#Do edits count as art... I drew some of the parts so I say yes

[tangentrina]

Yuri sprite edits feat. her Dad (Liu edition)

[counttwinkula]

i gotta say that one of my least favorite things about the modern internet is the ease with which people just accept that an image exists without any thought of its provenance

like, the most obvious cases of this are when an illustration gets turned into a meme and spread across the internet without the consent of the creator

how many times have you seen the original form of a viral image spreading around tumblr with people reacting in shock and awe, "that's what the original said?"

and here's an example that makes my blood boil: remember the iconic "one fear" comic?

do you remember when someone removed the artist's signature, and then dozens of edits were spread with the words "one big meme" in its place?

it's like someone was out there trying to make my point for me: that once the image goes viral and becomes exploitable (as we called it back in the encyclopedia dramatica days) the artist's identity gets filed off of it

but the other half of this issue, which is the part that really just confounds me altogether, is better represented by the sculptor izumi kato. if you don't recognize the name, you may recognize a very specific photo of his work:

this photo of a work by kato (untitled, 2004) accompanied the original SCP creepypasta. in the years since SCP-173 was first posted this photograph and depictions of the character it inspired—a character whose physical appearance was taken directly from kato's art—has been spread far and wide across the internet's horror communities

(yes i know the SCP website has removed the image from the official website and i applaud that decision)

unlike teen comix, where any viewer immediately, if unconsciously, knows that this is a drawing and that therefore someone drew this, i think that the public does not have that same awareness when it comes to photographs

as many art critics have noted since the advent and spread of photography, the photograph occludes not only the concept of authorship (which is beyond the scope of this post), it also alienates the viewer from the idea of context—the image exists for its own sake, separated from the subject of said image

the internet is built on weird images spread without any sort of context, and i get that. i also know that i'm the kind of person who thinks about this stuff and not everybody is

(chris sharp, fire hydrant jack, ca. 2007)

what just makes me crazy is how people seem so willing to look at a picture and just think "i guess that exists" without taking a moment to think "someone must have made that"

and what irks me is how many blogs here—beloved blogs with tons of followers—repost and reblog this content without any thought put toward attribution when the item in question is obviously an art object. the blogs that come to my mind, and i do not say this with any malice, are ones that reframe the subjects of these photos within a D&D context, placing the focus on their "bit" and entirely eclipsing the artists whose works their blogs rely upon for content

the issue of attribution has become even more urgent because the efficacy of google's reverse image search function has plummeted

i cannot tell you how many times i have scoured the internet for any sort of image source for a work of art, wading through scores of pinterest and tumblr links, before suddenly finding the artist's name—or before declaring the whole matter a lost cause

that was when reverse image search was still useful, and nowadays for whatever reason (i am not knowledgeable enough to say why or how) it has ceased to be useful altogether. i have no idea what alternatives we have, and so i really think it falls on us to try to apply some code of ethics to this matter

i'm not saying i only reblog attributed images, i know that's basically impossible, but i am imploring people to at least think twice about this, and i am asking blogs with big follower counts that rely on other people's images to think about the impact they have on further distancing the art from its creator

[magicxc]

Twice My Age

Pairings: Andy Barber x Black!Fem!Reader

Summary: After a spring break trip doesn’t go as planned, reader quickly finds another way to make up for the inconvenience.

Word Count: 6461

Warnings: Explicit 18+, Unprotected Sex, Exhibitionism, Spit 4 Lube, Size Kink Kinda, Clit Slapping, Aggressiveness??, Degradation

A/N: Not the deadline being in February and me just getting this done. *hides in shame* Sheesh @tom-whore-dleston​, when I tell you I was fighting for time omg. 

I’m just really glad I managed to push this out. It’s a wee bit of a slow burn because I had so much I wanted to get off my chest with daddy Andy for obvious reasons lol. I wanted to flesh out each character and even extend this piece to a cute lil mini series, but my brain was like nahh, give her the smoot ASAP!! 

So I gave you the smoot 😉 with my prompt being Dads Best Friend and my character being Andy Barber, I present to you: 

A snippet of my brain. 

P.S. also wanna congratulate Jordan on her increasingly growing followers. She’s such a gem and deserves every good thing life has to offer <3

P.P.S. lol besties, I’m writing this with tears in my eyes because I don’t remember this piece from memory and my stupid, fucking computer deleted the edited version when I had like TWO fucking lines left. Bout to cry again, omg. But anyway, I just wanted to mention that I had LOADS of fun jumping from character to character and even shared a concern or two that things may seem confusing. But I’m super positive that I was able to tie up all loose ends and write this in a way that was easy to digest. 

You know that saying that goes something along the lines of you’re only friends with some people because you see them five days a week? Well what if I told you that, that same saying rings true for college buddies too? That even though you may only see your classmates twice a week for bio, or your roommates at night time, or your teammates during practice - a big part of your friendships are formed strictly out of convenience. Steph from Chem? Yeah you think you’re best friends now, but what about two years down the line when she’s no longer lending you her periodic table sheet. Or how about Lenny from the cultural arts club? How cool do you think you’ll be when there are no more study abroad trips to be experienced? And this is not to say that there are any hard feelings that linger, but more so to say that people grow apart. And sometimes the bonds that you form with them aren’t as deeply rooted as you’d like to believe. All it takes is a little time, some distance, a new family - or in this case, all three.

That was what happened between Andrew and Andy. They’d actually started out as, what’s the word - ahh yes, frenemies. In all honesty, there was really no good reason for them to be "beefing" as the kids call it. It was more so the fact that Andys boys didn’t get along with Andrews; and they just so happened to get caught up in the collateral damage of it all. But all that changed come junior year when it dawned on them that they were going to be roommates.

Ha, talk about awkward. Oh trust that they both went bitching to every ear that was willing to listen, writing every letter to anyone that would read it. But unfortunately their RC wasn’t having any of it. That bitch blocked them every step of the way, cementing their living circumstances. Something about one of them being an Aquarius in mercury gatorade. Man, those astrology psychos are annoying. Just the other day one of the coffee shop baristas mentioned that oat milk being her preference is the Scorpio in her - whatever that means.

But as the weeks rolled on by, Andy found that Drew wasn’t so bad to be around after all. The tension became thinner, he found himself laughing at a joke or two, and their conversations grew beyond the occasional "are we out of paper towel?" Truth be told, the drama surrounding their friend group never had anything to do with them in the first place and they soon came to the conclusion that they should’ve formed their own opinions on one another unbiasedly.

Junior year turned into senior year and senior year formed a brotherhood. Andy and Andrew found themselves joined at the hips, as some would say. Where one was, the other wasn’t too far behind, more would joke. They had classes together, shared a living space together, got shit faced drunk together, and in the months to come, managed to walk across the stage together.

But something shifted after graduation. Now that they were done with undergrad, with Andy in law school and Andrew in medical, time together seemed a distant memory. Hitting up the local frat parties? Done. Starting food fights in the cafeteria? Finished. Petty arguments over bone-in or boneless wings? Miss it. Them living in the same quarters? No more.

And even though they would meet up once or twice a week for a couple of beers to catch up on daily life, after a while, even that seemed strained. And that was the time. Time spent away from one another to create a life worth living, to build a legacy they busted their asses for.

The distance came several years down the line when Drew got a job opportunity down in Atlanta. And while Andy was excited for him, he was also super bummed to see his buddy leave Bawston. Of course they would still communicate, but it was nothing like being able to catch up in person. Though, he’ll admit that ATL definitely seemed like a good fit for him for the simple fact that Drew constantly bitched about the cold weather, so Andy figured some southern sunshine would thaw him out good. Not to mention the food and the women, shit he was considering moving down there with him. And that was the distance.

The family eventually came later. Shortly after Drew left for the south, Andy met Laurie. A couple years later, he popped the question, Jacob came into the picture and then they walked down the aisle - where Andrew stood as his best man. It was there that Andy met Drew’s soon to be wife Sienna, whose water just so happened to break during the reception. Sheesh, talk about bad timing. They’d never seen Laurie so hysterical and not for the bouncing bundle of joy no; it was something about ruining her moment. In all fairness, the baby could’ve waited a little bit longer.

But that was a baby Andy, unfortunately, didn’t get the chance to see past her second birthday. The older he and Drew got, it seems the more life pulled them apart. And while they’d still manage to hit each other up for the latest play offs or upcoming birthdays, nothing beats their times together, creating chaos through the university halls. Nonetheless, Andrew and Andy remained the best of buds no matter their time spent away from one another. Drew knew that at the end of the day Andy would do just about anything for him. And it seemed anything was on the other end of the line as Andy watched the name flash across his phone screen.

|~~

The shrill alarm that rings in my ear is enough to piss me off already. And it’s such a shame because the day just started. But I was never an early riser to begin with. My only saving grace is that I was one day closer to five days worth of a spring break. The downside you may ask? I have nowhere to spend it.

It seems my parents are dishing out a little “tough love” as they call it. I mean yeah, I maxed out my credit card, but when would I ever get the chance to snatch some meet and greet tickets for the bad gyal again? Fucking never is the answer. We all know that woman is iffy when it comes to music, let alone tours, so I jumped at the chance to see her. But the queen doesn’t come cheap. And apparently neither did those bank notes. Man, I don’t think I’d ever seen my parents so upset. They legit had me scared to even look at my phone, jumping at the slightest beep in case it was them calling to give me an earful again.

Snoozing the offending noise, I tuck myself beneath the covers only for my mind to wait in anxious anticipation of when the piercing sound will shriek again. Realising that there’s not much sleep in my future, I chuck the covers to the side, roll out of bed, and head for the shower, ready to get a start on my tumultuous day.

|~~

“Stopping every time you get unmotivated means that you lack discipline,” my professor preached from the front of the class. “Discipline will make you do things naturally and effortlessly, whereas motivation just depends on your mood.”

“Yeah well I’m disciplined, if not determined, enough to make my trip to Mexico this weekend,” Kyle shouts from the corner of the room.

“I wish you’d show that same energy in your class work,” the professor retorted.

“Sorry Mr. Banks, but how am I really gonna use this philosophy class in my daily life?” he quips. “I mean, sure the conversations are thought provoking, but how will any of this help me in the real world?”

With a deep, heavy sigh my professor drops his head and utters the fact that he wished he lacked the same critical thinking skills as Kyle, and how happy he seems in his daily life without it.

My mouth curves into a jaw dropping smile and the entire class erupts into a series of gasps and laughter, way too stunned that the mild mannered and soft spoken professor had such a savage moment.

“Kyle,” Mr. Banks huffed “and this goes for anyone else that feels the same way. If you have managed to make it to week 14 out of a 16 week semester with me, with the idea that this class only serves as an elective, don’t even show up for finals.”

“Oh I wasn’t going to do that anyway,” Sarah chirps from behind me. “Catch me in Cali by 10pm tonight.”

“Well let me give you a head start. Get out,” Mr. Banks demands.

A hushed silence falls upon the classroom as Sarah awkwardly unzips her bag to pack her belongings; everyone else having realised that maybe we have gone too far with the professor.

“As I was saying, motivation is based purely on internal inspiration and discipline can be thought of as the strategy or the force behind which you get there. Both motivation and discipline are important yet codependent in achieving the goals you set for yourself. And for your final, I’d like you to write a ten page paper on how you use them in your daily lives. How you were able to overcome one of life’s many hurdles. Maybe even how you’ve used both to succeed in my classroom. Take tomorrow’s class time as an extra day to mull over your thoughts. The paper is due two weeks from now. Stay safe, enjoy your breaks, and come back prepared to discuss the effects of nature vs nurture. And while there may be no stupid questions, I do believe in stupid answers; you’re dismissed!

“Well damn, what crawled up his ass,” Michelle snickered from beside me.

“He’s just tired of yall shit,” Walter grumbled as he headed for the door.

“Anyways,” Michelle sassed, turning toward me. “I cant believe your parents cut you off.”

“Right! It’s not like they don’t have money to spare, why they insist on being so stingy with me is unbelievable.”

“Mhmm, wish you could come,” she pouted.

“WiSh YoU cOuLd ComE,” I mocked. “Michelle, money is the very least of your problems, if you really wanted me to come, you’d spot me.”

“Last time I checked, I wasn’t an ATM beloved so I suggest you sort that out,” she chided. “Preferably before they start renovations on the west wing.”

“ON THE WHAT?? That’s where we stay,” I bawled.

“Duh, that’s why I’m telling you.”

Grabbing our things, we carry on in light conversation, mostly of Michelle telling me about all the fun activities she has planned for the trip. And as we head back to the dorms where I’ll, no doubt, have to watch her pack her suitcases and rub it into my face, I briefly wonder why I continue to hang out with such shallow individuals.

|~~

“But daddddd,” I whined into the phone. “In all fairness, you never told me I had a limit on the card.”

“Listen to me and listen to me good. I will continue to cover your books, tuition and whatever class related miscellaneous fees that may come up, but anything else is on you. So you better find out who’s hiring.”

“Ok, but they’re literally going to be renovating the west wing on campus, something about a pipe failure - which means NO water,” I protested.

“Y/N, water will be the very least of your worries if you have to come down here for spring break.”

Gulping, I decide that now is the time to shut the hell up. My dad is the more easy going parent and to have him this fuming at me honestly has me a little bummed. I mean, I used to have him wrapped around my finger and ever since my little sister was born, its like fuck how I feel. He then goes on to tell me how DiSaPpOiNtEd he is in me and if that’s the same recurring speech I have to listen to when I go back home, I think I’ll take my chances dying of thirst up here. So much for choosing a college out of state, I still have to hear my parents bitch and moan. Who woulda thought.

I manage to make up some lie about campus admin allowing students to stay in the east wing dorms for the time being, and as usual my parents eat that shit up. Before saying our goodbyes, daddy mentions his lawyer buddy Andy and how he lives not too far away just in case anything may come up. I honestly forgot Andy even existed and just as I’m about to reject it, mum mentions the neighbourhood that he resides in. And that brings a sly grin to my face.

While I may not be able to slut it up in Miami with the rest of the girlies, I can at least use up some of their free resources. And in that moment, I decide to set up a tinder account, hoping to find men in Andy's neighborhood. Maybe then I’ll get some sucker to spend some racks and really make my spring break worth it. Saving his number in my phone, I hang up from my parents and give him a quick call - watching as his number flashes across my screen.

|~~

Driving into the diners lot, I park and touch up my lipstick, capturing a quick selfie to upload to my dating profile. I’d be lying if I said that was the only reason I came here with a face beat for the gawds. I don’t remember much about Andy, except for the fact that he’s daddy’s bestie. But while we were on the phone, I noticed something very…sexy in the way he spoke. The way it steadily drifted through the line, all warm and buttery. I know Andy is supposed to be a family friend or whatever, but if he’s forty then so am I cause ya girl is ready to see if the face matches the voice.

I picked the diner, feeling most comfortable in this setting. This place has seen me through some of my drunkest moments, stuffing my face with their fluffy pancake goodness. And it seemed neutral enough cause who doesn’t like to eat, plus the people here are so nice.

Stepping inside, I scan the crowd, examining every patron in hopes of spotting the man of the hour. It takes a moment until I meet the gaze of the blue eyed hawty, mouth curved into a small smile as I make my way over to the table.

|~~

Staring down at the menu, I notice that they have something by the name of a footlong hot dog. And my mind is beyond boggled cause where do they even find that much meat? No way all of that is real. No wonder the prices in here are so affordable, they’re feeding the customers mystery meat. Gently closing my menu, I slide it forward already knowing that I won’t be consuming much of anything. Hands clasped together on the table and eyes glued to the door I straighten up, and patiently wait for my new house guest.

Imagine my surprise when I got the call from Andrew that his baby girl needed a place to stay for the spring break. I was fixing to ask if money was becoming an issue for him until he told me that this was all a part of the tough love that he was giving her. I mean I get it, I’ve come close to strangling Jacob a time or two; and Andrews my boy, so I don’t mind doing him this favor. Plus I can imagine how lonely it must be around this time on college campus. I’m seriously hoping she’s something similar to her old man though. It’ll be great to have someone to play NBA live against; and if she’s anything like him, I’ll be kicking her ass in that too. Or maybe she likes to crack open a cold one, though Drew was a bit of a lightweight. And even though she might like -

My inner thoughts die on my tongue as I see this…this woman make her way towards me. Y/N? Drew’s Y/N? Body stiffening in my seat, I inhale a sharp breath of air, unable to help but notice what long legs she has. And those hips, how full they are. Even her breasts, the way it -

“Andy?” she asked curiously.

Beaming up at her, I let out a hearty laugh as I stand up to greet her with a hug; gesturing for us to sit down at the table. Introductions get exchanged as we take a seat to discuss what the next couple of days will be like.

“I only have one question,” I stated. “You maxed out Drews credit card to see RiRi?”

“Andy please, you would’ve too had the Backstreet Boys been coming to town,” she defended.

“Yeah, well unlike you, I can actually afford to see them."

If slack jaw buggy eyed was somewhere in the dictionary, it’d have a picture of her face next to it. Oh yeah I took it there, she better recognized.

“ANDY NO WAY YOU JUST CAME FOR MY LIFE LIKE THAT,” she shrieked.

“Loud again, what else is new?” the waitress asked as she pulled out a notepad. Her name tag reads Sugar and I find that too ironic.

“Sugar mama, don’t be acting brand new."

“So the usual then,” Sugar laughed.

“The usual,” Y/N confirmed.

“And for you sir?” She pointed at me.

“They have really good hotdogs here,” Y/N suggested.

“A cup of coffee will do.”

“Coming right up,” the waitress said. And with that, she left.

I wonder if Drew would hate me if he knew the impure thoughts I have running through my mind right now. Like on a scale of 1-10 how pissed can he reasonably be if I put his daughter through a mattress. This could all be a part of the tough love lesson right? Yeah that’s not gonna slide, even for me. Maybe I can make up some last minute excuse for her not to stay over cause, I’m not sure I can contain myself. A gentle hand sliding across mine brings me back to the present - apparently she’d been speaking to me.

“I was asking how’s your family, daddy mentioned that your son is almost in high school.”

“Yeah, I kinda want him to slow down. It seems just yesterday I was swaddling him in his blanket.”

“Yeah, well he can’t stay a kid forever, they gotta grow up.”

“That they do,” I said, swiping my tongue across my bottom lip.

A mug of coffee being slid in my direction breaks whatever the hell kind of trance I was in. But it isn’t until I go to grab it do I realise that Y/N’s hand still lingers on mine. An awkward clearing of the throat sounds from above as I watch the waitress slide a banana shake over to Y/N while simultaneously giving me the stink eye. She snatches her hand away and thanks the lady before grabbing a straw and sinking it in. An audible moan leaves her mouth and I’m itching to see how good the milkshake really is; but not from the cup.

“So spring break for you is going to be what, four to five days?”

“Five to be exact,” she says swallowing. “But I can leave sooner if need be.”

“No, not at all. I’m a man of accuracy is all,”

“Alright cool, I just need to make a quick stop to the mall first.”

“With what money?”

“Rule number one, smart ass, is always have multiple sources of income.”

|~~

I literally have $200 left to my name and that was from a wild ass girls night out. How I managed to come home $200 richer is beyond me, but I try not to question the Lord’s blessings. All I know is that broke or not, I’ll find a sale. And that’s how I found myself picking up everything in sight in this Bath and Body Works store. Anybody that knows me knows that I go crazy for these candles and I’ll be damned if I let daddies pettiness get in the way of my $12 sale.

Meanwhile Andy is over here swiping his card like his life depends on it; something about being a good friend to daddy. Dammit, I wonder if he needs another best friend. And he lives around the corner? I’ll tutor his son Jason in math or something if it means I’ll get spoiled like this.

Ok, so I managed to get away with BBW, Perfumania, and even Pink. Now I’m ready to see how deep those pockets really go as I step into Lane Bryant. I’ve been needing a new set of bras for a minute now and anyone with a big chest knows that they’re where it’s at for any decent bra. But imagine my surprise as I walk in the store and find that they’re promoting a sale of their newest lingerie line to drop. Well if it isn’t my lucky day. I’m running into sale after sale, shit I may just need to meet more of daddy’s friends.

“Andy, I think a surprise gift from here would send your wife over the moon,” I gushed while holding up a purple, mesh two piece set.

I’m thinking if he can get something out of this store run then maybe I wouldn’t have worn out my welcome so to speak. Cause I just spotted a leopard print bra that I CANNOT leave this store without and if I have to kiss some ass and pick out a thing or two for his wife, then so be it.

“I don’t know, purple isn’t really her color,” he hesitated.

“Well, what’s her color?” I urge.

“Hmm, for starters, she’s more into softer palettes. She likes to play it safe,” he says, tracing the outline of a bustier on the rack. “But uhh, I don’t think this is totally appropriate.”

“Andy, I’m a grown ass woman,” I protested. “I’ve found myself in more compromising situations; besides, a lady loves it when her man surprises her from time to time.”

Dammit, this isn’t enough. Andy’s looking less and less convinced by the minute. I mean earlier today, I practically finger fucked his hand back at the diner, he’s been spending money on me without a single ounce of complaint, but he draws the line at lingerie for his wife? No wonder daddy moved away, this town and its people are weird.

“I mean what better way to spice up a relationship right? And even if Laurie doesn’t like it, it’ll open up more doors to figure out what works best for y’all, hmm.”

Ok, so there’s some scratching of the head, I’m getting somewhere, he’s at least considering it. I just need something to tip him over to the edge.

“Sometimes these clothes can seem a little too intense but I promise it’s not so bad once you actually get it on some skin” I surmised. “Tell you what, I’ll even try on a few if you’re up to it?”

Hook, line, and sinker: got his ass. His open posture told me all I needed to know.

“There’s a few things that caught my eyes, surprise surprise,” I laughed. “Just pick out three items and meet me back at the dressing rooms,” I scream out as I make my way to the other end of the store, hoping to hurry the hell up before he comes to his senses.

|~~

Alright so I have three sets of bras, one corset, a teddy, and two pairs of lace panties; ya know, something light to hold me over into the next semester. I just have to make one more pit stop before the register I thought, sashaying into the dressing room. What’s the point in buying them if they don’t fit right?

As I’m preparing to change back into my clothes, a light tap on the door breaks my concentration and for a minute I forgot all about Andy boy out there. I decide to stay topless and open the door wide enough to give him a taste, just in case he’s coming here to give me some holier than thou sob story.

“Andy, did you find anything?”

“Uhh, ye-yeah,” he says attempting to avert his gaze. “I managed to get a few things I think Laurie would really appreciate.”

Thankfully he misses the sly smirk that dangles at the corner of my lips and all but shoves the items into my hand before marching in the other direction. I close the door and slap my hands over my mouth to suppress my laughter; cackling hysterically. Finally managing to have calmed down, I step back and actually take in what it is that he picked out.

First up is a mint green camisole silk set with the boy shorts to match - BORING. Where is this Laurie chick going, to a sleepover? After that, is a royal blue babydoll chemise and honestly, I cant even be mad at it, I’m a little impressed. For once it seems like they actually fuck. And last, but certainly not least, oh I think Andy is fucking with me on this one - its a midnight black two piece lace lingerinie with the garter belt to match; and I may just take this one home with me. No way his wife would actually wear this.

Game recognizes game, he just wants me to try it on cause it’s the only time he’ll ever see a woman dressed in one of these outside of a porn website. And after all the money he spent today, it’s only right that I put on a little show for him.

“Oh Andyyyy, there’s a snake in my boot,” I jested; trying my best to lighten the mood. “Coming to you straight outta Bawston, your newest Fenty line addition, let’s give it up for this silk two pieceeee. Can ya say green is my color?”

The chuckle that escapes him is rich. Honestly I should really get paid for this. I mean the joy that I bring to peoples lives, it’s a skill to be honest.

“Oh wow, you wear that better than the hanger,” he jokes.

“Don’t I? But how do you think Laurie will like it?”

“Oh I think it’s in the bag,” he whispers lowly.

“Alrighty, well let me go ahead and change into item number two,” I winked, walking back into the dressing room.

Now the next one is honestly sexy and a sure fire way to spice up whatever boring sex I’m sure he suffers from at home. For goodness sake, Laurie should thank him everyday he walks through that door without cheating. Considering this next piece falls like a dress, I’m wondering if I should be a little naughty and go commando. It’s not like we’re putting it back on the shelf, I mean if anything I’ll take it home if the wife doesn’t want it.

“Are you ready?” I asked, peeking from behind the door.

“As ready as I’ll ever be.”

“I mean this dress IS a little revealing Mr. Barber, I think it’s only right you step inside for this one.”

He releases a loud puff of air and I can see the war going on behind his eyes; actively fighting mind over body on if he’ll actually go through with this. But I’m so over his morals, I mean come on, we’ve already made it this far. And it’s not like I’ll go blabbering to my father about how I modeled lingerie to his best friend, so he might as well enjoy the show.

“This sale is really driving in the customers and I-I would hate to see you exposed while doing me a favor,” Andy rambles on.

Making his way toward the door in unsure steps, he gets within arm’s length and I drag him in the rest of the way, all too giddy for my own good. Closing the door behind me, I turn to Andy to find him frigid and noticeably uncomfortable; but that’s more so from those naughty thoughts he has swirling around in his head. And I think, why not make this interesting. Twirling around, I give him a complete 360 of the dress, pulling at all the places that would accentuate my curves. I even manage a soft moan or two in between and give a couple poses to really sell the point.

“So? Whaddya think?”

“I think that Laurie is in for a treat.”

Do I see beads of sweat? Ohhh my gosh, I cannot wait until I get ahold of Michelle.

“So item number two is a go?”

“It’s a go,” he mutters.

“The last ones up next, I won’t be long,” I promised.

He nods his head and shuffles his way to the door, only his eagerness has him bumping into the line of clothes I have hung up, each of them tumbling to the floor. He’s quick to mumble out apology after apology and I seize this opportunity to really send this man over the edge.

“Andy, it’s okay, I’ll pick it up. Just go around me, I won’t be long.”

Bending down, I grab each item and there’s a cool chill that reaches my heat, letting me know that I was fully exposed. It isn’t lost on me that the incessant chattering from behind had also stopped. BINGO! Raising up to my full height, I go to shoo Andy out the door, only to get slammed into the wall behind me. Pupils wildly dilated, Andy is hunched over me, heavily panting, as his warm breath fans over my face. There’s something about him that looks so feral and I almost cream at the sight.

“All day, I was confused,” Andy admitted. “Your hand on mine at the diner, the way you’d twinkle your eyes at me in each store, and even going so far as to help me pick out a few clothes for Laurie?”

“Andy, thats -“

“I thought, maybe this chick just comes off flirtatious, but now? Oh there’s no mistaking your intentions now.”

“And what are you going to do about it now that you know I find you sexy?” I challenged.

“I’m gonna give you what you want."

“Right now?” I panicked. “There are other shoppers in here too.”

“Guess you better be quiet then,” he said sliding his hands between my thighs.

Knocking from the other end of the door has my eyeballs bulging out of the sockets. Heart galloping in my chest, the only thing I can hear is its rapid beating. I’m stuck somewhere between answering it and pretending not to be here, but the way the lady is speaking from the other end, it’s safe to say the jig is up.

“Miss, are you okay, I heard a big bang on the other side of the wall,” the store associate chirped.

“YeAHHHH, so-sorry about that, I’m a bit clumsy today.” I responded.

Oh this one likes to play dirty huh. It was at that moment that he decided to push his fingers inside me and it took everything in me not to screech, cause for one I’m still sorta dry. And it’s not like Andy has small digits.

“That’s no problem love, just remember our store is having a BOGO free sale on bralettes for today only.”

Damn does she ever shut up. Ripping pierces my ears as Andy attempts to pull the chemise down to free my nipples. He effectively ruins the material and pops my boob into his mouth without a care.

“Also, you broke it you bought it. Happy shopping!” the sales lady sings as she skips away.

“Ugh bit- yeowww Andy stop,” I whisper yelled to him.

“I’m so sorry baby, I just got a little carried away.”

Popping my nipple back into his mouth, I feel my body start to slacken up if you catch my drift, which allows him to drive his fingers into me with a little more ease.

Andy builds up a nice little momentum. One hand is steadily tweaking my nipples while his mouth slobs on the other. His expert fingers continue to thrust into me, while he drags his thumb across my clit and each time I shiver ever so slightly. My hips begin to roll in rotation at this divine sensation and just as he feels my walls start to squeeze him a little too tightly, he yanks his hands out of me.

“If you think that Im gonna let you cum anywhere but my dick the first time we fuck, then you must be as slow as your pops thinks you are.”

“Okay rude,” I grumbled.

Andy pulls away from me and takes a seat on the mini bench, unbuckling his pants and placing his semi erect dick on full display. And oh my, what a display it is. I swear I almost drool at the sheer beauty of it. The way his precum slowly oozes out of the mushroom tip. The way that his angry, swollen veins strains against his delicate skin. And oh my, how can I resist the way that his dick twitches in anticipation, just begging for some sort of relief. Coming in at least eight inches, I’m ready to risk it all; daddys life long friendship be damned. He motions me forward with his fingers, yanking me toward him, the closer I get, until I’m kneeling before him - doe eyes gleaming with want.

“The only reason I dont have my dick touching the back of your throat right now is because I’m feeling a little eager today,” he boasted. “So get your ass up here and ride me facing the mirror so you can see what a whore looks like when they cum.”

Well shit, that’s if I haven’t come already. Oh boy, do I love my man with a twinge of aggression. Climbing into Andy’s lap, I hover above him and slowly sink myself onto his member until I reach the hilt; feeling the wind knocked out of me as I do so. My back to his chest, I inhale sharply, trying to remember to breathe as this man stretches me out.

“Don’t be shy, you can move,” Andy taunts.

“I just need a minute okay,” I sassed back.

Spitting on his fingers, Andy slaps it onto my clit and I jump up in a bit of painful shock. He does it again and a small shriek makes it way from the back of my throat. Only this time when his fingers land on my clit, he begins to rub them in figure eight motions. It gives me slight relief and I lean my head against his shoulders as I try building the strength to fuck this man; only a harsh grip on my jaw jolts me out of my solace.

“Oh no, none of that,” Andy states while facing my head forward. “You wanna spend my money like a grown woman, then you can get fucked like one too, so ride me NOW,” he enunciated with a firm squeeze to my cheeks.

My trembling hands linger over his thighs as I hold on for balance and start to steadily slide up and down his shaft.

“Oh come on, all that big shit you talked earlier, this is the best you can do?”

“Andy, I’m trying."

His hands speed up on my clit and finally the moisture that I need accumulates enough for me to slide down him with a little more ease. I manage to pick up my pace ever so slightly, blowing out small huffs of air in order not to scream out my delight.

“There you go princess, now you know what it feels like fuck on a real man huh?”

Nodding my head vigorously, he tuts in disapproval.

“No, Y/N I need words”

“Yes, Andy, Yes!” I moan out.

“Go ahead and tell me how I’ve ruined you for any other little college boys.”

“You’ve ru-ruined, ahh God.”

“God’s not here right now Y/N, get it together.”

The juices that I feel slithering down my thighs ought to have me ashamed. I have literally never had this reaction with another man before, and I’ve been with quite a few.

Bouncing on Andy’s dick in earnest, his steady assault on my bud has me seeing stars. And the way he’s insistent on me watching myself in the mirror, clenching my jaw steady while his other hand holds my waist in support? I think I might fall in love. Shit, I couldn’t care less about being loud at this point or the wet noises I’m sure the other patrons can hear. The way my eyes are rolling back, I’m somewhat embarrassed at the faces this man is pulling from me.

“Shhh,” he whispers while kissing along my neck. “Do you really want everyone to know how dumb you get when you’re stuffed full of dick?”

A loud cry makes its way past my lips and the hand that was once holding my face is now clasped tightly over my mouth; which I am SO grateful for as I whimper endlessly into his palms.

Speeding up just a little, I feel myself on the brink of combustion once again and coupled with Andy’s fingers it isn’t long until my body explodes with clear liquid flying in every which way as I ride through the intensity of it all. Coming to a steady stop, I throw my head back on his shoulder, spent as hell and all but positive this baby doll is mine to keep. Realising that Andy didn’t come, I offered to finish him off but he just told me that he’s a patient man and that we should head to the house, where he can properly lay out what’s to he expected over the course of the next couple of days.

“Besides, I usually don’t come until at least twenty two minutes in,” Andy bragged.

“Huh?”

Ok so maybe I didn’t think this spring break through. I’d at the very least like to make it back to the dorms in one piece.

[hangovercurse]

Blind Date (continued)

You invite Colson in after your blind date

Request: “I loved this so much! If you get the chance and are up to it, I’d love a second part!” ”I would like to read a second part of it”

Colson X Reader

Warnings: cursing

A/N: Have I edited this? No. Did I even look back over this after I wrote it? Also no

Word Count: 1974

Your hand touched the handle before you turned around, finding Colson in the same situation at his car door, still looking at you. “Do you maybe wanna… come in?” You asked, biting your lip. His face lit up, a smirk highlighting his features.

“I would love that.”

The man’s lanky figure strutted over to your front door as you opened it, pausing as he entered to take in the smell of your house that screamed you. He let his eyes wander around the place as he stepped further in, taking off his coat and shoes at the front entryway.

You moved into the kitchen, pulling out a bottle of red wine while he made his way into the space. You found a note on the counter from your best friend and roommate.

Staying at Eric’s tonight in case you and your date need the place to yourself <3

You rolled your eyes at the note, chuckling as you tossed it in the trash. You rustled through your drawers to grab a corkscrew, fiddling with the bottle as Colson shuffled into the room, standing behind you to encase you in his arms.

He took the corkscrew from your hands and opened the bottle with ease. “I was getting there,” you whined jokingly.

He chuckled, “I could see that.” You turned around and allowed your lower back to rest against the counter, squeezed between the surface and Colson. His arms rested on the countertop on either side of you, his figure leaning to be level with you.

You couldn’t help but admire his features, his bright blue eyes and the stubble on his jaw sparking your artistic mind. “I wish I could sketch you right now,” you murmured your thoughts aloud.

He smirked, leaning closer into you, your lips almost meeting, “why don’t you?”

You smiled, pressing a soft kiss to his lips before softly speaking, “you would get bored being my model.”

He pulled away from you, fingers running across your waist until they found your hands, intertwining your fingers. “I would be honored to be your model.”

You perked an eyebrow, “seriously?”

He shrugged, “I’ve done it before for cameras, and you are much more interesting than photographers.” He pulled you away from the counter, “go get your stuff and I’ll pour wine.”

Rolling your eyes, you walked towards your art room, which was really just your bedroom, “don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

When you returned, he was wandering your small living area, a glass of wine in his hands and one on the small coffee table. His eyes danced along the picture frames you and your roommate had placed around the house when you first moved in, which you honestly hadn’t looked at since.

You stepped into the room with your sketchbook and pencils, making your presence known. His gaze drifted to you with a smile, watching you settle onto the couch, “so, is this your roommate?” He motioned towards one of the pictures.

You glanced up, smiling at the goofy picture you two had taken at graduation, “yep, that’s us.” You turned your head back to your book, flipping to the next blank page as he continued asking about your pictures.

“Who’s in this one?” He asked, pointing to a photo of your roommate and her boyfriend, Eric.

You chuckled at the image of them pulling funny faces in the front seat of a car while you sat in the background looking bored, “that’s Eric, her boyfriend. We went on this huge road trip and they swore I wouldn’t have to third wheel, but I obviously did.”

Colson let out a small laugh, taking a sip of his wine, “and who is that?”

You had honestly forgotten about the picture he was pointing to, but seeing it made your stomach fill with unease. “Oh, I forgot that was still up,” you sighed at Colson’s curious expression, “that’s me and my ex, TJ. We broke up months ago, I thought I’d gotten everything of his out of here.”

Colson could see the discomfort in your expression, sitting down on the armchair next to your couch, throwing his legs over the side and posing dramatically. “Bad ex, huh?” You nodded, not wanting to make him uncomfortable with the conversation, though you wanted nothing more than to open up to him. “I’ll tell you mine if you tell me yours.”

You rolled your eyes, turning so you could face him, “of all the poses, that’s what you pick?”

He smiled innocently, “yep.” A chuckle fell from your lips as you looked down at your sketchbook, pressing your pencil to the paper. “Fine, I’ll go first,” he began, “can’t really get to know each other if we don’t get at least a little bit of trauma out of the way.”

You looked up at him and giggled, “you got me there.”

He sighed, taking a sip of his wine, “Baze told me not to talk about it, but the look on your face when I asked you about him tells me you might be able to relate.” You raised an eyebrow but kept drawing, giving him a silent signal to continue. “I was dating this girl for a while, you’ve probably heard of her, Megan Fox.”

Your eyes went wide at the name, looking up at him in shock, “yeah, because that’s not an intimidating act to follow at all!”

Colson waved you off, “you’re doing great so far, don’t even worry about it.” You gave him a stern look, but he only continued with his story, “anyways, we were together for a while and she told me all the time she thought we were soulmates, and I believed her, you know?” You bit your lip, starting to feel slightly intimidated as he spoke about the woman. “But then she cheated on me after, like, 9 months. And I realized after we broke up how wrong we were for each other and how much she manipulated me.”

You frowned as he spoke, his tone getting sadder with each word. “That’s so shitty. I don’t understand why people cheat in long term relationships, especially after you’ve given them so much hope and trust. Like someone convinces you that they love you and then they go around and pull that shit. It’s evil.”

He nodded, a slight smile on his face, “I’m over it now though, in case you were worried. Came to the realization about a month or two later that I was better without her.”

You held the pencil in your hands still, trying to find the words you needed to say. “I, uh, I was dating that guy, TJ. We had been friends for a while and he asked me out and I said yes. Everything was great, you know? And then like almost a year end he starts acting all weird and possessive. Like just because we had been together for so long means he doesn’t have to treat me like his girlfriend anymore. He would make me feel like shit in front of our friends and just all around was being a shitty boyfriend.” Colson stared at you intensely with a frown on his face, eyebrows furrowed.

“A guy should never do that shit to his girl. You don’t deserve that shit, no one does.”

You nodded sadly, “yeah, well, then I found out like 4 months into all of this that he had cheated on me and gotten the girl pregnant so… I ended things real quick.” You let out a sad huff, turning your attention back to the book and continuing your sketch of the beautiful man in front of you. “I was really upset at first but now I’m just kind of angry. Dude was a dick.”

Colson let out a dry laugh as you took a long sip of wine, “sounds like it. I’m sorry you went through that shit.”

You shrugged, smiling up at him, “if I hadn’t, we wouldn’t be here.”

He chuckled, biting his lip, “guess something good came out of it.”

A blush spread across your cheeks, “oh yeah, the food was amazing.” Your words were full of sarcasm, yet the pout on his face still made you giggle, “I’m joking, loser.”

“You better be miss second-date.” You giggled but didn’t respond, turning back to draw him. It was quiet for a few moments, your pencil tracing along the paper.

He shifted, at which you glared up at him, “I told you you’d get bored.”

With a chuckle he said, “I’m not bored. I get to look at you while you draw, it’s far from boring.” You tried to look annoyed at him but failed miserably at his flattering words. “I was thinking though, since it’s my picture and all, I should get to make some executive decisions.”

You scoffed, “you chose your pose, what else would you like oh great model Colson?”

He rolled his eyes playfully, stretching his arm out to set his glass on the table. “Well, I mentioned that I have some tattoos,” he reached for the hem of his shirt, pulling it up, “you should draw them.”

Once his shirt was fully removed from his body, you couldn’t help but gawk just a little. His entire chest was covered in ink, designs beautifully engraved into his skin. “I was gonna make a joke about this only being our first date but holy shit, these are beautiful.”

He blushed, looking down shyly, ”I was honestly scared you weren’t gonna like them.”

You looked at him with wide eyes, “Seriously? This is so cool. I’m an artist, you really think I’m not gonna like tattoos? Its an art form in itself.”

Colson shrugged, moving back to his pose, expecting you to continue your drawing. Instead, your eyes wandered his torso, taking in every detail of the work. “If you’re lucky,” he commented slyly, “one day I might show you all of them.”

You rolled your eyes with a scoff, moving back into drawing position, “you think you’re so cool.”

A breathy laugh fell from his lips, “I do, actually.”

The two of you continued banter-laced conversation while you drew him, his likeness coming to life on your page. At some point it turned into 3 am, and you were struggling to keep your eyes opened, but you were finished.

“Here.” You turned the book to him, letting him take in your work. He didn’t speak for a few moments, causing worry to build in you. “I mean, it’s no Mona Lisa but-“

“That is fucking amazing.” He cut you off with a wide smile, “you make me look hot.”

You rolled your eyes with a grin, “I’m not going to feed your ego by saying something super lame like “that’s just what you look like,” but I’m glad you like it.” He chuckled at your response, climbing off of the chair to stand in front of you.

“Damn, I was really hoping to get my ego fed tonight.” He grabbed the sketchbook from you and threw it onto the couch next to you before grabbing your hands and pulling you up to stand.

You smiled to yourself, chest shaking with silent laughter, “does the sketch not feed it enough?”

He shook his head, “I need the approval of a really pretty girl to satisfy its hunger.”

Rolling your eyes, you leaned up into him, “you gotta work harder than that, Rockstar.” Your words came out breathy against his lips as he wrapped his arms around your waist.

His mouth connected to yours, the kiss deep and passionate. His soft lips meshed perfectly with yours, his hands pulling you up to stand on your tiptoes. Once you pulled away you stayed close to him, breathing in his intoxicating scent. He whispered, “I never thought a blind date could turn out so well.”

[gay-otlc]

Keepers Of The Chaos (3)

Summary: Tam, Linh, Dex, Keefe, Biana, and Fitz are part of the tiny fandom for Keeper of the Chaos, and Tam and Linh’s podcast convinces some of their other friends to watch it as well. The group finds themselves strangely invested in this show, where students at Tumblr High School who work together to write about an elf named Sophia, cause incomprehensible chaos, and fight their rival Pinterest High School.

Content warnings: Cursing, religion (Jewish Vackers), and Amsterdam (just in case, I know that was stressful for some people).

Word count: 1621

Notes: Most of the episodes are just events stolen from Lynn's roundup, Dex's memes are here

(Read on AO3)

The life of an amateur meme maker on dumbles dot com was a strange one, that was for sure. After finishing xyr favorite show- Ze-Ra: Monaerchs of Powhir- for the third time, Dex had searched for another show to fill the void in xyr soul. Biana recommended this show called "Keepers of the Chaos" and described it to xem. Xe was doubtful at first, but after watching the first episode, xe was hooked.

Xe used to not have many friends at xyr school, so xe did what every neurodivergent queer teen would do- made an account on dumbles dot com. People seemed to like xem- or at least, they liked dizznee-plus's memes and edits of Ze-Ra characters. Even after Dex befriended xyr squish, Fitz, thons sister, Biana, and aer girlfriend, Sophie, xe continued making content on dumbles. Around that time, the Ze-Ra fandom started dying off, and xyr memes started getting fewer note

In a sudden, two am burst of inspiration, Dex made edits of some of xyr favorite characters, like Ref, Akki, and Rose, with their respective pride flags (all of them bi) over them, and captioned it "we must be gay." The post blew up, or at least, what could be considered blowing up in Keeper of the Chaos's tiny fandom, and that was how Dex found xyr calling as an amateur meme/edit maker for KOTC.

History had been repeating itself, with the KOTC fandom starting to die off, until it was revived by an announcement from creator Saturn Nolastname- a season two would be released soon. Frantically, Dex made a meme about season one episode two, with the car salesman meme. Xe edited "chaos keepers" onto the car salesman, "the rarelynoticed" on the car, and "this bad boy can fit so many stripper outfits into it."

That had been... an interesting episode, to say the least. The chaos keepers had been talking about the antagonists of "Sophie and the Dark Duck"- a rebel group called the Rarelynoticed. In the information packet they'd been given, it was confirmed that the Rarelynoticed wore black cloaks and armbands, but no other clothes had been mentioned. Somehow, the chaos keepers came to the conclusion that the Rarelynoticed really wore neon pink leotards and green stripper heels, then drew this idea.

Needless to say, the Tumblr staff did not let them write that into the book. Nor did Lynn, the unofficially chosen leader of the group. Unfortunately for her, this didn't stop the chaos keepers from drawing more of these- or the fandom from making a ton of memes. In addition to the car salesman meme, a post with Drake saying no to "wearing normal fucking villain outfits" and yes to "leotards and stripper heels" gained popularity within the small fandom.

Though nothing could match the absolute shock of seeing the Rarelynoticed stripper outfit for the first time, Dex decided to rewatch the episode anyway- it was funny to see the chaos keepers freak out, and maybe xe could get some good screen captures. The good Saturn Nolastname indulged xem, and xe captured an excellent scene of most of the chaos keepers either laughing or screaming at the Rarelynoticed stripper outfits, with Kimber- one of xyr favorites- sitting on the side, explaining to Juno and Kaitee why Bianca Cracker was bisexual.

Xe went over to dumbles, posted the picture, added an image description, and captioned it "Live photo of me not caring when my friends talk about sex/romance." Xe chuckled to xemself- this really was how it felt to be aroace. Xe tagged it as aromantic and asexual as well, since dumbles added flag colors. Smiling, xe went to go check xyr notifications.

Xyr jaw dropped when xe saw that @lordofthesnuggles- Fitzroy (Dex didn't know thons middle name) Vacker thonself had liked and reblogged all three of xyr memes, even adding compliments in the tags! Xe'd had a bit of a platonic crush on Fitz for... a really long time, but xe always felt too awkward to talk to thon, so it was nice to see that thon appreciated xyr humor.

Feeling energized- and excited to procrastinate on xyr math homework- Dex went to watch the next episode: Dark Duck Is Jewish Now. Being Jewish xemself, this was a really funny episode to xem.

Lynn had been writing a sort of spinoff- it would be called fanfiction, but it was for her own story- about some of the Dark Duck characters celebrating Christmas, and added a throwaway line about Bianca and Finn Cracker celebrating Hanukkah. Then, her fiance, Shai, had taken that idea and run with it, writing a list of ideas about what would happen if the Cracker family was Jewish. Hir friend Sam had jumped on the idea, and soon they had abandoned writing the actual Dark Duck in favor of writing a story about Jewish Dark Duck characters. Some of the other Jewish chaos keepers, like Ref and Cat, helped out.

To be honest, it kind of surprised Dex that no one had made a joke about the Jewish Crackers just being matzah, so xe supposed xe would have to be the first.

Xe posted that observation, quickly getting a like from Fitz- which made xem smile. After a few minutes, Dex posted another meme: Shai and Sam standing in front of a door with a sign that read "elves don't have religion," and them saying "This sign won't stop me, because I can't read!"

It was accurate.

While that episode was great for Jewish representation, and funny, the Banana Noir episode was just plain weird.

It focused less on the Dark Duck than most of the other episodes, and was more about the crazy interactions of the chaos keepers. The episode was named for Banana Noir, who was really Cat Noir, but in a banana suit. Banana Noir was the son of Mellie, who looked like a shark, and Nora, who had platonically married faer. The mothers tried to arrange a marriage between him and Akki, who loved the side characters of the Dark Duck series. However, Akki wanted to marry Amelia. After a lot of shit that basically no one understood, Banana Noir's attempts were thwarted, and Lynn officiated the wedding between Akki and Amelia.

Yeah, Dex had no idea what the fuck was going on either. Xe'd watched an episode of Twins of the Chaos and a youtube video by arsonpog analyzing the Banana Noir chronicles, as it had been dubbed by the chaos keepers, and both expert opinions seemed to agree that Saturn Nolastname and the rest of the writers had probably been on crack when they made that episode.

The next episode made slightly more sense, though it was a low bar. After taking a break from the "official" Dark Duck story, the chaos keepers began collectively writing a Cinderella story about the characters Sophia and Bianca. People weren't allowed to be queer in the official story, but the chaos keepers still wanted to have fun with their obviously gay characters.

Even to the viewers of the show, who only received secondhand information about the Dark Duck characters, knew there was no way any of them, let alone all of them, were allocishet. The exact identities weren't entirely clear- when Dex had made edits of the characters' official art and xyr headcanons for their pride flags, a few people had disagreed- but both the chaos keepers and the fandom knew that despite what Shannon said, Sophia and Bianca were in love, and their Cinderella story should have made it in to the official Dark Duck story.

While excerpts of the Cinderella story were quoted in the show, most of it was left unclear, so Biana had taken it upon aerself to write aer own version of it. Dex was expecting an update later  that day, actually, or maybe the next. Ae wasn't always 100% reliable with aer update schedule. Still, Dex looked forward to when it eventually did come.

After the brief calmness from the Sophianca Cinderella episode, season one episode six, Amsterdam, exploded back into chaos. A few of the chaos keepers decided to discuss a fake scene in the book in which crazy shit went down, with the scene supposedly being located in Amsterdam. It had never been written and was never going to be, but everyone discussed it like it was real. Some of the highlights involved all the Dark Duck girls having swords (and the chaos keepers being gay for them), and a speedboat chase scene through the canals. Fitz had a popular theory that the chaos keepers would actually travel to Amsterdam in order to commemorate this crazy part of their lives. Almost as popular as that was a meme Dex made, with a man labeled "chaos keepers discussing amsterdam" and gesturing feverishly to a wall covered in papers and red string.

Of course, episode seven (Dark Duck Disney) was chaotic too. Everything was chaotic with this group, it was in the title. Shannon announced that the winning Dark Duck story would be adapted into a Disney movie. After past experience with terrible book to movie adaptations, the chaos keepers panicked. They panicked so much that it became major news within their school, which until then, had been largely ignoring the chaos keepers. Once the discussion about the movie settled down, they talked a lot about how in awe they were that their Dark Duck shenanigans were trending within the school.

But of course, none of that compared to the last episode of the season...

Dex changed xyr profile picture to include an ominous pair of teal eyes and sighed.

[rokas-magical-gateway]

Undeniable Truth

Count Lucio x Gender Neutral MC

EDIT: I recently re-realized that this is the first thing I've seriously written in literally 10 years so, constructive criticism is definitely welcome... Thank you!

Fanfiction inspired by these pieces of art:

Left: @jyuukichannart

Right: @imaridraws

Tags: Scars, Hurt/Comfort, Fluff

Rating: PG-13?

He shivered a little as they gently grazed the tips of their fingers along the scar on his ribs, already lidded silver eyes falling the rest of the way closed as a soft sigh slid past his lips...

The fingers of their other hand continued to reverently caress thick, golden locks as they slowly glided through the silken strands, but then the fingers of their previous hand ghosted along fair skin to lovingly trace the occasional lines that mark it: his ribs, across his toned stomach to jump to his wrist, caressing the lines that criss-cross that arm...

He almost wanted to tell them to stop; he hated it when people paid so much attention to his scars; he had other, far more lavish features to admire, he could never understand the bemusement toward the abhorrent imperfections. He melted under their touch, though, & despite his mild uncertainty, he found himself keeping silent to simply enjoy the feeling of their hands on him, the touch he always craved.

Fingers tenderly continued along across his neck - earning the slightest shiver as he was brought back from his musings - to the mark leading to the junction of his shoulder & neck, falling lazily to trace along his clavicle until it met cool metal, where it changed course to begin to outline the anchor for the golden prosthetic & before either could think his other hand had their wrist in a vice like grip.

The sudden force surprised them & they couldn't help the flinch before they looked again & their eyes met the steel of his irises beneath his now deeply furrowed brows. It winded them for a moment, that stare, before they recalled that the only steel in that gaze were the bars put there to hold the emotions in check. After a moment's hesitation, their free hand continued through his hair, just as reverently, nothing but love as they managed to hold those guarded, yet burning eyes.

"Please...?" They pleaded gently which drew a flush to his cheeks, immediately softening the rest of his features a little.

He was certain they'd said "please" before, but the weight of the plea despite the softness of their voice would have floored him had he not been resting in their lap already. Even on the occasions when he took the dominant role he couldn't help but to love & spoil them without abandon, unable to leave them want for anything, but...

Searching their eyes for some answer, his grip on them relaxed just enough & they brought their hand away from the place that had so offended him to caress the side of his face. He'd started worrying at his lower lip so they leaned down to take it from him, gently sucking it into a kiss as they used their hands along his face & in his hair to pull him to them just a little, earning another soft sigh as he relaxed a little more.

"Please...?" They whispered again, a little breathless, but just as weighted.

"Yes, anything you want," he answered so quietly, unable to resist them, but so reluctant.

They didn't move away as their hand slowly, *carefully* eased back down his neck & along his shoulder again, instead pressing reassuring little kisses to the corner of his mouth & down along his chin.

He shivered again tangling his fingers into their hair & hoping to distract himself from his nagging thoughts as his partner found the anchor again & traced down along it until they found the deepest scarring where the prosthetic met his shoulder. He nearly whined with the effort to keep from snatching up their wrist again, instead tightening his grip in their hair, tangling his fingers a little deeper, his golden hand starting to tremble a little.

"It's alright," they found themself gently cooing against his lips as they affectionately rubbed their noses together. "I love you, Lucio."

"I love you, too," he breathed lifting his still trembling hand to slide underneath their hair & rest against the back of their neck, the cool metal making them tremble just a little before he pulled them in to close the short distance between their mouths, eliciting a soft whine of surprise before they melted into his trembling lips.

Their hands continued caressing him, one barely resisting the urge to tangle & pull his pretty blond hair, continuing instead to adoringly stroke him like a treasured pet & the other falling to continue following the line of his prostethic, tenderly stroking along all the scarring there. As they traced the junction of flesh & metal underneath his arm, his fingers tangled painfully tighter into their hair as some sound between a whine & a moan escaped from him into their mouth making them shiver & pull back just a little to gaze down at his flushed face. They were taken aback by the tears as they began to slide from where they'd collected around his silver eyes, causing them to glitter beautifully despite the heart wrenching expression across his normally proud features.

"Oh, Lucio..."

Both of their hands made their way to his cheeks so that they could caress his face, carefully thumbing away the tears & trailing eyeliner around his eyes; a fruitless effort as they continued down his cheeks & their hands anyway.

"Why...?" He managed to choke out around the sobs he was trying to hold back.

At first they didn't understand & they didn't want to hesitate too long while he was so fragile, but thankfully as they opened their mouth to respond, they realized what he meant.

"You're beautiful, my love; I just crave to touch you," they answered, managing what they hoped was a convincing smile which was hard with how worried for him they were.

He looked away. Actually turned his whole head to look away. They didn't like that; even fully submitted to them, he didn't do that.

"Not that part..."

"Yes, that part!" They used their hands still on his face to make him meet their eyes again. "ALL of you! Every centimeter!"

His eyes widened a little before he turned them away, teeth finding his lip once again. He'd planned to disagree, but knew better & bit back the protest.

When they shifted his head from their lap, freeing him from their grasp & convincing him to loosen his own, so they could stand up, he was certain they'd given up & would leave. He almost wished they would, but he knew that if they did he'd remember how worthless & alone he felt & yearn for them again only to have chased-

Familiar weight settled across his waist & the plush couch sank beneath him as he gazed with tear blurred vision up at the being straddling him, moisture collecting & threatening to fall from their eyes, too. While they had his attention again, they leaned down over him, curling their arms around the back of his neck to tangle their fingers back into his hair as they pressed their body as close to his as they could, crushing their mouths together once more. They shivered against him as he moaned into the kiss, wrapping his prosthetic around their waist while his other arm snaked up their back so that he could rest his hand along the nape of their neck, pulling them impossibly closer.

They stayed like that for a short time: tightly wrapped up in one another while they eagerly explored each other's mouths, gasping desperately between soft sounds of delight as they lost themselves in one another, their tears momentarily forgotten in their affection for each other. But, finally, the pair parted for an actual breath; they stayed hovering inches over him while both of them gazed into one another's red-rimmed eyes.

"I love you, Montag," they declared shakily, "I love every part of you. All I could ever see when I look at you is indefectible beauty, why don't you believe that?"

His breathing picked up a little at the sound of his birth name on their lips. They were the only one he allowed to know & use it, though they seldomly did. He hung on to every word, silently cursing himself as he felt his throat tighten again.

"How can..." he had to swallow back the tears once again, "how can you say that any of this," he stopped to shift his shoulder a little beneath them, emphasizing his prosthetic, or rather, the scarring associated & surely the rest of his scars, too, "is beautiful?" His voice started to waver making his already distinct accent a little more pronounced. "If I'd been stronger, I'd have been able to better protect myself. What kind of warrior loses an arm? & days after the fact to AMPUTATION?!" He was frantic, nearly seething by the end.

"A *strong* one," they pressed firmly, emphasizing it with a slight tug on his hair to redirect his attention back from within himself to out there with them. "A warrior who could have died, but *lived*. A warrior who has seen countless battlefields & endured much pain to get to where he is." They allowed their voice to soften as his expression did; he was truly listening now. "A warrior who *perseveres* instead of submitting to death under the guise of honor. A true warrior."

A hand slid from his hair to gently rest along his neck, thumb stroking along the underside of his jaw. His face wasn't wholly relaxed yet, but he looked a little more serene under the touch, his eyes softening slightly & his lips parting just a little; he was processing what they'd said.

"Y-you really believe that."

It could have been a question, but the tone made it a statement. They felt a smile tug at the corners of their mouth at that child of a man. Gods how they wanted to just hold him tight & help him forget all the bad things that had made him grow to feel the way he did about himself.

For the time, though, they ghosted their lips along the other side of his jaw, earning yet another shiver & a soft gasp until their lips reached his in a featherlight touch so they could give him their answer:

"Absolutely."

His own lips parted with some other sound, but they swallowed it in a kiss that had him trembling beneath them as soon as their lips met his. Fingers eagerly slid up into their hair inspiring them to trail theirs down his chest to rest over his fluttering heart with a gratified moan.

"Mm, Montag~" They managed, pulling back only enough to focus on lidded silver eyes.

"Yes, my Deity," he answered, his voice slow & husky.

His golden hair was tousled beyond any quick fix, strewn here & there with a few pieces having fallen felicitously in his face, drawing to his eyes. The makeup was smudged & streaked & they were still a little puffy & bloodshot from his tears, but it only made the softness behind, those foxy eyes more apparent; the truth he tried so hard to hide from everyone laid bare for only them to see: he just wanted to be loved & to share that love in return without fear of admonishment.

Their lips brushed the shell of his ear as they whispered to him,

"Let me show you how comely I think you are~?"

A gently posed question, with deep promises that finally brought some of that familiar mischief to his face; his eyes starting to twinkle as the smile began to play at his lips.

"I am putty in your hands ready to be molded to your whims," he started with quiet confidence only to writhe with a whine as they licked along his ear to gently nibble the lobe. "P-p-please show me h-how fet-fetching I can be..." Their lips trailed to his neck nipping a little so that he moaned the last part. "I'm yours~"

And sometimes it was absolutely impossible to believe but, as they sat all the way back to admire the flushed, disarranged mess that was the Count of Vesuvia, more at ease & completely vulnerable below them, it proved to be absolutely undeniable truth.

[miralia]

Speculation on the Historical Influences on the Kyoshi Warriors of Avatar

(Disclaimer: I know there are multiple influences. This is just something I found that I thought was really interesting. And we’re not going to get into how ATLA appropriated, appreciated, and cherry-picked Asian cultures. This is just a fun thing I found out. It might just be a coincidence. If you wanted an essay on “how terrible Bryke is”, go under the “anti bryke” tag and laugh at the toxicity. This is about history.)

I don’t know if this has been done already, but I was really excited when I found out, so I had to share!

So, I’m not quite sure how I found this out, but I think I was both off-and-on researching premodern combat weapons of different cultures (link here if you want to spend a few hours ogling swords and daggers) and trying to figure out what kinds of cultural things influenced the Kyoshi Warriors. I figured out (at least I’m pretty sure I did, sword experts feel free to correct me) that they do, in fact, wield the Japanese katana (I don’t know which period. Not trying to lump anything together, just thought it was best to refer to it as a collective for fear of being wrong). This was kind of odd to me, as the Earth Kingdom appeared to have *mainly* Tang and Qing dynasty influences. So I decided to dig a little deeper on this subject.

(SECOND Disclaimer: People more well-versed in the different parts of Asian culture I will be referencing can tell me I’m wrong in the comments and I’ll edit this. I really and truly am not trying to be offensive or say my opinion is correct blindly, but at the same time, I did do my research and that has to count for something.)

Introduction

I’m an ATLA nut, as well as an Asian women’s dress nut. I’ve made connections between real clothing and ATLA clothing before, but then realized that other people had already done it, and done it much better. 

But I haven’t seen anyone really talk about the inspiration behind the Kyoshi Warriors yet, besides a few mentions, so here I am with my two cents!

The First Thing (Swords)

The first thing I noticed that started me on this quest was realizing that the Kyoshi Warriors wield katanas (also called nihonto), as opposed to a Chinese weapon that would be more fitting for their position in the Earth kingdom (like we see with Jet’s hook swords). 

For clarification, I figured this out by using still frames of Suki from the show, then measuring the rough length of her sword to her height, approximating the length to see if it would be correct (it was). Then I watched the video of the Kyoshi Warriors’ fight with Team Azula, which is (if I’m not mistaken) the only time we actually see them use their swords as well as their fans. 

In a few frames, we can see Suki’s sword has the characteristic tsuka ito (cord wrap) around the hilt of her sword, a gold-colored habaki (blade collar), as well as a golden kashira (butt cap/pommel), paired with a golden fuchi (a band at the end of the handle before the tsuba (guard)) to make a fuchigashira. From what I can gather, these are usually intricately decorated, but we can blame early 2000s animation for exempting that detail.

But anyway, the presence of the katana got me thinking. What other Japanese influences are displayed in the Kyoshi Warriors?

(Actually, scratch that. The first thing that got me clued in to the presence of Japanese influence was the red and white makeup that the Warriors wear. It seemed similar to that of the geisha, but I disregarded this as it wasn’t similar enough to warrant real research on my part. Just google ‘geisha makeup’ and you’ll see what I mean.)

And the answer was: a good few. Something Mina Le (a fashion youtuber) already touched on in her video on Avatar. But the question is, what exactly influenced them?

So, back to katanas. Once I figured out that they wielded katanas, it was a simple conclusion that they drew inspiration from the samurai of feudal Japan.

War Fans (Tessen)

Another similarity that ties them into samurai are their characteristic fans.

I actually learned about the art of Japanese war fans (tessenjutsu) before I even watched Avatar. The fans called tessen are made out of iron, but the other types of war fans, gunsen and gunbai, don’t seem to fit the bill for what the Kyoshi Warriors use them for. So, instead of being made of iron, their fans are made out of a golden metal, probably to fit their gold-and-green aesthetic.

An illustration of a warrior using a tessen.

The way they use these tessen to fight is debatably accurate. I have never studied tessenjutsu, nor do I really trust modern videos of tessenjutsu, so I have no basis. But it is said that wielders would use one to attack and one to parry, and that does seem to be somewhat what they do? Not sure if their forms or usage or that one time that one girl threw both her fans at Azula like some sort of razor-sharp Frisbee is accurate. Tessenjutsu practitioners, feel free to correct me!

But all this talk about fans and swords isn’t coming to the real core of my speculation. There is one crucial fact: samurai are men. But the Kyoshi Warriors are girls. Were there any female samurai?

The Onna-Bugeisha

Yes, there were! They were called onna-bugeisha, literally meaning “female martial artist.” You can read more about the onna-bugeisha on their Wikipedia page.

Let’s start with the similarities between the Kyoshi Warriors and the onna-bugeisha. 

Clothing/Armor

The first, and most obvious, is their clothing. The onna-bugeisha appear to wear both the traditional kimono or large, loose pants in illustrations. This really does seem to differ a lot based on source material, and I’m not knowledgeable enough to really affirmatively say why. But they do appear wearing the pants when riding horses, and the kimono when they’re standing or looking super regal in the illustrations.

Empress Jingū, a mythological example of onna-bugeisha. She became empress after her husband, the fourteenth emperor Chūai, was slain in battle. She is said to have led an expedition to Korea around 200 AD, and was the first woman on a Japanese banknote. This illustration is probably not accurate, as it was made by a European man, but it does illustrate one of the earliest known cases of onna-bugeisha in Japanese culture.

Hangaku Gozen, a famous general of the Genpei War (allied with the Taira clan).

The Kyoshi Warriors!

Bryke/the animators chose the dress route for making the Kyoshi Warriors, dressing them in split-front dresses colored in shades of green, with a dark green layered underdress under a lighter green overdress crossed left over right at the collar (like many, many different kinds of traditional Asian women’s dress). The coloration appears to be more to signify “Earth Kingdom” than to be historically accurate to the onna-bugeisha, something that was probably a good idea. Remember, this was made to be a kids’ adventure show, and they had already established the color-coding based on country. 

The sleeves are voluminous, which is definitely a characteristic of the onna-bugeisha. They are cinched at the wrists with dark cuffs, which isn’t a characteristic of all the different illustrations/photographs, but is certainly present in some. These cuffs are paired with two-toned gloves, which are always a good idea in any kind of weapon battle, but aren’t present in many, if any, photographs, but at least in some illustrations.

Partially covering the dresses is the thing that most tipped me off: the armor. It seems to be of black plating, which bears a striking resemblance to the plating/ridging on the onna-bugeisha’s armor. The chestplate itself bears a really, really close resemblance (if it isn’t an exact copy) to the chestplates of the onna-bugeisha, though the color isn’t the striking red that seems to appear a lot of the time. The rectangular shoulder/upper arm plating that is present in nearly all depictions is severely lacking, however, though this seems to be a choice to make the Warriors seem less bulky and more dynamic. Plus, it would be easier to animate. (They do have slimmer shoulder plates that attach, though.)

But the (for lack of a better word) skirt plates of the armor remain really, really similar to the onna-bugeishas’ armor. It really just looks like a scaled-down, black instead of red version. And I think that’s super cool, and one of the best pieces of evidence that backs my theory.

Topping off the “Kyoshi look” are gold-and-green headpieces that are different depending on the warrior, and a hairstyle that differs depending on the warrior. I’ll probably go more in-depth about the headpieces and hairstyles on a different post, but the gist is that yes, the presence of headpieces is historically accurate, at least in some photos/illustrations (which appears to be the norm. Can I ever get something concrete here?). 

Examples of onna-bugeisha wearing headpieces.

All of them wore helmets (obviously), but some seem to have some sort of decorative aspect (again, tell me if I’m wrong and the pieces have a meaning or purpose). 

Edit: One commenter, @atla-headcanons​, said that their Japanese grandmother once said that warriors’ headdresses were status symbols, as well as ways to tell allies from enemies. This would be supported by the fact that Suki, as the leader of the Kyoshi Warriors, would have a headpiece similar to Kyoshi’s, and the rest of the Warriors would have different ones. I was unable to fact-check this at the time (may return to it later), but it seems likely, and it would be really cool if it was intentional on the characters’ designs!

Avatar Kyoshi 

The second thing that made me speculate whether the Kyoshi Warriors were connected to the onna-bugeisha was actually Kyoshi herself.

We all know about badass Avatar Kyoshi. She’s amazing. A definite certified badass. But there might actually have been a real-world counterpart to her. Nakano Takeko, a famous onna-bugeisha of the Aizu Domain who fought and died in the Boshin War, could have been possible inspiration for her.

Statue of Nakano Takeko. I don’t trust that the pictures on Pinterest are actually her.

Not only is Nakano a certified badass, taking down five to six men with her naginata in the Battle of Aizu, she also taught women and children to fight with the naginata for a time. Sound familiar? It might just be a coincidence, but I’m sticking to my theory here. You can read more about her here, but I’ll give a rundown of the highlights that make her a Kyoshi-Level Badass™:

- Taught naginata to the lord of Niwase’s wife

- Taught naginata to women and children in Aizuwakamatsu castle

An onna-bugeisha wielding a naginata. They’re pretty awesome!

-  Worked in defense of the shōgun Tokugawa Yoshinobu

- Fought in the Battle of Aizu using a Japanese weapon (naginata) against a white weapon (guns)

- Created and headed an ad-hoc group of female warriors in the Battle of Aizu, retroactively called the Jōshitai (Girls’ Army). She did this without permission, as the senior Aizu retainers didn’t want them to fight and wouldn’t let them fight as an official part of the domain’s army

- When she was taken down by a rifle shot to her chest, she asked her sister Yūko to behead her so that the enemy couldn’t take it as a trophy. Her sister employed the help of Ueno Yoshisaburō, and did as she was asked

- With the reforms of the Meiji Era (samurai class abolished, western-style army established), Nakano Takeko was one of the last samurai in history.

Conclusion

That concludes my essay! Remember, this is all speculation. If you have your own take, please tell me! I love hearing all the cultural influences in Avatar.

Now, if Bryke meant to make the Kyoshi Warriors to be inspired by the onna-bugeisha, then there is something more that I would have liked to see. It would have been really cool to see them use naginata in the show, as it was actually originally a weapon for females to use, its length compensating for the smaller body size and comparatively lesser brute strength of women warriors.

(Also, I just want Suki utterly destroying Sokka with a naginata in that episode where she kicks his butt to prove a point. Hey, I’m a simple girl with simple tastes.) 

Sources:

Basically all Wikipedia. I’m sorry I couldn’t reference, like, ebooks on this subject. But I did look at the reference lists for the Wikipedia articles I used, and they all seemed to be credible ones. So, don’t come at me, please! I did the best I could!

I really appreciate whoever read this far. It takes stamina! 

Thanks for reading!

[fleetofshippyships]

2020 Creator Wrap: 5 Favorite Works

Rules: It’s time to love yourselves! Choose your 5 (or so) favorite works you created in the past year (fics, art, edits, etc.) and link them below to reflect on the amazing things you brought into the world in 2020. Tag as many writers/artists/etc. as you want (fan or original) so we can spread the love and link each other to awesome works.

Tagged by @inessencedevided and @rockmarina =)

Yay, AO3 is back up so I can do this now XD cos the brain fog is thick and I couldn’t even remember 5 titles let alone my favs 😅 and I wrote a lot of little things while fogged this year and never posted them, or thought I did only to find out later I didn’t, or just...forgot they existed entirely, and a few things posted here on tumblr but not AO3, so...I’m very confused and needed help remembering 😅 I plan on sorting that mess out soon

This year has been my worst and least productive from when I first started posting fic years ago, but that’s okay, my health has been rock bottom this year so it’s to be expected, so every drabble and fic is something to be proud of!!

But, my favs, let’s see...after I scroll my own AO3 to remind myself what I wrote not much 😅 but also crap I was so ready to link my sangxian fic but that was posted late 2019 😭

A Dream Made Real (Wangxian, Merfolk AU, Tears of Pearl Part  6)

I never meant for this merfolk AU to be more than that first part of the series but whoops, it got away from me XD I really miss writing it, hopefully I can get more done this year!

Side note: also A Charming Distraction which is set in the same setting but not quite a part of the series (although I’m going to work it in after thinking about it, so yes this happens at some point after part 6) because really, what is the point of having a merman boyfriend if you don’t use him like a banana boat to lazily float down the river? (also this was a collab with @sweetlittlevampire, and she enabled me wonderfully when I had this idea of Lan Zhan dropping a water whale on Wei Wuxian’s head and then she drew it so beautifully (the moment before Wei Wuxian got drenched, which is beautiful and not as ridiculous as it sounds XD)

Never Again (Nie Huaisang/Jiang Cheng, unhappy ending)

I’m still so happy with the angst in this, and cos my friend who loves angst prompted me I was able to just go hard and not tone it down (I LOVE angst XD) and then she cussed me out for how painful it was, which was the most fun part XD but I love the (so deliciously painful) idea of Huaisang pushing Jiang Cheng away to keep him safe but also being absolutely fucking brutal because he knows Jiang Cheng’s most painful weaknesses and also knows nothing short of total brutality will keep Jiang Cheng far enough away to not notice everything that follows in canon, and cos Jiang Cheng just won’t take the hint 😭

An untitled Soulmate AU I’m working on for the Touken Ranbu fandom (Kurikasen ship, WHY ARE THEY A RAREPAIR I WILL NEVER UNDERSTAND) which so far exists online only as this WIP wednesday snippet post. It’s not finished yet (or is it? endings are hard) but I wrote 9k of it in 2020 so it counts right? XD

Now and Always (Jin Ling/Lan Sizhui)

This was just purely self-indulgent. I just wanted to write Sizhui trying to make Yanli’s soup for Jin Ling, I have big feelings about Sizhui having tried it but not Jin Ling. Also, literally nothing would happen in this fic without Jingyi, he is the true MVP, the ultimate wingman, and he deserves an award!

Putting to Rights (Poly Junior Quartet with Jin Ling/Jingyi focus)

I just like writing the juniors but also I’ll never not love the moment Jin Ling rushes to his feet to go off at Sizhui and Zizhen only to get yanked back down because his hand is still all tangled with Jingyi’s by the forehead ribbon XD

Okay, I’m not gonna tag anyone cos I’m late doing this and everyone has probably already been tagged and I’ve been offline so long I feel weird tagging anyone anyway XD

But if any content creators see this and wanna do it but weren’t tagged, PLEASE DO IT, you can say I tagged you =)

[today-only-happens-once]

curtains

Title: Curtains

Word count: 1005

Summary: Roman doesn’t know what to tell them. Teacher!AU. Theater-Director!Roman. Platonic Logince.

Warnings: vent fic, vague COVID-19 themes/discussion (or at least that is the intention; it never came up directly in conversation in this fic), hurt/comfort.

A/N: Sorry that it’s been a while on the writing end of things and that a vent fic is what is breaking that ice but I’m just. Not having a great time right now. And sometimes it helps to vent it in fic form when I don’t know what else to do or how to process. Not really edited.

 ...

Logan looks up from his desk at the sound of his door latching shut, his brow furrowing in immediate concern at Roman pulling the shade in the window of his door down. Logan sets the blue pen down and stands slowly.

“Roman?”

“They’re pulling the plug on it, Logan.”

Roman’s voice sounds somehow both hollow and weighted. With it sags Roman’s shoulders with a weight that looks so heavy, it’s a wonder Roman’s knees don’t buckle. Logan sighs and bows his head for a moment. He’d had a feeling that this was coming, though he’d knew it best to keep that prediction to himself. Roman had enough stress the past month, Logan saw no need to add to it for what—at the time—had just been a guess.

“I can’t even say I’m surprised,” Roman continues, finally turning away from Logan’s classroom door. He crosses to one of the lab tables by the window at the far end of the room and sits on it. “There was always that nagging feeling, y’know? But I kept telling the kids, ‘the show must go on’.”

Logan lingers on the opposite side of the classroom, his careful gaze taking in Roman as he crosses his legs and clasps his hands in front of him. His hair is a bit of a mess—not an uncommon sight, at the end of the day, and especially so close to show performance—but he rakes both of his hands back through his hair and sinks his head a bit.

“God, Logan. How am I supposed to tell them?” he asks quietly. Hopelessly.

Logan takes a deep breath as he considers the question, slipping his hands into the pocket of his slacks. Roman had always been dramatic, but this is something different than Roman’s usually overblown reactions. Logan had never had the propensity for emotional nuance, but he can tell that this hits deeper than the ranting about state testing and class sizes that usually got Roman fired up.

Slowly, Logan paces back towards Roman. “You tell them as honestly as you can, Roman.”

“They deserve more than this.” Roman looks up and Logan is a little surprised to see his eyes are watering. “Hundreds of hours of work went into this show, and… and it’s just. Canceled. It’s not like a sports team, where they play some games and others are canceled. And it’s not like band, where they get a few performances in a semester. It’s… theater. Their only pay-off for the long rehearsals and hours spent memorizing lines and cues and blocking… it’s that single weekend. That’s it.”

“I know, Roman.”

“And oh my God were these kids going to be great,” Roman continues as if he hadn’t heard Logan, gesturing to Logan’s shut classroom door. “You should have seen Jack in the Act I Finale. He was amazing and I was just so proud of him last time we ran it. And Shane and Alex were having so much fun with that fight choreography in scene eight of Act 2. And when Melissa sang her solo on our Act I run-through last week I got chills, Logan. And I’ve heard her sing it probably seventeen times by now. Not to mention that big ensemble number that took us six hours to choreograph.”

As quickly as the familiar light of excitement had re-lit in Roman’s eyes, it dims. “And now I have to tell them that it’s all for nothing.”

Logan sighs again, hoisting himself up onto the lab table beside Roman. “There will be other performances, other shows.”

“Not this show,” Roman says immediately, like he’d already heard it. Perhaps he already had. “And not for the seniors. I could maybe get by on that platitude for the rest of them but Melissa? Drew? Jordyn? What do I tell them?”

Logan places a hand on Roman’s shoulder and squeezes. “You tell them the truth. Roman, why do you love theater?”

Roman glances at Logan. “Because… it’s art, that only happens when many people come together.”

Logan nods once. “That art, and the experience of making it, does not only happen during a performance. It happens in rehearsal, too.” Roman is quiet, looking down at his hands clasped in front of him. Logan continues. “I’ve heard you tell the kids that theater is about being part of something larger than yourself.”

Roman hesitates, then nods. “Theater is family.”

“It is. And it’s about shared experience, shared art, and shared memories. All of which you have done with and for those kids, regardless of a weekend of performances. You just rattled off several memories that you are fond of from this production, and I’m sure they have ones of their own. And if that is their pay-off, that’s not nothing.”

Roman doesn’t say anything for a while, and Logan leaves his hand on his shoulder. Late afternoon sunlight breaks through the overcast sky beyond the window and Roman squints against the sudden brightness. The clock above Logan’s SmartBoard ticks like a metronome. Counting down the minutes until Roman has his final rehearsal with the cast of the spring musical.

“They’re going to be heartbroken.”

“Yes,” Logan agrees. “And that does not make the task before you easy. But it does mean you’ve done something good.”

Roman laughs wetly. “Don’t you mean ‘well’?”

Logan gives him a knowing look. “No. I mean something good. And that is far more important.”

[diverse-writing]

Book Review: “Queer City” by Peter Ackroyd

Thanks to @kyliebean-editing​ for the review request! I have a list of books I’ve read recently here that I’m considering reviewing, so let me know if you’re looking for my thoughts on a specific book and I’ll be sure to give it a go!

2.5 ⭐/5

Hey all! I’m back with another book review and this time we’re taking a dip into nonfiction with Peter Ackroyd’s Queer City: Gay London from the Romans to the Present Day. Let’s dive right in.

The good: Peter Ackroyd is a hugely prolific writer and a historian clearly trained for digging through huge archives of history and his expertise shows. This particular volume--his 37th nonfiction book and 55th overall published work--provides a startlingly comprehensive timeline of London’s gay history, just as promised. Arguably, the book’s subtitle short sells the book’s content; Queer City actually rewinds the clock all the way back to the city’s origins as a Celtic town before it became Roman Londinium. From there, Ackroyd’s utilizes his extensive historical experience to trace proof of gay activity through the ages. From the high courts of medieval times to the monks of the Tudor era, the gaslit back alleys of Victorian London to the raging club scene of the 1980s--gay people have lived and even thrived in London for literal millennia, and Ackroyd has the receipts to back it up. If you need proof that homosexuality has been a staple of civilization since the Romans--and the homophobia has often recycled the same arguments for the same period of time--then look no further.

The mediocre: All that being said, Ackroyd’s “receipts” often tend towards the salacious, the scandalous, and often the explicit. It seems that legal edicts and court cases made up the foundation of his research, so us readers get to hear in full detail the punishments levied against historical queer individuals, from exile to the pillory to the gallows. Occasionally, Ackroyd dips into the written pornagraphic accounts of the time to describe salacious sexual encounters, which add little to the overarching narrative except proof that gay people do, in fact, have sex. Later down the historical record, once newspapers became more common, we also receive extensive account of the gossip pages of the day, complete with rants about the indecency of “buggery” and the moral decay of “the homosexual.” Throughout the book, ass puns and phallic wordplay run rampant, so much so that it occasionally feels like it’s only added for shock value.

While I’m not a professional historian, as a queer person I can’t help but feel that there must be more to the historical record than these beatings, back alley hookups, etc. In focus on the concrete evidence of gay activity--that is, gay sex and all the official documents surrounding the subject--it feels like Ackroyd neglects the emotional side of queerness in favor of the physical side. Even the queer poetry excerpts or diary entries of the time (which I’m nearly positive exist throughout the historical record, though once again I’m not a professional) sampled in this book are all focused on the physical act of sex. No queer person wants a pastel tinted, desexed version of our history--but we also don’t need to hear a dozen explicit accounts of gay park sex. Queer love and queer sex go hand in hand and to focus on one without the other is disingenuous, not to mention dangerous in promoting the idea that queer people are hypersexual and predatory. Admittedly, I do think the omission of queer love is an unintentional byproduct of Ackroyd’s fact-checking and editorial process. He may not have intended to leave out tenderness, but his intentional choice to focus on impersonal records--court cases, royal decrees, newspapers, etc.--rather than personal ones--diaries, poetry, art, etc.--meant that emotion was largely excluded anyway. 

The bad: Though Queer City does a good job of following queer history through the ages, Ackroyd fails to connect his cited historical examples with larger sociocultural movements of the time. He discusses queer coding in Chaucer’s Canterbury Tales but not the larger (oft homoromantic/homoerotic) courtly love traditions that Chaucer drew on. He describes the cult followings around boy actors playing female parts in Elizabethan and Jacobian London but neglects to put those theaters and the public reaction to them within the context of the ongoing Renaissance. Similarly, Ackroyd omits explicit connections to the Enlightenment, Romanticism, Neoclassicism, free love, and countless other cultural movements that undoubtedly shaped both the social and legal responses to the queer community. This exclusion, unlike the exclusion of queer love, had to be intentional on Ackroyd’s part; it’s hugely unlikely that a historian with his bibliography accidentally forgot to mention the last millennium’s worth of Western civilization cultural movements. It’s a massive oversight that utterly fails to place London’s queer history within the context of wider history.

And finally, last but definitely not least, oh boy does Ackroyd have some learning to do when it comes to gender, gender presentation, and gender identity. From the very first chapter, it’s apparent that Ackroyd’s research and writing focused largely on MLM cisgender men, with WLW cisgender women as a far secondary priority. While there are chapters on chapters dedicated to detangling homosexual men’s dealings, homosexual women are often pushed to the fringes of London’s queer history. They receive paragraphs, here and there, and occasionally the closing sentence of a chapter, but overall they’re clearly downgraded to a secondary priority within Ackroyd’s historical narrative. Some of this can once again be blamed on the type of records Ackroyd uses; sex between women was never criminalized or discussed in the public sphere in the same way that sex between men was, so it was a less common topic in London’s courts and newspapers. (And, once again, I have the sneaking suspicion that turning to less traditional sources would’ve helped resolve this issue, though in part the omission can likely be pinned on Ackroyd’s demonstrable preference towards male history.)

Additionally, Ackroyd tends to treat crossdressing as undeniable proof of homosexuality. While it’s true that historically queer individuals found freedom or relief in dressing as the opposite sex, the latter didn’t necessarily equal the former. Additionally, if the crossdressing individual in question was female, dressing as a man was often a way for a woman to secure more freedoms than she would receive while wearing traditional feminine outfits. (Also, he tended to use “transvestite” over “crossdressing,” and while I tend to think of the latter as more preferred, the former may be more in use among queer studies circles or British slang). Though Ackroyd briefly acknowledges that women could and may have crossdressed to more easily navigate a misogynistic world, he nevertheless continually dredges out records of crossdressing women as concrete proof of historical sapphics.

Which brings us to the elephant in the room; in clearly identifying crossdressers as homosexuals, Ackroyd entirely overlooks the existence of transgender and nonbinary people in London’s historical record. This omission, arguably unlike the others, seems definitively intentional and malicious. In the entire book, I could probably count on one hand the number of times Ackroyd mentions the concept of gender identity, and I could use even fewer fingers for the number of times he does so respectfully and thoughtfully. Though he largely neglects to discuss transgender history as a subset of queer history, when he does bring up historical non-cisgender identities it’s often as a component of his salacious narratives rather than a vibrant and storied history all on its own. In the final chapter on modern gay London, Ackroyd’s casual dismissal of the concept of myriad gender identities felt dangerously close to modern day British “gender criticism,” which is likely more familiar to queer readers as TERFism masquerading under the guise of concern for women and gay rights (JK Rowling is a very public example of a textbook gender critical Brit, if you’re wondering). By the end of the book, Ackroyd’s skepticism of so-called “nontraditional gender identities” is so glaringly evident that he might as well proclaim it outright. 

The verdict:  For a book supposedly focused on queerness, the focus on male cisgender homosexuality is both disappointing and honestly not surprising. This book is a portrait of gay London, yes--but it’s also a portrait of Peter Ackroyd as a historian and a professional. It’s clear from early on that he’s writing from the perspective of an older white gay man (I think queer WOC know what I’m talking about when I say that that POV is very distinct, and his clear idolation of 1960s-1980s gay culture makes his age quite evident as well). As you progress through the book, his blindspot in regards to gender and gender politics become increasingly clear, as does his simultaneous obsession and criticism with transgender identities. Overall, Queer City is a clear example of how “nonfiction” doesn’t necessarily mean unvarnished truth--or at least not all of it--and how individual historian’s methods and biases bleed into their research. 

A dear London friend suggested Matt Houlbrook’s Queer London: Perils and Pleasures of the Sexual Metropolis as a more gender inclusive review of the famous city’s queer history. While I take a break from London for a bit, I would welcome any and all thoughts on either Queer City or Queer London, the latter which I fully intend to get to eventually so I can properly compare the two.

[kutemouse]

You are such an amazing writer!! Need pt 2 with jimin :(

Well, well, what a coincidence! You are an amazing person, kutie. Wish granted!! 😘

Apparently Necessary Disclaimer: I don’t own Netflix, but wbk. Also, the above gif was made and edited by me, kutemouse. That is why I’ve posted this under the tag #btsgif. Feel free to use it however you want, just give me credit for the edit. Thanks 💜

Age Recommendation: 16+

Warnings: Swears, a bit o’ angst, mostly glorious fluffiness, Jimin badly procrastinating, kissing, brief (hella light) mentions of the frick frack. Nothing more than you’d hear about in a PG-13 movie. This was so fun to write, I hope you like 😘

Word Count: 2,281

Summary: You reflect back on your summer you’ve spent with vampire Jimin, getting closer and closer as you continued painting his portrait. But now summer’s over and you have to go back to university. How will Jimin react?

Ƹ̵̡Ӝ̵̨̄Ʒ

Summer Portraits (Jimin one-shot, Fluff, Vampire) Part Two

You sat in your bay window, staring at the way the wind whipped through the trees and wound through the grass, creating swirls of hypnotizing green. You were leaving Jimin’s mansion tomorrow and going back to Seoul where, in only three days, another term at your university would begin. Feelings of unease and doubt crept through you. You knew this was the way things had to go, things had to end… but what if you didn’t want them to? After all, this summer had been one of the most interesting ones you’d ever had.

After Jimin confessed to you that he and Soobin were vampires, you were extremely apprehensive around them. The only time you felt relaxed was when you were painting, allowing the mixtures of color to settle your nerves. As time wore on, you realized their intentions probably weren’t malicious, and you found yourself enjoying the company of the eccentric vamp and his brooding butler.

“I love it,” Jimin said, coming up behind you and examining your work one sunny afternoon. He sighed. “Am I really that handsome?”

You rolled your eyes and leaned closer to the canvas, trying to detail his full lips with one of your smaller brushes. Jimin suddenly chuckled, causing you to lean away and toss him a glare. “Sorry,” he said, seeing your look. “It’s just… the last time I saw what my face looked like was thirty years ago. You would think things would’ve changed, but…”

He trailed off, giving you a small smile before continuing. “I’m a vampire. My face has never, and will never, change.”

“That is true,” I murmured, catching the trace of sadness in his gorgeous tawny eyes.

“No matter. Good work, Y/n,” he said, patting your shoulder and turning to leave. You were shocked to feel tingles shooting down your nerves from the place where he touched you.

Shaking your head roughly, you brought yourself back to reality with a harsh thought. “Never in a million years.”

A couple weeks later, Jimin announced at dinner that he was going to head out on a business trip and would be gone for the next few days. “Soobin will be here to attend to your needs,” he said. You shrugged in response, a strange feeling of disappointment settling over you. Were you going to… miss him? You supposed you were. The hallways would feel empty without Jimin’s laughter and his bright-yet-tasteful outfits.

“I’ll be back as soon as I can,” he murmured, tracing his finger over the rim of a glass filled with dark red liquid. You had felt strange, eating full meals while Jimin and Soobin didn’t eat anything. As long as Soobin put it in a glass, you could just pretend they were drinking wine instead of blood and it didn’t make you squirm nearly as much.

Forty-eight hours later, you realized you were definitely missing him. Soobin was fine to have around, but he was so… so… professional. Always “Yes Miss L/n,” or “No Miss L/n.” He refused to call you by your first name, and except for the occasional game of chess, he didn’t have much talent in the way of entertainment.

Bored of browsing Netflix, you got up and went into your studio. A blank canvas sat on your easel just waiting to be turned into a beautiful work of art. You absentmindedly picked up a brush and squirted some paint onto your palette, swirling the bristles lazily in the color and brushing it onto the canvas. By now, you’d memorized the perfect, pale tone of his unblemished skin, the way his eyes crinkled when he laughed, the soft curve of his lips that met in a barely-there cupid’s bow… every detail was yours to paint. You painted for hours, not even noticing when the room started to darken.

“Miss L/n?”

You jumped, the brush stroking across the canvas as your hand spasmed out of control. You turned to see Soobin looking at you in horror. “Oh my, I’m so sorry,” he said, pressing his hands to his mouth.

“Don’t worry about it,” you sighed, setting the brush down. You’d been using a dark brown color for the eyes, and now it was streaked across the portrait’s cheek. Whatever. This painting was kind of just for fun anyway.

“Is anyone here?” a voice called out.

Your heart soared at the sound of his melodic voice before falling and crashing in a fiery explosion. The painting. You couldn’t let him see it. Couldn’t let him see how you truly felt.

You hurried to take the canvas off the easel, placing it just inside the door between your studio and your room before closing it hurriedly. Soobin shot you a look of confusion and you shook your head at him just as Jimin entered the room. “Hey there,” he said, taking you in with a smile.

You smiled back, placing your paint-covered hands behind your back. “Hey. You’re back.”

“I am.”

“How was it?”

His tawny eyes bored into you as his smile turned into a small smirk. “Productive.”

The next day found you painting Jimin in his study. He dressed in just a normal black suit and tie today, claiming he wanted to see how he looked. His dark locks were swept backwards from his forehead, making him look more refined, and he chose to pose with his hands in his pockets, leaning against his large oak desk.

His sultry gaze seemed to pierce right through you as you did your best to capture it. “Can you do something for me?” he asked. You looked up and nodded.

Jimin smirked and you gasped as his eyes flooded a deep red. “Can you paint me like this?”

You took a step back, suddenly nervous, before regaining control of your emotions and nodding. Jimin leaned back against his desk once more, and you picked up a bottle of red paint, adding it to your palette before brushing the color onto the portrait’s eyes.

“Y/n,” Jimin said. You looked up once more. He beckoned you over with a long, pale finger.

You put down your brush and stepped towards him. Jimin’s mouth parted slightly open, and you caught a glimpse of pointed fangs. “Do I make you nervous when I look like this?” he asked. You hesitated before shaking your head.

“Why not?”

“You won’t hurt me.”

“How do you know?”

You swallowed hard. “Because you told me you wouldn’t… and I trust you.”

“You do?”

You nodded then let out a little shriek as Jimin grabbed you by the waist and tugged you close. Your face was only inches away from his as he looked down at you, an amused smile dancing across his lips. You watched in amazement as his eyes faded from red back to that tawny brown. “How about now?” he murmured.

You clutched the collar of his suit jacket and glanced down, a heated flush rising to your cheeks. He chuckled, the sound low in his throat. “Tell me, Y/n… did you miss me while I was gone?”

Your eyes widened. He knew. He knew how you felt. How you saw his face even when your eyes were closed. How you fantasized what it would be like to be with him.

Jimin impatiently squeezed your hips, forcing you to look at him. “Tell me.”

“I-I-” you stuttered.

He closed his eyes and rolled his neck, opening them only to give you a quizzical look. “Well? Did you?”

“Yes,” you finally admitted.

Jimin smiled. “You know, I haven’t let myself get close to anyone in years. Soobin and I have just stayed out here, away from everyone and everything… You’re the first person I’ve ever let in here, and I half-expected you to run the first chance you got.”

“I almost did,” you confessed.

“What stopped you?”

You smiled. “You.”

“Me?”

You stared up into his tawny eyes. “Yes, you. I couldn’t… I mean, initially I was just curious and wanted to know more, but as you and I got to know each other, and as I continued painting your portrait, I…”

Your voice cracked and you stopped talking, afraid you’d already said too much.

“I feel the same way,” Jimin murmured, gently grasping your chin and bringing your lips to his. They were as soft as you’d imagined they’d be. He drew back, but you wanted more, wrapping your fingers through the belt loops of his trousers and yanking him back in. You kissed him with all of the pent-up feelings you’d had since the day you met him, hoping that one action could convey them all.

Jimin didn’t hold back either, angling his jaw to deepen the kiss, his tongue slipping past your lips, tasting you, desiring you, adoring you. You drew back for breath for only a second before diving back into him, drowning in the exhilaration that covered you from head to toe. He was finally yours.

Until he wasn’t.

The next few weeks were filled with nothing but heat, passion, and dreams coming true. You spent your days tangled up with Jimin in between the sheets, painting him, going on long moonlit walks with him, and fully indulging your nearly-perfect summer.

The only shadow looming over all these serendipitous events was your leaving. In the week leading up to now, you’d kept waiting for Jimin to say something. Anything. Would he come back to Seoul with you? Would he visit? Were you two even official enough to expect that kind of thing? Or was this all just meant to be a memory, eventually forgotten?

You sighed and stood up, dragging your suitcase from out of your closet and throwing things haphazardly into it. He hadn’t said anything, just acted like you two would go on forever. Maybe that was literally possible for him, but for you, it was not realistic in the slightest. You would just have to move on. Throw yourself into schoolwork. Maybe find someone else.

Who are you kidding? There is no one else. Even if you searched the entire planet, no one else would compare to Jimin.

You continued packing, trying to distract yourself with the repetitive task of folding and placing. “This is such bullshit,” you muttered.

“Yeah. It is.”

You looked up to see Jimin leaning in your doorway, looking down at your partially-packed suitcase with an apprehensive look on his face. “What are you doing?” he asked.

You placed your hands on your thighs and squeezed. “Packing.

“Why?”

“My term at University starts in four days, Jimin,” you muttered, grabbing another blouse and folding it up.

“You’re leaving?”

You looked up to see Jimin biting his lip, his brow furrowed. “That was always the plan. I stay here for a summer, get paid, then go back to finish my degree.”

Jimin stepped close then slipped down to his knees, kneeling on the ground next to you. “Is that what you want?”

You didn’t answer. Jimin suddenly placed his palms on the ground and leaned forward, getting so close he caused heat to rise to your cheeks. Even after weeks of being together, he still gave you butterflies. “Tell me, Yn,” he murmured, tilting his head. “What do you want?”

“D-Depends on what you want,” you stuttered.

Jimin let out a scoff, yet a smile still lingered over his full lips. “I thought that was obvious,” he said. “I want you.”

He leaned forward even more and pressed his lips to yours, softly engulfing you in the sweetest kiss. Your lips separated and Jimin smirked, his face still hovering close to yours. “I’m coming with you, you know.”

Your mouth dropped open. “You are?”

His smirk widened. “Of course. I got a nice apartment close to your university. Close to you. I’m sorry I didn’t tell you before.”

“You dork,” you said before wrapping him in your arms.

He laughed and kissed the top of your head, his nose nuzzling into your hair. “I know nothing I do could match this summer, but I can try.”

“You’re already succeeding,” you murmured, holding him tighter.

You felt Jimin tense up. “What’s that?” he asked.

You turned to see where he was pointing and felt embarrassment rush through your body. “That? Oh, that’s nothing, just-”

Jimin pulled out the portrait you had painted of him while he was on his business trip. “I don’t remember you painting this.”

“I-I, well, I painted it while you were… while you were…” You seemed to have trouble getting the words out.

Jimin tossed you an amused grin. “You painted this… from memory?”

You nodded, clasping your hands behind your back

“Y/n, that’s… this is… I mean, this is amazing,” Jimin said.

You pointed to the dark streak that marred the portrait’s complexion. “Soobin made me jump,” you explained.

“That’s alright. I know you can fix it. In fact, I’ll pay you to fix it. Out of all of the portraits you’ve painted of me this summer, I think this one is my favorite.”

“Okay, but you don’t have to pay me with money,” you said, taking the painting from him and propping it against the wall. You wrapped your arms around his neck. “Just promise me I’ll get the real you.”

“You already have me,” Jimini murmured, leaning down and kissing you.

You sighed into the kiss, a feeling of contentment working its way through you. Everything would be alright. This summer wouldn’t be just a flash of a memory, left unfinished and marred by regret. It was the start of a painting detailing the rest of your life. Despite the unknown future plaguing you, you knew one thing for certain. You and Jimin would finish that painting… together.

[morningfears]

Shotgun

Rating: PG-13

Summary: How about frat!sos and frat!luke having a soft spot for you. You’re partners for a business class when you mention, offhandedly, that you’ve always wanted to learn how to shotgun a beer (or some other frat boy thing) and he’s immediately on it, volunteering to teach you to hang out with you outside of class. Drunken comedy ensues? Or something else? 😉 up to you! (Ft. Drunken Twister!)

Word Count: 3k (unedited, meant to be a drabble; challenged myself to just write and not worry so, here you go)

“What are you watching?”

Luke’s voice is extremely close, a little too close, and you’re surprised to find him sitting in his chair beside you, an eyebrow raised and a small smile on his lips as he watches you jolt. Your hand catches in the cord of your earbuds, harshly pulling the little pieces of plastic from your ears, and you pout as you press pause.

“Jesus, fuck, Luke,” you huff as you reach up to rub your ear, “don’t sneak up on me like that.”

“Didn’t sneak up on you. I said hello when I walked into the room,” he informs you as he pulls out his notebook and drops it onto the desk in front of him. “What is that guy doing?”

You glance at the screen of your laptop and roll your eyes when you see a still image of Steve Harrington shotgunning a beer. “You’re a frat boy, Hemmings. Shouldn’t you be well-versed in the art of shotgunning a beer by now?”

“I didn’t know you knew what shotgunning was,” he teases with a grin as he shifts a little closer and reaches for an earbud. When you raise an eyebrow at him, he shrugs. “Looks interesting,” he offers as an explanation before he reaches out and presses play himself.

The pair of you sit in silence for a long moment, you refreshing your memory of Stranger Things in preparation for season three and Luke realizing that he does, indeed, recognize a few parallels between himself and Steve (and you and Nancy, if he’s being honest), before you murmur, “I’ve always wanted to try it.”

Luke turns his head to look at you, eyebrows furrowed in confusion, before he catches sight of Nancy attempting to shotgun her own beer and realizes what you mean. “I thought you didn’t like beer,” he hums, reaching out to pause the show as he focuses all his attention on you.

“I don’t,” you confirm with a shrug, “but it looks cool, you know? Very college.”

Luke hesitates, gauging the look on your face, before he nods. “I could teach you,” he offers, “we’re having a party tonight. Lots of beer for you to practice on and brothers to pass the beer off to if you really hate it.”

“You’re inviting me to a party at the Sigma house? Oh, you really know how to make a girl feel special, Hemmings,” you tease as you exit Netflix and begin to pull up the course homepage on your laptop.

“I try,” Luke grins as he follows your lead and opens his own laptop. “Seriously, though, you should come. You’ve never been to a party at the house. Come to think of it, I don’t think we’ve ever hung out outside of class.”

“We run in different circles, Luke,” you remind with a laugh as you glance around the room at the entering students. 

Your statement isn’t wrong, both of you know that, but it still stings to hear you remind him of that fact. Luke is all to aware of the differences in your friend groups, all too aware of how the two of you occupy seemingly different planets, and it’s part of the reason he’s avoided asking you to hang out after class.

The pair of you have been partners for nearly three months, almost an entire semester, and he’s developed a bit of a soft spot for you in that time. He isn’t sure if it’s a crush, isn’t sure if he just likes you and remembers what it was like to be the reserved, quiet kid in the room, but, whatever it is, he wants to include you. He wants to hang out with you without your marketing professor breathing down the backs of your necks and you’ve just given him the perfect opportunity.

He knows that your comment isn’t meant to be rude, he knows that you only meant it to state the obvious, so he does his best to brush it off. “If you’re worried I’ll leave you alone, this is me giving you permission to follow me around like a lost puppy.”

“How kind of you,” you huff with a roll of your eyes as you watch the professor enter the classroom. “Who says I want to hang out with you? Maybe I’m just using you for your shotgunning skills. Maybe I’ve been playing the long game, getting to know you just to learn what I want and then go show off my cool new skills.”

“You’re smart, honey, but you’re not a devious mastermind,” Luke laughs as he nudges your shoulder. “You apologized to the table for bumping into it the other day. I’m pretty sure using someone is way out of your comfort zone.”

Luke grins as you nod in agreement. “Fine, you got me there. But please tell me this isn’t a paint party. I don’t have anything I can ruin and I don’t feel like going out to get a t-shirt and shorts just for them to end up stained.”

“Those are only for Halloween,” Luke informs you with a grin, “but I’ll be sure to invite you next year. Gives you plenty of time to prepare.”

Before you can respond, the professor calls the class to order and you’re forced to drop the conversation. Much to your surprise, Luke doesn’t attempt to speak to you during class. He’s quiet, scribbling notes in handwriting you still can’t read, and only brings up the party when the professor bids you all a good weekend.

“I’m on the first beer run of the night so I can stop by your place and pick you up,” Luke offers as the pair of you exit the classroom. “The party doesn’t start until ten but I could get you around nine? That way I can show you how without a massive crowd of people. Mostly just idiot brothers.”

“Wait, you’re serious? Luke, it’s okay. You don’t have to hang out with me outside of class. Or feel obligated to teach me some dumb skill just because you’re a frat boy who happens to know it. It’s fine, really,” you assure him as you step to the side of the door to let other students out.

“But I want to,” he assures you, his cheeks tinting pink, “I think it’ll be fun. And if you hate it, I can take you home or get someone else to take you home. We have designated sober brothers so, no matter what, you can get home when you want.”

You study him for a moment, taking in the hopeful look on his face and the pink tint to his cheeks. He’s serious, earnest, and it’s endearing. You want nothing more than to say yes to him so, after a moment’s hesitation, you do. You nod, tentative and slow, and Luke lights up. “Fuck yeah,” he cheers, a grin on his lips as he nods at you. “Cool. I’ll pick you up at nine, then. It’s casual so, feel free to wear whatever. You always look cute so I’m sure you’ll look great. See you tonight, honey!”

You watch him retreat down the hallway, his lanky figure easily visible as he towers over other students, and you feel your eyebrows furrow in confusion. ‘Honey’ is new, Luke has never been one to call you by a nickname, but, if you’re being honest with yourself, it’s not unwelcome. It feels nice, hearing yourself be called something so sweet by someone like Luke, but you try not to dwell on it. He’s a flirt by nature, always with the teasing grins and cute lines, so you don’t put much stock in it. You imagine that that’s a go to of his, a cute nickname and a pretty smile, and suddenly the name honey isn’t so sweet anymore.

By the time nine rolls around, you’re half-convinced you shouldn’t be going. You’ve managed to talk yourself into going and right back out of it several times over, your logic running circles in your head as you paced your living room, and you almost texted Luke on four different occasions, each saved as a draft and edited as needed, but before you can press send, a knock sounds at your front door.

“Wow, you look great, honey,” Luke breathes as he catches sight of you. He’s used to seeing you in your class attire, usually consisting of jeans and an old t-shirt as you work afternoons, volunteering in various places that require you to get a little dirty, so to see you all dressed up is a sight that nearly knocks Luke off his feet. “You always do,” he quickly adds, completely missing the amused look on your face, “but, wow. You look great.”

“You don’t look so bad yourself, Hemmings,” you laugh as you close your door and lock it behind you. “No t-shirt for either of us. Who are we becoming?”

“Adults?” Luke questions before he offers an over-exaggerated shudder. “We should get to the house. I hear shotgunning beer with frat boys is a great way to fight aging.”

True to his earlier statement, the house is filled with mostly brothers. There are a few sorority girls, girlfriends of brothers or sisters who drew the short straw and were brought in to help set up, but the house is nowhere near as packed as you imagined it would be.

“The party starts at ten but most people don’t get here until eleven,” Luke informs you as he places the last case of beer on the kitchen island. “Everyone likes to pre-game and be fashionably late,” he hums as he grabs two cans and a small metal object. “Follow me, we’ll try it in the backyard.”

The pair of you weave your way through the crowd, careful not to bump into anyone, before you emerge into the mostly empty backyard. Four brothers linger about, two of them setting up cups at the beer pong table while the other two fill trashcans with bags, and none of them pay you any mind as Luke gestures for you to join him in the grass.

“Here you go,” he mumbles as he hands you a beer before he pulls the metal object out of his pocket. “Okay, so it’s pretty easy. Poke a hole in the side of the can near the bottom, pop the top, and chug. Be careful, it’ll probably get everywhere. It starts to pour out when you put a hole in it.” Luke makes sure that you’re watching before he takes the sharp end of the metal object and pokes a hole in the side of his can, near the bottom. Just as he described, beer comes gushing out of the hole but he’s quick to bring it to his mouth and pop the top. You watch, your eyes glued to the smooth expanse of his throat and the sliver of exposed skin of his chest, as he chugs the beer. A bit dribbles down his chin and he’s quick to wipe it away as soon as he finishes chugging his beer.

He grimaces, a frown on his lips, before he shakes his head and offers you the small metal object. “You sure you want to do that, honey?” he questions, not condescending, just curious. When you nod, he shrugs. “Alright. Be careful, don’t hurt yourself,” he warns but you pay him no mind as you poke a hole into the can, a little too high, and pop the top to chug the beer.

Luke is staring at you, mildly impressed by your ability to chug something you so clearly hate, and he claps in delight as you shake your head. “Fuck, beer is gross,” you gasp as soon as you’ve finished chugging. “But that was so fun!”

“Yeah?” Luke laughs as he takes your can and tosses it into the garbage can nearest him. “We may make a party girl out of you yet, honey,” he teases as he nods toward the house. “You want to try again or do you want to just get something you’ll actually enjoy drinking?”

“I know I’m going to regret this in the morning, but do you have any vodka?”

As it turns out, you didn’t have to wait until the morning to regret your decision.

You can feel the effects of the alcohol hitting you fairly hard far quicker than you imagined. The combination of chugging a beer and downing shots of tequila with Luke and Calum before sipping on a vodka cocktail made by Ashton (whose definition of a cocktail is vodka with a capful of pineapple juice) has you stumbling over words and giggling at practically everything as you navigate the increasingly crowded party.

Despite his earlier joke that he would allow you to follow him around like a lost puppy, it’s Luke who follows you around. He spends the night glued to your side, first only touching you when necessary before the alcohol lowered his inhibitions and emboldened him. He’s currently got his arms wrapped around your waist, his chin resting on your shoulder, as the pair of you listen to Ashton share a story about his pledge class. You’re not sure what he’s saying, you haven’t really been listening at all, and your focus only continues to wane as Luke presses a kiss to your shoulder.

“We should play Twister,” Michael recommends, his words slow and eyes heavy. “I want to call it.”

“We have a board in the game room,” Ashton nods before he chugs the rest of his drink. “I’ll grab it. To the backyard!”

You don’t want to move, you’re perfectly content in your space beside the wall with Luke draped over you, but Calum and Michael insist on the two of you joining the fun. They each grab an arm, tugging you along, and Luke has no choice but to follow. The backyard is livelier than before, more people playing beer pong or sitting on the patio to talk without having to shout over the music, but it’s still far less crowded than the inside of the house.

When Ashton appears with the Twister box, a fresh cocktail in hand, you can’t imagine the night will end well. You can’t imagine that anything good will come of this but your alcohol altered brain is too far gone for you to recognize that you should walk away from the situation. So, you allow them to pry Luke away from you and take the first turn.

“Left foot blue,” Michael calls, squinting at the spinner in his hands. “Luke, you can go next so stop fucking pouting,” he huffs before he spins and calls, “Right hand yellow.”

Luke is, to no one’s surprise, eager to place his hand on the yellow mark right beside you. He grins up at you, his cheeks flushed with the alcohol, before he leans his head against your leg as the pair of watch Ashton and Calum take their turns.

The four of you attract a crowd, onlookers impressed with your agility for just how drunk the four of you are, and you’re surprised yourself. You’re settled into a backbend, your hands on either side of Calum’s as Ashton is stretched over you. Luke’s head is beside yours, his eyes trained on your face as you wait for Michael to call Calum’s next move.

“Right hand green,” Michael calls and when you see the green dot, you know that this is going to be the last move of the game. You know that Calum is about to knock the four of you down, to send you all collapsing into a pile on the ground, but before your body can catch up with your brain, Calum moves.

Ashton collapses onto you and sends Luke falling to the ground, too. Ashton’s elbow presses into your side as his face smashes into Luke’s ribs and Calum’s hand smacks your forehead. The four of you collapse into a heap, all of you groaning, and you remain like that for a long moment as the audience laughs. It takes a second for someone sober enough to realize you need help to actually help you all but, after a few agonizing moments of having the air knocked out of you, Ashton is pulled off you and you’re helped to your feet.

“That was fun,” Michael nods, his eyes bleary with sleep as he pats the spinner, “good game. Good night.”

You watch, mildly amused and somewhat concerned, as Michael leans against the wall of the house and closes his eyes. You turn to Luke, who is already reattaching himself to you, and he shrugs. “He does that,” he nods, “it’s fine.”

“I should go home,” you nod as you watch him for a moment longer, “gonna feel terrible in the morning.”

“Stay,” Luke hums, his face buried in the crook of your neck. “Feel terrible with me.”

“But sleep,” you mumble, hands patting Luke’s as they rest around your waist. “Clothes. Tired.”

“I have clothes and a bed,” Luke mumbles, finally lifting his head to look at you. “Sleep with me. In my bed, in my clothes. Please, honey,” he mumbles, when he notices you look like you’re going to hesitate. “Just tonight. We’re drunk and tired. Just sleep, promise.”

“Just sleep?”

“Yeah,” Luke nods, “just sleep. ‘M tired, too.”

Though this wasn’t how you pictured your night, passed out in Luke’s bed wearing his t-shirt and a pair of boxers as shorts, you find yourself happy with how the night turned out. Luke doesn’t try anything, though he does cling to you, but you enjoy it. You like lying with him, warm in his bed, and you think that you could get used to this.

_______________________________________________________________________

Author’s Note: That was a fun challenge. Feel free to send me things and let me see if I can just write something quick and fun just to write.

[theincognitowriter]

Tales of an Arcadian: A Reflection on Internet Fandom Culture

There’s something hilarious, thinking back on it now, how much my experiences reflect that of the first internet fandom pioneers - happily interacting with each other and the creators of the thing we follow, and in a year’s time about three different controversies occur, the love for the media soured and twisted with resentment or even strengthened in the face of the contention. 

And so yes, perhaps my experiences with my first major fandom, Trollhunters (by famous director and storywriter Guillermo del Toro on Netflix), centralized in the worst-best social media blogging platform Tumblr and current hot and trending voice and text chat app Discord, were not the best. But if I were asked if I would take it all back and change things about it… okay, maybe a few things, but overall I’d happily keep most of my experiences intact. They’ve garnered me quite the friend group, after all, one I’d never let go for anything in the world. And so it is with these collected experiences that I discover some reflections: On a few things to do and not to do as a member of a fandom, especially if you are or are planning to become popular for whatever reason.

The first thing I realized was that it was honestly kind of difficult to have my voice heard on the platforms I was on. Most people just like and click away at whatever seems interesting, and then subscribe to or click to get notifications from certain notable bloggers/people, so if you don’t have cool and eye-catching content (such as art, theories, picture edits, aesthetics, etc.) to show right off the bat, people will just scroll past you. I found it easier, though, to regularly engage and exercise in interactions with others, gaining attention from them. This can be in the form of reblogs (Tumblr), replies (Twitter), or comments (fanfiction hosting sites and art sites like AO3 and DeviantArt). If you consistently show some pretty constructive comments on fanfiction, for example, those authors are more likely to respond and focus their attention on you. Just remember to be polite; I’ve seen weird roleplayers going so deep into their roleplaying that they do it outside of roleplaying zones and bizarrely - sometimes obnoxiously - interacting with non-roleplayers to the point of discomfort.

Minimize participation in any ongoing drama, and try not to be the center of drama, either. Fandom culture is quite deep and complicated nowadays, and the moral ethics of dark and dubious content is currently the hotspot of heated debate. Whether or not your opinions align with one side or another, it’s a well-known fact that you’re better off scrolling past things that don’t nudge you in a good way. Though, do be assertive when people start shoving these things at the faces of the collective, and remember to turn on your blacklists. That’s something my friend, Drew, is very fond of doing, and something I do, too. Not because I like doing it, but because I just really don't want to see that one Alpha/Beta/Omega fanfic with the longest word count rank on the fanfic length filter pop up every time I search whatever’s new in the Trollhunters label on AO3. (Don’t ask.) In the end, just tag your things appropriately with the correct labels and tell others to as well, and you should be good to go. 

Find your people. These are people that align with your interests and what you want from the fandom - they can be anything, ranging from artists to fanfiction writers to aesthetic gif set editors (it’s a specialized set of content creators, bless them for gracing us with their time and photoshop skills). I found a lot of these people on a Discord server for Trollhunters, a few of them being Drew and even Spectrum (see my profile on Spectrum here). A lot of fandom experience is especially tailored through the people that one experiences fandom with. A tight-knit fandom group can encourage growth in many aspects of your person, whether that be in art, worldbuilding, or even in law. Trust me, being friends with a lawyer through Trollhunters has been… illuminating.

Don’t be afraid to wholeheartedly be you. A powerful aspect of the magnetic qualities of internet personality is in the term itself - personality. Certain people are drawn to certain others with certain traits, which helps explain why PewDiePie. (That’s it. That’s the sentence.) My enthusiasm for story and character analysis and theories drew a lot of attention, which was apparently the foundation of interest for some of the people that followed me on Tumblr. (I’m sad to say to these people that I deeply apologize for my current lack of content - without a Tales of Arcadia: Wizards trailer, I’m not motivated to do any more in-depth analyses.) It also probably helped that I’m one of the very few most vocal about a certain underappreciated character in Trollhunters, and have a lot of... let’s say “interesting” fanworks and ideas centered around him. But that’s besides the point.

To sum it up, remember to healthily engage in fandom culture to the extent that you’re comfortable with, and only with the parts and the people of the fandom that you wish to interact with, and most importantly, never be afraid to be yourself. 

After all, as Blinky Galadrigal of Trollhunters once said: Destiny is a gift - some go their entire lives, living existence as a quiet desperation. 

And in my words, when you are given destiny, you make of it what you can and what you will, and in that, you will find happiness and contentment.

Signed, an Arcadian.

[thehoodsweetheart]

Twin Flames.

A/N: This is something that popped up in my mind. I was feeling a little uninspired lately but knew I wanted to get some type of content out. Tell me what you guys think. Should this be something I continue? I hope it’s not total crap.

Summary: Sometimes you can’t shake a person, no matter how much you try to let go. However, you hand can be forced. This is the case with Isis and Erik. (I don’t want to give up too many details).

Word Count: 2.1k

Warnings: ??? There are none. I write for Black audiences, Black women in particular. My main characters are Black and that’s that on that. Isis is and will remain a Black woman. 

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      Isis sat perched up in the middle of her oxblood colored crushed velvet couch legs folded beneath her as she diligently clicked away on her MacBook Pro. Isis was dressed in a black mesh panel Ivy Park crop top with the matching leggings. Her wash and go was on day 2, which was honestly her favorite due to how much volume the fizziness gave her hair. Isis’s fluffy coils created a large halo like fro around her head almost like a crown. It hadn’t even been an hour since she landed in Los Angeles from her 21-hour flight from Johannesburg and she was getting straight to work. The soft murmur of Martin re-runs played on the wall of her condo from a projector and providing most of the light in the room. The projector was Isis’s idea after debating with her best friend, who also happened to be her roommate, over an obnoxiously sized flat screen TV.

      She glanced up from her work on your laptop to give a soft laugh at Martin & Gina sneaking into Tommy’s apartment attempting to find out if he was apart of the CIA. It reminded Isis of how nosy her own best friend could be when she felt like Isis was hiding something from her. It was no offense to their friendship. Isis was an only child and somewhat of an introvert. She grew up with the struggle of overly sharing or not sharing herself at all with ‘close friends’. She learned fast it was best to be picky with who and what she shared of herself. Isis was private in nature and her current job only added to it. Isis was awarded the once in a lifetime opportunity of being part of the visual director team and personal photographer to Beyoncé. Yes, the one and only Queen Bey.

      It was 11:11 PM, which Isis considered peak working hours. She knew that she’d be awake editing pictures until well after 3 AM. Isis wanted sort through all her captured footage from her last trip and edit the best images. Seemed like a simple task but any artist will tell you it’s the most challenging part. What if a photo she absolutely hates is one that her client loved? Or Vice versa? The longer Isis looked at the image the more flaws she could find, but wasn’t that the beauty in art, photography in particular?  

     Isis played around with the gradient and shadows of the picture trying to highlight its depth using Adobe Lightroom. She was so fixated on editing that she didn’t even hear the front door open, but the sounds of giggling and the door slamming sure caught her attention. Her best friend Brea was home and she were not alone. Brea was accompanied by a large male figure that towered over her petite frame. Isis gave them a quick glance before returning her attention back to the work before her. Despite not getting a clear view of Brea’s male ‘friend’, Isis felt an odd sensation of familiarity. Isis knew Brea hadn’t even noticed she was there yet because she was too focused on her male companion who was actively kissing and groping her.

“Aye, who is that?” His gruff voice questioned. Brea shot him a confused look before turning on her heels to face the couch. She let a loud gasp followed by a squeal.

“OH MY GODDD ISIS!!! YOU’RE HOMEEE!” She ran over to Isis giving her a bear hug, completely disregarding the laptop on her lap. Isis let out a small chuckle, fumbling with her MacBook Pro so it wouldn’t crash onto the floor, yet still trying to reciprocate Brea’s embrace.

“I know…finally right?” Isis’s light voice followed. She spent two weeks in South Africa, and she had only been home for four days prior to that after a trip to New York. During those four days, Brea was away on a business trip for the NPO she worked for, so it was safe to say they hadn’t had a chance to see each other in a solid four weeks.

“Soooo, how long do I have the pleasure of having my bestie back?” She nudged my elbow.

“We never know. Until duty calls again I guess.” Isis shrugged.

“Well you have to tell me about South Africa! Any fine niggas?” Brea attempted to whisper the last question. Isis couldn’t help but let out a hearty laugh, which Brea soon joined in on. Leave it to Brea to be so bold in front of her male company.

     Erik cleared his throat catching Isis and Brea’s attention silencing their laughter completely. Isis’s eyes locked with Erik’s. She finally zoned in on his face. This was Erik that Isis has heard Brea talk so much about in the past months, but nothing of substance. Brea just pretty much boasted on his good looks and sex drive but no concrete details of the ‘mystery man’. Not even a screenshot of a picture of the man had been offered from Brea. The three seconds that they held eye contact felt like nearly an eternity. Her heart began to pound in her chest so much so she could hear it in her ears. It was as if they could see through each other’s exterior and see straight to the core. Brea’s guest was indeed handsome…strikingly handsome yet familiar.

     Erik’s face was one Isis would never forget. His face was etched in marble in her mind. Her mind worked like a camera, her favorite vice. Capturing faces in a moment, associating them with particular narratives. Every face held a different story; all worth discovering yet Isis wasn’t much of a storyteller. She was the observer obsessed with the details of stories in a calculating way. This one in particular was mysterious and how it intersected with Isis’s was less than complicated but not in the least bit simple.

*********

           They met what seemed like a lifetime ago during one Isis’s summer visits to the Bay, on Isis’s father’s birthday. It was the summer before high school. She met Bria that same summer during Summer Bridge, a requirement for the private high school they attended. He was her favorite boy cousin’s best friend. Despite her introverted ways, Isis and Erik linked as if they knew each other their whole lives. It began as a platonic friendship. It soon became obvious that they had crushes on one another but they didn’t say anything about it in respect to her cousin. Then her cousin died and Erik moved away the same year causing them to lose contact. But before he moved he told her, “Don’t trip, I’ll find you one day. I feel like I’ll always find you. No matter what lifetime it is.”That was the summer before her senior year of high school. And find her is exactly what he did, multiple sporadic times.

      It was actually puzzling to say they never kept consistent contact with one another. Like the summer after her first year of college when she landed an internship in New York at the Staley-Wise Gallery, and Erik casually sauntered through the crowd of the gallery on a busy afternoon. He was notably different. More mature in his looks and moved more guarded than the teenager Isis once new, nonetheless his magnetic pull drew her in almost immediately. It was that force that never allowed her to shy away when she was near him, even if she tried. Isis was uneasy with idea of being attached to Erik, because life had a way of showing her that her best bet was on herself. Despite this, he made her feel safe. He was there when the gallery closed. They chilled with each other like there was no time lost between the two. Any time she was free during his two week stay, Erik made sure he spent it with her sparking that old crush letting it fully ignite. When he asked her, “You saved yourself for me?” It wasn’t much of a question. He knew she did.

           Years passed and after graduating from undergrad, Isis moved back to Los Angeles. Isis like every woman has experienced a fair share of cat calling and unwanted extra male attention. When she experienced it one particular night, the ‘I have a boyfriend’ and ‘your man don’t let you have friends’ debate was brought to an abrupt end with a ‘Nah’ from a male voice behind her. Isis wanted to roll her eyes because she knew she didn’t have a man but she didn’t necessarily want to entertain the new unknown voice because he played superhero. She was in luck to find it was Erik. Isis was stricken with awe. She was sure their last encounter would be the final one. Isis came to terms with that.

      Erik and Isis practically bound. What else could explain their unexpected reconnections? Their most encounters recent were in Johannesburg. It seemed like a lifetime had passed since she’d seen or heard from him. She knew of him being in the navy and his plans for Wakanda. Part of her thought he was dead. When attending a museum on a much needed off day, pictures of South Africa’s neighboring country Wakanda acted as a friendly reminder of her old friend.

“What do you know about Wakanda? Almighty Isis.” The familiar predatory voice purred in her ear. Isis whipped around to see a vastly different appearance yet Erik in the flesh.

********

     Isis raised an eyebrow as a sly smirk crept onto her face. The same smirk that Erik held, mirror-like with arrogance. She turned her attention to her best friend. Isis waited for what would be a proper introduction. After all, Brea was oblivious to Erik and Isis’s acquaintance.  She had no clue that Isis and Erik’s once-in-a-blue moon meetings sparked a flame consuming the flesh and spread like wild fire only to be put out not long after it starts. Neither Erik nor Isis was accustomed to the immense connection they possessed, like a shared soul internalizing each other’s pain without explanation, knowing things about each other that never needed to be verbalized. Something about it always savoring the essence of its natural flow and it was still so foreign. Yet, Brea did not know that her Erik was Isis’s N’Jadaka.

“Sorry, I’m being rude! Ice, this is Erikkkk” Brea sang his name. Isis chewed her inner cheek to keep from cringing. She wasn’t sure if it was the way Brea said his name or the thought of Erik fucking her best friend.

“Wassup” Erik said with a nod. Isis coach herself mentally not to roll her eyes. Should she tell Brea? Would it even matter? Could she even be mad at Erik? They never had anything exclusive, ever.

“Hello.” Isis kept her response curt.

“Yo…You look hella familiar like I know you from somewhere.” Erik tilted his head dreads falling more into his face as his tongue ran over his gold fangs. If he wanted to be petty, Isis could match all energy.

“Doubt it…Probably Instagram.” Isis said with a shrug gaining an uneasy look from Brea. Brea was accustomed to Isis being more polite in general, after all she deemed Isis as the ‘nice’ friend.

     If this situation couldn’t get anymore awkward, Isis phone began to ring illuminating with the name Aaron and a picture of her and a handsome chocolate man making goofy faces with the Snap Chat dog filter. Isis sucked in a deep breath breaking her gaze from her phone immediately locking eyes with Erik. She couldn’t believe the situation that was unfolding before her. Her secret on and off ‘fling’ was in her home with every intention on fucking her best friend, despite having a two-week long mind-blowing sexscapade with Isis in South Africa just days prior. Her best friend had no clue and her current situationship was hitting her up for the late night action.

“Don’t ignore my brother-in-law. You know the drill.” Brea laughed. It was too late. Isis missed the call. Isis could only let out a nervous chuckle while avoiding looking at Erik altogether.

“Whatever Bree. I’ll get out of you guys’ way.” Isis said fanning them off while quickly texting Aaron she was on her way.

       She sat her laptop down to get ready to leave. Isis quickly gathered her tote, which was packed with her essentials since she had landed that night. It was no need for Aaron to leave the door unlocked she had a key. He was far more invested than she was but she did care for him.

“This picture is dope. These scars look so familiar.” Brea squinted as she studied Isis’s MacBook Pro.

“Ehhh, you know ritual practices…just something I saw in South Africa.” Isis said looking directly at Erik with a smirk. She took her laptop from Brea as she headed towards the door. “You two have fun!” Isis shot them a wink.

[mostlysignssomeportents]

After more than a decade, Cecil Castellucci and Jim Rugg's YA classics The Plane Janes are back!

[I adored Cecil Castellucci and Jim Rugg's YA graphic novels The Plain Janes and Janes in Love, which were the defining titles for the late, lamented Minx imprint from DC comics. A decade later, the creators have gotten the rights back and there's a new edition Little, Brown. We're honored to have an exclusive transcript of Cecil and Jim in conversation, discussing the origins of Plain Janes. Make no mistake: this reissue is amazing news, and Plain James is an underappreciated monster of a classic, finally getting another day in the spotlight. If you haven't read it, consider yourself lucky, because you're about to get another chance. -Cory]

Cecil to Jim: How interesting or difficult was it for you to go back to match a style from 11 years ago?

Jim: It was impossible!

When I started drawing Janes Attack Back, I was so anxious. You can’t unlearn how to ride a bike and a lot of my style from 11 years ago included my limitations as an artist. I hope I’m much better now than I was then. But when it comes to style, I just couldn’t quite do it the same. After a page or two, I stopped trying. I figured that as long as the character designs, grayscaling, and lettering were consistent that it would be a 90 percent match. Combined with the different ink colors, I think it flows pretty well. But it was definitely tough to figure out in the beginning.

It was interesting for me to revisit the original art and to get back into characters that I had spent so much time with, but that was over 10 years ago. It was a very strange feeling in my head. Nostalgic but also filtered through thousands of pages of progress since I drew the first two books. It was like studying a different artist, trying to get back to that style.

How much of an issue was this from a writing perspective?

Cecil: It was the same!

When we first did Plain Janes it was my first time moving from prose to comics and I remember that I called you up crying once because moving the story from panel to panel was so difficult to figure out at first. Comics is not prose! But now I have a better understanding of comics and I would write those books way differently now. So it was hard to go back to being more naive. But it was an interesting challenge for sure.

Cecil to Jim: We had sort of hammered out this story as a four book thing back in 200. For Janes Attack Back, we compressed. Is there anything that we left out that you kind of wish we’d been able to keep?

Jim: I’m very happy with how this turned out. I remember we planned to have the Janes all go their separate ways for the summer. I think you did a terrific job compressing that. We still see them do their own things and drift apart. I like these characters so our original plans were fun--seeing them on their own allowed a different side of them to emerge.

But I think the story works best in this final version. I don’t miss the longer solo adventures. Although I refer to the Janes as my X-Men, since they are a team, and team books often have spinoffs where characters have solo adventures. So maybe a longer solo adventure would be fun. I did draw quite a bit of Brain Jane at space camp many years ago! But overall, I say no. I’m so happy with this final story that I don’t regret anything we cut to make this final story! Who knows, we could always follow the Janes as they go off to different colleges and post high school adventures...

Cecil: I’m glad I have those Brain Jayne space camp pages. But yeah, I don’t miss their solo stuff. I’m glad that we just really follow Main Jane. But it’s interesting because I think that kind of goes with the question above. I think writing that whole Janes Go Summer was the book that I would never write now because I’ve learned that you can just go to the next best part and you don’t have to tell every part. Like moving time from panel to panel.

Cecil to Jim: What was the hardest thing to draw? And which art attack did you love the most?

Jim: Not exactly an art attack, but I think my favorite art thing was when Jane visits the museum in France and she appears in several paintings. That was fun to draw, but also it fit the story perfectly. As a cartoonist, that’s the best I can hope for--when the art gets to shine within the context of the story. That moment feels magical to me--in terms of both the story and the art.

Does the school dance count as an art attack? I like flowers so when the gang covered their dresses in flowers and Brain Jane hit them with a spotlight, that was something I enjoyed drawing.

Cars are hard to draw. Kissing is hard to draw. Crowds are tough. Perspective...I could go on and on!

Jim to Cecil: Craft--is there a difference between writing a novel and writing a graphic novel? If so, what are those differences?

Cecil: There are more words in prose. That seems obvious, but it’s a big deal because that’s what you paint your pictures with. So you can really dive into the minutiae of a moment but it’s very different than with comics where you dive into a moment because you are really dictating what you want the brain to pay attention to. And you have to really understand that each reader is going to have a wildly different understanding of what that picture should be. In comics, it’s right there. So you can be very specific and focused and the words are not really important. They are but I throw out a lot of them.

I think I over-write my script as a scaffolding for you, the artist, so you don’t have to do all the mental heavy lifting. But the best thing about comics is the throwing out of words. And silence. You can use words to describe silence but it’s still very busy and loud. But in a comic, a silent page or panel speaks for itself, and you can have a pause and rest that you can’t have in prose. I love writing both and that is why I really think that a story tells you how it best wants to be told. Because prose and comics have different gifts in terms of telling the tale.

Jim to Cecil: I sometimes describe The PLAIN Janes as my X-Men comic since it is a “team” book. So I’m curious if you have a favorite character in The PLAIN Janes?

Cecil: Oh! That’s so hard! I mean of course it is a team book and I love that you always referred to it as an X-men comic. They are superheroes in my mind; each overcoming things inside of them and bringing their own special skill to solve a problem.

But it’s too hard to pick which one I love! I mean, I identify with all of them for different reasons at different times. I guess that is what makes a good team. But I do have a soft spot for both Brain Jayne and Theater Jane. I think that they both have such distinct voices and points of view that they were fun foils to write for Main Jane.

Do you have a favorite?

Jim: I love Theater Jane’s exuberance! And of course there are things I love about all of them. Good job on giving them unique traits and personality. But I would say in the end, I enjoyed Payne. She was a foil and heel and that brought the best out of all of the Janes. She was like a mirror that forced the Janes, especially Main Jane to really think about her values and what she wanted to do in her art practice. We had talked about Payne for a decade. Seeing her in action and seeing Main Jane play off of her was the best. Plus her anger at the status quo is something I remember feeling as a teenager.

Jim to Cecil: Write what you know, right? With that in mind, what parts of The PLAIN Janes are closest to your own personal experiences/truth?

Cecil: Yes. Although the apple doesn’t fall far from the tree, of course it is put through the ringer and shook up to come out as something very different. Like Main Jane, I was in a bombing when I was young. The IRA blew up a stage where the British Army band was playing. I was in the most damaged house, a beer museum. A window shattered above me and it was very scary. (I write about this incident in my memoir, Girl on Film).

I remember the next day, my family took me to an art museum and there were huge skylight windows everywhere, and I thought they would explode down on me. So I kept focusing on the art. And so while no one was injured in the attack that I was in, and I did not find a John Doe, I certainly found solace in art when I most needed it.

Another thing that came from my life directly was just engaging in street art and loving conceptual art. How that kind of art can say so much and be so profound. I’ve talked before about walking through subway stations filled with Keith Haring chalk drawings in the 80s and that being so inspiring. That idea of art being everywhere and being a delightful surprise. The core truth of The PLAIN Janes is that ART SAVES. That is probably the most true thing I believe.

How about you? Was there anything that you brought to the book that was close to your experience or truth?

Cecil: I was an art kid in school, so that made sense. And also the feeling, like I was an outsider and wanted more than school and a small town could provide. Some of the art class stuff brings back memories. The biggest thing for me were the friendships. The way the Janes pulled for each other and supported each other as they followed their own interests. I’ve been lucky to have that kind of support in my life. Some of those moments felt true to my own experience. And yes, I believe art saved my life--whether it was the stories and art I consumed or made. It had a huge impact on my life and helped through good and bad times.

The Plain Janes [Cecil Castellucci and Jim Rugg/Little Brown]

https://boingboing.net/2020/01/07/janes-janes-janes.html

[aziraamane]

Human AU - Part 5

(Previous) - (First)

September faded to October, November hot, or should that be cold, on its heels. In that time, there had been countless playdates - Ezra dropping off an excitable Warlock at Crowley's flat, or Adam walking back with Ezra and Warlock to spend a few hours with them in their home above the bookshop, till Crowley finished his various necessary businesses and was able to pick him up; infinite mugs of tea and/or coffee drunk, endless jokes and smiles and emotions thought long lost, buried into the ground until they weren't.

Crowley floated through those months on cloud nine. 

I have a friend. An actual friend. One who doesn't look at me like the Bank of Fucking England with a cock.

As far as socialites went, Crowley didn't mingle with the crowd, and as such, didn't have what anyone would call a social circle. He went along with whatever his mother, brothers, and sister told him to, played his part, and scuttled off home, back into willful isolation. Friends were a bother he couldn't be arsed with, family even worse.

But Ezra is...different. 

He wouldn't get his hopes up, yet. He could still turn out like everyone else. But for now, Crowley was content, simply pleased that he'd forged a connection.

"The hell are you looking so dopey about?"

Ugh. There came the gravelly tones that could suck the life out of anyone present. 

Hassel Crowley, eldest now Lucifer was dead, was, to put it in milder terms, a right ugly bastard. He had pallid skin, and froggy eyes, and hair like a thatch of mouldy straw. He smelled of stale smoke, and always had a cigarette in his hand. He offended Crowley's senses, all of them at once. 

"Fuck off, Hassel."

"No, no, I want to know, really," said Hassel, smiling a sickly sneer. He took a drag of his cigarette, long and slow, eyes watching Crowley mockingly. "Been a while since you've smiled like that."

Crowley reached for his wine, knocking back the glass in one. "If you must know," he said, setting the empty glass down with a click, "Adam's made a friend. They've been playing together a lot. Quite lovely, really."

"Adam? Luci's brat?"

"Yes, Hassel, your nephew. Do try to keep up, yes?"

"Don't like kids," Hassel muttered.

"You don't like much, to be fair."

"Shut up, you bumbling idiots," snapped the drawling tones of their mother. 

Crowley rolled his eyes behind his sunglasses. Only one in the fucking room with a doctorate and an actual brain cell, and I get called an idiot?

Then again, what else could be expected from his family?

"You! Out there!" Beatrice Crowley, better known to the world as Bee, snapped her fingers in the direction of her newest assistant, who scurried over dutifully. Without looking up, Bee shoved a folder at him. "I want those photocopied and laminated in ten minutes, and on every desk in this place, so make - it - snappy! Go, go!" She glared at his rapidly retreating back. "And don't trip over your -" He stumbled and fell, dropping the folder, "-shoelaces. Ugh, useless, the lot of them!"

Bee was pushing seventy, but looked barely a day over fifty. Never a hair of her black bob out of place, she dressed immaculately, carried herself with a confident air, and yet was so ruthless and cold that she could never be anything but as ugly as Hassel. The rest of the brood weren't much better, Crowley thought, and Bee’s habit of wearing a red and black bow atop her head made him think rather uneasily of a large fly.

"How many assistants have you gone through so far this year, Mother?" Hassel smirked.

"Too many," she replied, eyes on her paperwork, "and I don't care to remember anything of them."

"Charming," Crowley snorted as he picked up the decanter on the table.

"Anthony, I expect you to walk out of here still able to put one foot in front of the other."

"Oh, the years have had me build up quite a tolerance, Mother dear," he drawled, topping up his glass. 

"Nice way of saying you're a drunk," Hassel said.

"Well, I do pride myself on having a more sophisticated tongue than you lot."

"You better watch that tongue, baby brother."

Bee threw a stapler at Hassel. "Out."

"But-"

"Out!"

Hassel glared at Crowley, stuck his cigarette between his lips, and stormed out of the office. 

"Something on your mind, Mother?" Crowley knocked back half his glass and sighed. Oh, that was good wine.

Bee pursed her lips as she tapped her pen on her desk. Finally she pushed her paperwork aside to glare at her youngest son. "What am I to do with any of you?" she snapped. "If Lionel and Hassel aren't getting into bar fights, it's Dana letting blunders slip through the editing, or you flirting with guests and showing off on the red carpet like some vapid damsel. At least Lucifer had some sense. Only one of you that ever did."

Crowley mock-pouted. "And here I thought you loved me."

"Listen to me, idiot. You're forty, and all you have to show for your years on Earth is that atrocious car and a boy you didn't even want to take on in the first place."

"I reckon the PhD counts for something, Mother." Crowley pretended he didn’t hear the slight about his beloved Bentley.

"Oh, yes. Stars. How novel." Bee snorted, derision dripping from her tone. She pulled a sheaf of papers out of a desk and eyed them over a minute, then tossed them to Crowley, who made no move to pick them up. "Our shares are going down faster than when Lucifer died,” she said. “They could have floated longer had you agreed to inherit his business, but you, moron, sold it - so you're going to do something to earn something back for the family."

"Am I?"

"Yes. You are." Bee steepled her fingers together. "You’re always causing trouble with the nearest person that bats their lashes at you, but when was the last time you actually dated?"

“Uh...same year those little butterfly hairclips went out of fashion? The fuck am I supposed to remember something like that?”

“Well, that’s going to change if you know what’s good for our family, Anthony.” Bee pushed herself back from the desk and stalked round it to snatch the wine glass from her son’s hand - though not before he got one last deep swig out of it. “Find someone. Man, woman, something in between, I don’t care, but I want to see you married by the end of next year. You hear me?”

Crowley choked on the wine still in his mouth.

~*~

Weekends at work usually passed by quickly enough. The library was almost always quiet, the only students around having confined themselves to the silent study areas, headphones in situ and pens scribbling away in between frantic turning of pages.

Warlock often accompanied Ezra to the library. He would take a handheld console and its charger, maybe one or two of his own books, and sit on a beanbag in the corner to amuse himself for the duration of his father's shift. He liked Newt, and Newt wasn't much more than a boy himself, bless him, so they got on well; on quieter occasions Newt could usually be found with Warlock on his lap as they “nerded out” together. Apparently consoles were immune to Newt’s destructive tendencies, something Ezra could be thankful for - those gimmicks were expensive.

At the present moment of this particular Saturday, Warlock had taken it upon himself to help Ezra put back the returned books to their designated shelves. A five year old couldn't possibly begin to understand the Dewey decimal system, but he was trying, and it warmed Ezra's heart to no end. 

"What's this word, dad?" Warlock held up the book in his hand. 

"That says “philosophy,” darling. Means a lot of old men in old times, sitting around discussing things."

"Sounds boring."

"Ah, but some of the greatest minds were borne of philosophy, my dear boy."

"You're funny, dad."

Ezra ruffled his hair. "As are you." 

The click of brisk footsteps drew Ezra away from Warlock, curious. A tall figure rounded the bookshelves, and Ezra felt a false smile jump unbidden to his lips. 

Gabriel Fell was the dean of King's Business School, and the eldest of his siblings. He was pleasant enough, but condescending and a little too mocking even when he didn't intend to be. He was also dashingly handsome, with a chiseled jaw and tall, muscular stature; everything the shorter, softer, rounder Ezra was not. 

"Gabriel. How nice to see you."

"Ezra! You're looking well. And the little tyke!" Gabriel knelt to fist bump a grinning Warlock. "How you doing, buddy?"

"I'm good!"

"Great. That's really great." Gabriel straightened up and gave a none-too-gentle punch to Ezra's shoulder; he winced, rubbing the sore area briefly. 

"You got a minute?" chanced Gabriel.

Ezra slid the book cart away with a resigned expression. "I suppose I can spare the time. Warlock, darling, will you go sit with young Newt awhile?"

"Okay." Warlock skipped off, hair bouncing around his face.

Gabriel watched him go with a smile that did not quite reach his eyes. "Good kid,” he murmured. “You've done a great job with him, Ezra."

"Thank you." Ezra clasped his hands tightly behind his back. "Shall we walk?"

"Yeah, let's do that." 

Gabriel fell into step beside Ezra, his gait long and loping, one striding step for every two of his little brother’s, a dance of position much like a reflection of their real lives. Gabriel had always been bigger, better, stronger, and it showed in every fibre of his being from adolescence to adulthood; Gabriel who played for the football team, Gabriel who secured the scholarship...Ezra never had it in him to be jealous, but a little put out? Yes, certainly, if only because the rest of the family expected the same of him and never got it.

"So I wanted to let you know," Gabriel said, "that I've heard a little rumour through the grapevine. A position is opening up in Arts and Humanities next year for a History lecturer."

Ezra made a low noise in his throat. "Fascinating."

"Sure you don't want to apply?"

"Gabriel, you know I gave up studying towards my doctorate long ago."

Gabriel sighed. "Ah, Ezra, you're too good to be lounging in a library for the rest of your life. You could be so much more!"

"I'm very happy where I am," Ezra said stoutly. "I don't need to be more."

"Hm. Well. That's a shame, truly. It would be brilliant to see you teaching again."

"And I enjoyed my time teaching, but undergraduates are vastly different from high school students. Not quite my style. Honestly, Gabriel, sometimes I worry you don't really know me at all."

Gabriel fixed Ezra with a steely look. "Would that you let me get to know you."

"You're my brother, for heaven's sake. You should know me already."

"Alright, then how about you come to dinner at my place tomorrow? Sandy's doing the meat. That's what I actually came to talk to you about, but I got all excited about that vacancy and - anyway, what do you say? You'll come, right?"

Ezra paused. Sandy did have a certain touch with roasts, that was true. He nodded after a moment. "Yes, we'll be there."

"Hm...you reckon you could get a babysitter for Warlock?"

"Why would I need to do that?"

"Well, it'd be a nice opportunity for us all to get together again, y'know, the way we used to. Michaela and Uriel are coming as well. Have a few drinks, crack some jokes, stuff not for kids' ears, you understand."

Ezra deflated. "...I will see what I can do."

"Great! See you around, let's say seven?" Gabriel gave Ezra's shoulder another punch and ambled off, hand raising in farewell.

So that was how it would be. A night of teasing and humiliation disguised as playful sibling rivalry. Well, one must keep up appearances with the family wherever possible. Sighing, Ezra pulled his mobile phone out of his pocket and called Crowley.

"Hey, angel." Crowley picked up on the second ring.

"Ah, hello, my dear.” Ezra tried very hard to ignore the sudden flutter in his chest at hearing Crowley’s smooth tones. “Um, quick question - does your nanny take on more than just Adam?"

"Eh? Uh, don't know, actually - d'you need someone to watch Warlock?"

"Tomorrow evening, yes. Last-minute arrangement, quite unavoidable, I'm afraid. I can pay Miss Device for her time, of course."

"Don't worry 'bout that. Bring him over."

"You're sure?"

"Positive. I'll cover it. My treat."

"Oh, I think you might be the angel here, Anthony."

Crowley snorted. "Less of that, I've a reputation to keep. Right. See you tomorrow."