#I'm not entirely sure how many other people know for certain

[sevensoulmates]

First off, i loved reading your analysis on the recent episodes of 9-1-1. If i may, how would you describe 7x04 and it being from bucks pov? I think he’s an unreliable narrator. I would love to hear your thoughts as i have many lol

A x account said this “ Okay but Buck never went to play basketball when Eddie invited him, he only went after he knew Tommy was going. Like? That really happened. Why do people continue to ignore what's right in front of their faces?

But like, he didn’t go BECAUSE Tommy went. He went because Tommy AND EDDIE were going. Again, we are told 7x04 is from bucks perspective. But yet, the only time we see him “getting his attention” is the air strip scene. That scene is weird because they could have easily shown us buck messaging him and their initial greetings. But no. We are given a few seconds before Eddies name is mentioned and when he comes in the frame. No where else do we see from “bucks pov” of him trying to get Tommy’s attention. What stopped buck from reaching out again to Tommy…. That’s the plot hole of the episode I’m still lost on. He was able to reach out once, why did he stop? The gym scene? You’re telling me, it was for Tommy? Because he wanted to see Tommy play basketball? If he wanted his attention, he would have hurt Tommy and not Eddie and the conversation with Maddie would be different. Did he have attraction towards Tommy? Sure. But we the viewers are never given any indications of him trying to get Tommy’s attention. To add, in 7x05, Tommy is confused after buck says he’s been trying to get his attention. Because, again, where was this.

Most of my thoughts on 7x04 are in my multiple-part meta here. Most of the stuff you're asking about, including the basketball scenes, the gym scenes, and more are all addressed there.

I agree with the people (and Tim) who said most of the episode is in Buck's POV. I've seen people saying that you can tell it's Buck's POV because of how light and beautiful and sunkissed Eddie appears, and I agree with that. I don't agree with the people who said Eddie appears more "straight" because Buck views him as straight. I just don't really agree with certain actions being "straight" vs. "non-straight". People can look and act super stereotypically masculine and "bro-ey" and still be queer. Just look at Tommy.

Absolutely Buck is an unreliable narrator, as is Eddie. I think this episode was pretty clear-cut about that given how confused Buck was the entire episode. All you have to do is watch any other episode to know that Eddie wasn't just ignoring Buck on purpose, but that Buck was being overly sensitive about it for a reason that still isn't clear to him.

Tim and Co. have said many times that there is no black-and-white answer to what Buck was feeling in that episode. He latched onto the first answer that made sense which was first "I'm best friend jealous" then "Oh I like Tommy bisexually" because it's easier to take the path of least resistance and just believe what's in front of you instead of soul-searching or looking deeper and possibly tapping into something you're not ready to address just yet.

In my opinion, Buck was confused, and continues to be confused, because despite his attraction to Tommy being real, underneath it all, most of the feelings he was experiencing were more so about Eddie, and he's not yet at the point where he can address that head-on. The episode is confusing to us viewers because Buck was confused, so in the sense, yes, the episode was very much Buck's POV.

#911 abc #speculation #meta #buddie

[vegaseatsass]

Alright so 23.5 aka Toxic Positivity: The Series aka Everyone Teaches The Loser Queer Girl The World Is Kinder Than She Thinks By Viciously Gaslighting Her About Homophobia: The Series aka Teacher4Teacher Yuri and Everything Else Is Getting Memoryholed: The Series!!! I'm certain that so many words have been written about this already, but I haven't been on tumblr since Monday so I need to just exorcise my own reactions before I read anyone else's. I am really intentional these days about giving space to art to be descriptive rather than prescriptive, that is, to portray people acting in ways I find annoying or aggravating or cruel or despicable and to not jump to "how DARE this narrative betray me by saying it's good, actually, to be annoying or aggravating or cruel or despicable" even if the people who do those things in the text are supported by the other characters or circumstances in the text. I am very against "character acted badly, therefore bad things should happen to them so we can KNOW the narrative understands they were bad". However!!! For this series to have ONGSA'S OWN PARENTS ACT AS SPOKESPEOPLE FOR SUN'S PERSPECTIVE. Like her parents, who Ongsa was visibly afraid were going to reject her for her queerness, not only not care she's queer (because homophobia is fake in this universe except for Ongsa's inexplicable internalized homophobia which is treated as a character flaw), but behave like automatons Sun programmed dialogue into, scolding Ongsa for 1. not coming out to them sooner 2. "thinking for" Sun, as if that's something they'd have any context for (even IF Aylin and Alpha filled them in). That took the sense of "this narrative is taking Sun's side in her forced outing of her partner, doubling down on it and making sure every single character agrees she was right" to the next fucking level. It had the vibes of being a supportive coming out scene too but they weren't embracing their daughter for who she was - they certainly weren't letting her have her own identity and voice and needs! - they were just drumming home how correct Sun was in her every teenaged interpretation of who Ongsa was and should be. So that moved me firmly away from being able to employ a "Sun is a teenager behaving like a teenager" read on a storyline I find noxious. That moved us firmly into the territory of "we are being strongarmed into agreeing Sun is a JUSTIFIED, morally righteous teenager, who fixed her relationship/girlfriend by outing her against her will." It's just truly flabbergasting to me because without the outing plotline (which I understand was in the novel so maybe that's why it was forced on us despite its dissonance with the rest of the story), there are the ingredients of something I really, truly could have loved:

Sun being scared by the intensity of her own attachment and behaving badly because of it. This is literally one of my number one tropes of all time. I am OBSESSED with people becoming their worst selves because they're so terrified of how in love they are, the depth of their need for their partner.

Sun feeling bitter about giving up her future for Ongsa and not believing Ongsa (ONGSA) would do a similar level gesture for her, when Ongsa doesn't want her to give up her future for her and really Sun's bitterness is an internal cue that she doesn't want to give up her future herself, even if she loves Ongsa desperately and passionately.

Ongsa being so focused on what everyone else thinks of her and Sun that she can't hear Sun tell her what Sun thinks, and wants.

Much more importantly to me, Ongsa being so trapped in articulating her own needs as "I was worried about how things would affect you, Sun!" that she cannot voice her own actual feelings about things: "I don't want to come out because I'm afraid my parents will reject me." "I don't want to come out because I'm not ready for the entire school's hyper-scrutiny on me and my relationships." There was a really narratively rich story there where Ongsa tells Sun everything she does is with Sun in mind, and it takes a little bit of untangling to admit that actually, she has her own needs SUN is not hearing and those fucking matter too.

There was a great, great episode 11 conflict in those dynamics. They could have fought about who sits in front on Sunny the motorbike drawing on those dynamics and given me a more compelling episode than what we actually fucking got. You know? And that's not even getting into the, I feel, missteps with Aylin's writing and that relationship the past two episodes, or the way they won't let MawinTon be great and I'm actually afraid Mawin is going to end the series single and we'll be expected to appreciate how pure his supportive onesided love for Tinh is. Honestly probably good there was no teacher4teacher yuri in ep11 because I'm sure they would have found a way to ruin the number one thing I will be describing as this series' strength going forward. Well, that and the acting. MilkLove are acting their ASSES off. but for what.

#23point5 #sorry i love to have fun and give the most generous read i can but this episode stunned me in its badness #this episode made me feel more charitable towards the end of only friends. LIKE #23.5 #23.5 the series #23.5 degrees #dear diary

[celestie0]

🪷 girl fuck these people I'm really sorry you're getting so many messages bitching about no smut in ch10. Like who even cares? Does a story or chapter have no value if the characters aren't going at it like rabbits and fucking and sucking on each other?

At this point if you're so disappointed about no hanky panky just go read one of those pornhwas where the characters start screwing at the drop of a hat.

I would've loved that chapter with smut or without smut idgaf it doesn't even matter to me (and the same is for most of your readers too, I'm sure of it). We've all stuck around with your work for so long, and we have faith in your direction as well as your decisions regarding the pace of the plot. It's never that serious, especially not to the stage that bozos feel the need to weep in a writer's asks and swamp them with negative messages. Go jack off or play dj with your hello kitty and go to sleep like the rest of us.

Again, no matter what you do with your work it's entirely your choice. Ofc we as readers can have our own takes and how or why we interact with the work can vary, but it shouldn't reach this stage. I've seen this same story of bullying and pestering authors on tumblr too many times with other authors whose work I enjoy, and many have left their blogs because the harassment made them lose interest in writing and sharing their pieces. It's fucking heartbreaking. Pornhub dot com is right there for y'all to be doing entirely too much in the asks of these writers who are already overwhelmed and write and share all this FOR FREE. If you have so many qualms about it pick up that bic and get to writing bitch!

I'm sorry babe take care! We love you🫂

AHHH LILYPAD ANON I APPRECIATE U SM THIS MEANS THE WORLD TO ME 😭😭 you’re always so kind to me i sobs

yeahh sigh :( i was just a bit upset that ppl were already finding fault w a chapter i haven’t even released yet just bc it doesn’t have smut in it 😭😭 like i obviously know by now that i can’t make everyone happy, but it’s not right to subtly pressure me into a certain direction for my story (ik this is a normal thing authors/writers have to deal with, i am just a weakling unfortunately 💀💀 my therapist wld agree)

i know it’s not most of my readers though :”) everyone is so sweet n kind n patient, i just don’t understand the some few that think that just bc they tell me they’re disappointed there’s no smut, that i’m somehow gonna go back to my 80pg dissertation of a chapter n make it 100pgs just to add some for them 😅…like no. what it DOES make me feel is icky n sad

frankly it’s really uncomfortable to make an author feel bad that there’s no explicit sexual content in a story 😅 your horny brainrot is showing. like, i AM def planning to write smut in kickoff, there will be multiple smut scenes to come. but even if i suddenly chose not to include them anymore, that’s my right to do so.

and yes, if they want smut, they can write it themselves. why do i need to be the one to write it for you? i don’t owe anyone anything.

i totally agree w you. honestly, i feel bad sometimes setting these boundaries, but you’re SO RIGHT in that SO many authors leave their platforms bc of hateful asks/pressuring comments etc, i’ve seen it time n time again. bc it’s true that it DOES get to people, especially when creating art is already a very stressful thing. i don’t have to passively tolerate rude strangers on the internet just because i’m trying to protect n pursue my passion

thanks sm for trusting my direction :”) and YES absolutely!! i love it when my readers disagree w character actions or emotions, bc characters have flaws n i’m intentional about those flaws, so it’s exciting to see opinions my readers have, even if they’re in disagreement, because it’s interactive w my work. not that i expect anyone to interact ever. i understand that i post on my own accord, so readers can choose whether to interact on their accord as well.

but something about pressuring me into writing explicit sexual content into a story that i’d like to think is a lot more than just smut, is really disheartening.

- ellie 🐸

#sorry babe i kinda went on a rant here but i just am at my wit’s end #love u n tysm for supporting me as always 🥺💕 #🪷 anon #asks #kickoff

[canisalbus]

Does machete have to hide his relationship with Vasco? Since he's a cardinal and all. That's gotta be tough considering how hard of a life he's had.

.

#I don't think he has a choice #luckily they're both quite good at keeping secrets #I'm not entirely sure how many other people know for certain #as you may remember Vasco was forced into a lavender marriage in his early 20's to cover up his homosexuality #his wife knows he's gay and is fine with him having extramarital partner(s) #their relationship is close but purely platonic #she probably doesn't know the identities of Vasco's dates or meet them but she knows they're there #I think Machete's longtime personal assistant his closest right hand man might find out sooner or later #maybe he helps to facilitate things #but that might be it #if a word of their relationship got out it would be devastating for both #of course there's always rumors and gossip but it's the same for literally every public figure so people rarely take that seriously #answered #anonymous #Vasco #Machete #Vaschete lore

[lonicera-caprifolium]

Body-swap theory!!

okay, just putting this all together for ease of access, since it's been spread out across several posts now--

The day after it aired I watched the ending like actually 30 times and I became fully 99.999999% certain they switched places. I was initially thinking during the kiss, cuz of how the camera angle changes, but after watching an additional 20 times a few days later, I'm personally leaning much more towards them stopping time in the instance after "no nightingales".

Before the kiss, Aziraphale is saying "nice" things about the Metatron, but his face and voice keep switching to broadcasting distress, and they make it a point to show in ep 1 that Crowley can read him just from tone of voice

As they're pulling away after the kiss, they lock eyes and "Aziraphale's" expression shifts in the teeniest tiniest way, like a confirmation glance, before they shift back (and Michael Sheen is a master, so no chance it's not on purpose)

---(Like really, go back and watch how Aziraphale's expression shifts literally *a second* before "I forgive you" cuz the change is SO minute, but entirely different emotionally.)

Also the way he moves his jaw right after he pulls his hand away from his lips, is a bit from MS's Crowley (you can see it in the very last two seconds of this vid- link)

Aziraphale's hands -stay by his sides- after that, he doesn't clasp them at all, and it's particularly noticeable while he's walking to the elevator with Metatron. The way he walks is very stiff and precise, similar to after the swap in S1.

We don't see the underside of Crowley's jacket collar after the kiss, at any point (it is for sure red at the beginning of the ep, you can see it right before he changes in Heaven)

The Bentley drives away SLOWLY, which is how Aziraphale drives, and we're specifically shown that it only plays other music for Aziraphale

the seats in the Bentley are black as it drives away. They're usually brown, and the only other time they're shown to be black is when Aziraphale drives (@picturesque-about-it broke down the times so you can see-link)

---extra pic for anyone saying it's "cuz Aziraphale is lighter"-- the seats are still brown behind Crowley when he wears white

there's people wearing yellow in -every- part of the scene showing the Bentley both before and while it drives away! (link for pics/credit)

Aziraphale's smile in the elevator looks more like MS's Crowley. It's very similar to the trial during S1, but also (link)

This also explains why they're on opposite sides than they're usually shown while the end credits roll

Extra points--

many good points made by other folks here, about cues and snakes in beehives and swap motifs throughout the season-- link

The clock! Someone mentioned how the scene is so quiet you can hear it ticking, so I watched the ending a further 50 times to double check----I need to preface this by stating, I don't think this is a working clock, mainly cuz the hands aren't 100% where they should be between the minutes and the hours, like -a person- moved them to that time manually

When they're talking, the clock is at approximately 9:25 (?, again the hour hand isn't precisely set), then they walk across the room, and kiss, and immediately after that the clock is set about 15-ish minutes later (link to timestamps)

thanks to these bts shots, we can see that the clock on the opposite side of the room registers the SAME time difference before and after the kiss (link)

the first time Aziraphale looks "towards the window", I'm petty sure he actually looks further back towards the clock, *focuses on it* as Metatron walks up to him, and then spends the ENTIRE REST OF THE EXCHANGE blocking the Metatron's view of the clock

we're shown earlier in the season that Crowley can localize his time-stopping to a certain extent, like when he stopped the doctor and the rest of the room kept going, so it is possible he only stopped everything -outside- of the bookshop

---I KNOW Neil said it's a continuity error, but he also fully said "No" about there being a season 2 just days before they announced it was already written and in production, so. Take him at his word if that's what you wanna do.

---also I DID go back and look it over, and the clock IS consistently specifically set the entire rest of the episode as far as I can see. From the shots when you have a clear view of the clock, the angels and demons enter the shop at around 6, Maggie and Nina leave at around 7, the Metatron comes in at 8-ish, Aziraphale comes back in at that approximately 9:25

(insight from someone who works in production- link)

the music right before the kiss scene is the same leitmotif (Life After Death) used when they originally started formulating the swap in season 1! (link)

the movie Stairway to Heaven (1946) is featured as a poster in both the opening credits and in Maggie's shop (link)

the climax of the film has one of the leads willing to "take the place" of the other in heaven

(they also used a time-stopping mechanic, and the chess book Gabriel tests gravity with also plays a key role in the film)

and one last mention, extra food for thought--- the season's focus on their trusting one another, their history of performing "death (and heaven/hell) defying" feats together, and how they always get the trick right when it truly counts the most

that's what I've got so far!

If I'm right, they're apart now, but are actually more together then ever, and I find that terribly exciting. (And if I'm wrong, that's okay too! I'm just here to have fun.)

I'm not particularly concerned with very specific reasoning (that's for season 3 to tell us!), but I do think this theory is extra fun cuz pretty much any of the others could be the "why" driving it.

I'm not trying to convince anyone, or put down any of the other theories, so if you're not feeling it, that's okay! I'm just sharing what clues I'm seeing, so you can check if you see them too. 💕

#good omens #good omens 2 #good omens s2 spoilers #Good omens s2 body-swap theory #long post #a snake in a beehive but this time -properly- disguised #there's a lot of little things and possibilities that make sense too #but this is just the main points I can see from things that are actually shown or featured #ineffable husbands #aziracrow #aziraphale #crowley

[penguinsfly]

I unfortunately saw something I didn't want to see and that was my last straw. I'm fucking doing this.

Let's establish this first. Alastor is stated in the show to be asexual that is not up to discussion. He is also very heavily implied in the same conversation to be aromatic. 'An Ace in the hole' being used in context of him being with Charlie is also implying his aromanticism.

VIDEO

If that's not enough then here is Viv speaking about his romantic orientation. It's pretty clear despite the fact that afterwards she said it's okay to headcanon whatever (it's not but I will get o that later) that he is written purely as an aro ace character.

On top of that going by Alastor's interaction with Angel from the pilot and the first episode it is clear that he is sex repulsed. Not only that but on the fandom website he is stated to be touch averse with two sources which you can check out on the website.

Hazbin hotel wiki, Alastor page

Now we established that Alastor is canonically Asexual, Aromantic, Sex Repulsed and Touch Averse

As I also am all of the above I'll try to explain everything to the best of my ability as simply as I can.

Aromanticism and Asexuality.

I'm probably targeting the audience that knows those terms but regardless I will explain it anyway.

Aromantic - people that experience little to no romantic attraction towards any gender

Asexual - people that experience little to no sexual attraction towards any gender.

Little to no

Asexuality and aromanticism are spectrums in which people can feel certain attractions towards people but those attractions are less occurring or are defined by personal connection.

Diagram from AVEN website

However some people are at the end of the spectrum, they never felt attraction and that's valid. Alastor was stated to be aroace he wasn't written as demi or as gray he was written as aroace as in the end of the spectrum. His repulsion and not giving shit about romance or sex speaks for itself.

Representation

I do understand that everyone wants to be represented but it's so important to understand that aroace people are one of the most underrepresented queer groups in the media.

And I'm not here to scream about how I want my fav character to be just like me I don't care for it I'm way too confident in my orientation to rely on that however I'm tired of explaining to people what asexuality and aromanticism is just to receive 'are you sure' or 'you'll change your mind' or 'its not real' or the community favourite 'you'll find the right person' no I won't I'm not looking thank you very much (I just smile and nod to be polite and I'm sick of it).

'Harmless' buts like: 'He might be on the spectrum', 'AroAce people can still feel attraction' hurt the final outcome for all the people on the spectrum not only strictly aroaces because it allows people to write one shots with 'Demi Alastor' that falls in love in 2000 words because he is 'demi' (spoiler alert: they don't understand what that label means). It's just a cover, an opening, sneaky way to disregard his orientation, feel good about themselves and move on. Newsflash there is no moving on for aroace people it's our life.

Shipping

Shipping is just harmless fun right? Usually yes but not in this case. In the same way its not okay to ship gay characters with genders they are not attracted to.

It's erasure and since there is much less people identifying on aro/ace spectrums then there is gay or bi people our voices are being silenced. Not to mention that gay people received support from entire LGBTQIA+ community over the years in contrast to aro/ace specs who to this day are told that we are 'not queer enough' or 'not oppressed enough' often by other queer people.

And finally... FINALLY we get cannon Aro/Ace character that is clearly not interested in romance and sex. Character that beats stereotypes of boring and timid aro/ace people and what's the first people do? They ship him. Alastor's storyline provides so many points to be explored like 'what is his backstory', ' what's about his deal', ' how does he fit in in the found family trope' , 'does he care about hotel guests' yet people choose to write about the only thing that he is not interested in. As a heavily repulsed person that used to be horrified about the fact that I'll have to fall in love with somebody at some point before I found out what aro/ace is I find it repulsive and trust me he would too.

But Viv said it's okay!

Its the same point once again. What if Viv said that it's okay to ship gay Angel with woman. She doesn't have authority to say shit like that.

Queerplatonic relationships

I can't tell you not to do it I don't think he would be necessary interested in it but for fuck sake do your research and try to understand what queerplatonic means before you use it as a cover to shamelessly ship him. Respect the fact that he is sex repulsed and touch averse and you're fine.

Why can't you just avoid it?

First of all I shouldn't have to. Alastor's orientation should be respected in the fandom like any other orientation is. Second of all I've tried. I tried to only look up AroAce Alastor tag I've blocked over 80 people on tumblr alone (I just counted) to avoid to see anything that could trigger me and I'm not talking about slightly shippy posts or fanarts I'm talking about full blown disregard towards his orientation. Guess what it didn't work!

Archive of our own where do I start. I've used this website for over a decade and I could probably count days I didn't go there on my fingers. I'm fluent in AO3 I know which tags I should block. I know how to skim thorough the summary and tags to see if I'm interested. I've seen shit I'm a shipper I've been on ao3 for ten years but never had to mentally prepare myself to face queerphobia as I click on the tab.

Just use aro/ace Alastor tag.

I do and let me tell you people can't tag for shit or they just pretend to be clueless at this point. Besides see this?

there is more ff with Alastor/reader (disgusting) than there is Alastor with his canon orientation and to play the devils advocate for arophobic people there is more Angel/Alastor then his stated in the show sexuality. I understand that fandom goes back before the show was aired but Viv confirmed his orientation back then too.

Summary

I could go on and on bout different issues and maybe I will in the future but I'm not wasting anymore of this weekend on it. I'm ready to answer any questions as long as they are respectful.

I'm aware that he is a fictional character, it doesn't affect him in any way whatsoever but it does affect aromantic and asexual people keep it in mind.

If there are any mistakes grammar related I'm not sorry I'm fluent in English (not my first language) but I took 3h nap in between and I'm sleep deprived.

Have a nice day.

#alastor #aroace alastor #hazbin hotel #aromantic #asexual #aromantic alastor #asexual alastor

[creatingblackcharacters]

“The Same Place as the Music” Lighting & Color

“Where is the light coming from?” “The same place as the music.” Andrew Lesnie, Cinematographer of LOTR

How & Why It's A Problem

If I had to summarize the frustration I have with this topic in one image, I'd use JeCorey Holder's (queer Black creative!) meme:

Now here's the thing. I'm not saying you have to be a master at lighting. I'm surely not. Hell, I still play around with lighting in my art in ways that aren’t the ‘most realistic’. You can’t ask me the technical explanations behind ‘color theory’ or 'contrast' without me doing some more reading. However… I don’t think anyone needs an art degree to understand this point:

We should be able to SEE your brown skinned Black characters!

I brought this up in my lessons about skin tones and blushing, and it applies with lighting as well. If all of your other characters have focused light and shadows, so should your Black characters.

However, this does NOT mean making them lighter-skinned!!!!

It's not funny nor logical at all to suggest that they somehow can't be seen like your other characters when you’re the one creating the piece. It's like a classic fifth-grade racist joke, “You blend in at night”. Har-de-har.

I was once rudely told to my face (well in the DMs) that a Black character that was completely Europeanized looked like that “because of the [sepia] lighting”. So I'm going to give you all, gracious readers, an example to show that that's not true.

This is Ana Flávia, Afro-Brazilian model! Gaze upon her beauty! Notice how in both of these filters, Ana did not, in fact, turn into a white woman! Because, my friends, that is not how that works! At all!

Here are some other examples of Black people in non-color lighting:

None of these people vanished from the frame just because there was no color. They didn't have to paint on lighter makeup to be captured by the camera. What do they all have in common (in this example)?

Lighting!

Now let’s discuss different ways to think about and potentially try instead!

What I want you all to keep in mind, is that the art you’re painting:

And I know that's silly right, like yeah no shit Ice, we knew that. BUT my point here is don’t be afraid to study photography, theatre, and staging for ideas. They actively work with light! It’s why I share so many images of models; it’s purposeful, focused staging of light with many of these compositions!

Brown-skinned Black people- brown-skinned people in general- GLOW in the light! Our skin reflects environmental light! There’s so much opportunity to play with that, and you can see different examples in those mediums.

Here are a couple articles of lighting in film focused on Black actors.

When lighting a person with dark complexion, the answer is not LIGHTENING THE SKIN, it’s understanding how light reflects off of dark skin.” -Nilah Magruder

Nilah Magruder (Black creator!) has an ENTIRE, thorough and wonderful essay on the topic, far better than I could give! She incorporates the use of cameras, lighting, painting, and more- so rather than be redundant here, I'm going to spotlight (ha see what I did there. It's okay, I know I'm funny) her and her explanation.

Incorporating Blackness in Color/Colorful Lighting

@dsm7 has an excellent and short visual explanation of how picking certain colors will lead to washing out or whitewashing Black characters, and how certain lighting and backgrounds (think the black and white photos on brighter backgrounds) will change the way their skin tone looks.

@nicosbighead has one of my favorite images on here, that shows how many different colors can still be used to convey the image of Blackness. Notice how all those pinks still worked?

@gaksdesigns has a beautiful picture here that I feel utilizes the light in a very minimal yet effective way to show highlights even on a palette that's fully brown.

This article approaches from a lighting perspective via filmmaking, but essentially Sade Ndya suggests instead of increasing the amount of light, change the color/lens of the light based on your character’s skin, as well as for the circumstances of the scene. They'll remain vibrant that way, and you’ll still capture what you need.

I know one way I do this on CSP (I think I’ve mentioned this but I can’t remember) is to use the Add Glow tool with the same or a similar shade of the character’s brown skin tone as a highlight under natural light, or maybe use different colors or filters depending on the sort of light on their skin at the time.

Here’s a reddit about it too, just because I know y’all value Reddit on here, and someone else discussed the topic that both Nilah and Sade discussed.

Is It Intentional?

There are going to be times where you intend for the light to be minimal. Maybe it’s a style choice. That should still show purposeful composition. Here’s an interview with famed Black director Ava Duvernay discussing the intentional darkness on Black actors in the prison scene in the movie Selma. To show that they're both trapped in prison AND that Martin is temporarily low on resolve- it's a part of the story that's being told.

I'm always talking about this: there is a difference between intention (and following through), and neglecting to think about it at all. And neglect isn't what we want, because often we can tell visually when it is- when an artist simply did not think to do it for one versus the rest.

Sidenote, on Youtube in the suggestions after Ava's interview, are also plenty of videos discussing lighting for dark-skin as well- why not take the chance to look?

Conclusion

We do not lack for light! We aren’t flat and lightless when you see us in life. It's actually a pretty awesome part of being brown-skinned. If you’re giving proper, flattering lighting to everyone else, give it to us as well. Study and experiment with ways to highlight brown skin.

You already know what I’m going to say. It’s going to take practice, same as anything else, because it’s the thought that counts, but the action that delivers!

#creatingblackcharacters #character design #black characters #black art #black character design #black artists

[lazycats-stuff]

Remember when u wrote batbro who's Australian? Now u HAVE TO do Italian! This time with Italian toddler batbro, please little Italian people with their small hand gestures are so funny and so fricking adorable to me I'm tearing up just thinking about it

Yeah, Italians are funny and adorable, but I think it would work better if it's a teen instead of a toddler, so I have to modify that part, I just think it would fit better. Also, 1.3k, thank you guys and yes, I know this is a little bit short, but I do want to get this out for you guys. Also, Italians are my neighboring country lol, so if any Italians are reading this, hi!

Summary: (Y/N) is Italian. The family can't deal with him.

Warnings:

Bruce, yet again, found out he had another biological child. Another son. Bruce loved his sons, but he could get a daughter for once. Someone who was less chaotic to a certain degree. Turns out, when Bruce had a one night stand with an Italian model, she got pregnant and she didn't say anything to Bruce about his son for 13 years.

Bruce found out when she was put in jail. Bruce didn't know what happened, but he was more numb from the news that he has another son. Not to mention, man with a heavy Italian accent calling him in the middle of the night telling him about his son and Bruce having to call his lawyers...

The amount of paperwork that it took for Bruce to bring (Y/N) to America is nuts. Sure, you have to make sure that both governments know where the child is. The amount of connections Bruce had to pull just to get (Y/N) to the USA is actually insane. Thankfully, (Y/N) would soon get his citizenship and he would be able to keep his Italian citizenship.

Thankfully, both the US and Italy allow people to have multiple citizenships so (Y/N) could go back to Italy without any problems. Bruce and the others need to get visas. (Y/N) laughed at them when he heard that.

But hey, when they go to Italy, they will have a translator. And it's incredible to listen to (Y/N) not knowing English really. They weren't mocking him by any means, but they were crying of laughter a few times when there was some English problems.

But there were another things they didn't know about Italians. For example, (Y/N) was touchy in conversations. And he was closer to them, more in their space. None of them minded them, it was actually nice how closer he was to them because Americans prefer to keep their distance it seems.

And a thing that seemed like are they European or gay thing is the fact they have their little pecks on the cheek. It wasn't anything intimate by any means and it's a way to say hi to guests. Men do it as well so it wasn't gay per say... But then again... Bruce knew that Italy had a different way than Americans.

And by God, (Y/N) had so many cultural shocks. So many. The sizes of food in America... And (Y/N) will forever fight the notion that pineapple belongs on the pizza. He shall defend his Italian heritage and cuisine.

Also, while on the topic of the sizes, everything in America is huge. Cars, buildings... (Y/N) thought that in a way it lacked warmth. And (Y/N) didn't even want to think about the prices of medication and healthcare here. He knows that Bruce is rich, but still... My God.

Another thing was the fact that kind of annoyed Bruce and Alfred was the amount of espressos that (Y/N) can drink in a day. Tim loved him a lot for it, but Bruce and Alfred weren't so happy. So many espressos wasn't really helpful. But hey.

But one iconic thing that can make you tell who is an actual Italian or not, is the famous hand gesture. They still remember the time when (Y/N) was talking on the phone with a family member who lives in Italy and it seemed that the entire family was on the other side of the phone.

He was talking fast, phone on his ear while he was going to the kitchen to drink some water and get some snacks. They all watched in silence as (Y/N) talked loudly, even as he was opening the fridge for some snacks.

And that's when they saw it. The famous hand gesture, in between some passionate talk about something and yelling over the phone. He seemed annoyed, but there was a smile on the teen's face as he was talking.

Once he was finished, he joined his family at the table. Jason has decided to learn Italian. Bruce has silently agreed. Damian was already prepared to learn. Basically, the entire family has decided to learn Italian and help (Y/N) with English in return.

Another thing that made adapting to the American culture more difficult was the fact that talking and kind of interrupt one you are talking too. In Italy, that is not really considered rude since they are passionate about talking and just overall talking over.

In America, that is considered rude. He didn't like it that much, but understood. People won't like him that much and he would be considered a rude person if he interrupts other people. His family understood that it's not easy, but hey. You adapt to the culture and move on.

But still, it hurt a little bit.

And (Y/N) never understood one thing as well. Something called Italian Americans. He couldn't comprehend calling yourself Italian American, but you don't speak Italian and you are not connected to the culture of your other part. It was weird to him. No hate towards them, but to him it was weird. How can you call yourself a person who belongs to a certain culture if you don't know it?

But hey, no hate. As long as they don't insult Italy and the Italian culture, no hate.

And one more thing that no one prepares you for is the fact that you miss your home country. Despite Alfred doing the best Italian dishes known to men, but it just didn't taste the same. It didn't have that taste of Italy. Yes, it sounds weird, but it's true. Italy is one hell of a country with a rich history.

Oh the nostalgia is a worst feeling ever. Sure, it makes you feel happy and remember the great times you had., but sad at the same time. Bruce saw it, he wasn't blind.

He was sad for his son. So what does Bruce do? Summer holidays are approaching and Bruce had one great idea for everyone. 2 weeks in Italy, all paid for. He just needed to tell (Y/N) when and where they will be going.

And Bruce told him a few moments later, (Y/N) screamed from happiness and jumped into Bruce's arms, hugging him like a koala bear.

" Grazie Bruce! " (Y/N) screamed. Bruce didn't mind the use of his first name because (Y/N) was still getting used to the fact that he has a dad.

" Ti amo Bruce. " (Y/N) said as he stood back down at the floor. Bruce smile widely as he knew exactly what first two words meant.

" Love you too son. "

(Y/N) let out a woo as he went back to his room. Oh he will stuff himself with all of the Italian food he can eat and find. And he will go to Rome and the Vatican. No one is going to stop him. And not to mention, he will have to visit his family. They would never forgive him by any means and you don't want to piss off an Italian family.

#batfamily #dc x male reader #dc comics #x male reader #bruce wayne x male reader #batman x male reader

[sparklitive-sonya]

Many things have been said that I agree and don't agree with so there is not that many left for me but I will just say this will not stop me from being fan of Jere. He very clearly didn't mean any harm and is not actually a zionist - colour me as shocked if that dumbass even knows what that word means lol.

I knew when the first flag scandal happened that this would not be his last time ending up in an awkward situation, unless something majorly changed. Hopefully he has realized from the immediate fandom response that something now needs to change, it is time to grow up and realize you can't be everyone's best friend in this world.

I am aware certain country's delegation had apparently been really pushy and hostile about trying to get other participants to collab, and I can see how Jere is a perfect target for that.

My sister showed me afterwards the semifinal performance Jere was a part of and it made me even more angry that the swedes basically made him into a joke and didn't even let him perform his song in full, and then made sure to rub it in our faces that he didn't win.

I love Jere because he is a stupid silly little guy. But he also holds a lot of power that others can easily use to their advantage. Because of his stupidity and immaturity, he can be easily made into a perfect little propaganda puppet for ESC. He is a people pleaser to the point that it actively hurts him, we have seen this manifest in many ways. It took the fear of completely losing his entire fanbase for him to choose a side in the most vague manner possible and shout "No war".

I'm still hopeful this has been a learning experience for him, but also I'm aware it takes time to grow like that. And until that, these moments will unfortunately be a part of being a fan of his. It is understandable that to some people it might be way too stressful. There are celebrities out there who are open about their political stances, who might be less stressful to stan. But we must always remember that everyone is only a human. You should never put anyone on a pedestal.

Jere is clearly a human who is trying his very best to be good. Becoming a celebrity has been extremely difficult and painful for him. He's not perfect at it, and he clearly doesn't yet know what it means for him personally to be a good human - or a celebrity, what kind of image does he want to keep? This makes him vulnerable.

I would never abandon someone just for being vulnerable.

#sometimes i wonder if we as finns set him up for failure by putting him up on such high pedestal where the only way is down #käärijä

[luveline]

𝐢𝐟 𝐢𝐭 𝐛𝐚𝐫𝐤𝐬 | 𝐞𝐝𝐝𝐢𝐞 𝐦𝐮𝐧𝐬𝐨𝐧

part one | part two 

You don’t mean to make an enemy of Eddie Munson — he’s handsome, and talented, but he’s the biggest jerk you’ve ever met. Eddie thinks you’re infuriatingly pretty, emphasis on the infuriating. Too bad you just can’t seem to leave each other alone. 

fem!reader, enemies-to-lovers, rival rockstars, mutual pining, slight miscommunication, angst, hurt-comfort, eddie has mixed intentions, sexual tension, TW bullying (in case), TW recreational drug use, drinking, smoking, swearing. disclaimer: I can’t play an instrument

𓆩❤︎𓆪

The Coral Apartments, California, November 1990

Eddie Munson looks good on TV. You try to convince yourself that it's the blurry imagery, the three-toned LED's, but you know it's because he's plain good-looking. Rockstar suits him. Glam suits him; eyeliner, ripped shirts, ever-bruised knuckles and cut up fingertips that speak of a wrought dedication to the music he plays. 

You look away from the TV and push the sheets down with your feet, naked legs flat to the mattress and covered in your own cuts and bruises. It's not entirely Morgan's fault, but every time you see the shiny scar on your ankle you get mad at her again. She'd been sloppy on stage, pulled her mic tight and sent you reeling over it like a tripwire. You'd cut up your legs, sprained your wrist, and split your chin. On national TV. In front of thousands of people. 

Your ego is pretty bruised too. 

Worse was the bouquet of flowers you'd been sent the day after, huge and bursting with colour from a certain dark-haired thorn in your side. 

Saw you ate shit. Stop day-dreaming about me during sets and you'll be fine. EM 

You'd trashed the card but hadn't had the heart to fob the flowers. The last survivors of the bunch wilt slowly on the nightstand beside you, a much too pretty reminder of somebody you're trying to forget. Or rather, erase. You won't admit to yourself what happened at Monsters of Rock, because admitting it means he's winning. 

Morgan pushes your door open with her hip. If she's perturbed to find you in your underwear she doesn't say a word, making a beeline for your bag. She takes out your Newports and taps the carton against her chest. 

"What's up?" she asks, sliding a cigarette from the box and propping it between her shiny lips. "You still feeling sorry for yourself?"

"Morgan." 

She lights her cigarette, laughing through an exhale of smoke. "How many times do I have to say sorry?" 

"Once would be nice." 

"Babe." Morgan sits at the end of your bed, in a good mood for once but still herself. "I'm sorry you fell over my mic." 

She likely doesn't even see what's wrong with her apology. You accept it for what it is and hold your arm out for the pack and lighter. Knees pulled up, you settle against the headboard and light a cigarette yourself, but snuff it out after a shallow inhale. Nothing feels worth indulging in when the knot of anxiety in your chest keeps on tightening. 

"Where's Ananya?" you ask. 

"You're watching this again?" 

You glance at the TV where Corroded Coffin play through their Monsters of Rock set. 

"M'just waiting for us," you lie mildly.

"Sure… You know, you shouldn't feel bad about your spill last week. Look at Munson. Biggest crowd of his life and he's tripping over an E major." 

She snorts, the two of you watching as the Eddie on screen looks to the left of the stage and misses his mark. 

"How do you flub that?" She rolls her eyes. "Boys." 

How did he flub it? You'd been standing on the side stage cleaned up and smiling like you were half in love with him. The recording is proof — whatever power it is that he has over you, you have something similar over him. 

"Anya's in the lobby waiting for us." 

You sit up. 

"Why?" 

Morgan points at the alarm clock on your nightstand with the smouldering tip of her cigarette. "It's Friday." 

"It's Thursday." 

She smiles at you. If you didn't know her, the look of pity on her face might almost feel genuine. As it stands, she's a magnanimous bitch when she wants to be. She's lucky that it suits her. 

"It's Friday, babe. And we're," —she tilts her head to one side, the bemusement in her eyes unmissable— "ten minutes late." 

"Shit. Shit." You stand up on wobbly legs. "Fuck." 

"Don't worry! I got you something." 

With Morgan, you aren't sure if that's a good thing or a bad thing. But you don't really have a choice. 

—

Eddie won't admit to anybody why he finds himself in California. The band isn't touring, award season is mostly over. He should go home and see Wayne because fuck he's a bad nephew, a bad son, and Wayne deserves a whole lot better than one phone call a week when Eddie's too hungover to actually listen to what his uncle is saying. He should head back to Hawkins and make sure Wayne's actually cashing in the cheque's Eddie's been sending. 

He shouldn't be hanging around parties hosted by people he only knows from TV looking for you, that's for sure. 

The good thing about being semi famous is that introductions don't matter. Either somebody already knows you or they don't, and everybody assumes you already know them. Eddie can't count how many times somebody's pulled him in for a one-armed hug and said "Good to see you again," when they've never met before. 

It could be the coke. It's probably the ego. 

Eddie isn't extremely introspective or anything, but he hopes to fuck that he isn't an asshole. He knows he is in superficial ways. He's said some hurtful shit to people — to you — he wishes every now and then that he could take back. In the moment it had felt right to tease you, to belittle you as he thought you'd belittled him. He'd wanted to put his hand out and ask how high you can jump. But then he remembers how your bandmates had spoken to you, or your glitzy smile. He remembers the twisting pain in his chest when you'd fallen over on stage a week ago (though if anybody asks, he heard about it from somebody else). You'd smashed into the floor with a cruel force, arms twisted trying to protect your guitar, not a second spared to save yourself. You'd got back on your feet with blood dripping down your chin and played the rest of the song without complaint. Not one person had stepped in to clean you up. 

It drives Eddie insane. He can't help it. He hates you and he wants to linger on the sidelines and watch you play. He can't stand the despondent look in your eyes when you look at him, when you look at the floor. He needs you to know that you're better than they tell you, but he can't make himself say the words. 

So he'd sent you flowers and made a lame joke, hoping for hot and coming off desperate no doubt. He'd regretted it as soon as he'd hung up the phone, but he hadn't cancelled the order. Something colourful, he'd said. What flowers cheer people up? 

The florist had laughed at his awkward tone and said that all flowers do the trick. 

God, he hopes so. 

Which isn't to say Eddie likes you. He can't stand you, actually, come to think of it, standing in the sticky pit of some actress' kitchen as he pioneers the radio and flicks through to Roller FM. Resentment burns like fire as the dial clicks beneath his fingers, turning the volume up enough to hear the radio host introduce your band. 

"And tonight, a month before their new studio album hits the charts, Godless are letting us be the first to hear the second single. The outpour of hype after their first, Down and Out, was no small feat, and we have the lovely ladies here tonight to walk us through that fresh sound. But first, let's spin that new single. Ladies and gents, this is Silver Ringed…" 

Godless are about as cohesive as Corroded Coffin. They have a unique sound as most chart toppers tend to have, and as much as he thinks your front woman is a total hack, she can sing. Her voice moves from sultry and quiet to aggressive and rasping. She isn't afraid to scream when she needs to, and you and Ananya obviously won't let yourselves be outdone. Your music is visceral. It's good. Not Corroded Coffin good, you don't have the clean cut sound they do, but Eddie knows that isn't the point. It's supposed to be a little dirty, and since they let you on the writing floor it's getting worse. Better. Whatever. 

Eddie rubs his face with both hands. 

When the song ends, the radio host asks some questions about the new album, inspirations, touring, promotional album covers, the works, and Eddie hates himself for waiting to hear your voice. He grows irritated at the sound of Morgan's raspy nonchalance. 

"I mean, you guys are really stepping into a new genre here." It's true. Godless and bands like yours are more energetic, more aggressive than what Eddie plays. It's a divisive subject. Eddie likes it, but he knows a ton of metalheads who think it's immature. It's certainly not traditional. "Your first album was a whole lot different. And it was good, Godless broke into the scene! But this is new. You guys are more original and more popular than ever. Why the change?" The host laughs. "Well, she's sitting right here." 

Eddie thinks he can hear you inhale, but it's Morgan who speaks. 

"I wanted more for us, you know? Our first record, we just wanted to prove we could do it. This time we want to prove no one else can." 

Jamison scoffs. Eddie looks up from the radio and finds his bandmate with a beer in hand. He tries to steal it and gets an elbow to the chest for the effort. 

"Dick," he says. 

"Get your own." Jamison tilts his head toward the radio in a show of tuning in. "Can't tear yourself away, huh? How's your girlfriend?" 

"Christ," Eddie hisses. 

"You need him. Aw, she sounds so sweet." 

Eddie startles back to the radio, and sure enough you've finally been allowed to talk. Your voice is soft with nerves. 

"It's a lot to adjust to, I think I'm slow to- uh, get with the program. But I'm so happy to get to make music and to be a part of something this sick. Uh, this amazing, I mean." 

Poor girl, he thinks. By the end of your answer you sound like you want the ground to swallow you up. Thankfully the host is a professional, and laughs warmly. 

"It's a big lifestyle change! We talked a little about influence, is there a track I can play you guys out with? What's your favourite?" he asks. 

"Me?" you ask. 

"Yeah, you." 

"Oh, uh…" You laugh, sounding frazzled and sweet at once. "It has to be Black Sabbath, right? Do you guys have, um, The Mob Rules? Mob Rules is my favourite." 

Eddie needs to get very drunk, he decides, and he does. He drinks until he can't taste the difference between the shitty craft beer and seven hundred dollar cognac. Until he forgets why he was drinking in the first place, to erase the sound of your voice and your Sabbath recommendation — who the fuck picks Mob Rules over Heaven and Hell? He's tipsy and he won't remember, but he wants to fuck you stupid just for that (affectionately).

He loves Mob Rules. 

They move from one party to another, sloshed in the back of a car he still can't afford with his rockstar paycheck, more than drunk in the bathroom of a Studio City mansion kissing powder off of his fingers. Whatever he's been given doesn't last very long (though it hits hard), and he comes back to reality on a huge fancy couch surrounded by people, some he knows and most he doesn't. 

"I need a drink," he says. 

And he gets the shock of his life.

"I don't think that's a very good idea," you say gently. 

Eddie swings his head to yours, finding you in a nice dress, the gem of a necklace fallen down the valley of your chest. The lights are high and blaring and he can see the fine hairs of your face, the shine of your lipgloss like a siren call. 

"Why are you here?" he asks. 

You shrug. He watches your shoulders. 

"I need a drink," he says again. 

"Like, a beer? I don't judge but I think you’ll get alcohol poisoning if you drink anything else." 

"Like a beer." 

You look like you might stand up and get him one, for a second. He's ultimately glad that you don't. You twist around, elbow over the back of the couch, and your face beams like a star as you call, "Hey, Dornie? Could you toss me a beer, please?" 

Eddie worries he'd wanted to see you so badly you've appeared as a hallucination, and he hates himself and it's all old news anyways, but you turn back with a cold as ice beer in hand and press it into his arm until he whines.

"I'm sobering you up," you tease, again so gently. He does not like how you're looking at him, like you feel sorry for him. 

He takes the beer though the second sip makes him feel sick to his stomach, and tries not to look at you. 

"What, you don't want to be my friend anymore?" you ask. 

What has he said? 

"Sweetheart," he says, focusing very hard on sounding solid, "a friend is the last thing I want from you." 

"Could've fooled me… Hey, you wanna know a secret?" 

"What?" 

You lean in close, smelling of perfume, your face undeniably touchable. "I heard from somebody who heard from somebody else that they're kicking Tony Martin to the curb." 

He blinks. "Sabbath?" 

"Uh-huh." 

"Why the fuck would they do that?" 

"Think on it, baby." 

If he couldn't smell the flowery punch of your perfume, or see the individual lashes that shield your waterline, he'd definitely think you were a dream. You're here, and you're talking to him like you like him, looking at him like you did, you cruel, awful thing, that day at Monsters of Rock when he'd pressed you up against a wall and kissed you until his lips burned. You'd kissed back. You'd responded, your lips pressing against his with more enthusiasm than made any sense. 

Now you're calling him baby and telling him secrets, your knees tucked together and the outside of your thigh warming a stripe under his jeans. It feels surreal. Your body heat is sinking into his skin. 

Somebody across the coffee table entices you into conversation. Eddie listens to you talk. Maybe high Eddie is a nicer guy than sober Eddie (unlikely), because you don't seem repulsed by his company. Considering how you left things, your little corner shop spat and his bruising kiss, he hadn't been expecting a warm welcome. 

"Did you–" he starts, insecure and hiding it as best as he can, fingers itching for a cigarette, for something to do, "did you like the flowers?" 

"You already asked me that." You peek down at his beer. "Could I have that?" 

He hands it over numbly. 

"It's not a good idea, you know? Drugs and drink, mixing them together. It messes with your heart," you tell him. 

"Don't act all innocent," he says. 

"No, I know, I'm not trying to lecture you 'cause I do shit I shouldn't do, but– you looked one bump from a heart attack. Seriously." 

"Why do you care?" 

You laugh. Your nose wrinkles. "I don't know." 

It's not the answer he wanted, but it's the one he deserves. 

He's spent weeks talking to himself, imagining conversations between you both. He's memorised defences, shamefully readied a few insults in case you'd prepared your own, but nothing comes to mind now. He's speechless. 

You drink his beer and he thinks about how his lips had been at the mouth of it not ten minutes ago. It shouldn't matter. You've already kissed him. It shouldn't. 

"I don't think I took what I meant to," he admits. 

"Me neither. Morgan said they've been cutting with procaine around the hills. Did you get super numb?" 

He can't remember. He doesn't want to talk about any of this with you. "I heard you on the radio." 

"You did?" 

"You were scared." 

"No." You tear the tab off of the beer and put it in his hand. "I like high Eddie, he’s honest." 

"I'm not, really…" 

"Should see your pupils." 

Maybe he is, then. That could explain why he keeps saying what he's thinking without pausing to check if it sounds cool. He has his defences up to the ceiling usually, wouldn't ever let you or anybody else in, not here. 

He's staring at you. 

You brush the side of his arm with your fingernails. 

"Why are you being so nice to me?" he asks. 

Your small smile flattens into a line. "I don't know, Eddie. Who are you gonna tell? Who'd believe you? As far as the tabloids and- and our friends are aware, we hate each other." 

"It didn't feel like you hated me." 

"I didn't."

"But you do now?" 

You stand up. Eddie gets caught in your smile, charming with something worse lurking beneath. You brush the hair out of his face and station your hands at the base of his neck, dropping your head toward his ear. 

"Not telling," you whisper.

He thinks for a moment you're gonna kiss him, his ear or his neck, but you scratch his scalp lightly and leave as he's getting to grips with the feeling of your breath against his skin. 

—

Dolly Floor, California, December 1990 

Dolly Floor is a club in West Hollywood frequented by movie stars. You're pretty sure you only get in because of Morgan's snow trail incident months ago, and you almost wish they'd sent you packing when you see how densely hedged it is inside. The temperature hikes up with every step you take inside, and soon Morgan's dropping your wrist in favour of one of her friends across the way, leaving you totally alone. 

You're dressed in too much clothing for the occasion, a dress with sleeves and a leather jacket that isn't yours, big boots to protect your feet from crushing crowds. Morgan had thrown a pair of kitten heels at you in frustration. For once you'd told her no. She's been oddly friendly lately, letting you do as you please with nothing more than an irritated huff, and so you've got tights and socks alike stuffed into your shoes — you're sick of aches and pains. 

If anybody steps on your toes tonight, you're going home. 

The air is thick with humidity, exhaled breath, the scent of alcohol explaining the stickiness under your footsteps. You don't know many people, but you know Dornie and, irritatingly, half of Corroded Coffin, so you beeline for the band where they're holed up at the back and hope one of them will give you a drink. 

There's gotta be thirty different people hanging out. How they can hear each other talk is a mystery. Dornie puts his arm out when he sees you and you slide into his side, reaching up on tiptoes to kiss his pale cheek. 

"Careful," he says, "you'll make someone jealous." 

You're affectionate with Dornie 'cause he's nice. Just plain nice, which is hard to find in Hollywood. He's the very first friend you've made that's yet to break your heart, and better, he hasn't tried to sleep with you.

Not that you think you're some unresistable notch. 

"Who'd be jealous of me?" you ask. 

"Of me." He rubs your shoulder through leather. "It's good to see you, doll. Your chin's healing up nice, yeah? Or is it make-up?" 

He taps your chin. 

It unlocks a reluctant memory, the shadow of a different hand, heavy with intoxication but painstakingly gentle. 

"It's a bit of make-up," you admit, lifting your chin so he can see it. 

"Still, it's getting better. How are your knees?" 

Hiding behind your tights. "They're gnarly. Doesn't hurt to walk much now though." 

Dornie grins. He has a pretty smile with white wonky teeth and three lip rings on one side. His hair is shorn short, unlike most of the guys here rocking hair to the ears or even longer. His eyes are a light brown, emphasising the bruising bags under his eyes. He looks tired. 

"Don't look, but I'm getting some serious glarage from your favourite guitarist." 

"You're my favourite guitarist," you say, and you mean it. His arm is a comforting weight. It feels so good to have a friend. 

"Your second favourite." 

You step completely into Dornie's view and look up at him. "How's he look now?" 

"Chilling. Want me to guide you over to the bar like we're lovers?" 

"Don't say it like that." 

Dornie pulls you across the floor back to the bar, where blessed cool air seeps down from the air-conditioning and the drinks leave pools of condensation the second they're put down. Dornie buys you a mystery cocktail that tastes more like water than juice. You sip at it happily, using your more neutral vantage point to get a good look at Eddie. 

He's sprawled against a booth wall with one arm behind his head, a cigarette sending smoke up to the wall. He looks better than the last time you'd seen him. There's colour in his cheeks, though that might be the lighting. Dolly Floor is a strange venue, like a strip club without the workers, or a restaurant without food. It doesn't feel like a club, but there's a small stage around the corner from the bar where good music plays live, and it doesn't take much convincing for Dornie to come and watch the show with you for a bit. Some of his friends join you, a woman called Natalie, a man named Matfield, and they're both as nice as he is. 

"We heard the new record!" Matfield says across the high table, the golden watch on his wrist a beacon under the reflections of the harsh stage lights. 

"Hated it?" you ask. 

He chuckles. "All the screaming isn't for me, baby, but that shit doesn't matter. It was good. How's it doing?" 

"I honestly haven't looked," you say, opening your box of Newports and offering them out like candy. Everybody takes one. 

"Better not to know tonight," Natalie says agreeably, her perfect black hair curled toward her face like a seraphim shifting as she leans in for a light. "All you have to do is celebrate." 

You'd wanted, foolishly, to celebrate with the girls. Ananya had dipped as soon as she could and you get it, she has her own friends, but Morgan knocking the door of your room had been a great relief. If at least one of them wants to spend time with you, that's enough. Only, Morgan had made it clear as she was sifting through your clothes that she was going to try and find, "like, someone who's actually interesting." You'd taken it about half as personally as you would've a few months ago. 

Hence Dornie. You'd called him on the landlines and he'd said, "Yeah, babe, I'll meet you there." 

Thank whatever's watching for Dornie. 

He buys you another drink and then another, says your money's no good and tonight's about you. His friends are great, including you in all their jokes and smiles, and when the lights go down and the music gets louder you head out onto the glowing tiles and dance with them. 

Eddie finds you not long after. Slinking up from your peripherals, hand in his pocket. 

"What Eddie am I seeing tonight? The nice one?" 

Eddie doesn't flinch at your sudden question. "You look good." 

He'd approached from the left. You'd felt it rather than heard him, and you'd guessed right. He steps further into view, not smiling, not not smiling. He looks good too. 

"I heard the album." 

You hate how much you care. "Yeah?" 

"It was good. It wasn't metal, but it was good." 

You're laughing before he's even finished, turning away from him in a feigned sense of superiority. I don't care what you think. 

Eddie doesn't grab you. You wouldn't care if he did. He follows by your elbow and says, "Come on, you know it isn't." 

"Just 'cause it doesn't sound rooted in the 70s," you say with a smile. 

"That's the whole point. It's baseless, there's nothing traditional in it. It isn't metal, but it's rock, and it's good, and–" 

"Slow down, Munson. A girl'd think you liked her." 

"I'm objective." 

"You're not."

"I'm not, but my opinions are right. Everybody says that, but when I do it's true, so…"

You look at him properly. He looks present in a way he hasn’t before in front of you. There’s a total clarity behind his eyes that you yourself don’t have tonight. He looks sober. Not that you thought he was an addict, not that you didn’t. There’s a certain blasé attitude to substance abuse when you get a kick of fame. Everybody has something in their pocket and you’ll admit to buying into it, taking stuff you shouldn’t in unfamiliar places. You know, of course, that drugs are fucking dangerous. But you hadn’t been freaked out by them until the other night, when you bumped into Eddie outside of the bathroom in Dornie’s friend’s house and he hadn’t recognised you for a solid ten seconds. 

He’s chewing on nothing. 

“I didn’t do it to hold over you,” you say.

“What?”

“Look after you. It wasn’t… I mean, I wasn’t making fun of you. And I’m not gonna tell anybody.”

“Generous.” His eyes narrow subtly. 

“So if that’s what you’re doing.” You look down to his neck where a silver chain rests, thin, new and hidden under his shirt. “Checking to make sure, I’m not.”

“You think I’m here to make sure you don’t tattle?”

You’re too tipsy to feel embarrassed. “You’re here to buy me a drink, then. I want a cherry margarita with extra shiny cherries and all the salt on the rim, please. Please,” you add, because the second one hadn’t felt polite enough. 

Eddie nods and half turns. “Shiny cherry?” he asks. You almost miss it, his soft tone nearly lost in the noise.

“Maraschino… they’re pink.”

“You’re not gonna come with me?”

“Get lost often?” 

Eddie holds his hand out. You’re supposed to think of how his hand looks, his callouses, his rings, the cut across his thumb, the size and length of his fingers. You think about them enough when he isn’t around, but now, right now, your heart thuds against your chest. Your thoughts are a mess until they aren’t — hold his hand. You put your fingers against his palm and he squeezes them together like he’s collected them, tugging you out of the crowd and across the room to the slick black bar. 

You’re still angry with him. You’re wounded, knife to the gut and all the red blood because he’d been right, you’re a dog, you do what people tell you to, you’re doing it right now, but then he squeezes your hand with a light enough pressure that you’re sure you’ve imagined it until he does it again, leaning up against the bar as he gives your order. “Extra cherries,” he says to the barkeep with a smile, letting your hand go in favour of his own drink. 

The crowd surges with a new song and people brush your calves as they walk around you. You and Eddie stay at the bar. He sips on a bottle of water. You wait for your margarita. 

“Your cut’s healing up,” he says. 

You try not to notice your touching arms. “It was bad, right? It must’ve been. You felt so sorry for me,” —the words burn— “you sent me the biggest bouquet I’ve ever gotten in my life.”

“I didn’t feel sorry for you, sweetheart, can you read?”

“Between the lines, yes,” you say, nodding your head once, emphatic as you accept your margarita. “Thank you.”

“I didn’t feel sorry for you. Felt bad for you-“ He holds up a pale palm. “My fault an’ all, I’ll try to be less daydream worthy.”

“I wasn’t thinking about you. Did you see it? She tripped me up with her mic doing a shitty Stevie Nicks impression.”

“Wrong genre.”

You laugh at him. “Exactly! That’s the point.”

“Yeah, I saw it.” 

You raise your eyebrows. Eddie’s head tips forward and his hair hides his cheeks, the subtlest impression of his cheekbones lost to a curtain of curls. He twists one of his rings around his finger.

“She- You should be more careful,” he says. 

Everything’s raw with him, criticism most of all, but you’re feeling generous. You fish one of your shiny cherries from the margarita glass, surprised to find its stalk intact, and break the delicate skin between your teeth. You mull over what he’s saying as the sweet flavour aches in your jaw. You could’ve been more cautious. You’d been having fun, and you’d thought you could trust the people you work with to have your back. It was a little silly to assume; neither Morgan nor Ananya have ever shown you much second thought.

“Yeah, I think I should be,” you say finally, putting the cherry stalk in your mouth.

“What are you doing?”

You ignore him and try to tie a cherry stem knot. You keep trying until you think you’ve got it. You pull the stem from your tongue. 

“Shit,” you curse, glaring at the curved stem. “Thought I had it.”

Eddie grins and leans into your space, fingers quick to pinch a cherry from your margarita. 

He brings it to your mouth. You keep your lips pressed closed and search his face for a trick. Nothing peaks out, not a hint of cruelty to his pinked lips or flush of soft lashes. You try not to breathe as you open your mouth, and Eddie pushes the round of the cherry over your bottom lip slowly. 

You bite down. 

Eddie takes your stalk and places it on his own tongue. He closes his mouth, and within five seconds he’s taking out a knitted stem with a prideful buzz about him. Any smugness he’d held dissipates. He looks adorable. 

“Beat you,” he says. 

“Arrogant doesn’t suit you.”

“Arrogant absolutely suits me,” he argues, the corners of his lips twitching up, up, up. He’s smiling so much. He reminds you of somebody. “Sore loser doesn’t suit you.”

“You’re one to talk.”

“What’s that mean?”

“What’s that mean?” you repeat. “I smile at you across a stage set and you push me up against a wall.”

“Smile? That’s what you’d call that?”

You’re facing each other now. Eddie inches closer as he speaks, each word said with a precision that can’t be unpracticed. “I’m playing in front of near enough a hundred thousand people, kind of crowd I fucking dreamed of as a kid, in front of actual real life rockstars, and you stroll up to side stage dressed like–”

He cuts himself off. An olive branch. A stopper. A dam. His inhale infuriates you. 

“No, go on. Dressed like what, superstar?”

“Like a fucking groupie.” 

You know he’s only said it to try and get a rise out of you. He knows that you know. He looks like he wants to take it back. 

You want him to push it further. 

“And you liked it,” you say, angry. Quiet. “You liked it and you couldn’t get a handle on it.”

“No,” he says, knowing what you’re implying, voice hot and fast, “I kissed you because I knew you wanted me to. I knew what it would do to you.”

“I wanted you to?” you ask. 

“Didn’t you?”

“I wanted to mess with your head ‘cause you fucking harsssed me–”

He cuts you off, “You wanted to mess with me because you hated that I was right about you. Not everything, but enough. Those girls treat you like shit. And you let them, or you’ll be the next Millyana, sitting at home watching the rest of us on TV wondering why you couldn’t make it out.” Something in his expression flickers like a rubber band has struck his skin. 

“I’m not going anywhere.”

For the first time, you mean it. You worked hard to get here, had people treat you a whole heap worse than Eddie’s hot and cold, than Ananya's indifference and Morgan’s narcissism. Hours in buses with your neck craned against a short ceiling scribbling music and days toeing the line with a guitar falling apart in your hands. You scrimped and saved and starved for this. 

Eddie smiles at you. For the second time that night, he looks like somebody else. 

“I know,” he says. “I think we’re finally on the same page.”

—

Eddie buys you another drink. Your tipsiness had felt so far away when things got heated, but now your bubbly smile is back, and you’re actually talking to him. About music, sure, but the movies, the weather, the fancy apartments the record company put you up in. 

“Finally got my own room so Ananya can stop complaining about the noise,” you say with a wink. 

He chokes on his water. “The noise?”

“I’m a very dedicated player.”

You let a small silence pervade before bursting into giggles, hand patting his upper arm. “I’m kidding! She gets mad ‘cos I’m trying to learn YYZ but it is so, so hard.”

“Shit is hard,” he says. “Do you even have time for that? You start touring again in a month, maybe you should, you know, slack off?”

“No, because if I’m doing nothing I’m nothing.”

Eddie — fuck fuck fuck — shouldn’t pry. 

“You’re not nothing.”

You wrinkle your nose at him and he loves when you do it. It’s not cute, really, but everything you do is cute in a way he refuses to unpack. “No, I’m not, I don’t know why I said that.”

“I get it, though. You feel like… maybe it's all gonna stop one day. Wake up with a bad case of the yips and no matter how good you were…”

“Yeah.” You take a very noisy slurp of margarita. “I’m so afraid that I’m gonna be nothing that I can’t stop.”

Eddie throws his gaze around the room. It’s no coincidence that your friend Dornie keeps looking his way; the night is winding down and there’s barely anybody dancing. It’s home time. 

“You won’t be nothing,” he says, easing the margarita out of your hands. He might’ve bought you one too many. “I’m sorry for, uh, getting you drunk.”

“I got myself at least three parts there. Out of five.”

“At least three parts,” he agrees.

He wants, very badly, to touch your face. Hold your cheek in his palm. “Hey,” he says lightly. “Uh, you got something. On your cheek.”

You brush your dewy skin with an embarrassed look about you, shoulder risen and eyes all droopy with booze. “Here?”

“Higher.”

He watches you scrub at nothing. He’s tricking you. He feels awful. 

“Still haven’t got it?”

“‘Fraid not, baby.”

“You get it.” You brandish your cheek.

Eddie keeps a good distance. He knows what he’s doing is weird, he just wants to touch you for a second. He rubs the pad of his thumb down your face, tracing the path of a tear you haven’t shed. Eye to chin. 

“You’re good,” he says, dropping his hand. 

“Thank you.”

You’re slurring. He thinks you’re more tired than you are tipsy (though you are, undeniably, inebriated), and he wonders where all the time went, how it’s suddenly been an hour with you and your conversation. There’d been a moment where he thought he’d fucked it and your eyes had shone with hurt, but you’re smiling, he’s smiling, and Dornie looks aggrieved. All good things.

“I think you better get going,” he murmurs. 

“Sick of me?” you ask, not teasing. 

“No. Your friend’s waiting for you.” 

You look over your shoulder and your smile glows. You start babbling about how that’s your friend Dornie (he knows, you’ve only told him five times) and how Dornie is sooooo nice. You deserve somebody being nice to you right from the start. Eddie’s trying to make it right but he’s said some shit he can’t take back. He wants you to have someone who’s a hundred percent sweet on you, he just doesn’t wanna have to hear the adoration in your voice when you talk about it. 

Eddie’s a dick. Self-admitted. 

You go home with an arm looped around Dornie’s waist. (Dornie said high-pitched, wide-eyed.) Eddie pulls a handful of bills from his wallet to pay for the drinks he’d bought, stuffing the change in a tip jar on the way back to the dregs of the coffin crew. Jamison’s long gone and Jeff didn’t wanna come, but Gareth’s smoking a cigarette with another guy’s hand mysteriously lapward. 

He clears his throat. “I’m going home and taking the car.”

“Wait for me?”

Eddie cringes. “Sure.”

Eddie sits in the car. One hand on the wheel, the other in his pocket. He thinks about tonight, your hair, your smile, the way your arm had brushed up against his. He wonders if this is the right move. Eddie’s not mad at you anymore for forgetting who he was, for your teasing at the Prover Theatre or your rookie comments. And Monsters of Rock, that had been half spite and half bravado. Spur of the moment bravery. Idiocy. Yeah he’d kissed you to piss you off, but he’d also done it because he wanted to. 

He sighs and takes your discarded pull tab out of his pocket. He thumbs the rounded edge, thinking harder than one guy should ever think about anything that isn’t metal. Shit, he thinks. I gotta go home.

𓆩❤︎𓆪

note: they are not done hating each other I am just warming up! thank you so much for reading, I hope you enjoyed <3

#eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson imagine #eddie munson #stranger things fic #eddie munson x fem!reader #eddie munson fanfic #stranger things fanfiction #rockstar!eddie #rockstar!eddie munson #rockstar!eddie munson x reader #rockstar!eddie x reader #eddie munson fic #eddie munson angst

[candyk0rn]

Hey, can I request a break up with Nanami, Gojo, and Geto? I'm in a mood for angst :')

⚘Breakup⚘

Woah okay first time I’ve ever written smth like this so I’m excited! Thanks for the ask, have a good day/night!

Warnings: ummm breaking up with someone is sad y’all

Included: Nanami Kento, Gojo Satoru, Geto Suguru

G.Satoru:

Fights or arguments don’t really happen with Gojo

Because he doesn’t let them happen

When things get even the slightest bit heated, he avoids them

He erases them with clinginess and jokes, always brushing it off when he should definitely be serious

And this is one of many things that drew your relationship to its inevitable end

Not only was it his lack of ability to read the room, but also his dangerous job

With the privilege of being considered the ‘strongest’, that means the strongest enemies are after him as well

You cannot begin to count the amount of times he said he’d leave for a three day mission, only to be gone for an entire week with no further communication

There’s a large risk at hand with being even so much as associated with Gojo

Let alone being his romantic partner

A certain bounty has been placed on your head too, you’re sure.

And that is just dusting against the surface of the cracks that eventually took control of your relationship

And to be honest, he doesn’t take the break up that serious either

Not until you stop returning your calls and haven’t come home for a few hours

Maybe it’ll make him realize, but who knows?

N.Kento:

Nanami is tricker than Gojo.

But in some regards, I believe he’s very similar

For Nanami is perceived, at least, to be a ‘simple’ man

For someone who hates work, who would much rather go on a long vacation,

He takes his occupation extremely seriously

Both his normal income job and his sorcerer work

And sometimes you truly felt he held his job before you, his partner

And sometimes, he would openly admit to taking priority elsewhere than with you

Which, in some cases understandable, still hurts

One time, later in your relationship, he has forgotten your anniversary

Well, he hadn’t forgotten it fully

But he didn’t celebrate in anyway, needing his hours at work

Nor did he intend to celebrate in anyway, even though much earlier to the date you told him you would like to

Unlike Gojo, the breakup is rather smooth

He simply and utterly refuses to leave on a bad note

And he will not only leave in good terms, but he wants to leave respectfully

But he will be in shock for a very long time afterwards

And he doubts the feeling of deep regret will leave anytime soon…

G.Suguru:

I don’t think people really recognize how others are affected when someone begins to spiral

Not only is the person who is going through the hard time hurting and being drained, the person helping is drained too

And unfortunately, this is what happened to yours and Geto’s relationship

Seeing someone you care for so deeply begin this downward trajectory is hard

And you swore to be by his side through it all..

Until he began to do some things you didn’t exactly approve of

Once the count of dead began rising by his hand, you found yourself losing sympathy bit by bit

It’s a hard pill to swallow, it’s a difficult thing to accept

And it’s an even worse thing to end

To hang on to the hope that the old Suguru is simply trapped behind a mask of pain would be futile

It’s either accept unfortunate route his travelled down, or follow in your own beliefs

And even though you once thought you could help him wash his hands clean of blood,

There will always be a spot left unattended

And spots only grow until you no longer see skin

Only red.

He doesn’t actually believe you at first when you bring up leaving him

In fact, he says to your face he doesn’t believe you

Like Gojo, he assumes that after you calm down you’ll be running back to him

But you don’t

And there’s very few times he’s felt regret.

He has done everything in his power to make sure the word isn’t even in his vocabulary

But there’s that sting in his heart and that dizziness in his head

That can only be described as loss.

Thanks for reading!

#jjk #jujutsu kaisen #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jjk x reader #gojo satoru #gojo x reader #nanami kento #nanami x reader #angst #geto suguru #getou suguru x reader #x reader #fanfic #fyp #headcanons #x y/n #for you page

[weirdly-specific-but-ok]

why i love aziraphale and why i find his character so heartbreaking

So I made a post on why I relate to Crowley and I adore him, obviously. I think a few you misunderstood what I meant there, though (which is understandable, I was a bit incoherent but that is inevitable on this blog). I wasn't saying Aziraphale didn't care about Crowley or was horrible to him, rather the opposite.

What I was saying was maybe Crowley felt unloved against his better judgement, because he knows he is loved by Aziraphale, but maybe everything he has been through has started to chip away at that knowledge. It's happened to me, I'm sure it's happened to a few of you. You are assured that you are loved, you can see them doing things for you, but you feel unloved. Maybe because of the other people who don't love you. Maybe because... you don't love yourself.

But I definitely wasn't putting down Aziraphale, who is a beautiful character. I adore him. I love how every single second, all his emotions are on his face. That's actually how I realised they'd switched bodies--in heaven, 'Aziraphale' had a cool, dismissive look on his face. That could only be Crowley, I knew, because Crowley is a bit better (not a lot, not around Azi of course) at masking his emotions.

That's what's so beautiful about Azi, we can just see how much he feels, how much he adores Crowley, how much hope he had, how much faith in Heaven, how much determination to do the right thing. How determined he is to keep Crowley safe, to make Crowley smile and laugh, and how much it kills him every time he has to push Crowley away for both of their sakes, or he thinks he has to. You both want to protect that optimism and faith, and also shake him and tell him the truth. But how do we know better than him, a 6000 year old angel? There's so much that we don't know, that may have happened behind the scenes, that's orchestrating his decisions.

Some of you are certain that there is more, that he doesn't still believe that what Heaven offers is genuine, because how could he? I'm also sure that there is more, but can I also offer an alternate idea? Even if there wasn't more, maybe he isn't to blame if he did continue to believe in Heaven's goodness.

We've been in toxic relationships. With friends, partners, family. I know how hard it is to accept that something you love is not worthy of that love. Something you admired is something flawed. Something you would do anything to keep is something you need to push away.

The worst of all, of course, is that time, somewhere in our childhood or teens or adulthood, when a lot of us realise our parent or parents are not heroes. That we don't agree with them. That they were wrong about a lot of things. Because they taught us everything, they were our guides, how could they be wrong? And if we can't believe in them, then what are we supposed to believe in?

Maybe Aziraphale is going through that journey, over all those millennia. Some of us are forced to realise it before we even turn ten, some of us haven't realised it yet, some of us may not ever or may not need to.

Maybe Aziraphale is just a child of God, realising that Heaven, his technical family, is not the Good that not only they but the entire world believes them to be. Everyone says Heaven is good, including a lot of Hell, including a lot of humankind, it's just given. What is Heavenly is good. And Aziraphale wants to be good.

But he's going through that painful journey of realising that good may not be what he was taught, that good comes in many shades and tints and hues. And we can see him do it, we can see him defy Heaven and God, for Crowley or for humans or for himself. He's doing it, and we need to see how it isn't easy for him. Having your entire system of belief deconstructed is painful and awful. And if you were wrong once, how do you know you won't be the next time?

It's hard enough for Crowley, torn between whether he was unworthy or whether Heaven was wrong. Imagine the tumult that Aziraphale goes through, because if Heaven accepts him and Heaven isn't always good, does that mean Aziraphale has been doing it all wrong all his life?

He's going through something that we all go through, and is every bit as relatable as Crowley is. I love them both so much. I'm so glad that there's a third season, to see how that arc closes, to see if maybe they find the answers we're all looking for.

@adverbian and @howmanyholesinswisscheese, I hope this helps? Again, I haven't watched season 2 yet and have a horrible memory since I've been watching season 1 heavily medicated, so this is just from what I know and can tell and headcanon, perhaps.

#good omens #good omens fandom #aziraphale #good omens mascot #weirdly specific but ok #crowley #good omens s3 #go 3 #go 1 #go 2 #ineffable husbands #ineffable fandom #good ineffable omens #asmi #aziracrow #neil gaiman #aziraley #azirowley #love for Aziraphale #azi #good omens meta #angel #feelings #lgbtqia #maggots

[yourheart-inmyhands]

Hii, just call me Skull anon. I've been very curious about how different yanderes would do so I'm asking for a request.

How would Xiao, Albedo, and Wriothesley deal with a Drug addict reader who was already in an unstable state, struggling to survive with rent and had bad trauma? The trauma could be anything you'd like.

Of course, you can deny this request if it makes you uncomfortable. No pressure or anything.

so i was a little hesitant to do this because I wasn't sure how well I could properly portray this, but going sort of off my own experience with certain things and trying to remain calm i wrote this. i can't really explain what compelled me to, but i do hope you enjoy this and please, read the warnings for this one :] <3

Warning: this post contains yandere-themes, including delusional behaviors, implied being held against will, manipulation tactics, mentions of substance abuse and recovery from it, obsessive behaviors, and other potential topics. Please Read At Your Own Risk!

Yandere!Xiao would be concerned internally but look indifferent externally. He’s conflicted, because he knows you’re struggling and that humans are a lot weaker, that you need help, but he doesn’t know how to help, he’s never had to be in this position before. He consults many people, fellow adepti, Zhongli, even the Traveler, none of whom he gives the full picture to but instead dances around the main ideas and works off vague descriptions.

Xiao’s first step in helping you was moving you in to the Wangshu Inn with him, where he could watch over you better. He has a reserved room there, though he never really uses it. Sleep is beyond his needs so he rarely rests, but you need rest so he allows you to have the room. This comes with him barging in on you whenever he sees fit though, day to night at any moment he could pop in without you even knowing. He had a strange way of doing that, a lot. He isn’t sure how to help with trauma or substance abuse, those aren’t the evils he usually fights, but he knows people he can ask about that. Xiao didn’t like admitting that he didn’t know what to do, but grumbling and giving Baizhu some vague descriptions of the situation helped him get a better idea of what to do. Xiao decides to take the soft approach of slowly weening you off the awful stuff, not wanting you to be left with more problems from quitting cold turkey. It’s a long road and Xiao was sorta kinda prepared to help you through it. He likes having you this close though, this dependent on him and his help.

Yandere!Albedo struggles with his feelings. His lack of humanity means he really only experiences feelings that are typically in abundance, meaning he doesn’t feel unless the feeling is so strong it cannot be ignored. His research is all he really knows so he takes the opportunity to offer ‘assistance.’ In exchange for staying with him and allowing him to study your responses and reactions, he would help you with your addiction.

It seemed like a good deal at first, Albedo would provide adequate housing, a quaint apartment in the heart of Mondstat, in exchange for being allowed to study you as he helped you over your drug problem. It would kill two birds with one stone no? What he didn’t tell you though was that he planned to have you quit cold turkey, wanting to watch how your body would respond to the sudden withdrawals. Of course, if anything started to border on the edge of life-threatening, he’d take preventative measures to ensure you lived, but otherwise, you were not permitted to leave or take any addictive substances. Albedo oversees all your care, meaning that for the entire recovery process, you are confined to a bedroom with him hovering over you, notepad and pencil in hand and large, unblinking eyes boring holes into you. It was unsettling, and even when you were on the upswing, finally getting to where the grass was greener, he still refused to allow you out or allow others in, saying that it could compromise the research. In reality, he just didn’t want anyone else near you, he had loved having you all to himself and didn’t want to share you ever again.

Yandere!Wriothesley is surprisingly educated on what to do. Not only had a few people in similar conditions come through the prison, but it was his job to make sure that he knew everything about everyone who passed into this place. With the help of some staff at the Fortress of Meropide, he moves you into a room in the staff wing, assigning you a set of personalized staff to help with your addictions. There were only two conditions, he would check in on you every day to ensure you were sticking to your recovery and that when you were finally okay, you would work as his assistant to pay off your debt. 

Wriothesley wasn’t worried about the money that was put towards your recovery, it was nothing to someone with the title of Duke. He was more concerned with you being alive than momentary pleasures like wealth, but he used the excuse of you needing to pay him back to keep you around longer. He checks in with you every day, typically around dinner time, he’ll take a break to eat with you and talk about your day, building a relationship and establishing a connection, but sometimes he takes short breaks to check in on you. Wriothesley also speaks with the assigned group of nurses and staff that were there specifically for you every day, getting word from them on your progress and how things are looking. He enjoys seeing you slowly getting better day by day, his hope for the future strong as he dreams of the day you become officially his. He had no intention of ever letting you leave the Fortress of Meropide, at least not without him, arm wrapped protectively around you as he escorts you around, as a partner should.

#genshin x reader #genshin x male reader #yandere genshin x reader #yandere genshin x male reader #xiao x reader #xiao x male reader #yandere xiao x reader #yandere xiao x male reader #albedo x reader #albedo x male reader #yandere albedo x reader #yandere albedo x male reader #wriothesley x reader #wriothesley x male reader #yandere wriothesley x reader #yandere wriothesley x male reader #yandere xiao #yandere albedo #yandere wriothesley #yandere genshin

[asklilmissrarity]

The Future of Lil Miss Rarity

Hello everyone, this is Jay Tonique (formerly known as Lil Miss Jay), the writer, artist, everything other than the music in the Lil Miss Rarity animation for the blog "Lil Miss Rarity."

As some of you know, Lil Miss Rarity was an ongoing outlet for my physical, verbal and emotional abuse I was suffering prior to and leading up to Lil Miss Rarity's release, October 11th 2011.

The blog took off so heavily that my entire artistic career became a viable future for me, allowing me to profit from my art, build a huge loving fanbase, and even allowing me to become something of a celebrity in the Brony community (even very much hated by a large portion of the community).

It's needless for me to say that Lil Miss Rarity not only changed but saved my life. I was on the verge of taking my own life around the time the blog was started, due to the abuse I was going through, and if it weren't for the success of the blog that fateful October week, I would certainly not be here, typing this right now. I owe my life to you all, and the support you've given me for this blog.

However, it's time for the news I know very few people want to hear. In fact, I'm sure just reading this line right here has people's hearts sinking, but please, don't be anxious, please read the full post.

I would like to say: Please read the full post, I am going to be very clear about the future.

Moving forward, Lil Miss Rarity will no longer be updated, and the blog is officially entirely over, as of this post.

I am still looking for a musician to commission a new song for the remake of the Lil Miss Rarity animation on YouTube, which will be my final major update involving the blog, and then I will be putting the blog entirely to rest. The animation will serve as a fond emotional farewell to Lil Miss Rarity.

However, that's not the end of the twisted grimdark storytelling. I have decided to make a spiritual successor, a new IP, entirely my own and not using My Little Pony as a crutch.

I won't get too into it, but I left the Brony fandom long ago. It was both the greatest thing to ever happen in my life, and the absolute worst thing to ever happen in my life. I met great friends, but also met unbelievably horrible sick people, many of which I literally got FBI involvement to deal with and many of which are literally in prison now.

Due to this, and many many more reasons I'm leaving out, I cannot and will not continue to be a part of the fandom. This is just a few reasons, as well, that continuing to have Lil Miss Rarity exist as a My Little Pony blog just doesn't make any sense to me.

So what am I doing moving forward?

A brand new IP called "Melodi." It's about a magic school student who is part of a wealthy family who goes on a magical twisted adventure in a horrifying grimdark world.

It will have characters either very slightly or very heavily inspired by the characters of Lil Miss Rarity, with Melodi of course being inspired by Rarity.

It will also be an ongoing web comic, similar to LMR, and will encourage fan feedback just as much as LMR did, but will not be an Ask Blog like LMR.

I plan to release character concepts for the cast of Melodi soon.

Now, there's probably a lot of questions moving forward, so I'll try to answer them now, as well as in asks on this blog, though I'd prefer you send the asks about Melodi to my main blog at http://www.jayisbutts.com/ask

Here's some questions I think will be asked, and I'll answer them here:

"Will this blog be on Tumblr?" - Yes, and on Patreon. Each update will be on Patreon first. When an update comes out on Patreon, the previous update will go public at the same time on Tumblr.

"Don't you think the LMR fanbase you've garnered for 12 years are gonna be upset about this?" - I'm 100% certain they will be, yes. However, I hope that most people who hear this news are excited to see Melodi in the future. I'm very proud of what I've created with LMR, and happy about how many lives I've changed and how many people have told me how much they love LMR. People with the heart-brand tattoo, people with LMR tattoos, people who cosplay as LMR, LMR fanart still being made regularly to this date, real-life Opal dolls, fan-dubs of the comic, fan animations, Anime Music Videos, etc etc etc. I love each and every one of you and I hope that I can one day garner the same amount of love for Melodi as I received for LMR. Thank you all so much for your support.

"What if someone else wants to carry on the LMR blog or use the characters to make their own?" - Please, do. LMR is officially Public Domain as of this post, and I strongly encourage LMR fan-fiction, fan-blogs, etc. I would love if someone could do LMR better than I did. I will very happily use this blog going forward to showcase new LMR blogs and fan-content that I like, and I will very gladly be a guest artist from time to time on an update or two to those blogs. You all have my blessing to take LMR and do with her whatever you want.

"Are you still remaking the LMR animation?" - Yes, I'm still actively seeking a musician to make an official LMR theme that will play in the background of it. It will be a glorious farewell to LMR.

"Is the heart-brand still a thing in Melodi?" - Absolutely, yes. The one incredibly major staple being carried over to Melodi is the heart brand. That symbol has become synonymous with LMR.

"What about the eye scars?" - Probably not. There will be facial scarring of some kind, yes, but considering the new story will not involve killing a cat (not yet anyway), she probably won't have the eye scars.

"Black eye with white pupil?" - We'll see! (It is a sign of Malice's corruption to have a black left eye, so almost certainly yes, but we'll see!)

"Ponies? Humans? Furries?" - I haven't fully decided. In my head, Melodi is a human, but I could also see her being a cat. I'm not sure what I wanna do just yet. However, she will not be a pony. She's gonna be far more human shaped. With boobies.

"Is this one gonna have porn?" - Nope! Not directly as part of the blog, no. Sexual encounters are going to happen in a very fade-to-black way, or a cropped-off-screen sort of way, yes. And there will be sexy characters, like monster girls or demon girls, and I'm sure people will find Melodi herself sexy, too. However, the blog is not going to contain actual porn. No full nudity. It will have what some would refer to as "fetish content," as with LMR, but it's not porn.

"Final question, so... LMR is just... dead? As of now?" - In terms of receiving updates from me, all that will be made is the LMR animation. But no, I certainly hope LMR is not dead. I would love to see the blog live on through other artists I've inspired. You all have my blessing to keep her alive forever.

Thank you all so much for your support.

More news involving Melodi and her twisted adventures coming soon.

I love you all, and I want you all to know how much your support of Lil Miss Rarity has changed my life.

I know it's cringe to type this, but, "I'm literally crying right now."

Mommy will always be pretty.

~Jay Tonique (Formerly Lil Miss Jay)

#lil miss rarity

[anjaelle]

I Think She Knows

Pairing: Tangerine x Black!Reader Warnings: Drunk!Tangerine, Needy!Tangerine, Jealous!Tangerine, (Kinda Toxic Behavior) Word Count: 2.4K Summary: In which Tangie starts realizing things and absolutely does not have the bandwidth to deal with it. Because babygirl is bad at most things, and feelings are at the top of the list. a/n: Something something... I don't advocate for getting drunk and being weird at your not-girlfriend's house. Thanks!

(gif source)

--

When it fully hit him, it was like being mowed down by a 10-ton truck.

He felt like he couldn't breathe. The way his chest suddenly rose and fell made him made him question if his heart was attempting to escape his ribcage just to be closer to you.

You were talking about...something. You came over wearing a skin tight red dress and you carried your shoes in your hands as you tiredly strolled into his kitchen.

Actually, he remembered what you were talking about.

You mentioned how tired you were of having to talk to idiot men, but that stabbing them in the head for your efforts was almost worth the annoyance. Ordinarily he probably would've just laughed or made a smart ass comment about how lucky he was that he could be around you without the threat of violence. But you mentioned fighting, did a small spin in a circle, and did something akin to a silly jig to show how secure you felt in your dress.

He felt his thoughts halt in their tracks, and he suddenly couldn't remember his own birth name, let alone how to form a coherent sentence.

You didn't even seem to notice. Or maybe he hid it well. Because the conversation continued like he hadn't malfunctioned right in front of you. Maybe he was running on autopilot. That had to be it.

He swallowed hard, ran his fingers through his mess of untamed curls, and shakily came back into himself with the heavily realization that he was deeply in love with you.

Did you even know? Was it evident on his face like ostentatious neon lights in the middle of a darkened street? You kept talking about your day and he tried to listen intently. But his own brain wouldn't shut the fuck up.

When he realized that he broke the one rule you two made (which he introduced), he wanted to walk into the Atlantic Ocean with rocks in his pockets. He loved you. You weren't even dating. You were definitely seeing other people and he realized he slowly cut out every other person he'd ever fucked just to spend more time with you.

God. He'd dropped SO many other people. He could remember canceling potential hookups just because you wanted to hang out. Of fucking course he couldn't tell you this now. He'd look like a massive idiot.

"Are you alright? You seem off." You suddenly asked. Your beautiful eyes seemed to roam his face in genuine concern. Death would've been easier to face. In fact, death has notoriously been much easier for him to face.

He forced an assumedly easy grin on his face and shrugged, "I'm just listenin', babe."

You quirked a suspicious brow at him, but continued on with your story of your mission. Every so often he could feel himself staring at your mouth and the way your nose seemed to crinkle at certain memories of the night. He was suddenly hyperaware of how much he seemed to be study your every move. Had he been doing it this whole time?

On some level, he was confident that he could tell you exactly how many birthmarks you had on your entire body.

God what a sick fucking freak.

Suddenly his mouth started moving as if it wasn't connected to his own goddamn brain.

"You stayin' over tonight?"

He'd cut you off mid-sentence with the question. Naturally, you shot him a look that screamed contempt.

"...Maybe." You cut your eyes at him in a subtle challenge.

He felt like he didn't sound the least bit convincing, but he straightened his back to force an air of confidence that he obviously didn't have, "Well I need to know, because I might have plans. With a girl. Tonight."

He wasn't sure what he expected your reaction to be. Maybe he wanted you to be jealous. Or maybe he wanted you to try and convince him to change his mind. It was childish, but he wanted you to give him...something. Instead you raised your brows in surprise.

"Oh, really?" You grinned, "Is she cute?"

Oh come on. He thought.

"Yeah, a real stunner." Stunner? What the fuck was he saying? He couldn't stop himself, "Rebecca's tall, blonde, a model. Fuckin' sexy. So gorgeous."

He watched you slip your heels back on and adjust the top of your dress to hide your bra. He wanted to grab your beautiful face and kiss you. Instead he was spiraling and you didn't even notice.

"Blonde?" You seemed skeptical. Yes, good. "Since when do you go for Blondes?"

"Since always, actually. You think I tell you about everyone I've shagged?"

You shot another cutting glare in his direction, and he fought the childish giddiness rising in his chest. When you looked away from him to tap away on your phone, he tried to figure out what else he could say to get your attention again.

"You're in a particularly bitchy mood today." You suddenly said.

"Yeah?"

"Yeah."

"Maybe you should leave, then." He responded, much harsher than he intended to. He winced the minute the words left his mouth and you looked like you wanted to throw something at him.

"Since you wanna be a dick, fine. I'm having Jamesy pick me up."

You threw your jacket on and started tapping on your phone again, which irritated him to no end.

"Jamesy?" He spat, "Who the hell is Jamesy?"

"You think I tell you about everyone I've shagged?" You threw back at him in an almost perfect accent. He deserved it. But he started to panic as you headed towards the door.

"Well fine." He countered, though it sounded akin to a whine, "Stephanie's probably on her way, anyway. I don't want to watch you two fight over me or somethin'."

"Nobody's trying to fight over you, shut up." You mumbled, shoving your phone in your pocket. You took a second to pull the door open, but hesitated, "And also who's Stephanie?"

"The model."

"You said her name was Rebecca."

He stumbled over his words but finally came up with, "I--it's...You just have to be right all the time, don't you?"

He caught the way your mouth twitched in an attempt to fight a laugh, and he really wanted to grab you by the waist and pull you back into his apartment. But your phone dinged again, and you pulled it out of your pocket, "Look, when you're done throwing this little temper tantrum, and you figure out what your problem is, text me. Otherwise, sort your shit out."

Tangerine was having a terrible night. His face sat in a permanent frown as he stared into the fake embers of his electric fireplace and nursed a mason jar of vodka. You were out there getting railed by some prick named James who's too fuckin' old to still be going by Jamesy. And you probably weren't even thinking about him and how he's absolutely piping a real person named Bethany. Stephanie. Rebecca.

♫ I wish, I could just make you turn around Turn around and see me cry There's so much I need to say to you so many reasons why You're the only one who really knew me at all♫

He'd lost track of how many times Phil Collins' miserable pleading played on a loop through his speakers. He felt like a goddamn loser. He scrolled through your Instagram noting that you truly had the prettiest smile he'd ever seen. And you were so funny. Maybe the funniest person he knew. Even the emojis you used were cute.

He wanted to jump in front of a train.

"'Maybe you should leave then' you fuckin' idiot." He mumbled pitifully to himself. "What if I just like...went to her house? What if that guy is there? What if she doesn't answer? What if she tells me to fuck off? What if I tell her and she never speaks to me again?"

He stared at his phone sending and unsending his texts to you over and over, trying to figure out what to say. Or if you'd even read it. Suddenly his phone vibrated and a text from you popped up:

You've sent and unsent me like 9 messages. What the fuck do you want?

It took him 8 minutes to find an Uber to your place and 20 minutes to get there. Was he drunk and irrational? Maybe. But goddamn it, you were his woman.

You just didn't know it yet.

When he got to your floor, he started knocking incessantly on your door.

"Babe," he whined, drunkenly, "darling, are you still mad at me? I'm sorry." When he pressed his damp forehead to the cool metal door of your apartment, he didn't even realize how much he was sweating, "I know I said I was fucking that model. Um. Sabrina! Rhonda? Whatever the hell. But I lied. I'm a filthy fuckin' liar."

He pressed his ear to the door, but he didn't hear anything through the thick metal.

"Please don't fuck that James prick--I'm not callin' him Jamesy. I reckon the man is nearly 40, BARE MINIMUM!" He pressed his palm to the door and called your name again, waiting for you to open it.

When you didn't, he slid down to the floor and cradled the half empty mason jar to his chest.

"So take a look at me now, there's just an empty spaaaace. And there's nothin' left here to remind me. Just the memory of your faaaaace. I'm not leaving 'til you talk to me!"

He felt the back of his head thud against the door but he was too wasted to really feel it. He'd definitely feel it come morning, for sure. His eyes drifted closed as his mind started to wander. Maybe you were asleep after being fucked into the middle of next week. Maybe the guy was telling you to ignore his desperate pleas for attention. He wanted to throw up everywhere.

"Fuckin' Jamesy." He mumbled, crossing his arms in childish disappointment.

The elevator dinged, the doors opened, and you stumbled out of the door with another woman, giggling uncontrollably. You both held bags of fast food in your arms and it was clear you'd had something to drink as well. The minute you caught a glimpse of him sitting slouched in front of your door, he noticed you exchanging looks with the red headed woman by your side.

"Tangerine, what are you doing here?" You carefully asked, clocking the booze in his lap.

"Nevermind that," he slurred, stupidly, "where's Jamesy?"

The tall, slender red-headed woman raised a hand and waved, "Hi, I'm Jamesy. Do we, like, know each other? Or?"

Tangerine groaned and rested his head against the door again, "Ugh! Jamesy's a lass? How the shit am I supposed to compete with that?"

The woman turned to you with a curious look on her face, "What is he talking about?"

"I don't know. Can you hold this please?" You handed the bag of White Castle to your friend and approached the sad, drunk assassin sitting on the floor outside of your apartment. He looked pitiful. When you brushed his curls from his forehead, you noticed that he was sweating vodka. "Okay, sweetness, you need to get up."

When he looked at you, and saw the concern on your face, he gently touched your cheek and frowned, "You're so pretty, baby. You're the prettiest person I've ever seen in my whole entire life."

"You're pretty, too. But you really need to get up. And you're heavy as fuck, so I need you to help me out here."

"Okay," he nodded sharply, shoving the jar of vodka into his leather jacket pocket. And it surprisingly fit. You didn't question it further. You took a step back and held your arms out in case he lost his balance as he rose to his feet.

It was like watching a 5'11 baby deer.

He leaned against the door, trying to keep his balance, as you grabbed your share of the food from your friend and kissed her goodbye as she left for her Uber.

"What kind of girl is named Jamesy?" Tangerine muttered, as you attempted to unlock the door.

You sighed heavily, "Her name is Siobhan James. But I couldn't pronounce Siobhan when we were little, so I called her Jamesy and it stuck."

"That's so cute. I reckon you were a cute kid." He mumbled, resting his damp head on your shoulder. "You're a cute grown-up. We'd make cute kids."

"Yes, sweetness. We would. And also you're soggy."

"Mhmm." He kissed the shoulder that was covered in his sweat and mumbled, "I'm so sorry I was so, so mean to you, angel face. I was just being a massive dickhead."

"Yeah, you were." You agreed, giving up on trying to unlock the door while he leaned onto you.

"I--I just love you a whole fuckin' lot and I don't know how to deal with that shit. Because, like, you could have anyone you want. So why would you want me, you know?" He grumbled.

"There are a lot of reasons why I want you, Tangerine. You never have to feel insecure about that. I'm just...confused. You decided that the answer to this was to make me mad?" You scratched his scalp, "Does that make sense to you?"

"I wanted you to tell me that you didn't want me to see other people."

"Why would I tell you that, if that's what you want?" You asked, sincerely, "I stopped seeing other people because I love just spending time with you--"

"Hang on. You stopped seeing other people? Why didn't you tell me?"

"You never asked." You finally managed to unlock the door, and you both stumbled over the threshold.

"Here I was thinking you were getting pounded by lumberjack-built twats named Jamesy. I was in my apartment crying to Phil Collins for nothing?"

"I guess so." You tossed your keys on the kitchen island as he stumbled to the couch and face-planted into the cushions. By the time you showered and changed, he'd fallen into a deep sleep beside the bottle of water and advil tablets you placed out for him.

"And for the record..." you kissed him on top of his head and turned the lights out, "I love you, too. But you probably won't remember this. So we'll revisit it tomorrow."

#aaron taylor johnson #atj x reader #tangerine x reader #tangerine x black!reader #tangerine bullet train #tangerine fic #I feel like I should just make a tangie tag at this point #jae writes

[thankskenpenders]

And now for something new

So, here's something I was never planning on doing, but I just couldn't shake the idea... Thanks Ken Penders is gaining a sister blog featuring an entirely different comic franchise!

Introducing... Thanks Steve Ditko, a blog where I read the Earth-616 Spider-Man comics, starting all the way back in the '60s! It's gonna be much more casual and less thorough than how I run things here on TKP, though, which I'll explain in a sec.

If seeing me post weird bits from old Spider-Man comics sounds fun and you need no further info, then just head right on over to Thanks Steve Ditko. But for longtime TKP readers, I know you probably have questions...

Number one: Why?

Spider-Man's always been my favorite superhero, and with the Spider-Verse movies kicking ass and my excitement building for the new Insomniac game, I've been in a Spidey mood. Inevitably, a thought occurred to me: Maybe I should actually read the comics that everything else is built off of and see the wildly varying contributions of all the original creators, rather than filtering them through big budget adaptations. If I can power through One Piece and all these other manga with hundreds of chapters, it can't be that hard... right?

And, well, after a few issues I quickly realized that my options were to either clog up my other accounts with random Spider-Man panels for years, or to just make a side blog. And so the side blog was born.

Two: Will this blog replace Thanks Ken Penders?

NO!!!!!!!!!

Okay but prove it

To allow the two to exist side-by-side, Thanks Steve Ditko will have a different format than what Thanks Ken Penders developed. Rather than an in-depth guided tour that critically analyzes every story beat of every issue, TSD will just be a place for amusing panels and brief thoughts as I casually read the comics at my own pace.

If you've seen me make a few tweets about reading Spider-Man recently, I'm basically just moving that to a dedicated Tumblr. It's a place for me to dump these things so that it doesn't fill up my media tab on Twitter for the next decade. (You know, assuming Twitter is still around in a decade.) There will be many issues where I only post two panels that I thought were funny. There will be issues where I don't have anything to say at all. Maybe I'll reach a run that I just cannot get into, and I start skipping around more. Who knows!

This may sound similar to what I thought this blog would be before it blew up. Aside from the simple fact that there's already mountains of Spider-Man commentary out there and therefore less of a void for me to fill, one of the main steps I'll be taking to avoid repeating the past is not enabling an ask box on TSD. I do not need people to ask me to go into ten times more detail on everything. I do not need to write seven essay-length responses to questions about Spider-Man minutiae every day. I do not need a place for people to chide me for not covering certain scenes, issues, or ancillary series.

It also won't have any kind of update schedule. I'm trying to keep it very casual. I'm reading these comics at my own pace, and if I feel like sharing a moment or commenting on something while doing so? It goes there. That's it.

(On the subject of format changes, I'm also listing the issue, writer, and penciller in the body of every post. This is a thing I wish I'd done on TKP so that people didn't misattribute every weird Archie Sonic panel I post to Penders.)

Three: So when will TKP come back from hiatus? You said it'd come back after you finished SLARPG!

I don't know! Sorry. I have a couple things on the backburner right now for TKP, but I'm not sure when I'll get back to proper updates where I read more comics.

I wanted to bring TKP back this year, and that's still possible. The main hurdle is that I want to reread my own archive (again) as a refresher, which is, uh. A lot of posts. I've developed a high standard for myself on here, and I feel like I wouldn't be doing my job right if I forgot half the ongoing subplots and character arcs and didn't bring them up in my analysis. Especially when I'm discussing the work of an author as obsessed with continuity as Ian Flynn. Unfortunately, the nature of this blog means that every time I go on another long hiatus for Life Reasons I have even more comic continuity to catch up on than last time.

(This is a big part of why I'm making Thanks Steve Ditko an extremely casual blog instead of promising to become a Lore Expert on 60+ years of Marvel.)

Mostly I've just been very burnt out this year after having finally finished a video game that took almost eight years to make. I haven't really had the energy for any creative projects, including TKP. But I feel a little bit of a spark here with Spider-Man, so I'm chasing that feeling to try to get back into the swing of blogging about comics - no pun intended.

So, basically, bear with me on this as I start this low-energy side project. But hopefully folks will enjoy Thanks Steve Ditko as its own thing, too.

Look forward to goofy shit like this

#tkp post