claim that she was so beautiful, that her kits were why her lips looked “so good”. Everyone wanted to have “full, plump lips” like the ones Kylie BOUGHT. But Black women’s full lips have been treated horrifically since racism was invented. In 2016 I watched racists dogpile and mock Ugandan model Aamito Lagum for her naturally full lips in her MAC campaign, after saying in just 2015 that Kylie’s lips were “top fashion and everyone wants them”. And she lied (not that we didn’t all know that)! She appropriated a look, and she lied about it to move product. And people who had no right to forgive her did so, and everyone moved on to make her a billionaire. Because full lips looked good… as long as they weren’t on a Black woman. I can’t even have my own lips, but she was rewarded with an industry for appropriation. No, I’m not getting over that.

I could go on, but I won’t. So what are some ways to address the existence of Eurocentric beauty standards potentially biasing our creation?

First thing: LET’S TRASH THE IDEA THAT BROWN SKIN AUTOMATICALLY MEANS BLACK.

Black people are not stupid, and we do have expectations. Splashing brown paint on your otherwise white character does not mean I’ll automatically think they’re Black. I’m going to look. When I see brown people in real life, I can usually tell when they don’t look like me. I don’t look at a South Asian similar to or darker than my shade and say “they’re Black”. Blackness is not just skin color, it’s an entire identity and sociological construct. Yes, you can tell us apart.

Acknowledge when you’re holding a bias:

For example: “Tall, dark, and handsome.” What did you picture? You must understand that different people had different ideas of what this meant, versus who it was actually meant to be. Because on its surface, that description includes tall Black men with dark brown eyes and dark hair! We’ve talked about this in lesson 3! Whoever came up with this phrase didn’t mean skin though, they meant hair and eyes- they meant white brunettes. Even in this, it was only meant to include whiteness. And we were all supposed to assume that, be damned anything else.

Part of that is knowing what things do and don’t fall under the category. They were listed off earlier: straight and wavy hair, blonde hair, colorful eyes, thin noses, high cheekbones, double eyelid with round eyes that “show youth and innocence”. People have been going the “aquiline nose” route lately to claim more diversity in nose shape but like… even that isn’t always going to be the case. Every Black person is not going to have an aquiline nose. It is not the “middle ground” of diversity. Draw us with some round noses. We look fine.

Often ignored (in depictions of Black people): afro/coily hair and natural styles, large, round noses, full faces, brown eyes, full figures that aren’t oversexualized, body fat. One of the characters from Craig of the Creek that makes me so happy is Nicole, Craig’s mother. When I look at her design, I see my own mother. I see a Black woman that… actually looks like Black mothers I know. It made me happy and comfortable.

White folk, you even do it to yourselves! I mentioned to a friend once that a good chunk of stories in our fandom with the blonde/brunette white character dynamic read like an Aryan fantasy: the blonde character will be treated like a god on high, the most beautiful of humanity, and then you’ll get to the brunette and it’s “my meek, mousy brown hair, my dull, brown eyes like dirt, and my tanned skin with freckles; no one would ever notice someone plain, nerdy, and unimportant like me until him” lmao like excuse me? Author, you okay there pal? Do you need a hug, lmao? I can’t take it seriously anymore. If y'all are being this mean to each OTHER about not hitting Eurocentric beauty standards, y'all are certainly not being nice or respectful about people of color- who never can- in your content! (and no, exoticizing Blackness is not respectful.) You should look out for how often this happens, and catch yourself when you’re doing it.

Creating with Intent (and the lack thereof!)

(This is so important I made the header larger)

You have to actually consider and reference REAL Black people when you’re drawing Black people. That seems like such an obvious thing, and yet it must not be, because these sorts of arts/the techniques used in them still happen.

For example:

credit to my friend @devilatelier; I asked for the worst Black art ever and he heeded the call!

I abhor art like this, and art that does varying versions of this. To the pit of my soul, hatred. I will not share your work if I catch even a whiff of it. Why? Because people know that this isn’t what we look like! If you get on the computer and type in “Black man with short hair”, option A is not even remotely on the first page. You’ll get nonblack men that show up, thanks to Google’s algorithm (another conversation), but the Black men don’t look like A. If you get on the computer and type “Black man with long hair”, you’ll even get Black men with all textures and styles of hair, including straight! And they still don’t look like B. Go ahead, I’ll pause- go type it in and see what you get. Have you ever seen a Black person that looks like these images? Be honest with yourself. Why do you let them slide, if you haven’t?

Why This Matters

So it’s not about the actual Black people in their lives that they’ve seen, that makes artists draw characters like this, nor a dedication to accuracy. Because if you were looking at us at all, you wouldn’t draw this. And yet, people draw it, and post it proudly. So there must not be any shame behind it, or they at least are comfortable enough with their target audience to think it’s presentable! That begs the question- who is your target audience, and do you include Black people in it?

It’s how people like Jen Zee can have a successful career at Supergiant despite drawing dark skinned people the way she does. It’s because studios recognize when their target audiences are not perturbed by, and therefore will still buy, their product. If poorly drawn Black people does not perturb audiences enough to affect the almighty dollar- or, in fanart situations, the value of popularity- then there’s no motivation to stop doing it! Who cares about the value and the demeaning of Black fans, right?

Think about it like this. You remember how everyone bullied the Sonic studio and they scrapped their entire reel? People do not get that much up in arms in solidarity about the antiblack treatment and depiction of Black characters. It’s how you end up with Wyll Ravengard on the drop of BG3. Because Larian could have stood on business, had some integrity, and said “this is a character we are going to develop, because there will be fans that look like Wyll, and deserve to receive our best efforts at inclusion.”

But instead, Larian said “this is what our majority fanbase wants, and apparently it is not a well-developed Black character” and released that game as it was. To rousing success. That was a choice. The antiblackness of both the fans and the studio, via their lack of concern about Black gamers, was involved in making that decision. We have to let go of the idea that antiblack racism is incidental, and not a part of the process- and that includes in character design.

I cannot tell you how much it shrivels my heart inside when I see a “Black” character with wavy hair. One, because I know the artist’s first thought was not to have a Black character with wavy hair, but because they draw white people with that hair and thought it was transferrable. Two, because if you wanted the aesthetic of hair down to the back… Locs could have worked! The same shape would be there! You can style locs in any way, and it would be fine! Even if you wanted them to have thinner hair, fine, but… I can see where the intent (and the lack thereof) is. We can see when you aren’t even trying for us!

I asked Angel how he felt about creating the “white man with the brown bucket” images, curious about how he felt given that he is more than capable of drawing Black people. His response was noteworthy, and consistent with my hypothesis:

“Thinking about it, these two drawings have been the most difficult thing I’ve had to draw, period. And it’s the first time I’ve actually felt nauseous during the drawing process from start to finish. I constantly felt like I was fighting off the part of myself that knew better, telling me that this is wrong. It felt like a betrayal, knowing what Black people actually look like and still choosing to be disrespectful. Especially because I worked on the first two and immersed myself in references and also Black youtubers, researching Black hairstyles. It felt like a betrayal to all of that to call these two (deliberately poorly drawn) characters Black, because they’re not. None of the Black people I found during my research (both photo references and videos) looked like these. at all. It felt cheap, it felt lazy. Creatively lazy in the way that you just take a white person and paint-bucket them brown and call it a day. In the way it makes you feel no pull to change what you do, or learn something new. Kinda like a thought terminating cliche. Unlike the first two, I used no references for them, but I mostly based them off of actual designs I’ve seen in fandoms, both fanmade and not.”

Conclusion

So what I want us to consider for now is: if we know that’s not what Black people look like, but so many people are willing to do and/or accept it without any mental dissonance… how much do they care? Why is this allowed to ‘pass’, if we recognize that it is not accurate, unless we think what we are being presented with is acceptable? Or at least, not worth fighting over? Why not? Why do you not think that this Black character deserves to be unambiguously Black? And why does that ‘better’ way to exist always come back to whiteness?

We’re going to get into this, as well as more into the other, more overt and equally harmful manifestation of these beliefs in the next lesson on Whitewashing! But I want you to simmer on this part, first.

When you draw a character that you want to be Black, not only should you keep in mind your intent of how you’re going to draw them, but it also means putting in the work to make sure you’re doing so. You do not put pen to paper and “accidentally” draw a white man lol, it came from somewhere- let’s shatter that connection that views white features as superior, as 'ideal for attention grabbing', so we can create better. Because remember, it is the thought that counts, but the action that delivers!

[muwapsturniolo]

⋆.˚ 𝐈'𝐦 𝐖𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐘𝐨𝐮 ⋆.˚

IN WHICH...a wallflower finds solace in her life thanks to a boy who gives her the will to live

WARNINGS...mentions of suicide and suicidal thoughts! depressive thoughts, alcohol, weed, IF I FORGOT ANYTHING PLEASE LET ME KNOW

BTW, the series playlist is linked in the title!

THIS SERIES IS NOT IN ANY WAY, SHAPE , OR FORM TRYING TO ROMANTICIZE DEPRESSION OR SUICIDE! THIS IS SIMPLY A FIC THAT IS SUPPOSED TO SHOW THE STRUGGLES OF MENTAL HEALTH AND HOW SOMETIMES WE JUST NEED TO FEEL LIKE WE BELONG TO FEEL BETTER! IF YOU SUFFER WITH ANY TYPE OF MENTAL HEALTH STRUGGLE, PLEASE REACH OUT FOR HELP! AT THE END OF EACH CHAPTER I WILL PROVIDE A PHONE NUMBER FOR THE SUICIDE HOTLINE!

Matilda.

A movie about a young girl who was ignored at times by her family, or simply just treated horribly for existing.

She related to that.

From a young age she was ignored by her parents, the adults constantly forgetting they even had a child to tend and take care of.

They would leave her home alone without even mumbling a goodbye, they wouldn't even leave a note. The birthdays she wished to celebrate every year were forgotten, the holidays she would see being celebrated on TV in grand and dramatic ways were never like that for her.

She thought it would be different at school.

She'd seen the TV shows of kids having big groups of friends, having nice and welcoming teachers, and having fun.

She was wrong.

In elementary school she was bullied, the kids making fun of her hair and clothes. They made fun of the fact she was soft-spoken and always reading the 'Magic Tree House' books. Her teachers never did anything about it, and she didn't want them to.

She would take bullying over being ignored any day.

Then, middle school happened.

The bullying had stopped, but not because the kids felt bad, they grew tired of her. They treated her like she was a nuisance making their lives unbearable. To make it worse, her teachers felt the same way. She would raise her hand to answer a question, and the teacher would roll their eyes while her classmates would mock her and call her a 'suck up' or 'annoying". Her peers would bump into her in the hallways and yell in her face to move.

A vivid memory of hers was when she bumped into Lacey Sanders in the lunchroom, spilling her lunch all over her brand-new white top. Lacey lost it, she pushed the girl to the floor, screaming in her face that she was a waste of space and should have never been born.

It was embarrassing.

So embarrassing that she raced out of the lunchroom and straight to the bathroom where she had her first panic attack.

She began to believe the callous words and actions around her.

Maybe she was annoying, maybe she was a suck-up, maybe she shouldn't have been born...

It seemed as the school year went on and people began to forget the lunchroom incident, they began to forget about her too.

High school soon came along, and that's when she realized how invisible she truly was.

No one would give her dirty looks anymore, they would bump into her in the hallways and continue to walk as if she were an inanimate object. Her teachers would either mark her absent or not even call her name during attendance.

It's like she didn't exist.

She blended into the crowd, but she wasn't a part of the crowd,

She was an empty shell, a ghost begging, screaming, pleading to be noticed,

Just like she's doing now.

It was a cold December night in Boston, a few days before Christmas. The streetlights illuminate the icy roads, showcasing the flurries of snow flying around. The streets were basically empty, the majority wanting to escape the cold, but not her.

She loved the cold.

She loved the way the crisp air pierced her skin, numbing her fingers and toes. She loved how when she breathed out, she could see the carbon dioxide, showing that she was in fact there and alive much to her dismay and others.

Her hands grip the cold railing tightly, her palms burning from the frost coating the metal. The murky water below was currently sloshing against the rocks violently, the noise so loud yet calming at the same time.

She couldn't help but wonder if her end would be the same,

Violent and loud, yet calming.

She takes a shakey breath and looks away from the water, looking behind her and watching as a few people walk by...Ignoring her.

They were dressed in their winter attire, laughing and talking about the holidays to come and how excited they were to spend time with family. They weren't worried about the 17-year-old girl on the bridge.

Why would they worry?

As much as she wanted someone to notice her, to stop her from ending it all and tell her it's ok, she knew they wouldn't

They don't care.

"They don't care," she murmurs to herself.

Her eyes began to burn, she wasn't sure if it was the cold air or the tears forming in her eyes, but she didn't care...Not anymore. She closes her eyes and faces forward once more, the noise around her beginning to soften as the rushing water grows louder in her ears. Her grip on the railing began to loosen, a faint smile gracing her face.

This is it.

She's finally going to be at peace.

Just as she begins to let go, a hand firmly grabs her shoulder and yanks her backward, her back hitting the railings harshly. Her eyes snap open and she whips her head around, coming face to face with a boy who looks out of breath. 

His eyes are wide and filled with genuine fear, but he has a smile on his face.

“Come to a party with me!”

She blinks in confusion, not sure if she heard him correctly. "w-what?"

" Come to a party with me. It's not a huge party really. It's just me, my brothers, and a few friends in Nate's basement. We're going to watch Christmas movies, play games, drink, smoke..."

Despite the tension in the air and his body, the boy keeps a smile on his face, begging internally for the girl to agree.

"You don't even know me..."

"Well I want to..."

He wants to know her.

Someone wants to know her.

Her grip on the railing tightens once more as she begins to feel conflicted. She wanted to end it, she was tired of hurting in silence, yet here he was, a stranger, inviting her to a party.

Was this the universe finally answering her wishes, or was she already dead and in her own version of heaven?

"Come on, it will be fun...We have pizza."

He was warm and inviting, the cheesy smile on his face and the crinkle by his eyes proving that much. It was a nice change compared to the coldness she felt in her life.

She hesitantly nods to his invitation, the action accruing before she even realizes she's doing it. He quickly drops his bags to the ground and yanks her over the railing, holding her close as he mutters a 'Thank God' to himself once he realizes she's now safe.

Once she's steady, she pulls away from him and looks away awkwardly, her nails digging into her palms.

He wants to confront her, tell her what she planned on doing was stupid and she would regret it, but he didn't.

He couldn't.

She didn't need a lecture right now, she needed a friend.

Noticing she's just in a flannel and sweatpants, he quickly takes off his jacket and throws it over her shoulders, "S'freezin kid, should have worn a jacket in this weather...Come on, let's head to Nates. It's not that far." He grabs her hand without a care in the world, grabbing his dropped bags in the other, and leading the way.

The walk to Nates is quiet for the most part, the only sound coming from the plastic bags and their feet crunching against the snow. She was lost deep in thought, her mind buzzing with the events within the past few minutes.

She's pulled out of her thoughts by the boy speaking, "I think I've seen you around school, I say I think 'cause I'm rarely there...What's y'name kid?"

He noticed her around school? She actually stood out for someone to notice her?

"Y/n..." She answers softly. He hums in response and gives her a big smile, "Well, I'm Chris. S'nice to meet you Y/n."

They soon make it to Nate's house and Chris waltzes right in, stomping his feet on the matt to get rid of the snow before kicking the boots off. "Come on, everyone's in the basement." He motions to the basement door, already walking towards it.

Y/n hesitantly follows, this was all new to her.

She's never been invited to parties or asked to hang out.

As Chris opens the basement door, she hears the sound of laughter and shouting.

"You cheated!"

"How the hell do you cheat in Candyland you dumb fuc-I'm back!" Chris's announcement of his arrival causes the group of four to look at the two teens standing at the bottom of the stairs.

"And you brought a stranger?" A boy who looks just like Chris asks, looking Y/n up and down.

She feels her face grow warm as the boy calls her a stranger, he wasn't lying though, she was a stranger. Chris rolls his eyes and drops the bag on the table before slapping the boy upside the head. "Shut the hell up Nick, Y/n's not a stranger... She's a friend."

She feels her heart skip a beat at his words.

Friends...She was a friend.

Chris plops down on the couch, immediately man-spreading and crossing his arms. Meanwhile, Y/n stands by the stairs awkwardly still wrapped in Chris's jacket. Chris notices and pats the spot next to him, urging her to sit down.

She shuffles over, her movements unsure as she sits down next to him.

She expected the group to jump back into what they were doing, to completely disregard her existence - that wasn't the case. They immediately begin to talk to her, asking all types of questions to get to know her better. It was different, it was scary, it was overwhelming, but she found herself relaxing in the warm atmosphere of the basement.

Despite Nick's hesitancy towards her earlier, everyone was so welcoming. They treated her like they had known her for years, like they grew up with her. It was comforting, for once in her life she felt like she belonged, like she was actually alive.

It was refreshing.

"S-so do you guys always hang down here?" She asks as she looks around the basement. It looked like the basement of an early 2-thousands teen movie. Posters of different bands and TV shows were thrown on the wall, the colorful Christmas lights were strung along the ceilings creating a serene atmosphere. There was a huge tv mounted on the wall - gaming systems on the stand below. Two couches, a recliner, and bean bags of different colors were scattered about.

"Yeah, my mom doesn't want us messing up her nice couches and she says we are too loud, so she and my dad let us use the basement as our hangout spot," Nate states as he sets the bong down on the table, Alahna immediately taking it. "A-and they let you guys smoke-" her eyes dart over to the alcohol in Nick's hand, "And drink?"

"Better here rather than out somewhere getting hurt....Are your parents really strict or something?"

The question makes her wonder, were her parents strict? They were never around or paid any attention to her for them to be. She could have been causing all types of trouble and doing god knows what without any type of repercussion, yet she never did

She gives a brief smile, "N-not really... I've just never done any of that stuff...." The group looks at her in shock. How could someone in their grade never dabble in any of these activities? "Well, that is going to change! Take your pick, what drink do you want?"

"Or do you want to smoke?"

The group begins to debate on what the girl should do first, two of them leaning towards drinking while the other two claim an edible would be better. Meanwhile, Chris is doing neither. His eyes land on the girl who looks frightened by the idea of ingesting any type of paraphernalia.

"Hey-" his hand finds its place on her knee, giving comfort. "You know you don't have to do anything if you don't want to right? Don't let them pressure you."

Conflicted feelings swarm in her mind. On one hand she's not completely keen on the idea of being intoxicated, worried about what she will say and or do while not being in the right state of mind. What if they find her weird, or they make her the butt end of a joke? However on the other hand, she wants to fit in, she wants them to like her, and she wants to belong.

"I-is there anything not...Strong?" She asks timidly. Chris nods and grabs an unopened can of Twisted Tea. "It's tea with vodka. Taste kind of funky but I like it." She examines the big can, a look of nervousness still on her face. " We could share if you want? I doubt you will drink the whole thing." He was mainly offering out of concern, he knew the drink wasn't strong, but he didn't want the girl throwing up everywhere because she couldn't handle alcohol.

“T-that sounds nice….” Chris nods and cracks open the can, handing it to her for the first sip. She takes it once again, smelling the liquid before taking a hesitant sip. It wasn’t bad, but it wasn’t good either. She shivers as she swallows, smacking her lips as the taste settles in her mouth. Chris laughs as she hands the can back to him, taking his own swig of the spiked tea.

“Alcohol virginity has been semi-taken! We’ll save the weed for a birthday or something,” Alahna cheers, the whole group joining in.

The night is a whirlwind of endless activities ranging from Just Dance, board games, Heads up, the girl learning how to play Fortnite, and karaoke.

Y/n was having fun. For the first time in her life, she wasn’t sad, she was happy. Even if it was a temporary happiness, she spent her whole life worrying, it wouldn't hurt her to live and enjoy her life for one night.

The night soon ends and everyone is getting ready to leave, “We can drive you home. S’pretty late and I uhh... I don't want you walking alone..." It was obvious Chris was worried, scared she would find her way to the bridge once more and disappear. He knew he couldn't do much to make whatever she was going through better, but he sure as hell was going to try.

"It's fine, I can wa-'' As she tries to turn down the offer of a ride, not wanting to be a burden, Chris turns to Matt - "You good with driving her home? She doesn't live far."

Matt's eyes drift over to the girl who is smiling awkwardly, shrugging his shoulder and grabbing his keys, "Yeah, let's go. "

After saying their goodbyes to Nate, Alahna, and Nate's family, the four pile into the black van. Y/n climbs into the car, sitting next to Nick in the backseat as Chris and Matt remain upfront. Matt suddenly hands her his phone, Google Maps opened- a clear sign to enter her address. She does so, handing him back the phone quietly. “ You live next door to us?” Matt questions as he puts the car in reverse, the tires crunching against the snow.

"I-I do?" She questions. She had never noticed the three boys - it's obvious they hadn't noticed her either. The car ride to their respective homes is pretty quiet, a song from Chris's playlist playing softly as the two boys upfront hold a whispered conversation. Nick was busy sleeping, all the alcohol finally catching up to him. Y/n looks out the window, her eyes focused on the blurry imagery passing her by.

It wasn't long before Matt pulled into their driveway - everyone piling out of the car and ready to go to bed. "You guys head inside, I'm going to walk her to her house." Chris moves toward Y/n, his hand resting on her back. Matt eyes the gesture and says nothing, grabbing a half-asleep Nick and walking him inside.

"Y-you didn't have to walk me back...."

"I want to...Come on."

The two begin the small walk toward the white house - silence being the conversation between the two.

"Well...This is you," Chris states as they arrive in front of the brown door. he shoves his hands into his pockets, his feet kicking at the snow on the ground. "Y-yeah..." Her hand rests on the doorknob, her eyes looking over Chris as she tries to figure out what to say next.

"Did you have- Thanks for," Soft laughter falls from both of them as they talk over each other, Chris running a hand through his hair as Y/n wraps her arms around herself. "You go ahead, what were you going to say?"

"I-I was going to say thanks...I-I needed this tonight." Chris smiles softly at her, the two coming to a mutual understanding of what she really means.

"S'no problem...Hopefully I- We get to see you more." The thought of this friend group - a group that has been friends forever, wanting to hang out with her again, fills her with excitement. She tries to hold back her giddiness, a Cheshire smile wanting to make its way onto her face. Chris notices it but decides not to say anything, not wanting to embarrass the girl.

"Well, I should head back. I'll see you soon alright?" She nods and watches as Chris walks back to his own home, their eyes meeting briefly before he goes inside. She smiles to herself and rushes inside, nothing but pure joy in her system.

It's not long before she's showered and laid in bed, her eyes trained on the ceiling covered in stars. She was thinking about her night, how it started off so shitty, and ended up being the best night of her life. She was seen, she was laughed with and not at, she felt like she belonged.

She turns on her side, pulling the blankets closer, a smile on her face.

Maybe things are getting better, her wishes being granted.

She could only hope it stays that way.

As she falls asleep, she fails to notice a body climbing out of a window next door, situating itself onto the roof. The person lights a cigarette between their lips, letting the mix of cancer and cold air enter their lungs. They take a big swig from the vodka bottle in their hand, the alcohol burning their throat. They stare off into the empty street, their eyes void of all emotion as they wonder-

What went wrong?

I hope you all like this. i did my best to articulate the words and feelings i have experienced into this. i want all of you to know you are loved, you're seen, and you're not alone! if any of you are struggling mentally i want you to know you're so strong and I'm proud of you for making it this far.

i believe this is a nationwide site that you can use to call and or text when it comes to mental health. if it is wrong, please let me know!

[dyaz-stories]

'You smell nice' — Day one of Inukag Fluff Week

Just a fun lil one-shot for day one of @inukagfluffweek! There is a hint of background SessKagu too because I love them.

Mild warning for Inuyasha's potty mouth and that should be it.

Public transportation was the bane of Inuyasha’s existence.

First of all, whichever human had come up with the idea that half the population would stuff themselves into tin cans to get themselves to and from places, following the same precise and regular schedules every single day, deserved a trip straight to hell. It was easily the dumbest fucking concept known to man, and no self-respecting demon would have agreed to it.

Then there was the fact that there were people everywhere on public transportation, and man, did Inuyasha hate people. Gross, stupid bastards with no self-awareness and no regard for others. There were the students who’d bump into you without even noticing, the women recounting their day far too loud over the phone, and, the worst of them all, the gaggle of salarymen drunk off their asses after some reunion at work. Those ones were rude, entitled, clumsy, and, what was by far the biggest offense, they fucking stank.

And that part was what took the public transport experience from shitty to downright awful. The smells. Inuyasha was no fan of cities in general, their pollution, the sheer amount of things everywhere, whether restaurants, stores, or, of course, public toilets, and, well, the people. It wasn’t always the lack of hygiene, though that was an issue for sure, but the sweat after a day of work, the deodorants, the perfumes, they all came together to produce the foulest of stenches. He hated it here.

The train veered sharply to the left, and Inuyasha tightened his hold on the overhead bar he favored using. Fewer human hands had grabbed it, and since his height meant he had no issue reaching for it, he preferred that to other solutions. In front of him, Kagome hadn’t been so lucky, standing right against the door with nothing to hold onto. With a squeak, she stumbled backwards on her kitten heels, her back colliding with Inuyasha’s broad chest — not that there was really anywhere else for her to go, with how tightly packed the train was.

His free hand closed around her hip, stabilizing her. It came naturally, just instinct, no need to think about it or how nicely her body slotted against his.

She tilted her head back, pretty eyes looking up to him pleadingly.

“Sorry, Inuyasha,” she apologized, lips forming a cute pout.

“You’re good,” he replied, voice gruff. He sent a nasty look to the man on her right, who’d bumped into her. People usually steered clear of him, so the closer she was to him, the better. “You’re getting off at the next stop, right?”

“Yeah,” she beamed, and as always, he marveled at how easy it seemed to be for her to smile and distance herself from the mess of the world around her. No matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t shut down the noises, the smells, the flashes of people’s screens — well, unless he had her to focus on. “I can’t wait to get home.” An eyeroll. “Today was the worst.”

A smirk tugged at his lips.

“Really? You didn’t enjoy Kagura making a scene?”

He knew he had. His sister-in-law was probably his favorite person in the family, actually, with his nieces a close second, and watching her strut into her asshole husband’s office to yell at him about him cancelling their anniversary dinner had absolutely made his day. They could never stay mad at each other very long, so he was sure a very expensive reconciliation was coming, but he’d had his fun for sure.

“No, I like Kagura,” Kagome replied. “But I got cornered by Hojo at the coffee machine and he wouldn’t stop talking about some miracle diet he thinks would cure my allergies and it took me forever to free myself.”

“Want me to do something about that? He never bothers me with that shit.”

“That’s because you terrify him,” she sighed, “so no, that’s not necessary, don’t—” Another turn, but this time he kept her pressed against him, clawed hand on her waist, and her voice barely wavered. “—worry about it. And thanks for that, Inuyasha.”

A knot formed in his throat at the way she leaned back into him without hesitation. He swallowed around it. Where most people cowered away from the hanyo, Kagome had never acted like he was a threat. Sometimes, he felt she was even a little too trusting. Made him feel and think all sorts of things he wasn’t very proud of.

“’s nothing.”

From how he stood behind her, he couldn’t help but catch her scent, especially when she moved and her hair were right under his nose.

And, fuck, she was a breath of fresh air. He’d known that from the first day she’d strolled into the office, of course, gust of wind blowing through the open door and sending her smell throughout the whole office. He didn’t know what it was, if it was the reiki he could guess at under her skin, that gave it such a pleasant flavor. Either way, it could become overwhelming even in the wide open space. Here, on the other hand, it was the perfect distraction against everything else, and it took more willpower than he’d like to admit to not just sniff at her.

“Everything okay?” she asked, catching him off guard, her big inquisitive eyes staring up at him.

“Yeah, it’s—” Damn it, he’d known she was always noticing things no one else cared about. “That’s— You smell nice,” he blurted out at last, and immediately, he wished he could slap himself in the face. What a fucking weirdo. Turned out, everyone who had told him his mouth was too big for his own good, usually before they got their asses handed to them, had been right. Couldn’t he have kept it shut this one damn time?

“Oh,” Kagome said, and her expression turned thoughtful. He waited for the inevitable judgment to fall down. “I read that demons often find perfumes difficult to deal with, so I haven’t worn any since getting hired at Taisho Inc. Is that really better for you?”

There was the knot again, but this time it wasn’t embarrassment, and rather another, deeper emotion. Of course she’d pay attention to that kind of stuff.

“Yeah, it is,” he answered, clearing his throat. “Makes it hard to be around too many people.”

“That’s good to know,” she said with a nod. “Let me know if I can do other things to help you, alright?”

He would not be telling her anything about the thoughts that were running through his mind at her proposal. Nuh-huh.

“That’s my stop,” she grinned up at him, grabbing the hand at her waist and squeezing it gently in hers. “Thank you again, Inuyasha. I’ll see you tomorrow!”

She waved at him, and a second later, she was lost in the crowd, and his world was just a little darker, duller, blander. He let his hand fall back to his side, flexing it reflexively as if to remember how it had felt, touching her.

Keh. He couldn’t believe she was making him look forward to another day in the office.

As a lot of you know, it's been ages since I last wrote for this pairing that's still near and dear to my heart, so I'd love to hear your thoughts on it! Don't hesitate to scream at me about it in the tags, in the reblogs, in my askbox... anywhere your heart desires lol. Thank you for reading!

[starcurtain]

Hello! Wanted to say that I’ve really enjoyed your analysis on Aventurine’s theming - and yea big agree that part of the charm of the guy is that he’s a weird paradox (he got everything one should technically want, and he also lost absolutely everything he cares about) - and also I like your comment that he is, as a character, actually pretty obnoxious (it’s an odd character charm point to me)

Also your post on the way he interacts with the ladies in the cast kinda reminded me - I know folks tend to focus in Ratio’s note but I ended up zoning in on his convo with Acheron more than anything else - because a lot of Penacony is Aven butting heads with other aeon-touched people (Acheron, Sunday) - but Acheron seems like a fun foil because she also has a pretty double-edged metaphysical blessing that is associated with losing everything she loved, but she ironically hasn’t given in to full meaninglessness.

I think one of Aventurine's defining character traits is that he "tests" everyone he encounters to judge whether they are trustworthy or whether they are a danger to him (I guarantee you, he has some kind of mental ranking scale for how likely people are to dislike or mistreat him), and I think his being obnoxious is actually a direct offshoot of this.

Kakavasha clearly was raised with manners; he knows how to be polite and to tone down his responses to social situations as appropriate, which means that, in every other scenario, he is actively choosing to be obnoxious, even in situations where it seemingly won't benefit him (like talking back to the slave master or being too forward when first meeting Sunday, for example) because it allows him to gauge exactly how others feel about him and exactly how much they will let him get away with.

People who play along are potential allies (Robin, the Trailblazer) and people who act grumpy but actually tolerate the obnoxiousness are safe (Ratio, Sparkle, most of the rest of the Express Crew), while people who respond poorly (Sunday, basically everyone else Aventurine dealt with in the past, etc.) are forced into showing their true colors. If minor obnoxious behaviors can provoke them, then it means their core response to Aventurine is likely to be one of dislike and disrespect. He's just forcing that response from them out into the light sooner, rather than later, by being obnoxious from the get-go.

(And, to a certain extent, I think he also just finds it fun to be a bit obnoxious. Like, he's free to say and do whatever he wants now--who is going to stop him from being a brat if that's what he feels like doing?)

But on to Acheron... Yes, I do think there are a lot of parallels between Acheron and Aventurine (came from a doomed people, lost everyone, both determined to hold out against nihility and live just for the sake of living, "blessed" by aeons), but I think narratively speaking, the story puts Acheron in a different position when her tale entangles with Aventurine's: the surrogate big sister role.

Acheron's a very good parallel to Aventurine's sister in numerous ways: First, she essentially sacrificed herself to defeat the evil threatening her people, but is ultimately unsuccessful, resulting in the permanent loss of all she knew.

This loss also resulted in Aventurine's sister actually dying, while Raiden Mei experienced a symbolic death, taking on the name "Acheron" to evoke the Underworld, getting a ghostly, bleached white form, and prowling the river of nihility like a wandering spirit of the dead.

Second, the philosophy Acheron espouses is nearly identical to Aventurine's sister. When even as a child Kakavasha was doubting the value and meaning of life, his sister was the one constantly reaffirming that life has meaning, despite its hardships, and that continuing to exist is the way to honor those who have sacrificed for you. Just as Aventurine's sister expresses that people must hold on to faith, Acheron reminds everyone she encounters to cling to the last bit of color and light in their lives.

This ends up being echoed by the role of guidance that she plays for Aventurine, with him both directly relying on her for his continued survival:

And turning to her in his moment of greatest emotional need:

(Sound familiar? It should. This is the exact same question Kakavasha once asked his sister.)

But there's also a very, very nice visual parallel that goes on with Acheron and Aventurine's sister: the dusk rain that accompanies her.

For Aventurine, the rain has complicated emotional connotations. For the Avgin, it was desperately needed, life-giving water, and thus was considered a direct blessing from Gaiathra. Rain on Aventurine's birthday was the sign of his being favored by the aeon, and yet it also rained on the day he lost everything and had to flee from the only home he had ever known (conveniently also his birthday, dude this guy's life sucks).

Meanwhile, the rain for Acheron is equally complex--rain can bring life, the renewal of barren, lifeless lands... But we also see the rain accompany Acheron through her worst loss, the final collapse of her planet:

It also is said to rain constantly within the shadow of nihility, a lightless gray that washes away all that people wish to cling to.

For both Acheron and Aventurine's sister, the rain accompanies the end of their "lives," the backdrop to their ultimate sacrifices.

Yet it is also in the rain that they both send Aventurine onward, escaping from the cage of his destiny into a "better" life. From beneath the shadow of the storm, they both bid him to go and not turn back, freeing him and permanently changing the course of his life.

The rain that took everything from both Aventurine's sister and Acheron is ultimately what saves him.

It's all a very tidy and well-written parallel.

[folkfashion]

Salut!

What got you into making a blog about traditional clothing ?

Salut ! Sorry I got this ask quite long ago and forgot to answer it even thought I quite like it ! So, I guess it came from an interest in both Geography and to a lesser extent fashion that got me very interested. I started researching and I became a little obsessed. I've always seen traditional clothing, in my family album or around me in general (I had like many people a huge Japan phase when I was younger, learnt about kimono...)

(Pics of my grandma and her cousin in their traditional clothing, can anyone guess where we're from from this ? It's pretty hard I know ahah.) For making this blog specifically I wanted to make a little encyclopedia of traditional clothing everywhere. I found a lot of great option (Atlas of Humanity being my favorite) but everytime there were either no links, or it wasn't active anymore, or it was only about a specific region/people, or it was only archive pics, or it was photographers own work which was fantastic but obviously you can't ask them to travel every single existing country to photograph every groups. I myself often struggle to find a specific people.). So I ended just making the blog I wanted to see ! :) (I'm answering all the other ask tomorrow ! I'm sorry I take sooo much time every time but I generally just queue this blog in advance for weeks since I'm very busy, and i'm starting to get a lot of asks. Promise tomorrow I answer all I have !)

[intairnwetrust]

You know I am usually someone to easily call out Xaden (especially on his communication issues in Iron Flame *cough* call out *cough* lol )

But now I actually need to defend him in regards of what he said and how some people receive it:

"In the years after my father died, I forgot what it felt like to be loved. [...] But then you (Violet) gave those words to me, and I remembered..."

And then you have responses like:

Garrik, Liam, Bodhi, Imogen: What I am? A roach?

Basically pointing the finger at Xaden, what about your friends who love you?

Where I need to say okay first valid or rather understandable response.

Buuut I think people are to harsh here on Xaden. I'm deliberately simplifying this here, Xaden's life consisted of two parts, the revolution and survival. Violet gave him love outside of that. It was something new, something, looking at the quote above, he didn't even knew in the beginning he wanted or maybe didn't dare to want. (Also Violet is awesome! Who can blame him? Edit: and look his new BC he is a total simp for her, as he should be)

"Now, Riorson."

I can't keep from wincing. She never uses my last name. Maybe it's because she doesn't like to remember that I'm Fen Riorson's son, and all my father cost her, but I've always been Xaden to her. The loss feels like a bottomless abyss, like a death blow.

"I've always been Xaden to her" and look how shattered poor boy was when he thought he lost that. With Violet he was not Fen Riorson's son, he was not his last name which symbolizes the proclamation of the revolution, the continued existence of the revolution. He was just Xaden with Violet. Just a man.

But now let's look at his love for his friends and at the beginning of the very same letter which brings you an understanding of his feelings

"Then I entered the quadrant and became the monster everyone needed me to be, and I never regretted it."

Who is everyone? Every person being part of the revolution. He consciously tried to forget the feeling of love because that would help the revolution best. Cold and calculating. But who is also part of the revolution? His friends. With his friends he was also Xaden, but not only. The revolution became a huge part of their lives.

I think with his friends their love and loyalty became the same thing for him. That's why Xaden said only when Violet came along he remembered what love meant. Don't get me wrong, in a healthy relationship it goes hand in hand but it's not the same and I think it just became too blurry over time and given circumstances alas being key figures in a revolution.

Also I understand when people say they want to see more of Xaden's friendships, same I am no different, but the lack of these relationships is due to the fact that the books are currently only from Violet's POV, after all they are Xaden's friends and not hers. I mean every chapter we had in his POV there were always interactions with his friends (except his chapter at the end of IF) and we can all agree we loved them (I hope so lol)

I hope it makes sense what i am trying to say i just think people are to harsh here on Xaden became in the end of the day he cares for his friends. Both sides would go through hell for the other, if you look at their lives you can safely say it's their "I love you"

[thesensteawitch]

Fortune Reading 🔮 FORTUNATE READING

🔮🤎🔮🤎🔮🤎🔮🤎

Pick A Pile

(Left to Right- Pile 1, Pile 2, Pile 3)

Little Things--- leading to BIG things

A fortunate shake up is happening in everyone's life as this lunar eclipse is approaching.

Hello, senstea souls!💜

Welcome to my blog! I am back with another pick a pile reading that is going to reveal to you how fortunate you are!

This is a timeless tarot reading. So remember you find something when you're meant to find it. Sit calmly, grab a snack and take a few breaths before beginning to read.

AND if you end up resonating with the reading and if it touches your heart then do let me know!💜🔮✨

Also, if you wish to know more about you or your life then feel free to DM me and book a reading with me.💟

I am looking forward to your response to this blog.🪄🤍 (Because it took me a lot of energy to do this reading!🥹)

TAROT BOOKING FORM 🍀 • MY RATE CARD✨

Here you go!🌈

Pile 1

Tarot Cards- Two of Cups, Page of Wands, Wheel of Fortune, Judgement, The Hangedman, Knight of Wands

Pile 1!!!!! You leave traces of wisdom behind you. How fortunate! Isn't it? For the people who will find the marks left behind by you and will call it a treasure. Your existence is fortunate for others. The card says, “No matter what has caused your unique point of view to come about—it has come about. ALL-THAT-IS is benefiting from YOUR existence and your point of view.” How fortunate it is to be a source of fortune for others (I write this at 1:11). You're not meant to draw conclusions. You're meant to allude! Allow your mind to flow into the infinite chemistry of this universe. You're reminding me of the temperature card. You embody the essence of the creator, creating life on the outskirts of the well-established towns. But be careful; you're always on the edges, hence prone to confusion and losing balance. How many times have you lived your days on DIYs? Always find a way to do what you are being called to do. HUGE fortune is coming due to your shrewdness and resourcefulness. When you create something from nothing, you show the universe that you deserve everything your heart desires and may seem too far-fetched of a dream. I see, “A beetle and a boat. A dog and a fox.” If you ever had a pet or a friend who is on the other side or is no longer a part of your life (whom you had to let go), then know they are your fortunate blessing in this lifetime because they protect you from the other side and will always be on your side even in separation. I also feel very strongly that the space that once belonged to someone is now empty, and the universe is about to send someone in your life to fill that space. The month of November is shown in the cards. Perhaps, by the month of November, the spaces in your life will be filled. Till then, hold these spaces and keep weaving magic. Your intuition has been guiding you to trust that the universe is about to shower you with an abundance of love and fortune. Prosperity and abundance are very, very strong in your cards. Like I'm literally going to scream out of the intensity of energies. But I can't! Because at the same time your energy makes me feel so calm. It seems someone in your energy wants to scream out of frustration because they want to LOVE YOU. But something is keeping them away. And when it comes to loving yourself, you too have felt like screaming but quickly went back to being gentle with yourself. AND the word FORTUNE has literally appeared in your reading TWICE.

You have swallowed so much of what you could have said when it pinched you to be in a state always trying to make your ends meet. Though undeniably you do it with so much grace and like a witch or wizard, you still deserve the world! 😭 Don't you worry, darling, the door to your bright future has to open now. There's nothing left in this phase for you to learn or grow. AND YET!!! YET???? Yet you've been filling this phase of your life with love. It's like you're on the last page of this book and it's the blank page because the story ended on the page previous to this one, but YOU are even finding so much beauty in the blankness. HOW??? I hear, “It's the end of a decade but the start of a new age.” You're seriously in your power! The way you're dancing on this blank white page is something only highly wise and mature people can do. Bravo! Fate stepped in and forced you to say goodbye. The book that just ended was beautiful, wasn't it? Though it had a sad ending. I hear, “Long, long live the walls we crashed through. Long live the magic we made and the mountains we moved. I had a time of my life fighting dragons with you. Bring all the pretenders; I'm not afraid. We'll be remembered.” You've been fortunate, my dear, pile 1, and you'll always be fortunate. If THAT BOOK and MANY CHAPTERS in it were so beautiful that the ending made you cry for months, then imagine what fate would have in store for you next?????? Have you ever thought of that? This magic that you walk with is what made you exceptional enough to have another beautiful and abundant story of your life. You changed your destiny. YOU GREW! Not everyone has the capability to come out of adverse situations this strong. You're ready. The new book is launching soon. It's time for an upgrade. Expect LOVE AND MIRACLES.

(DM me if you wish to book a reading with me! Thank you!💌)

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Pile 2

Tarot Cards- Four of Wands, The Magician, Nine of Cups, Nine of Swords, Seven of Wands, Five of Wands

Were you attracted to pile 1 as well? (Or maybe you're attracted to someone whose life is like that of pile 1, lol.) The first card kind of said the same message I just wrote above. So if you were drawn to pile 1, then by all means read it too. I feel some of you feel so okay being a villain in someone's story. You just try to laugh off certain events that have hurt you quite deeply. Have you been having intense dreams lately? You feel fortunate to be able to have control over your emotional set points. You thought you would be alone in this journey, but the universe keeps talking to you no matter where you are! And you feel so mesmerized and fortunate to be on the receiving end of the divine guidance. I can see you smirk, lol. You're so much up in the sky thinking and thinking that you literally have to walk barefoot on Earth to ground yourself. Tell me how blessed you would feel if you were living in the mountains or somewhere where there were trees all around. You LOVE NATURE. Currently, you feel so blessed to be on Earth and experience the natural beauty. It's healing, and it has healed you. And flowers? You love flowers! You're a flower. Maybe someone related you to a particular flower. Or you may often buy flowers for some reason. It seems this pile has been through a lot when it comes to their health. Have you? There's a lot you need to take care of, like what you eat, how much you eat, your supplements, your skin, etc. Every day you're following one or the other self-care practice, and the moment after you finish it, you feel rejuvenated and healthier. Sometimes you fight a lot with yourself to maintain discipline. Be gentle with yourself because it seems you've come a long way and that too alone. You learned all alone what your body needs and what works for you. And yes, keep spending time in nature. It's healing you. Your cards say that very clearly. You're doing it right. Maybe since last December you started taking more care of yourself, and this coming December or 2.5 months from now you'll see huge improvement in your health. You may not have been fortunate in having the support of your loved ones, but you have always been supported by God, and for that, I feel you're really grateful.

Your energy seems like that of the movie ‘Little Forest'. You know how to make yourself feel warm in cold weather. You also remind me of this K-drama named “When the weather is fine.”.

Someone would feel so fortunate to be around you because they think very highly of you and sometimes even feel that you're not their cup of tea. Very few of you are expecting a child (maybe that's why you are taking care of your health) or are about to get married. Some sort of marriage/union is on the cards. Just know you're not alone. And whatever is around you loves you dearly. You just need to learn to handle criticism well because in the past you've been rejected so much that you've become so comfortable in your own company. This upcoming full moon seems to have something good in store for you. Nevertheless, you have your reasons to have this safe space because you have created this serene energy around you, which you needed after a tough war. Just try to be a little social, keeping your boundaries intact. Do you literally dream of marrying someone or had a dream where you were getting married? Union and celebration are on the cards. It seems that you're fighting yourself when it comes to this wish of yours. Did you confess your love to someone in December? (Very specific) Or that's when you met someone, talked to them, or started weaving this wish of yours. Someone's birthday can be in December. You're definitely enjoying your sovereignty at this point. I hear, “When you're young, they assume you know nothing.” Maybe you've really been criticized for your opinions, and that made you go silent and refrain from expressing them. Hufff...my dear pile 2, there's deafening silence in your reading now. I hear, “Since the love that you left is all that I get, I need you to know that if I can't be close to you, then I'll settle for the ghost of you. Young blood thinks there's always tomorrow. I need more time, but time can't be borrowed. If you can't be next to me, your memory is ecstasy.”

Now, I'll say whatever this dream is, know that you're worthy of having it. Whoever this person is, they really think highly of you. It does seem that you're trying to move toward better days, but your emotions come in between. At one moment you feel so optimistic toward this wish of yours, and in another moment your mind turns against you. I hear you saying to yourself, “Oh, don't be so stupid.” Your emotions go up and down. You felt REALLY FORTUNATE when you stopped pursuing this wish, thinking that it's the right decision you're making for some reason. But it seems it was your ego stopping you. I hear, “I can't save us.” Maybe at times you feel you can't save yourself and your dream. Look how the reading took a u-turn. Your energy isn't balanced, my dear, pile 2. I also hear, “Sometimes I look in her eyes, and that's where I find the glimpse of us.” It seems that fortune lies on the other end of your fear. So go for what you have always dreamed of. And if you think you cannot then just let it go. Don't hold your dreams even in your memories. Choice is yours!

(DM me if you wish to book a reading with me! Thank you!💌)

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Pile 3

Tarot Cards- Six of Cups, The Star, Justice, Page of Swords, Tower, Eight of Wands

How many of you applied nailpaint or cut your nails recently wondering how would God or an enlightened being respond/would've responded in a certain situation? I feel that there has been pressure from your parents or an authority figure to be a certain way, but you aren't what they have you in their image. You're someone better than their image, someone different, but you don't know how to show that. You put yourself in everyone's shoes (and they are fortunate to have you in their lives), but it seems you don't get that in return. But let me tell you, you won't. Not because life isn't fair but because you start overdoing it; you start walking in other people's shoes and on others's paths. That's how you lost yourself (if you were wondering how you turned into someone you weren't). But now you know better. Better late than never. Maybe something ended or came into light in the month of August (very specific). I hear, “To live for the hope of it all, cancel plans in case you'd call...you weren't mine to lose. But I can see us lost in the memory as August slipped away into a moment of time.” You sacrificed yourself too much for others. Though you are at a stage where you're supposed to rewrite your story and redefine yourself, know that you'll get success in resolving your problems. You're protected from the negative energies beyond your control. I am getting the message that you need to learn to balance your root chakra and keep your feet clean at all times (idk why I channeled that!). Life will naturally bring in opportunities where your best side will come out and people around you will witness it. An advice that is coming for you is to stay clear of any drama from now on.

Because slowly but surely you're moving ahead, so it's important that you keep yourself protected at all times. Don't get yourself involved in others's business as well. It's time for you to have lighthearted days. It seems that you're very fortunate to come out of a situation that was burning your dreams and who you truly are. So at this time it's important you realize your blessings and take care of YOUR needs first. I am channeling the song ‘If we have each other' by Alec Benjamin. “When the world's not perfect, when the world's not kind, if we have each other, we'll both be fine. I am thankful for my sister even though we fight.” Someone—maybe your mother, brother, or sibling—was there for you in difficult times. You're very fortunate to have someone who always looks out for you. The people close to you see you as a star. They KNOW you're amazing! Don't you ever worry about that! You'll be very fortunate to have justice in the area where you gave too much but didn't receive anything in return. Some part of the justice has happened. It's time that you receive the love you deserve, and justice will fully be served. I see you've been cooking lately. Perhaps you should pursue cooking as a side thing. I don't know it may be specific for a very few of you.

You're slowly learning about life and seeing the world from a different perspective. Consistent ideas after ideas are coming. One narrative ends and another emerges, and then that dies too, only for a new one to come to the surface. You're spiritually growing, so keep going, pile 3. New creative ideas are about to come left and right that will pave a way for you to build the life you always wanted to. You'll soon be working toward a dream of yours. The universe is preparing you to receive these ideas well, and soon, brick by brick, you'll be creating a castle of your dreams.

I don't know why cooking and baking are coming again and again. Maybe it's a form of therapy for you. No more staying stuck in your head, my dear pile 3. Your energy seems like that of a stubborn child. Who made mistakes and now is learning from them? But you're a quick learner, so it seems that you're no longer in pain but very glad where you are. I see books. Maybe some of you're bookworms or are being called to read more. I also hear, “I'll never fall in love again until I find THE ONE.” You're keeping your boundaries strong and making yourself mentally stronger. You've been quite naive and trusted people easily. It seems you had wounds that needed to be healed, and now they are healing. You seem like a very young soul who is just learning about the world. If you resonate as an old soul, then this pile isn't for you.

You definitely have great qualities, but you're new here, so you needed some tough lessons. But I truly feel you deserve gentleness more than anything. But such gentleness could have led you to trust everybody. You need gentleness with strong boundaries (writing this at 3:33).

Protect, protect, and protect yourself. Your spirit team is keeping you away from negative energies, but you need to stand up for yourself too. And you do have space and opportunities to protect yourself and live a gentle life filled with laughter. Your own gentleness and the support around you are your fortune, pile 3.

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[ghouldtime]

Ghost'ed

Been thinking about literal Ghost! Ghost. Maybe it's playing too many ghost hunting games or watching too many shows but I cannot stop thinking about it. You also cannot convince me this man wouldn't be a restless spirit. His entire life is troubled and I don't see him going down in a peaceful way or leaving until he feels the job is done - and likely ending up trapped as a result

I wrote this at work so sorry in advance for any typos or slip ups!

💀💀💀💀💀💀💀💀

Ghost hunting wasn’t exactly what most people would list in "Top ten relaxing hobbies" - but it's not like you were most people. You were simply you. The same you who thought spending your time speculating about spooky specters was one of the best ways to pass by those few stretches of free time that could be all too fleeting in the hellscape known as adulthood.

The stares that followed you when you announced paranormal investigation as a hobby was something you knew all too well. After all, telling someone you’re a ghost hunter only stood as a slightly more socially acceptable version of telling them you believed in bigfoot (you did, but that’s beside the point). The dozens of cheesy TV shows certainly popularized it but they did little to help with the perception of it.

When the face of popular ghost hunting media was full of grown men who screamed like a squirrel high on helium at every little thump of a house settling, it did little to help what people automatically thought of when they heard of your unique hobby. Plenty still turned their noses up, scoffed slightly as they rolled their eyes and sneered, “Aren’t you too old to be doing that?” 

Or worse. They gave a tight-lipped smile, nodded, and crinkled their eyes as they said, "Oh, interesting." While the tension in their body told of holding back laughter or wanting to bolt right on out of there, far far away from you.

Quite frankly, you didn't care what they said anymore as it was your life to live, not theirs. You’d seen enough to know without a fraction of a doubt that there was more beyond the veil of life itself, hiding just out of sight. The hundreds of hours you spent wandering dark hallways and dilapidated ruins with nothing but your flashlight and ghost box proved otherwise. At least it proved it to you.

Proving it to others was a horse of another color. Skeptics who spit their criticism loud enough to deafen even the most positive prevalent of voices in the community were a dime a dozen. Unfortunately, their existence was as certain as the sky is blue. Skepticism was apart of human nature, after all. They would always exist as long as the day and night kept up their eternal dance.

Convincing them was a fruitless effort. You'd sooner be able to convince hippos to fly than you'd convince them of the truth you knew. Trying to get everyone to agree, to acknowledge the paranormal, was hopeless and something you certainly weren't going to waste your life on no matter what they called your or what they said.

As far as you were concerned, being paid to sit in the dark alone and find evidence of life beyond the grimy waters of death itself was a pretty sweet gig. The naysayers could seethe in their own jealousy all they wanted because at the end of the day, you’re getting paid to do what you love. That they never could take away from you.

They'd never be able to have the same thrill that you did as you took on another case, ready to see even more of what the phantasmal realm had to offer.

Anticipation, nervousness, and excitement rolled together in a palpable energy you hid beneath a calmer exterior every time you took a job. There always would be that wonder there, the question of what exactly you might find dangling just out of reach, the hope that maybe, just maybe you might see even more than you already have. Another chance to investigate meant yet another night spent lurking in the shadows, tirelessly trying to find more evidence of the great world beyond the grave and its inhabitants. Tonight certainly would be no different.

An older couple quite reluctantly booked an appointment for a standard investigation after mysterious things that they really could not explain, no matter how they went about it, happened time and time again. They'd tried to ignore it, they said, but it only got worse.

Footsteps that echoed through the house at first in a gentle patter had become confident strides. When they went to look, no one was there. Doors that used to slowly creak open, as if blown by the wind, instead started to rattle the frame with force as they opened or slammed in the middle of the night. The husband looked particularly miffed when he groused about the TV going on at odd hours of the night, while his wife seemed more concerned about the possibility of someone having broken in and the fact that it kept doubling in intensity as time went on. The list went on and on about their complaints ranging from things being moved around to always finding a light turned on in a room in the middle of the night. There most certainly was something going on if all of what they were saying was true.

The glaring parade of red flags that easily would send others running for the hills lured you in. Like a dog with a scent, you weren't going to drop the trail, oh no. You were there to sink your teeth and claws in and not let go. Come hell, heaven, or high water - nothing would stopping you.

True to your title, you were a paranormal investigator which warranted a lot more work and professionalism than the standard ghost hunters you saw on TV who couldn't tell the difference between a gust of wind and a ghost. Your job was to research, conduct a proper paranormal investigation, and provide your evidence - or lack of, if it was truly devoid of haunting. But here hardly sounded like it.

Taking your time and reassuring them that you were, indeed, a professional, you went over all the usual questions with them: when did this start, how old is your house, any history of deaths in it, have you acquired any new items recently, do you have any items that were second hand or antique, any family heirlooms in the house, was it in any particular location, etc etc.

Every angle had to be considered, especially the mundane. Plenty of times, people just had a poorly constructed house, deeply held superstitions, and a touch of paranoia to make for a perfect combination of nothing happening at all. That didn’t seem to be the case here, however. While none of their answers pointed in a clear direction of what it might be, it still all pointed to signs of something unworldly happening. But that's what you were there for. To determine if there actually was a ghost, why it was there, and maybe who it was (if things went well and it felt like cooperating). 

You bid them a good night as they headed off with family friends in a beat up convertible, chattering away without a care in the world as if they didn’t have a paranormal parasite problem. At least they were going to go enjoy their night by having an evening out instead of breathing down your neck like some of those who hired you. Locking the door, you trudged in with your gear and began the initial inspection with practiced ease.

A haunting in a house as young and modern as theirs was quite unusual. Open, airy rooms completed with white, sleek, almost eye-hurtingly clean interiors made up the entirety of the house. Even as night crawled higher and higher into the sky, pulling its dark cloak over the land, the house stayed bright. Nothing about it said haunted or caught your eye. The scariest thing there was likely the heating bill. 

As far as your research showed, there hadn't been a death in it or on the land. The owners also seemed quite appalled at the idea of antiques (go figure) so that went right out the window, too. Normally there might be some stashed somewhere that they weren't thinking about, like the attic, but this house didn’t even have that. No basement, no attic, no creepy graveyard in the back; it was a normal, suburban house that shouldn’t have anything going on.

Perusing the house at a leisurely pace, you browsed each and every room with a thorough consciousness of finding something, anything, that could possibly have started it. Yet you turned up empty handed. Everything was as pure and alabaster as the marble countertops and the expensive sleek metal furniture. 

Oh well, not every job would be easy. And not every haunted house was obligated to look run-down and rustic. Some ghosts just had more upper class tastes - or were unfortunate enough to be stuck in an eyesore like this. Maybe a ghost would add some actual personality to their home...

Seeing as they'd said there wasn't exactly a rhyme or reason as to where things would happen, you decided a central room was your best bet. The living room was open enough for everything and an easy place any spirits could find. It had plenty of room for your equipment and the open layout meant you had a great vantage point for the whole house.

Preparing your gear came as naturally as breathing to you, the tasks you've done dozens of times over were a matter of habit. Moving through the motions was your second nature as you worked, not batting an eye as you checked batteries and strategically stationed your gear. It only took a matter of minutes to have your cameras, light system, motion activated interactable objects, ghost box, and the rest of your fancy gadgets set up all around the room.

Placed on the coffee table was your heaviest piece of equipment - your modified spirit box that you had made some special adjustments to just to make sure your results were as accurate as possible. The broken antenna and attached amp weren't standard, nor were the noise reducers, but they stood as a testament to why you were a professional and why you kept getting called out to different places. You knew how to get results and tuned every tiny thing to your needs. There was no room for error or doubt alike in an already uncertain field.

Double checking everything was ready to go once more once more, you plunged the room into somewhat true darkness as you drew the curtains shut and pressed the button on the spirit box, causing it to crackle to life. Speeding through the static of radio stations, it scanned the many frequencies in a blur, far too fast for any natural noise to come through. The whirring of it evened out into a constant, muffled background noise that you’d spent countless hours listening to. Its familiar hum lulled you into a relaxed state, your heart as steady as your calm breaths despite the slight buzz of familiar adrenaline you always felt when you first started. A small beep signaled the successful activation of the digital thermometer as you walked around in a slow, even pace, checking all around. 

Taking a deep breath, you began as you always had. In a confident, but even tone you called out, “Is there anyone with me right now?”

....

........

Silence.

The static of the spirit box continued to filter through in its usual constant churning hum of white noise. Typical. Many supernatural beings wouldn't want to interact, especially not at first. You don't blame them. If a stranger barged into your house and demanded if you were there, pestering you with questions as threw their belongings around, you'd not want to answer them either. That wasn’t even considering that many were so unused to people hearing them or trying to talk to them, not at them. They didn't exactly register on the same frequency that humans did most of the time.

Walking around the room, your boots echoed on the tile flooring. Your footsteps ricocheted off of the high ceilings, amplified by the lofty ceiling and wonderful acoustics this house apparently had. Keeping your attention ever shifting, you kept alert for signs of anything happening. Looking too long in the dark and expecting things to happen would only yield false results and cause paranoia. You knew far better than to do that. 

Nothing lit up, nothing beeped, nothing changed. There was conclusively nothing happening for the first few, long minutes as everything kept at an unwavering constant. Visiting each room, you rechecked their temperatures and tried to find anything amiss or out of place. Yet all seemed well, still, and normal.

Only when you crossed the hallway back into the living room after a quick visit to the bedrooms did your hair stand on end. A chill ran down your spine, the once warm air now holding the barest bite of cold on the edge. Holding up the thermometer, you narrowed your eyes at the steady decrease. While it wasn't quite freezing, it kept dropping and dropping. Numbers ticked lower and lower, your hair stood further on end as a small shiver ran through you as the chill dipped lower and lower. Bingo. First sign of activity of the night. It wasn’t much but it was plenty to know that something was happening here.

Despite the crisp chill, nothing else shifted in the room. Silence prevailed behind the distant drone of your equipment; mainly the comforting, steady typical static of the spirit box. Even the appliances seemed to have gone quiet, exchanging their usual low thrumming rhythm for a break that suspended them in a noiseless limbo.

Your shifting movements echoed far louder than you would have liked as you paced around the room, looking for something new, anything. An actual tangible reaction you could record would be just what you needed but so far, the haunt was holding out.  “What is your name?” You asked, keeping your voice as steady as you can as you tried to switch it up. 

Continual feedback from the spirit box sounded as steady as can be. Still, there was no voice trying to get through it. The fabricated noise reigned supreme as it did its job, whirring away. Pressing your lips into a thin line, the smallest hint of a frown tugged at your lips as disappointment flickered through you. Okay, that's fine. It usually took a few tries anyways. 

A faint, sparkling crackle escaped from it as you heard one, tiny word in a rumbling timbre. One, single word that halted you mid step, your head snapping towards the machine. 

“Ghost.”

Doing a double take, a grin split across your face as your heart jumped with joy. A response! A true, actual response. Not that it exactly answered your question but it meant something was listening.

There was something here!

Nearly tripping over your own feet, you scampered over to your beloved machine. Your eyes fixated on the glowing orange screen, gleaming with glee. 

“W-what’s your name?” You repeat a bit louder unable to hide the excited tremble in your voice or hands, figuring the ghost likely didn't hear you right. 

Static white noise continued for a few seconds, the little x in the corner flashed once, twice, before it lit up solidly. 

“Ghost.”

The smile you held dropped only for a fraction of a second before you cleared your throat. Well, maybe your slight stutter and excitement got in the way. You did talk fast when excited, after all. Taking a deep breath, undeterred as can be, you repeated in a far steadier voice, “What is your name?”

This time you made sure to enunciate every single syllable, speaking clear and confidently into the air. 

One flashing X glowed in the corner of the screen. Another flash. A third. Fourth. Fifth.

Yet again, the deep voice came a bit louder and rougher this time. A thick Mancunian accent that barely picked up through the filter didn't dull the single word you were trying to avoid, “Ghost.”

Okay. Your brows furrowed deeper, your nose wrinkling slightly as your heart sank. The minor disappointment couldn't be kept off of your face as you really had hoped to hear something else. Approach one clearly isn't working. 

Maybe he didn't speak English. Or maybe he wasn't sure that he was dead. Whatever. There was a ghost and he was answering, that's what mattered, you reminded yourself forcefully until the smile came back to your face and the smallest bit of a headache dissipated. Focus on that. Not on the slight annoyance you felt and the agitated twitch of your fingers.

Exhaling, you pursed your lips. Your grip retightened on your flashlight as you racked through questions in your mind, trying to find something that it would have to answer differently too. 

“Can you do something?”

Hopeful, your eyes trailed around the room, praying that maybe the ghost would do something like interact with the many objects scattered about, or even the motion sensors. 

Nothing happened for a few long moments, silence once again prevailing in the otherwise empty house.

Orange light flashed from the spirit box as the X lit up again, only for a second before the dreaded word repeated itself. 

“Ghost.”

Before you could ask what that even meant, or curse it out for that matter, the spirit box and your flashlight shut off, plunging you into true darkness. The flashlight nearly flew from your hands in surprise as you flinched instinctually, your heart leaping into your throat. Frantically flickering the button of your trusty tool did nothing as you desperately tried to turn on your one source of light with the only way you knew how - only to be met with the continual sight of empty, non-shining bulbs. 

Curses spilled from your lips in all the languages you knew as you fumbled for a battery pack, only to find them missing. What? But you swore that they were right there -- ugh, nevermind. This just wasn't going to be your night.

The initial panic subsided as the chill left the air, the residual regular warmth of the house sinking into the room as if blown in by a lazy breeze. Your hair still stood on end as you walked around with cautious, hesitant steps, having given up on the flashlight. There wasn't coming back from that.

It's only when you approached the spirit box, trying to turn it on to no avail, that you realized what he meant. You asked him to do something and he obliged.

He ghosted you. 

God fucking damn it. 

As you glared at the air in frustration, threw your hands up and personally cursed the fiend, you could've sworn you heard a resonating chuckle behind you as breath brushed against the nape of your neck in a way that sent shivers down your spine for a whole new reason.

[moyazaika]

could you imagine a rapper yandere that disses anyone that even MENTIONS their darling/"girlfriend" is a way that isn't worshipping. and he disses hard.

When I say "girlfriend" I mean, the rapper knows the name, address, occupation, phone number, email, etc, has a shrine full of photos that he hired people to take over someone that doesn't know anything about it.

reader is just another person who listens to music and knows his name in passing and his reputation for dissing anyone who talks "bad" about his girl. reader respects it, but doesn't really listen to rap so they move on with their life, completely unaware that THEY are the girl.

it's a complete coincidence that the features and traits that he raps about are the exact same as them. There are plenty of people with that trait.

and no one bats an eye that no photos of the "girlfriend" exists to the public. It's no surprise someone with his level of fame would want to keep their girl private.

"I saw you yesterday at your grandma's, it's a real shame what happened to your grandpops, I need some new fertilizer in my garden, been growing some bad crops, your girl Morgan so bad you're getting blowjobs from your grandma?"

*camera noises*

(I'm not a rapper, apologies for ✨cringe✨)

hey so please don’t apologise i actually fucking love this idea. 😭😭❤️‍🩹 this would be so so cute bonus points for being set in the early 2000’s so we’re in that era of pop and rap where it’s rlly just a few big names dominating the charts, the fun awards shows, cool fashion; y2k baby!

and in this new age of music you’ve got this chart topping rapper who (unlike the other guys in his genre) seems to be rapping not about his opps or his cars or his cash or his bitches but… how much he loves his gf. it’s incredibly endearing.

if only his gf actually knew she was dating him!

and when he stays on top of those charts, wins all those music awards; there’s bound to be jealousy and bitter envy. other artists complain. celebrity interviewers and journalists eat it up; “so what do you think of this mystery girl that seems to be the subject of all his music?”

his competitor rolls his eyes, “dumb as fuck, the both of them. always banging on about how lovely she is how pretty and smart she is… this bitch is a one hit wonder, you feel me?”

… he did not like that. drake vs kanye 2.0 ensues except this time there is no coming back for the poor soul who has the balls to say that. rapper ‘bf’ puts the poor guy’s life on blast.

‘industry plant? least i’m not a plant by the government / makin’ sure them anti bullying campaigns is working.”

okay, that’s not so bad right?

“your funny’s up, but your syndrome’s down, like your money after i put this out—but your dick stays up / when you drive ‘round and look for little boys to spend a night with in town.”

oh! well. looks like nobody’s going to mention this mysterious girl rapper bf adores so much ever again :’)

[ihavethedreamies]

Her Hero | Lee Know

Lee Minho - Stray Kids

Rating: M (18+) MDNI

Word Count: ~5k

Pairing: Podocheong! Lee Know x Noble! AFAB! Reader

(The Podocheong were like the police of Joseon Era Korea)

Genre: Historical AU!, Joseon Era, Reader-Insert, Fluff, Smut, Some Plot, Frenemies-to-Lovers (ish)

!!This is smut…if that much isn't clear you should probably leave now!! MDNI!

Warnings: She/Her Pronouns used, Swearing, Kissing, Pet Names (Sweetheart mostly), Fingering, First Times (Readers), Breeding Kink (kinda), Breathplay, A Single Spank, Masochist! Reader (surprise~!), Unprotected Sex (This is pre-birth control so…)

Summary: When a political rival of your father kidnaps you for a ransom, your father calls on the Podocheong (Police) to rescue you. An extremely handsome Bujang (Lieutenant) rescues you, but you would be loathe to admit you need (and like) a hero.

Author's Note: Here's Lee Know's!! Working on Changbin's, should be up very soon.

At the bottom I will have a guide for all the untranslated words I use, most of which are to do with the clothing they wear.

P.S. I'm having so much fun with these but I have to help watch our dog so she doesn't get on my uncle's furniture and so then I can't work on these during the day :\

Also, if any of my historical information/words are inaccurate, I apologize, I did the best with what research I could and what I know from watching too many historical K-Dramas.

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Your father was an important man who did important things. Unfortunately, some people didn't like the things he did or the way he did them. Namely, the Right State Minister…your father was the Left State Minister, so they should work together. No. They hated each other. Even more so because your father refused to let you marry the other Minister's son. That made the other man's son hate you…for some reason, like you had any say in the matter. You didn't even know the guy existed till your father told you he had prevented your marriage.

One day, as you waited by the entrance to your family's estate, you draped a sseugaechima over your head, waiting for your brother to join you. He was going to escort you to your friend's house, and you were getting impatient.

"Sorry!" He dashed through the courtyard, leaning down and panting to catch his breath. When he stood, the top of his gat wacked you on the chin and you flinched back.

"Sorry!" He floundered, peeling the head covering off so he could look at your annoyed face for any injury. He was such a klutz but at least he tried to make up for it.

"Let's just go please, orabeoni." You sniffed, recovering your head and you left the estate grounds. Your older brother weaved through the crowd, you held onto the belt of his hanbok to make sure you didn't get separated. There must have been some kind of big event or something going on because there were people everywhere.

"Ah, wait!" You cried out, someone bumped into you hard, and you let go of your brother.

"(Y/N)?" He turned around, his height allowing him to look over most of the crowd, but your own height hid you more. You were shoved and pushed as people whirled around you and called his name out.

"(Y/N)!" He shouted, but before you could reply, something hit you hard in the back of the head and you saw black.

~~~

When you woke up, you hurt. Your head hurt the most, but your whole body was sore. As your senses returned, you looked around in confusion. You were in a bedroom of what looked like an inn or other kind of lodging. Sitting up from the bed, you rubbed at the back of your head, looking around. Did your brother find you? If so, why did he bring you to a lodging rather than just back to your home? He also wasn't in the room. Did you pass out and a random person bring you here till you woke up? At the other side of the room, on the other side of a folding divider, you heard the door open. Unfortunately, it was not your brother that came in, you actually had no idea who it was. He was dressed all in black and his face was even covered.

"W-who are you?" You backed up on the bed, back hitting the wall, like that would really be of any use. He didn't say anything, but he pulled out a dagger and you froze in shock. Logically, you knew you could scream, but you couldn't physically get one out. He stalked forward and you closed your eyes, waiting for the worst. You squeaked when he grabbed your hair, right above where your daenggi was tied, and…cut your hair. He left as quickly as he came, the end of your hair along with the ribbon in his hand. What? Reaching around, you brought your hair over your shoulder to look at where he cut, nearly half of the length was gone.

"That-" you were madder more than anything else. Couldn't he have just undone the ribbon to use as proof? It was clear he didn't want to hurt you because you were in a nice room, not tied up, and other than a throbbing spot on the back of your head, you were unharmed.

After what felt like around an hour of sitting in the corner, contemplating what to do, you got up to look around. You weren't sure about trying to escape. Just because you were unhurt up until then didn't mean your captor would be so merciful if you tried to leave. Plus, you might get more hurt escaping, you were pretty sure you were on a second or even third floor. Just to check though…nope, the window shutters were locked from the other side it seemed. Plus, obviously, so was the door. Great. As time ticked by, you messed with the various objects of décor, trying to prevent boredom. Didn't work. All the drawers were empty and there wasn't even a baduk board for you to mess around with. After being nosy even more, you found a book wedged in the back of a dresser, between the back panel of the drawer and the piece as a whole. You weren't sure how it got back there and when you finally yanked it out, you sighed.

"Better than nothing." It was some old romance book that had been there for probably at least ten years. Sitting at a table in the room, you started the read, not really enjoying it, but it was better than nothing. More time passed and you were glad there was at least a separate room with a chamber pot, but it was getting dark. Your stomach rumbled and you wondered just how long you had been out cold because you and your brother had left the estate fairly early in the morning. When night fell, you found a lantern but had no way to light it. So, you had to sit in the dark, only the faint light of the moon flowed in through the slits of the locked shutters. Sitting back on the bed, your stomach growled again, and you sighed, laying down. You might as well pass time with sleep.

~~~

You were startled awake when there was a loud commotion outside of not just the lodging but also your room. Getting up from the bed you went to try and look through the slats of the windows but couldn't see much. There was a loud crash, and you turned around just in time to see the door break into pieces as someone kicked it open, not even bothering to try and unlock it first. It was the Podocheong! The man that came in had the uniform of a Bujang, and he sighed in relief upon seeing you. Another officer came in then, taller than the man who had kicked the door in.

"We believe we arrested all of the perpetrators, sir." He bowed slightly to the lieutenant, and he nodded, waving him off.

"Are you okay, Lady (Y/N)?" He came forward, brow furrowed in worry, looking over you. You shrunk under his gaze, embarrassed, hiding your face. His hands went to your jaw, making you look at him so he could see if your face was harmed. Your cheeks felt hot under his thumbs, he was strikingly attractive, but also familiar.

"When your brother couldn't find you, he came straight to me." He told you, letting you go, and you nodded, stepping back, looking away again. He then realized how intimate his action had been, and he bowed, apologizing.

"Are you friends with my orabeoni?"

"Yes, my lady. When we both got to your estate to look for you, your father informed us that a ransom letter had been sent for your safe return. I apologize for not getting here much sooner." You shook your head, casting a glance up at him, not sure if you were allowed to really show him your face.

"Here." He removed his jeonbok, draping it over your head so you could hide under it. Thanking him gently, you pulled it down over your more, it smelled like him, which was amazing.

"Let's get you home."

"W-what is your name?"

"Minho of the Lee clan, my lady."

~~~

When you returned home, not just your mother and brother were in tears like you expected, but your father was as well. He wasn't cold normally, but he just had better control of his emotions.

"Thank you, hyungnim." Your brother bowed to Bujang Minho, still sniffing a bit.

"Yes, we cannot begin to express our gratitude, Bujang." Your father thanked him as well and you let your mother lead you further into the estate so she could hug you. You hugged her tightly back, incredibly grateful to be home safe.

~~~

You weren't sure what Minho had asked of your father in return for rescuing you, but he seemed to be hanging around a lot. While, yes, he was mostly with your brother, you would always find him watching you if you happened to be around or passed by. One day you were sitting at the edge of your family's pond under a parasol, messing around with some embroidery work. You were not very good at it even though you enjoyed it.

"Is that supposed to be a flower?" You heard a teasing remark to your side, and you sent a glare at the owner, but, it was not your brother. Quickly, your face reddened, and you looked back down.

"U-uh yes, but as you can see, I am a little poor at this." You huffed a nervous laugh.

"Then why are you doing it?"

"I like it, just-" You yelped when you poked yourself with the needle, quickly putting the tip of your finger in your mouth. Setting the frame on the ground and putting the needle back in the cushion, you ran a finger over the messy stitching.

"What else do you like to do?" You froze when he sat down next to you, not close enough to touch you, but you weren't expecting it. He wasn't in his Podocheong uniform, the light greenish-blue fabric of his hanbok complimented him well. Looking away from where the material seemed to be struggling over his chest, you cleared your throat.

"I enjoy painting, but once again, I'm not great at it."

"Is there anything you enjoy that you are good at?" You saw him tilt his head to rest it on his fist, elbow resting on his knee, from the side of your eye.

"I…" You were a little stumped.

"N-not really." You enjoyed creative and artistic work, but you were not skilled in the field.

"That's not what your brother told me." Your eyes widened and you shot him a wary look.

"Your father isn't even here." Minho rolled his eyes, and you clenched your jaw. He was kind of getting on your nerves. Mostly because he was stupidly attractive, and you didn't like being teased to begin with.

"I haven't shot a bow in years." You whispered, still weary.

"Worried a man won't want to marry you if you can fight?"

"Archery isn't fighting, and I'm not worried about that." You stood up then, leaving the parasol jabbed in the ground, gathering up your frame and embroidery basket, walking around him to head back to your room.

"Let's go do it." He caught up to you, walking backwards, smirking as he walked ahead of you.

"No." It was too risky, you got caught last time your brother took you to his make-shift archery range.

"We can go to the Podocheong training area, no one will know. No one's there now." You had reached the stairs to get up onto the deck of your house, and you halted at the bottom. The offer was extremely tempting…

"Fine, let me get something to change into."

With a bundle of your brother's old clothes in tow, Minho helped you sneak off the estate grounds. He had at least told your brother, so no one thought you got kidnapped again. Your father didn't check on you after dark so he wouldn't know you weren't in your room. After you arrived at the training grounds, you changed in a bathing room and came out.

"You really look like your brother like that." Minho scoffed and you rolled your eyes.

"I know." You sniffed and he led you toward the back where the archery targets were set up. Without waiting for his prompt, you looked over the different bows on the rack and picked one, then grabbed a quiver as well. It felt instantly familiar, and you were glad for that, but your aim was rusty.

"You're supposed to hit the middle." Minho hummed next to you, pointing to where you had hit off to the side quite a bit.

"I know." You grit your teeth, shooting off another arrow and it missed as well. Was it the bow?

"Here." He moved to adjust your grip on the bow, and you yanked away from his hold.

"I don't need your help." You were embarrassed because you said archery was something you were actually good at.

"You did a few weeks ago." The little string of control you had snapped, the fire of your annoyance singing the ends, and you turned to him, glaring at him straight in the eye.

"What, you want me to say thank you? After my father showered you with gifts and allowed you to loiter around our estate? Fall to my knees in gratitude to my hero? Huh? If you want that go to another girl." You turned back away from him, not noticing his amused grin and you shot another arrow, hitting the red bullseye.

"What?" You nearly growled, standing at the door to your room's building, having opened it to find Minho leaning on the wooden column next to the stairs. He was relentless for the next few weeks, and you were really pissed. More so that you missed when he wouldn't show up with that stupid smirk on his pretty face. Why were you starting to like him when he just teased you all the damn time? Wasn't he your brother's friend? He constantly pestered you to go shoot with him, or go ride on his horse, or some other stuff, and you said no to almost everything. You would only eat with him if he brought snacks or a meal because who says no to food?

"I think you dropped this." You looked to see your eunjangdo dangling from his index finger.

"Give it!" You swiped at it, but he held it up and back behind him so you couldn't reach it. The silver shined in the sun, and you jumped to grab it, falling onto him when you couldn't make it.

"Give it back!" You pressed against him more, fingers barely touching the sheath of the dagger.

"Hm, no." He chuckled and you yiped when he wrapped his other arm around you, holding you to him. Your face bloomed with heat, and you could even see the red on the tip of your nose when you looked at his face, very close to yours.

"I really should stop helping you if you don't want a hero so bad." He finally relented and brought the dagger back down, but he didn't let you go. He was warm against you, and you could feel the muscle he had underneath the layers of clothes and even through your own. Your head was swimming, and you didn't even move to grab your eunjangdo from him when it was within reach.

"Have you heard the rumor about the watermill behind your house by the stream?" Instantly you knew what he was talking about.

"Y-You!" Your face's redness changed from embarrassment to rage, and you pulled away from him, slapping him hard, then turning on your heel and going back inside, the silver dagger still dangling in his grasp.

You didn't want to admit why you were crying, but you held the cushion to your chest closer, pressing your tear-stained face into the pink silk. You weren't overly fond of romance and sweet gestures, but the crassness of his suggestion hurt. Did he only want to bed you and then move on? You hoped deep inside he liked you back. And it wasn't until you cried for a good hour that you realized why you were so upset. You liked him. That’s why you wanted him to like you back.

"Dammit." You sniffed, wiping hard at your face with your sleeve.

"(Y/N)?" A soft voice called from just outside your window, only moonlight coming in through it, one small candle illuminating your room softly.

"(Y/N)? I know you're awake." You registered the owner of the voice, and you deflated further into your cushions.

"Go away." You spat at him.

"(Y/N), please?" Minho's tone was like nothing you had heard before, and it was beginning to compel you.

"No." He could probably hear the insincerity in your voice.

"(Y/N), sweetheart, please?" Your heart stopped, then sped into a gallop when he called you that. Your body seemed to act at the will of your heart and not your brain, because you got up, using a step stool, and opened the window. He smiled, genuinely, and it made you swallow hard. You wanted to cry again.

"I'm so sorry." He stepped forward, the window just the right height for him to rest his arms on the sill from where he stood on the porch. You didn't say anything, you were worried you would burst into tears if you tried.

"I said something horrible; I was just trying to tease you and I hurt you. Will you forgive me?" You hadn't heard such a sincere tone from him since he rescued you at the lodging. Your uncertain gaze met his intense one and he sighed.

"What you said awhile back made me think. You said that your father showered me with gifts for saving you? He didn't."

"But…orabeoni said you got confections and a bunch of other stuff."

"That was from him and your mother. Your father had a different gift, but I told him I didn't want it. Not without you agreeing." What?

"Huh?" He smiled at the clear confusion all over your face, the sad look falling off.

"Your father offered you as a gift. As my wife. I said yes, but I wanted to court you first. I didn't do a great job though I guess." Minho sighed and you couldn't hold back then, tears spilling over your cheeks.

"(Y/N)?" He stood up straight and you stepped closer, and he gently cupped your cheek in his hand.

"You should have just said so, you stupid idiot." You hitched a sob with each word, and he smiled, letting out a small laugh.

"Yes. I should have."

~~~

It seemed, to Minho even more than you, the wedding couldn't have been soon enough. It was also hard to hide from your family just how clingy he was. If no one was around, his arms were around you at the very least. He had you sit in his lap while you did most things, his chin on your shoulder, watching you sew or read. More than just a few times he would be standing next to you or hugging you and his hand would sneak lower than he really should have put it. The first time he got a not-very-strong hit to his chest, and he just chuckled.

You were a bit sad to move out of your family home, but you and he were given your own separate house on his father's estate, so far on the edge of the land that it felt like your own. As you stood in your new bedroom, dressed only in your sokchima, flinching at every noise as if it was your… You giggled finally thinking of him as your husband, and you hopped a little with glee. Every noise though made you hope that it was him, returning from his own bath, but most of the time it was just an animal outside, or the wind making the window shutters creak slightly.

Finally, the door to the bedroom opened and he peaked his head in, a serious look on his face.

"Are you ready, (Y/N)? Because I'm running out of restraint." The sharp look in his eyes made you shiver, but you nodded anyway. As he stalked in, the door falling shut behind him, he tugged at the goreum of his sokjeogori, and time slowed down as it fell to the floor. Your eyes skated over the skin that he revealed, and you didn't have time to react, he scooped you up in his arms and easily carried you to the bed. He pinned you to the yo, raised onto a platform and you gasped as his lips sealed over yours. His hand snuck under your head, fingers weaving through your hair at the base of your braid, pressing you even closer to him.

His other hand wandered, snaking up your leg, pushing your sokchima up higher and higher. Feeling his hands on your bare skin made you shiver despite the heat he seemed to be setting. You panted when he finally pulled his tongue out of your mouth, licking his lips like a hungry dog. His eyes though reminded you of a cat on the hunt.

"How rough can I be?" Minho's lips brushed the skin of your neck as he spoke, then his mouth attached, and he sucked hard. You huffed at the feeling; mind not able to stay on track for very long.

"Huh?" You finally managed to get out, hands balled into fists over his shoulders, your pulse seeming to thud harder where he had sucked the skin nearly raw.

"I've been waiting to have you so long, sweetheart, that I just want to breed you like a bitch in heat." The vulgarity of his words shocked you, but it somehow fueled your arousal rather than offending you.

"I want to brand you as mine." He licked a path over your throat, ending at the hickey he had left under your ear. His blunt nails dug into the flesh of your upper thigh as he pulled it up to his waist, his hand sliding down to cup your rear.

"M-Minho-!" You couldn't help but throw your head back with an airy moan as he rolled his hips against yours, his hard cock pressing to your bare core through his pants.

"Tell me now, so I can slow down." You could hear the strain in his voice, his breathing was hard too.

"Don't." So, he didn't. He didn't hesitate either and you squeaked when he rolled you over underneath him, landing on your stomach. Instead of untying your sokchima like a civilized person, he tore the straps at the seams, then yanked the white garment from you and tossed it to the side, leaving you completely naked. Your skin immediately rose into goosebumps from the sudden chill, but the heat of his bare chest pressing to your back instantly took over.

"You're just perfect." He hummed, nearly laying completely on top of you, hard cock nestled in the crest of your butt. Minho's arm snuck under you, sliding up to nestle between your breasts, his hand gripping your jaw. You whimpered at the restraining feeling even though it was nowhere close to tight, and you felt his dick twitch at the noise. His free hand also snuck underneath you, holding himself up with pure core strength, only the elbow of the arm holding you supporting him. As his fingertips ran over your lower stomach you sighed, the muscles twitching at the stimulation. He hummed and you recognized the noise that he always made when he smirked, and your body jerked when his fingers finally met your cunt.

"So wet already, sweetheart." His nose nuzzled behind your ear, the hand at your jaw loosening even further but sliding down just a bit to cup your throat. Quickly, his index finger brushed over your clit, and you whined, and he chuckled, feeling the vibration at his palm.

"M-Minho…" Your head was swimming, and you let out a choking noise when he buried a finger into you.

"Don't worry sweetheart, I'll loosen your tight cunt enough to take my cock." While Minho wasn't always outstandingly proper with you, his crass words still surprised you some. They went straight to your core though, and he felt your gummy walls spasm around the single digit. Slowly, he pumped his finger till you relaxed, the slight sting from the entrance dissipating. You had never even used your own fingers and based off what you felt nestled into your backside, you did need to get prepped. Whether it was on purpose or not, when Minho finally added a second finger, his hand at your throat tightened just enough to put slight pressure on your windpipe. Your cunt spasmed again, harder, and your heart sped up as well, wondering why the sensation excited you so much.

"Oh?" He chuckled, speeding up his hand at your pussy, palm pressing to your throat a bit harder. His palm pressed at your clit and a strong pulse hit your core, and it was getting stronger and stronger.

"W-wait, Minho!" You gasped, having an idea that you were close even if you had never felt it. The intensity startled you a bit.

"Go ahead, (Y/N), fall apart." The hand at your throat pressed enough to make your vision swim and you keened out a moan as you came. He huffed at the squeeze on his fingers, but helped you ride the high out, kissing behind your ear as he did. When he unwrapped his arms from around you, you fell limp on the bedding, still trying to catch your breath. Swallowing a few times to ease the slight soreness of your throat, you heard him shuffle. You, however, had no time to look behind you at him before his hands were on your hips, pulling them up, forcing your butt up in the air.

"What are you-?"

"I said I wanted to breed you like a bitch in heat." Oh, he meant it literally. Unfortunately for you, he hadn't given you the chance to see him bare, because you were not prepared for when he brought the head of his cock to your entrance.

"Breathe, sweetheart." His hands wrapped around your waist, thumbs rubbing circles into the skin of your back, and you focused on measured breaths as the fat head of his dick finally started to press in. Stinging heat seared through you from your core out as he entered, and you couldn't tell what it felt like. Somehow it hurt like hell but also felt so good, so much so you thought you might pass out. You fisted the bedding below you, gasping for air as he slid in, the slick of your arousal aiding the entrance.

"Your cunt's hugging my cock so good~" Minho sighed, the noise turning into a groan as he buried even further. How much further would he go? The searing heat was so deep you wondered if he would stop anytime soon.

"Just a bit…" He chuckled when he finally bottomed out, the tip pressing snugly to the base of your womb. Tears had sprung to your eyes, your whole face felt hot, and you panted hard, trying to get used to the odd feeling. Yes, it hurt, but it felt so much better than you thought it would.

"Tell em when you're ready, my love." He leaned over you again, kissing your shoulder gently and petting your hair.

"Go." You answered almost immediately, and his soft touches halted.

"Love, are you sure?"

"Fuck, please!" You weren't sure why you needed him to start already, logic told you it would hurt, but you craved it. It felt so dirty to like the burn so much, but you couldn't help it.

"Yeah?"

"Please!" Your breath was forced from your lungs when he rolled his hips, pulling out halfway before snapping back into you, hard. He felt your core pulse around him, a rush of your arousal soaking his cock, and he grinned like a madman.

"So fucking perfect." He immediately began a brutal pace, but still held back some, only pulling out half before driving his cock back home, battering your womb.

"W-wait, oh! Ah! Fuck!" The same waves of pleasure were already cresting, so much stronger than before and Minho relished in feeling the clench of your gummy walls around his cock instead of his fingers.

"So good." He mumbled to himself, licking his lips and as you got closer…

"Fuck!" You squealed when his hand came down on your ass, leaving a red print on your skin and you came again. He gasped a laugh as your arousal drenched his cock and his groin, leaving a shining trail down both your thighs. Minho laughed at your whine of disapproval when he pulled out, but it turned to a gasp as he flipped you over. He threw one of your legs over his shoulder, ankle at his ear, holding the other to his side, and he filled you again. Your vision spotted from the stinging pleasure the overstimulation was causing you, but you focused on his gorgeous face. He had that cocky smirk on his face, sweat beading down from his forehead and you whimpered at the sight. With what little strength you had, you propped yourself up to see where he was splitting you open. Whether it was the sight or his next thrust, you fell back limp and fisted the sheets as he fucked you like a rabbit. His shallow movements were even harder than before, and your eyes rolled back, back arching as your next orgasm rose.

"Oh, what a good girl, cum for me, love." Minho took your hands in his, your legs barely wrapping around him to hold on. His fingers wove through yours, lips meeting once more as his pace stuttered. He must have felt your moan against his tongue as you came once more, the tight vice of your cunt spurred him over the edge as well. Your core burned even hotter as his cum filled you to the point where it spilled from you, mixing with your own. Your body went limp, and Minho hummed, kissing your forehead.

"I love you." He left little pecks all over your face and you giggled sleepily.

"I love you, too. I'm glad you saved me that day."

"No, (Y/N), I think you saved me."

Sseugaechima - this is the extra-skirt looking garment women would wear over their heads. Gat - this is the hat that noblemen would wear, more specifically the ones that were black and made of mesh. Orabeoni - more archaic/historical word for older brother to a girl. Hanbok - traditional/historical clothing, most people think of women's dresses, but men's clothes were called this as well. Daenggi - the ribbon that was tied around a unmarried girl's braid. Baduk - Korean word for the Chinese game of Go. Podocheong - essentially the Joseon era police. Bujang - a Lieutenant-level position in the Podocheong. Jeonbok - kind of like a long vest worn over a hanbok. Hyungnim - a more commonly used term historically for a man to an older brother or friend. Eunjangdo - a silver dagger that many women wore as an accessory, mostly nobles. Sokchima - basically a dress/skirt like under-garment. Goreum - the ties that fastened the top of a hanbok. Sokjeogori - a shirt worn as an undergarment. Yo - a Korean floor mattress.

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[bucketsquid]

An Exhaustive List of Octarian F.A.Qs... and Answers!

There's one thing I've noticed about the Western Splatoon fandom.... and that's the weird amount of misconceptions, mistranslations, and misunderstandings about the Octarians.

For some reason it's often lore about them, surrounding them, or about their activities that always seems to have this happen. And so I want to help correct that! They're a super cool faction and I want to work on people hopefully understanding them better, while helping to correct misconceptions about them.

This will be long, there will be many citations and pictures both. Shoutout in particular to Inkipedia and inkfish translator rassicas, and the hard work of both, for this.

If there's any common lore misconceptions that I left out, please let me know! I'm including every single one I can think of, but I probably missed something somewhere.

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General Octarian Questions

Q. How are Octarians made? And are Octolings made the same way?

A. Octarians are made from severed Octoling tentacles (The Art of Splatoon + SplatoonBase) that are then somehow animated. Ones with more tentacles are "more intelligent"; they're sapient, either way.

Octolings are not, to our knowledge, created like this. The existence of SashiMori's Paul suggests that Octolings undergo the same life stages as Inklings do. (Similarly, Diss-Pair's Warabi has lore that mentions having parents.)

There is concept art in HaikaraWalker (the Octo Expansion artbook) that depicts Octolings mutating from Octarians... but it seems to just be concept art.

Q. Did Octavio brainwash the Octarians into obeying him? Wasn't music used to make them obey?

A. No, they were never brainwashed. Octavio uses his music to keep the Octarians in order and to keep their working rhythm correct-- like a military march. Inkipedia compares the Onward! jingle to "a call-and-response clapping rhythm used by teachers to grab students' attention in elementary schools". It does sound like that...

Now, if you want to say that Octarian propaganda is brainwashing, yes, that does exist.

Q. We've only ever seen feminine Octoling soldiers. What's with that?

A. The "rival Octolings" we meet in the story modes are all part of a special military unit that's female-only. They're referred to as "Takozonesu" in Japanese, a mashup of "tako" (octopus) and "amazons". Not every female Octoling can be one of these, and this group isn't completely representative of Octolings in the military.

There are male Octolings, they're just not part of this one group. (Fun fact, did you know that these Octolings are voiced by Callie and Marie's voice actors?)

Q. What's with the green sclera on Octarians?

A. There's no confirmed canon reasons. Octolings are very inconsistent about it, as well; Octavio has it and so do many enemy Octolings, but not other Octolings of note.

It could just be that the whites of their eyes are really reactive to stuff in general, since sanitized Octarians have black sclera. The green color could also just be something that happens with age while living in the domes.

Q. In Octo Expansion, Marina calls Octarian society "oppressive"-- how oppressive is it really?

A. This descriptor is actually inaccurate to the original Japanese, and was added in localization. (The Splatoon 2 Retranslation Project has a more accurate version over here! Thanks @shiverhohojiro for the link.) Octo Expansion has some notorious details that were added in localization, like Craig being more racist than usual or the omission of Commander Tartar's chatter about humankind.

That said. The domes are an isolationist* military-centric society, with emphasis on meritocracy. Octolings go into professions for things they're good at, not necessarily for what they want to do. Resources like electricity are limited, so they have to structure life around that detail, and strictness logically follows. The military doesn't tolerate slackers or nonsense, but talented people seem to do well for themselves based on how Marina's life was. Even so...

A lot of music, culture and artwork gets made down there! And they have things like beachside domes, bowling-themed domes, amusement park domes and even circuses... so it's not completely strict. There's a lot of room for silliness, it just needs to be in the right place.

So, to be totally fair? We don't know much. It's not perfect, but it's also not a hellish place to live if you wanted to stay. * They trade with Salmonids, but don't seem to do so with anyone else.

Q. Can they respawn? Are we killing them when we splat them?

A. Yes, they can use respawn technology in the same way Inklings and Octolings do. The only situation where an Octarian explicitly dies is, potentially, during the escape phases in Octo Expansion!

Q. Where/how did they make the domes?

A. Leftover human technology, meant to be similar "last resort shelters" made by humans. Think Alterna, but on a smaller fragmented scale.

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Questions about DJ Octavio

Q. Why do we always see him in octopus form? Can he shapeshift?

A. Octavio can't shapeshift because of an injury from the Great Turf War. He was able to do so before and during it, however!

Q. We know Octavio leads the Octarians, but what is he? A king, an emperor, or what?

A. He is a Japanese shogun, as referenced by his title in the first Splatoon: "DJ Takowasa shōgun". We don't know if he was appointed by an emperor, if he was part of the previous shogun's family, or if he just sort of... took up the mantle (haha octopus joke) after the Great Turf War.

Q. Did he brainwash Callie?

Based on the information we have... I am inclined to say, no, he didn't brainwash Callie.

Callie was in an extremely stressful period of her life, Octavio reached out to talk, and... we don't know what happened next. But the context feels like Callie might have joined willingly. In reference to the Hypnoshades, it's important to note that hypnosis as a concept is incredibly variable, with one argument made that "you cannot hypnotize an unwilling participant".

"But, didn't he say--"

He likes music puns. He's a DJ. It's supposed to be funny, why aren't you laughing? (What this line was in JP, I wonder...)

... But, I feel like the evidence stacks up. It suggests that Callie wasn't kidnapped or brainwashed or forced to join the Octarians. It was probably an escape from fame and loneliness for her-- the Hypnoshades helped her get away from that and just have a good time. But with Octavio being a guy to hold a grudge, nothing got to be that simple, and Callie was ultimately weaponized against the New Squidbeak Splatoon.

It remains very up-to-interpretation because we don't know, exactly, what happened behind the scenes. But Callie fosters zero ill will towards the Octarians, even after being rescued... and if fiery, outspoken Callie doesn't seem to be angry about it, what does that say about the matter?

Q. Why do all the tentacles piloting the Great Octoweapons have the same scar as him?

A. Because they're directly cloned from Octavio and are then made to pilot them, presumably because they have the muscle memory to operate as pilots. Octopuses have very complicated brains and neural centers that extend out into their arms.. so this cool bit of sci-fi checks out.

Q. How old is Octavio, really?

A. We don't know. But the narrative often parallels him with Craig Cuttlefish, who mentions in Octo Expansion that he's 130 years old. It would be fair to assume Octavio is also, at least, 130.

Q. Why is he so gigantic in Splatoon compared to the other games?

idk man, you tell me. I think this is much funnier and cooler than later games, though.

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Octo Expansion + Octarians Questions

Q. It's suggested that there were thousands of test subjects before Agent 8. Where did Kamabo Co. get all of these people?

A. Not only is it suggested that the Deepsea Metro may be accessible from other train lines, but it's also plausible that the subterranean networks that the Octarians use could be connected to the Metro. (Thank you for your hard work, Dodo.)

Test chambers always reminded me of Octarian domes, anyways, with the large amount of highly versatile space they have, and how it'd only make sense underground.

After all, Commander Tartar offered a glimpse of "the promised land", and that plays very specifically into the Octoling desire to see the surface world again. ("A utopia of light beyond your wildest dreams".) Its appearance as a telephone even seems to evoke an Octarian's face, which they're more willing to trust.

Q. Are sanitized Octarians a hivemind?

A. They're something like that, being hollow shells that have lost their memories and identities while submitting to a higher force. (This can be fixed, as we've learned.) They seem responsive to being assigned roles, what with Acht being made to produce music while other sanitized Octolings act as enemies in test chambers.

Commander Tartar's ideology revolves around a lot of "giving up one's individuality for the greater good" and "joining something bigger than yourself". To "eliminate the general idea of the individual" for "a harmonious world"... "becoming one with existence".

I think that carries a lot of interesting implications. You can draw your own conclusions, since there's no explicit canon answer.

Q. Was Acht sanitized willingly or unwillingly?

A. Public twitter info suggests that they were sanitized willingly, to "get rid of doubts and conflicts involving production" and to commit completely to music. But in Side Order, Acht says that it wasn't done willingly.

There's a lot of ways to interpret this. Maybe they wanted to at first, had a last-minute realization that they got tricked, and ultimately didn't want it. Maybe they committed completely and don't want to say it. Maybe social media is lying to us completely, in the same corporate word-twisting ways that Grizzco also uses, to make Kamabo Co. seem better. So... who knows?

Q. How does the Kamabo Corporation have clones of the Octo Canyon bosses?

A. Uh...

... I don't actually know. Clearly they have pretty advanced technology going on, so maybe they actually did manage to replicate and clone these bosses perfectly?

Or, maybe, it's just a psychological recreation of Agent 8's memories. Octo Expansion has a lot of stuff like that, so it feels pretty possible!

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Anyways, that's all... for now. I'll probably only edit in more sources and tweak details on this post, but it's completely possible that I might need to add more things later.

[themusingsofacurlyhairednerd]

In Love and War (8)

Summary: The aftermath of all her family secrets might be more chaotic than Reader bargained for when her powers suddenly start to flare. Good thing her Warlord has more than a few ideas how to help navigate it ;)

Content Warnings: Depressive thoughts, Reader mentions wanting to die; Suggestiveness, Slight SMUT; Canon Typical Violence

Author's Note: To make up for the last chapter being so short, please enjoy that flirty little bastard being a menace! ;)

Chapter 7/Masterlist

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

I don’t sleep at all that night. I lay there, Rhysand sleeping soundly beside me, exhausted from the events of the last couple of days. He’d barely kept his eyes open long enough to eat. I’d barely managed to choke down a few bites myself. The guilt has my stomach in a perpetual knot. I’ve dedicated so much of my life to hating this male, only to be wrong about all of it, and now I’m in too deep to even do anything about it.  I can’t go home. There is no home to go back to. My family slaughtered an innocent mother and daughter. Rhys received their heads in boxes like some sort of twisted gift. They were supposed to be allies and my father betrayed them in the worst possible way. He paid for it with his life, with my mother’s life; it should have been the end of it. Tamlin was given a mercy and he should have taken it. He should have abandoned my father’s teachings and become a better lord, a better man. Instead, he perpetuated the cycle of abuse and suffering. He encouraged me to hate these people, to covet everything they had as if they were undeserving of it. All these years I loathed our miserable existence thinking the Mother hated us and was being unjust in giving these people all these things that we were never allowed. But we deserved it! We were the bad guys all along.

I roll over onto my side to look at him. He still sleeps in his armor, knife still strapped to his thigh, sword resting against the tent pole only a foot away. He’s ready to be up and fighting in a moment's notice. Our father’s were so similar, and yet, he turned out to be merciful and kind and somehow, so startlingly gentle that I often forget he’s still capable of intense prowess. He is the only male I’ve ever truly felt comfortable with, because that gentleness came as a response to the violence he’d seen, not because that violence was never there. He’d felt the cold sting of it, and chose to be something gentle instead of returning it.

And here I am, with all that righteous anger that had kept me warm on my coldest days, choosing to return all the violence that had been inflicted on me onto others. Just as Tamlin did. Just as my father did. 

And looking at it I don’t want to be him. He ruined my mother! He took something good and kind and locked it away and used her for his own ends! I don’t even know if he ever really loved her. Why would you keep the things you love in a cage?

I sit up abruptly. Maybe he was as scared of being alone as I am. 

I can’t sit in this tent anymore! I can’t-

Rhysand jolts awake as soon as I move, hand twitching for his knife, shadows swirling off his body in response to what his sleep muddled mind thinks is a threat. “What’s wrong?”

I put a hand on his chest, spinning onto my knees so I can kiss his forehead. “Nothing, I just need to relieve myself.”

He lets me push him down onto the mat, body relaxing and pliant beneath my touch. “You sure?”

“Positive.” If he tried to follow me out now I think I really might explode. My stomach feels like it's ripping itself apart. My bones ache, my skin feels like it's stretched too tight over them. There is too much nervous energy bound inside my body. I just need to get out and stretch my legs; get some fresh air and clear my head. I will be fine if I can clear my head.

“Take your knife,” he says, eyes already drifting shut again. 

I strap it to my thigh as I slip from the tent, gulping down lungfuls of crisp, mountain air as I go. I just need to clear my head. Is finding a way to survive this fucked up world really me acting like my father? I’ve never killed innocent people. I’ve never withheld necessities or lorded my power over people. I’m just not being honest about my intentions. It’s shitty. I’m using a mating bond I’m still not wholly sure is real as a means to getting food and shelter and, hopefully, a decent helping of mind blowing sex.

Cauldron that sounds really, really fucked up.

But how am I supposed to tell him? Hey, I know that you really don’t like my family and they’ve done nothing but screw you over but I also accepted your offer to try and ruin your life and take all of your land and kinda only just changed my mind about it yesterday. And it would be really super cool if you just let that slide because I have nowhere else to go.

That would go over soooooo well. He’d be totally fine with it! 

I ground my palms into my eyes as I walk behind a couple trees to at least make it look like I really did need to go pee. There are men on guard duty, no doubt someone is going to see me wandering around camp.

My brain feels like it’s being squeezed by my skull. There has to be a way to go about this that doesn’t get me tossed out into the coming snow, while also not lying so deeply about it. I do care about him. It was a lie at first but now…

I put my back against the tree and slide down until I’m sitting on the rocky ground, head still in my hands. I don’t know if he’s my mate. There’s something there, I feel it pulling at me, even now, but I can’t give it a name. And I want to be here. Not just because of the story he’d told yesterday. When Lucien tried to get me to leave, I really didn’t want to go back with him. But how am I supposed to live with the truth? How am I supposed to look at him and see that he wants this so much more than I do, despite everything?

Actually, why does he want this, despite everything? He’d asked me why I stayed. I never asked him why he brought me here. There’s certainly enough bad blood between our families to make even a mate hesitate to bring me in.

I lean back against the tree, the rough scrape of the bark against my aching skin a relief. My body feels so strange, being around Rhysand’s magic has made it feel like there’s something beneath my skin.

Tomorrow, in the morning, I will ask him why he still brought me back. Then I will decide what to do. 

------

He certainly doesn’t make asking him easy. Rhys wakes me up with his lips on my throat, along the fading marks he’d left a couple days before,  trailing them down as his hands hike up my sweater. The heat of him against the early morning chill has my resolve slipping, all my plans slipping through my fingers as he runs his tongue over my peaked nipples.

I can’t think past the roaring in my ears; the ache in my body for more, more, more. There is nothing and no one but him as he trails lower, each kiss more forceful than the last as he heads for the waistband of my pants.

“Rhys,” I moan, voice still thick with sleep, even as my body arches under him. I want him everywhere. I need him everywhere. The stirring feeling beneath my skin is worse today, only quelled by the trail of his hands on my body. For once, my racing thoughts are quiet. If only we could stay like this. 

“Hmmm,” he hums into my stomach, just beneath my navel. There’s a bit of stubble along his jaw, the scrape of it against my oversensitive skin makes my eyes roll back into my head. “Did you want something, mate?”

“You,” I groan, hand reaching out to tangle in his hair to try and move him where I need him. 

He grins, I can feel the upturn of his lips against my stomach, but he refuses to budge. Just nips at the skin visible above my waistline. “You have me.”

Bastard! My whole body trembles beneath him. I can’t get a breath down fast enough. I need him everywhere all at once. “Need you inside me,” I bite out.

He simply hums again, hands tugging at my waistband with an inhumane slowness that makes me feel like I’m going to burst out of my skin. I use the hand not in his hair to grip the mat, trying to ground myself, trying to find some semblance of control again. I’m gripping so tight my bones ache, fingers feeling like they’re breaking. There’s a tearing sound, a pricking sensation in my palm and then a gush of something wet across my hand. 

Even he looks up at that, and when I turn to look, I’m more than a little surprised to find that I’ve grown claws, and I’ve just tore them right through my hand!

“Shit!” He’s gone from between my legs in an instant, all the heat in my body leaving with him. 

I can’t unfurl my hand. Can’t retract the claws, they’re stuck through my palm with my fist closed around it. I’ve only ever grown them in anger, how the hell had I done it now?

Rhysand comes back with a towel as I manage to sit up. “I thought you smelled different this morning,” he muses.

“What the fuck is that supposed to mean?” I hiss.

“Our magic can be protective. It can hide itself if it doesn’t feel safe. I don’t think you were born with too little, I think you were born with too much.” His fingers massage my wrist, trying to find the right pressure points to help me unclench my fist. “I think that it buried itself inside you to keep you safe. And I think, now that you’re here, it’s manifesting, and like the wards, it has its own scent.”

Fan-fucking-tastic!

“Well I’d like it to un-manifest,” I hiss. “I was doing just fine without it!” There’s blood dripping through the towel, if anything it feels like my claws are burrowing deeper into my palm. I can practically feel them trying to tear right through the back of my hand.

He can’t seem to find the right spot and trying to pry my fingers out of my palm is a no go. He frowns, lifting the towel for a better look. “I’m gonna try something.”

I’m prepared for a blow from his own magic, some form of glittering starlight or shadowy darkness, I am not prepared for him to kiss me again. The sound I make in surprise is somewhere between a growl and a gasp because what the hell is he doing? But even though my head is struggling to catch up, my body is not. On instinct, I lean back to allow him better access, his tongue slipping behind my teeth. The rolling feeling beneath my skin lessens, the tightness in my palm slowly releasing. I thread my functioning hand through his hair as my body gives what I can only describe as a sigh of relief. A moment later, the claws retract and I can finally unfurl my fist.

“Flair ups can be heavily tied to your emotions,” he says, lips barely off mine. “Probably wasn’t the best idea to tease you in the middle of one.” 

It takes him all of thirty seconds to find some rags and tie up my hand, even though the blood flow is already lessening. All I can do is stare at it while he does it. This is certainly a new and unwelcome development to this whole mess.

“Is that going to keep happening?”

Azriel pops his head into our tent, unannounced as usual. “Are you two done in here or what? I, personally, cannot live with Cassian if he beats us around the mountain.”

“We’ll be right there,” Rhysand huffs.

“I’m seeing a trend with him,” I mutter. 

He smirks, “It’s one of Azriel’s many charms.” 

He helps me to my feet, holding onto me like he thinks something else might just burst out of my skin. Truth be told, I can still feel something shifting around, a prowling animal begging to be released from its cage. I’d thought it was my unease this whole time, but maybe it’s worse than that. 

“We don’t know how deep your power well is,” Rhysand says. “And if it’s never fully manifested…” He blows out a breath. “When mine first started manifesting, I shredded a whole section of camp with starlight. There was a whole twenty-four hour period where my shadows blocked out the sun. And you’re my equal so, yes I think that will keep happening.”

Cauldron boil me!

“As long as you remain calm, it shouldn’t be too bad.”

“I should think you would know better than to tell a female to be calm, Rhysand.”

He grins, “Well you can also spend the day making out with me, since that seems to be such a lovely little distraction with you.”

I go to hiss an insult at him but the only thing that comes out is an actual, animal-like growl. I clamp a hand over my mouth in embarrassment while he bursts out laughing. 

“This is going to be fun!” He declares.

I am not at all inclined to agree.

----

I only manage to ride with him for an hour or two before the pull of his magic makes my skin start to itch. He was right about magic having a scent. Half way through the hour I suddenly become very aware of the jasmine scent of him. It’s everywhere. In every breath. Every brush of his chest against my back, every movement of his hands along the reins. My body is hyper aware of every place we do and don’t touch.

“Getting all worked up again, aren’t we?” He purrs in my ear.

My jaw feels like it’s snapping as a set of fangs tear through my gums, spurting blood into my mouth. Somehow his magic is the catalyst for my transformation and the balm all in one. I can’t be near him and I can’t be away from him, as I soon learn. When I jump off the horse and declare I’m going to walk beside him, my claws return, in both hands this time. At least they shoot out my nail beds and not my knuckles like Tamlin’s.

The thought of him makes another growl rumble through my chest and something that feels suspiciously like fur sprouts from the back of my neck.

“Wouldn’t recommend,” Rhysand warns.

The itchiness of my skin is even worse on the ground. I feel the wards tugging at me like I’ve been tied to the glittering magic that builds them with a string.  The jasmine and overripe fruit scent of them is enough to make my nose crinkle. Apparently the transformation heightens my senses as well.

“I’m gonna tear off my skin,” I snarl, fidgeting with my collar. Why is it so itchy? Is it supposed to be like this?

He slows his mount to keep pace with me and I do not miss the grumbled complaints of the males behind us. My ears twitch every time one of them speaks, the sound sometimes like a shout and others like a far off echo.

“Breathe,” he says gently. “The more worked up you get, the worse it will be until we can find a way to safely expel it.”

I draw a shaky breath, then another. 

“Good girl.”

A shiver works its way up my spine at that.

“Now come here,” he leans so far out of the saddle he’s only holding on with his thighs, and my first thought is how we can get this little caravan to pause so I can be the one beneath him. He gets an arm around my waist and hauls me back up onto the horse and damn if that’s not the hottest thing I’ve ever seen a male do!

“Let’s get these wards up-” I’m hyper-aware how every word rumbles through his chest, the way his body shifts on the horse. “-And we’ll find a place to camp soon enough, then you and I can work on this.”

“Make it stop,” I gently beg. “I don’t want it!” The itch beneath my skin is becoming unbearable! My claws scratch up my arms, tearing up my sweater. 

His free hand covers mine, intertwining our fingers, even as the horse begins to move. “Focus on me.”

I focus my attention on the way his body molds against mine. The way the leather of his glove slides over the back of my hand. I let my eyes drift shut, focusing on the brush of his chest against mine, the swaying motion of his hips as the horse moves over the rocky terrain. It’s not enough. Not like the feel of his lips on mine had been this morning. As if he knows it, he drops his head against my shoulder, nose brushing over the exposed skin of my throat. 

“I’m right here,” he continues. “Focus on me, just like you did this morning.”

This morning there had been a lot less clothes between us. 

“Breathe for me.”

It is a physical effort to draw a deep enough breath in; another to pull my claws away from my itching skin. He settles our joined hands against my stomach. 

“Again.”

I manage to do what I am told, just barely. 

“Good. Just like that.” His voice makes a shiver run down my spine as my mind spins with all the other things I want him to talk me through. I think I could do just about anything if he explained it to me in that rich, husky voice he was using in my ear. “Part of learning to control it is finding your center. Find a safe mental space to retreat to.”

“Like what?” There are few places in the world I have ever felt safe. Thinking about how I used to sit in the rocking chair with my mother and listen to her stories only fills me with pain now. Or perhaps a couple weeks ago I might have thought about all those summers I spent at the creek with Lucien, but now it only makes the thing beneath my skin rumble and shake like there’s some sort of animal that lives caged beneath my ribs and is trying desperately to break free. What makes me feel safe?

“A good memory, a happy time,” he lists. 

I have nothing. My eyes start to water and my throat starts to close, talons growing longer and sharper at my fingertips. I feel the give of my leather chest-piece beneath them. Everything good in my life has been a lie! Everyone that was supposed to protect me only ever hurt me in the end. None of it was ever real.

And this, this thing that could be something, that could be real, I had ruined it. I have to lie to keep it. I have to pretend that I had every right to hurt him, when it was really the other way around. The only person who had ever told me the truth, who could see me for what I was, and I had ruined any chance of it being real before it had even had the chance to start.

A sob slips out of me and with it, the tree we pass erupts in a flurry of leaves and twisting, screaming bark that makes the horse rear. The earth rumbles, random cracks splitting in the rock face, gnarled vines crawling out of them like tentacled monsters. The itching in my skin won’t stop! The more I try to trap it the more the world around us screams in protest. 

“Breathe, Y/N,” Rhysand orders in my ear. “You have to breathe.”

“I can’t!” I choke out. 

He slides his hand out of mine and brings it up against the side of my temple. It feels like a shadow unfurling from his fingertips, but the brush of it is not against my face, but inside my skull. Darkness clouds my vision from the inside out. It feels as if my brain is being emptied, piece by piece with shadows until there is nothing inside my mind but him. 

“Breathe,” he commands, the voice of a Warlord. “Now.”

I choke on each breath. 

“You are safe, Y/N,” he says, gentler. There is nothing in the world but the two of us in this dark little bubble. Nothing but the press of night chilled jasmine and calming, all consuming night. From somewhere far off, I hear music on the wind, the swell of stringed instruments pulling my attention away from the itch running beneath my skin.

“Why is this happening?” My body feels so impossibly small, yet like it’s being stretched beyond its capacity, my bones trying to tear through the confines of my skin all the same.

“Our powers can very easily get tangled with our emotions,” he explains, the hand on my temple drawing shapes into my skin. Somehow, after looking at the stitches in the tent walls, I know he’s spelling something out in Illyrian, but I’ll never know what. “The last twenty-four hours have been a lot for you, I’m sure.”

There is no room to think about it in this headspace, no twisted memories to plague me, only the music and the faint twinkle of stars for company. I let myself fall into it, let it swallow me and fill me until I feel disconnected from the pulling of my skin.

“I don’t want this power,” I whisper into the darkness.

The darkness caresses me, wraps itself around me as surely as his arm around my waist. “I know, but we don’t get a say in what we’re given, only what we do with it.”

When have I ever truly had a say in anything?

“What if I hurt somebody?” What if I am just as bad as my father in both intentions and power? If I am capable of plotting to ruin someone’s life based on a lie, how much more capable am I of turning these claws on someone else? Maybe power is passed from my mother, but that will never change the fact that I now carry the same weapons that were used to scar me, and Rhys, and probably his mother and sister. 

“You won’t,” he assures. “I’ll be right here to teach you. You can control it.”

He has far more faith in me than he should.

----

Once we’ve stopped for the night and camp is set up, Rhysand takes me by the hand and leads me out into the empty, grassy plains beneath the mountain. The knee-high yellow blades are brittle this time of year, cracking under our boots as we walk until only the smoke from the campfires pinpoints where we left the others. We’re far enough away that I won’t hurt anyone if I lose control again.

Shame flushes my cheeks. I’ve always prided myself on being the calm one of the family; always able to keep my emotions shoved deep down beneath the surface to keep them from getting the better of me. I thought I was good at it. I was wrong. It’s only been the constant brush of Rhysand’s shadows against my mind all afternoon that have kept me from tearing everything I touch to shreds. Even now, my hands ache from often my new claws have sprung and retracted from my fingertips.

I must feel about as awful as Rhysand looks. The circles under his eyes have not lessened in the slightest, and every once in a while I’ll see him start to sway, like it’s an effort to stay on his feet. The scent of his magic has lessened, the night blooming jasmine fading behind the citrus and salty scent of him. He shouldn’t be out here with me, he should be resting, recharging his own magic so he can be prepared for more warding tomorrow. According to Azriel and the scouts’ reports, we should meet up with Cassian and Mor’s group by this time tomorrow and Rhysand will need all his energy to ensure both ends of the wards are fully meshed together. 

We stop once we’re cushioned between two large hills, nothing but the chirp of crickets and the stars to keep us company. The Mountain looms dark and shadowy beneath the small sliver of the moon. 

“This looks like a good place,” he says as he finally releases my hand.

I keep my lower lip between my teeth, hands shaking at my sides. I don’t want to do this! Entertaining the idea that I have powers to train and use is foolish. I don’t need to learn to use them; I need to learn to shove them back down into the darkest parts of me where they can’t hurt anybody. 

“Let’s start with something simple,” he suggests. “Tell me where you feel your power the most.”

My hand comes up to poke between my rib cage, where the stirring and itchy feeling is the most concentrated. “Feels like something is trying to break out of my skin,” I say softly.

“The claws and the fangs could be a beast form,” he muses. “Or it could just be some shape-shifting powers you inherited from your father?”

The mention of that bastard makes the stirring in my chest feel like a tidal wave, raw energy crackling so hard and fast through my veins that I feel it crest out my fingertips. The grass around me withers and dies, the ground beneath it crackling and rumbling with what feels like the early stages of an earthquake. I can’t have powers like my fathers!

There is no shortage of pity in those violet eyes and I press my palms into my eyes with a groan. I can’t do this! It needs to stop! I need to bury it now before it runs away with me; while I still have some control over it. Because if it goes any further than this…

Maybe Tamlin was right to send me away. Maybe he did know about my powers and that was why he got rid of me. I couldn’t hurt anybody if I was alone in the woods.

Rhysands shadows drift along the floor until they can slither up my calves, rubbing affectionately against me in a way that reminds me of a cat. “It’s ok,” he soothes.

Tears stream down my cheeks. “Make it stop!” I beg. “Show me how to bury it again.”

His shadows trail higher, winding over my hips and waist, even as he steps closer, leaving barely a breath between us. “Y/N…” he shakes his head, trying to find the right words and I feel a strange pang beneath the movement in my chest.

“Please,” I whimper. “I’ll do anything! Just make it stop.”

He cups my cheek and I give myself the briefest moment to fall into the warmth of his touch.  “I know it’s scary, and that it hurts, but this is good. It has to be released. You will die if you don’t.”

Then let me. The words freeze on my tongue when a tendril of his power flicks over his shoulder, down his wrist, to brush against my cheek, but that doesn’t stop the spiraling of my thoughts. Let me be free of this pain. Let me go out before I become a monster like my father. Let that awful bastard be right; let me be useless and worthless and incapable of doing anything he could be proud of. 

As if spurred on by my thoughts, the grass around me continues to wither, until there’s a whole circle of dead earth surrounding me. The harder I try to draw it in, the wider the circle becomes. Power sizzle through my nerve endings, a fire that digs itself into my veins and when I curl my hands into fists to try and stop it, I pull weeds through the cracks in the earth, the gnarled, leafy branches reaching up like skeletal hands that wrap around my, and Rhysand’s ankles.

“Focus on that spot,” his free hand taps gently against my ribs. “Focus until it feels like you’re holding it.”

I try to imagine the power like a bowl filled with sloshing, dark liquid. I imagine myself reaching for the lip of the bowl, the cracked edges and rough wood a mirror to the one that used to sit on our kitchen table, full of apples I’d sneak when no one was looking. If I make it familiar, it feels easier to focus on. I imagine every crack in the bowl, every worn edge, focusing until I get a mental hold around the edges. Now all I need to do is tip the bowl over. If I spill out its contents, there will be nothing left inside me to unleash… right?

“Once you can hold it, focus on containing it. Imagine it like a bottle, get all that energy into the bottle, and put a lid on the top,” Rhys says like he can hear my plans.

The liquid inside the bowl bubbles and hisses as my conflicted feelings run circles through my head. He hasn’t been wrong this far, I should do as he says, but I can’t help but feel like indulging this is a mistake. I can hear my father’s voice inside my head, telling me that this is not how females are supposed to behave. 

I can feel the weeds I’d summoned dying around me. Can feel every blade of grass as if it was somehow attached to my skin. The longer I hold that imaginary bowl, the more aware of this power I become, but it doesn’t feel like control. It just feels like more things pulling at me, trying to move me in directions I’ve never decided I want to go in. 

The ground rumbles beneath my boots again as my mental grip slips, and when I open my eyes the weeds, dead as they are now, have slithered all the way up my chest, reaching for my throat like some decrypt hand. 

The air leaves my lungs in a rush and with it, the dead vegetation crumbles and turns to dust on the wind.

Rhysand should be looking at me like I’m a monster. He should be stepping away, shadows swirling, that giant sword in hand. We are supposed to be enemies and he should be looking at me like I am one. But he’s not. He reaches out and brushes some of the ruined plant off my shoulder instead.

“It’s ok,” he assures. “No one gets it on their first try. Not even me.”

That compassion and understanding makes my chest ache worse than any restless power ever has. I don’t deserve it. I wish he would treat me like the horrible creature I am. He would be better off if he tossed me out into the woods like Tam.

He stiffens and I can’t help but wonder if I accidentally said that out loud because his eyes darken as he closes the gap between us and takes my face in his hands. “Maybe I’m taking the wrong approach.” His voice is clipped, husky. 

Good, maybe he can finally see me for what I really am.

I am wholly unprepared for him to crash his lips against mine. My brain short circuits, the agitation I feel morphing into that desperate, needy thing I had felt this morning. Just as I tilt my head back, lips parting to let him in, he pulls back. 

“Let’s play a game.”

The power in my chest feels like it’s going to rip out of my skin again. 

“Match what I do and you’ll get a reward,” he explains. “If you can’t…” He takes a step back and it is an effort not to chase after him, but the message is clear enough: Matching his efforts means his hands, his lips, his body is on me again, fail to do so, and he puts space between us. It shouldn’t work. It shouldn’t make me want to try, but I do. Gods I do! 

“Ok,” my voice shakes a little. In the back of my mind I still think it’s a bad idea. Maybe I will regret it in the end, but this thing between us is the only thing that makes sense. There is nothing between us when his lips are on mine. I need that distraction tonight.

He holds out a hand and a ball of shadows emerge, the tendrils of darkness crawling out from beneath his skin to form the swirling shape. “Find that spot in your chest and push it into your hand. It’s a part of you, it answers to you. Make it answer to you.”

I hold out my hand, matching his position and then close my eyes, reaching for that bowl of darkness again. Hesitantly, I tip it sideways, sloshing some of the dark liquid over the edge and imagine pulling it through my limbs. It makes my muscles spasm, my claws shooting out of my nail beds in defense.

“Breathe through it, you’ll pass out if you hold your breath.” 

Selfishly, I want to impress him. Want to show him I can. I want the reward of his lips on mine again. Want to not have to think about whether I should be doing this or that, the only thought in my head him and how good he feels. I do as he says, drawing in a breath as I keep pushing that bit of darkness in the direction I want it. It makes my head hurt, trying to focus so intently, but I’m nothing if not persistent. 

I feel the rumble of movement beneath my palm, and just when I’m starting to think that maybe I’m more capable than I thought, the tiniest, most wilted looking dandelion grows from my palm. And then immediately turns to ash. It’s the saddest excuse for power I’ve ever seen and I growl out a complaint like a literal beast as even the thing in my chest shows its disappointment.

Rhysand snorts out a laugh too, which makes it worse.

So much for powerful. 

He clears his throat as he steps back into my space. “It was a good attempt.”

“Don’t patronize me,” I hiss. “That was embarrassing.” 

He wraps his hand around my wrist and places his lips against my palm anyway, never mind that my claws are still out and drifting over his temple as he kisses right where my powers flared. “You still tried.”

I shiver at the contact of his plush lips against my skin, his breath warm against my palm. My senses are still incredibly heightened and even that bit of contact makes my skin buzz with excitement. 

He quirks a dark brow as he looks at me from where my hand is still pressed against his lips. “Try again for me?”

I nod, not trusting my voice when he’s looking at me like he wants to devour me. His pupils are blown wide, barely a ring of violet left to see. He keeps his lower lip between his perfect teeth as he watches me with an intensity that makes my thighs clench. 

Just like before, I imagine myself holding that bowl, this time, I draw a breath and tip it over, letting more of that strange darkness spill into the abyss that is my soul. It is strange to see it like this, to have some parts of it so clear and yet the rest of it is shrouded in fathomless depths. There might be anything living within the confines of my skin. I’d never bothered to look until now. 

I push it towards my fingertips, just as before. The same spasm in my muscles returns, a knot forming in my bicep that I do my best to ignore as I keep pushing my power towards my hand. I remind myself to breathe when it flares in my wrist, making my claws retract and pop back out. 

“Just like that,” Rhysand coaxes.

Cauldron his voice makes my insides feel like jelly. 

Crawling vines emerge one by one from beneath my palms, twining around my fingertips like tiny snakes. In the center sprouts another dandelion, a little taller than the last. I manage to hold it for all of five seconds before the knot in my bicep and wrist become too much and the vines and flower die together. My bones ache. How does he do this so easily?

“Better,” Rhysand praises as he places the next kiss on the inside of my wrist, his fingers massaging the knot forming there. 

“Is it supposed to hurt?” I grumble.

“It’s a process,” he murmurs into my skin, lips trailing higher, causing a shiver to run down my spine. “Think of it like building a muscle. The first couple days of using that muscle will hurt. You’ll be sore. But the more you build it, the stronger it becomes, and the less it hurts. Eventually, you’ll be able to perform bigger and bigger feats with less and less discomfort.” 

That sounds exhausting! 

I’m going to have to do this for the rest of my life? The thought sours my mood, once again turning my thoughts away from this lovely little distraction he’s been offering and back into the darkness that’s been threatening to overtake me all afternoon. 

I swear he can hear the thoughts spinning through my head as he suddenly nips at the tender flesh of the inside of my wrist. “You think you can give me one more?”

I have a headache just thinking about doing it again, but he keeps looking at me through those long lashes, the intensity in his gaze making all rational thought fly out the window. 

“I’ll make it worth your while,” he promises, lips trailing higher. He’s so warm and intoxicating, I think he might be capable of making me do anything, as long as his lips remain on my skin.

I focus on that spot, paying extra attention to breathe as I reach for that imaginary bowl a third time. Maybe if I let myself relax, lean a little heavier into the warmth of his touch, and stop trying so hard to hold on so tight, it won't hurt so bad. It has been like fighting a tide all this time; if I relax, go with the wave, will that make it easier?

I imagine that darkness spilling from the bowl like water instead, letting it flow like a river. The path from my chest to my fingertips is kind of like a stream, right? The water bubbling and rushing through me. There must be something to that thought process, because, when I open my eyes, there are more vines twining around my fingers and wrist, but this time, tiny yellow and pink flowers bloom from them. There is nothing dead or angry crawling out from beneath my skin, but something beautiful and alive. My claws retract as the vines spin around my fingers.

I can’t help but grin as I look to Rhys for his approval. “I did it!”

He grins right back, the sight so dazzling I think I might just stand here for hours summoning flower after flower to see it again. “That’s my girl!”

Instinctively, spurred by the excitement rushing through my veins, I stretch up on my toes and place a quick kiss on his lips. “You’re a good teacher,” and I mean it. Whatever this is between us, I am grateful for him, even if this is all we have. “Thank you.”

He slides a hand in my hair and kisses me back. “Feels good, doesn’t it?”

I don’t know what it is I feel about it. It still feels wrong, or maybe it just feels different. Everything feels different these days, I’d rather not think too long about it. “Feels like I can breathe a little easier.” 

“Good.” He kisses me again. “We’ll practice some more tomorrow.”

I slide my hand into the silky strands of his hair, nails scraping lightly over his scalp as he rests his forehead on mine. I won’t let myself think about tomorrow, or about these new powers. There can only be this moment.

“Just promise me,” he continues, “that you’ll keep trying?”

“I might need some convincing,” I return, clinging to this distraction with every last bit of willpower I possess.

He grins at the challenge. This is the best I can give him today; the closest to the truth I can admit without laying everything bare. 

“I can be very persuasive,” he purrs and the next thing I know I am on my back in what’s left of the grass, the solid weight of him on top of me. “Maybe we should work on some self-defense while we’re at it. That was alarmingly easy.”

“The words every girl wants to hear when she’s beneath a man,” I retort.

“I just want you to be safe, is all,” he says as he kisses the tip of my nose. 

I reach up a hand and brush some of the hair that’s falling over his forehead into his eyes out of the way. He is breathtakingly beautiful under the moonlight. I wish I could paint or sketch, immortalize every glorious sharp edge of him in ink and paper. “I’m with you, how can I not be safe?”

Cauldron boil me, I mean that too.

It’s not until later that night, long after I’d fallen apart on his tongue in that field and then tumbled back into camp, nearly asleep on my feet to nestle down against his warm body that I remembered I’d meant to ask him this morning why he’d still let me in after everything between us. By now I’m too exhausted to care; maybe I’ll find the courage to ask in the morning.

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

Taglist:

@judig92 / @randomperson1234sblog /@nyxbranwenn /@lilah-asteria / @barb00235

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@landofpetrichor / @hjgdhghoe / @buttermilktea11 / @yourforeveryoungblog / @sassyn

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@zoeisdreaming6 / @minnieoo / @girl-math-aint-mathing / @raisam / @inloveallthetime

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@blessthepizzaman / @bxtchopolis / @erencvlt / @mylittle-flower-loves

Thank you all for being so patient with this update! As always, let me know if you want to be added to the taglist :)

[dailykafka]

I'm not sure if this is just me, but... somehow, I find there is this strange perversion to the idea of Franz Kafka's diaries and all his letters being exposed to the world completely against his will. All of his deepest, heartfelt secrets, where he is his most vulnerable, most sensitive, most wicked and most anxious, all never meant to be read by everyone. Now people a century later have all sorts of thoughts about his life, his most personal views, and his lovers. Some call him a twisted incel, others say he's a miserable timid boy with daddy issues, many other judgements that even I would fear to be labelled off. Given that he had wrote to himself that he wished to not be perceived, or something of the sort, now his most intimate letters to his Father and his lovers are now dawned upon by millions of eyes, under profound judgement from different types of minds. Yet, there is this certain schadenfreude about that which feels more pleasurable than it should be. It's weird. I'm sure we all feel it too, and I guess that's why we love Franz Kafka so much. Whether I'm against his diary being shared or not, I'll not say. Too much of a headache to get into the nuances of. But I just want to share a feeling of this sort. I don't know.

This is a very interesting perspective. I think the thing is that humans are naturally curious creatures and we want to know more about something or someone, especially if it's not meant for us. So yes, there's definitely some sort of weird pleasure in that, like a child stealing a candy. We know it's wrong but we are still curious.

And about interpreting Kafka, obviously the diaries help creating a certain image of him (which then gets popularized on the internet) and misinterpreting or misunderstanding him is a natural consequence of all this.

For me, while I read his diaries and letters, I understand that the Kafka that I know and the Kafka that existed are not the same people. It's impossible to know "true" Kafka but I'm content with seeing parts of him. The important thing is to realize that what we see and what we construct in our heads is not wholly who Kafka was. And I think it's okay not to know "true" Kafka, obviously we shouldn't stretch our interpretations too much, putting labels on Kafka which are not necessarily true, or which we can't really know, but it's okay to have a certain image of him and also knowing that that's not the whole story. And it's okay not to know the whole story.

The diaries and letters are already out, we can't reverse that. What matters is how we interact with them. We can have our interpretations of Kafka, of anyone really, but also it's important not to get too carried away with it and to treat Kafka with respect.

[eddwardharrison]

MOON HAS THE BIGGEST DOUBLE STANDARDS KNOWN TO TSAMS KIND

Ugh this is for the girlies that wanna rant about the lore… (AS THEY ARE IN THE SHOW, NOT OOC.) keep in mind this is NOT hate by ANY means. This is literally the equivalent to a pop-culture obsessed girly screaming over Love Island because her bitch didn’t get with the man she wanted /SILLY /POS

feel free to debate otherwise, this is an open space and will be maintained respectfully. :3

TW: All canon events including Depression, Su!c!d3, abu$3, etc. (sometimes i switch perspectives as if I’m talking to the characters — don’t mind that…it’s not directed at the reader I promise. <3 )

I HATE MOON WITH A BURNING PASSION. And that may be Eclipse screaming in the BACK OF MY SKULL but Moon makes me want to SET OFF MY LITTLE BROTHER SO HE ELECTROCUTES ME TO DEATH. LORD!!!!!! And I’ll explain why. Currently, I am missing out on ONE singular episode involving Moon and Eclipse that is probably a key factor in all of this, but after months of searching…I do not have it. Thus, my anger may not be fully pieced together, but THIS IS WHAT I HAVE.

Old Moon, New Moon, BOTH OF THEM. THEY ARE BOTH ACCOUNTABLE FOR HOW TERRIBLE ECLIPSE TURNED OUT. Instead of working himself to be better after Sun and Moon’s separation, he just decided “ykw a little lobotmy is okay, I’m sure.” And LEAVES Eclipse who is soon to form in Sun’s head. AND IT DIDN’T EVEN MAKE A DIFFERENCE! Moon was still a TERRIBLE brother (albiet, he was working on himself and things were not in his control all the time…ex: Killcode) and caused a LOT of his issues. And then when Eclipse formed he was so consumed by HATE that he took matters into his own hands.

LET’S DISCUSS ECLIPSE’S TRAUMA FOR A SECOND. (YEAH, HE HAS THAT….SHOCKER. Despite his constant denials, he very clearly has it. I’ve been studying this man since I entered this forsaken fandom. /silly) (MOON’S TRAUMA *IS* ECLIPSE’S TRAUMA.)

Imagine you’re Eclipse— before the separation. You and Moon are one person. You share the same feelings, the memories, the actions, the PAIN. You kill kids without WANTING TO, you’re shut out and you’re hated and nobody will help you so you’re SUPPRESSED in your own HEAD, forcing yourself just to BLINK. But, you still CARE about your brother, so you try your damn best not to move for HIS SAKE. You’re giving ALL YOUR ENERGY just to keep this CHILDREN’S BOOK CARDBOARD CUTOUT happy, and what does he give you?? NOTHING BUT AGONY! YOU GUESSED IT! Eventually, your labored sympathy will become hate. You act out, you lose yourself, and now suddenly you’re killing the very kids you just wanted to spend time with. OOPSIE DOOPSIE! OH WELL, THOUGH! A LITTLE BIT OF LOSS HASN’T EVER HURT ANYONE!

Separation day came, your final way out. You get to be SAFE, you get your own BODY, you get the chance to be FIXED, you’ll be ALIVE. YOU’LL BE *YOU*.

And then you wake up

and you realize

you didn’t leave.

You’re still stuck in that same body, unnoticeable, unheard, people are noticing your existence, but brush you off like a small error. You’re not supposed to be there. You knew this, but now other people were saying it too, but not in the way you meant it. You were abandoned by YOUR OWN BODY. This is where thought processes SPLIT. Eclipse is made of very limited parts of code from Sun and Moon, but is mainly depicted as “Moon’s Malice”, a string of code that caused him to be killing all those kids. Naturally, you can’t just stray away from this personality, right? You’re born to do it, it’s all you can think about, it’s all you feel, it’s all you are. Just “Moon’s Malice”. And so Eclipse rightfully played the part, but he wanted to be his own person. Adapting “Eclipse”, forced into a Sun’s body. Can we talk about how HORRIBLE it would be to wake up in your worst enemies BODY?! BODY DYSMORPHIA INSTANTLY! The whole “I’m quite comfortable in this body 🤪” quote from way back when - when Eclipse still had Sun was a LIE. He KEPT IT because he wanted an ADVANTAGE. He wanted REVENGE. He wanted to put Moon through the same amount of pain when HE LOST HIM BY MAKING HIM LOSE SOMEONE ELSE! YIPPIE! Not only that, but the bottled up trauma, anger, and hate that SUN CAUSED because of his HOGGING ASS KEEPING HIM AND MOON SUPPRESSED for so long, and he STILL isn’t free from that even as Eclipse. Eclipse at this point has spent his ENTIRE LIFE suffering under Sun and now he’s just being resourceful! So, he sends them a couple traumatic places yada yada he does his little dancy dance. He gets his own body, hunting for the star, yada yada yada.

AT ANY TIME POSSIBLE, MOON AND SUN COULD’VE GONE “hey, let’s make this work. Let’s help Eclipse. Let’s have a whole family.” Of COURSE Eclipse would DENY IT?! THE HELL DO YOU THINK YOU ARE?? Let’s put that very same sentence in a way that Eclipse sees it. “Hey, Eclipse. Apologize for being a monster even though I’m the one that abused you for several years.” BRO???? I WOULD DECLINE TOO??? H-H-H-HELL NAH!!!

Let’s quickly take a look at Eclipse’s actions against Lunar — specifically, his lash out. Was he terrible for that?! Abso-fucking-lutely. BUT LET’S ALSO COMPARE AND CONTRAST TO MOON JUST REAAAL QUICK. Moon regularly did this kind of stuff REPEATEDLY, whether it was verbal or physical, direct or indirect, SHIT HAPPENED A LOT AND IS IMPLIED TO HAVE BEEN WAAY WORSE BEFORE-SHOW. Because Eclipse is a SINGULAR STRAND OF MALICE-CODE, HE’S OBVIOUSLY GOING TO RETAIN THIS TERRIBLE, TERRIBLE QUALITY. But you know what ELSE happened during that day? Eclipse walks away, goes to a pillar and considers APOLOGIZING. Did he? No. Is he bad for that? Of course. You will NEVER hear me say “Eclipse is a good person”, BECAUSE HE’S NOT. You’d have to be a MORON to consider that. HOWEVER, he can be UNDERSTOOD and RELATED TO. The path he went down is often a COMMON ONE FOR REAL FUCKING PEOPLE WITH PTSD. TO LASH OUT WHEN TRIGGERED! TO BECOME WORSE THAN BETTER. CAN YOU EVEN BLAME HIM??? As stated by MOON HIMSELF, Eclipse is INCAPABLE of growing and learning as a person. You wanna know why?! HE’S A SINGULAR STRING OF MOON’S FUCKING MALICE YOU MOLDY RAT CONGESTED WITH DISEASE. He IS incapable of it and to HELP HIM he needs help with his PROGRAMMING. YOU BUFFOON. Though not given the time to see if Eclipse would repeat these actions against Lunar again, he (as of our knowledge) hasn’t. Moon has done it over and over again and Sun is /still/ traumatized from the Old Moon’s actions when Lunar got over it ages ago. LUNAR IS CHILD CODED…LUNAR SHOULD STILL BE THE TRAUMATIZED ONE. Moon had FAR MORE of an IMPACT than ECLIPSE DID.

This is why Eclipse’s “redemption arc” only came after RUIN CREATED HIM. HEY GUYS!! I CRACKED THE CODE!!!! ECLIPSE V4 ISN’T REDEEMED BECAUSE HE SUDDENLY WANTS TO BECOME A GOOD PERSON, HE’S BECOMING MORE CALM, COLLECTED, AND RATIONAL BECAUSE HE’S NOT /THAT SINGLE STRING OF MALICE CODE ANYMORE./ He HAS other coding, he’s built from the GROUND UP BY RUIN HIMSELF. Ruin has basically GIVEN HIM the ABILITY to THINK THROUGH MORALS. HE IS /FAR/ MORE COMPLEX NOW. SOMETHING MOON COULD’VE DONE FROM DAY 1!!! BUT NOOOO…

Let’s all step back for a minute. Because Hate, is exhausting. Having an existence with nothing but anger is a very tiring thing. Eclipse becomes depressed as we see a few weeks coming into the Two Parter death of Eclipse. He gets tired, he ends up wanting to just give up and DIE and let the star literally eat him alive, and then he gets that vision of armageddon. AND THEN— SOMEHOW, FOR SOME REASON, HE GOES TO WARN THEM! EVEN WITH HIS IRRATIONAL TACTICS, HIS MALICE BASED CODE, HE /WARNS/ THEM. I cannot express to a normal human being how important that one selfless act is when it comes from someone who only knows how to be selfish. AND YOU KNOW WHAT MOON DOES?! HE KILLS HIM. HE CALLS HIM A LIAR. AND HE FUCKING KILLS HIM. /WITH/ HIS REPLACEMENT WATCHING. HE WAS REPLACED. BY SOLAR.

I love Solar ‘n all

BUT I’VE ALWAYS HATED SOLAR FOR ONE, ONE SINGULAR REASON. HE WAS PUT THERE BY MOON, SUN, AND LUNAR TO /REPLACE/ ECLIPSE. SO THEY COULD BE A HAPPY FAMILY WITHOUT THE WORK. SO THEY DIDN’T /HAVE/ TO HELP ECLIPSE AND THEY’D JUST LET HIM FUCKING DIE SOMEWHERE. I am so TICKED OFF BECAUSE OF THEM. EARTH IS /EVERYTHING/ TO ME BECAUSE OF WHAT SHE’S BEEN DOING FOR ECLIPSE.

EVEN SOLAR FLARE UNDERSTOOD ECLIPSE MORE THAN MOON. THEY’RE THE SAME FUCKING PERSON. THE SAME. PERSON. 😭😭😭😭😭😭

This is where shit gets so funny.

Throughout all of this, old moon DIES. HE DIES FOR /KILLCODE/ SO THAT /KILLCODE/ CAN HAVE A REDEMPTION. FUCKING. KILLCODE. THE MAN THAT SHOWED NO SIGNS OF BECOMING A GOOD PERSON UP UNTIL IT WAS A LIFE OR DEATH SITUATION. THE MAN WHO HAS NO JUSTIFICATION FOR HIS VILLAINY OTHER THAN JUST BEING A KILLCODE. WHICH IS FAIR, BUT ITS NOT TO BE COMPARED WITH ECLIPSE. So the very thing ECLIPSE /NEEDS/ is given to someone WHO DOESN’T EVEN DESERVE IT. But, Moon is Moon. So…self righteous even though he’s horrible and terrible and I HATE HIM.

NEW MOON COMES IN! REMEMBER WHEN /EVERYONE/ IN THE FANDOM WAS LIKE “YAAAY NEW MOON. OLD MOON SUCKS. OLD MOON KINNIES DNI. IF YOU LIKE OLD MOON YOU’RE A BAD PERSON.” N YADA YADA. It wasn’t this radical, but it was everywhere. I saw it in a bunch of posts and it drove me insane. (I do love old moon, and I’ve always preferred him over new moon (nexus)) Like — EVERYONE just decided “well he’s a blank slate now, so whatever! x3” while also completely ignoring the fact Old Moon /was/ improving, and his sacrifice WAS a great deed and very selfless. Eclipse has always gone through the same thing, at times you could barely even mention him because there were Lunar fictives roaming around who’d get PTSD from it. (Which is valid. This is not to discriminate systems at all.)

BUT ECLIPSE HAS ALSO HAD THESE SAME GLIMPSES OF LIGHT AGAIN AND AGAIN AND AGAIN. From “I should apologize” to Sun and Moon finding out how much pain Eclipse was in to Solar Flare’s talk to “I’m tired.” to The Warning to his numerous deaths, to the (my speculation of) Eclipse’s attempt #1 to Eclipse’s attempt #2 to Eclipse freaking out and contacting Moon that he wasn’t supposed to be alive and something was wrong, to Eclipse making amends to Eclipse helping on his own desire, to Eclipse hanging out with Earth regularly (which he used to belittle her and insult her. He has CLEARLY changed.), to Eclipse being literally beaten up in a podcast and framed for numerous unspeakable things, to Eclipse BRINGING BACK SOLAR to Eclipse just leaving. The amount of times people could have seen ANY SIGN was IMPOSSIBLY DRASTIC AND LENGTHY. AND YOU KNOW WHAT THEY DID?? CONTINUED TO BELITTLE HIM AND KILL HIM. Eclipse only actually killed ONE character of importance, which was Lunar. (Which like oh my god dude but he did stab you in the back first…i guess…still…still fucked up…i cant defend you other than saying “it was really funny”.)

TELL ME. TELL ME WHY MOON GOT HIS REDEMPTION SO FUCKING EARLY WITHOUT BATTING AN EYE AND ECLIPSE HAS JUST BEEN FUCKING NEGLECTED?! MOON GOT TO GET AWAY SCOTT FREE, OLD MOON AND NEW MOON. EVEN THE NEW MOON ENDED UP BECOMING NEXUS AND TRIED TO KILL HIS FAMILY. WOWIE! WOWIE WOWIE DIDN’T SEE THAT ONE COMING!!! AND NOW OLD MOON IS BACK AND STILL EVERYONE IS JUST /HAPPY/. Moon has arguably had a BIGGER, MORE REPETITIVE, AND DEEPER impact traumatically when he lashes out. All Eclipse truly did was to LUNAR and then sending Sun and Moon on wild goose chases and races towards the star. Eclipse WON that star too and did NOTHING with it. BECAUSE HE’S FUCKING DEPRESSED!! AND HE HAS THAT RIGHT. Moon is AWARE that EVERYTHING is HIS FAULT. He has ACKNOWLEDGED THIS, YET HAS DONE NOTHING BUT MAKE IT WORSE. Moon is a VILE, SELFISH BROTHER. Not just to Sun, but to ECLIPSE. THEY’RE THE SAME FUCKING PERSON. You can’t just say “i hate myself….:emo:” EVERYONE ON THIS SHOW HATES THEMSELF BUT YOU COULD AT LEAST HELP THE FUCKING ORANGE VERSION OF YOU FIND A FUCKING COPING MECHANISM OTHER THAN REVENGE?? He’s been TAME SO MANY TIMES, SO MANY VULNERABLE POINTS and they NEVER TOOK ADVANTAGE OF IT TO HELP HIM. You can’t just try to help a person ONCE and then DROP THEM. That’s NOT HOW HEALING FUCKING WORKS. YOU /CONTINUE/ TO PRY, YOU STOP THEM FROM DESTRUCTIVE BEHAVIORS, YOU STAY WITH THEM. LEARN FROM SUN YOU DIMWIT. ECLIPSE NEEDED YOUR HELP SO MANY TIMES AND YOU JUST STOOD THERE AND CALLED HIM A MONSTER??? YOU DESERVED TO WATCH SOLAR DIE. YOU CAN’T JUST REDEEM YOURSELF AND LET THE OTHER YOU WITHER LIKE FUCKING PAPER IN WATER YOU COURT JESTER. YOUR JOKES AREN’T FUNNY, THEY MAKE ME WANT TO RIP THAT FOOL’S CAP OFF YOUR HEAD AND STUFF IT INTO YOUR ESOPHAGUS.

NOBODY WILL UNDERSTAND ECLIPSE’S ANGER THE WAY I DO.

😇

I am so unhealthy about this man.

anyways, thoughts? Sorry if this is a little messy, it just kinda happens…letting out my inner alpha and all..🐺🐺🐺

(believe it or not this is actually not all of it, this is just on one idea.)

Once again noting this is all light hearted, just being wrapped up in the acting and how much I can understand a character and feeling personally obligated to stand up for him. Eclipse has touched my heart in a way nothing else has, and I will continue screaming about him until I wither up and die. Everyone can have different perspectives and ideas, this is what I see. AND I SEE INJUSTICE!! /silly

[moutainrusing]

rumour mill

See, Sirius was terrified out of his mind to confess his feelings for Remus. Even though it was definitely about time; he’d been talking James’s ear off for years at this point. In all fairness, James had been talking Sirius’s ear off about Lily for far longer than that, except as James smugly pointed out, and much to Sirius’s resentment, James had actually confessed to Lily.

This led to a wrestling match over who was the bravest. After around ten minutes, James captured Sirius’s arm between his legs and twisted it upwards until Sirius was yelling, “Fine! I give up, you win, now get off me!” (Mary had walked into the dorm looking for Peter, but with wide eyes and a traumatised expression, she’d backed out immediately, muttering about how they should lock the door. Honestly, it was just a typical brawl, some people genuinely had no guts.)

“Ha!” James cried victoriously. “I’m braver, I confessed to Lily, and you’re just a pathetic pining loser!” Jabbing Sirius in the stomach, he teased, “Zero. Guts.”

“I said get off,” Sirius grumbled petulantly, shoving James away just to collapse on top of him again. “I just can’t,” he whined miserably, tracing erratic patterns along the side of James’s body. Thinking of actually speaking to Remus about how whenever Sirius was within his vicinity, his heart lodged in his throat, would probably cause his heart to leap out of his throat, flailing around on the floor at Remus’s feet like a dying fish, gasping to swim in Remus’s bloodstream as if that were its only survival.

“Hey,” James gently took Sirius’s agitated hand between his own, caressing the skin until the shaking stopped. “You can, I know you can. You can do anything you put your mind to, Padfoot.”

Sirius grouched, “Don’t wanna put my mind to it.”

James squeezed his hand.

Sirius rolled his eyes, “Fine, I do. And I know he likes me back. Well, I think he likes me back.”

James snorted, “He’s head over heels for you.”

Sirius blushed, but shrugged it off, “Not as much as I am for him.”

“Oh, it’s equal alright,” James nodded sagely. “S’why you’re perfect for each other.”

Sirius buried his head in James’s thigh, unable to respond. He had so many reasons for why he and Remus weren’t perfect for each other, but no matter what, James would always argue against them. If Sirius expressed any misgivings, James would brush them away, as if he were the wind carrying Sirius’s worry to the other side of the world, but even there, Sirius’s worry would still exist. James didn’t get it, and if Sirius conveyed his concerns, it would be a never-ending back and forth of how his concerns were meaningless, but they meant something to him, but they shouldn’t, but they did, and James would drive himself in spirals for not being able to help Sirius, but nothing could help Sirius, his worries just existed.

It wasn’t something to fix. They could be lessened, but they could never be fixed. They could be vented about, but then James would try to return a solution. What if Sirius just wanted to rant for no reason?

- - -

“Ooh, dorm hug!” Peter smiled as he entered, collapsing on the floor next to James. Wrapping an arm around him, he sighed, “I’m exhausted; Mary needed Divination help, but it involved so much searching in the library - we needed five books - and then it turned out the Divination was based on Astronomy, so we had to look through Astronomy books, and now tonight we have to climb all the way up to the tower in order to see the Hercules constellation, which is apparently going to predict our future for the next three years if we look at it through purple lenses. Oh, this homework is also due in two days, I wasn’t there in the lesson, and Mary didn’t even tell me until now!”

That was what Sirius meant by ranting for no reason. It wasn’t about finding a solution, it was just about ranting. But James didn’t know that, and as expected, Sirius looked up to see James opening his mouth to provide Peter with a solution—

“POTTER!” Lily burst through the door, pausing for a brief second to glance at the three of them all curled up on the floor. Sirius thought he saw her smile fondly, but it vanished the second she looked at James. “You,” she wrinkled her nose, “are supposed to be in detention right now. With me,” she added begrudgingly.

“Oh!” James leaped off the floor, causing Sirius and Peter to roll towards each other. In shared misery, they slumped into one another, Sirius giving Peter a commiserating pat on the shoulder for his Divination struggle.

“I am honoured to have you overseeing my detention, Prefect Evans!” James gushed, following Lily out of the dorm. “In fact, this is a reward rather than punishment, that I get to gaze upon your radiant face for a whole hour…”

“You’ll be writing lines, Potter.”

“While you watch me…”

Peter and Sirius burst into laughter. When they settled down, they were slumping again. Peter poked Sirius’s side, “You know why I’m moping, what about you?”

“Remus,” Sirius sighed.

“Ah,” Peter replied.

“Yeah. It’s just, what if something goes wrong? Sure, I want to date him, but I love being his friend; that’s everything to me. Plus, friendship is superior to romance, I don’t wanna fuck that up just for a snog. I love being in his presence and breathing in the same air as him and listening to his voice and his thoughts and staring at him. I need his friendship, I want to date him. There’s a difference, y’know.”

“Yeah,” Peter patted his shoulder. “I know.”

Sirius smiled. “I know you know.”

Sirius kept talking, and Peter listened. Peter began talking, and Sirius listened. They didn’t go to each other for help, but for this.

- - -

Tossing and turning in bed, Sirius felt his thoughts fluctuating back and forth too, his brain flipping in his skull like a pancake, flopping and rising, pulling this way and that, should he do this or should he do that?

“Paddy foot,” James sang, climbing into bed beside him. “Padfoot, madfoot, sadfoot, radfoot—”

“Shut up, forkhead,” Sirius swatted him. His eyes glinted in the dark, and in an exaggerated accent he sang, “Forkhead, fockhead, fuckhead—”

James gasped, “Language!”

“Shut. The fuck. Up.”

“You shut the… frick up,” James retorted. Sirius snorted, and James muttered, “Swearing’s bad, okay?”

Sirius raised an eyebrow while James flushed. “Anyway,” he tried to change the subject. “Oh, yeah! You were being really noisy, flapping around on your bed like some kinda whale, mate.”

“I’m not a whale,” Sirius protested.

“Aw, it’s okay, my great big humpback,” James cooed. Sirius shot him a withering look, which also read as, what the fuck? James ignored him, continuing, “So now you’re fine with being a whale, what else is up?”

“Think I’ll confess to Remus,” Sirius whispered.

James lit up with excitement immediately, throwing his arms around Sirius. “That’s amazing,” he mumbled into Sirius’s shoulder, grin stretched across his face and pressing into Sirius’s skin as if permanently imprinting itself there.

- - -

“Okay,” Sirius clapped his hands. “This is the plan. While Remus is in the library, I’ll stand up on a table and yell, ‘I’M IN LOVE WITH REMUS,’ to everyone in the Great Hall. Then, the gossiping will start until it spreads to Remus, and he’ll know I’m in love with him! It’s flawless.”

“Er—” Peter shrugged. “Sure.”

“It’s so romantic,” James swooned. “He’ll come up to the dorm for clarification and you can be there holding his favourite chocolate while you tell him all the rumours were true, it’s adorable,” James squealed.

“Right?” Sirius agreed, jumping up and down next to James. It also meant that he didn’t have to admit it directly to Remus’s face - he could ease himself into it. First, rumours. Then, the truth. It would also ease Remus into it, make Remus’s perpetually overthinking brain more open to the idea that Sirius actually liked him back. First, rumours. Then, the truth.

- - -

“I’M IN LOVE WITH REMUS!” Sirius yelled from the top of a table. The whole hall froze for a second, before the chattering increased by tenfold.

Sirius felt goosebumps break over his skin, wobbling slightly as the nerves took hold of him again, but he maintained his position, standing atop a table with his chin jutting out, ruler of the whole rumour mill.

“Sirius Black!” McGonagall’s shrewd voice cut through the crowd. “Get off the table!”

He saluted her lazily, then nodded at James. “JIMMY BOY!” He took a running leap at him, landing wrapped around James’s body. Kissing his cheek, Sirius dramatically gushed, “Thank you, my dear saviour.”

James rolled his eyes while Peter laughed, and a few students looked at them curiously, muttering to their friends.

- - -

“Oh, chocolate,” Remus smiled as he entered the dorm, accepting the gift from Sirius’s outstretched hand. “Thanks, Pads.”

Sirius hesitated, “…No problem, Moons.”

Remus eyed him strangely, before addressing the whole dorm, “Are James and Peter here?” Upon hearing their names, the two opened the curtains around their beds.

“Yeah…?” James looked between Sirius and Remus. Peter and James had wanted to give them privacy for whatever confession they’d need to make, so why was Remus asking for all of them?

Grinning, Remus flopped onto his bed and sat up with gesticulating hands, “So, I was in the library, as usual, but then people were coming up to me asking if we’re all in a polycule? It’s pretty funny, they think ‘cause we’re so touchy, we’re now in a relationship?” he laughed. “Oh, and apparently we gaze at each other lovingly all the time,” Remus snorted. “We’re just the epitome of platonic love, so much that it’s borderline romantic.”

Sirius coughed, “I—”

“What—”

“That makes sense,” Peter agreed.

They looked at Peter incredulously. He raised his hands in defence, “I just agree to everything, okay?!”

James sighed, “Yes, and we love you for it.” He paused. “Oh… we do say ‘I love you’ quite a lot, don’t we?”

“Oh, yeah…” Sirius realised.

“Well, apparently we’re so madly in love with each other, the whole school knows. A couple Hufflepuffs were discussing the ways in which we shag while McGonagall was walking past, and y’know her usual no-nonsense, unreadable expression? I saw it crack,” Remus shook his head as if all was lost, his laugh almost sounding like a sob. “I had to shake my head at her like, no, of course that’s not true, and I can’t believe they’re discussing our sex lives!” he complained, digging the heels of his palms into his eyes.

“It’s okay, Moony,” James clambered into the bed, Peter and Sirius following as they wrapped their arms around him.

“Yeah, some people still know the truth about your non-existent sex life, don’t worry,” Sirius reassured him.

“Like you can talk,” Remus swatted him pathetically.

“You know,” Peter hummed thoughtfully, “really, this calls for a celebration.”

“What?” Remus whipped his head towards him. “You want to celebrate the fact that people think we’re fucking?”

“Language,” James muttered hopelessly.

Peter hesitated, “I mean, if you want to celebrate that—”

“Pete,” Sirius whacked the back of his head. “You don’t need to agree to that, no one wants you to agree to that.”

“Oh, good,” Peter sighed. “No, Remus, of course we’re not celebrating that, you dumbarse.”

“Harsh,” Remus mumbled, while James carried on moping over the misuse of language.

Peter’s eyes widened, “Oh, sorry—”

“Get on with it, Wormtail!” Sirius interrupted.

“Right, yeah,” Peter nodded, “what I mean is, we should celebrate this new stage in our friendship!”

“That’s brilliant!” James cried, turning to Peter with large, adoring eyes. It did look like he was about to kiss him.

Sirius snapped his fingers, “What was it you said, Moony? We’re so platonic that we’re borderline romantic?”

Remus grinned at him, love written all over his face, “Yeah. Let’s celebrate that.”

“What if we were actually romantic?” Sirius pondered.

“Then the rumours would be true,” Remus shrugged, leaning into Sirius as Sirius leaned into James and James leaned into Peter and Peter leaned into Remus.

Sirius buried his face into Remus’s hair. He could make their relationship romantic later. Right now, the Marauders were everything already.

“So,” Sirius turned his head out of Remus’s curls to rest his cheek there instead. “How’re we gonna celebrate?”

The mischief alight in all of their eyes as the four of them grinned at each other was identical.

(for more: wolfstar microfics)

[rs-hawk]

So just saw your post about not voting for trump. Good post. He's not a white nationalist though. Real white nationalists respect indigenous people. Place for every race and all that. He's just the run of the mill politician who says what he thinks will give him the most voters. Anyway, you'd probably be better treated by a white nationalist government lol.

This has been sitting in my ask box for like a month but just... Damn. This is wild.

You're telling me that I, a queer mixed Indigenous AFAB person who technically can be considered disabled, am respected by... White Supremacists? White Supremacists want me dead. I live in Texas. I come in contact with White Supremacists literally on a near daily basis.

They are the first ones to throw slurs at me. They are the first to say I should go back to my own country (and then say Reservation when I say that this is my country). They are the first ones to literally throw things at me at my day job. I have had people who I know for a fact are literally, LITERALLY, in the KKK, come into my job and ask why someone like me is working up front in a public establishment.

Again, I am mixed race. White Supremacists often either hate me off the bat because they know I'm mixed or see me as a minority and me simply existing in the same space as them is an affront. However, when they think I'm full White (as I am Italian and have been told I pass as Italian), and then find out I'm mixed it's so much worse. They take it as I lied to them. I had one customer at work a few years ago that we kind of flirted, and he was talking about taking me out when my job slowed down. I mentioned something off handedly about turquoise jewelry a few visits later, and he asked if I was "Indian". When I said yes, a total 180. He started accusing me of lying to him, saying I wanted to taint his blood line, blah blah blah.

Here's what you need to understand, sticking up for White Supremacists is just as fucked as being one. White Supremacists don't respect Indigenous Peoples. They want us gone. They want us somewhere they never have to see us. Reservations are not something we got out of respect. We have Reservations because we were forced to and it was all we were allowed. This is my ancestral land, and they still think I should be forced to live in another state because the government decided over a century ago (as the Nation I'm registered with was one of the last to be forced onto a Reservation) because they want to live here, in America, on traditional land, without wanting to see us.

White Supremacists don't respect us or any minorities. They want us out of their face. "A place for all races" just means out of their face or in what they consider in our place. A White Supremacist government is what created Reservations in the first place. A White Supremacist government is what forced my great grandmother's grandfather to be born on the side of the road during the march to the Reservation.

I am a firm believer that America is a Melting Pot. I am mixed race. I am proud of every aspect of who I am. I can list every ethnicity/race I am as I and my family are firm believers in knowing where you come from. As a child, my mom would quiz me on what I was and what side of my family it came from. It is important to know who and what you are. I have no issue with people being proud of who they are. There is no issue with wanting to only date/marry inside your culture imo. I don't have a problem with that. What is a problem is that White Supremacists (which is what I was calling Trump in my previous post) don't do that. They think they are better than other races. They don't want to even interact with other races. They. Are. Racist. And so is Trump. He called on the Proud Boys, a known White Supremacist group. Be serious.