#save me primary colours. Save me

[incredubious]

same old, same old

[ print available here ! ]

[crabussy]

lalala pony.... quick and simple rd design because I wanted to try giving her those rainbow wings people love but simplified/more realistic in terms of bird feathers!!!

[fozmeadows]

the older I get, the more the technological changes I've lived through as a millennial feel bizarre to me. we had computers in my primary school classroom; I first learned to type on a typewriter. I had a cellphone as a teenager, but still needed a physical train timetable. my parents listened to LP records when I was growing up; meanwhile, my childhood cassette tape collection became a CD collection, until I started downloading mp3s on kazaa over our 56k modem internet connection to play in winamp on my desktop computer, and now my laptop doesn't even have a disc tray. I used to save my word documents on floppy discs. I grew up using the rotary phone at my grandparents' house and our wall-connected landline; my mother's first cellphone was so big, we called it The Brick. I once took my desktop computer - monitor, tower and all - on the train to attend a LAN party at a friend's house where we had to connect to the internet with physical cables to play together, and where one friend's massive CRT monitor wouldn't fit on any available table. as kids, we used to make concertina caterpillars in class with the punctured and perforated paper strips that were left over whenever anything was printed on the room's dot matrix printer, which was outdated by the time I was in high school. VHS tapes became DVDs, and you could still rent both at the local video store when I was first married, but those shops all died out within the next six years. my facebook account predates the iphone camera - I used to carry around a separate digital camera and manually upload photos to the computer in order to post them; there are rolls of undeveloped film from my childhood still in envelopes from the chemist's in my childhood photo albums. I have a photo album from my wedding, but no physical albums of my child; by then, we were all posting online, and now that's a decade's worth of pictures I'd have to sort through manually in order to create one. there are video games I tell my son about but can't ever show him because the consoles they used to run on are all obsolete and the games were never remastered for the new ones that don't have the requisite backwards compatibility. I used to have a walkman for car trips as a kid; then I had a discman and a plastic hardshell case of CDs to carry around as a teenager; later, a friend gave my husband and I engraved matching ipods as a wedding present, and we used them both until they stopped working; now they're obsolete. today I texted my mother, who was born in 1950, a tiktok upload of an instructional video for girls from 1956 on how to look after their hair and nails and fold their clothes. my father was born four years after the invention of colour televison; he worked in radio and print journalism, and in the years before his health declined, even though he logically understood that newspapers existed online, he would clip out articles from the physical paper, put them in an envelope and mail them to me overseas if he wanted me to read them. and now I hold the world in a glass-faced rectangle, and I have access to everything and ownership of nothing, and everything I write online can potentially be wiped out at the drop of a hat by the ego of an idiot manchild billionaire. as a child, I wore a watch, but like most of my generation, I stopped when cellphones started telling us the time and they became redundant. now, my son wears a smartwatch so we can call him home from playing in the neighbourhood park, and there's a tanline on his wrist ike the one I haven't had since the age of fifteen. and I wonder: what will 2030 look like?

[cornedbread]

I’m so sorry for all the tags, I hope you will forgive me for how long it is. I love this drawing so much you do not understand.

uwuuuu

[themeraldee]

The Lucky Winner - Part 2

[Masterlist] [Part 1]

18+ Only | 7.3k | Homelander x fem!Reader | Early Season 1. Voice kink (mild). Roleplay. Established Relationship. Masturbation. Dirty Talk. Unprotected sex. 

Summary: After much deliberation you finally decide to meet your hero at a meet & greet.  

Author’s Note: Sorry if the ending of this feels a little confusing. I did have an idea for a retrospective Part 3 of this that would cover the events in between Part 1 & 2, clearing up the confusion a little bit, let me know if you'd be interested!

The metal detector beeps, finally letting you through after the hassle of emptying your entire bag and getting a full body scan. You quickly collect your scanned belongings and you scuttle along, almost sprinting across the now-empty hallway. You’re breathing heavily, holding onto the bag over your shoulder as you reach the right door. Panicked and out of breath you show your pass to the man working the door and he just about lets you in grumbling something about it being way past the time slot and how you’re the last one in. You ignore all of it, instead you focus on your breathing and move along. You inhale sharply through your nose, trying to mask just how winded that rush got you. 

You take your place as the last one in the line. Turning around just in time you see the door guy close off the room, not letting anybody else in. Phew. You just about made it. You smooth out your summer dress, adjusting the bag you had over your shoulder as you look around the hall. God, you’ll be waiting forever!

You knew it would be busy but having usually avoided convention centres it still hits you hard with how overwhelmingly packed the hall is. The ventilation and air conditioning could be state-of-the-art and it would still feel stuffy. Looking around you feel like one of the few people who didn’t bother dressing up like their favourite heroes. You see about thirty Queen Maeves at a quick glance, another twenty Black Noirs, a few of the Seven’s new member Starlight but the most prevalent one is easily a sea of Homelander knock-offs. The sea of cheap red, blue and white assaults your vision, making it actually pretty overwhelming to look around.

For once Homelander is actually drowned out in a sea of look-alikes where normally he stands out like a sore thumb in all his primary-coloured glory. Homelander. Just the thought of seeing him here makes you pick at your nails and bite your lips with anxiety. Sure, you’ve met him before. You’ve talked. You even had sex, really good sex, goddammit. You have history. But still, you’ve never done this. Not the in-public meet & greets that you decided to put yourself through today. But still, you’re doing this for him. 

The longer you’re standing at the end of the line the longer being surrounded by fans dressed in Spirit Halloween versions of the Seven’s costumes is becoming less comical and more uncanny valley. You only wonder what it feels like to them.

You slowly move through the line. Sighing impatiently, your nerves are slowly being replaced by irritation as you watch the interactions play out in front of you. You’re now close enough to see and overhear. Thankfully with each step you take forward the people in front of  you get what they came here for and they leave, making the hall a little more breathable. 

You’re now watching Homelander as he tends to each fan, all puffed up and high energy to replicate the vision they all have of him but you see how much he wishes to be anywhere but here. Most of the Seven do. Vought plucks them from what most expected to be their duties, like saving the world, and instead they drop them in front of cameras and paying fans. You watch as Homelander signs each piece of merchandise his fans bring him, one after another with a smile on his face.

Having seen part of his real self, or the extension of himself he doesn’t show the media you see the smile for what it is. Placating, empty, downright forced. Were you none the wiser you wouldn’t have thought to look past the showmanship but now you knew better. It was easy to notice his tells, his jaw ticks anytime he’s irritated, his eye twitches anytime he has to hold a smile for too long or anytime he’s forced to compliment someone. You overhear his booming stage-voice going, ‘you look great buddy, wear it better than I do!’ for about the twentieth time. The crowd eats it up, again, and somehow they’re blind to his tortured expression. Sure, he hides it very well but if any of them cared to look underneath the surface it would be glaringly obvious. Instead they look at him like the hero they want him to be. Flawless, perfect, serving their needs. The more you’re privy to this viewpoint the more it grates on you. He’s so much more than that! And you don’t understand how they don’t see it. More than that, you're angry that they willfully don’t want to see it. Why would they ruin the image of a perfect hero they look up to when they don’t care to know the person behind the suit in the first place. 

You shake your thoughts away, focusing on keeping up with the queue. Thankfully the hall has now almost emptied, few residual fans loiter around taking pictures of themselves in their costumes with the Seven members right behind them. As it’s almost your turn, and with that the end of the event, you clumsily pull out a postcard out of your bag clutching it in your hands getting it ready to be signed.

With each step you hear him clearer and clearer. Your heartbeat picks up and by the time the Homelander female cosplayer in front of you gets her very own, ‘you might as well take my spot, you pull it off better than me’, your heart is pounding so hard that you think it must grate on Homelander’s nerves. You rub the glossy paper of the postcard in between your fingers trying to distract yourself from the impending doom that’s bound to be caused by whatever comes out of your mouth. Even after all that’s happened between you two, all that history, you cannot stop yourself from feeling flustered in a situation like this.

You’re so stuck in your head that you don’t realise that the lady in front of you already left and all who’s left is…well, you.

You’re broken out of your trance by a familiar voice.

“Looky, looky, who's here? I can't believe you actually showed up at one of these.” There he goes, grinning like a Cheshire cat as he quickly looks you up and down. Already his eyes are glittering with excitement. Your heart skips a beat at his smile. It's more genuine. You see the annoyance seep out of him, his posture a little more relaxed. 

“Yeah…about that. I thought I couldn't really call myself a fan otherwise right?” You rattle off some lines and your anxious mess of a gut is slowly unravelling to make room for the coil of excitement replacing it. Sure, you’re nervous. How couldn't you be. But the place is nearly empty and there isn't much he could say that would get you as flustered as he did the first time.

“Here for an autograph? The one I gave you before wasn't good enough?” Right. Scratch that. You blush a bright red as the images flood back into your mind. And he's grinning so widely, clearly pleased with how he can so easily make you into a blubbering mess. Even if someone overheard, there’s technically nothing dirty about his words but the shiver they send down your spine along with the vivid imagery is enough to make you feel indecent in a public space.

“No—no! It was, um, great. I just—uh—wanted something a little more permanent.” You quickly look around seeing if anyone caught that interaction as if they could read your mind. Well, you are in a room full of superheroes, who knows what they can or can’t do. Thankfully, it doesn’t appear like anyone is interested in Homelander signing a photo for yet another fan. The rest of the Seven is slowly filtering out of the room, finally relieved of their duty.

“Alrighty-doo, let me sign that for you.” He takes his hand out prompting you to put the postcard in his palm. You do so, giving him a little timid smile. Your hands shake a little as you retreat them back by your sides. Catching the way his eyes linger on the movement you cover your shakiness by clasping your hands together in front of you.

“Is this all you want me to sign? Did you really wait the entire line for that?” He says his eyes squinting incredulously as he waves the postcard with his likeness in front of you. Without waiting for your answers he still places it in front of him reaching for his marker pen.

“What was I meant to bring?” You scrunch your eyebrows with confusion. Sure, you weren’t used to going to these events but you still brought something he could sign, that’s good enough, is it not?

“For starters, something that my signature won’t cover entirely.” 

“It’s fine if it covers it.” You brush off his concerns. Really you didn’t care about the signature as much as you cared about seeing him. So placement be damned.

You look as he uncaps the pen, turning the card around. It’s a photo of him in his hero pose standing against a very patriotic background. Originally it came in a pack of seven postcards, one for each member of the Seven. You don’t want to admit that you were so anxious over deciding whether you would even turn up or not that when it came to the day you forgot to bring an item to sign. Hence the pack of generic postcards you bought on the way when you realised that you forgot just about the most important item. This also turned out to be the reason for your tardiness, you spent way too long in the shop just angsting over the small selection of items you could even pick from. 

“You know it's a real shame you of all people didn't come dressed up. I'd like to see you as Mrs Homelander.” He says all cheeky and amused at the image in his head, while he’s fiddling with his marker pen, trying to start his signature for the third time but the ink has run out.  

“Oh no no no, I couldn't. I don't think it would be a good look on me. I mean nobody can rock the uniform like you do!” The idea of dressing up as him was ridiculous, you couldn’t just take that away from him. He’s more than a circus animal to you.

“You think I rock it?” He gives you a look, clearly fishing for compliments while he lets his voice rumble. He might not be in your ear but you still feel a shiver dance down your spine. You don’t think you’ll ever get over the effect his voice has on you. He just knows how to pull your strings. And what’s a puppet to do if not follow.

“It looks very good on you. The colour brings out your eyes.” You make an awkward gesture, pointing at your dress and then your eyes, as if it wasn’t obvious that those two had the same colour on him. You cringe internally but he always seems endeared by your awkwardness. You think it probably feeds his ego. You’re always such a mess in front of him and he slurps it up.

“Wowie, heavy on the flattery today are we?” He’s fiddling with his marker pen, trying to start his signature for the third time but the ink has run out.  “Oh for fucks sakes.” He tries another two times, the leather of his glove creaking with pressure around the pen. You expect him to snap it in half at this point but he just sighs and recaps the used marker, placing it down. He looks around, his jaw ticking as he mumbles, “where the fuck is Ashley…” He rolls his eyes, muttering something about being surrounded by incompetent idiots as he stands up. 

“Just, come with me, I think there are some spares in my dressing room.” He waves his hand, still holding the postcard in the other one.

“Are you sure? It’s really no big deal!” You feel guilty at the way his suggestion sends a shiver up your spine. You’re not entitled to it but the fantasy of him fucking you in his dressing room still plays out in your mind. 

“Nope, you waited your turn. You know I’m not one to leave my biggest fans empty handed.” He winks at you before he beckons you to follow him. You give a short nod and you scurry behind him like a little duckling, mesmerized by the sway of his cape swishing with each purposeful step. You feel your heart rate rise with every step, just being in his presence is overwhelming and the closer you get to his dressing room the more vivid your fantasy gets.

“Righty-ho,” Homelander says as he opens the door to his dressing room, fiddling around to pick up a spare marker. He presses the postcard against the wall signing it for you with a silver sharpie. You stand in the half open door a little awkwardly. Rather than focusing on him, you’re looking around making sure nobody sees you standing in Homelander’s dressing room. He tears you away from your paranoid thoughts as he hands the card back to you with a sing-songy, “there you go!” 

Your eyes widen and you gingerly take the postcard with a “oh, thank you,” and you gently put it back into your bag, not wanting to smear the ink. Part of you was disappointed that he genuinely took you here for innocent reasons. 

Like the open book you’ve always been to him he reads your facial expressions for what they are barking a laugh at the dumb-struck look you were sporting. “What? Did you think I brought you here to fuck you?” He leans against the doorframe, his tone a little condescending and mean. 

You really do your best to recover but your embarrassed blush and the spike in your heart-rate is such a blatant giveaway of your true thoughts. “N-no! I wouldn’t, of course not.” It doesn’t matter what you say in the moment, it’s not wiping the all-knowing smirk off his face.

“Jesus, you’re so easy, you know that?” His gaze is predatory as he looks you up and down again, this time slowly, reaaally taking you in. Before you know what’s happening he yanks you into the room, closing the door behind you. For all his strength he controls it well as you don’t end up with a dislocated shoulder after a move like that.

He cages you in against the door, leaning close to your ear so he can get his voice nice and low and he whispers, “For that kind of slutty behaviour I definitely need to fuck you.” You can hear the smirk in his voice. You love how easily he reads you, there’s nothing you can hide from and you know that these days, you’re his favourite book. In a way it’s liberating, it removes the thoughts behind actions, it removes the second-guessing. You know that he knows what you want. So you don’t have to make propositions and embarrass yourself further, he’s either gonna take you as he pleases or tell you to get lost. So far it’s always been the former. 

His gloved hand grabs the side of your jaw as he leans back and the woodsy, natural scent of leather whiffs past your nose. His other hand is less stationary, he brazenly glides his hand down your dress, generously palming your tits before he slides down further down your waist and back, settling on your ass. “Gotta teach you a lesson that you shouldn't be spreading your legs for men you don't really know that well.” He growls out tilting your head so he’s directly staring into your eyes with his impossibly piercing blues.

“You’re not just a man.” 

“Mhm you got that right.” He purrs all pleased at the obvious stroke to his ego. You’re all flustered, breathy and eager for him and he loves it. The pure adoration and love you give him so easily just flows through him, feeding that black hole starved for affection inside him.

He didn’t wait a second longer to kiss you, one gloved hand still on your jaw, the other quickly moving up to the back of your head pressing you into him. With a moan he kisses you, already acting like you’ve been starving him this entire time. His kisses are feverish, already hot hot hot as his lips ply yours open. You feel his shaky breath hot against your lips while the plush pillows of his lips are pressing against yours in a frenzy.

You wrap your hands around his neck for support more than anything. You know how he gets. Your heart rate has skyrocketed by now, beating hard and loud in his ears as he presses his tongue in between your lips, already wanting to be in you one way or another.

You part your lips for him just like you’d part your legs and you let him kiss you, heavy, hot and wet as he holds you with almost shaky hands trying to get as much as he can out of you.

His ravenous kisses don’t relax you, they make your body feel tight, wound up, always expecting and wanting more. At this moment you need him as much as he needs you. You grind your body against him with each more pressing and needy kiss. You know he can feel you through his suit, even though it’s handily hiding his hard-on. He still moans when you rub against him, clearly just as wound up as you are.

He pulls away, his eyes no longer that bright piercing blue but now his pupils are blown, his gaze lustful and heavy. His breathing is rough and stuttered. Even though he can’t get winded or tired his body is so strained that he pants for you like a thirsty dog.

Homelander takes his time to calm down, wanting to take control of the situation, he wants you to look up at him with those unsuspecting sweet wide doe eyes while he defiles you. And you do, you look up at him, panting out of actual lack of breath and you stare in reverence. 

There he goes, grinning like a shark again and you’re already waiting for the foul words that he’s undoubtedly going to thoroughly wet your panties with.

“Tell me,” he purrs out, seducing you with his dulcet tones. “How many times did you make yourself cum to my voice, huh?” He’s now leaning into your ear again, knowing this is where the occasional brush of his lips makes your body burn bright and hot. “Or to the memory of my cock inside you?” 

You expect him to be filthy and talk with no filter, it’s his specialty behind closed doors, but it still catches you off-guard. It especially does anytime you’re reminded of the time he utterly ruined you for any other man in your home, in your safe space, in your bed.

“I don’t know—many times. I, um, I lost count.” You don’t know exactly what answer he wants from you but you know that he will turn each and every one against you. His hair tickles the side of your face as he nuzzles into you with a small whimper before continuing. 

“Yeah? Maybe you should show me, do it for me. A little performance as a reward for all that I've done for you.” You hear the restraint in his voice. You know he wants nothing more than to just fuck you, have you fall apart on him. For him. But you also know Homelander loves to play. And he doesn’t want the game to be over yet. “You can do that for me, can’t you?” He goads you with that. Homelander knows just as much as he swallows up all your love and affection; you thrive on being reminded of how much you adore and worship him. How much you’d do anything for him. Anything. 

Homelander pulls back from you, his hands now firmly on your waist as if you were a flight risk.

“What do you mean?” You regain some sense of self after he gives your hot and flushed body a little break. 

“I mean you’re gonna sit your pretty ass in that chair, make yourself cum for me, while I watch.” He guides your body towards the further end of the dressing room where he points at a chair in front of a lit vanity table that’s still littered with make-up and brushes from when his team got him ready for today’s event.

Your body is buzzing with excitement but part of you is still a little embarrassed by such a blatantly open display. He wants you to sit in that chair, spread your legs and give him a perfectly lit view of the way you get yourself off? Yeah, that’s not the easiest thing you’ve ever done. But again, for him, you’ll do anything. 

“Well, what are you waiting for?” He pulls the chair out a bit tilting his head towards it. He looks at you, blatantly undressing you with his eyes. Literally, undressing. You may not physically feel his x-ray vision but the look in his eyes and the way he stops at your tits with a leery smile on his face is very telling. He doesn’t bother to hide how much he ogles, he knows how much it turns you on anyway. “Come on, panties off and hop on.” He clicks his tongue impatiently.

You sneak your hands under your dress and pull the hem of your panties down. You slide them down your legs until they pool at your ankles where you step out of them with your shoes still on.

Homelander chuckles to himself as he picks up the undergarment inspecting the damage. “You’re like a faucet, always fucking dripping wet.” He brings them closer to his face, inspecting the pair of Homelander-themed panties. He inhales the scent of your pussy now that it’s long seeped into the fabric. “I didn’t think these would be salvageable after last time.” He speaks as if he was talking about the weather and not pure debauchery while he indulges in the scent of your cunt.

“I got more pairs.” You said with a shrug as you got into the chair. You had to jump up a little as it was set on the highest setting for Homelander’s viewing pleasure.

You watch as he tosses the panties on the vanity table in front of you. “You’re gonna have to spread those legs some more.” He tuts with his tongue. You spread your legs as wide as you can in the chair and he shakes his head. “No, nope that won’t do either. Legs up on the arm rests.” He commands and as much as you want to comply, even you have your limits.

“I’m not that flexible!” You yelp out in amusement. “Wait!” You exclaim again except this time he easily manoeuvres you around in that chair with his stupid strength and you feel like a pretzel as you’re being pushed into the right position.

He ends up hooking just one of your legs over the armrest letting you rest it against the vanity table and giving you a comfortable enough position but more importantly, giving him a great view. “See, there you go. Flexible enough.” He pulls off his gloves one by one, throwing them on the table, out of view. “Come on, show off for me,” He coos in your ear, his bare hands, hot and smooth, sliding up your legs picking up the hem of your dress on the way as he pulls it up.

You gasp at the view in front of yourself. In the lit mirror in front of you you see yourself spread wide, your pussy easily visible and glistening in the bright light. This might as well be a porn shoot with how well lit and visible all your parts are. As you instinctively start closing your legs Homelander presses your thighs down, barely putting any power into it yet you feel the unyielding strength thrumming through his fingertips.

“Don’t be shy, you know I’ve seen it all.” He tucks the skirt of your dress above your waist and behind your back. Your hand slowly slinks down to rest on the bunched up fabric of your dress.

He straightens up properly standing behind you, his hands land on your shoulders, close to your neck, squeezing softly. He watches you in the mirror. He extends his pointer finger pushing your jaw up so you look up and meet his gaze. “Keep going, spread that pretty pussy for me.” He growls in your ear as his eyes are locked on the way your fingers slide down your slit, your pointer and middle finger spreading your pussy open for him to see. “Just as I said, like a fucking faucet.” He chuckles at the sight of you drenched and dripping.

You blush at the way he’s staring so intently at your reflection. Your fingers tentatively run up and down, gathering the wetness on your fingers, bringing it up to your clit where you rub small, shy circles around it. You’re taut as a bow and struggling to relax.

“Stop thinking and start feeling.” Homelander purrs in your ear. “I know you can do this for me, can’t you?” His voice sends a hot flush down your body, and you feel your clit throb under your fingers.

“Yeah… I can.” You breathe you, closing your eyes for a second to take a deep breath. The tension slowly leaves your body as Homelander presses soft kisses down the side of your face as he leans over to your other side. You let your hand go on auto-pilot trusting it to know what to do. You suck in a sharp breath as he sucks on your jaw, giving it a little nip while you still circle your clit with a soft squelch of your slick.

“There’s my girl.” He watches as you breathe deeply, your eyes finally opening to watch as he descends more kisses down your neck. You shiver at the sensation, pressing in your fingers a little harder, at the right pressure in the right spot. You’re just about to dip lower, push a finger inside your wet, needy hole but Homelander speaks up. “Uh uh, nothing but my cock is going inside that pussy today so keep your fingers on your clit.” Your entire body prickles with heat all over at his words. He’s so brazen and upfront and no matter how many times you hear it it always makes your head spin and pussy throb. 

You nod a simple ‘okay’ and only ever slide your fingers down to collect more of your own slick. Homelander is whimpering with you as if just the sight of your pussy was enough to get him off. For him, it’s intoxicating. His senses enhance the way your slick squelches loud to his ears and the scent of your pussy just makes him want to stop this little game and rail you already. Yet, he’s a patient man when he wants to be. And more so, indulging in his own desperate urge isn’t as fun as watching you submit to him first.

“Eyes open.” Homelander interrupts the thoughts and visuals in your head. Your eyes snap open and you meet his sharp gaze in the mirror. You didn’t even realise you had them closed. “What were you thinking about?” He asks, almost testing you. As if saying, you better not be straying too far from the path he wants you on.

“‘M thinking about you fucking me.” You say meekly, your fingers rubbing at a particular rhythm now that you know will get you off. Your clit is already throbbing, aching under your fingers.

“Getting a bit ahead of yourself missy, first you’ll have to cum for me.” He says nonchalantly while he pushes the strap of your dress and bra down your free arm. As much as you’ve gotten more used to functioning around him, his voice still makes you dizzy, especially when he’s a master at saying the most depraved shit. 

You pause to help him get out of the other set of straps and when your arm goes up to slip out of the strap he gives your slicked fingers a little suck, tasting you with a pleased grin making you flush hot.

While you go back to rubbing your clit Homelander unclasps your bra from behind your back dropping it on the floor and he pushes your dress down, already groaning at the sight of your tits free for his eyes to feast on. He presses his hands against your tits from either side, groaning at the sensation of the plush pillows underneath his hands.

“That's a good girl, keep rubbing that clit.” He growls out an order, yet somehow he looks more frazzled than you while he's not even the one performing. “Open up,” he whispers, his voice frayed at the edges as he presses two fingers against your lips. Obediently, you open up giving them a suck and laving them with your saliva while you keep eye contact with his reflection. He moans at the raunchy display, his eyes glazing over as he pulls his fingers out. With both his hands back on your tits he pinches your nipples, overwhelming you with the different sensation of one being rubbed wet and the other dry. You whine at the sensation, your pussy throbbing with each hot breath you feel against your neck as he tucks his head against it.

He listens to your heart beat like a drum in his ear, while he gives your nipples all his love and attention. He whispers and moans sweet nothings into your ear whilst watching you rub harder and faster finding the perfect rhythm that has cascading heat climb up your spine. “Thaaat’s it, come on—fuuck—come on, you can cum for me. I know you can.” Homelander watches as your muscles tense, seeing your body just ready to snap. What really does you in is the way he’s whimpering like he’s the one getting off. It’s like he’s sharing all the pleasure you're feeling with you.  

You cum with Homelander’s lips whispering against your ear as you hold your breath, your body tense until it finally gives in and you feel the wave of heat and tingling pleasure wash over you from your core to your limbs. “Ohhh god.” You finally release your breath, your chest heaving with the release.

Homelander is less impressed. Clicking his tongue again against the roof of his mouth.

“Mhm that won’t do, you can do better than that. I’ve seen you cum better than that.” 

You barely have the strength to counteract his claim. This was easily one of your strongest orgasms and he’s trying to say that it was weak? Oh please. You shake your head. You know he’s just playing his little game of ‘I can do whatever the fuck I want’ so you let him.

“Come on, up you go,” He says as he pulls you up on your feet all wobbly and numb from the way you were sitting on the chair. He pushes the chair out of the way with enough force that it topples over with a bang. He bends you over the vanity table where you’re up close and personal with the mirror, watching Homelander’s reflection as he hurriedly unzips his pants pushing them halfway down his thighs. 

You can’t see his cock from this angle but you’re sure it’s rock fucking hard and leaking precum with the way he’s panting like a dog in heat. He’s not even in you and he looks about three strokes away from finishing.

“God, fffuck!” He grits out through his teeth before parting his lips letting a long groan out as the tip of his cock parts your folds, immediately finding your soaked hole and pushing inside with one long slide. He huffs and puffs, his head tilted back as he keeps his eyes shut with restraint. His cock is hot and hard inside you, giving your pussy something to quiver around. 

You’re overstimulated, your nerves totally fried and your body has still nowhere recovered from your performance of a lifetime but you still take him in. You push your ass towards him, whimpering yourself as you feel his hands land on your hips, holding you there. “Look at how your pussy just opens up for me. Taking me riiiight in.” Homelander’s voice is strangled and raspy as he hisses air through his teeth.

You whimper at the way his words leave you buzzing and mindless with pleasure. You prop your elbows against the table as he starts fucking you, dragging his cock agonisingly slowly at first as if he was so sensitive he was about to bust. 

Thankfully that gives you some time to recover and your pussy is no longer screaming at you that it’s too much. He gives you more and more with each thrust, letting out a breathy soft moan each time he hits home. Tip to hilt on every slide. 

His boots kick your legs together giving him a tighter, more pronounced feel. That’s where he really starts to pick up speed. He moves his hands up, gripping where the fabric of your dress is still bunched up as he wholeheartedly fucks into you, minding his strength of course, he gives you what you can take and not a drop more.

You’re so deliciously taken in by him that you barely remember where you are and that you reaaally shouldn’t be screaming and moaning at the top of your lungs. Against all odds, your body is still so wired up and wound up that you feel the climbing sensation prickle at your nerves, your legs quivering with each stroke.

“Jesus fucking Christ.” Homelander pulls out of you unceremoniously and you whine.

“I was so close!” You pull a displeased face in the mirror, looking at his reflection.

“I know. And so does everyone on the other side of that door.” He mumbles as he picks up the panties he tossed earlier on the table except this time he balls them up stuffing them in your mouth. You protest around them, your eyes widening in shock and your body flushing with indecent heat when you get a remnant of your taste from the soaked fabric.

“I don’t need people barging in to see who’s screaming bloody fucking murder.”

He turns you around, swiftly picking you up and plopping you on top of the vanity table where you’re nicely lit from behind. “Now behave, the door’s not locked. I’d rather not have anyone see you like this. Capiche?” You nod fervently, at this point just doing anything to get him back in you. 

“Good girl.” He coos as he pulls your legs up wrapping his forearms underneath your thighs, his hands gripping the sides for easy control. And just like that he slides back into you. You give muffled little sighs into the fabric of your panties as he fucks you hard against the table, making it rattle on its legs. The littered makeup and brushes were now rolling off and in some cases breaking on impact.

“You’re always so fucking worked up. Just need someone to fuck you don’t you. Poor little fangirl, so obsessed with me she doesn’t even have time to date anyone else.” He gives you a sharp grin, his canines sharp like a predator’s would be. You body flushes with embarrassment at the almost degrading comment and with the way you’re gagged and fucked you feel like Homelander’s personal toy. 

He fucks you until your legs tremble in his hold and your eyes flutter shut with each press of his cock deep inside you.

He slows down with the literally mind-melting grinds of his pelvis against yours and instead he looks you straight in the eyes getting your attention. “Did you learn? Will you be good?” You nod. He takes the panties out of your mouth, leaving the now even more damp fabric back on the table. 

You keep your promise and you keep mainly quiet, biting your lips shut and only letting the occasional whimper out as he strokes a particularly good spot inside you. Instead you let your body do the screaming for you. You shake and tremble around him, all tense and hot and Homelander doesn’t need to hear you scream to know that you’re close.

With your lips free again he captures them, as if he’s been starved this entire time without them. He kisses you deep and wet while he bucks into you, slowly losing his impeccable rhythm as he’s so strung out for an orgasm it’s bound to happen any second.

“Ah—I’m, uh, close…” You nearly whisper out, all strangled and needy. Homelander nods, clearly just as far gone. He lets one of your legs go, instead letting you wrap it around his waist as he places his fingers on your clit, giving you the extra push to the finish line.

He doesn’t wait for you as he cums in the next, one, two, three, strokes. But he pushes through still fucking into you while his cock pumps you full of his load. You cum immediately after, it’s more the thought than the faint feeling of him finishing inside you that just pushes you over the edge. A burst of buzzing fireworks sparks behind your eyelids as you close your eyes shut through the euphoria sinking into your bones. 

You’re panting, catching your breath, moaning your residual finish in small whimpers. “Wow, that was—”

There’s a sharp knock on the door.

“Sir, you’re needed on stage in 10 minutes.” Ashley’s panicked shrill can be heard on the other side of the door and your heart stops for a second before realising it’s her. Ashley knows better than to barge into any rooms ever since Homelander’s shown interest in you. 

“Oh well, there goes the afterglow.” You mumble with a tired laugh. Homelander nods quietly as he tucks himself back in, finally spent and satisfied—for the time being at least.

Homelander looks at you with fond hunger, leaning in for a soft kiss. “Yeah. Sorry I have to cut it short.” He grumbles, displeased, as he nuzzles his face in the junction of your neck.

He pulls away, reaching for your bra and passing it to you so you could make yourself presentable again.

“Tell me, did you actually leave the door unlocked?” You ask. 

“No! I don’t want anyone else seeing you like this. Well. I want you out there with me, just not when you’re freshly fucked. That’s all for me.” He gives you a wide grin, unable to stop himself from peppering you with kisses, capturing your lips again hungry for them as if you’re constantly denying him air. 

“Thank you for today.” He breathes hotly against your lips. “You know how to indulge me, I really didn’t think you’d turn up.” He smiles against you, caving in for another kiss.

“What wouldn’t I do for you?” You say with an amused roll to your eyes, but it’s all light-hearted. He knows you really would do anything for him. 

“I haven’t found that out yet.” He rumbles all pleased as he helps you make sense of the mess he made of your dress.

“And you never will,” You beam at him, your heart pounding again but this time it’s just from that overwhelming love you have for him, the butterflies that don’t seem to ever calm down in his presence. Even though you’ve been secretly together for a couple of months ever since the fated phone call, the excitement hasn’t even begun waning yet. 

“Hey, you know, you’re a really great actress. Had me sold quite a few times. Maybe I should get Vought to cast you in a movie alongside me, huh?” He grins as he picks up his gloves, pulling them over his hands again. 

You have to laugh. Sure, you’ve enjoyed role-playing as the obsessed fan that you were a few months ago but it wasn’t all acting. 

“I wasn’t acting! Well, obviously I did with the ‘I don’t know what’s gonna happen’ part but beyond that I was really nervous to be with you like that in a public place. You know how I get. It’s not that I don’t want to be with you publically, it’s just a huge adjustment. So… baby steps.” You finally adjust your dress though you still very much look like you just got railed. 

“Come ooon, let me make you mine officially. Fuck this sneaking around. The people who need to know, know. The rest is not important.” He presents you with his sweet honeyed voice, and he’s cheating really, he knows how much it affects you.

In a way, he’s right. The people who matter at Vought know about you seeing as you’re up at his place every other day but there was something terrifying about announcing to the entire world that you were Homelander’s girlfriend. That’s nothing easy to get used to. He’s not just a celebrity. He is the celebrity. You will have to say bye-bye to the comforts of a private life. But maybe that’s all worth it for him. 

“Okay. How about you go do your job and I go do mine and when you see me for dinner we can talk about it again. Sounds good?” You said as you wrapped your arms around his neck, pulling him in for another sweet kiss.

“Sounds good." He repeats before continuing with a fond, "I love you,” which always comes out a little strained. He’s never been able to say it without letting himself drown in the endless pool of emotions that are just swirling around inside him. 

“I love you too. Now go before Ashley has a heart attack. You’re already late.” You kiss him sweetly, adjusting his hair, making it look more purposefully-tousled, less ‘sex-hair’. You let him go, smoothing your hand down his suit. 

“Oh please, I’m the Homelander. Does the party really even start without me there?” He blows a raspberry into the air with a scoff.

“Sure doesn’t, babe.” You shake your head, amused as you watch him wave you off and shut the door behind himself.

You took the time to make yourself look more presentable but you couldn’t leave the room in the state you both left it in. So you collected the things that fell, you wiped the surfaces clean and you trashed whatever broke on the way. It’s the least you could do.

You looked into the mirror, almost not recognising the woman you’ve become over the past few months. Being someone who feeds off your endless adoration has done wonders for your confidence. You no longer feel crazy and obsessive. You’ve finally found someone who’s never gonna have enough of you. Someone who inhales your love like the oxygen he needs to breathe.

You revere Homelander less as an icon and more as a person, as a partner, these days. You know so much more of who he is now and strangely, while he scares others, you’ve never felt safer in his presence. Something about you two just clicks. It’s no wonder he wants to show you to the rest of the world. He wants to lock you in, have people forever associate with him.

And soon enough, there will be no way out.

[Part 3]

Taglist (you can add yourself to be notified anytime I publish a new Homelander story): @morishitoshi

[weirdsht]

Hello! Good morning lol. I hope you're doing well :₱ i gotta say ur writing is good and addicting. I keep coming back it's eating me alive

I have a thought abt ur recent yan!cale post :₱

What if Cale actually got sum magical jewelry on the reader that prevents their risky, suic1d∆l powers from working? The reader realizes it's basically stuck to them and is unable to take it off, remaining stuck unless someone powerful in magic, like Eruhaben, removes it personally. They feel off about it at first, though they eventually accept it because it was Cale who really wanted it on them, and they believe that he's someone who wants nothing but the safety of his loved ones. But then---

Reader gets kidnapped, gets harmed in the worst way possible-

Lol sorry, idk why but yandere cale is so-

😆💞

Blood-Red Garnet - Yan!Cale/Reader

notes: my visualization for the bracelet

tags: gender-neutral reader, yandere cale, torture and injuries (nothing too graphic), hints of possessiveness, hints of unhealthy relationship and dependency but reader doesn't realise it

English isn’t my first language so there will be grammatical errors

Pls don't repost my work anywhere without my permission

Constructive criticisms and any kind of interaction are more than welcome

Requests are currently closed but my ask are still open (read navi)

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A shiny gold bracelet with a piece of blood-red jewel in the middle was dangled in [name]’s face by Cale. It was a gift, or so he says. Told the ability user that it’s both an accessory and a preventative measure.

“Preventative measure? For what?”

“For your abilities. I don’t want you dying on me because of your reckless power.”

[Name] wore the bracelet even though they were hesitant at first. Their ability was their primary way of fighting. However, Cale was right. That ability is too dangerous. Plus, they still know how to wield a sword and fight hand-to-hand combats so they should be fine.

“By the way you can only use your abilities if I allow it or if a dragon dispels the magic on that thing.”

Right..?

Apparently not.

[Name] desperately stares at the three pieces of garnet in their bracelet. As if it would magically come off if they stared at it hard enough.

When the ability user first got the bracelet they were happy whenever they looked at the garnet it holds. The colour reminds them of Cale’s hair. Reminds them that the young master gifted it to them because he was concerned for their well-being.

However, now the jewel brings them frustration. The enchantment was placed on those three small circles. If only [name] can remove them.

Then maybe they won’t be subjected to this torture anymore.

“Your beloved commander won't save you. Just tell us where he is right now and whether or not his unconscious. We’ll let you have a quick death once you do.”

“If I’m gonna die either way then I’ll gladly keep everything to my– AHHH!”

[Name]’s words got cut off as another one of their fingers was broken by the torturer interrogating them.

“Are you sure you can take more of this? I can still break your toes if you’re so adamant.”

The torturer mocked them. Gently caressing his fingers over their feet before looking back again at their messed-up fingers.

[Name] merely laughs. They might be beaten up and have no way of fighting as their ability is suppressed, but they won’t say anything. Not now, not ever.

“Torture me all you– keugh! All you want. You won’t get an ounce of information from me.”

Despite being beaten up and coughing up blood, the ability user still had a smile on their face. A mocking smile that seems to rival their torturer’s mocking tone earlier.

The torturer’s face contorts in anger. He looked as if his ready to kill the ability user. Honestly, [name] thinks that would be better. They were getting tired too, they didn’t know how much more pain they could take.

Craaaaack! Psshhh

Just about when the torturer was raising a sword to inflict more pain on [name], a red thunderbolt suddenly fried the man. He was thoroughly burned to a crisp, almost like chicken deep fried in oil.

It was so strong that everyone within the vicinity could feel the anger of those thunderbolts.

And [name] didn’t need to see where it came from to know that it was Cale who did that.

“[Name]! We’re here to rescue you! I’m sorry for being late, I’m sure Saint Jack can heal you…”

Raon spoke in their head while supporting their back. His voice sounded as if he was crying. [Name] could also feel their back becoming wet.

“It’s okay. I’ll be fine”

The ability user comforted the toddler. They want to pet him but it’s impossible due to the state of their hands. Raon nodded, his cheeks squishing on [name]’s back. Once he regained his composure he used flight magic on them so they could get out of the cell.

Crash! Bang! Tak!

Outside was chaotic. At the centre of that chaos was Cale and all of his ancient powers running rampant. His face was contorted in something that can only be described as fury. All their other friends had to keep their distance because it almost looked as if the redhead was not in the right state of mind.

“The human has been like that ever since you got kidnapped! I don’t think I’ve seen him that angry.”

Raon tattled as they went closer to Cale. Despite looking like his out of his mind he had enough sanity left to create a path for [name] and Raon.

Cale’s face softened for a moment when he was face to face with [name]. However, it didn’t last long once he saw their state. There’s blood flowing out of their mouth. Wounds of varying degrees littered across their body. Not to mention the absolute wreck of a state their hands are in.

“I’ll be fine.”

[Name] tried to assure Cale who was stroking their cheek. But he isn’t having it. He could see how the ability user is using every fibre of their being to not wince. Probably so that Raon won’t cry anymore.

“Yes, you’ll be fine.”

Cale will make sure of it.

But for now, he must take care of these lowlifes that dare touch what’s his.

“Sleep. When you wake up we’ll be back home.”

Following Cale’s words, [name] closed their eyes. Succumbing to sleep as if the chaos happening behind them didn’t exist.

“Raon, Saint Jack is down there with Rosalyn. Tell him to make sure not a single scar will remain on [name]’s body.”

His negligence already allowed someone else to take his [name], he’ll be damned if he allows another man’s mark to linger on their body.

“Once we get home let’s ask Eruhaben-nim to put some defensive spell in that bracelet.”

“Let’s do that human! We’ll be going now! Be careful, I know you’re angry but you can’t cough blood!”

With that, the toddler used his magic to [name] to where Jack is. Leaving Cale to run wild.

Best to say that no enemy got out of that place alive after Cale was done with them.

[mercymaker]

COMMISSIONS ARE OPEN ✨

My current situation, as well as living with chronic pain that often leads to me being sleep-deprived, make it difficult for me to work, especially scheduled hours, but I would like to make a little bit of money off my art, be it the pixel-kind or other. Most of my options are for Baldur's Gate 3, however, the simple edits as well as the physical items step outside of that realm. Here are the options:

A set of 2 simple edits optimized for tumblr use (540x540) featuring your favorite character or an OC.

With or without text, with the color scheme of your choice.

I will need HQ shots of the character for the edits.

You can find more examples of the edits HERE.

PRICE: 5 EUR.

A set of 2 character intro gifs featuring your favorite character or an OC.

Color scheme of your choice.

I will need the sliders/mod list of your character.

You can find examples of these gifs HERE.

PRICE: 20 EUR.

A set of 4 colourful gifs featuring your favorite character or an OC.

Color scheme of your choice.

I will need the sliders/mod list of your character.

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A set of 2 cut-out gif edits featuring your favorite character, an OC, or a couple.

With or without text.

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I will need the sliders/mod list of your character.

You can find more examples of these gif edits HERE.

PRICE: 30 EUR.

A minimum of 2 shots featuring your favorite character, an OC, or a couple.

Editing in photoshop is free (or optional)!

I will need the sliders/mod list of your character.

The background/setting/animation is your choice, but I might need your save file if it's something very specific.

For posed shots you can either choose a simple background or in-game setting.

Standard vp dimensions: 2560x1440.

More examples of my virtual photography HERE.

PRICE: Listed above per 1 shot.

I ALSO accept custom orders for the headpieces on my Etsy page.

Can customize the primary and secondary colors to your liking. The only limit will be the paint available to me, but I have a pretty decent collection, so don't be afraid to DM if you have a very specific idea!

PRICE: Listed on my Etsy store page.

CONTACT ME:

You can reach me through tumblr DMs to inquire about a commission and then we could move to either email or discord for files/details.

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I reserve 2 weeks for each order or commission, please do not rush me, I am doing my best and will get back to you as soon as I can!

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100% of the price is paid upfront after confirming the details. Please, do not send me a payment without confirming first (especially on ko-fi where I'd consider it a donation).

I reserve the right to decline a commission for any reason.

[kunehokki]

Omg hello eirian my beloved friend eirian...... what ifffffff Grian in a little jester's outfit<3 for my the doodle requests and my agonies<3

anything for u temothy my beloved friend and scarlet pearl anonnie <3 i did my best even though designs are not my strong suit LMAO but i rlly enjoy pearl's especially >_<

this is. so far from a doodle but i couldnt NOT render pearl and try to save grian from primary hell JHSFHJ thamk to my frens in the puter val and choco @bad12amcomic for helping me, esp choco for assisting with colours and clothes!!

separate characters/transparents under the cut! ALSO primary nightmare grian

[usrhens]

Something interesting I noticed in AVA 2 is how TCO is immediately aggressive towards Alan. A theory I have for this is that the original victim was reincarnated into TCO when the file wasn't saved.

In AVA 1, the original victim surprisingly does not use the lasso as his primary weapon, he instead uses the shuriken. The fact that in the box victim prefers using the lasso above any other weapon leads me to believe he is the clone which used the lasso in the first AVA.

Another piece evidence supporting this is victim's strange appearance change from AVA 1 to AVA season 3. Mabye clones start to slowly corrupt the longer they are not absorbed into the pencil, even to the point of changing their colour?

TCO also seems strangely reluctant to fight victim in the box, instead trying to diffuse the situation. It's possible that TCO may recognize victim as one of his clones.

[ofbreathandflame-archive]

i haven't read the acotar series but yeah there are...SO many issues with it. I was about to say I'm not surprised that people wanted the racism to be more violent so they could acknowledge but actually, y'know what? No, I am surprised. I'm concerned that people want characters of colour to be dragged through the dirt and be the victims of horrific acts before they can acknowledge the racism of the author. I cannot emphasise how crestfallen, how upset I felt when I searched up what Illyrians were for the first time. Like...oh. They are brown, like me. But they are also a whitewashed version of what white people want them to be: a violent, primitive nation that treat their women awfully, just so that white people can come in and save them, as if they weren't the ones ramping up that kind of misogyny in the first place.

I look across the YA sphere and I see white authors constantly say, through their writing, that poc are violent, that we are backwards, that the women should not exist and do not have lives unless they are attached to white people. I feel that the only time this has kind of been challenged in a mainstream YA fandom has been the grishaverse, and even then, the rep for brown peoples is muddled and vague at best, and the rep for Black people feels like there was no exploration of culture at all.

What I'm trying to say is: it's not great in the YA market, but SJM is by far one of the most racist authors out there. White fans shouldn't be begging for the violence against characters of colour to be ramped up so they can decide when they can step in and say enough is enough.

ugh! this was so beautifully put!

thiis will be a long discussion!

i really want to preface this by saying i would really implore everyone in their free time to read toni morrison's playing in the dark! it's a deep dive into the ways blackness (and in this case minority status) is defined by white superiority; how the very presence of the non-white is always used to reiterated the inherent superiority of their white peers! poc are used as conduits to uphold beliefs of white supremacy - the very existence of the nonwhite existing to boasts the intelligence of their white peers.

sjm's work moves in such racist territory that it so easy so see these mentalities etched into her work. every single poc that is included in the story is relegated to this ideology; their very existence speaks to the power of the main character. the primary function of the interactions deal in shame, humiliation, and cowardice (see: tarquin, nehemia, thesan, helion, tarquin, cressida, nesryn, lucien, the unnamed enslaved @ endovier, baxian, unnamed illyrian population etc).

morrison opens up her novel by asserting that we should be conscious of the way the author's imagination expresses itself:

“Both [reading and writing] require being mindful of the places where imagination sabotages itself, locks its own gates, pollutes its vision. Writing and reading mean being aware of the writer’s notions of risk and safety, the serene achievement of, or sweaty fight for, meaning and response-ability.”

morrison also posits that author's intenionality and/or bias are unfortunately apart of the creative process of imagination, reiterating:

“The imagination that produces work which bears and invites rereadings, which motions to future readings as well as contemporary ones, implies a shareable world and an endlessly flexible language. Readers and writers both struggle to interpret and perform within a common language shareable imaginative worlds. And although upon that struggle the positioning of the reader has justifiable claims, the author’s presence—her or his intentions, blindness, and sight—is part of the imaginative activity.”

this initial opening builds an understanding of the creative process, in a wholesome way. what i mean is - morrison is establishes that the creative process is informed by our own perceptions and understanding. the way our the narrative voice reconciles normalcy vs. unknown says something about the author. or what the author has put to page. the reason i am even discussing this is to make a similar point: sjm's writing oftentimes subconsciously asserts the dominance of the 'main, white character,' in conjunction with a ethnic, poor, nonwhite individuals of the story. when we meet celaena, we are immediately aware of aelin's 'superiority' over the slaves in endovier. the function of her slavery is to relate her power, while the story views the enslaved as dump, hopeless, individuals whose only goal is to die for their liberation in an endless cycle. aelin even complains that she 'finally' can talk to compotent people with assumption that the enslaved at endovier were somehow too dumb to adequtely communcate with her.

a court of thorns and roses invents an entire culture whose only cultural practices seemed be filled with violence, misogyny, and brutality. then the story argues that only three (3) out of thousands of brown men actually have common sense. that they're so dumb and brutish that they'd absolutely choose to have barely any resources out of spite of their benevolent high lord. cassian, rhys, and az are the strongest in history. and to relate their power, we get these dumb brutes who just seem okay for fighting for a country that would not even be allowed to enter....that's actually some crazy racist writing lmaooo. or the fact that nuala and cerridwen are trained spies, who up to this point, make so much money they'd probably be able to retire...and they just choose to be also the handmaidens...for five-hundred year old fae. like...immediately after acotar, there back working. rhys and feyre can still be reeling from that experience but nuala and cerridwen can just serve because that's just what they like to do.

the next notable quote states:

“These speculations have led me to wonder whether the major and championed characteristics of our national literature—individualism, masculinity, social engagement versus historical isolation; acute and ambiguous moral problematics; the thematics of innocence coupled with an obsession with figurations of death and hell—are not in fact responses to a dark, abiding, signing Africanist presence”

“The fabrication of an Africanist persona is reflexive; an extraordinary meditation on the self; a powerful exploration of the fears and desires that reside in the writerly conscious. It is an astonishing revelation of longing, of terror, of perplexity, of shame, of magnanimity. It requires hard work not to see this.”

in this way, the nonwhite becomes the site of a descent into darkness, hypersexality and power for white people. think of the way in which feyre's darkness is often times heavily associated with the nonwhite (see: court of nightmares). this sexy, liberated, dark woman using south asian culture to establish superiority while eschewing the people who are the originators of said culture.

but - really want to move this away from a discussion on individual characters and really focus the subject on sjm's role as the write. ultimately, feyre, aelin, nehemia, rhys...aren't real. they are reflections of the author's own internal dialogue. i actually really resonated with this observation/ assumption morrison's makes and that is:

“I assumed that since the author was not black, the appearance of Africanist characters or narrative or idiom in a work could never be about anything other than the “normal,” unracialized, illusory white world that provided the fictional backdrop.”

ultimately, i believe the racism comes from the fact that, although these are fictional worlds born from sjm's imagination, a lot of the racism comes from the fact that sjm is writing what she believes to be normal. and so - that's why the problem ultimately persists. violence against woc and poc are justified already. it doesn't matter that rhys slaughters hordes of illyrians because the assumption is that they're probably horrible, brutish people who ultimately deserve to die; nevermind, they could have had complex reasons, just like rhys. it's okay that the illyrian women are oppressed because...that's just the way things have always been. the only queen who helped rhys and feyre is humilated, murdered, and has her head shaven. we get one sentence about her and the story moves on. nehemia planned her own brutal murder, awoke dorian's power, and as a reward....her entire country is burned to the ground and the liberation of ellywe is delegated toward one sentence about maybe going to visit. , sorcha gets her head cut off (and its treated as a joke by the fandom) and dorian blames her for essentially being 'too fragile' or something like that. poc are already being brutalized in these stories, we're just positioned not to care.

and im not saying that ya isn't extremely racist - but i think sjm is by far one of the worst racist authors i have come across. not even ms. bardugo or aveyard or her other peers have this many racial problems by comparison and boy are there still problems even in those stories. like damn even george rr martin has like...semi-better writing (but he's actually another author that really exemplifies what morrison was talking about and id love to one day talk about that. but it woul take me quite awhile. i do like like asoiaf obvi, but it just has a lot of problems that i cant ignore). lmaooo even armentrout made some attempt to rectify her representation issue and thats saying a lot.

[timetraveltasting]

TEMPLAR BOAR WITH CAMELINE SAUCE (14th c.)

This past Thursday, the Corpus Christi public holiday in my part of Germany, known here as Fronleichnam, gave me a little extra time to make another Tasting History dish: Templar Boar with Cameline Sauce. The diet, eating habits, and table manners of the Templars were governed by strict rules, including only eating meat three times a week (two meat meals on Sundays). This dish was one of those they would have eaten for one of their meat meals during the 14th century. The spices present in the sauce would have been accessible to them during the crusades, but Cameline Sauce did become a popular dish in much of medieval Europe eventually. This dish is based on two 14th century primary sources: Le Viandier de Taillevent by Guillaume Tirel and Le Ménagier de Paris, a treatise written by an older man (as yet unnamed) to teach his 15-year-old bride how to run his household and please him, in every way (...yikes). The sauce, Cameline, is named as such due to the rich brown colour, which looks like the wool of a camel, also known as cameline. I chose to make this recipe next because I haven't made boar before, and the rich, silky, brown colour of the sauce made it look really tasty. See Max’s video on how to make it here or see the ingredients and process at the end of this post, sourced from his website.

My experience making it:

I made a couple changes to the modern recipe below. I used boar goulash pieces instead of tenderloin, because it was the only form of boar I could find at my grocery store. The white wine I used (and drank with dinner) was a dry Riesling from the Mosel Valley in Germany. The red wine was a Bordeaux Merlot. I used saffron powder instead of threads, and I did opt to add the optional tablespoon of red wine vinegar. the white bread I used was a classic French baguette.

I also made a couple changes to the method. Because I used French baguette, which has quite small slices, I hollowed out about half the baguette (since baguettes are mostly crust). I also simmered the sauce for much longer than Max says to, because it wasn't quite the thickness I was looking for. Otherwise, I followed Max's recipe exactly, probably to the detriment of my boar. Because I had used goulash pieces instead of tenderloin, I probably should have adjusted how I cooked the boar to accommodate these smaller pieces. Unfortunately, I didn't, and as a result, I was left with very chewy, dry boar. Basically, the sauce was the saving grace of the boar! I served the boar and Cameline sauce with some green peas, garlic bread, and a glass of the dry Riesling wine.

My experience tasting it:

I already knew I had ruined the texture of the boar, but I hoped that the sauce would help. I warned my husband. Luckily, the Cameline sauce did a lot of heavy-lifting to bring some moisture back to the board. The sauce turned out wonderfully - a beautiful, silky brown. Flavour-wise, it reminded me of a jus, but more heavily-spiced. I was worried the Cameline sauce would end up tasting sweet due to the brown sugar and several spices that are more often used in baking, but in fact, the spices were well balanced by the taste of the wine and vinegar. The sauce also went really nicely with the peas, and I imagine would also have tasted good with potatoes or other red meats. My husband and I dipped the garlic bread in it as well, which was really tasty. It went alright with the dry boar, but I would like to use the sauce with another, more tenderly-cooked meat. We had leftover Cameline sauce, so we will probably try that again tonight. If you end up making it, if you liked it, or if you changed anything from the original recipe, do let me know!

Links to harder-to-find ingredients:

Saffron

Templar Boar with Cameline Sauce original recipes (14th c.)

Sourced from Le Viandier de Taillevent by Guillaume Tirel and Le Ménagier de Paris respectively.

“Sanglier: Fresh Wild Boar Venison. Cooked in wine and water and boiled again; eaten with Cameline Sauce.”

— Le Viandier de Taillevent, 14th century

“Cameline. Note that in Tournai, to make cameline they grind ginger, cinnamon, saffron, and half a nutmeg, moistened with wine then taken out of the mortar. Then grind in a mortar untoasted white breadcrumbs that have been soaked in cold water, moisten with wine and strain. Then boil everything and finish with brown sugar, and that makes winter cameline. In the summer, they do the same but it is not boiled at all. ”

— Le Ménagier de Paris, 14th century

Modern Recipe

Based on Le Viandier de Taillevent by Guillaume Tirel, Le Ménagier de Paris, and Max Miller’s version in his Tasting History video.

Ingredients:

Boar tenderloin

Olive oil for searing

Equal parts wine and water for boiling

1 thick slice of white artisanal bread without crust

1 ¼ cups white wine

¼ cup red wine

1 tsp ginger

2 tsp cinnamon

½ tsp nutmeg

Pinch of saffron threads

2 tbsp brown sugar

Pinch of salt

1 tbsp red wine vinegar (optional)

Method:

De-crust the bread and break it into small pieces. Soak the bread in water for a few hours, then pour in the red wine for the sauce.

Heat olive oil in a pot then sear the boar on all sides.

Remove it from the pot and boil equal parts wine and water, then add the boar back in and boil, covered, for 10-15 minutes or until fully cooked. Then let it rest.

To make the sauce, mix the spices and white wine. Strain the bread/wine mixture from earlier into a saucepan, then press the bread through the strainer.

Add the spiced wine mixture and bring to a simmer. Let simmer for 15 minutes, or until half reduced, then add the sugar and salt, and if you want, a tablespoon of red wine vinegar. Simmer until thickened.

Slice the boar and pour the sauce over it. Optionally, serve with roasted chestnuts and wine.

[sylenth-l]

Hi hello, I love your art so much LIKE MY BROTHER. IT'S SO YUMMY, THE SHADOWS THE EXPRESSIONS, I love how you draw Timur , Felwinter and Osiris together 🙏 little bird with his two funky adoptive parents. I stare at your art like , I'm always ready and hyped to give traditional art another try ✨

If I was to go back, any tips for which watercolours to pick? I so far got only aniline colours.

Aah, thank you so much!! 😳💙

Hmmm, the thing is, I use fountain pen inks almost always for painting. I don't use watercolour much, so I can't really suggest anything in particular… I have a selection of colours from different brands, of course, I know quite a lot about pigments, and I like using watercolour from time to time to add some special effects to my works. For sketching outdoors it's also the easiest to use among all other paints, probably. But painting a whole artwork with it……… I try doing it sometimes, but every single time I end up thinking "God, I wish I used inks instead, I hate this so much, why is it so BLEURGH". I guess watercolour just isn't my medium 😂 

I can share my thinking process when building up a palette though, I use it with all mixable mediums I use, be it inks, watercolour, gouache, etc. I found it to be the most effective (and money-saving, lol) approach for me.

So what I want for my main mixing palette is to have 3 sets of primary trios. All colours also must be as smooth as possible, with no surprises or unwanted colour separation. For watercolour - not granulating ones.

(my camera tends to make all colours brighter and also fails to see the subtle difference between some shades, but you can still get the idea)

The first trio is extremely vivid, consisting of bright cool colours - lemon yellow, cyan, magenta-leaning pink. It gives you access to all the bright, open colours.

Second is the classic they teach in all art schools (probably, from what I've heard, I never went into one alkjdshfk) - sunshine yellow, bright warm red and ultramarine blue. This gives you a huge selection of warmer, natural colours, like all shades of golds, eggplant purples, olive greens, etc. It also allows some nice selection of wood browns.

Third is my personal favorite, the muted trio. You kinda can get similar colours from the previous trio, but I prefer having these separately, because of how often I use them all. It consists of golden ochre-leaning yellow, dark bloody red and dark indanthrone blue. It gives you the most beautiful browns, beiges, blacks and other rich, deep colours.

On top of that I also like to have at least one decent black (in my case it's Quink Black ink, I cannot live without it).  And these 10 would be my essentials. Other colours I add to my mixing palette are basically shortcuts to the shades I find myself mixing the most - like a few browns and violets. There are also a few inks that I need for some very specific purposes - like, I have a very vivid cold magenta ink to mix a certain bright cold shade of the Void, and also a fluorescent orange for adding shiny Exo LED lights. And etc.

(Actually I'm currently in the process of re-organizing my main palette and also considering making a few small sets for painting some characters specifically)

I also have a separate selection of chromatographic inks, which can probably be compared to granulating watercolours… But not quite. A few examples:

Here I don't have any special notes or advices, just get the ink you like and enjoy it. Some of these I use so often that I always keep them in my main palette, and others I only get out for some special occasion. These are also mixable btw - I constantly add other ink in Quink Black to get different shades of it.

However, I must say that not all of the ~special effects~ inks are polite and well-behaved, some will agree to work only on some specific paper after a significant amount of coaxing, and others will straight out say "fuck you" at the most crucial moment, even if they worked perfectly just a moment ago.

Btw, when working with inks, I really recommend to put it into smaller bottles with a dropper, so you don't have to open the big bottle each time. It's both easier to use for you and much safer for inks! 

ANYWAY, I hope this post was of some use for you 🌈

[alipeeps]

Episode 31

The race to be the first to sacrifice yourself for Wen Xiao... on your marks, get set... GO!

How is it? Well... that's never a good expression on a doctor's face...

Oh my fucking heart....

I was right, Baby Bro didn't die. Just dematerialised for a bit.

It's interesting how since the confirmation that his demonic power is gone, Zhao Yuanzhou has started dressing in much lighter colours... lots of white. Which ngl is a little worrying given that white is the colour of mourning in Chinese culture... (oooh or is it that he's wearing white/combinations with white because Ying Lei died?)

Fucking called it.

Of course there had to be some kind of threat to drive the plot for the last 4 episodes.

A plague again? What d'you want to bet it's to do with Wen Zongyu's experiments?

Wait up, Wen Xiao's foster dad is missing?!

Ah shit and Bai Jiu's dad is ill with the plague.

Without his demonic power... is Zhao Yuanzhou susceptible to the plague?

A demon blood sachet?

So someone has deliberately used a sachet containing Fei's blood to spread plague. And who a) was aware of/had contact with Fei, and b) would pull some shit like that?

Answer: fucking Chongwu Camp.

(But if it's the same plague caused by Fei that they encountered previously, can't the same cure that Bai Jiu developed be used?)

Are they sealing off the city?

BECAUSE IT'S FUCKING CHONGWU CAMP!!

Oh what the fuck Fei is not dead?!! How is that possible?! We SAW him die!!

Zhou Dage once again performing his primary duty in the polycule of bringing food to people when they are locked in the library frantically researching....

Oh my fucking heart...

Oh damn. He has been estranged from his dad this whole time cos he thought he'd killed his mum. And he's afraid his dad's gonna die before they can clear the misunderstandings between them...

What the FUCK Zhou Yichen?!!

I have never - fucking NEVER - suffered through a drama that has so explicitly verbalised ALL the found family feels... apparently with the express intent of causing me PAIN!!! 😭😭😭

How did he survive? Wen Xiao.

And now he wants to repay that by saving her...

Because she loves Zhao Yuanzhou

(At least, that's all the show is allowed to say. We know better. Polycule supremacy!!)

Ugh, god, verbalising that love is not just wanting to have something for yourself, but rather wanting to care for it and see it thrive... even if not by your side...

Zhao Yuanzhou continuing to make it his life's mission to make sure Wen Xiao is warmly-dressed...

WTF Zhao Yuanzhou was that a fucking marriage proposal?!!!

Oh god, all the imaginations of them living a happy life together that he held onto to keep his inner demon core at bay... 😭😭😭

"Return to the wilderness"? Yeah that feels like you changed your mind at the last minute there as to what you were going to say... probably because you remembered you're going to sacrifice yourself to save her, right?

God the visuals of each of them alone, contemplating... and we know exactly what the two men are contemplating...

He's carving a monkey - sorry, a white ape! For her? To... remind her of him?

Fuck me that is a fucking badass move.

Ahhhh I have missed Xiao Bai's voice-breaking shrieking!

God I love this show. The humour is just...

Oh holy shit, I am dying. it got better and better and better. Fuck my "no gifs for these summaries" rule, I have to gif the whole fucking thing!

Oh goody, it's occurred to them to look into what the fuck Chongwu Camp are up to.

I swear, if it turns out they pulled a fake-out on us and Wen Zongyu also isn't dead, I will cut a bitch...

Uhhh where did Wen Xiao's foster dad go to? He was in the same prison cell with Fei.

Oh shit, I hope they haven't turned him into a demon hybrid?

Oh fuuuuck what's going on with Fei? That... that looks kinda like the ever-burning fire in his eyes?

Uhoh, Mr Fan is not chained up anymore. I'm guessing he's controlled/hybridised?

GOD FUCKING DAMMIT!! 🔪🔪🔪

He didn't die AND he's got the ever-burning wood and it's let him succeed in his demon experiments!!

Shit... was the Wen Zongyu we saw burn up actually his demon-hybrid with shapechanging powers?

Phoenix?

Oh fuck.

So he has also demonised himself?

So... he needed the ever burning wood precisely because he needed it to burn himself up and be reborn as the phoenix?

Ohhh shit and doesn't the phoenix have the power of rebirth? So... it's part of his plan to bring his wife back to life?

(I hope he succeeds in bringing her back to life and she is horrified at what he has done/become and immediately kills herself)

WHAT THE FUCK?!! How did the medicine they made contain demon cores?!!!

I thought his grand plan was to get rid of all demons? How does turning everyone - including himself - into a demonised hybrid achieve that?!!

You fucker!!

BROTHER?!!

Was Wen Xiao's dad his BROTHER?!

He's Wen Xiao's fucking UNCLE?!!!!

Oooh nice, was it all a plan? They snatched Wen Zongyu!!

What's going on?

Oooft what a reversal, Zhuo Yichen stepping forward to protect Zhao Yuanzhou.

Freeze that fiery fucker Zhuo Yichen!!

Ooof he's transferring the knowledge straight to him.

And now he can form ice out of thin air - just as the phoenix can create fire out of thin air - rather than having to freeze water.

Uhhh I don't like the look of that smoke...

What the fuck? Is this a dream?

Baize goddess and Li Lun? Is it... a memory then?

YING LEI!!

This is freaky....

God the fondness in his expression...

It's a trap. That's what the poison does? Traps you in a dream world where everyone is alive and happy so you don't want to leave...

Zhuo Yichen knows what's up.

Oh damn. He knows full well it's not real. But he just wanted to pretend... for a little bit...

But wait... what if THIS is the trap? What if it's baiting you into killing yourself to try and escape the dream?

FUCK, I was right... the poison was making them act out in real life what they were doing in the dream. They would have killed each other/themselves trying to escape.

Damn, thank goodness for Bai Jiu.

He would if he could, you fucker, and he's every right to. You manipulated and used him against his friends, sacrificed him to be possessed by a demon, poisoned him, and then used him to poison the entire town! Fuck you!!

So wait up, was Zhao Yuanzhou's loss of all his demonic power just temporary then? As Bai Yan had said, it will not be quick to recover? So has he got at least some back now? Cos he sure seems to be using his power in this episode!

Ah yeah, he's got some back. But nowhere near enough.

Okaaay so now they need Wen Xiao to see where his demon core is so they can remove it. Game on!

[6okuto]

ATTACHMENT LOVE

🧺 #11: "you and i don’t love each other but i know too much about your mother / we’ll make this work" with hinata for @quikhs ! :-)

warnings: gn!reader, reader’s mom wants to have dinner (just a mention) (song link)

it’s been 3 months since hinata’s stayed the night at your apartment.

practice, work, outings with people other than each other—nothing seemed to line up, and when they did, it seemed too a heavy task for either of you to reach out, exhaustion and something else between the gaps of your bones and schedules.

you’re not sure what that something else is, or if he feels it too. you’re not sure if you want to know. but you feel it in dwindling good morning’s and plans cancelled long before his last sleepover, feel it fill the space your boyfriend used to as you wash his scent out of borrowed sweaters.

but shoyo’s here tonight, and that’s what matters, you think.

his toothbrush from 3 months ago slides as you move to change your own, and you figure you might as well change his too.

“changing our toothbrushes, do you care what colour yours is?” your voice bounces back at you while you look in the cupboard. there’s only three in the pack you have—primary coloured—and you figure he’d like yellow most. you grab red for yourself.

shoyo rubs his feet together, sitting on the edge of your bed instead of sprawling across. “mm, you can leave it for now, it’s okay,” he reassures you.

“...you sure?”

“yeah.”

“...okay.”

your eyes hover on the unused face masks he bought you for your birthday, and you let the noise of cardboard backing ripping from plastic fill the space neither of you can seem to.

shoyo calls you from the room over.

that something else roots in your stomach. “yeah?”

he doesn’t say anything for a second, two, and you take a breath.

“i ran into the girl—remember the one who, uh, kept trying to unlock the door one night because she was drunk and didn’t realize she was on the wrong floor?” you pull the memory up and along with your voice while your fingers tremble, stumble on their way to place the last toothbrush in the cupboard and almost drop it to the marble below.

and maybe shoyo notices what you’re doing—he must. he always does. “...yeah, and i thought i was gonna have to fight someone with your vacuum somehow. did she try apologizing again?”

“she almost did,”—you half smile, save the memory, that night, from sinking and drowning—“but i saw her stop herself. we just said hi and talked a little. found out she has a cat so i wanna drop by at some point if you wanna come.”

you’ve made your way back to your bedroom, and shoyo’s still sitting on the edge of your bed. he smiles, and it’s kind, not apologetic or pitying, but understanding all the same.

you’re not sure if its toward her or you.

he says your name again. quieter this time, but steady as he always is.

you purse your lips.

“and my mom wants to have dinner with us.” you grasp at the next thought. “she said she has some new recipes she wants us to try before she brings it to the next holiday party, and she wants to see your mom, too, and natsu, since it’s been so long. if that’s– if that’s okay with them– with you.”

“is that okay with you?” he squints, just a little.

the floorboard creaks as you shift your weight under his gaze, and you fiddle with your hands behind your back so he can’t see. (it doesn’t matter—he knows anyway.) “why wouldn’t it be?”

shoyo takes a breath while you hold yours.

“...yeah, okay.” his exhale is deep. “i’m not as busy this month, so i’ll ask my mom what her schedule looks like. natsu’ll be excited so i’m sure she’ll be good to go whenever.”

he moves further onto your bed as he thinks out loud. “you know i think she likes your mom’s food more than mine– i tried cooking lunch for her a while ago and the look she gave me. is my cooking that bad? i thought i stopped adding too much salt but maybe my salt senses are just dulled?”

and just for a moment, everything’s back to the way it was months ago: shoyo rambling, hands planted behind him on the mattress, you smiling as he whines, both of you in your pajamas for a night in.

but your mind lingers on the toothbrush still sitting next to your new one, and the way your boyfriend won’t lie down on your bed—an old acquaintance unfamiliar with a place that used to be as much his home as it is yours—and that something else that’s been creeping in the space between you knocks at your chest incessantly, an unwelcome visitor that has the decency to wait for your permission to enter.

you wish it would just leave or break inside.

“sho.” your voice is quiet, but catches his attention all the same. the sunset drifts over tangerine strands and honey brown eyes, lights up the dust that twirls around as he looks up at you, and you wish you were asking anything else but what you are.

“is this okay?”

whatever this is.

shoyo blinks, once, twice. sighs and smiles one more time. “i don’t think so.”

qui !! thank u so much for joining and ur ask 🥹🥹!! IT MEANS A LOT TO ME!! this one was a toughie,, doesn't play out exactly like the song. shoyo has a lot of emotional intelligence but i think he struggles in this case because he’s never had a break-up before and. it’s you. he still cares for you, even if it isn’t in the same way, and he doesn’t want to hurt you and ..? he came tonight because he knows you should talk but. he gets there and he sees all the evidence of him and your life together and everything’s harder when the time comes isn’t it. hm. anyway. if u ever write something ur proud of feel free to tag me !! i'm vry happy u enjoy mine,, thank u again!! 🥹🥹

[violet-moonstone]

Heathers Part 4: Rogue Heather and Conclusion

Part 3

This is my favourite option, which is why I saved it for last. This route focuses on skills Heather could much more believably pick up on her own—in fact, these are skills we already see her exhibiting in RoB. This version of Heather is very much like Arya Stark—minus the combat training—specifically, Arya when she’s in Braavos. She’s good at hiding, sneaking around, pickpocketing, etc. She would rely on changing her behaviour and appearance to fit the situation and slowly build her arsenal of disguises as she improves her skill and has more resources at her disposal. One day, she might appear as a raggedy street urchin; the next, a bawdy barmaid; then, a haughty noblewoman or cunning hunter.

Her primary use of this skill would be survival—blending into the background or standing out without people knowing her true identity—but this would also be strategic. She could get information either from being a fly on the wall no one considers being cautious around, or by being charismatic and charming people into trusting her. In more extreme situations, she could slip poison into the drink of a bar patron, set fire to the room of someone who thinks she’s their servant, or (in a version of RTTE with a more mature rating) stab someone once they’re in her bed. (I’ve written a fic about this)

I think this option makes the most sense, because it requires no retconning of her backstory and includes the most believable skillset for someone without any training. I also think that with a heavy focus on stealth, it wouldn’t make sense for her to have a large, armoured dragon with reflective scales (once again, sorry Windshear). Instead she could have a small dragon that could help her with fetching things, being on watch for danger, and shooting fire at close range. I’m thinking a Terrible Terror or something similar. Although a small dragon with similar traits to a Changewing would be really cool, like a winged chameleon of sorts—but maybe instead of becoming invisible, it just mimics different colours and textures.

In terms of costumes for Rogue Heather, it can really be anything. She’d probably need a base outfit for when she’s not in disguise, in which case, I’d go for something like the redesigns all the dragon riders except Hiccup got, which was basically putting them in the same clothes as in RoB/DoB but with different colours. I think the outfit Heather’s wearing in RoB is pretty good for a rogue type character already—just use a slightly different colour scheme that’s still faded, and keep the hood from her current design. Her disguises could be much more dramatic and could include wigs and makeup as well.

I have a headcanon that she has a favourite disguise though. Due to all the danger and insecurity she’s faced, she’s become ruthlessly ambitious—not just for revenge, but for wealth and power. She never wants to have to worry about being unsafe or scrounging around to survive. I think her favourite roles to play are rich and powerful women. In these roles, she gets to wear something beautiful—I’m thinking a deep green gown that brings out her eyes. It could also be a reference to serpents and envy, which goes hand in hand with her use of poison and her desire for the finer things in life.

I love this version of Heather. I’m currently in the early stages of writing a very long fic (that will probably just include regular Heather because the story already has a lot of OCs and moving parts), however, if I get enough inspiration, I might write some one-shots here and there about her.

Some ideas for her more fancy/aspirational disguises:

From left to right: Labyrinth (2012), BBC’s Merlin (I always thought Katie McGrath would be a great grown-up Heather)

(Some more historical Norse looks)

And a more everyday look:

(From Voriagh)...tell me this model isn't LITERALLY HEATHER. I think it's the murder in her eyes.

(Arya in Game of Thrones, tunics from Dark Knight Armoury)

Conclusion...After a Note About Combat and Women in Fantasy

Before I finish, I want to briefly touch upon another issue I have with Heather’s character. You may have noticed that the latter two options I gave have a much stronger emphasis on her intelligence and/or social skills than her physical prowess – I did this intentionally because I find that RTTE lacks characters who are not combat focused (Even Johann turned out to be a skilled knife-thrower. I miss when he was just a friendly and knowledgable—though talkative—merchant). While I appreciate that the female characters in the show are shown to be capable fighters, they don’t all need to be. I think fantasy and sci-fi writers tend to forget that making women into combatants is not the only way to make them strong, empowered, or interesting. There are so many ways that characters, regardless of gender, can have agency and be integral to a plot; these ways don’t have to include putting a heavy weapon in their hands. I’ve briefly discussed this in another post, but I think the dynamic between Viggo and Ryker would be much more interesting if Viggo were not physically strong and had to depend on Ryker’s strength just as much as Ryker depended on Viggo’s wits. And while Hiccup’s sword fighting abilities are commendable, let’s not forget that his first great achievement would never have been possible without curiosity, intelligence and empathy—the three things required to befriend Toothless—not physical strength. I love Race to the Edge, and I understand the combat-heavy focus (because “Vikings”) but I do wish there was just a bit more variety when it comes to the way characters navigate dangerous situations.

Alright, so there you have it: My 3 Heathers. I’m very tempted to draw all three of them, to get a clearer image of what their designs would look like. Which one do you prefer the most? The revenge-fuelled warrior, the unhinged alchemist, or the ambitious assassin? Let me know, and thanks for reading!

[bthemistake]

I want to tell you a story.

When I was in Primary school, I went to an afterschool club and it was there I met a good friend. At the time, he wasn't called Dan nor did he go by he/him pronouns. I knew Dan for a year, in which we became close friends and shared our love of theatre. At the age of nine, I thought myself quite the writer and created a short play (if it could be called that lol) called 'Shining Stars'. A few pages actually managed to survive my childhood and are carefully tucked away in my room.

Dan, of course, was a part of the play and asked for their character to be male. At such a young age, I was oblivious and thought nothing of it, writing the character 'Rob' at my friends request. I believe he may have even picked the name himself.

Due to being a year older than me, Dan moved up to Secondary school without me and another year would pass before I saw him again. When I met him for the first time as 'Dan', I happily accepted him and was only a little sad that we weren't as close as before.

Unfortunately, that school was far from accepting. I myself would later be outed twice with nasty rumours gossiping about my sexuality while other queer students were picked on by teachers, but nothing would compare to the harassment Dan faced.

The last time I saw Dan, he was crying into the arms of a friend in the middle of a hallway. I remember hugging him too and growing close to tears myself. After that, Dan vanished and I assumed he moved schools, taking his sibling with him, and perhaps towns too because I haven't seen any of them in nine years.

I can only hope that he's still alive and safe, especially from the current culture war against Trans people being used by the Tory government and media here in the UK.

Transphobia isn't something that just got bad recently, it's been around for a long time and it wont get better until everyday people do something. If you are a parent/legal guardian, you have a responsibility to keep your child from discriminating against others. If you are a student and you hear a classmate or friend being an ass, you have to call them out.

Hateful opinions and attitudes flourish when they go uncontested. Sure, donating to charities and engaging in fundraiser are all good things and help, but you can make one hell of a difference by supporting even one queer person in your life. Fuck knows they need it right now.

Build a community, it saves a life.

[Image Description: Coloured in the gradient of the Transgender flag, a trans male (ftm) is reaching up to grasp at a smooth fabric that wafts around him, covering his waist, which is a Trans-pride flag. He had tattoos, one of which being the Transgender symbol and another being my artists tag (lol I snuck that in there), and is proudly shirtless with his top-surgery scars on display. He looks a little worried, cradling his body with his other arm, in a protective manner, but doesn't push away his flag or his identity.]