#this is not a choice I'm making. to be clear.

[armandsfangs]

Arun is the only name he has that is a connection to his ethnic origins BEFORE he was bought and sold as a slave. When he shares his backstory he says he's not sure if that was his name, he doesn't say that the brothel renamed him as Arun. In contrast, we know with 100% certainty that Amadeo and Armand are European names that were forced on him by Marius and Santino respectively when he was under their manipulation and abuse. Amadeo and Armand are far more associated with his enslavement and loss of autonomy. Especially in the context of this scene, they're talking about whether he wants to continue being coven leader with the whole Santiago problem. Armand is the name that is tied to his torture by the cult of darkness and being forced to take a leadership position that he explicitly said he did not want. Before this line, Louis is literally saying that it should be up to Armand to decide whether or not he wants to continue being coven leader or do something else. He is very explicitly making sure that Armand knows he has a choice in the matter this time, unlike before. I think the whole conversation has to be taken into account, not just the one line, because the whole thing is doublespeak for negotiating their bdsm relationship (introduced by the umbrella) up to the point Armand confirms that he wants Louis to be his coven leader ("Yes Maître"). Also the line itself being framed as a question lends itself to being interpreted as Louis checking in for consent. If he made a statement like "Listen to me, Arun" I would agree that it's forceful. But it's already established in s1 that Louis feels guilty about being a pimp, so I think it makes sense that in this scene, he's trying to make sure this power dynamic is consensual. (I do think that loumand devolves into reliving their trauma in the pimp/slave roles by Dubai, but not at this point in Paris.) Louis never forces Armand to be submissive to him before this, he's like "if you want me, I'm out here in the streets" which is leaving the choice up to Armand whether or not to pursue him (and it struck me as the inverse of Lestat saying "Come to me") so I don't think it's consistent with his character up to this point to suddenly force Armand to do smth he doesn't want to do. Face down in the coffin happens later after they establish the relationship, and even after that Louis doesn't force Armand to change Madeleine when it's clear that Armand is upset.

Also I just wanted to add the umbrella was put away when Louis was with Dreamstat, not when he's with Armand, so to me that was clear symbolism of Louis deciding to let go of Lestat and handing the umbrella to Armand is the expression of his desire to start the relationship with Armand.

Anyways I already went into a lot of detail in an earlier reblog and I feel like I'm repeating myself so I'll just end it here.

"Are you sure this is what you want, Arun?" is THE most romantic Loumand line to me because this is Louis, knowing that Armand has suffered a life of abuse, of being bent and broken and reshaped to his captors' will, knowing that he has a complicated relationship with his own sense of self from the history he has shared, taking care to ask I want to know if you actually want this as yourself, not as Amadeo, the Maestro's perfect muse, not as Armand, the fearsome coven leader, but as Arun, the real you, before you were forced into those roles against your will. Arun, who did not have a choice then, you are free to make the choice now. Are you sure that you want this?

Which makes it extra unhinged that Armand's response is basically "yes daddy"

[isuggestforcefem]

Forcefem February story: Nicole saves Ethan

Part one - Nicole

It began as it usually did. Nicole, a poor helpless orphaned young woman, with a story to make the most stoic of men sob, and such a great excuse for her to join the town. The town's eldest was wary of her. He knew, she thought. Or at least, he suspected something. Nevertheless. That wouldn't stop her. This wasn't her first, anymore. Nicole knew how to handle herself. Keep herself en guarde.

It did make her job less fun, though. She had barely any respite, needed a consistent story and a consistent character, every moment of her waking day. And she couldn't work at night, lest they see the light of her room.

Angela had been very lovely, on this part. The old woman had allowed Nicole to stay in her ex-husband's study, as it hadn't been used in years. Angela had lost him, she would say, on the lonely nights. He had walked out one day, and never came back. Taken by the night, she would say. Nicole wondered if she knew, too. She wondered if the creaks of wood she heard from behind her door were Angela, watching her, spying her.

All that to say it really wasn't a fun time. She yearned for the plan to enter motion. It had already been a month! Usually, she could have had cleared step one in a week, at most, but clearly, Diana's choice of town still lacked. She'd have to talk about it with her, once she was back. Even though Diana was her best friend and most trusted ally at the Academy, she still lacked a lot of technical skills. Maybe that was why the administration still refused her application for solo missions. "I ought to help Diana out", Nicole thought to herself. Her friend was her senior in experience and yet Nicole risked graduating before her.

Nicole approached the mirror. She was still as beautiful as ever. Surely, this face would be enough to sway most hearts. Her hair was undone. She grabbed her hairpin, held a strand of hair, and clipped it onto her hair. Suddenly, a swirl of magic took control of the brunette's hair, assembled it in a neat ponytail. She messed with it a little bit. Better not make it look too neatly woven. She had an image to keep up. She grabbed her dress, Angela had washed it for her. What a treasure of a woman. She almost felt guilty to betray her trust in this way. But then again, she always did. It never stopped her.

Going down the stairs, Nicole yelled "I'm ready!". Angela's brother had asked for a helping hand. It did upset her plans,, but she had to keep up appearances until the end. She could still do it tonight. She would do it tonight. She had faith.

The day seemed to never end. She had been gathering herbs for hours by now, but still Angela's brother showed no sign of going back home. At least the sun was still high. Finally, the man spoke to her. "I think we're done for today, you can go back." "Oh thanks," she said, without a trace of emotion in her voice. Finally, speaking her soul.

This place was boring. The local pub served frankly disappointing alcohols, and was only inhabited by things that were more of the decaying corpse than they were of the person. The town's center was usually occupied by a group of gangsters - guards - that looked at her like she was a piece of meat. Whatever. This would soon be over.

There he was, her target. A boy named Ethan. He had little presence, few friends. Nobody would miss him. Nobody would care.

She would.

He had short black hair, wore a white shirt and brown pants. She had seen boys like him by the dozen, and all of them had became beautiful, happy girls. He would follow.

"Hi," Nicole exclaimed brightly, with a little wave, "I'm here early! -Nicole! Hello, I am glad to see you. -I have a gift for you!" Saying this, Nicole reached for her bag's contents. There was a choice to be made; four rings from which to decide the step to take.

[spiderfunkz]

MAGNETIC

pairings. se-mi x gn!reader

cw. very socially anxious reader, established relationship, fluff.

author's note: hehe i love se-mi. also please send requests for squid game characters!! check out the characters i write for here.

se-mi was so undeniably cool.

you couldn't decide what made you so attracted to her in the first place. she was the complete opposite of you, but you know what people say, opposites attract. she was confident, witty and funny, she had piercings that shined just right under lights, her hair was so effortlessly put together, she was like a magnet!

she tried to keep it casual between you, but is anything ever just casual with her? she would hold your hand in public spaces, rub your back when you felt down, her words were as light as air and travelled to your ears like wind.

it went on until you two decided to date. and today, she's set up the perfect night at a restaurant, just the two of you. the skies were clear of rain, the streets were lit in an orange-like-tone, and though your heart was beating rapidly— se-mi held your waist gently.

the restaurant was more crowded than you'd imagine. fortunately, se-mi booked a booth that was quite secluded. it didn't really cover how much your ears were ringing though, you've never been good with crowds or loud places. it has always made you anxious, your feet was bouncing up and down, and your heart was still beating rapidly.

the waiter came not long after, you were trying to focus on the words of the page.

"hello, wonderful night we're having, i'll be your waiter. what can i get you two?" the waiter's voice echoed your eyes. se-mi ordered her meal of choice before her eyes laid on you. she's intelligent, nothing can go past without her notice.

"and what would you like?" the waiter's eyes were on you now, you could sense the pressure building slowly but surely. like a tide, a huge wave will come soon. "um," you struggled to get the correct words out— "i'm sorry, i'm not sure,"— you flip through the pages swiftly, as if that'll help. no pictures on the menu either.

you look at se-mi and shook your head lightly, just enough for her to notice. "uh, we'll take a moment, that's all for now." she states, the waiter repeats her order before walking away.

"it's okay, you can take your time, baby. i can call the waiter anytime if you'd like."

"no, it's just," you took a sharp inhale, "i'm fine." se-mi's brows furrowed. you took deep breaths, just like how she guided you. "i'm okay," you nodded, se-mi offered her hand in which you held it tight.

"okay, deep breaths," she smiled, "no one is pressuring you. remember that."

"the waiter kept clicking their pen," — "that doesn't mean anything, they're probably just making sure to get your order right, it's their job."

you sigh, se-mi played with the rings on your finger, "you wanna order now? they've got your favorites on the menu. take your time."

"i'll buy you ice cream after." she kisses your hand, specifically your ring finger.

[okaysonny]

okkkayy, what if jake got his gf pregnant before marriage what would his mom’s reaction be + other big deal members 😶😶?? (love your fics btww!!!)

ACCIDENTAL PREGNANCY 😧 ╏ jake kim

a/n: unserious. and thanks anon!

you always use protection. plus, the pill is 99% effective at preventing this. and yet...

"...i'm pregnant"

★ jake stands there with a stupid look on his face because he's stupid.

★ to be honest, he doesn't want to bring a child into the world when he's leading big deal. jake wants to retire before even thinking about it. he loves you, but this isn't something he planned for.

★ has a serious discussion about the risks, making sure you understand the weight of the situation. still, he knows it's your choice in the end. once it's clear you want to keep the baby, jake respects your decision. he's the type to step up no matter what.

★ watches parenting videos at night while rubbing his temples.

★ tells minseon first 😬 this is the part that scares him the most.

★ his mom: pissed as hell 🤣

★ the second jake tells her, she puts out her cigarette with tight lips. he's already sweating.

"jake kim" "...yes, mother?" "are you telling me you got a girl pregnant before putting a ring on her finger?" "t-the thing is..." "like father, like son"

★ she’d ask all the hard questions: how are you going to raise a baby in this life? do you think this is fair to the child? are you ready for this kind of responsibility?

★ anddd i have a feeling that if you're from a 'normal' family, she'd have more reservations. not that minseon is classist, but y'know...

★ jake explains that you always did it safely, so the pregnancy wasn't from recklessness. he's aware of the risks, but it's your decision to keep the baby. he wants to step up and support you.

★ ...that does get her eyes to soften.

"well...in any case, i know you'll do a better job than your own father"

★ i think in canon right now, jake and his mother have a strained relationship. as far as we know, he only visits minseon when he needs something! 😅 + she resents that he supposedly hates his father...yet became a gangster like him and left her on her own...just like gapryong.

★ but minseon also knows that jake didn't inherit his womanizing side. she knows that he'll be a great father, even if he doesn't think so.

★ she may be tough, but deep down, she’s happy about a grandchild...even subtly offers to mind the baby if jake is too busy and you need a break.

★ she ends up cooking for you. the baby needs to be healthy.

now...he needs to tell big deal...

★ sinu would be so happy for jake. he cares about him like a younger brother, so once the initial shock settles, he���d smile and congratulate him properly.

but then it would hit him.

jake, who never seemed to care about relationships in the first place, is having a kid before him.

"god...yeonhui is gonna have a field day with this. you better start saving man. kids are expensive"

★ would yeonhui scare him as a joke? absolutely.

"sinu, what if i accidentally got pregnant? would you step up like jake?" "h-hold on..."

★ you already know jerry would do the absolute most 😭

★ immediately places a loyalty hand on jake's shoulder.

"boss…you’re going to be a father?" his voice is trembling, like jake just told him he's DYING. "i will lay down my life for this child. it is my duty as number 2" "jerry...i didn't even ask you to- are you crying?"

★ jerry starts researching baby vitamins + recommending parenting books. already thinking about making the child wear a tiny big deal jacket.

★ jason and brad feel like the same characters to me. i'm sorry. i guess jason is portrayed as more blunt and serious?

"jake...don't take this the wrong way, but i don't think you know anything about babies" "you don't think i know that, jason?"

★ the girls knit a baby blanket together :') and make one of those "we're so excited to meet you" videos.

★ jake would not half ass being a dad. he’d try his hardest to balance big deal and fatherhood, even though it won’t be easy. but the baby will be loved. from the parents, the girls and big deal.

bonus!

lineman leans back in his chair, surveying the small pile of cash on the table. "alright, i’m locking in my bet — it’s a boy"

lua scoffs. "nah, you’re wrong. it’s definitely a girl. and she’s gonna have him wrapped around her finger before she can talk"

lineman shakes his head. "a girl? we’d have to protect her from all the freaks in this city. a boy would be easier"

"a boy would be just as much trouble!" she rolls her eyes. "but imagine boss jake with a daughter. he’d be like, the ultimate girl dad"

"tch, we’ll see about that. alright, bets are at 50/50. let's see if anyone else wants to-"

"...guys" an all too familiar voice booms behind them.

lineman and lua turn to look at jerry like children caught with the cookie jar.

"you’re betting on boss jake’s child? his future offspring?" he shakes his head in disappointment. "this is incredibly inappropriate"

lineman and lua exchange a guilty glance.

lua has the courage to speak. "i mean…yeah, but—"

"shame on you two" jerry crosses his arms. "both of them deserve respect, not this gambling on their unborn child’s gender"

lineman suddenly has an idea. "so jerry...you must think it's a girl, right?"

jerry nods. "obviously. can't you see it? imagine her holding jake's pinkie with her tiny little hands"

lua smirks, catching lineman's drift as he discreetly slides a notepad to her. "so hypothetically...you'd place a bet on girl?"

he closes his eyes, lost in thought. "exactly. she’d teach him patience, unconditional love—"

lua nods, cutting him off as she jots notes down. "mhm. yeah. and how much are you putting down?"

jerry strokes his chin. "i'd say...30,000 won, easy-"

he blinks. "wait..."

jerry's jaw drops, the betrayal evident on his face. "you tricked me"

lineman grins, holding his hands up. "of course not. you just wanna see boss jake become a girl dad. that’s passion"

jerry opens his mouth to argue — then closes it. he shamefully places cash on the table.

"this stays between us" he whispers, glancing from side to side.

lua nods in satisfaction. "of course"

jason walks by, looking at the money on the table. "you guys are still on this? fine, put me down for a boy. 75,000 won"

˚⊱🪷⊰˚

jake blinks in disbelief when the truth gets exposed. "...you guys are betting? on my child?"

lineman, lua, and jason whistle, staring at the wall in fascination.

jake looks at jerry, expecting some shame.

jerry looks down, fiddling with his fingers. "...i was tricked"

divider: @thecutestgrotto

[pukefactory]

I'm not sure if you take twisted!reader requests, but if you do. Then could I request platonic Twisted!user who is surprisingly chill and non-violent with RnD?

Hehe, of course! This is such an adorable concept, and I had a lot of fun writing it. I ended up making it a headcanon post instead of a short story because I had too many ideas for just one scenario—I hope that’s alright!

────༺ LIFEJAM ༻────

ᗢ Summary: A compilation of headcanons featuring RnD with a Twisted reader

ᗢ Character(s): Razzle and Dazzle (Dandy’s World)

ᗢ Genre: Headcanons, Fluff, SFW

ᗢ Warning(s): None - Completely Safe!

⟢ When they first encounter you, RnD are terrified, just as they would be with any other Twisted. However, when they realize you mean no harm, they lower their defenses and attempt to communicate. Razzle does his best to speak with you, while Dazzle remains hesitant, voicing his concerns—though Razzle quickly dismisses them, albeit with some uncertainty of his own. Yet, due to your unexpectedly calm nature, they both gradually relax the more Razzle interacts with you.

⟢ Eventually, you wander off, leaving RnD to fill the ichor machines alone. As they work, they catch a glimpse of you chasing another toon around the area. They immediately stop and rush to their friend’s aid, but the moment you spot them, you halt, simply staring at RnD before turning around and walking away once more—leaving them, and everyone else, even more confused than before.

⟢ After finishing with their respective machines, RnD begins searching the area for items for themselves and their teammates. During their venture, they are intercepted by you, who nonchalantly hands them a box of bandages without a word. Before they can thank you, you walk off, only to return moments later with a first aid kit just for them. Finally, they get the chance to express their gratitude. Though you simply nod in response before scurrying away again, the pair remain very thankful for your help—even if they find you a bit perplexing.

⟢ Actually, you may go a bit overboard when giving RnD items. While you do hand them useful supplies, you also give them anything you come across—chocolate bars, candy, sodas—just whatever happens to be lying around. You provide so much in such a short time that they eventually have to start stacking everything in a corner. The rest of the toons are frustrated that you’ve left them with nothing, not even a single item. However, at least they can rely on RnD for whatever they need, and your constant gift-giving keeps you distracted, allowing them to work on their machines in peace.

⟢ Once the floor is nearly cleared of items, RnD decides to keep you occupied and away from the other toons by showing you what you’ve given them. They attempt to explain what each item is, which ones they prefer, and which they don’t. Though this was originally meant as a distraction, the pair soon become engrossed in their one-sided conversation while you calmly listen, occasionally responding with muffled groans. It’s nice to have someone who listens.

⟢ Just because you get along with RnD doesn’t mean the other Twisteds do. If another Twisted tries to attack them, you immediately become hostile, chasing them off and, in some cases, even attacking them. You take on the role of RnD’s personal protector, driving away any threats that come their way. They appreciate your vigilance—at least until you start turning your attention toward the toons. At that point, RnD has to quickly find a way to distract you before you can harm their friends.

⟢ When it’s time to leave, RnD feels conflicted about abandoning you but ultimately knows they have no choice. As they depart, guilt lingers, and they briefly consider finding a way to bring you along—until they realize you would be a danger to the other toons. That’s okay, though, because they can always visit, and they do! You may not be much for conversation, but you’re kind, protective, and always ready to help when needed. Even if you’re not who you once were, RnD still cares about you deeply—and that means something.

[andpierres]

i'm going to say something here and i want you all to know that i am not exaggerating, and i am not trying to fear monger, merely stating what to me seems to be a clear truth -- if you are transgender & currently live in the US, if you have the means/desire/capability to, you need to start thinking about leaving.

i know its not accessible to everyone. i'm sorry. i know many others who are making the choice to stay -- i admire you. but even if you don't intend or want to leave, i would put together a go bag just in case. look into options. just in case.

we should not be complying in advance but the federal government is happily doing so regardless of what is actually legal or not. "legal" is not something that matters to those above the law.

ive seen anecdotes of people having their passports confiscated in airports due to a record mismatch between their BC and their passport (in MINNESOTA, even), and not to mention in LA where a trans woman was completely denied her documents after trying to change her gender marker.

the government does not care that an EO isn't the law & you need to be aware of what you might need to do to keep yourself safe. that's all

[bearprofessorr]

chasing the stars, part 2.

seeking each other out once is a coincidence, twice is a choice.

ship: bfd!declan o'hara/fem!reader. tags/warnings: slow burn, very tiny Declan POV, reader smoking, references to cheating, no y/n. word count: 2.3k

Part 1 here!

a/n: so. i did in fact speak some famous last words - i forgot that uni exists again and got distracted with life stuff, sorry y'all!! Still writing p3, it's at 1.6k and I'm nowhere near done so... yay? enjoy :)

Taggie, as ever, had made a beautiful meal, with your occasional assistance and constant motivation to combat her self-doubt. And as the evening wound down, now that Caitlin and Patrick had been back at their respective institutions and Maud was back and forth between London and the Cotswolds - mostly in London as of recent - the house was quiet most of the time - even more so if Taggie was out for the night either at your or on the town. Declan was appreciative for the noise, even if the loud pop music and over the top singing sometimes woke him up in the early hours of the morning, he preferred it over the eerie silence that lingered in the creaky house when it was just him.

The girls were set up in the living room, with lamps and candles being the only light setting the atmosphere around them with some rerun of an old film playing from the TV - but the light chatter and laughter overtop made it clear they were barely watching it. As Declan walked past the archway to the living room, he noted at least 2 empty bottles on the table, and one half-full. He was glad Taggie had someone to confide in, and even more glad that it was someone as truly wonderful as you. Regardless of any pull he felt toward you, his priority was always to put his daughter's happiness over his own - even if at times he let that fall to the wayside in pursuit of grander things. Now that he was making plans to leave Corinium - if Tony would just let him - he hoped that it would help him prioritise keeping those he loved happy. Even if that happiness meant letting them go.

Taggie ended up falling asleep on the sofa adjacent to yours, the wine making her blink out as soon as she brought her blanket around her shoulders. You, however, were wide awake. The film had long since ended, and you didn't want to risk changing the channel and waking her up. So, as quietly as you could, you rummaged around in your bag for your tobacco and papers before darting around to the kitchen so you could turn on the light. The process of rolling was therapeutic - even if Taggie chastised you for the habit, it was one you had gained at the bright age of 15 from your sister and never looked back.

Just as you approached the main door to sit outside on the stairs, a familiar voice chirped up from behind you, surprise in his tone, "You smoke?"

You looked over your shoulder to see Declan, still dressed in his suit, minus the tie, unbuttoned to the chest. He plucked a cigarette from the packet in his pocket, letting it hang between his lips as he walked toward you. "It's fine, you can smoke in here, there's no need to go outside."

"I know, I just prefer it. It's a nice night out - no clouds so I reckon you could see the stars pretty clearly." You smiled, turning the handle and stepping out, leaving the door open behind you in case he chose to follow. He did, stepping out into the chill air beside you, the flick of his lighter the only sound between the pair as he lit his, before offering the flame to you. The silent communication between smokers was a language you knew well, leaning over with the cigarette between your lips, and Declan brought up his hand to cup in the direction of the wind, shielding it.

The night was as beautiful as you thought, the treeline being a lovely backdrop to the sky above, with stars twinkling in the clear night sky. You settled yourself on the step of the house, tucking your knees to your chest and pulling your cardigan closer to yourself as a breeze blew past them both. You broke the silence, as you had a habit of doing, "Can't sleep?"

"I don't fall asleep until the early hours most nights now without some help." Declan admitted, blowing out a breath of smoke. "Yourself?"

"Me neither." You agreed, "Self-inflicted, but for the most part there's nothing I need to be up for, if you understand me."

Declan hummed in agreement, letting the conversation drop off. Together, you sat in comfortable silence until you'd finished your respective cigarettes. You continued to sit, after flicking the end over to a pre-existing pile. "You don't need to stay out here just because I am."

"I know."

"It's cold, aren't you cold?"

"No, not really." He paused, a secondary layer of questioning under his next words, "Do you want to be alone?"

That was a question you had been pondering while you smoked, ever since you bumped into Declan before. The wine was clouding your judgement slightly, aiding to your honesty.

"No, I don't think so."

"Then I'll stay."

"Okay then."

Silence, again.

Then you asked a simple question, but a complicated one at the same time, "What you said earlier, how long have you felt like that?"

Declan knew immediately what you were talking about, and instinctively bit the inside of his lip. He reckoned he didn't know exactly when his opinion changed, he just knew when he stopped being so optimistic about it all. Maud, who was still legally his wife, didn't feel like a partner much these days. They lived such separate lives, he had no idea what she was doing day to day - just as she knew nothing of his life now.

"A while." He nodded, tired eyes looking out to the treeline. "It's a weird journey, it's not like there was one day I woke up and decided I couldn't keep going, I came to the realisation that it wasn't going to help anymore a few months ago."

"After she cheated?"

"After she cheated again." Declan corrected. "Then as soon as she came here, Rupert was all over her - and vice versa - and I think I knew it was never going to stop, even so far from the city. I don't want to have to move again just to stop all that."

"I get it." You agreed, leaning your head back to rest against the wall. "I stayed with my ex, after he cheated, thought he could change. He didn't, and I was naïve to think that he would." The memories still stung even though it had been months since you had broke things off, but the wine wasn't helping in that regard. "Not that you are- marriage is a different ball game entirely."

"Is it, though?" Declan sat down beside you, resting his elbows on his knees. "I thought she could change. She told me she could - that she had. I still love her, even though she cheated, and it stings."

"That's for you to decide, and by the sounds of it, you have." You tried to sound reassuring, but by the drop of Declan's smile across from you, it might not have been so helpful. You adjusted yourself to be able to look at him properly instead of just glancing over every so often. "It's not over, if that's what you think?"

"What do you mean?"

"You haven't run out of time to find someone else." You suggested, "I know it's still very raw, but rebounds are a real thing for a reason."

"I haven't even talked to her about it-"

"That doesn't mean shit and you know it." You let yourself speak freely, knowing partially the spirals you threw yourself in when you were in Declan's position. "She threw the relationship away as soon as she made the choice to sleep with someone else."

"Hey-"

"I'm sorry." You backtracked, seeing the same signs as your conversation earlier start to rise onto Declan's features, "I'll leave you be, sorry." You reiterated, going to stand, but Declan - like before - reached for you without words, asking you to stay for his sake over yours.

"It's alright, love." The nickname brought a smile to your lips, which was mirrored on Declan's as you sat back down outside. "I've felt the anger as well as all the moping."

"I know it's to be no better than them," You postured, to no one in particular, "but I considered cheating back just to know what all the fuss is about - is there something so exhilarating about it that makes it all make sense?" You bit at the skin on your lip, which as soon as you caught it, brushed your hand over it to try stop the habit, "I don't know. It was months ago but I'm still stuck on the 'why?' did he just not love me anymore? Was there some secret thing he didn't want to ask me to do so looked elsewhere to have that need satiated? It's stupid to think about it now, there's no way I'll ever get an answer from him-"

"It makes sense, though, doesn't it? To try and logically approach it…" Declan chimed in, evidently having done some similar thinking in his own time, "but, if my understanding of it is correct, it isn't based in logic - it's not a mastermind villain thing, it's out of desperation, not wanting to admit something to your partner so you fill it with someone else. Most of the time, from what I talked to Maud about, she didn't know how to talk to me about something, but felt more comfortable bringing it up with someone she had less ties to."

He pulled out another cigarette, offering the box to you, who took it with a smile, placing it between your fingers and reaching across for him to light it. You had a lighter, it was just easier to have Declan do it, at least that was how you rationalised it. You took a puff of it before responding with, "Very wise, more grounded than my approach, that's for certain."

"Wisdom comes with age, sometimes."

"It comes with experience, if you're shut off from the world, you can't exactly ponder on the nature of things you have no knowledge of."

"That's why I said sometimes." Declan added with a chuckle, lighting his own cigarette.

A thought came to you , one that was purely born from curiosity and nothing to do with your conversation in any substantial way, so you proposed, "Can I ask you something?"

"You can ask, I might not answer, though."

"Fair play." You took a moment to phrase the question in your head, looking at him to gauge his immediate reaction to your words, "If you were unspoken for, to put it nicely, what kind of woman would you go for?"

His eyebrows raised, his hand pausing on it's journey to put his cigarette up to his lips, instead falling to rest his forearm on his leg. His eyes broke from yours, looking to the gravel under his feet. He tapped the end of his cigarette, the ashes blowing away in the wind. "I'm not that picky, I'd say. Ideally, she'd be intelligent - at least to the point I can actually talk to her about the world."

Your mind flashed with memories of drunken philosophical talks and rants you've overheard over the months that you've known the O'Haras. Him and Taggie have had it out over life ideologies, with his daughter often taking the more optimistic approach and him the 'realist' outlook. It makes sense he would want someone he can stand toe to toe with in intellectual debate.

He pondered the question further, before continuing, "I'd want her to be passionate about her own hobbies, you know? I can't stand those wives who spend their days loitering around - it seems lifeless." His lips formed a scowl, a memory coming to the forefront of his mind transitioning it to a fond smile for a moment, "Maud, she used to be as busy as I was, and I loved her for it - she was always happier when she had a project. Then, as the years passed, she got placated by the repeat roles. Then it started to set in, the boredom, but by that point she lost the motivation to go to open calls and she just lounged around, trying to host parties to fill that social urge." He took a long breath out, "I can't do that anymore."

"I get it - I mean not exactly but I understand. Seeing your partner succeed and supporting them in that makes you realise why you fell in love with them all over again."

"Of course - it's a fluid thing," He agreed, a smile forming, "I hope, if things go the way I expect, that I could fall in love again."

"I said before, but there's no age limit to it. Taking that risk is timeless."

"Risk?"

"It is a risk - in my opinion - to fall in love with someone, especially if you don't know if they feel the same way. Even if you aren't in love, to put your heart out there takes courage." You blew out a cloud of smoke, "At least that's how it feels."

Declan hummed in recognition, "Of course." Something stirred in his chest, the process of moving on already having started. It was hard to think of a future so unfamiliar to what he's known, but it wasn't as daunting a concept as it had been a month ago. There were kind people, behind all of the rich folk who populated the valley, in the most unexpected places.

You shivered in the cold, the wine wearing off enough to catch a chill. You finished the rest of your cigarette, putting it out on the stone of the stair. "I'm going to head back inside, if that's alright?"

He looked up at you as you stood, bidding you farewell with a nod as he looked ahead to finish his second cigarette. "Goodnight, love. I might see you in the morning if you're still around."

"Goodnight, Declan."

[yourlittlegoblin]

{A Story in the Stars} Wanderer x Reader

Felt a bit nostalgic because I was thinking a lot about... well everything that recently happened in the past 5 years. Its kinda crazy that its 2025 and I should be sleeping now but um... just had to kinda write this because I'm in that semi-gloomy nostalgic feeling right now... So anyways as per usual I hope you enjoy and its gn!reader and fem!reader today/tonight

The sun hangs mercilessly overhead, casting ripples of heat over the sand as your boots sink with every step. The dry air burns your throat, but you push on, determined. This commission wasn’t supposed to be this grueling, just a simple escort mission through the Sumeru desert. Yet here you are—parched, weary, and regretting every choice that led to this moment.

Beside you, Wanderer walks with infuriating ease, his feet hovering just above the sand as if mocking your struggle. His arms are crossed, and his expression—per usual—is a mixture of disinterest and thinly veiled irritation.

"You’re slowing down," he remarks, his voice cool as a desert night.

"Thanks for the observation," you huff, wiping sweat from your brow. "Want to make yourself useful and carry the supplies?"

He scoffs, a sharp sound that barely disguises the smirk tugging at his lips. "And let you trip over yourself without me watching? I’d miss all the entertainment."

You glare at him, half tempted to throw the heavy pack in his direction. "I’m beginning to regret asking you to come."

"No, you’re not," he counters smoothly. "If I wasn’t here, some incompetent idiot from the guild would’ve taken this job. And you? You’d probably be halfway buried in sand by now."

You roll your eyes but can’t entirely argue. "So you admit you’re here because you don’t trust anyone else to keep me safe?"

He’s silent for a moment, the only sound between you the crunch of shifting sand. Then, with a sigh, he glances at you from the corner of his eye.

"At least one of us has to be sensible," he mutters. "Two fools wandering a desert wouldn’t end well."

A laugh escapes you before you can stop it—warm and bright despite the heat. His words may be sharp, but there’s no mistaking the edge of care beneath them.

"Thank you," you say softly.

His eyes narrow as if trying to brush off your gratitude, but a flicker of something gentler softens his gaze. He looks forward again, the barest hint of a smirk tugging at his lips.

"Don’t make me regret this," he grumbles, but the fondness lingers long after the words have faded into the desert air.

{A few long hours later}

The sun had long dipped below the horizon, leaving the sky painted in hues of purple and indigo. Stars blinked to life as a cool breeze whispered through the desert’s edge, where sand met dry, twisted trees and sparse greenery. You push past a low branch, balancing the bundle of firewood in your arms, as the soft glow of your makeshift camp comes into view.

"Finally," you sigh, stepping into the clearing. "I was starting to think the trees had some personal vendetta against me."

Wanderer doesn’t look up from his work. He’s crouched by a crude structure of overlapping branches and cloth he’d managed to fashion into a respectable shelter. His hands move deftly as he secures the last knot with a precise pull.

"Maybe they do," he says flatly. "It would explain how long you were gone."

"Ha-ha," you deadpan, dumping the wood near the fire pit. "How’s the shelter coming along?"

"Finished." He stands, brushing the dust from his hands with a look of casual superiority. "Of course, since I’m the one who built it."

You roll your eyes but can’t hide the small smile tugging at your lips. The shelter is… impressive. Sturdy, well-positioned to block the wind, and, dare you say, cozy. You tilt your head, watching as he kneels by the fire pit to spark a flame. His movements are measured, precise—controlled in a way that speaks of experience.

"Where’d you learn all this?" you ask, settling beside him.

He pauses, a flicker of something unreadable passing over his face before he replies, "I’ve been around."

"You mean you’ve had to camp a lot," you guess, eyes never leaving him as he strikes the flint again. Sparks dance in the air, catching the kindling with a soft crackle. The glow of the fire reflects in his eyes, sharp and clear.

He doesn’t answer directly, but the silence feels telling. "Knowing how to survive isn’t exactly something to admire," he murmurs.

"But I do admire it," you say quietly. "It’s not just about surviving. It’s about being prepared, staying calm—knowing what to do when others wouldn’t."

He glances at you then, the firelight casting shadows along his sharp features. For a moment, something unspoken lingers between you—an understanding that needs no words.

Finally, he turns away, the corner of his mouth twitching. "Well, it’s a good thing I’m here to keep you from wandering off into a desert abyss."

"And it’s a good thing I’m here to remind you to eat and be a decent human being," you retort, grinning.

"Fair trade," he mutters, shaking his head as the flames grow steady and warm.

The fire crackled between you both, the silence stretching out as you poked at the mushrooms with your stick, trying to keep them from burning. The heat from the fire seeped through your clothes, a comfort after the biting chill of the desert night. You couldn’t help but glance over at Wanderer every now and then, noticing how the glow from the flames highlighted the sharp features of his face.

"Do you think we’ll find the way back tomorrow?" you asked, trying to break the tension that had settled between you both. His eyes flickered for a moment before he gave a small, almost imperceptible shrug.

"Eventually," he replied, his tone flat but with a hint of something unspoken.

You caught his gaze for a brief second, but he turned away quickly, refocusing on the fire. It was odd, this quiet between you. Despite the lack of words, there was a certain unspoken understanding in the air, something that neither of you were quite ready to address.

You sighed, poking at the mushrooms again, unsure whether to say anything more. The fire crackled, the only sound breaking the silence.

The scent of roasting mushrooms filled the air, mingling with the earthy aroma of the forest floor and the crackling warmth of the fire. You sat cross-legged, the simple meal skewered on a stick held above the flames. Across from you, Wanderer remained silent, his gaze distant as the flickering light danced shadows over his face.

The quiet stretched, heavy and strange. You sneak a glance at him, as you had been doing for the past several minutes, eyes tracing the delicate lines of his profile. His expression was composed—impassive, even—but you could sense the restless tension coiled beneath his surface, a storm held tightly in check.

The mushrooms browned and sizzled. You shifted your grip, watching as Wanderer’s eyes flicked momentarily toward you, then away just as quickly. When you finally took a bite, the flavor was… unimpressive. Bland, slightly earthy, with no real seasoning or flair.

You chew thoughtfully before offering him a piece. "Want some?"

He eyes it, his lip curling slightly before he takes the food with a measured movement. A small, quiet bite follows.

"It’s bland," he remarks, voice flat. "But it’s a roasted mushroom. What else would it be?"

You fight back a grin at his predictably underwhelmed reaction. "Better than starving," you point out, turning your skewer over to finish the rest.

He hums, noncommittal, and the silence returns. But it feels different now—less uncomfortable, more familiar. You keep glancing at him, the warmth of the fire not quite matching the flicker of heat in your chest.

Finally, his eyes meet yours again, sharp and knowing. "You’ve been staring."

"Have I?" you ask, feigning innocence.

He tilts his head, gaze never wavering. "Why?"

"Maybe I just find you interesting," you say lightly, but your heart quickens.

"Interesting," he repeats, the word hanging in the air between you. A smirk, subtle but unmistakable, tugs at the corner of his lips. "You should be more careful. Staring too long at dangerous things tends to have consequences."

"And yet, here I am," you counter softly, the fire crackling between you both, "still staring."

His eyes narrow slightly, but there’s no sharpness in them now—only something softer, something almost amused, as he looks back at you.

.

.

.

.

The fire had long since dwindled to embers, casting only a faint, warm glow that barely pushed back the shadows of the forest. You lay cocooned in your sleeping bag, the fabric warm and soft against your skin, but your mind wouldn’t rest. Every rustling leaf, every distant call of the desert’s nocturnal creatures kept you awake. You sighed quietly, shifting for what felt like the hundredth time.

Beside you, Wanderer lay still, his hands folded behind his head, eyes half-lidded and focused on the endless sprawl of stars above. The silver moonlight kissed his features, sharp and serene, while his chest rose and fell with steady breaths. He looked peaceful—almost—but the subtle tension in his frame betrayed him.

“You’re awake too,” you murmur, voice barely above a whisper.

He doesn’t turn to look at you. “Obviously.”

A small silence lingers before you speak again. “What are you thinking about?”

“Nothing important.” His tone is as cool and detached as ever, but there’s a weight beneath it, something distant and unreachable.

You roll onto your side, the fabric of your sleeping bag crinkling softly. “You know,” you say, watching him, “the stars are said to carry stories. Every one of them is a memory or a legend.”

His eyes flick toward you, a faint scoff escaping his lips. “Sentimental nonsense. Stars are just burning gas, light that reaches us from countless miles away. Stories are things people make up to feel less alone.”

You pause, searching his expression. “And what’s wrong with that? Feeling less alone?”

He doesn’t answer immediately. The silence stretches between you like a thread pulled taut. Then, his voice softens—barely. “Nothing, I suppose. If it works.”

The ground is cool beneath you as you shift upright, the stars above twinkling like promises waiting to be kept. Without a word, you shuffle closer, dragging your sleeping bag until it’s right beside his. Wanderer glances at you, the arch of his brow a silent question, but he says nothing when you settle next to him, your warmth brushing his side.

"You’re taking up all the space," he grumbles.

"There’s plenty of space," you counter, resting your head on your folded arms. "Besides, I’m comfortable now."

He rolls his eyes but makes no move to push you away. Instead, he lets out a breath that’s half a sigh, half reluctant amusement.

For a moment, the silence returns, companionable this time. The stars twinkle on, indifferent to the two of you beneath them. Then, a thought strikes you, and you turn your gaze toward him with a soft smile.

"Hey… could you tell me a story?"

He narrows his eyes. "A story? You expect me to entertain you now?"

"Not just any story," you clarify, grinning. "Something from when you were younger. Something you wouldn’t tell anyone else."

The request makes him pause. His eyes grow sharp, thoughtful, and something wary flickers across his face. His lips press into a thin line. "You’re really testing your luck."

"Please? I’ll keep it a secret." You hold out your hand, your pinky extended. "Pinky promise."

For a long moment, he stares at your hand as if considering all the ways he could make you regret asking. His voice, low and deliberate, murmurs, "If I catch you telling anyone, I’ll make you wish you never learned how to talk."

"I won’t," you vow, eyes wide and earnest. "I promise."

He sighs again, muttering something about foolish trust and human sentimentality before finally, hesitantly, hooking his pinky with yours. His grip is light, careful, but it lingers longer than you expect.

With a faint, resigned hum, he lays back down, folding his hands beneath his head once more.

"There was a time," he begins, voice softer now, words woven with distant memories, "when I thought I could outrun the world." A small, almost bitter smile curves his lips. "I was wrong."

He lets the words hang between you, his voice trailing off as if caught in the gravity of a memory too vivid to forget.

"I was alone then," he continues after a moment, his tone edged with a mixture of wistfulness and resentment. "I didn’t need anyone, or at least, I convinced myself of that. I traveled far from where I was made, through forests, mountains, and deserts. Everywhere I went, I thought if I just kept moving, the past would stop chasing me. I’d be free."

You don’t interrupt, even as your curiosity prickles at the weight behind each word. His voice is steady, but his eyes remain fixed on the stars as though seeing something far beyond them.

"There was a village," he says, his brows knitting together. "A small, forgettable place filled with forgettable people. I had no reason to stop there, but I did. Just for a moment." He breathes out slowly, as though releasing a piece of himself he rarely shares. "There was a boy—barely more than a child—who thought I was some kind of spirit. He wasn’t afraid of me. Most people would have been."

The corner of his mouth lifts, but it isn’t quite a smile. "He followed me everywhere, asking questions. What I was doing. Where I was going. If I could show him how to fly." His eyes glimmer with a fleeting softness. "I told him I had no wings to teach him with, but he didn’t care. He said, ‘If you walk on air, then so can I.’"

"Did he follow you for long?" you ask gently, your voice barely above a whisper.

"For too long," Wanderer mutters, his expression darkening. "He was persistent, and I didn’t have the heart to tell him to go away. He said I reminded him of someone—an old story about a guardian who watched over the desert winds." He shakes his head as if the memory leaves a bitter taste. "I was no guardian."

"But you didn’t leave right away, did you?"

A pause stretches between you before he answers, voice quiet. "No. He asked me to stay until he could learn to ‘walk on air.’ I didn’t think he’d manage it, but… he was clever. He built a kite with his own hands. It wasn’t perfect, but the wind carried it." He sighs. "It carried him, too, for a moment. And he laughed—like he had conquered the sky."

The silence that follows is heavy, laced with something unsaid.

"What happened to him?" you ask, dreading the answer but unable to stop yourself.

"He grew up." Wanderer’s voice is flat, devoid of the warmth that had briefly flickered. "He forgot about flying. People always do."

You watch him closely, sensing the ache buried deep beneath his words. Slowly, you reach out and rest your hand lightly against his, offering nothing more than your quiet presence.

"I won’t forget," you say softly.

His eyes shift toward you, unreadable but heavy with something raw and real. He doesn’t pull away. "You better not," he murmurs. "Otherwise, you’ll owe me more than a story."

I nod, offering him a small, tired smile. "I promise, I won’t forget." And then, almost without thinking, I lean over and loop my pinky around his again, a small gesture to seal my promise. This moment feels so right that a tale of my own feels right.

"Okay," I continue, shifting slightly, my words starting to tumble out in a soft, rambling stream. "When I was little, I used to—well, I was always the kind of kid who loved to explore. I’d run off into the woods behind my house, pretending to be some sort of adventurer. I’d climb trees and make forts out of old blankets and sticks, even though my parents told me not to. They were so worried about me getting hurt, but I didn’t care. I just wanted to find something—anything—that would make sense of everything around me, you know?"

I chuckle softly to myself, the words coming easier now. "One day, I found a secret spot, hidden by vines and rocks. It was this little clearing, like it was made just for me. I’d go there almost every day, and sometimes I’d bring snacks and sit there for hours just… watching the world go by. It was peaceful. And I used to pretend I was a princess or something—surrounded by magic and adventure."

The weight of sleep starts pulling at me as I continue speaking, my voice growing softer and slower. I feel the warmth of Wanderer's presence beside me, his quiet attention making me feel safe. My eyes flutter closed, my mind slowly slipping into the soft embrace of sleep, but I can still feel the connection between our pinkies.

"And, uh, there was this one time," I mumble, my voice barely audible now, "I… I pretended the wind was telling me a secret. I told it everything, hoping it would carry my words somewhere special. To someone who would understand."

The soft rustle of his breathing next to me is the last thing I hear before my body finally gives way to sleep, the weight of exhaustion pulling me into a deep slumber.

.....

Wanderer watches me for a long moment, his gaze softening at the sound of my steady breathing. He hesitates, just for a moment, before carefully pulling the edge of my sleeping bag up a little more to keep me warm. His fingers brush lightly against mine as he does so, and for a moment, he simply hovers there, as if unsure of what to do.

He sighs softly, barely above a whisper, "You’re... such an idiot." His words are a strange mix of fondness and frustration, but there's something deeper there, something he’s not ready to acknowledge.

Then, after another long, unsure moment, he reaches over and laces his fingers gently with mine, as if he’s afraid you’ll wake up if he does it too fast. He shifts to lie on his side, facing me, his movements slow and deliberate. The moonlight catches his expression, making his gaze seem distant yet tender all at once.

And there, in the quiet of the desert night, surrounded by the warmth of shared silence, Wanderer finally lets himself fall asleep, his hand still firmly holding yours.

[cripplecharacters]

I write fanfic, and have some concerns about MC's baby. Baby (Hope) was made in lab and has genetic differences. Currently, I consider something like Down Syndrome?

~

Background:

In canon: character mourning his best friend (an alien), and try to clone him. (Alien later later in story come back to life)

My thoughts: When you clone someone, but use DNA from 2 people, it's actually a baby...

Since they are different species, I consider having their child being either triploid (3x chromosomes) or tetraploid (4x).

Which can be genetic issues. And disabilities. I sort of base on Down Syndrome, but also different.

~

Things I thought issues:

1. Should I just have the kid have Down Syndrome? At least it's familiar, and unrepresented. But also DS is only 3rd 21 chromosome, not all chromosoms are 3.

2. Issue about the kid being a baby. Since initialisation is a big problem for ppl w disabilities, DS especially.

3. Dad 1 (the scientist) has a "what have I done" moment. It's before the beby is born, and before her differences are showing, but can be problematic. I try make it clear this is problem bc Dad goes 1) my dead friend didn't agree, 2) i shouldn't make a kid, 3) I'M HAVING A BABY!?!?

4. Also, I don't know if there's problem with "made in lab and different"? (Like it's "punishment", or something about mutations? Idk I'm not from USA nor Christian, but I know people who are has weird issues).

To be clear, both dads love their kid. They call her their light and "our little miracle". Though can also be issue?

Thank you!! I hope it make sense?

Hi!

First, I want to clarify some points from a biology perspective:

Humans are really bad at handling the wrong amount of DNA, and really bad at cross breeding with non-hominids.

A cross-breed between two species with different numbers of chromosomes may or may not be viable (best chance is when the species are closely related), but the hybrid is nearly always sterile.

A haploid (1x) from each parent can make a new human. Most organisms also work this way. But some organisms produce sex cells with multiple copies of the genome--for example melons can be made to have 2x seeds.

Aneuploidy (3x or 4x) is lethal to most species. Some (plant) species are more resistant, but still sterile--a normal 2x melon and a 4x melon produce a seedless 3x melon, for example.

Monosomies and trisomies are not always fatal, as evidenced by Down Syndrome among other chromosome disorders.

If you want to follow biological constraints, I think having Hope be a hybrid is not the best choice.

But you can do whatever you want, and model off of any chromosomal disorder you want, since you're dealing with fantasy biology.

I think the most important/constant aspect of chromosomal disorders is intellectual disability. Hearing and vision loss are also very common.

Infantilization is not so much a worry with an infant character. It's okay to have children in a story. It becomes infantilization if the character is routinely treated as far younger than their age.

I don't think being made in a lab is a problem. Genetic disorders happen, whether chromosomes are combined in a lab or in a body.

And I also think it's normal for your character to have all sorts of emotions about having made a new person. Just like when someone is pregnant. You're clearly showing it as his complex emotions regarding his actions, not disdain for baby Hope.

Mod Rock

[pastorfutureletthembe]

I love YINGDU as it is

I don't think I'll read these interviews everyone is talking about :/ I thought hard about it, I've read the general points of it, but I don't think reading them will make me enjoy YINGDU more. Quite the opposite actually.

Me: thank you but no thank you. Later maybe. Love you, still.

I don't understand why they had to get interviewed to clear things up. By why, I mean, this situation is fucked up and I don't get how things got like this in this industry.

First. Can't the fans just wait and see? We're grownups, stop treating us like children who cried to get a lollipop. We'll still be here next year. Trust your fanbase.

Second... in what kind of world were the animators under pressure to the point they created plot holes and new timelines by accident? I'm extrapolating but, for real, how fucked up is it that they decided to rush a show that popular for the sake of airing it early? I'm sorry, was the money we spend on merch every few weeks not enough? I'm just mad at the production, honestly. Because they made a big mistake.

They're rushing in like bulls in a china shop. The character PVs were a mistake as well. They should have been released after YINGDU, to manage our expectations on characters that were yet to be introduced. I used to think it was an actual teaser, a window on how Lu Guang saw them or what they will become because of Lu Guang's meddling with the timeline. Now, I'm starting to think they needed strong marketing to get people's attention.

The whole thing makes my viewer experience less than optimal. So I'll keep writing meta but I won't take these interviews into account. 🧩Meta is for fun🧩, mere interpretation, only fanon, and that's okay. Meta is gamble. Meta is character study and theories on plot twists.

✨And that's okay✨

We're not suppose to write season 3 in advance. So it makes sense to me to keep having fun on what the show and the official content bring us. But as far as I'm concerned, the interviews didn't happen. It's not denial, just-

When I was studying cinema in university, my teacher once told me a very harsh truth: if you have to explain the sequence you filmed, then you didn't film it right. Sadly, in this context, production limitations were at fault but the lasting impression is the same.

Do you realize how insane it is that a creative team has to spell their work out to their fans? How humiliating it must be? There's revealing easter egg, teasing next season, spilling spoilers on accident, and then there is whatever that was. I feel for the creators and animators who worked themselves to exhaustion to bring something as beautiful as YINGDU to life. Because this season? It isn't perfect and it's inconsistent and different but no one can call it ugly. I would lick my screen because the image does look tasty lmao. My heart bleeds for all the people involved in this season.

Meta is trying to understand and noticing easter eggs, honouring the writers and animators' work X

Of course, that's only my stand on the topic. I might take different directions in my interpretation than others, that's all. Aaaaaand? Yes. That's okay 🥰

As an artist myself, I feel like the situation is kind of disappointing for the people who worked on YINGDU. That's why I'll take the canon as it is. I don't want to mourn what could be or should have been. I want to enjoy what is.

Meta is diving in the depth of symbolism X

As a fan, I get that we're happy with every nugget of information on what's coming next. The lore in Link Click is still blurry and while I honestly want to believe it is an artistic choice and will stay under control, I can't help but fear it's the result of bad writing. But. What if it is? Meh, I'm still here, enjoying myself. Because I love this show as it is, I see the flaws and the beauty in it. I'll be there.

Meta is love and each of us expresses it differently X

[fantasy-anatomy-analyst]

Okay brief post before I sleep, re: the problem of "fantasy dwarves"

Obviously I am no authority on any community that I'm not part of, so I cannot be a final voice on whether or not any particular use of various fantasy people and creatures are good or bad.

However, it also means that when I run into issues like this, it's important to me to get info from multiple sources (even if I don't reblog or share everything I've found) in order to make my own choices for my work. And I recommend the same to everyone!

Because human history is the way that it is, it's pretty much inevitable that the common fantasy people or creatures you want to use in your own new work have at some point, maybe even a lot, been portrayed in ways that are very offensive and bigoted towards real human people. (and this goes for scifi too)

Orcs have commonly been portrayed as some manner of "barbaric savages" with aesthetic details that call to mind Mongolian warriors, Native Americans, and African people, frequently combined with animalistic features.

There was a huge debate on the antisemitic features of goblins in mainstream fantasy, especially around the time JK Rowling was becoming more and more openly bigoted and the issues of racist caricature goblins and house elves in Harry Potter were being made more relevant.

The lore of drow in Dungeons and Dragons is a whole mess of racism and misogyny with their evil matriarchy and slavery situation, not at all helped by their dark colored skin.

Elves are certainly not exempt from this, though they're often taken in the opposite direction and portrayed as wise and beautiful white people who are more civilized than everyone else. And a lot of people have decided to subvert that by making elves into the oppressors. I've done that a little myself.

I'm also writing a lot of characters who don't match my own identity, including some in rather sensitive categories like being trans or having dissociative identity disorder. Those are my two main characters in the book I'm currently writing. I've seen people with DID write very passionate posts trying to dissuade people from ever writing any character with that condition. And I've seen other people with DID encourage the existence of those characters.

Fact is, there is no universal answer to the conundrum of whether or not a particular type of character or fantasy people or creature should be written. There are, I think, clear traits and tropes to avoid because they just can't be subverted in a meaningful way, especially not by people who aren't part of the marginalized groups that are harmed by them.

Like I don't think anyone who isn't Jewish should try to lampshade and openly subvert the antisemitic goblin tropes like the ones you see in Harry Potter.

I have been using fantasy dwarves in my writing, and I've reblogged a post from a person with dwarfism who is very much on the side of fantasy dwarves no longer being used. And I respect that, which is why I reblogged it and why I am still pondering a name change for my own "dwarves". But while I have not posted any links to it, I have in fact watched a video by another person with dwarfism who thinks fantasy dwarves are cool! There is no singular answer here. I'm still thinking about using a different word, and I plan to keep on hearing out different opinions.

I think the most important thing, though, is whether or not my many fantasy people come across as nuanced and respectable or if they come across like bad stereotypes and offensive caricatures. I can rename them all I like, but whether I'm using the word "orc" or "boarin" or whatever you like, does that make it any less offensive if I write them to be savage uncivilized evil barbarians regardless? Is it less offensive to remove the title of "dwarves" and replace it with "cavern folk" if you're still going to write them as angry little men with big heads who only exist for comedic effect?

It is important to be careful of the use of specific words and I think coming up with your own names for fantasy people is a great idea, of course. It's why I have the stroi as another species of elf. But it does kinda bother me when people act like the very use of a word is the main problem and not just one more detail on top of a pile of problems.

[nrc-ramshackle-prefect]

Hey, Prefect.....? Where in the Great Seven are you?

Nicky walked into Ramshackle Dorm.. again. He would usually hang around there with the other ghosts when he had nothing to do, yes, but today felt... different, somehow. He hadn't once seen Rose in the couple of hours he stayed there, and thought that she may be somewhere else in the school, but ultimately found not a trace. Nothing. And all the other ghosts were gone for whatever reason? That was normally a clear sign for him that staying was not worth it, but then again, today was not a normal day, was it?

Nicky slightly jumped at the sudden noise coming from further in the dorm, and then he noticed the silence. It was dead silent, pun not intended. Not even the bugs seemed to make a sound, or they simply couldn't. That was even more unsettling, since Ramshackle Dorm always had some noise in it, either Grim causing a mess or some other sound, and speaking of him, where WAS the annoying cat? He was with the Prefect everywhere she went, so probably with her... It suddenly got colder. Very cold, actually. That kind of reminded him of something, but nevertheless. He looked around, searching for the source of the wintry, but only found the spiderwebs that Rose had been fighting for a while, Nicky thought she just gave up at one point because she stopped acknowledging them at all, and some open windows. Weird choice during the winter, but it wasn't that unusual, given everything was rather strange. Nicky, being dead, did not smell the acidic scent everywhere, and gave it no mind, even when it got stronger, but he was pretty concerned at the sounds coming towards him

Y'know what, how about I just leave for now. I do not want to deal with this–

CRASH!

Oh... hello, there! How are you..?

Rose looked very different than what Nicky was used to. Arms pitch black and covered in what looked like blot, face being in a similar state, only the piercing green eyes were visible, at least, a cool outfit, and some rather sharp claws... An overblot in full force right in front of him, and running would only make it worse. He wasn't the school's therapist, and certainly didn't deal with 6 overblots (*cough, cough* canonically, mind you!) with his bare hands! This was bad. Why did he even come here...

@nickythenrcghostieee

(the mod just woke up lmao, sorry if the writing is bad! and i'm pretty late to the overblot lol)

“Nicky. Hmph. You’re lucky you’re already a ghost. Otherwise, I fear I might have already killed or injured you. Move out of my way. I have no ill intent with you.” Rose snaps, clenching and unclenching her left claw. Her arms are slightly transparent, and very stiff.. Almost as if theyre made of obsidian, or something.. She walks past Nicky, shoving him out of her way. When she spoke, it sounded like three different voices all at once..

[motheroffeline]

Daddy's Home

MINORS DNI 1️⃣8️⃣➕‼️

Mean Husband Aaron x brat wife black female reader, dirty talk, daddy kink, spanking, drunk sex (reader agreed to it beforehand so consensual), jealous Aaron Pierre, bratty reader, fingering (f receiving), brief orgasm denial, creampie, and oral (f receiving).

Aaron greeted you warmly as he walked into the house with a big grin on his face. But, when did he not have that childlike smile? It was practically plastered on his face at all times. He walks over to you kicking off his shoes and hanging his coat up while staring at you with those calculating eyes of his. He then slides next to you on the sofa and kisses you on the forehead. "Been a long day... You look comfy." You yawn before you can catch yourself and you both laugh at the sudden outburst.

Just when you're starting to feel good Aaron tells you that he has to go to an after party tonight. Him go by himself? *Hell no!* You thought to yourself. All of those women would be throwing themselves at him and besides you haven't been out in a while. You proceed to put on your best puppy eyes and he agrees to let you come with him.

*"You gotta wear that red dress I like though."* He says confidently as though you'd even listen to him. "I don't like that dress so I'm gonna wear that silver one I bought last year." You can see a visible chill go down Aaron's spine at the mention of that dress. That dress that outlines every single curve you own, that has a split near your thigh showcasing your glowing chocolate skin and those chains in the back binding all of it together.

*"You playing with me, you wouldn't wear that shit."*

30 minutes later....

You walk out of the bathroom with the silver dress on and before you can get a word in Aaron says, "absolutely not" because he knows that he'll damage the dress trying to get to your body. Assessing his clear arousal, you spin around and press your ass out which is contoured by the tight fabric of your dress.

As a result of your dress choice, the ride to the after party is silent. You sit in the passenger seat like an innocent dove knowing that he's being driven wild by you.

When you get out of the car, he steps in front of you making sure that none of the other party goers can see your body. Looking at the crowd of unfamiliar faces you finally see someone you notice: DeMarcus. A long time friend of Aaron's that he's known since highschool. An intrusive thought then strikes you and you decide to go with it.

"Hey, I'm gonna go talk to DeMarcus real quick." You take a sip of your cognac while internally laughing at the begrudging look on Aaron's face.

*"The fuck you wanna talk to his ass for? You don't even know him like that. Besides he won't even be talking to you, he'll be too focused on that as-."*

Before Aaron gets a chance to finish his sentence you walk to DeMarcus with a sway in your hips. You begin jokingly flirting with DeMarcus and in the midst of it you can feel *his* gaze on you the whole time. After getting so nervous that you drink around 5 shots of cognac you decide to make your way back over to Aaron who looks beyond furious. The grey of his eyes now mirror that of a blazing moon.

"It's time to go home you drunk as fuck." Aaron practically spits the last part out and you flinch because you know what's going to happen next.

...

"First of all," he starts, his voice stern. "You're not allowed to flirt with other men. Ever. You're mine, and I don't share." You drunkenly lolled your head back and forth trying to replicate a nod. Deep inside, the power he held over you turned you on like nothing ever. Your pussy was so wet you were almost sliding out of the bed when he sat you on it.

"You pretty." Slips out of your mouth faster than you can catch it and a chilling grin cuts across his face.

"Flattery won't work tonight beautiful," he takes a long gulp of the liquor that he keeps on the nightstand. "You know how many niggas wanted to fuck you tonight? Hm?" You drunkenly comment again and he just stares at you.

"How much did you drink, do you even know my name?"

"Yeah, it's Aaron piss air." He laughs but the darkness still lingers in his eyes. "Baby, it's Aaron Pierre, Aaron Pierre, *Aaron Pierre*". Every time he says his name he reaches down to stroke you through your underwear. You find it in yourself to cuss him out and in record time you're over his lap.

His palm smacks down on your left ass cheek, making you yelp. He spanks you again, harder. "Shit talks," his hand comes down hard on your ass again. "Gets spanked". He laughs darkly at your whimpers and mewls.

You drunkenly struggle against his slaps. "You sick you ain't right." Comes out of your mind and his eyes turn even darker with intent.

*"Oh, I'm sick and right baby. And I'm about to give you a consequence for that sick little mouth of yours."*

He spreads your legs apart and kneels, his face inches from your pussy. "I'm about to eat this pussy until you can't say shit." He begins eating you out without warning, those plump lips blowing raspberries into your clit.

You moan unabashedly, "Shit, what's this for?" You say between whines.

"This is for disrespecting me and thinking I wouldn't do shit about it."

"Fuck, you don't gotta do all this..." You nearly scream as his lips suck on your clit.

"That's right. Stop fighting it." He increases the pressure with his mouth, his fingers sliding into you. "And stop fuckin' complaining about how I'm putting your ass in check." "This pussy wet as fuck."

"Daddy..." You whimper as you feel yourself on the cusp of an orgasm but he pulls away.

"Fuck this, I wanna feel you squeezing my dick. You so damn beautiful with that curly hair and that dress... Damn, that dress..."

He hooks his arms under your thighs, lifting your legs up. Aaron rubs himself against you teasingly before sliding inside, filling you up completely. *"Daddy's home,"* He whispers, his voice muffled against your neck.

He begins with a languid pace that soon turns into a punishing thrust that has you forming a white circle at the base of his dick. The grey in his eyes seems to look through and pick apart at your soul. Hazel, that hazel of his eyes seems to know every single desire you've got. And that green is the lecherous part of him that knows he owns your pussy. After a while, your pussy tightens around him.

"I'm gonna cum daddy, ah-!" You say as you feel your orgasm starting to come.

"That's it, baby, cum for daddy." He grunts as he fucks you through your orgasm and finally cums inside of you.

He kisses you on the forehead and says in a gentle voice: "Don't you ever do that shit again."

[on-wine-dark-seas]

So what finally convinced you to selfship?

Whew, this might actually net me some disdain, resentment, etc, but...I'm gonna power through this because I have a lot of opinions, and I wanna make it clear why I'm taking on this challenge.

So full disclosure: I don't actually really like Reader fics. It's not that they're not well-written. On the contrary, a majority of them are brilliant, and most of my favorite fics in this fandom are Reader[ish] fic. Now, the reason I don't like this is not because of the second-person perspective. I'm a longtime gamemaster, writing and speaking in second-person doesn't bug me. I've read The Fifth Season by N.K. Jemisin. Second-person can be a rad storytelling element.

What bugs me is the obvious farce of Reader fic.

I know a lot of writers and artists try their best to keep descriptions of the Reader out of their narration, but it almost always manifests and becomes glaringly obvious that the Reader is their OC stripped of name and defining physical characteristics. Even in the art, it's very clear that Y/N is an OC or a generic, skinny, white, feminine body.

Now, here's the issue: I'm a dark skinned Black woman with curly/kinky hair, and I'm not skinny or perceived as delicate [despite my best efforts]. When I see descriptions about my fave supposedly combing their hands through my hair, or my lips being plush and pink, or my CHEEKS TURNING PINK WHEN I BLUSH, I immediately separate myself from the Reader and replace it with what is obviously the writer's OC or self-insert. And there's absolutely no shame in them doing that! I am the CEO of the OC x Canon agenda, and I will always push for people to be fearless in creating OCs.

And so much of the Reader fic is making it painfully obvious that that's what everyone wants to do, and because no one wants to risk losing readers/views/kudos/comments at best, or being labeled the dreaded Mary Sue at worst, we get inundated with a lot of fanfic and fanart that clearly have heavy OC overtones.

I never see myself as the Reader because the writers are never visualizing me when they're writing the Reader. It's not even about the choices Reader makes in a fic, it's the obvious coding of the Reader's appearance, if that makes sense? I'm sure other Black women in fandom can relate.

So, because of this, I can't feel truly immersed in the story as if I'm the protagonist because the Reader is not me.

Does this look like a fragile, delicate, wide-eyed ingenue waiting to be seduced by the big, bad wolf? No. I am a woman of many vibes: I fuck. I fight. I curse. I spit blood and I dance until the sun comes up. I can also be very soft and sweet and affectionate [just ask the polycule], but most importantly: I'm Black as fuck; not just in appearance, but culturally. I come from Nigerian and American parents. I have a very rich cultural background that shapes and influences everything about me. And none of that is ever reflected in the Reader fics I read, and even some of the ones supposedly featuring a Black reader are holding back in significant ways. Yes, even the ones I praise and laud endlessly. Again, it's not about the quality of the writing, it's about the principle at its core.

And how could I ever expect a writer to account for a person like me in their stories? Why would I ever expect them to? Reader fics ring false for me because there's too many unique people out there to settle for generic nondescript details about the literal protagonist. And I have the misfortune of being in a fandom where that is mostly all there is to read. As a result, I have to do some extra mental gymnastics to enjoy reading fic. I would rather be reading about other people's OCs, if we're being honest.

I got tired of reading fic where I still felt like an interloper or outsider in a story that is supposedly about ME. And I decided to take the plunge and write a story that actually features me as the protagonist and love interest. Not the Reader. The Writer. I'm definitely not the first, and I hope I'm not the last. I feel like this is the natural progression for someone who exclusively writes OC x Canon.

On the other side of this, I understand why Reader fic has become so popular in the fandom. It's an easy way for people to get eyes on their work because now the readers feel like they can be invested in the story because the protagonist is them. And for some people, that's enough. But for those of us who are already ostracized, ignored, and even abused in fandom, and treated as Other, this is not always the case. It's not as easy as slipping into a new coat cut exactly to my size, and more like I'm in the writer's closet trying on their clothes and realizing that we're nowhere near the same size for me to be in there at all.

I hope the people who actually rock with me and my writing enjoy The Invitation when I finally release it. It's turning out to be a point of pride for me, and most importantly: the story is about me.

[lazy-universes]

"I’ve noticed most of caits supporters are white privileged people who’ve never been through any hardship in their life or have faced racism" where's the data on this because my ass sitting in brazil having to quit doing human rights advocacy because i developed a literal heart condition out of fear and anxiety is still very much capable of having NUANCE IN ANALYSIS

AND ANOTHER THING

none of you worried about dragging caitlyn think about from the point of view from someone UNDER IMMENSE FOREIGN PRESSURE TO START A CONFLICT

the united states noxus comes in and starts infiltrating supporters of an armed conflict (salo and maddie canonically) to get access to oil hextech and pushing for an outright civil war

meanwhile caitlyn steps up and says we're clearing shimmer and finding jinx and that's it we're not pushing for any more than that when salo outright said he was willing to wipe zaun off the map CAN YOU IMAGINE COMMANDER SALO

sure, she's blinded by revenge, but she's also under tremendous amount of pressure to keep staving off the united states noxus' influence pushing for a civil war to, again, as biden ambessa EXPLICITLY said, get access to oil hextech to wage more war like the war canonically waged against ionia, where cait's dad comes from

cait isn't dumb and she isn't stupid, she is very much aware of what noxus has done and is capable of doing. sure, she's blinded by revenge. sure, sure, she fucked it up with vi. sure, she shouldn't have said any of that. but caitlyn isn't a perfect character (there are no perfect characters in arcane) and she fucked up so much that she literally lost an eye to remind herself that an eye for an eye makes the whole world blind

because in the end when the united states noxus didn't get what it wanted it scaled a full out invasion to wipe out terrorists al quaeda taliban communists zaunites and bring some peace GET THEIR HANDS ON HEXTECH

why is it that every single analysis of caitlyn's actions conveniently leaves out the looming wings of the bald eagle noxian raven trying to manipulate everyone for their own purposes as they canonically have always done!!!!!!!!!!! it's not in a vacuum!!!!!!!!!!!!!

i really think that the people clutching their pearls about caitlyn's actions have never been subjected to the bick stick policy of SOME COUNTRIES OUT THERE to not be able to recognize the situation for what it is and the show for what it also is, which is full of nuance and fucked up choices that make the characters what they are!!!!!!!!!!

fuck!!!!!!!!!!!!!! i'm still here was nominated for the oscars!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! shit like this has been happening!!!!!!!!!!!!! do you really think anthony blinken ambessa was there for nothing!!!!!!!!!!!!! if you don't know anything about the school of americas and operation condor you might want to sit this discussion out!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! god!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

I’ve noticed most of caits supporters are white privileged people who’ve never been through any hardship in their life or have faced racism. “I thought you were different” a phrase that has been used against a poc suggesting that their race is bad or dangerous like I like cait but y’all saying she did nothing wrong is crazy. She gassed the undercity? She hated a whole city because one person did something wrong again another thing poc face. Yes she gets better but those things did happen and if she’s your favorite character, you need to realize that. Also sfop with that “you don’t like her cause you don’t understand her character” bullshit. Someone can understand someone and hate them.

[thedreadvampy]

unfortunately the world is too fucking messed up so I am currently unable to give a shit about how messed up everything is because it's all too big and if I get upset about any of it my entire ability to be a person will come crashing in

normal service will resume as soon as possible