#so it is just writing and not a miracle.

[inkskinned]

i keep thinking about how rfk said that autistic people "will never write a poem." i keep thinking about that, about if humanity is calculated on the back of old verse. how far we measure personhood is in baseball and stanza breaks.

i keep thinking - i have over 7k poems on here alone. language can be a special interest, after all. did you know the word autism comes almost direct from the greek word autos, meaning "self"? self-ism.

maybe he is right - i haven't really played baseball. i was a ballet dancer instead. and besides - my sister once accidentally hit me in the face with an aluminum bat. i'm not sure if the injury gives me half points. am i only a person in the dugout? hand in a mitt? swinging?

does softball count? does cricket? am i a person if i throw the ball to my dog. am i a person as long as the ball is in the air, or do i stop being a person as it rolls into the bushes. i took my girlfriend to fenway recently; was i a person in the sun, with my hands up, with the game laid out at my feet in a diamond. i felt like a person, but that was back in the summer, and i often feel my most person-like then.

am i more of a person because of the sheer number of things i've written? does quality matter, or is it quantity? i used to write entire books every summer in high school - i wasn't doing well. i felt the least like-a-person back then. but then - does any person feel human in high school?

in the library, ink on my skin, i feel personhood shutter at the edges of myself. actually, writing feels blissfully like not being myself. it feels birdlike; escaping into creation so my body dissolves and i survive only by muscle memory. i am not there, i am writing.

but who can deny the falconlike focus of warsan shire, the tenderness of mary oliver, the sheer skill of amanda gorman. those are poets. they are certainly human. you could line them up with the way their words have influenced us and measure their literary shadows like wings.

perhaps it was very assumptive of me to want to be a poet rather than "a [ label ] poet." i wanted the work to fill itself in, rather than be stained by what i am. i do not write in despite of my neurodivergence, i am just neurodivergent and writing.

does the poem have to be in english or can i send it through my palms into the coat of my dog. does the poem have to make sense. does the poem have to love you back.

if i break a glass, will the poem appear naturally? or is the act of breaking the glass human-enough. the shards of my life glittering out beneath me - do i have to write the poem, or is it self-evident in the pile of glass splinters? i cannot grasp this world the way other people can. regardless, i endeavor to touch - even the mess - very gently.

i broke my toenail against my coffee table recently. i released a bug outdoors. i made coffee. i walked my dog.

i didn't write a poem about any of these things.

something else, then. existing without humanity.

[mjrdm]

he's like a patron saint. to me

[kiivg]

.And I get down with crooked men, but I am the boy I've always been.

[johnnyshrine]

★ 123 // “Take the next best step and pray.”

[twig-tea]

Still sitting with the perfection that was the Let Free the Curse of Taekwondo ending. There are so many messages in this series that I needed, I feel like this show reached out and gave me a hug:

You are enough

You are not evil or deserving of suffering because you made a selfish or bad choice as a child

If you did do something bad you can apologize for it and make amends, it does not have to weigh you down forever

You deserve to move on and find happiness

Your accomplishments (or lack thereof) do not make you any more or less worthy of love

You are on your own timeline for happiness

Your early 30s is still young for finding love and pursuing your dreams

You are not responsible for not stopping your own abuse that you suffered as a child

You will not become your abuser if you let yourself be angry about your abuse

You can and should feel angry and use a safe outlet for that anger

You don't need to be pure or virginal to deserve love

You deserve to have wants and needs and to have those heard

You deserve physical safety and you do not need to earn your place in your home

Just being with you is a gift

Your presence has made life worth living for other people

You have people who love and care about you in your life even when you don't think you deserve it

You are enough

[hungharrington]

Steve thought! I’ve thinking about steve lazily fucking you in spooning position 😇

yeah this has crossed my mind maybe several thousand times so hope u wanted some sweet sweet LOVIN anon cos that’s what i’ve GOT for u !! MDNI this entire blog is 18+, gn!reader, ooey-gooey loving, that’s all enjoy <3 this one goes out to @boyfriendstevie

Some mornings with Steve are just pure warmth. Sleepy cuddles, neither of you that awake, but still reaching out to one other. Love intertwines both of you easily, warming you as much as the pillowy duvet and when you kiss his skin, it’s with your eyes closed. You could find him in the dark.

Other mornings, there’s this sweet alluring lust that intermingles with the love. You love it — how you and Steve always seem to be on the same wavelength, how you both seem to know.

This morning, you know from when the first moments of consciousness trickle in. His lips scrape along the nape of your neck, pressing a soft kiss there. You can feel the shape of him up against you, his hairy chest scratching lightly at your shoulder blades, the two of you cuddled close together.

“Good mornin’.” Steve murmurs against your skin, his voice low and gravelly with sleep. You smile, eyes still closed and let yourself bask in the warmth as his hand sneaks over your waist.

“Mm, it is a good morning,” You says as you shimmy back into him, your ass pressing into his crotch purposefully. You hum, pleased when his hand on your middle tightens in response. You feel his lips against your skin quirk into a smile.

“Oh, is it that kind of morning?” He asks knowingly.

You cover his hand with your own and guide it, beginning to push the waist band of your pyjama shorts down an inch. You grin, eyes still closed as you hear his breath catch.

“I don’t know…” You tease. “Is it that kind of morning?”

Steve’s hand finishes what you started, pushing the fabric down your thighs until you’re wiggling to kick them down yourself, lost beneath the covers.

You finally peek your eyes open, just to close them again in a sigh when Steve soothes his hand up your thigh. He sweeps it back down and this time when he drags it up, his fingers slide eagerly closer to your inner thigh.

“Do you need…”

“Mmhm,” You’re shaking your head before he’s even finished his question. You twist to peer over your shoulder, relishing in the sight of his mussed hair and chocolate eyes. “Was already dreamin’ bout it, Stevie.”

It’s worth craning your neck to see the arousal flutter over his face as Steve groans, tucking his head against your neck. Head flopping back against the pillow, you can feel him shuffle behind you, his heat leaving you for a brief moment, to shed his sweatpants— and when it returns, your stomach blazes hotly at the skin-to-skin contact.

Another kiss to the back of your neck. Steve hums against your skin as his hand travels up, skimming your hip and trailing up your chest. His thumb brushes your peaking nipple and you gasp appreciatively as he pinches it, pairing his rubbing with sweet words. “Baby, my baby, so good f’me.”

You keen softly and your hips rock backwards. Steve gets the hint— another kiss on your neck, then your shoulder as he moves to touch your hip, drifting down to hold your thigh. He urges your legs apart.

The pillow crinkles as you push your face into it, capturing your sweet sigh as he eases himself into you, slow and gentle. It burns deliciously, his hard and achingly hot cock stretching you out just the way you like it. A dozen more kisses melt along your shoulders, like little lightning bolts, as he pushes in further, his breathing a little heavier. He stills to give you a moment.

You breathe in, feeling your tummy boil up with desire before eagerness takes over and you push back against him. Steve moans softly, his breath stuttering as he bottoms out inside you. You moan, clenching around him.

His hand slides off your thigh to wrap back around your middle, properly spooning you as he cuddles in closer. Your hand moves to clutch his, lust spiking as he starts to move, deep, lazy thrusts that force sweet little noises out your mouth that mix with Steve’s low moans.

“Fuck,” Steve curses breathily. He’s moving slow, rocking in and out, but it’s enough to have both of you unravelling into each other. Slick, wet sounds fill the bedroom. His kisses get a little sloppier, messy marks of love all up your neck. He squeezes your tummy. “Fuck, honey, y’feel so good, baby.”

You moan, your hips rolling back with a mind of their own, meeting him in the middle. It’s a perfect haze of lust and warmth and love and you shiver in his arms, already feeling the coil in the pit of your belly. It won’t take much for either of you this morning, you can tell.

“You feel so good,” You whisper back, words tainted with a moan. “You, fuck, Steve— ngh, you’re so deep, fucking me so good,”

Something close to a growl scrapes out Steve’s throat and he grapples you closer, his thrusts speeding up a fraction —but still deep and lazy, enough to make you want to squirm beneath him. You keen back into him, back arching to get the angle just right and Steve’s hand slithers out from under yours, reaching up to toy with your nipples again. You gasp loudly and Steve whines a little at your obvious arousal.

“Can I—” He starts, voice choppy from his pants. His cock is achingly hard inside you and when you clench down on him, you adore the twitch and resounding whimper it draws out of him. “Can you kiss me?”

Your heart burns for him and you don’t waste a single second to twist around, capturing his hungry lips with your own. Steve groans into the kiss, his fingers flexing on your skin. Heat flushes your body as the kiss breaks and his forehead presses to your own, his hazel eyes gazing into yours as he fucks into you. You moan brokenly, pleasure screwing the coil in your tummy tighter. It feels good, so fucking good, Steve always makes you feel fucking good.

“Steve,” you whine.

“Yeah,” He rasps back, voice all whimpery now. “Yeah, I know, baby. Me too— shit, me too.”

You want to stay like this, spread open on his cock while he holds you. While he takes and gives, kisses and moans and wraps the both of you in the warmth of the morning. You pant into his mouth and lean forward to kiss him again.

Steve hums and this time, when the kiss breaks, he nudges your head back forwards— his hips still for a moment as he rolls you both forward onto the mattress so you’re facedown.

“S’okay?” He checks, even though you can feel him still pulsing inside you. You nod, breathe jagged and try to raise your hips to signal him further. Steve needs no more invitation.

He settles down on you, his chest pressed against your back once against but this time when his thrusts start up again, you’re pushed downwards as he fucks you into the mattress. His arms bracket your body and one shifts, scooping around your torso to lift your hips higher. You cry out, the angle perfect as he finally picks up the pace, drilling into you, slick gathering at your thighs.

“Steve, ah! Steve, fuck, feels so..” Your words dribble off, muffled by the pillow as you bury your face in it. Heat flashes through you, fuelled by Steve’s whiny moans, all his fucked out rambles.

“F-Fucking love it when you moan my name,” He praises, barely speak coherently through his whispering panting. “So fucking good f’me, taking— ngh- shit, fuck, taking me so well.”

You wail, burning hot want crawling up your stomach so suddenly that you don’t even get a moment of warning before the heat explodes and your orgasm breaks— you cry out his name and clench down, hard, cumming on his cock.

Steve tucks his face in your shoulder and whimpers at the feeling, fucking the snugness fast and hard. It takes only a couple more thrusts til he feels himself fall apart with a strangled moan, burying his cock deep inside you. He milks it, fucking you gently both through the waves of pleasure, until tiredness saps his energy. He slumps, resting atop you for just a moment. You’ve never felt more safe, squished beneath him and filled completely.

He kisses behind your ear, then nuzzles it with his nose. Faintly, you think about how no one has ever kissed you there ever before — just Steve and the sun.

“I love you.” He says, nearly a whisper. Words just for you.

There’s not an ounce of a lie in your words when you cheekily say, voice still out of breath, “Hm, I think I love you more.”

[fandombrainrotwithmori]

I might be cooking up something…

@ultramarinaa’s Champion lives rent free in my head. I might actually have a problem…

Anyways, look at this sweet boy (and please ignore the mess on my desk, thanks). Ain’t he pretty? I think he is. Would you believe me if I told you the hardest part is making his glasses?

This is what three hours of work, some air drying clay, and an awful lot of tiredness looks like: a cat. It is currently 1:59 am. I am a mess, but I always am.

Fun fact I planned on making him be in another position but I wholeheartedly forgot. It’s not even a joke.

OH! One more thing before I go, @thebreadmantm’s Champion sculpture fully made my brain decide to do this. Your creation is absolutely beautiful and so is your art. Looking at it makes me immeasurably happy. Go check out her blog! -Mori

[whumpacabra]

Whump that is about change. Whump that is about acceptance. Whump that is about adapting to loss. Whump where there is no rehabilitation, no getting back what’s gone. Sometimes things happen and there is no going back, there is no getting better. Sometimes the person that comes out the other side is different and they will never be the same again. Sometimes you need to grapple with the reality that most people don’t bounce back from traumatic brain injuries, from severe burns, from lost limbs and are their old selves ever again.

Whump that is about change, with no going back, and how the world won’t end because of it.

[turtleblogatlast]

[ cw: dismemberment / ]

I think a lot about how Leo’s rescue could have easily ended in him losing a leg as the portal snaps shut on the Krang still clutching the limb, or, alternatively, only having Leo’s right arm make it out, still held dearly in his brother’s hand as the rest of Leo is left behind. (The latter hits even harder, as it directly parallels his future self in the worst of ways.)

I think a lot about how so many things could have gone wrong during the course of the movie with even a little bit of a change, but it really is harrowing how much of a coin-flip the entirety of the Prison Dimension rescue was.

[gingermintpepper]

As usual I read your tags always and so you said Apollo did not ask for resurrection of Asclepius and Hyacinthus so i just wanted to share this. About Asclepius death I read it on theoi.com, that earlier authors don't make him resurrect as a god but that's a later development mentioned only by Roman authors like Cicero, Hyginus and Ovid. But still Apollo has a role in Ovid's version

Ovid, Fasti 6. 735 ff (trans.Boyle) (Roman poetry C1st B.C. to C1st A.D.) : Clymenus [Haides] and Clotho resent the threads of life respun and death's royal rights diminished. Jove [Zeus] feared the precedent and aimed his thunderbolt at the man who employed excessive art. Phoebus [Apollon], you whined. He is a god; smile at your father, who, for your sake, undoes his prohibitions [i.e. when he obtains immortality for Asklepios].

So here it is actually because of Apollo the decision was taken to resurrect him as god. And with Hyacinthus, I don't think I've read about Artemis playing the primary role. I know in Sparta there was a picture of Artemis, Athena and Aphrodite carrying Hyacinthus and his sister to heaven.

This is not on theoi.com but I saw on Tumblr it's from Dionysiaca by Nonnus

Second, my lord Oiagros wove a winding lay, as the father of Orpheus who has the Muse his boon companion. Only a couple of verses he sang, a ditty of Phoibos, clearspoken in few words after some Amyclaian style: Apollo brought to life again his longhaired Hyacinthos: Staphylos will be made to live for aye by Dionysos.

So since he is singing inspired by amyclean stories it probably means in that place it was believed Apollo was the one to bring back his lover to life.

Apollo as god of order was very important so i think it shows how special these people (and admetus too) were to him that he decided to go against the order for them 🥺

ANON!! Shakes you like a bottle of ramune!! BELOVED ANON!!!!! I'm littering your face with kisses, I'm anointing you with olive oil and honey - you absolutely made my night with this because, not only did I get the pure serotonin shot of having someone interact with my tags (yippee, wahoo!!) I also got to have that wonderful feeling of "oh wow, have I misunderstood something that was integral to my understanding of this myth/figure this whole time or is this a case of interpretational differences?" which is imo vital for my aims and interests as someone who enjoys mythological content and literature.

I'll preface my response with this: Hyacinthus is by far the hardest of these to get accounts for because his revival itself, as you very astutely point out, is generally accounted for in painting/ritual format which muddies the waters on who interceded for what. I wasn't actually familiar with that passage from the Argonautica - and certainly didn't remember it so thank you very much for bringing it to my attention!

That said, what I've come to understand, both about Hyacinthus and about Asclepius is that in the accounts of their deaths, Apollo's position is startlingly clear.

For Hyacinthus, it is established time and again that Apollo would have sacrificed everything for him - his status, his power, his very own immortality and divinity. Ovid writes that Apollo would have installed him as a god if only he had the time:

(Ovid. Metamorphoses. Book X. trans. Johnston)

Many other writers too speak of how Apollo abandoned his lyre and his seat at Delphi to spend his days with Hyacinthus, but they also all agree that when it came to his death - he was powerless. Ovid gives that graphic account of Apollo's desperation as he tries all his healing arts to save him to no avail:

(Ovid, Metamorphoses Book X. Apollo me boy, methinks him dead. trans Johnston)

Bion, in one of his fragments, writes that Apollo was "dumb" upon seeing Hyacinthus' agony:

(Bion, The Bucolic Poets. Fragment XI. trans Edmonds)

Even Nonnus in the Dionysiaca speaks constantly of Apollo's helplessness in the face of Hyacinthus' fate where he writes that the god still shivers if a westward wind blows upon an iris:

and when Zephyros breathed through the flowery garden, Apollo turned a quick eye upon his young darling, his yearning never satisfied; if he saw the plant beaten by the breezes, he remembered the quoit, and trembled for fear the wind, so jealous once about the boy, might hate him even in a leaf...

(Nonnus, Dionysiaca, Book 3. trans Rouse)

And the point here is just that - Apollo, at least as far as I've read, cannot avert someone's death. He simply can't. Once they're already dead - once Fate has cut their string - all Apollo's power is gone and he can do nothing no matter how much he wants to. And this is, as far as I know, supported with the accounts of Asclepius as well!

Since you specifically brought up Ovid's account, I'll also stick only to Ovid's account but in Metamorphoses when we get Ovid's version of Coronis' demise, he writes that Apollo intensely and immediately regrets slaughtering Coronis. He regrets it so intensely that he, like he does with Hyacinthus, does his best to resuscitate her:

(Ovid, Metamorphoses Book Two. Apollo's regret)

And like Hyacinthus, when it becomes clear that what has happened cannot be undone, Apollo wails:

(Ovid, Metamorphoses Book Two. Apollo wept.)

Unlike his mother, Asclepius in her womb had not yet died and so, with the last of Apollo's strength, he does manage, at least, to save him.

(Ovid, Metamorphoses Book Two. Apollo puts the 'tearing out' in Asclepius.)

But it goes further than even that because Ocyrhoe, Chiron's daughter, a prophetess who unduly gained the ability to directly proclaim the secrets of the Fates, upon seeing the baby Asclepius, immediately prophesies his glory, his inevitable death and then his fated ascension:

(Ovid. Metamorphoses, Book Two. Ocyrhoe's prophecy. trans Johnston)

Before she too succumbs to her hubris and is transformed by the Fates into a horse so she can no longer speak secrets that aren't hers to share.

These things ultimately are important because it establishes two very important things: 1) Apollo can't do anything in the face of the ultimate Fate of mortals, which is, of course, death and 2) even when Apollo is Actively Devastated, regretful, yearning, mournful, guilty or some unholy combination of all of the above, when someone is dead, he accepts that they are gone. Even if he is devastated by it, even if he'll cry all the rest of his days about it - if they're dead? Apollo lets them go. In Fasti, when Zeus brings Asclepius back, he does not say Apollo asked him to - Zeus, or well, in this case Jove, brings Asclepius back because he wants Apollo to stop being mad at him.

(Ovid, Fasti VI. Apollo please come home your father misses you. trans. A.S Kline)

Even Boyle's translation which you used above in your findings hints that Zeus made Asclepius a god because he wanted Apollo to stop grieving. (i.e 'smile at your father', 'for your sake [he] undoes his prohibitions')

And like, Apollo was deeply upset by Asclepius' death - apart from killing the Cyclops in anger, in book 4 of the Argonautica, Apollonius writes that the Celts believe the stream of Eridanus to be the tears Apollo shed over the death of Asclepius when he left for Hyperborea after being chastised by Zeus for killing his Cyclops:

But the Celts have attached this story to them, that these are the tears of Leto's son, Apollo, that are borne along by the eddies, the countless tears that he shed aforetime when he came to the sacred race of the Hyperboreans and left shining heaven at the chiding of his father, being in wrath concerning his son whom divine Coronis bare in bright Lacereia at the mouth of Amyrus.

It all paints a very clear picture to me. Apollo did not ask for either of them to be brought back. Though bringing them back certainly pleased and delighted him, they are actions of other gods who are moved by Apollo's grief and mourning and seek to mollify him. Him not asking doesn't mean he didn't want them back which I think is a very important distinction by the by, but it simply means that Apollo knows the natural order of things and, even if it hurts, he isn't going to press his luck about it.

Which, of course, brings us to Admetus. And I'm really not going to overcomplicate this, Admetus is different because, very vitally, Admetus is not dead. Apollo can't do a thing once Fate has been carried out and Death has claimed a mortal but you know what he absolutely can do? Bargain like hell with the Fates before that point of inevitability. And that's what he does, ultimately for Admetus and Alcestis. He sought to prolong Admetus' life, not revive him from death or absolve him from death altogether and even after getting the Fates drunk, he's still only able to organise a sacrifice - a life for a life - something completely contingent on whether some other mortal would be willing to die in Admetus' place and not at all controllable by Apollo's own power.

All of these things, I think come back to that point you made - that Apollo's place as a god of order is very important and therefore these people are very special to him if it means he's willing to go against that order but, I also wish to challenge that opinion if you'd let me. Apollo's place as a god of order is very important and therefore, I would argue, that it is even more important that it is shown that he does not break the divine order, especially for the people that mean the most to him. The original context of my comments which started this conversation were on this lovely, lovely post by @hyacinthusmemorial which contemplated upon Asclepius from the perspective of an Emergency Medical personnel and included, in their tags, the very poignant lines "there's something about Apollo letting go when Asclepius couldn't that eats my heart away" and "you do what you can, you do your best, but you don't ever reach too far" and I think that's perfectly embodied with the Apollo-Asclepius dichotomy. Apollo grieves. He wails, he cries, he does his best each and every time to save that which is precious to him but he does not curse their nature, he does not resent that they are human and ultimately, he accepts that that which is mortal must inevitably die. There is nothing that so saliently proves that those who uphold rules are also their most staunch followers - if Apollo wants to delight in his place as Fate's mouthpiece, he cannot undo Fate. And, if even the god of healing and order himself cannot undo death, what right does Asclepius, mortal as he is, talented as he is, have to disrespect it?

The beauty of these stories isn't that Apollo loved them enough to bring them back. The beauty is that Apollo loved them enough to let them go.

[10underoot2]

Rewatching Queen of Tears to realize Haein unknowingly describes Hyunwoo as her miracle. Whereas, Hyunwoo unknowingly describes her as his universe.

Haein to her Doctor: 'I've been on the verge of death a few times and each time there was a miracle that saved me. I will survive this.' A few times in question - when she almost drowned and the boar incident. The miracle in Question: Baek Hyunwoo (every.single.time)

He was literally the miracle she needed in her life not only in moments of needs because Hyunwoo promised to be by her side when no one else was there, when she was on her own and felt every bit alone and scared in the world. He was there and he promising to be there always.

Baek Hyunwoo to Haein: 'These days it feels like the universe is on our side.....' The universe in question: Hong Haein

She became his universe because she bought him so much joy. She made his life worth living. He could die without her and as Hyunwoo's mom says dying is the worst out of any two options. So it's always such a simple choice one you've established that you care about something as much.

[crabsnpersimmons]

🍳 Have You Eaten? story "Show Me Your Love" now on Ao3!!

happy Valentine's Day! have you eaten?

whew! i managed to finish this story just in time for Valentine's Day! I hope you'll enjoy it!

you can read the new story here on Ao3

Summary: 粟米肉粒 suk mai yuk lup or “sweet corn and pork” in English—a simple and cozy Hong Kong dish with a peculiar sounding name. Valentine’s Day is usually associated with rich chocolates, candle-lit dinners, or extravagant meals in fancy restaurants—and your evening could not be farther from that. Tonight your favourite chefs have prepared a special night just for you.

again thanks to @starriegalaxy for proofreading and listening to my deranged yapping as the word count got longer and longer and longer 😂

[krishnasgirlmanu]

i believe nobody can nail the ootds trend except the way Radharaman lal ju does, i mean how can anyone suppose to slayy fits better than him : no one periodt

after the deep admiration for dwarikadhish's ootds it's about time to appreciate the cutest charmer, Radharaman lal ju's dressing sense, I mean HOW ON EARTH does he comes up with all these ideas and absolutely slayys with everything and anything uhf

like legit being a butterfly, a bee, a princess, wearing dry fruits or jewels or sometimes just flowers, i mean WOW JUST WOW

And these pictures are not even 1% of his all outfits, you see this THATS WHAT I MEAN WHEN I SAY AURA

The real RIZZLER since always

Ps : I've been noticing dwarkadhish has been wearing even more awesome-ly draped clothes since I've posted the last one i mean I see what you're doing there MAHARAJA ji, seems like part 2 of that same appreciation post should be released, what does my krishna squad says at that? 🤭

[pissmotif]

you can make a miracle - chap one

literally baby pt 2 // explicit // remus/james/regulus

“You said, and I quote, ‘well, there’s no point now, because I’m not a virgin anymore’, end quote,” James looked at Remus triumphantly, while Remus looked like he was trying to solve a very, very difficult equation.

“And where in that, did I say I wanted to?”

//

After their night together, Remus doesn’t want to ruin their friendship. Or, 5 times James tormented Remus with what he could have, and the 1 time Remus breaks.

[roombanator]

Fuck you Matty Healy. And all of you fans celebrating this.

Malaysian Queers are the ones affected by this. Listen to us.

Matty Healy's instagram posts literally prove he does not care about us malaysians. He's going to go back to the UK (The country where the roots of Malaysia's laws and government started during colonisation!) and sit his privledged ass down, not caring about him losing fans in Malaysia because we only portion to a miniscule amount of his money.

If he really cared about our rights as queer malaysians, he would have contacted the LGBTQ NGOs and offered his assistance to protest. Not speaking up over our voices. Not mocking a Malaysian Queer who dm'ed him being rightfully upset. Not posting mocking Malaysia (and only West Malaysia! Shows how little he cares) Not saying, "I'll take your money" then fucking off (Many queer Malaysians were probably at GVF as well!)

We have the right to be concerned, government elections are coming up, and the right wing extremist party WILL use this as ammo against us.

In fact, they're already doing it!

On reddit malaysian fans are concerned, worried, yet their worries are being downplayed or straight up ignored. While international fans celebrate this guy for doing "the right thing"

News articles right now are only posting about the incident, but not our opinions as queer malaysians. In fact, I've only seen ONE news article with our voices heard.

Listen to us. Please.

Support our LGBTQ organisations. Donate if you can. AMPLIFY our voices. Don't speak over us. If you really care about our safety and rights, listen.

It's the least you can do. We don't want much. We just want you to listen. We're in a third-world country that nobody really pays attention to, and if this just sweeps over like nothing in a few days, we will be stuck in the same situation or worse.

[lovesickeros]

can.. can I ask for an affectionate reader with characters who aren’t normally like… used to the love? like, not just through words but physical affection like hand-holding, kisses, hugs, all that shebang. probably with a few people like yelan, ei, basically any character that is either cut-off from society or seems socially distant or isolated. 😞

☆ affectionate reader with yelan, ei, & furina

[ 4.2 Archon Quest spoilers ]

× yelan

Varies between how you display your affection, to be honest. Just like being affectionate with people? She's cool with it as long as you don't pop by while she's working (mostly because she'll end up dragging you into it for a bit of fun). I don't think she's all that touchy feely herself, but she'll absolutely get you gifts instead– like pretty knick nacks? She'll make sure to snag any she thinks you might like. Like a good meal? Sure, she'll take you out to one of the restaurants in the city, doesn't matter how expensive. Her treat. If you do prefer physical gifts rather then being taken out, you'll eventually get used to the random unmarked letters and packages showing up where your staying pretty often. It's obvious to know who it came from even if she never signs anything.

Flirty reader, though? Whole nother can of worms and now it's a challenge. The more confident you are the more interested she is. The other acolytes would absolutely seethe at the idea but she has no hesitation at just straight up flirting back– she's as charismatic as they come and she's got a poker face that's basically impenetrable. She'll probably also make a bet to see who cracks first (she always wins, unsurprisingly). Probably won't get dragged into any of her schemes this way but if you ask politely maybe she'll consider it, anyway.

The smell of freshly brewed tea and the clatter of dice across wood was a common sight at the Yanshang Teahouse– less common was the woman secluded in the far corner, her lips pulled into a grin that flashed fangs and a look that would scare off the most confident of men.

She'd normally try to scope out any new blood that'd made the mistake of stepping into her teahouse and was equally stupid enough to accept a gamble against her just for the thrill of it, but she was far too absorbed in the warm body at her side, one of her die clasped tightly in their hand as she guided them through the motions– they had a knack for it, she had to admit. The thought made her preen, the clatter of the die as it rolled across the table giving her that subtle, familiar rush.

Even if she knew exactly where it'd land.

"Six. Hm, maybe you're just lucky," She muses, plucking the die from the table and holding it up to her eye like a prized jewel, "Or maybe you're not as innocent as you'd have us believe." There's a sharp glint in her eyes at the prospect, but everyone else has the sense to keep their heads down and their words to themselves as she tosses the die herself.

"So why don't we find out and make a bet, just between you and me?"

× ei

Varies between Ei and the Shogun, because you'll probably be seeing either as much as the other. Sometimes you gotta really squint to tell who it is sometimes, but you get used to it. Both are fairly similar, though, in that their first instinct (especially in public) is to tense up like you're about to attack them or something. Difference is Ei eventually relaxes after a solid minute of trying to process your sudden affection and, if no one else is around, she might even reciprocate. Just don't tease her for being a little stiff and awkward about it, she's trying. That's what happens when your only company is a robot and uh. Nothing. For like 500 years. She's trying. Raiden, on the other hand, is just about as awkward as you can imagine. She's polite (blunt) about it because Ei is fond of you and also you are. The Creator. But she's not really built to deal with personal relationships and so she doesn't know how to deal with affection.

..Depending on what you do you may or may not blue screen Ei hard enough that she retreats back to PoE

Ei usually isn't fond of sitting still, unless it's to meditate. At least then she goes in with a purpose, something to achieve– but now, she's just focused on trying not to make a fool of herself. Her muscles are starting to ache from how hard she's tensing, though, in an effort to sit as straight and still as possible as their hands glide through her hair, weaving it into a single braid.

She can just barely hear the subtle lilt of their voice as they hum– and though it is soothing, it is also..very distracting. She can't focus long enough to try and meditate, too lost in the gentle rise and fall of their voice and the care they take to braid her hair. If she'd had a heart, she'd sure it'd be beating so wildly against her ribcage they could hear it.

But then it stops– their hands fall back to their sides and their humming falters. She freezes, too, racking her brain for any slights she must have committed. Instead, she is met with a calm, tender touch on the back of her neck, making her inhale sharply.

"Am I making you uncomfortable, Ei? You're so tense.." She has to grit her teeth to stop herself from bowing so low her head presses against the ground, her hands folded in her lap, clenching instinctively. "..No, Divine One." She answers simply, trying to contain the adoration swelling in her chest.

Yet as much as she tries to relax, to ease their worries, she finds that she cannot.

"Hm." That small murmur, a simple sound that nearly made her jump, was the only warning she got before they scooted closer, wrapping their arms around her stomach and resting their chin on her shoulder with a grin she would liken to Miko's, if she dared to make such a comparison. "Really?"

She swears she must've been feverish at the affection, lightheaded and dazed until she thought she might simply perish at the brush of their hands against her own.

Much to her embarrassment, however, she doesn't realize she's instinctively pulled back into Plane of Euthymia until she sees the familiar dull purples engulf her vision once again.

Though only a small solace, it seemed a little..brighter, this time.

× furina

Varies between pre 4.2 and post 4.2 archon quests to be honest.

Pre 4.2 she comes off as very vain– of course the most Divine would see fit to spoil her with affection! She deserves it, and is obviously their favorite! Just don't look too hard because she's terrible at hiding how flustered she actually is. Absolutely goes home right after and screams into her pillow for at least thirty minutes minimum.

Post 4.2 she's a lot more openly bashful and flustered. She's really not used to affection and even the smallest show of it has her folding immediately. Now that she doesn't need to worry about being found out she's a lot more receptive to affection. Cup her cheeks and compliment her and her knees are buckling. Like. Especially weak for compliments and praise (she deserves it. please spoil her).

She swears she must be hallucinating– she had been having trouble sleeping recently. But..no. The visage of the Creator was as real as the sweat beading on her brow as she stared at them for a long, awkward moment. Should..she let them in? But then they'd see the pathetic state she was in, and the last thing she wanted to do was make a fool of herself in front of them-!

Her choice was quickly made for her, anyway, as she let out an undignified squeak of surprise when they suddenly tugged her forward into their chest, enclosing her in a hug.

Her first reaction was to freeze– her second was becoming absolutely flustered, her cheeks flushing a soft pink and her mouth closing and opening as she tried to find her words.

"I– ah..um." She stumbled over her words instead, floundering like a fish out of water. Yet she felt a distinct sense of emptiness wash over her when they finally pulled back, looking a touch sheepish. "Sorry, sorry– you just looked like you needed a hug."

The silence spoke for itself, her shoulders tensing slightly. But the way the concern and affection bled through their voice made her waver, her hands trembling as she let out a shaky breath that almost sounded like a sigh.

"It's..It's fine! Fine, I'm fine." She repeated, trying desperately to ignored the way her voice cracked and how hot her face felt– though it was more an attempt to affirm herself that she was not thinking about how warm they felt, how much she..actually enjoyed the hug. She wasn't thinking about it all! Absolutely not!

..Maybe a little.

"Just warn me next time, please?"