#something something everything he does is a performance he doesn't know where he ends and his persona begins

[lohstandfound]

hm.... exploring jake as nonbinary/agender who very much performs the act of masculinity because that is what is expected of him and coming to terms that he doesn't have to be, maybe he doesn't have to force himself into that mould

[centrally-unplanned]

Academic History YouTuber Premodernist released video recently on "State Flag" discourse, and flag discourse more wildly, that I thought was pretty good! I agreed with 50% of it. For those who don't know, there is a longstanding movement in the vexillology community to push for more simplified flag designs, and they hate the state flags of the US as their antithesis; a movement that catapulted into the internet mainstream when YouTuber CGPGrey released a video riffing on that debate and grading all the state flag designs.

That video is great by the way (it's hilarious, CGP Grey is just very talented as a performer), and the biggest thing Premodernist is wrong about is that the state flags do suck. But what he gets right is that the so-called "principles" briefly referred to in the video are themselves pretty weak; some are fine but others do not hold up to much scrutiny. The state flags largely suck for the boring reason that they just suck; they are shitty designs and often repeat each other in a domain where "standing out" is the point. Like what the fuck Montana:

This is something a 5th grader whips up in PowerPoint for a class presentation. Helvetica Bold?? "Mandated by law in 1985" yeah I didn't need Wikipedia tell me this decision dates to the 80's.

But that is boring and subjective, right? You can't just say they suck. So you had to make a theory about it - and I won't go into too much detail but it generally boils down to:

Make it simple, "something a child could draw"

Make it "distinct at a distance", since it is a flag you are supposed to see it at a distance

Three colors or fewer

No words on flags

Which I think you can get the philosophy for. These principles, which CGP Grey outlines, actually come from the work of Ted Kaye, who is a big figure in the aforementioned flag reform movement and the focus of most of the video. As part of the original CGP Grey video I just rolled with that, but I did remember him showing Utah's newly designed flag at the end which embodied these principles, and uh:

This is kind of mid? Like it doesn't suck, but it looks like a corporate redesign of a hockey team logo or something. A bit of a red flag (hah) if your front-and-center case is weak.

Anyway this is what Premodernist digs into in the video. The stuff I agreed with the most are the parts where he just ???? at some of these rules. "No finicky bits", a "child must draw it", "distinct at a distance"? None of these actually track for say this one:

A child drawing the US flag does not draw 50 stars and 13 stripes unless they are a budding librarian; you absolutely cannot tell if this flag has 50 stars on it from a distance, and that level of detail is clearly some kind of finicky. Of course your response is "okay sure but still, I can tell what the flag is from a distance, I can't count the 50 stars but I get the gist". But that is true for almost all flags!

It's a fern and a peace pipe and a brown thing and the word "Oklahoma" below it, you absolutely, 100%, will be able to tell what this flag is at a distance. You don't need to count the leaves to get the general shape, and when you think about it, it is actually kind of silly anyone would claim otherwise. There just isn't any need to appreciate the tiny details on a flag to understand whose flag it is. (the only valid critique here is that everything should be bigger - too much dead space)

Not to mention the "see from a distance" thing even being a metric. That isn't how you encounter flags most often today? Maybe in the 19th century on a battlefield that was (and even then you had battle standards), but it isn't now. You see it in textbooks, on your computer screen, as an icon for a football game team, right next to you in a government office. Why privilege distance? You just made that up as a value. 99% of "flag consumption" is not seeing it at a distance.

The "only use ~3 colors thing" is the funniest, you can just argue this with...no? No you don't. You don't. What? No. You can...you can just use more colors? Here is an example from the "manual" Ted Kaye wrote on the subject:

And the 5 bands on the chinese flag are fine! They are not "hard to look at" or whatever. Also, I am screenshotting a tiny corner of a youtube video, this image is like 240p, and I can tell its a dragon - and that isn't even the color point it is trying to make, dude just deviates off into another critique. Meanwhile the Amsterdam flag looks like a traffic warning sign. Chinese flag needs to not have the white stripe connect into the white seal background, that is an error, but otherwise I prefer it.

It is annoying how many of the state flags are a blue banners with a round seal in the middle. That does make them hard to distinguish from each other. But that isn't a problem with seal-on-blue, that is just a collective action problem! Flag-reform-favourite the tricolor can run into this too - here are the flags of the Netherlands and Luxembourg:

Like one of your needs to go home and change, that is ridiculous. Though if you had a complex seal in the middle that might avoid this problem! Funny that.

Even the "no words on a flag" argument, which I am more sympathetic to, doesn't hold up too well because too often you find yourself going "unless it is good" which just isn't a rule. The Iranian flag is the stand-out he mentions:

The middle crest is a stylized rendition of the name Allah, and the cursive lining on the tricolor bands are text as well - God Is Great, 22 times, marking the anniversary date of the Islamic Revolution. Stylistically beautiful, also words on a flag. The state flags just didn't try to do anything artistic.

I think the best point Premodernism mentions is a sort of stylistic unity Kaye & Co are pursuing above all else - everything sacrificed for corporate minimalism. Kaye's book will say it respects history and symbols should be meaningful, but then hates any symbols that require complexity. He singles out Turkmenistan as an ugly flag for example:

And as I said I only 50% disagree sometimes, I do think there is a complexity limit, and this flag goes over it, that is too detailed. Though the main reason this flag is bad is the weird choice to not put the banner at the edge, and have the crescent just...float off center? If it was this:

Two seconds in paint, already better, you can play with it. But anyway, you can say the symbols are too complex, but if you also say you care about historical meaning? Turkmenistan is a nation of traditional semi-nomadic tribes, who populated the Silk Road and made textiles as their ultimate expression of art. These carpet guls are traditional symbols used in those carpets that represent the five major tribes that compose the country. You can't just invent new symbols that have equal meaning to these, right? Like you can try if you want, sure, new symbols become meaningful all the time. But a rule that says "all art from before 1950 is tossed in the dumpster because it wouldn't pass muster as a Pepsi logo" is a weird rule to adopt if you say you value historical meaning. Turkmenistan does not have to look like France, and it is weird to want every national symbol to be aesthetically coherent to each other. Let 100 flags bloom! It is certainly "distinct at a distance" lol.

Anyway that is enough summarizing of a YouTube video - as I mentioned, he actually likes the state flags, I don't, I do think you have to balance a lot of this with just "general design principles". Never have your name on a flag in Helvetica Bold, amazing I had to write that one down for you. But a lot of these flag-specific rules derived from Kaye's work I often see bandied about are silly, and I was glad to see someone point that out.

[vbecker10]

Aww, You Do Care

Pairing: Loki x female reader (Y/N)

Summary: You are an analyst for SHIELD and you are going for a simple surgical procedure. All of the Avengers wish you luck and Loki does his best to pretend he doesn't care.

Warnings: Loki being a little annoying but that's expected, mentions of a surgery happening but it isn't described and I skip from the day before to the day after so the surgery isn't shown at all

A/N: This is 100% self indulgent lol I'm actually going for this same surgery in the middle of August so I wanted to write how the team would respond to what was happening.

You close your laptop when the meeting ends and stand up, pushing in your chair. Loki stays seated in the chair next to you, finalizing his notes and Steve walks over to you from the other side of the table.

The super soldier pulls you into a tight hug and says, "Good luck tomorrow, Y/N."

"Thanks," you reply with a smile when he lets you go.

"My turn," Natasha says, pushing him aside. She hugs you tightly, "Good luck. Text me if you need anything."

"I will," you promise. "One of my friends is coming to stay with me for a few days so I should be okay."

Thor hugs you from behind, almost picking you up off the floor, "I hope everything goes well."

"Thanks," you laugh when he releases you.

Loki gets up, "Do you mind?"

He motions towards the door and you move out his way without saying anything to the God of Mischief. Tony rolls his eyes behind Loki's back then gives you a hug as well.

Loki stands with his hands in his pockets as he waits for the elevator and you join him silently.

"Why was the team so insistent on wishing you luck?" Loki asks without looking at you.

"I'm having an operation tomorrow," you answer.

"An operation?" Loki asks, his voice holds no emotion but you see a hint of worry in his eyes when he looks at you.

"It's not a big deal. I didn't bother to tell you cause I figured you wouldn't care," you shrug.

"I do not," he agrees and the doors open. "Out curiosity, not concern," he clarifies and you smile to yourself, looking down, "What type of surgery?"

You follow him into the elevator, "They are operating on my sinuses." You touch your cheeks then the bridge of your nose to indicate where the procedure will be performed.

"Why?" he asks, still trying to act as if he is unconcerned and merely curious.

You sigh, "You know how annoying you think it is when I can't stop sniffling or sneezing?"

"Yes," he nods. "It is quite irritating that you cannot breath silently and constantly sound as if you are unwell."

You roll your eyes but that was pretty much the response you expected from the younger prince. "Well it turns out there a reason I'm always kinda sick. There's something wrong with my sinuses so my doctor is going to remove the infected tissue and then reshape my sinus cavities so they work better," you tell him with a little description as possible.

"Oh," he nods, his eyes meet yours for a moment then he looks back at the elevator buttons.

"So, I'll need to find a new way to bother you since simply trying to breath won't do it anymore," you joke.

He chuckles, "I have no doubt you will find a way. You are one of the more tiresome Midgardians I have met."

"Hurtful," you tell him sarcastically when the doors open on his floor. "Try not to miss me too much. I'll be back in a few days," you wave when he steps out.

Just before the doors close fully Loki says, "Good luck, Y/N."

You stand alone in the elevator wondering if you had heard him correctly.

The day after the surgery, you lay in bed reading when your friend knocks on the open door to your bedroom. "You have a visitor," she says, pointing down the hall. "Feel like seeing anyone?"

You look at her a bit confused, a few of your friends were stopping by tomorrow afternoon but no one had texted about coming over today. "Umm, sure. Who is it?" you ask.

She shakes her head, "You wouldn't believe me if I told you."

"Oh... that's- okay. Yeah, you can let them in," you tell her hesitantly.

"Hello," Loki says when he walks into your bedroom a moment later.

You look at him, too stunned to respond as you sit up more in bed. You adjust your sheets and put the bookmark back in your book before setting it next to you.

"How are you feeling?" he asks, his eyes showing a hint of concern as he observes your post surgery face.

"You remember that time the hulk slammed you into concrete a bunch of times?" you ask him.

He nods, "Vividly, yes."

"Kinda like that expect face first," you point to the bruises covering your cheeks and bandages supporting your nose.

"Well..." Loki smirks, "You do look as if that is what happened."

"No, I wanted to bring you this," he conjures a small potted plant and you look at it in surprise. He puts it on your nightstand and says, "I heard it was customary to bring flowers when someone is in the hospital but you have said before that most flowers aggravate your allergies so that did not seem like a suitable option. I know you have several plants similar to this one in your office so I thought you might like it."

You laugh but stop yourself quickly, the muscles in your face are still incredibly sore. "That was mean," you tell him, touching your cheek lightly. "Did you just come here to tell me I look awful?" you ask in a joking tone.

"Wow," you say quietly, touching the green leaves gently. You look up at him and smile even though it hurts, "Aww Loki, you big softy, you do care."

"Do not tell anyone," he says seriously then he returns the smile, "But of course I care."

I hope you liked this!! Please like, share and comment if you did 💚💚 Please let me know if you want to be added to my taglist!

@soubi001 @mochie85 @lokiswife-dark-fox-queen @animnerd @cabingrlandrandomcrap @icytrickster17 @mischief2sarawr @mjsthrillernp @holdmytesseract @lulubelle814 @goblingirlsarah @alexakeyloveloki @siconetribal @lokidokieokie @kneelingformyloki @jiyascepter @eleniblue @loreniscrying @muddyorbsblr @alyeskathewave @loz-3 @firedrakegirl @javagirl328 @princess-asgard @morally-grey-variant @soulpiercing @km-ffluv @glitterylokislut @biodegradable-glitter-fest @wolfsmom1 @simone818283 @hopefuldreamers-world @blackhawkfanatic @slut4tonystark @dracoswhorexx @sunglasses-in-the-bentley @anukulee @latriacy @trojanaurora @babygirl-panda19 @catsladen @stargazer-luna @rcailleachcola @lunarlopt @gruftiela @bolontiku @scrumptious-finicky-illusion @lokischambermaid @clemthecustestmonster @lovinglokilaufeyson

[katsu2ji]

(a few of) my bakugou headcannons!

a/n: this is me coping with the ending of the manga </3 KATSUKI I MISS YOU 😞😞

i think he would much prefer softer music (off the top of my head: keshi, soft radiohead perhaps??, cigarettes after sex, etc.) as opposed to the loud music i often see him paired with—kind of a mix of whatever he likes but mainly lots of soft/chill rnb!!

++ i believe he would be a kendrick fan tbh!!!

i also think he would listen to music A LOT especially when overwhelmed

speaking of which, he gets overwhelmed super easily in social settings—he tends to go quiet when it comes to a group of people, conversing better when one on one (HE JUST LIKE ME FR!!!)

he’s the guy on campus wearing those apple airpod max headphones 24/7; his are black ofc!!

dude is the DRYEST texter ever. he makes you look like you’re begging for your ex back or smth it’s so bad (😭😭)

unless you’re a handful of very specific people, don’t expect a text back for at least a day or two…or whenever he feels like it.

he doesn't carry a bag sometimes and somehow manages to stuff everything in his pockets…his pants sag BAD...

takes his skincare super super seriously and does it every single night without fail. it is a non negotiable for him.

in general he cares about his appearance a lot; not in a self centered or an insecure way, it's just super important to him. if he knows he looks good, then he feels good, which directly impacts his performance in practice/battle—naturally, he has to make sure he's the best looking one there.

he’s a jjk fan!!!

he is the BIGGEST musical hater on the planet QUICK EVERYONE ACT SURPRISED!!!!

he’s SO MEAN when he's hungry like. to the point where you can tell when he's getting there because he just starts going OFF (more than usual, ofc).

he takes his coffee super sweet. he tried to be one of those black coffee guys, but now he just resents them because he can’t stand the taste LMAO also the sugar boost helps his quirk!! that’s the excuse he uses anyway…

aquaphor’s most loyal customer!!! he has at least one on him at all times, even when fighting

he’s super sensitive to smells and you can tell when he’s smelled something he doesn’t like because it’s immediately written all over his face—i’d also say that due to his quirk, he has a fear of constantly smelling bad because of his sweat

katsu2ji © 2024. please don't copy, modify, or do anything of the sort with my work! i work very hard and you simply do not have my permission.

[regulusrules]

A very long meta explaining why the confession scene in Good Omens is the best that has ever been written and performed on screen

First of, the scene begins with two different realisations that makes each of them believe that their dynamic will significantly change (Crowley wanting to confess his love and Aziraphale wanting to break out the news about heaven). This, you can see, creates an unprecedented shift in their energy, makes them super excited (Azi) and super nervous (Crowley) to break the news to one another. And despite the two matters being drastically different, when Aziraphale begins his revelation we don't get the Miscommunication trope where Crowley listens to the offer and passively retreats back his emotions. No. He is steadfast in his resolution, in his love for Aziraphale.

And that right here is king attitude no.1, because even if Aziraphale just threw something so godforsaken on him, he won't allow himself to be cowardly or let go of the one person he loves more than eternity. Crowley still bares his heart, still lets it all out, because he will not lose Aziraphale in his naivete of still believing that Heaven is good and Hell is evil. (I write this with supreme detachment of my own beliefs lol) He tries to make Aziraphale understand that sides didn't do them any good the past 6000 years, that the only solid foundation they ever had was them, and that Crowley would rather have them than have everything.

The way you hear Tennant's voice breaking when he said “And we spent our whole existence pretending that we aren’t”, is the perfect reflection of how Crowley genuinely despairs the time they lost and wouldn't have any more of it. And even with how bare and raw he's feeling with revealing all this, he still goes on. He still tries to tell him and I would like to spend our whole existence together, but struggles and struggles because he's strung wide open. But he keeps trying.

Now you see here a moment of disbelief on Aziraphale's behalf, because he doesn't understand why Crowley would refuse going back to heaven with him when all Aziraphale remembers of Angel!Crowley was how utterly bright his eyes shone when he lit up the stars and surely Crowley must miss that too? He wants the same thing Crowley is saying, just in a different dimension. The “I can make a difference” immediately changes to “We can make a difference” because that's all what’s ever been for Aziraphale; them changing the small engines of the world according to their partnered will. He is genuinely benign and not ill-intentioned when he says “Nothing lasts forever”, because he truly wants a better life for them, a better existence. And that's when it gets better: Crowley has his walls back up, he's walking away, because he can't bear that he was never enough as he is for Aziraphale. That he was never worth reciprocation.

But Aziraphale doesn't let him leave.

And that is king attitude no.2, because he doesn't want Crowley to leave when things are strewn all over the place that they don't know where they stand. All Aziraphale ever wanted was for them to stand on the same ground. He asks him to come back to him but hides it by finishing it with “to heaven!” because the whole conversation is going too fast for him, and he's undergoing a religious crisis of sorts that does not end in 6000 years, yet even so he still doesn't want to lose Crowley because he's everything he has and he can't do it without him and “I — I need you!”

And that's when it gets reaaally interesting. Aziraphale's expression then turns from sorrowful desperation to rageful desperation, because he's baring his heart and Crowley is walking away from him. Their solid ground is completely shaken when he says “I don't think you understand what I'm offering you” because he's trying to be subtle about his love for Crowley and still direct as much as he can, but Crowley responds with a condescending “I think I understand a whole lot better than you do” and if this isn't peak human beings in their arguments, I don't know what is. Because we all think we are so misunderstood every time we get into an argument with someone we love, and we absolutely despise it when we feel patronized, so it's no wonder Aziraphale bitterly says “Then there's nothing more to say”, because if Crowley understands, truly does, then he'd see right past his fear to how much he loves the ground Crowley walks over.

And on the other hand I don't believe Crowley truly meant to be patronizing, but in a desperate last attempt he wanted to make Aziraphale understand what he is trying to say, what he spent his entire eternity feeling for Aziraphale, what Aziraphale would be giving up if he goes to heaven. What their life sounds like with no nightingales.

“You idiot, we could've been.. us” is the very culmination of love confessions. It took every single emotion and equated it. Tennant's delivery of it was unsurpassed in the way that it truly covers everything. And the way he grabbed Aziraphale, not entirely lovingly but desperately and angrily and, honest to God, awfully, is the reason why their kiss is so perfect. No queerbaiting, no beating around bushes. It is raw and sad and giving and agonising. Crowley wants to say see what you're giving up? See what we can have? And all Aziraphale thinks is how could you lay this on me now after everything, after every chance we could've been something, after me loving you from the first time I've met you. He's angry towards himself too, because nothing he can offer Crowley will be good enough that he chooses him instead of his choices. Sheen's choice in making his character grab Crowley's shoulder and let it go and then grab it once more in desperation is so unexplainably perfect of how much Aziraphale wants to hold onto Crowley.

But in the back of his mind, Crowley isn't choosing the same. Instead, Crowley's choosing to run from something that no doubt will rebound in their faces. They are angels and demons of heaven and hell, how could Crowley expect they could run and hide without being a repercussion later on? At least what Aziraphale is suggesting ensures that they will have a high position of power, enough to make them together, enough to make them happy, but instead, Crowley is walking away.

And when Crowley lets go of him, not the other way around because of course it is Crowley who must let go and detach from the utter pain that pierced his heart, you can see his expression being one of defeated longing. He sees all expressions passing across Aziraphale, sees how torn apart the other man is, too, and awaits just a semblance of anything they could work with. But instead, Aziraphale's face closes, and he tells Crowley “I forgive you”, and Crowley thinks this must be his second falling, because he's never felt more pain. “Don’t bother”, he says, yet still waits for Aziraphale outside and doesn't leave until Aziraphale has left him. Because in the end, Crowley would always be there for Aziraphale, even if he doesn’t feel worthy of it.

And that, my beloveds, is why eternity will remember this scene.

[cityofmeliora]

the Terzo autism post ♾️

this is kind of an analysis post and kind of a headcanon post.

Terzo reads as autistic to me, especially during his first two concerts when he was speaking without a script and trying to figure things out.

Terzo has that "trying new things is scary and i need to feel like i'm getting a good grade at social interactions and everything has to be done correctly or i'm going to explode" flavor of autism.

[AFTER PERFORMING PRIME MOVER] PAPA EMERITUS III: How am I doing so far? I've been studying these moves so you would feel comfortable. Are you comfortable? Linköping, Sweden (June 3, 2015)

Terzo says he studied the choreography for 'Prime Mover' so the audience would feel comfortable. he's trying to do what people expect, and he keeps checking if he's doing alright and asking the audience if they like what he's doing.

[BEFORE PERFORMING ABSOLUTION] PAPA EMERITUS III: So, we're gonna finish this off with something as weird as a new song. What that delighting, or did you not like that? Yes. Good, good. Linköping, Sweden (June 3, 2015)

PAPA EMERITUS III: So, I know it might seem a little confusing –it's even a little confusing to me, sometimes– y'know, playing new songs for people who've never heard these songs. But I tell you what– we have a really good ending song that you will understand why it is an ending song when you hear it. But now it might seem a bit strange, huh? Sweden Rock Festival - Solvesborg, Sweden (June 4, 2015)

Terzo feels weird about performing new music because it's new and the audience doesn't know what to expect and neither does he. he keeps trying to assure the audience that it'll be okay. but i'm pretty sure he was the only person worried about it. he was about to release a new album, so it completely made sense that he would be performing new songs. he just hates not knowing what to expect, and it doesn't occur to him that not everyone thinks like him.

and then this clip... i think it speaks for itself, but let's talk about it anyway. (i included the audio because i really want people to hear him speaking here.)

PAPA EMERITUS III: Okay! We are now officially wrapping– with a song. It's not a rap song, though. [STUTTERS FOR SEVERAL SECONDS] I've heard from my brother that you are somewhat of a singing crowd. So you like singing, eh? That is fantastic because that is exactly what we're gonna do right now, and if you had said no, that would have been… weird. So thank you for not being weird and weirding me out. I'm weird enough as it is. Sweden Rock Festival - Solvesborg, Sweden (June 4, 2015)

like where do i even start with this. him thinking he needs to clarify he's not going to be rapping. the stuttering. the fact that he listens to what Secondo tells him so he knows what to expect. him saying "[...] if you had said no, that would have been... weird. So thank you for not being weird and weirding me out. I'm weird enough as it is."

he feels like a weirdo and he just wants things to be normal so bad. 😭

he also gets really irritated when people are incorrect / do things incorrectly. he has the literal / rigid thinking patterns characteristic of autistic people

PAPA EMERITUS III: Well, it's getting late. AUDIENCE: NOOO! PAPA EMERITUS III: Yes! It's not a matter of opinion. It is getting late. Sweden Rock Festival - Solvesborg, Sweden (June 4, 2015)

he tells the audience it is objectively true that it is getting late.

then there's the whole bit where he wants people to clap along to the music but he hates it if people clap wrong or don't clap with the correct rhythm.

and the bit where he asks the audience to say "Meliora" and emphasizes the correct pronunciation versus the incorrect pronunciation.

Terzo strikes me as someone who is constantly trying to perform a very intentionally constructed social personality, not only as an entertainer but as a person. and while he's naturally charismatic and charming, it's actually quite difficult for him to perform this public personality because he's constantly concerned with getting a good grade in social interactions and things being done correctly.

and there are all the quotes about Terzo being a recluse who only interacts with others as much as is strictly necessary. this is definitely clinical depression, but i think his autism is also a factor.

he got comfortable once he settled into a routine and created a script that he could repeat, though. after that, he was really on autopilot during his concerts. which is also so so autistic of him <3

[wakkass]

💚Teenage Amber💚

On the left is some hairstyle searches

AU itself

Amber, like Sofia, is a very hard student. As a future queen, she's aware of her responsibility for the knowledge she acquires.

Amber manages her workload well and organizes her daily routine.

She likes to combine business with pleasure and apply organizational skills to her studies.

Amber strives to be on top in everything. Perhaps even too much.

For Amber, face is as important as knowledge and skills. To be a worthy queen, she must be perfect in everything, even in appearance.

Lately she has noticed that she can’t fit into dresses, she often sweats, and her hair becomes greasy.

This worries Amber, but she doesn’t give up and skillfully hides it all, and also finds information on how to fix such things (for example, a recipe for a magic potion that makes hair silky).

The fact is that this helps only temporarily, and sometimes it's completely pointless. And the flaws in appearance are getting worse and harder to hide.

Amber begins to think that the problem is with her and that she's simply no longer beautiful.

At some point it reached a critical point. During an etiquette lesson where she was supposed to faint, she actually fainted because she began to malnourish.

Sofia noticed that something was wrong with her sister, and they talked about it. Sofia believes that Amber is the most beautiful and kind princess among everyone she knows, and there is no better queen for Enchancia.

But Amber doesn't think that's enough. She's preparing to become the "face" of her kingdom. How will she show the world all the beauty of her homeland if she herself doesn't live up to it?

This question will be answered by the current "face" of Enchancia - Queen Miranda.

She will tell her daughter about the changes that every girl goes through, and will show Amber her hands, roughened by years of manual labor. Unlike natural maturation, their rudeness doesn't transform over time.

But does that make them ugly? Amber believes that her mother's hands are the most beautiful and perfect. And Miranda will hug her with them and say that Amber herself is also beautiful.

But what if the shortcomings never go away and some of them remain? Well, they will be flaws only as long as she considers them as such. Because Amber is actually the only one who sees them.

Roland will show his daughter his scars, which he received as a child due to too dangerous pranks.

Roland will also show porters of previous monarchs, where some of their external features are visible. They are all different, but they have one thing in common - they all took care of their health.

Roland thinks that Enchancia needs a healthy monarch who will reign as long as possible. And most importantly, the family needs a healthy and happy Amber, so it hurts them to see how she doesn't feel sorry for herself.

Appearance info

Hairstyle:

Amber's hairstyle in the original is a good reference to her status. Personally, because of such curls, I have a strong association with the aristocracy, so I wanted to preserve them.

However, I don't like the performance in the series at all (the one on the left), so I played with the shape of the hairstyle until I reached the final one.

I really like the execution of a similar hairstyle on the right, it’s a shame that the curls ended up looking like sausages -_-

Inspired by various art from vintage manga, I decided on a hairstyle. The structure of the hair is very similar to Aurora’s hair and, as planned, her strands also move easily and naturally.

Cloth:

Read this post for clothing inspiration and references.

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[l0vem41l]

something's wrong with the morning.

「 tws + notes: no tws, unedited 2 the max, potentially ooc but WHO GAF (me. igaf), he misreads tone over text and it's totally not me projecting, bros just a little anxious and its totally not me projecting, richard "acts of service" grayson in the real, pretty heavily romantic implied but it can be interpreted as platonic becuz we fw that here!!!!! 」

「 gn!reader, can be platonic or romantic <3 」

↳ ft. richard "dick" grayson/nightwing

author's note: yes i am uh. doing More dc stuff. guys im really sorry but its literally leeching off my brain like a parasite i fear. enjoy!!!!!!! ♪(´▽｀) <3 the lyric below is what i based this off of but as usual, GENDER NEUTRAL READER!!!

"and how something's wrong with the morning / when he doesn't phone to say he loves me"

dick has been staring at the text since the minute he received it.

“gm.”

you sent two letters. and a period at the end.

immediately, there's a weird feeling he gets— a pit forming in the depths of his stomach as he reads it over and over again, as if he expects it to magically change in front of his eyes.

you usually send something… more in the morning. you greet him happily and use a silly nickname, he greets you and uses a silly nickname back. it's sort of tradition for the two of you, mainly built on the fact that him being a vigilante leaves very little time for the two of you.

so what the hell happened to that tradition? where’s his “good morning pookie!” or “hope you slept well, sunshine :]” that he's grown so accustomed to?

of course, he has to go on with his day like usual. at least, he's trying his best. to his credit, he does pretty well. after all, dick grayson is a performer at heart! even if it secretly feels like a part of his world just collapsed in on itself, he does not sulk about it.

but to the observant, there's obviously been a shift.

the slightly irritable mood he’s been in? definitely normal. the fact that he’s been swiping away every notification with disinterest if it’s not you? totally nothing.

more astute criminals in blüdhaven are a little off put by the fact that nightwing is still at full quip capacity while hitting just a little harder and being just a teeny bit more bitchy.

there nervous speculation going around that next week he'll be in the discowing fit

nightwing notices that his mask is slipping a bit. but does he care? well... not really. what's more important to him is what's going on inside his head. and he's been thinking— hardcore reflecting on every single recent previous interaction with you, looking back to everything that must’ve made things go wrong.

maybe he should’ve let you win that one argument last monday, even though he’d been pretty certain he was right because you really aren't supposed to stack cards in uno that way.

or maybe “anything’s fine” as a response to you asking what he wanted for dinner was the wrong move— he knew you hated when he didn’t help your indecisiveness.

was it the movie he picked for movie night on your hangout? fuck, that might've been it, you totally hate the main actor. how could he have forgotten?

either way, he’s dead set on the fact he did something to piss you off and now you won’t even greet him good morning.

later in the afternoon, you find a cute little basket on your doorstep containing your favorite flowers, your favorite snacks… and an apology note??

“dick,” you message, “what’s going on?”

he doesn’t reply back. instead, he calls you.

before you can even greet him, his voice chimes in with a whole spiel you didn't expect to be hit with.

“i messed up. i know i did and i should've done better. and i’m so sorry, i wanna make this work and i just— from the bottom of my heart— i really, truly apologize—”

you blink several times at your phone before interrupting. “oookay, woah, woah, woah. let's slow down. the fuck are you apologizing for?”

“...your message this morning.” he mumbles out, barely audible. you can hear the pout in his voice somehow.

“what? the one i typed up while rushing to work?” it’s hard to stifle your laughter. “dude, i just woke up a little late. i promise i still love you.”

he doesn't know whether to feel more relieved that you're not actually upset with him or embarrassed about the drastic, immediate measures he took to make things right. things being absolutely nothing, because obviously you weren't gonna be petty over uno rules, nondecisions, or movies.

"you should come over. we can share the snacks if you get here in time." click.

he'll be at your door the minute patrol is done. not for the snacks though it is a nice bonus but to see you. lord knows you need the time together.

— reblogs always appreciated!

[d0llcuries]

could you make a one-shot or hc (idk) of things neteyam does to show love to his partner and loving and deep thoughts he has about her? please

neteyam isn’t shy when it comes to showing love, especially when it’s you.

he perceives love as something to be demonstrated openly, proudly.

from the moment he decided that you were the one for him, it was as though something primal and unshakable settled into his bones, dictating his every move around you with a sense of purpose.

that being said, hunting is one of the first things he uses to display his affection.

it is what he knows, what he has been trained to do since his hands were old enough to grip a bow. but when it comes to you, hunting takes on a new significance.

he does not just hunt for survival—he hunts to provide for you, to ensure that you have the finest meat, the best cuts. when he returns from a successful hunt, he brings the kill to you with a quiet pride, his chest puffed out just a little more as he lays the offering at your feet.

he watches your reaction closely, waiting for the moment your lips curve into that soft smile that makes his heart race, waiting for the look of approval that makes the hours of tracking, stalking, and fighting worth every second.

his hands never stray far. public displays of affection are a given with him

he is unapologetic in his need to touch you. he doesn’t care if his family sees. in fact, he relishes it. if he senses even the slightest bit of fluster in you, it only encourages him.

if it makes you blush? good. that means he’ll do it again—so casual about it, like he doesn’t even realize.

he relishes in the way you shy away, pretending to be annoyed, but he knows the truth—you love the attention just as much as he loves giving it.

but goodness it wouldn't kill him to show a little more propriety.

he purrs, too, openly and without a trace of shame.

it doesn't matter if it’s just you two are alone or in the middle of a crowd. you touch him? he purrs. you laugh? he purrs. it’s automatic, and he doesn’t try to hide it, his chest rumbling every time you’re close.

he makes sure you hear it, because it’s for you.

your mere presence makes him so instinctively happy why should he surpress that?

he's so inadvertently supportive whenever you do anything.

when you cook him a meal, for example, the second the food touches his lips, he’s looking at you like you just saved his life. close to tears and everything, he’s going on about how he’s never tasted anything better, and he’ll probably say the same thing next time.

he genuinely believes that what you’ve made is a gift, something special just for him, and his heart swells with the knowledge that you’ve put effort into caring for him in this way.

my favourite animal is neteyam when he doesn’t receive at least three kisses or more from you in a day.

can you blame him? his days are long and exhausting, spent with his father barking orders and chasing after tuk to keep her from wandering off. so, of course, he looks forward to the moment he can feel your soft lips on his, the one moment of peace he can count on.

if you withhold a kiss, it’s like a stab in the chest. his ears flatten, tail droops, and his big amber eyes well up like he’s been abandoned in the middle of the forest. there’s a desperate edge to his voice, thick with disbelief—how could you deny him?

he’ll practically sink to his knees, hands reaching for you, putting on the most dramatic performance ever just for you.

if you decide to tease him on a particularly hard day where he doesn't have the patience required for such theatrics, he'll just scoop you up and haul you over his shoulder, kissing you until you can’t remember what you were supposed to be doing.

it’s not negotiable—three kisses, minimum, every day, or he’ll never let you hear the end of it.

neteyam loves deeply, fiercely, and in every little gesture, he makes sure you feel it.

he wonders if you know how much space you take up in his head. he thinks about you constantly.

one instance of this is when he's left alone with his thoughts on a particularly long hunting trip that lasted more than one day.

neteyam lays on the cold ground, the stars above him stretching endlessly, and yet, despite their beauty, all he can think about is the empty space beside him. it’s strange, how the absence of something so small—your quiet, rhythmic snores—can leave him feeling so lost. the other hunters of the group snore but that does not guide him to sleep quite as easily as your sounds do. he chuckles to himself, though there’s no one around to hear it. she would never believe me if i told her, he thinks, swears she doesn’t snore. but you do. soft little sounds that lull him to sleep every night.

without them, the silence feels oppressive. he shifts, trying to get comfortable, but nothing works. the coolness of the forest at night wraps around him, but it doesn’t bring the peace he’s used to. not like when he’s with you. back home, when he can feel the warmth of your body pressed against his, when the sound of your breathing fills the space between his heartbeats. it’s then he realizes how much he depends on those little things, the ones you would never even think about.

he closes his eyes, trying to picture your face. eywa, it’s only been a few days, and i already miss her this much. it’s embarrassing, really.

his mind wanders to the rosy tip of your flat nose. it looks just like the petals of a lortsyawll, he thinks absentmindedly, a small smile tugging at his lips.

he swears, if he could just hear your laugh, even for a moment, it would make this whole hunt more bearable. i hate being away from her.

he shifts again, turning on his side and curling his body into itself, hoping that maybe if he closes his eyes tight enough, he’ll be able to pretend you’re here. but the weight of your absence is heavy. the way your soft hand always finds his when you walk together. the sound of your voice, soft and low when you’re sleepy. the way you tease him, lighthearted but full of affection. he misses the way you press your forehead to his when you’re trying to comfort him, even over something small. he needs that now—needs you.

nothing feels right without you beside him. the hunt is going well, but even the thrill of the chase can’t distract him from the fact that, at the end of the day, when the adrenaline fades and the world quiets down, it’s you he longs for. i need her, he admits to himself, the thought settling deep in his chest. i always need her.

you are always there, in the back of his mind, shaping his every action, his every decision. he doesn’t need anyone else’s approval, doesn’t care what others think—as long as you’re proud of him, as long as you’re his, that’s all that matters.

she’s everything, he thinks, for the hundredth time that day, and yet, it still feels like an understatement.

i should be asleep but this request was too good!!

[justjudethoughts]

Lessons in Divine Mercy

Necessary Context: Very early on in my journey with Religious OCD, extremely well-meaning mentors would often tell me the story of the Prodigal Son, and end it with "you just need to trust in God's mercy! He wants to forgive you!" But you see, for me, that was never the problem. 14-year-old me KNEW God wanted to forgive her. She also knew that if she committed a mortal sin, she was supposed to go to confession. And, well, um, she thought everything was a mortal sin. Literally skipped brushing my teeth once and thought it was a mortal sin. What scared me the most was the realization I couldn't literally spend 24/7 in confession. And if I was committing a mortal sin every few minutes, then how was I ever supposed to stay in union with God? To me, absolutely none of this had to do with trusting that God was merciful.

I was wrong.

It took a while to come to this conclusion, but I eventually realized that trusting in God's mercy had more to it than simply trusting He wanted to forgive me. It meant trusting that He knew me better than I knew myself. That He saw my heart and my mind and the absolute agony I was going through, and more than that, that He cared. I had to trust that His mercy was bigger than my illness. That He wasn't scared of my scruples. In practice, that meant I had to trust that even if I somehow managed to

— 1) Commit a mortal sin 2) Convince myself afterwards that it wasn't a mortal sin and I was just obsessing and 3) Forgo going to confession in an attempt to not perform a compulsion— that God would not hold that supposed mortal sin against me. Of course, now I realize how unlikely that entire situation is to even happen in the first place, but at the time it was my reality. It was my fear every single day, and that leap of faith was a terrifying one to make. But when I did, I could finally begin to do the things I needed to heal (aka, avoid compulsions, trusting that God is going to take care of it even if I mislabeled and avoided something I actually should have done as a compulsion).

You see, what I hadn't realized at the time is that God's mercy doesn't just mean He forgives your sins— it means He has a tender, bleeding, broken heart for you. For you and for everything you have been through. For you and for every hurt stored in your chest. For you and you alone, as though you were the only one to ever exist. His mercy does not simply say "go and sin no more," it stoops to write in the sand, and while doing so, finds you at eye level. Looks you in the eye, takes your hand, and raises you to your feet. Calls you by name. The Jesus who meets you in the confessional is the same Jesus who wept when Lazarus died. Whose heart was moved with pity for the crowd. Who dropped everything to raise a little girl from the dead, and the first thing He said when she was awake was to make sure she was given something to eat.

Divine Mercy means that God sees where you are, knows where you are, and pursues you there. Meets you there. Why else do you think He came down to earth as a baby? We got ourselves in trouble by trying to build a tower to heaven because that was never what we were supposed to do. God stoops to us. The confusion of Babble was undone by the descent of the Holy Ghost.

He sees you. He knows you. And He cares. Oh, how it hurts His heart to see you hurt! And how much more it hurts to see you scared of Him. Do you not think the Hands that crafted you know every crevice of your heart? Do you not think that the God who became a baby, whose heart was pierced for love of you, could hold anything inside that heart beside tenderness at the thought of you? For all of eternity He has had a simple wish — to wash your feet and kiss your wounds. Will you trust Him enough to let Him?

[petew21-blog]

Swap you face part 2

Archie frowned looking a bit paler than before:"So you're saying that doctor Brown is onto us and we gotta flee, is that what I think you're saying?"

"Pretty much"

"How would he prove we stole their bodies? Would he force you to switch clothes in front of everyone or what?"

"Have you performed any surgery recently? No. Neither have I, but these bodies have. So either we run away or we will have Hell of a complicated life. Or if you don't want this, I can go get your body. I'll switch you and your hell ends."

Archie was contemplating for a while watching his manly arms on his wide thighs. He looked up:"I don't want to leave. Please sort this out."

"Ok, so Dr. Brown is in my body. Dr. Kim now has yours. Meaning that I need part of my original clothing to swap myself and Dr. Brown. Then I'll just swap you with Dr. Kim. We already have their clothing. We can't go back to my house for the clothing cause my parents would freak if they saw two adults trying to enter their house for a piece of clothing of their sons. I'll leave for the hospital and get it. Ok?"

"Fine. Thank you. I'm really sorry, but it would be really stressful to just leave. I know you understand."

Don't get it wrong. I really wanted to follow the plan before. I went to get my clothes. But my body was sleeping, strapped to the bed. Then a handsome intern entered the room

"Good afternoon, Dr. Brown. I'm on your service today. We had to restrain the patient, he was showing signs of mental disorder claiming to be you. There is a bypass scheduled in OR 1 and OR 2 is waiting for you. Can I help you with anything sir?"

My mind was coming up with the most devious plan ever. But eventually it would make many people happy. Maybe except Dr. Brown.

"Come with me to the on-call room. I have to speak to you privately."

We entered the room

"Take off your shirt." I ordered him

"Sir, I am sorry, but I am not comftable doing that. Besides, I am in a relationship. You're a very handsome man, but this isn't gonna happen, sir."

"I am your attending. And as your attending I expect you to follow everything I tell you to do!"

He was visibly angry, but he proceeded

"Here you go." He said angrily and handed me the shirt.

I took off my own shirt and threw it at him, while taking his own. "You're about to get a very fast promotion." I put on his shirt. Changing my appearence yet again.

in front off me was the body of Dr. Brown. It seemed from the look of his face, that he understood the situation quite well. He seemed actually happy about it too. Smiling even. I mean it doesn't happen everyday that you become an attending from being an intern in just a few months

I smiled and waved at him:"Goodbye DR. BROWN!"

He just waved without saying a single word and just smiled. The last thing I saw was him unbotting his jeans

"So you're saying you put dr. Brown back in your body but you had to swap with this kid? How does that even happen?"

"First of all i"m an adult and an intern just as your body. Second of all, it happened fast after he wanted to get me for swapping with him. And third of all stop at this motel. We're far enough from them. We should rest."

We got ourselves a room. We decided to relax for a while and the figure out where we were gonna go. We were next to each other on the bed. I was enjoying my new smell of a younger man. Inhaling my armpit. Archie was still nervous. Maybe I shouldn't have swapped him and just continue this journey on my own. He is such a wreck when he is doing something out of his control.

"I'm gonna go to shower. Wanna come with me?" I asked. He said he needs some time to think, so I let him be.

I was so looking forward to this. Enjoying the new body. Now was the time to fully explore. I left the door open for Archie to observe in case he was interested. Taking off the trousers and my shirt, I was left with the view of my new manly, yet younger body than before.

I smiled at myself. "This is gonna be so much fun"

I entered the shower, turning on the hot water. The feeling of water running down over my pectorals and my slightly hairy torso, over to the abs and to my new beautiful cock. Dr. Brown was bigger, but damn, this guys dick is amazing. Looks like from a porno movie.

I started slowly. Picking up the pace. I didn't try to hold in me the moaning, but even that didn't invite Archie to join me. I tried to insert the fingers of my free hand into my anus. Maaan this guy is so tight. I continued until I found his prostate. Let me tell you that this was indeed the best orgasm so far. Even better than in Brown's body. I had to wash the wall of the shower because of how much of cum I released.

This power is so fucking amazing

I went out of the shower to find Archie still on the bed. I laid down on mine too.

"You're still upset?"

"I.... I don't know if I want this. I mean. It's one thing to swap around two doctor's bodies to fuck around. But we stole their life. Our lives are gone. And I mean... It's not too late to go back. Don't you think?"

"We can be anyone you know? We don't have to go back to our lives"

"But I want to be me. I like my life."

"Hmmm... well in that case..." I got up from my bed and showed visibly my frustration.

"Where are you going?"

"Ehm. I am gonna go for a walk now to think how I'm going to swap us back easily and not to screw anything else up."

"I'm sorry. It's just cause I feel so guilty."

"Yeah I know. It's fine. I'll be back in an hour."

Maybe it was horrible from me, but I still think leaving Archie in the motel was the best thing I could have done. He's got a new adult body and he needs to learn how to take care of himself. Yeah you guessed it. I wasn't planning on going back to that motel.

As for me. I wanna thake this body for a ride. I went to this bar a made a decision to hit on anyone who might have a car to get me further away. Maybe even take their lige. But I think I'll keep this guy for a loooong time

A cute nerdy guy approached looking sex starved. Well this should be interesting

Hey guys, I'm slowly working on your stories, but I gotta take care of some stuff in school. I'll try to write in my free time as much as possible to make your swap dreams come true. Byeee

Part 1:

[eldritch-spouse]

Man, I want to do a bonding moment with Cero, Patches, Mervin, Morell, Berle, Livius and Vorago by bathing together and washing each other. Like possibly no horny, just me and one of the boys relaxing and washing each other's bodies.

Bathing together (no hanky panky)

Getting Cero to fully relax in a shared bath is hard. He's used to having his own baths at the end of the day, with no one there to bother him, without having to maintain a constant air of immaculateness.

Having you there already makes the process something he needs to "perform" in, thus he's initially slightly irritated. Hence, he insists that you sit between his legs, back turned to him, so that Cero can freely smile and sag and just be a person... He's fairly quiet, for once, and hums to whatever you may ramble about. Bath time is an unwinding moment for him, so it should be one for you too, even if he finds it hard to be completely "mannerless" in front of you. This means that you can swear all you want, make all the dirty jokes and splash around like an animal. Cero will not judge you.

Eventually, he becomes comfortable enough to make his own less than refined quips and air out some of his shortcomings/grievances.

What happens in bath time stays in bath time, do not break this vow or Cero will break some of your bones.

Patches often neglects taking care of himself.

To be fair, given the stagnation of plenty of his bodily functions, it's not as if the dullahan naturally produces foul body odors, but his earthy smell does become more pronounced. You must drag him into a bathtub yourself. Only then will he slump and accept his fate.

Patches is pretty quick in taking care of his own body and mostly makes the whole thing about you. Is he collecting stray hairs that fall as he washes you? Possibly. But he's also just basking in the feeling of cuddling with you in a body of water, which is new entirely to him.

He takes to removing his head, simply because wetting it too much is not ideal to its longevity.

The perks of having Patches around shine here, as he likely has some freaky little magic bathbomb he impulse bought stored somewhere.

Mervin usually has long baths after a headache-worthy job. And he doesn't really advise you join them on those, because he's mostly quiet, possibly wounded, and thinking of everything he just did- If he did anything wrong. That's no mindset to listen to you or even be remotely affectionate.

He has this tendency to make sure the bathroom is spotless before getting in. Because he will not, refuses to, undress in a "stained pigstall". You're the first to come in, undress and get in, he doesn't tell you why he does this but it's the same reason he'll sometimes walk slightly behind his brothers in more crowded zones, to make sure they're safe. Muscle memory. You're forbidden from changing the temperature, if you find it cold then he supposes you can rub up on him for warmth like the needy creature you are.

You're washed first, more gently than you'd expect from him. Mervin repeatedly swats your hands away when you try to return the favor, you'll have to insist until he feigns exhaustion. His pleased rumbling is subtle but definitely audible.

Morell usually doesn't have time for baths, it's all fast showers and walking around kinda wet. But when he does take the time to bathe, especially with you, it's kind of a game.

Rub a dub dub, get yer ass in tha tub- He'll push you in there, don't doubt him. He likes doing this thing where he stays outside the tub while he bathes you, and gets in when he thinks you've been sufficiently scrubbed.

The shroom is either humming or whistling, and it's really bizarre to watch him shake water off his cap. By the way, prime opportunity to touch his neck. Just letting you know. Especially since Morell keeps his eyes mostly closed while you're washing him back.

When he truly relaxes, he's capable of falling asleep holding onto you. Shake him awake before the water gets cold.

Berle is also another one that doesn't usually bathe. He just doesn't have the patience to sit there and stare at the ceiling blowing bubbles.

If you realistically want him to sit still, then let him eat in the tub. This will not have an effect on his digestion. He's going to be his usual chatterbox self and hardly do anything to actually clean either of you until he probably starts feeling a little cold... Berle is unintentionally really fast in his ministrations and may hurt you with his claws, so remind him to calm down every now and then. You are likely to get tickled if you take too long washing him.

Really, Berle is trying really hard to stay in the tub with you and relax, but you can tell his mind drifts off after a while and he's thinking of a million different things he could be doing. It's not your fault, he just can't stay still.

Bathing with Livius is interesting. He tends to let his limbs flop over the edge of the tub.

This is essentially going to be a game of mimic. He only starts washing when you do, following the same order as you and trying to get your timing down. For this reason, you either mutually wash each other at the same time, or he asks you to wash him first.

Livius tries to guess what type of bath bomb you'd like better, or if you'd like any at all. Getting it wrong will have him sulking for a while.

Conversation flows as easily as you allow it to, and he's perfectly fine with allowing you to play with his horns, so long as he gets to play with your ears and nose. It's in moments like this that he truly covets your body. Not necessarily in a carnal way (though the impulse is there), he just loves how you look and wishes to be in your body.

Vorago has written this moment several times. The shared bath between two lovers. Granted, those took place in fairly more fantastical settings, but still, Vorago is very excited. And flustered.

Vorago has to make sure this is perfect for you, but part of him worries that he's being too corny if he goes with too many pink things around or the petals... Lords he really wants to make it a romantic thing but he knows he's going to look like a complete ass. He helps you in like a gentleman and is extremely docile as he washes you, but there's definitely moments where you'll feel him smell you. Vorago can only curb his delight up to a certain point.

Be prepared for the workload if you try to wash him back, because taming his thick and voluptuous hair is a feat. He certainly enjoys it, rumbling deep and loud and probably dark in the face from all the attention. He wishes he could take a photo of this moment, write it all out, it's so perfect. It's beautiful.

[formulaheart]

I know it's been said before, but I feel like Katniss gets compared to Lucy Gray a lot because they're both victors from 12 and both women, but its actually Sejanus that she's really similar to. Side note- forgive me if i get a few things wrong, I just saw the new movie and re-watched all the old ones but I haven't read the books in a while.

We see Sejanus thrust into a world he doesn't feel like he belongs to, and we can assume he wasn't a revolutionary until he was directly faced with the horrors of the capital where he became one of the only people willing to speak up. On the other hand, years later, we see Katniss willing to do her own thing and not be involved until the games directly involve her and suddenly she's fighting like hell against the capital specifically, not the other tributes.

The funny thing about them is that the only thing they have going for them, or their cause, is their passion. Neither of them are charismatic, neither of them are particularly likeable or make good impressions. They're brusque, disconnected, determined and absolutely unwilling to play a part, no matter how it may alter the outcome. How other people view them matters very little and they operate on a one track mind. Sejanus made a statement to the game makers and honored a friend when he broke into the arena for Marcus, filled with grief and only half thinking. Katniss did the same when she covered Rue with flowers and when she hanged the dummy of Seneca Crane. Both are calculated but are shortsighted when it comes to their actions. They're sensitive and caring but it's not an immediately obvious character trait, and not something that they're generally known for.

They both just wanted there to be peace, they wanted there to be change, but they didn't want to be the ones to have to do it, unable to handle that kind of weight on their shoulders, and unable to put on an act. Katniss was ready to run from the fight as long as she had the people she loved with her and they were taken care of. Towards the end, all she wanted was for her and Peeta and her family to be safe and away from the fighting. Sejanus tried to help a group of people run away, and tried to run with them, and away from the mess Panem was becoming. He didn't want to be in the middle of it anymore, and as long as he could help a few less fortunate than himself and be away, he was okay. Both of them have break downs on several occasions when their quick actions of what they thought was kindness have consequences they NEVER wanted for anybody (after Katniss speaks in 11 or when Sejanus accidentally gets the rebels in 12 weapons).

Snow was definitely triggered by Katniss because she sang Lucy Gray's song. But he was probably fascinated and enraged by her at the start when she, and her lover boy(artist, performer, lover of people, Lucy Gray) START the games unconventionally -together- and Katniss is passionate, and she's calculated and at the same time so so so impulsive and myopic, and she reminds him of someone. Somebody he betrayed a lifetime ago but that betrayal was his tipping point of NEVER coming back to ANY good he had left in him. And she cries for tributes she knew for a day, and she can't act, even if her life depended on it (and it does), and she lashes out without forethought creating another mess Snow has to clean up, and he can't get a handle of her, and she's a disaster, and all he can think is Sejanus, Sejanus, Sejanus while he tries to control her more and everything spins out farther than he could've imagined.

Sejanus trusted Snow, and Snow outsmarted him, and in the end it was Sejanus's traits he went up against, and he underestimated her and he lost everything for it.

Me and @diamondsunbursts-and-marblehalls have been breaking down all the characters and their connections so thank you to them for helping me flesh this out.

[listofwhyyouloveher]

the gang talking you through it??

Summary: The Outsiders talking you through it

Warnings: vague mentions of smut

Author's Note: none

PONYBOY CURTIS

Ponys the type of guy to wait until marriage to sleep with you, not like he's religious or anything but he wants it to be perfect and passionate

He's also quite nervous, his hands are shaking during your reception and he's seeking you out as soon as it ends

Reminds you that you don't have to do it if you don't want to but you brush it off by saying he's just nervous

Ponys incredibly gentle, telling you all the things he's going to do, asking if you like it and overall just being an amazing partner

JOHNNY CADE

You met Johnny after you graduated college, you and Pony were in the same year and you often hung out,

Johnny really liked you so you eventually got together and went on a couple of good dates

Johnny isn't against sleeping together before marriage but he really likes to take it slow which is obvious in the way he acts with you

He's generally taking it slow and steady, and observing your face to make sure you aren't in pain, asking you if you're ok and liking it etc

SODAPOP CURTIS

Sodapop has had his fair share of girls in bed, however it's always quick and/or rough and sometimes he just needs a break

You're his girlfriend of 2 years and he's yet to sleep with you because he doesn't want to get too attached and get hurt like what happened with Sandy

However when he finally does sleep with you, it's nothing like he ever imagined (he's probably imagined it a lot)

It's his first time taking it slow and he's telling you what he's doing, where he's going to touch, asking if you're ok, the full 9 yards

STEVE RANDLE

Steve is really something quite different in the streets and in the sheets, he's a cocky bastard outside and with you hes very kind

Steve gets praise for his performance in bed but your first time with him is a very awkward and silly mess

He wants to make everything perfect because he loves you quite a bit and you keep telling him that he doesn't need to tell you everything he's thinking.

However he really just wants to make sure you're comfortable so he's walking you through it, telling you when he's going to move and what he's thinking about doing next like it's a TV program

TWO-BIT MATHEWS

Two loves to praise you, he's finding so much joy in the fact that he can make you smile and blush during your most intimate moments

Two's whole mission when sleeping with you is to make sure you're happy with it, he's telling you how good of a job you're doing, asking if you can handle it etc.

It's not very often that he'll go rough with you, but if he does he's still asking you once and a while if you're OK

Generally, Two isn't someone who hops into bed with any random girl, so he's a little less experienced than say Dally, however that makes him somewhat of a better partner because he's utterly focused on making it an enjoyable moment rather than relying on what works

DARRY CURTIS

Darry is a very soft man when it comes to sex, he's making everything perfect and prefers to sleep with someone he's been seeing for a long time.

However, that doesn't mean he hasn't had his fair share of girlfriends, now he knows what a girl likes

He knows a lot of girls like intimacy so he's making things perfectly intimate for you, candles, music all that. He's making you look at him while he does it, asking if you're enjoying yourself

He generally likes to tease you under the guise of innocent curiosity, asking if you're enjoying it and making you respond in full sentences

DALLAS WINSTON

Dallas likes to be rough and fast in bed, he rarely talks anyone through it and prides himself in being able to make you feel good without the intimacy

He finds himself very rarely talking to you during or after, the only few times is either to degrade you or to buff his ego

However, if it's your first time or he's being lazy he'll be quiet and gentle(r), and every once and a while he'll praise you on how good you take him

It doesn't last long, however, and he'll return to his usual self when he regains his energy or whatever

[lis-likes-fics]

Music to My Eyes

Pairings: Finnick Odair x deaf!fem!Reader Word Count: 7.5k words Warnings: Mentions of the Games, so killing and death, mentions of trauma, my attempt at writing sign language, pre-Katniss, no Annie... A/N: Hey, everyone! I watched the Hunger Games a few months ago and had a mini obsession and decided to write for it and only now just got half of my fic done. Since it was running as long as it was, I decided to go ahead and split this into two different parts, but I swear the rest of it is being planned and written. Also A/N: Just FYI, anything written in /slants/ is an indication of something being signed because explaining every little sign just does not work. And, also, Hecton Leary is absolutely done by Peter Capaldi in my mind...just in case you need a visual. I was watching a lot of Doctor Who during this so, get ready to see those intense eyebrows all over the place in this, lmao. Also Also A/N: Special thanks to my beta-reader @killerqueen-ofwillowgreen who I will be crediting more bc I literally forgot to last time and she's too amazing for that! Thanks, Vee! 💖

You don't love wearing dresses—especially not extravagant ones like these, more expensive than likely your entire district as a whole. You also don't love parties like these where you have to wear said dresses, surrounded by tons of people generating body heat and stuffing the room full of perfumes and colognes that make your nose and eyes burn. Your feet hurt from the heels your designer paired with your outfit, and the air is active with words and voices that overwhelm your brain with too much information to take.

Having Hecton beside you is a relief at least—not completely lost in a sea of people as he and you communicate with two rich sponsors from District 1 dressed just a slight less dramatic as you but just as exaggerated.

You watch their lips, painted over with bright colors complementing their attire, as they speak to you. "It must be so hard, isn't it?" the woman asks, spending too much time on "so" as she speaks slowly for you to comprehend. You want to roll your eyes. "Flailing about all the time just to get a few words out?"

The man next to her agrees, nodding his head. You can see his throat shift, and you assume he's hummed a response.

Hecton's hands move with skill as he speaks, partly as aid in translation for you but mostly for the performance people are looking for.

You feel like your lips are going to fall off, you can almost feel them twitching at the ends from how long you've been smiling at all these people who don't know anything about you and assume they know everything.

You widen your smile to show teeth and shake your head, continuing to be as respectful as you can with your social tolerance running low.

Your hands move and, out of the corner of your eye, you can see Hecton speaking as they do. "Not really," he translates. "It's natural for me."

The man puts a hand over his heart and turns to her. "Oh, you poor thing," he says rather dramatically. Hecton doesn't dignify his words by translating that for you—not that you needed it in the first place. His hands remain still, folded in front of him. The man glances toward them, and you can see his brief disappointment at his words not receiving the glory of illustration.

You glance up at Hecton, your smile intact as you slightly squint the corners of your eyes in a silent plea. He answers you gracefully, turning his attention back to the fashionable vultures in front of him.

"This was wonderful," he says, "but I believe our little lady is excited to meet other guests here tonight."

Hecton is an older man with grey hair, pale eyes, and intense brows. Upon looking at him, he isn't the most approachable man. You don't just say no to him—especially as a past victor of the Games who certainly triumphed by a long-shot. He is not weakened by age, but he's definitely wisened by it. Although sobered by surviving the horrors of the Games, it neither slowed nor ruined his life, it simply gave an abrupt end to what little childhood people of Districts like yours can obtain.

One look at the finality on his face and they were fully ready to end their (rather insulting) conversation. They turn to one another, making these awful pity-faces as they hold each other's hands and turn back to heartily agree. "Of course." She puts too much emphasis on the words. "Goodbye, dear."

You nod gently and look toward Hecton for confirmation as he places a hand on your back and turns with you. You both walk away from the conversation gratefully, still smiling for everyone else in the room but moving your hands in silent conversation.

/These people are exhausting,/ you complain, entirely within your right with the way they treat you.

Hecton sighs, looking at you with eyes that understand your struggle. /Just keep them happy./

You nod, remaining light-hearted for both your sakes as you offer a genuine smile before you slip back into a customer service front. /I know, I know./

Lots of eyes are on you tonight, but none so keen as a certain boy across the room. He has basically been watching you all night, intrigued by the way you've been communicating, by the way you draw so much attention without having spoken a single word since you arrived.

He has seen you around a few times—on television, at other parties. He knows your face and that you won the Games like him, but he's never paid enough attention to actually know anything past that. But now, observing you all night, he's interested enough to ask.

His elbow brushes the guy next to him, a victor from another district he doesn't care to specify right now. "Who is that again?" he asks, not taking his eyes off of you as his friend turns to look. "I've seen her a couple times, never remember."

He looks at you and then back at him. "Her?" he gestures vaguely toward you. He nods.

"Victor from District 10, she won the 67th Games." He takes a sip from his drink, leaning back against a table with a hand in his pocket. "Surprised everyone cause she," he shrugged, "can't hear or something."

That definitely caught his attention as he turned full bodied toward him. "Really?"

"Yeah," he swirled his drink around. "She's nice…in a little bunny sort of way." It's not necessarily an insult, more than it is him calling you soft-hearted and skittish.

He walks away without a word, finally making his way toward you to quell his curiosity as he approaches you and takes his sweet time about it.

Your back is turned to him. He briefly wonders the best way to get your attention on the way over, knowing you hate being tapped by the way your shoulders flinch and you strain a smile when you turn.

Then again, no one likes tapping.

When he reaches you, he just folds his hands behind his back and smiles. "Hello," he says simply. Hecton turns at the greeting, prompting you to do the same.

"I'm Finnick. Finnick Odair," he greets with a smile of his own as he regards the both of you. He watches the way the old man's hand moves on his name. Your hand reaches out and interrupts him as you place a gentle palm on top of his. He makes a face—it's not annoyed, just teasing.

You turn back to Finnick, your performance smiling still intact. Hecton speaks while you sign. For a moment, Finnick thinks he'll understand the movements you make—Mags doesn't speak, she has to use her hands to communicate all the time, surely it couldn't be that different—but he is proven wrong when words don't match waves.

"I know who you are. You won the 65th Games, you're from District 4." Finnick thinks, briefly, that your friend's voice doesn't match you at all (which is obvious, of course, but he feels it's worth pointing out).

"Well, then," he responds with a slight chuckle, only glancing for a moment at the way Hecton's hands move as he talks, "I'm flattered you know me. Unfortunately, I couldn't say the same for you…"

You seem surprised by that. He thinks it may have something to do with the way that you haven't had many moments away from conversation since you arrived. Everyone has been too taken by you, too interested in snatching a few minutes.

Your hands don't start moving in that curious way Finnick likes to watch because words are already being spoken. "Mr. Odair, this is Y/N Y/L/N. I am her mentor and translator, Hecton Leary."

Finnick holds out a hand, which each of you shake. Out of courtesy, he doesn't start talking again until after your hands are free. "Wonderful to meet you both. And, please, Finnick is fine. There's no need for formalities when we could be friends, right?"

You still smile as you begin to sign, though your brows furrow. /Why exactly do I want to be your friend?/

Finnick doesn't understand, looking at Hecton for translation. He only says your name, a sort of reprimand as he continues to smile.

/I'm only being honest./

Where you expected frustration from not understanding, you find amusement in Finnick's eyes as his genuine smile widens and he looks between the both of you. "What am I missing?"

Hecton looks at you, raising a large brow and waiting for your reply. You sigh gently and shake your head, remaining civil as you begin to sign.

"Sorry," he speaks for you. "I look forward to establishing friendship with another fellow Victor. Maybe one day we'll…" Hecton gets quiet as he just watches your hands continue to move and your lips continue to smile, full of amusement.

/We'll frolic in the woods together, holding hands and singing songs./

Hecton turns full body to you. He holds his palms apart and brings them together swiftly without clapping them. /Y/N./

You smile wider and hold your hands in surrender, the tiny sound of a giggle slipping out of you. You're otherwise silent as your hands fly. /I'm joking! Tell him it was nice to meet him, and I look forward to being friends./

Hecton eyes you momentarily before relenting, turning back to Finnick with exasperation. "She says it was a pleasure meeting you, and she looks forward to your friendship."

Finnick raises his brows, bowing his head gently. "The pleasure is all mine." He's a charmer, and he makes that clear by reaching out and slowly, softly taking your hand in his (his grasp is so gentle that you could easily take your hand back if you wanted and he wouldn't stop you). He bends forward, pressing his lips to the back of your hand. He straightens his spine and watches you fondly. "Until we meet again."

As he lets go of your hand, he bows his head once more before he walks away. You and Hecton watch him leave. He raises his own brow at you. "Is that blush I see?"

Your hands are quick and exaggerated as you move them. You know he's joking and you're not blushing, but his teasing makes you. /No!/

Hecton's smile is wide and open and you know he's laughing at you, so you call him out for being mean. He drops it just as quickly, once the joke has faded to a funny memory and you both are back to mingling with people who do not care about you.

~

The halls are empty this late in the night. Everyone has retired to their rooms or taken an early train home. It's peaceful, wandering the halls this late and being undisturbed by curious eyes and ears watching you like some wild animal. You enjoy the silence—the physical silence of steady air and only one set of footsteps to track instead of hundreds.

At the end of the hall you wander now is the elevator that takes you to your level. Hecton will be wondering where you are—and if not, it's probably time for you to retire for the night before the victor's interviews with Lucky tomorrow anyway. As you make your way toward it, the lights bright and beckoning, you stop in front of it and click the door button.

It's as the doors are sliding open that you realize you're no longer alone in the dead of this night. You feel it in the prickle of your skin, the change in the weight of the floor beneath you. You look over quickly where the side of your face heats with a new presence.

You see Finnick approaching you, seemingly pleased to see you as he smiles at you, stopping short of the doors to offer you first entry. You grin hesitantly, your confidence from before waning a little with the absence of your mentor and translator. If he tries to talk to you, you're probably going to have a rough night. You press the tenth floor button. He presses the fourth.

Finnick isn't as pessimistic, glancing at you out of the corner of your eyes as you stand with your fingers tangled and your eyes toward the ground. You don't look nearly as cocky this time around—in fact, you seem nervous, refusing to even give him that small, awkward smile you usually receive when stuck in a space next to someone you don't know.

Finnick licks his lips, and speaks before he can correct himself. "Hello," he says, giving you a charming smile before immediately remembering your certain disability.

His curiosity grows when you raise your head, glancing his way but not quite committing.

"Oh, right," he mumbles. His added words spark your attention once more as you finally look at him, moving your hand in a talking motion.

"Yeah," he responds. "How did you know?" You're deaf, but you could tell that he was speaking without even looking at him?

He watches you think for a moment, staring off to try and figure out a way to tell him without Hecton to aid you. You look at him again, raising a hand palm down and shaking it.

"Shaking?" he guesses, raising a confused brow.

You gestured around the elevator, your face etched in concentration, determined to be understood. You sometimes forget how hard communication can actually be for you.

"The room?" he tries. "The room is shaking?"

You make a face, one that says "not quite".

He thinks for a moment, putting your gestures together before it dawns on him. "The air is moving."

You smile, far too happy to have successfully gotten a point across.

Finnick's brows raise, though not in a mocking or upset way. "Is everything really that sensitive for you?"

'It has to be,' you want to say, but you can't. You can read lips, but moving your own to try and copy them is a completely different story. Instead, you just nod and agree.

"I heard that's how you won the Games," he said, before adding on the end with a genuinely impressed smile. "Very cool, by the way." He had spent an embarrassing amount of time—or it would be embarrassing if he actually cared about that—asking party comers about you. Most of the information he got was about the Games, always about the Games. He got the same answers from just about everyone about how you were just so sweet and how it was so inspiring how your lack of hearing helped you to win.

As much as that sweet grin on your face made you want to smile, he wasn't technically right. So you shook your head, and he watched you raise your hands to cover your eyes.

"You were blind?" he wonders, but that doesn't make any sense and he doesn't feel very smart for asking now.

You shake your head and do it again, this time pulling your hands away and then covering your face again.

"You hid," he answers. That makes more sense.

You nod and he hums.

You didn't win the Hunger Games by killing for being killed, you didn't win by joining alliances or traveling in groups and pairs. You won the Games by running and hiding until everyone had killed each other.

When the Gamemakers used their tricks and schemes to flush you out of your hiding places, you found another one to lay low until the end. Yes, there were times when you had to fight for your life, but you were no strong competitor. It was dumb luck that you won. Right up to the end, facing off with the almost-champion after having been hunted down by Mutts. He killed them, and then he tried to kill you.

And that was when your disability was labeled your greatest weapon.

Maybe one day you'll be able to tell him that.

The doors slid open to reveal Finnick's floor. You both linger there in the elevator for a moment, trying to decide what to do from there.

Truly, you should have just waved at him and let the doors close to take you to your own floor. It was late already, you needed to rest.

But…

"Do you like sweets?"

Yes, you do.

You nod, answering his charming smile with a shy one and being upset with yourself in the back of your mind for falling for his obvious charm. If you got hurt, it was on you and no one else. But who cares?

You, you care. Maybe not enough, though.

You follow him off the elevator and into the common room. The kitchen is just off of it, with a long table cleared of dinner but still adorned with snacks—fruits and a few deserts. Finnick slides over a plate of cookies as you take a seat. They're chocolate and very good.

He sits across from you, a little too keen in the way he leans forward. He picks up a cookie between his thumb and forefinger, playing with it absent-mindedly as he speaks.

"Is that," he waves one hand, "usually how you communicate?" He hopes he doesn't sound offensive and takes a bite from his cookie.

You don't seem offended as you shrug. He watches you move your hand like you're grasping a pen, shifting it around in a circle. He understands and, like a dog, goes to grab the supplies for you, dropping his cookie back on the table with little to no regard. He's not necessarily upset about his obedience, if anything, he's happy to let you boss him around—not that you have been—if it means quenching his genuine curiosity with how you operate.

He slides you a notebook as he reclaims his seat, gently slapping a pen on top with a cheeky grin. He seems proud of himself. You hold in your chuckle as you write with the best handwriting you can with the quickness of your scribbles.

/Signing or writing./

Finnick reads it off. He thinks your handwriting is pretty.

"Does it get tiring?" he asks, cookie forgotten in crumbs on the counter. He absent-mindedly pushes it to the side so he can lean closer. "Moving your hands like that all the time?"

His question is one you get often, a repeated question every person asks to suit their shallow interest in you. But you can't bring yourself to be offended or annoyed. Finnick doesn't seem shallow, his curiosity runs deep and his kindness deeper. You're not sure you could take anything he says with offense.

You simply shake your head. /Easy as it is for you to talk,/ you answer honestly, adding the gesture for "speak" at the end to try to be helpful.

He shouldn't be impressed, but he is. "Oh," he says, brows raised in vivid interest. "Is it easy to learn?"

He's full of questions. He knows he probably sounds like a child, piling them on top of each other like tidal waves. But you don't seem upset, so he carries on.

You shrug again.

/Would not know. Depends on person./ You look up at him, and then you add, /You want to learn?/

The way you write is interesting to him. You don't do it in full sentences in an effort to keep it short and simple. But you also don't use contractions, though you try to write as quickly as possible to keep up the feel and consistency of actually speaking.

He smiles slyly and pretends to be shy about it, bowing his head and looking up at you through pretty lashes. "Maybe," he says. "Could you teach me?"

You mirror his expression, bowing your chin toward your chest and smiling at him. /Maybe./

You finish your cookie and rip off the first page to turn to another. He watches you write out the alphabet, quickly scribbling a very poor illustration of a hand gesture underneath each one. It takes a while, longer than you wished for it to.

Finnick doesn't mind. While you're distracted with the activity at hand, he's watching you. You're very pretty, he thinks. With the way you sit to draw, you keep your body open and give yourself the room you need to still see him as you work.

You've got kind eyes. He doesn't think you get that enough. Everyone calls you a sweet girl, but they usually follow it up with something along the lines of "even with her issue".

But Finnick just thinks you're pretty and kind. That's it. No exceptions.

He wants to learn about you without the tainting of word-of-mouth or television programs. He wants to know you. The stuff you love, the stuff you hate, everything that makes you happy, and the stuff that makes you want to throw chairs. He wants to know what your favorite color is, if you like to dance or paint or swim.

Before he can keep daydreaming about whether you like cats or dogs, you look up at him to show off your work. You think it's sloppy. He thinks you did great.

You start going through it with him, showing him the hand signs as you get to them with a patience that amazes him. Once you've gone through the whole of it once, he lifts his own hand to try it out. He looks weird and silly, and you smile as he tries his best.

When he offers a poor attempt at a 'Q', a giggle manages to slip. You probably don't hear it, but Finnick certainly does. His face lights up at the sound. He had heard you make little more than a sigh. Managing to pull a giggle out of you—especially one as pretty as that? It's like winning the lottery.

He goes through it with you a couple more times before he straightens his spine. "So…"

He points to his chest and holds his hand out, slowly moving it to fit the gestures he's tried.

F. I. N. N. I. C. K.

You nod quickly, beaming from ear to ear at how quickly he's picked it up already. You point to yourself and spell your own name out. You move slowly, giving him time to connect each letter to each sign as you go. And when you finish, he spells it himself. A nearly perfect copy, (although perfect may be generous, he's definitely trying and it shows—that's perfect enough in your book).

You carefully tear the page out and set it to the side so he can still see and write excitedly on the next page, your writing almost terrible with how quickly you scribble. /Natural!/

You sign the word after. He copies you, and then tries to spell it out. He gets it right for the most part—even though you're pretty sure you saw him use an 'X' instead of an 'R'.

He really wants to impress you. He doesn't make that subtle, and you're honestly happy he doesn't. It makes you genuinely giddy, the way he's so eager to learn and show off his new skill (a skill he's literally been practicing for no more than ten minutes). You don't realize how far onto the table you've learned. Your hands would brush if you moved them an inch closer.

"I'll keep at it," he replies genuinely at your proud smile. He had no idea someone so silent could be so pleasantly loud. Your ecstatic movements and wide grins compensate for your lack of vocalization. When you speak through your hands or the notebook in front of you, he almost swears he can hear a voice he hasn't heard in place of it, so kind and pretty. Like a song.

You smile too fondly at him, taking in a soft breath before looking down at your hands and sitting back again. You'd gotten ahead of yourself. You don't correct it as much as you should. You're just as fond as you sit correctly in your seat and watch him with intense interest.

After a moment of comfortable silence, you pick up your pen again. He watches you write something down. You turn the book around for him to see.

/Mentor cannot speak?/

"Mags?" he wonders. You nod, tilting your head. "No."

You write again. /Cannot sign?/

"No."

You tilt your head and furrow your brows, a silent inquiry. He shrugs, "Never learned."

You contemplate for a moment, rubbing your neck gently before taking the notepad once more. You show it to him.

/Can teach./ You point to yourself, offering a small grin.

"Really?" he furrows his brow.

You shrug. Why not?

Finnick stares at you a moment, searching your eyes for a joke he knows he won't find. So why would you be so open to helping her? Maybe you're just weird.

His lips curl in a smile. "I'll ask her."

Your own smile grows.

He drums his fingers on the table, watching you watching him. He thinks for a moment, just staring, before he opens his mouth.

"So obviously, you can read lips." You nod. "Were you born deaf?"

You nod and reach for the notepad once again. It takes you a moment to write this time. /Parents did not find out til 2. Was a quiet kid. Did not realize until I never started speaking./

He's so interested in everything you tell him. He hangs onto your every word like pure gold. "So you've never heard anything before? Ever?"

He feels like it's a dumb question. Of course not. But you hesitate, glancing off before you nod.

/Yes./

His eyes go wide with wonder. "How?" He crosses his arms and leans forward on the table.

You thought for another moment, trying to find the best way to phrase it to keep it simple. You tap the pen against your lips and click click click it.

/Before the 67th Games, my team gifted me hearing aids. Thought it would help./ You pull away for him to read, staring at the page before taking it and adding in a new line, /Didn't think I'd make it deaf./

The look on your face told him how much that bothered you—or, at least, a whisper of how much it used to bother you. He thinks you may be used to it by now…

"Seemed to work, huh?" he asks with a slight chuckle in an attempt to brighten your mood again.

But you shake your head as you pull the notepad back. /When Games started, too much. Ripped them out and ran./ You sigh gently, swallowing thickly. /Couldn't handle it./

He listens in, his full attention heeding your words. "So you never wear them?"

You shake your head. /Do not like to./

He nods gently. "Because it hurt?" he asks, trying to understand.

You think for a moment before raising your hand and shaking it like before, meaning a different thing this time. /Kind of,/ you write.

You sigh and raise your hands, loosely clawed in front of you as you bring them into your chest in fists. Then you pick up your pen to translate. /Trust me?/

He nods. "Yeah."

/Sure?/

His second nod is more firm. "Yes."

He watches you grab a hand towel. You lift it up, gesturing to him with it and he nods his approval once again. You step behind him and tie it around his head to cover his eyes.

After you blindfold him, sure that he no longer has sight, you turn off all the lights and spin him around a couple times before you lead him into the living room.

Without his sight, Finnick is reduced to having to let you lead him where you want him. And he trusts you. He sways on his feet for a moment, standing still when you stop guiding him again.

"Can I look now?" he asks, his hands out by his side blindly if not for anything but balance.

He hears your voice, the slight sound of you clearing your throat before humming gently, like you're feeling for it. Then he hears your broken response, unaccustomed to actually speaking.

"N-o," you mumble. He smiles a little, and you think he's weird—in a good way.

After a moment of silence where the both of you just stand there and do nothing, he feels you begin to remove the towel from his face. You don't give him a chance to adjust to the dark, you just flip the closest light on and let him have it.

He winces, shielding his face as the shock sets in. You smile gently as you apologize, rubbing your fist over your chest in a circle. When his eyes adjust to the light once more to look at you, your smile is still a fond apology as you motion to your ears.

He breathes lightly. “That’s what it felt like for you?” You make a “bigger” motion with your hands as you nod. “That’s awful,” he mumbles.

You shrug as you begin to walk back to the dining table to grab your pen and notepad again. As you take a seat on the sofa, you bring your legs up under you and invite him to sit beside you. He watches you write something as you prop the notepad against your thighs. You show it to him when you finish.

/What do you like to do?/

He is happy to answer as he settles back and thinks for a moment before offering his reply. You sit and talk back and forth for a long time. You don’t really keep track as you learn that Finnick loves to swim and he dabbles in cooking when he can. You learn that he likes the color blue, but his favorite color is probably white. You learn that he is a “live life like it’s your last day” type of person because of his experience with the games (a philosophy you have adopted yourself in a smaller intensity). You learn that he’s more fond of the quiet than the rowdy crowds he’s grown accustomed to.

Finnick learns that you also like the water, but you enjoy sitting under the surface and feeling like the world is just as silent as you in a way that isn’t so interesting to the rest of the world. He learns that you don’t have a favorite color but you always say green, that you’re not a people person but everyone thinks you’re a person who loves people, and that you like to watch Hecton play the guitar while he lets you set your hand on the body of it to feel what he plays.

You don’t know when you fall asleep on the couch, laying against the back of it with your head turned toward the large, cushy pillow that supports your head. You’re curled up against it, and Finnick thinks you look precious. He’s not long after you as he dozes off on the couch. Neither of you touch at all, hands to yourself as you let the night ease on around you. But the presence is comfortable enough, you’re happy for it.

But sometime in the night, you don’t know when, how long the passage of time had gotten to be, the calm that had set over you slowly began to fade and slip into something a little more unnerving. Uneasiness sets in your bones, makes you queasy as your fingers twitch. You hum, a groan that slips from between your lips and rouses Finnick as he opens his eyes and glances your way, eyes still heavy with sleep.

He starts to sit up as he sees you shift, your breath quickened and your muscles twitching. He calls your name gently, a first instinct he immediately realizes isn’t going to work. He hears you hum again and begins to reach a hand out. His fingers hardly brush the skin of your arm when your eyes suddenly open. You’re muttering something intelligible to yourself as you glance around frantically, eyes glazed over and movements full of adrenaline.

“Woah, you’re good,” he tries as you grip the cushions on the couch. It’s too warm and it’s cushy and you don’t want to be up there anymore. He’s still trying to ease you, hands out like you’re a frightened animal ready to attack him. You slide off the couch and onto the floor, where the cold hardwood greets your skin as you catch your breath, your face tucked between your arms as your whole body heaves for air.

He lets you stay there, concern written all over his face as he tries to figure out what the issue is. He guesses they’re just nightmares, bad, ugly nightmares that he, himself, has faced over and over and over again. He waits and waits and waits for your body to steady and for your breath to calm, keeping his hands out but away as he waits for you to recover.

When you’ve calmed down again, you lift your head and sit back against the floor, turning toward him with lethargic muscles, your adrenaline already waning as the exhaustion from before trumps everything else. You catch the movement of Finnick’s lips from out of the corner of your eye and turn to see him speak. “What’s wrong?”

You breathe in slowly, filling your whole chest as you gather yourself enough to answer. You stroke a circle over your chest with your fist, a movement he remembers seeing you do earlier when you were apologizing to him. He shakes his head gently, slowly shifting off of the couch to join you on the floor, giving you space as he props his elbow on the cushion.

“S’okay,” he says, his lips moving gently around the word. “What happened?”

You breathe out slowly, still centering yourself. You lean toward the table, sliding the notepad over with lazy movements. You contemplate before writing. /Vibrations./ You show it to him and he tilts his head. /I sleep with my hand on the floor. It lets me know if someone is coming, I can feel the footsteps in the ground. It wakes me up and keeps me out of trouble./

The way you write is different now, filling the missing blanks of words you’d usually leave out because they were unnecessary. Like you’re too tired to summarize, letting the words do their job as you slump against the table like you haven’t slept in ages and are simply going through the motions.

He moves slowly, letting you see what’s happening before it happens as he sets his hand atop your own on the table. You don’t move, glancing at his hand and letting it happen as his skin brushes yours. He feels honored.

“Well,” he says, “you’re safe here.” With me.

You manage to pull the corners of your lips up into a small smile, turning your hand so his rests in your palm. You raise your free hand to your chin. /Thank you./ You take a moment to sit there, looking at each other and enjoying the feelings of your hand in the other’s. Then you pull your hand away regretfully and pick up your pen.

/I should get back to my floor before my people worry./

He reads it off and nods. “Yeah, you’re probably right,” he sighs, already moving to stand to his feet as he holds his hand out to help you, hoping you would accept. When you do, he smiles. You lift yourself to your feet and give him another of your best in this condition.

You pick up the notepad one more time. /Thank you for the sweets. And for the company. I liked talking with you./

He puts a hand to his heart, too heartfelt to be teasing as he dips his head slightly. “My pleasure.”

Finnick walks with you to the elevator, standing by you in silence after the button is pressed as you both wait for the doors to slide open. When they do, you step in and offer yet another warm smile as you sigh and wave, mouthing the word “bye” as you depart from him, sad to go. He mouths the word back to you, though you’re not positive he spoke them as he offers a small wave of his own.

The doors shut and Finnick misses you already.

~

The blaring lights, (otherwise) deafening crowds, and extravagant costumes are something you get used to and never get used to all at once. All the attention is on you, and it's your job to make sure they are entertained as you make your way onto the stage with Hecton's at your side.

Lucky is standing, that unnervingly large grin tearing his face in two as he watches you excitedly. His hand is extended toward you, both to show you off and welcome you in.

"Hello, my dear!" he exclaims theatrically as he takes your hand. He places a kiss to your knuckles and then shakes Hecton's hand as well. You all take your seats, your smile the picture of thrilled.

"It's been a while since we have last spoken, hasn't it?" He stops dramatically and then says, "Well, a while since I spoke to you, at least." The air is on the fritz with cheers and laughter and more clapping as you look around at everyone. Lucky's laughter is just as wide. "How have you been, Y/N?"

You look at Hecton, your smile and his set in perfection. He speaks as you sign, beginning his role as your ultimate translator. "I've been great, Lucky. I've missed you!"

His big brows furrow as he slaps a hand over his heart. He turns to the adoring fans. "Oh, isn't that sweet?" He laughs again and looks back at you, his expression calmer but no less dramatic. "I have also missed you, my dear. Now, tell me, this is a tour for some of our previous victors, have you met any of them yet?" He leans in like you're sharing a secret.

"I'm glad you asked, I have. It's been great getting to be reacquainted with old friends and making new ones."

"Ooo," he says, looking around and encouraging the crowd to join in. "New ones like who?" He sits up straight and brings a finger to his lips, glancing away and smiling slyly. "I know I have it from a reliable source that you were mingling with District 4 Champion, Finnick Odair." He leans forward with narrowed eyes. "Do I sense something blossoming?"

He and the crowd tease you, making lovey dovey noises that you don't hear but definitely feel as you glance at Hecton and he raises his thick brows in amusement.

"Oh, Lucky," you smile like you'll laugh as Hecton continues to read your hands. "I wish I could agree, but who am I to say?" You shrug it off with a sigh.

"Oh, really?" he jabs. "Because when I brought it up with Finnick, I believe he described you as 'a special kind of beauty'." This riles the crowd up even more, they cheer louder and the air feels suffocating. You smile through it.

"Did he now?"

"He did."

Lucky laughs dramatically, Hecton laughs less dramatically, and the crowd eats right out of the palm of your hands.

"Well," Hecton says as you catch the attention again, "you know I'm not one to gossip."

"Ohh, not just this once?" He says it like he'll cry.

"I wish I could."

He sighs heavily. "Oh, well." The crowds 'aww's and you give an apologetic smile to them all. Lucky leans over and takes your hand in his, which you then cover with your own. "It has been lovely catching up with you, my dear. And you, too, Hecton, my friend." Hecton nods. "I hope to see you again soon, both of you—I do so love our talks!"

"As do I, Lucky. As do I."

He puts both hands over his chest this time, smiling with sadness to see you go. "Would you give us a kiss before you go?"

You stand to face the crowd and kiss your hand, blowing it out to them as they scream and shout for you. You beam and look at them all, waving happily.

"Oh, fantastic!" Lucky exclaims as he stands to join your side, Hecton at the other. He takes one of your hands again. "It is always a pleasure."

"The pleasure is all mine."

He turns to the adoring audience. "Our Silent Spectacle, everybody!"

They scream and shout and you press your cheeks to Lucky's before you and Hecton leave the stage. Even after you're past the curtain where they can no longer see you, you keep the smile as wide as you can until it trembles out of place.

/Very well done, Y/N,/ Hecton congratulates.

You huff out a tiring breath, massaging your cheeks before regaining your posture and masking your frown with a much softer smile as you respond. /It's exhausting./

He offers a sympathetic look. /Maybe so, but they love it./ He glances at you again, noticing the fatigue in your eyes and your twitching lips, the nerves kicking from overuse. He sighs, taking your hand and turning you to him.

/You've got to keep them happy./

You look at him, how his words reflected a deeper worry, a double meaning that surpasses the gratification of your adoring crowds. Your eyes glue to his own, solemn, sober—a fair contrast from the faces surrounding you, drunk on the sap of their own self-importance.

/I know,/ you nod.

The tense moment is interrupted as a new player enters the arena. Hecton is the one to turn first, redirecting your attention toward the person approaching you. You immediately smile, an instinct by this point as you turn your gaze on your next audience. It only takes a moment for you to recognize the person, and your smile comes a little easier.

Seeing the situation before he approaches, Finnick wonders whether or not it would be appropriate to interrupt. But when your mentor turns and you turn with him, and you smile a more genuine smile upon seeing him, he finds that he doesn't really care if it's appropriate right now.

"You're quite the personality," he says as he steps up, smiling himself as he tilts his head.

"They love quiet, happy girls," Hecton translates as you sign. Finnick really doesn't think his voice suits you, coarse and thick with an accent hard to find.

"That, they do," he nods. He licks his bottom lip, "So you'll be headed back off today?"

You turn toward Hecton, your jaw clenching briefly before you turn back. "Soon. I've got some business tonight and then we'll be off tomorrow."

"Business?" he raises a curious brow, taking a small step forward as his lips quirked. "What kind of business?"

You tilt your chin, a nervous kind of smile on your lips as you move a hooked finger from your nose to your cupped hand. "Nosey," you tease, though Hecton speaks it flatly.

"Oh, it's a secret?" he wonders, even more curious now. He doesn't speak like a creep as he continues, holding that same teasing feeling while also offering his genuine curiosity. "I have a thing for secrets, y'know. I can keep it safe for you…"

You do it again, with a little more delight this time. Again, Hecton's translation holds no ounce of the delight you give off as you talk to Finnick. "Nosey," he repeats, this time with a little more sternness to get him to stop asking. You give him a side glance, but he isn't affected.

Before you can communicate anything else, Hecton's sets his hand on your lower back. It isn't patronizing, he's just used to guiding you, your protector.

"Come now, Y/N," he says. "It's time we were off."

You sigh gently but nod, still smiling as you glanced up at him. You begin to wave to Finnick, but he speaks as you're waving your hand.

"Am I free to visit down in District 10?" he asks, his tone light and playful to avoid sounding as hopeful as he feels. He's just met you, and he wants to know you.

You nod quickly, too eager. You move two fingers over your fist, missing the way Hecton doesn't translate. But Finnick can figure that one out himself.

His chest floods with relief. "I'll keep it in mind."

You wave. /Goodbye, Finnick./ The way you sign his name is different. Where he is expecting to see the familiar letters you showed him last night, he finds a wave of your hands and a fond smile.

He winks at you. "Goodbye, sweetcheeks."

You scrunch your nose, circling your hand over your belly. /Gross./

Hecton is already walking you away as Finnick blows you a cheesy kiss, mirroring the one you'd done for the audience earlier. You wave him off, smiling and shaking your head as you go.

When you're far enough from him, walking away from backstage to wherever you were headed now, Hecton's intense brows are furrowed in what you can only assume is annoyance at his distrust in Finnick.

/You seemed familiar./

/Stop./

Music to My Eyes taglist: ... This is a temporary taglist for those who want to be tagged in the sequel to Music to My Eyes, Finnick Odair x Reader. Please keep in mind that once the second part is posted, the tag will disappear. Feel free to DM, comment, or send me an ask to be added, if you would like. Or simply add yourself here...

[lacrimosathedark]

THAT'S IT! This is a Janet Drake Defense Post

As may be obvious, I spend a lot of time reading fanfic. And there's this trend that drives me nuts, and it's villainizing Janet Drake.

I'm not gonna say she's an A+ mother. She's not. She chose her career and adventures over spending time with her child much of the time. But fandom portrays her as some rich pompous ice queen, which is never shown.

Janet Drake mostly appears in the story Tim's introduced, and in the story she dies.

So, let's start from the top: Haly's Circus.

This event is the only time we see her really interacting with Tim before her death, but it shows that at least when he was young, she was an active part of his life. She was worried about bringing Tim because it might scare him. And then rightfully scolds her husband for being sexist because Jack Drake actually IS a jerk.

...I don't like the art in this comic. Or that the writer doesn't know how kids speak.

But Janet is being supportive of Tim's clear interest in Dick's performance.

And then tragedy strikes and she acts like, y'know, a mother.

Her priority is getting her son and herself out of there.

Also worth noting that the Drakes sent a copy of that final photo of the Graysons TO Dick, which is how he has it at all. If both of them were stuck up pricks, would they even bother sending a photo to a grieving child performer they hardly know? I can't imagine Jack really bothering, but I don't see why Janet wouldn't.

And then, by the time she's dying, we know that Tim's parents have been away for a very long time, he never knows where they are, but they've communicated enough that he knows that they've been fighting.

They're passive aggressive to say the least. This marriage is clearly not working anymore.

EDIT CUZ I REMEMBERED A THING:

It's worth noting that this is a time before smartphones. This comic was released in 1990, which was when pre-paid mobile phones had just started existing. Coverage isn't universal NOW, so back then it was even less, and Jack and Janet are archeologists (or archeologist adjacent?) so they're going to be in less developed and populated areas most of the time. It's unlikely they'd have consistent access to a functional phone that could call the states to talk to Tim regularly.

This isn't to defend their absence, because fuck that, but it's to give it some context. I don't think they were trying to ignore or abandon Tim. Communication was just not readily available and Janet seems to get wrapped up in work...and Jack's an asshole.

Also for note, Janet is probably the one sending Tim postcards in the first place. It being signed "Mom and Dad" is what makes me think that. Jack would have put himself first if he wrote it, it woulda said "Dad and Mom". That's admittedly pure speculation, BUT IT FITS SOOOOOO

My thought is if this were made modern, Janet would be sending extremely scattered texts and Tim would get next to nothing from Jack unless Janet prompted him.

END EDIT

(Fair warning, this story is a few levels of Yikes, but I'm gonna stay on topic)

Bad guy Obeah Man does...something? to the pilot, and they crash, and he has a group of people kidnap the Drakes and their assistant Jeremy.

Danger really puts some things in perspective, for Janet, at least. And that continues for her. Jack is a bit delusional and in denial, thinking he has any control of the situation.

They are tied up and filmed for ransom, their assistant killed right in front of them.

Jack just keeps raging, but Janet is having regrets. Notice how she doesn't cry until Tim is brought up. Could be nothing, could be something.

And then she dies.

Her only other major appearance is when Tim is having a fever dream from the Clench and everything is kind of okay for a minute.

Tim very clearly loves his mom. And we may not get a lot of characterization for her, but she's not cold or callous like people write her constantly.

And now, we finally have a little more about her as of Batman 134.

I haven't really been keeping up since the Gotham War stuff because What The Fuck Was That My Guy, but I recently saw this specific comic.

The multiverse is fucked up again, some way some how, and Bruce is lost (again) and Tim has to get him back (again). This time, Tim is going in after him. But he doesn't end up going straight to Bruce.

He goes to see an alt of his mom.

Tim missed her so much that he ended up going to her before Bruce.

And her immediate reaction is to run up and hug him. Does that look like a mother who doesn't love her son?

"Do you have anyone to take care of you?"

"I don't know how this happened, this miracle...but I just know, in my heart of hearts, it was to show me...that every version of my son is a good one."

Tell me again that this woman is heartless and didn't want her son, I fucking dare you.

And we get more meaning to the name "Robin" and a little crumb about Tim's grandmother. As a treat.

This is all to say, please stop writing Janet Drake as a cold, heartless bitch.

Small final note though: Jack Drake is, in fact, a shitty person and a shitty father. He does still love Tim and Tim loves him AND THAT IS NOT UP FOR DEBATE, but the relationship is a mess. If either parent is actively abusive, it's 1000% Jack "smashed a TV because my son wasn't listening to me and threatened Bruce Wayne at gunpoint" Drake. Probably part of why the marriage was falling apart.

Anyway, yeah, let's retire the "Jack and Janet Drake are Bad Parents" tag and replace it with "Jack Drake is a Bad Parent" and "Janet Drake's C+ Parenting" or something.