#There is plenty of other white characters

[letter-from-afar]

ᯓ♡ not maid for love .ᐟ

𖹭 ── 𝒔𝒆𝒓𝒗𝒊𝒏𝒈 // nika x fem!reader, 2.8k wc, sfw. 𖹭 ── 𝒊𝒏𝒈𝒓𝒆𝒅𝒊𝒆𝒏𝒕𝒔 // pre-relationship, reader is (in denial) crown's fairytale keeper but not kate, nika being nika, likely ooc since there's only bread crumbs of his lore, al cameo, invented side characters, harassment from non-suitor, canon typical plot. 𖹭 ── 𝒕𝒐𝒑𝒑𝒊𝒏𝒈𝒔 // I wish cherry boy was as popular as his twin but sadly he isn't. So here's a little something i maid for him hehe (⁠≧⁠▽⁠≦⁠).

Twilight stains the sky in a messy palette of oranges, pinks and reds. Its rays spill into a certain room, enveloping it in its warmth. It goes on to veil the pure white walls, the ink splattered papers on the table, and — the soft profile of a person.

You nervously tug at the frilly hem of your apron, throwing quick glances toward the mirror and back at yourself. The reflected figure on the clear surface is donned in a maid’s attire from head to toe.

Sighing gently, you pull and tweak on its parts. From the lacy head-dress to the ends of the creamy bow tied behind your back, and to the concealed handgun on your garter belt. At last, you twirl around a bit, making sure there would be nothing amiss.

Still, immersed in your own thoughts, you fail to notice the pair of deep ocean eyes eagerly sinking you into its depths.

Your heart leaps through your chest when the sharp wolf whistle penetrates your ears. Head whiplashing, you glare at the culprit leaning against the doorframe. A cheeky grin from the dark-haired man welcomes you.

Nica.

The two of you have been going out on awfully many missions the past few months, courtesy of his white-clad leader, who proposed that both organizations should work together. Though you suspected foul hand to be at play from your Palace Reaper as well. Why else would you find yourself tied to the frivolous German each time?

“Where are your manners?” You cross your arms as you question, displeasure evident in your posture. A small chuckle escapes him, “My bad, Miss Robin.”

He taps his knuckles on the wooden material — twice, thrice — his rings clinking against it.

“So then, may I enter?”

Was he not practically inside already?

“Go ahead.”

Nica strolls in, turning to admire the delicate crystals of the chandelier and the brilliant gold that matched the otherwise pale room. Were you a stranger to his habit of unplanned visits, you would have thought it was his first time here.

Casting you a prolonged once-over as you button up your maid cuffs, he manspreads on the rich chesterfield, sprawling an arm over the top of it.

“Sure you can play your role well, cute Robin?”

“I think we should be worried about you instead, Clever.⁽¹⁾ Are you sure you'll be able to behave yourself?” You furrow your brows tensely.

The event you were going to attend was to last two days and three nights. Coupled with his charming penchant for going off script and improvising things by himself… You had a not-so-wonderful intuition that everything would eventually end up heading south.

He curves his lips impishly, visibly amused.

“Why wouldn’t I? I’ll be a good boy.”

“When pigs fly.”

“Autsch,⁽²⁾ after all the time we've spent together! I'm rather disappointed you still refuse to trust your partner in crime.”

You throw a glimpse at him from the corner of your eye. Not a tinge of sadness marred his features.

“There are,” you begin, “plenty of reasons as to why I shouldn't.”

A pervading silence follows as he falls unusually quiet. As if he were trying to figure out the convincing reason you had. The golden hour crowns him in its soft light, shadows fleeing from behind.

“Is it because I used my Curse on you before? I just couldn't help myself. We don't always have a choice, you know~”

You were not too fond of how you liked the way he drawled his words sometimes.

“Or maybe it's because I lent my hand for other uses? Buuut, I don't recall you telling me to stop,” his grin widens.

“Nica Schwartz.”

You swivel to face him, with a twitching smile and a raised nerve on your temple. The way he spoke had to be on purpose. Your mind inevitably flew into the direction he wanted.

Though you could not deny enjoying your banter with him. Few people manage to truly push your buttons — such as that cranky fairy or lascivious mirror, but never quite like the sly swan.

“Ja,⁽³⁾ Robin?” He asks in an innocent manner, which would be more befitting of his twin than himself.

“We’re running late,” you curtly state as you wrap your fingers around the handle of your leather-bound luggage. When you lifted it up, its weight dragged your hand down slightly.

You then make your way to the double doors, only to be stopped by blunt nails digging into your wrist. That and the coolness of adorned rings.

“Say, doesn't it look heavy for a little bird like you?” Nica had the sleeve of one arm rolled up, revealing the veins climbing on his skin like a vine.

“Sie könnten mich um Hilfe bitten.⁽⁴⁾”

It was not all that heavy, but who were you to refuse if he's so kind?

“Oof!”

A low, misty layer of fog covers the forest of oak trees. The wind wails a scream, tearing dead leaves from their spiny branches. One of them slams flat against the glass, which you were staring through.

Bump!

Every so often, the wheels of the crested carriage jolted when it collided with the rocks on the path. You fidget in the cushioned seat, annoyed at the feeling of polished boots digging into the side of your waist.

Much to your dismay, Nica thought it was apparently a good idea to stretch his legs in the already cramped space. This left you sandwiched between the wall and his lower limbs — and it was not the most splendid combination.

You travel a glance from the tip of his pristine shoes, to the river of white that ran across his trousers and vest, until you docked at the port of blue that was his eyes. If you stared hard enough, vague dark circles polluted the edge of the waters.

He must have been staying up late. Despite his slacking attitude, he knew when to take work seriously. Or rather, fool you into thinking you have the winning cards when he conceals a royal flush beneath his table.

“Am I that charming tonight?”

An abrupt question pulls you back from your shores to reality. He had caught you in his net. Biting your tongue lightly, you shift your attention to the scenery rolling past the window.

Poke!

Poke!

Nica nudges his foot against you.

“Robiiiin~”

“Stop,” you narrow your eyes in warning.

“Oh, this?”

Poke!

“Or thiiiis~?”

No words could describe the urge you felt to scuffle over and clasp your hand on his mouth. Tape it shut.

You steal a quick look at the smooth arch broadening on his face. It seemed to always dance on his lips. Rare were the instances you found it halting into a frown. Even then, it was likely feigned. Will all you ever see of him be his superficial side?

“What’s your pretty head thinking about now?” He doesn't move this time.

“The mission.” A lie.

“Nothing to fret about when you have me.”

“That’s if you don't get kidnapped first,” you retort. A surge of missing socialites is what drove Crown to investigate further into the case that could be human trafficking.

Oddly, the victims all had received an invitation to a banquet from the same organisation a week prior to their disappearance — Regal.

“Chances are that I could charm my way out of it, Robin. If not… Es wird für mich leichter sein, zu töten,⁽⁵⁾” Lazily tapping on the holster by his thigh, he flashes his pearly white teeth, as if it were a everyday situation for him.

Thump!

The landau stopped before the gates of the venue. Nica promptly sets down his legs, motioning his head towards the place, “Ladies first. I'll be joining you later.”

Upon entering the estate, you are greeted with a towering hallway of a golden hue; enormous paintings that cost more than money than you could ever make hanging on it.

You briefly peek into the open ballroom. Velvet curtains draped the windows, with ornate candelabras fixed to walls. The sound of violins and the piano flows into the room, but not many guests.

Your next stop should be servants’ quarters. Wooden baggage in hand, you saunter through the luxurious building, the layout of which you have memorized beforehand.

It was not hard to imagine someone could get lost here, given its size, you muse. Still, vanishing into thin air without any traces? A nigh impossible feat for anyone… Well, save for the curious Cheshire cat you knew.

“Oh!”

“Ah!”

Moments later, you unceremoniously crash into a petite figure while taking a turn around the corner. Vivid green, partly hidden behind a fringe of blond, widens as she stumbles on her heels.

“Sorry, I-” the two of you spoke at once. You pause awkwardly, waiting for her to continue.

“Don’t worry! I was in no hurry,” she steadies herself, a soft smile curving up the corners of her mouth. You take in her appearance — hair that cascaded down to her waist in thick drills, scattered freckles on her fair cheeks — and a surprisingly similar maid dress to your own?

“Wait, by any chance, are you new here?” a sparkle lit in her eyes at the realization as she too observed you and the case you carried. You nod your head, holding out your free hand, “Robin. Nice to meet you…?”

“Dahlia!” she shakes it with an extreme fervor. “The others and I have been talking a lot about you. Not in a bad way, uh I mean, it's rare for Regal to hire a new employee, so we were just really excited!”

It was the Queen's Aide who pulled some strings to let you enter as a maid, under the common alias Crown, and a certain Vogel member called you by. Strangely, you cannot recall a time where Nica called you by your real name.

Dahlia links her own arm with yours. “Come! I'll show you where the quarters are. And the rest of the place, but it'll have to wait until tomorrow. Oh, and maybe we can share a room?” She sings sweetly in a jovial tone.

She talks a lot; you note mentally.

After setting down your belongings, you head towards the grand ballroom where the gathering was held. A massive chandelier hung in the center of the vaulted ceiling, illuminating the horde of perfumed bodies.

The billowing, silky skirts of noblewomen graze your body as you shuffle in between them, clutching a tray with both hands. Bubbles pop off in the champagne flutes on it.

“It is rumored Count Fitzwilliam is looking for a bride…”

“Have you heard about what Lady Spencer did during the last outing…”

Conversations, both hushed and outspoken, were easily heard by you. The aristocrats paid no attention to a mere maid after all.

“They say we have an ambassador from another country here tonight,” a faint whisper makes you perk up your ears. “Whom?” another person inquired.

You concentrate on their words, feeling your heart pound faster for an inexplicable reason. It must be the adrenaline from trying to not come off as suspicious.

“I don't know his name, but they say he's German.”

“Did you get to see him?”

“From afar, yes…”

Pat!

You felt a sudden, foreign touch on your shoulder — not in a good way. It made the hairs on your nape rise warily.

“Why, hello there, lass…” A harsh, gruff voice.

Standing behind you was a man with wrinkly, creased skin and a head bald. Except for the auburn patches groomed evenly. He was dressed to the nines. A high born no doubt.

“Can I help you, sir?” you ask politely, despite how you felt uncomfortable in his presence.

“Such supple skin and bewitching body you have,” crooked fingers caress your hand, which grips tighter onto the tray. Mild irritation growing into a flame simmers in your eyes, “Excuse me?”

“You poor thing, all alone… I could help you become less lonely,” the invading touch slowly crawls up your arm.

Who did he think he was? Drawing in a sharp inhale, you grit your teeth, “Leave me alone. Or else.”

“Don’t you mean… pretty please?”

“—Master!!”

He paused mid sentence as a call interrupted him. With a dissatisfied huff, he grabs the stem of the last glass you carried, withdrawing from your side. You release a sigh of relief at his departure, scanning the crowd for who could have called him.

Familiar, curly locks of gold appear in your vision.

The night deepens, and the sea of people is still flooding the place. An ache struck your back and feet from how long you stood to distribute the drinks.

Unfortunately, your attempt at intel gathering has not been particularly fruitful so far. Most chatters were full of gossip and the latest trends.

But you did learn of one thing: apart from the revelry at night, Regal also held exclusive activities to engage in during the day. You reckoned it was a technique to make more visitors pay for a room and stay until the event is fully over.

Wondering if you should rendezvous with Nica about this, you try to search for his tall figure in the crowd. In spite of all the buzz surrounding the philanderer, you had not once seen him. Perhaps you were too absorbed into your task to properly notice him, or he passed by you without a single comment.

“—Mr. Schwartz! Mr. Schwartz!!”

Think of the devil. There he was. You catch a bevy of young noble women and men flocking to him. The sight of his usual disarrayed jacket was absent. Instead, it was worn snuggly on his well-built frame.

“Say, are you truly not free tonight?” A lady coyly twirls her hair around her finger with her strawberry lips stuck out in a pout.

Another one cooled themselves quickly with their hand fan facing up, “I’d love to dance with you~”

“Here, my trade card. You are free to drop a visit to my shop any time you want! I'll even give you a ten percent discount!”

It was apparent he was no short of desperate admirers. You tap your shoe on the hardwood floor softly, thinking about what your next course of action should be.

You could always meet up with him later, and there is still a floor you have not yet searched for clues: upstairs. Since everyone else was down here…

Fwoosh!

Startled by the sensation of a warm breath being blown into your ear, you scramble to grab your flailing tray. Your train of thought had been forced to halt. Again. At least there were no remaining glasses.

“My, my,” A rich, teasing tone. And you knew exactly who it belonged to this time.

“Alfons!!”

“One could easily get the wrong idea if you call my name out so passionately, Miss Robin. Especially... Your partner tonight.”

“He’s not sharing a Curse with Roger, Al.”

“If you will, please refrain from uttering that brute’s name next to mine. It is truly something out of a nightmare to hear.”

The manner in which he shook his head with a distressed expression — it was as if there could not be an ordeal more mortifying for him.

“Should I even ask what you're doing here?” To be fair, it was not entirely shocking for him to be here. Though, Victor did not mention he would be assigned to this mission…

“Here’s a better question. Don't you just feel yourself greening with envy by how they're fawning over him?” Alfons shifts closer, nearly touching heads with you as you both gaze at the star of tonight's banquet.

“Of course not!” Right then, Nica’s eyes meet yours. As if he really heard what you said. Air catches in your throat as a familiar, conceited smirk is formed on him.

“Don’t be mistaken. I wouldn't... ever like him,” you subconsciously clutch at your dress with one hand, crumpling up the delicate fabric. You were sure that he wouldn't come to like you either. You would nip any attraction towards him in the bud before it would ever have a chance to bloom.

Alfons clicks his tongue. “I would advise you to make wiser choices — but then again, the little robin who brought water for the sinners in hell was not so clever either.”

You lift your face to glare back at him, intending to rebuke. When you did, the space next to you was empty. Gone like the illusionary phantom he was. Or was he there in the first place?

What a shame. If only you had paid a little more attention to the black swan. You would have spotted how his smile faltered upon seeing that raven head with you.

𖹭 ── 𝒔𝒊𝒅𝒆 𝒅𝒊𝒔𝒉 // notes + tl. cross-checked with multiple translators, but if you think that it could be corrected or further improved please let me know!

1. LINE chat reference

2. Autsch ➛ ouch

3. Ja ➛ yes

4. Sie könnten mich um Hilfe bitten ➛ you could ask me for help

5. Es wird für mich leichter sein, zu töten ➛ it will be easier for me to kill

𖹭 ── 𝒓𝒆𝒄𝒆𝒊𝒑𝒕 //

and that's the end of part 1! to be honest, i think i will be putting this on hold, since I feel that my skills have not caught up yet with this kind of plot-heavy fic.

feedback would be greatly appreciated so that I can improve my writing! I still have a lot to learn.

i'm also thinking of starting a taglist. so let me know if you want to be tagged for all my works or for a specific character(s).

next up: hcs for when you ‘borrow’ your lover's clothes

[oifaaa]

I want to strangle Ian Wayne. Who tf thought that was a good idea??

Imagining making Damian Al ghul Wayne actually say the lines "I hate the name Damian I want to be called Ian" DC actually hired someone to write that in one of their preteen graphic novels

[sysig]

Off to make mischief and terrible decisions for everyone (Patreon)

[trashartgalleries]

If yall Genshin players really want something to be done about that new region then stop playing the game

The company's not gonna do anything because they know they got yall like a fish on a hook, bruh

[mukuharakazui]

bg3 is crazy for being a massive $70 larian + wotc collab game whose accessibility menu features subtitles that are present for less than half of all idle character dialogue and almost zero battle dialogue

[izzythehutt]

Walt is the least sympathetic of all the BrBa criminals/anti-heroes/rogues gallery because he's the one (major) character who doesn't have a clear and unambiguous "reason" for being the way he is. There is an unflinching refusal to give this character a "Freudian excuse" for his behavior and I just...love that.

It is not only an extremely brave choice from a writing perspective for your protagonist (and really only works because Bryan Cranston can somehow wring sympathy out of this dry husk amoral sponge of a person), but also makes him the most realistic portrayal of what evil really is. Walt feels the least like a television version of how a person becomes bad because there's not one reason it happens, and there's an aspect to his moral descent that's both mundane and mysterious—his motives unfold gradually, they change, and the show never really seeks to outright explain why it happened beyond the obvious inciting event—his cancer diagnosis. Was there something in him always not quite "right" or was there just a unique confluence of circumstances that caused Walt's complete moral transformation? In his own words—he liked it, he was good at it, and it made him feel alive. Maybe it is just as simple as that. Evil is actually a lot less interesting than people give it credit for.

There are so many things about his personality that are just never explained but must have some explanation, surely. For example: Walt's hang-ups about money—his obsession with being the one who provides it for his family and his reactive disdain for charity (even Saul points out there's clearly deep-seated issues there lol.) You could very easily see a different writer backstory dumping a lot of explicit childhood trauma with Walt and his single mother being poor and him getting bullied and this being where his weird inferiority complex about hand-outs come from. Instead this is just a huge part of his personality that has no obvious singular explanation. Why is he like this? Who the hell knows!

Which I personally really like, because regardless of whether that happened to him as a kid (I have to assume something like that was going on with child Walt because he has really specific neurosis) it has no ultimate bearing on the morality of his actions. There is no excuse for what he does, ultimately, and I just love that the show gives you very few reasons to feel sorry for him, at least as far as his backstory goes. Even the merits of his Gretchen and Elliot resentment is called into question (though left vague.)

In a weird, counter-intuitive way this lack of explanation for his behavior makes me feel more sympathy for him (again, Cranston acting magic pulling its weight.) But it's such a subjective thing with him. How you feel about Walt hinges on the performance, the character's actions in the story itself and what the viewer chooses to extrapolate from both. I can't blame people for thinking he's just kind of a low-empathy asshole, though I personally find that explanation reductive and less interesting, I cannot argue with it as a valid read. He is very, very hate-able for so many reasons. There's something refreshing about how unapologetic the writing for him is in that way.

[karouvas]

lol remember the Kevin is poc coded and that’s why he’s marginalized and oppressed in the narrative (read: experiences the oppression of being a secondary character) compared to Andrew round of discourse

[communist-shark]

White writers be more cognizant of using animal metaphors for your characters of color and either tone them down or get rid of them challenge go

[the-vibes-arent-right]

I figured the finale would be surrounded by heated debate but holy moly this is a lot

[vintageghoststories]

:(

[creatingblackcharacters]

“That One Hairstyle? RETIRE IT!” Black Hair is an Art (pt.1)

(This is part one of two lessons, with this one focusing on how our hair itself! The next lesson will encompass how to incorporate its existence into your writing. It'd be a massively long post otherwise.)

So! Black hair. Black hair is a CENTRAL, ESSENTIAL part of our culture and identity. Writing and drawing it means understanding the vulnerability and trust that comes with access to it, and yes, it is racist to suggest that ‘it’s just hair’ when our hair serves such an important role in our history and art. I already wrote a mini-lesson and ask on the topic, but being aware of what our hair looks like, and what means to us, will help you to understand why we care that you put in the effort to get it right.

Hair Textures

We are not a genetic monolith! However, for the sake of this series, we are focusing on 3C-4C, because 1) it's most likely to be seen in life and 2) least likely to be seen in popular art! When you are creating your characters, consider the style and care for THESE textures. I will get more into this next lesson.

Let's get into SOME of the hairstyles!

Afros (36 Afro Hairstyles)

“So, what’s the phenomenon behind the Afro? Well, it’s our hair in its most natural form, but that’s only part of the phenomenon. It’s a way to fight the status quo without saying a word.”

-Ebony Magazine, The History of the Afro

When nonBlack society hears ‘afro’, they think completely picked out, Black power imagery, political statement. And it was, and is! But in actuality, afros are just the natural hair growing out of a Black person's head. The same way your hair grows out of your head. Our texture. Even my hair is not allowed to be ‘hair’, it has to ‘assign’ my Blackness; my distance from whiteness. Imagine, the hair growing out of your head being automatically associated with how you should be perceived. Just by existing, it is making a statement in a Eurocentric society.

Braids (31 Braid Styles)

There are SO MANY TYPES of braids and ways to wear them. If you can imagine a design, I bet there's a Black braider that can do it!

CORNROWS ARE NOT AUTOMATICALLY BRAIDS! Internalize this! They may be used in the same style, but they are NOT INTERCHANGEABLE TERMS!

Braids are considered a protective style; that is, a hairstyle designed to let our hair 'rest' and grow without having to manipulate it. If you have a Black character that's constantly on the go and/or doesn't have time to focus on their hair, and you want an accurate, more true-to-life experience for them, braids can be a crucial part of character design.

Locs

(Yes, while that link has plenty of examples, it was also self-indulgent. Locs are gorgeous, Black men with locs are gorgeous!)

"Locs vs Dreads": As someone in the loc community, there’s been a push to refer to the style as ‘locs’, rather than ‘dreadlocks’. Some people with the style will not care, but others take it very seriously, so it’s something to keep in mind. There’s a societal stigma behind having locs, that they’re ‘dirty’ or ‘unkempt’ or ‘lazy’ and that is NOT true. Locs are beautiful, and they take far more effort than people seem to want to believe lmao.

Locs, though there is currently a positive revival, are still highly discriminated against. Kids have been expelled from school and even have had their hair forcibly cut off to be allowed to participate in sports. Many places won't hire you if they think your hair is 'unprofessional' or 'dirty', especially if you're a Black woman. To consider yet another example of the hair that grows out of my head 'dirty' is extremely racist.

LOCS ARE NOT BRAIDS!!!!

Locs are also a protective style, albeit a much more permanent one, and one that comes with a long history and culture behind it. Many Black people consider the biblical story of Samson to be a man with locs, and that our locs hold power within them. That not just anyone should be allowed to touch your locs. So, if you're interested in mythology and powers, that might be an intriguing way to go, that would be possible if you had a Black character with locs!

In Professional Media

The lack of awareness and concern about our hair isn't just a fan or amateur creator experience. It is ubiquitous in the professional media world. Black actors, actresses, and models have discussed having to do their own hair when working, because no one would properly care for it on set if it wasn't familiarly white. It’s admittedly grown better- however! After decades of not having options other than ‘stereotypical afro’, ‘box cut’, and ‘white people hair’, it is LONG PAST TIME to stop settling for the bare minimum in Black character design. We can tell when "one of us" (with some sense, at least) wasn't in the room to make decisions in popular media.

If you were curious about the lesson title, here's a current example of what I'm talking about in video games. Tell me if you see a pattern:

This style? The Killmonger? We seent it!!!! It has become the “hairstyle to show I understand the exaggerated swagger of a young Black teen” option, the "I know the Black people!" go-to, and frankly, we are all tired of it. Okay it was cute on Ekko. The Black Delegation DEMANDS the professional video game industry pick something else! We have SO MANY DIFFERENT HAIRSTYLES!

I'll give you an example on the other end (not trying at all; refer to Lesson 1) from one of my favorite games, Hades:

This is my blorbo. My favoritest guy. I’ll fight for Patroclus being Black til the day I die. While I begrudgingly settled in my excitement, I can tell you no one Black with any voting power was in the room at Supergiant when they approved this design. Why? His texture! Locs were such an easy option if they wanted long hair! Locs existed BEFORE Ancient Greece! The man did not have a flat iron while fighting in a war! A good Black designer would have considered that!

To give him a more accurate design, some artists (myself included) lean into giving him locs (one of my favorites is @karshmallow 's Pat; a phenomenal example in caring about your Black characters). It’s something Black fans find themselves doing- redesigning Black characters. That's not something we should have to do at all, especially in media we pay for!

But if you REALLY want your Black character to have straight hair, that leads into the last style of this lesson:

Straight Hair

We do have straight hair. But it’s not straight because it grew out that way! It will still look and be thicker! It might be a wig or a sew-in (human or synthetic), it might be flat-ironed (while relaxed? While natural?) It takes effort to get and maintain straight hair.

'I think it looks better good this way!'

If you catch yourself thinking this, this is a racist statement. Whether you’re aware of it our not, there is a bias towards Eurocentric/white features in our society, and that includes in our media. When you think “I only drew [this Eurocentric hair texture and style] because I think it looks good on them!” I want you to PAUSE and think about the WHY. WHY do you think that this Black person’s natural features are unattractive in comparison to the white hair texture you gave them? And how hurt might a Black peer of yours would feel hearing that you find their natural features not worth drawing because they’re “not attractive”. It requires approaching your own internal biases, recognizing them, and then working to unlearn them. And that means practice! Using references to draw our hair and styles, and growing used to using OUR features on US!

Doing it in Art

Me personally, I think if you think drawing thinner hair textures is easy, thicker hair textures should be a BREEZE. I was curious, so I challenged myself and-

(it took me about thirteen minutes total to do ol boy's hair and it's still not right. I'm sick fr y'all don't even know 🤢)

@ackee has a really good art lesson on the how-tos of drawing Black hairstyles. I highly recommend checking it out, as well as following and supporting a fellow Black artist (who is far better than I!)

Hair Brushes

Finally, an option you can use for painting is downloading Black hair brushes! Vegalia has an amazing array of brushes with different types of curls, locs, and braids at her Etsy store! You can also follow her on social media to see how she applies them, and support yet another amazing Black creative!

I know this was a long one, but you made it! Just keep going. Remember, it's the thought that counts, but the action that delivers!

[svartalfhild]

Elf Lore in the Forgotten Realms for BG3 Players who are Unfamiliar

I've been seeing some...uninformed takes lately about certain elf characters from BG3, so let me just throw some stuff out there for y'all to consider.

Elves in FR live to be about 750.

They physically mature at roughly the same rate as humans i.e. 18-20.

Culturally, elves don't consider other elves emotionally mature i.e. adults until the age of 100, at which point they may choose an adult name to go by.

What does this mean, logically? Well, consider their very long lifespan. If you are going to live 750 years, your perspective on wisdom is going to be quite different from a human's. While 60 years might be plenty mature for a human, for an elf, that means you still haven't had enough time to watch all of your shorter lived friends pass, which I imagine is something of an emotional milestone for elves.

Halsin is 350. This means he's just hitting middle-age.

Astarion is 239 (Idle Champions claims he's 350, but I call bullshit because his birth and death dates are literally in BG3 and also IC frequently gives the characters bullshit ages, like they say Jaheira is 36, which couldn't have been true even during BG1). He died at 39, which is quite young, but he had the same emotional maturity as a human 39 year old at the time, so he's not Like That because he's undeveloped. He's Like That because he's a snapshot of a privileged young nobleman who then spent 200 years being used and abused by the worst sort of person imaginable. He wasn't a full adult by elven standards, though, and I'm sure there's lots of elven rites of passage he didn't get to experience because he was dead.

BG3 does not mechanically distinguish between sun elves and moon elves and simply puts them all under the high elf umbrella, but they are very much a thing in the lore and have distinct appearances, cultures, and histories.

Moon elves tend to have black, blue, or silver-white hair and have pale skin, sometimes with a bluish hue. Their eyes are usually blue or green, sometimes with gold flecks.

Sun elves tend to have blond, black, or red hair and brown skin tones. Their eyes are usually green, gold, black, copper, silver, or hazel.

Based on his appearance, Astarion is probably a moon elf, and it's likely his original eye colour was either blue or green.

There are many other types of elves than those that are playable in the BG3, such as sea elves, winged elves, star elves, wild elves, and lythari.

It's possible that Shadowheart's father is lythari, because lythari are lycanthropic elves.

[akreon]

Off-White is making a comeback! I'm thrilled to reveal that Venrin (@Venrinn on twitter) and I have joined forces to resurrect our old webcomic. 🐺

The pages will be posted on Webtoon. We've rewritten the story—it starts like the original but takes an entirely new direction. Some characters stick around, while others didn't make the cut to make room for fresh faces. We'll be dusting off the old artwork and adding plenty of new one. Stay tuned as we unveil the release date very soon!

But wait, there's more! Between now and the premiere of the first chapters, we've got a fun, little surprise coming your way on ✨May 7th✨

Got any questions? Ask away in the comments! 🐺

[moonyflesh]

dating Logan Howlett would include…

WARNINGS: smutty. p in v, oral sex, fingering, breeding kink, orgasm teasing/control, mentions of aggressive/risky sex, (language, obviously), etc. - [🔞]

CHARACTERS: James “Logan” Howlett (MARVEL/X-MEN/WOLVERINE)

🐾 .*.. 🩹

- possessive smacks on the ass when you pass him in the hall.

- all talk, but no bite (he would never actually hurt you).

- routine scalp massages (on both ends), usually ending in you both being passed out on the other’s bed.

- having to label what food is yours, or he will eat it.

- constantly scolding him for his chapped lips…where he continuously looses the chapsticks you graciously lend him (he always buys you more).

- playful banter that usually ends with you bent over whatever flat surface is nearby.

- having to get used to loud chewing. i mean, it’s Logan. what do you expect?

- not much physical show of affection in public- that’s reserved for behind closed doors. (an occasional press of his lips to your forehead, or his hand on the small of your back is as far as he’s willing to put on display for the student’s prying eyes).

- thriving off of each other’s warmth at night- tangled up in each other under some thin duvet.

- country, bluegrass, and old as fuck music. don’t you dare even think about turning on “that shitty music you like so much” around him.

- being turned on by your makeup on him in some way— lipstick prints smeared along the collar of his white t-shirt- your mascara running down your face and smearing onto his fingers when he wipes it off.

- (^) just you making an absolute mess on him in general. he fucking loves it.

- needing to take sharp intakes of breath in between his kisses, since he physically can hold his breath for much longer than the “average mutant”.

- rough, meaningful sex. there is no such thing as a ‘quickie’ in his book. he wants to savor your moments of vulnerability.

- more teeth than tongue. he wants to feel how you squirm under him when his canines sink into your lips, shoulders, and inner thighs.

- (^) lovebites and hickeys. you’re not allowed to leave the house unless there’s something that’s marking you as taken. as his.

- wearing his clothes when he’s gone for long periods of time.

- long motorcycle rides, usually at night. (he makes you wear a helmet and plenty of protective leather, much to his enjoyment).

- soaking in your scent. he always knows when your needy. he can smell it on you.

- oh, and he smells like cedar wood and pine. Maybe a bit of cigar smoke- his natural sweat smell he can’t seem to get rid of? Something Iike that.

- (^) him going absolutely feral when he can smell himself on you- his cologne, cigars- just his general aura on you is such a massive turn on for him.

- lots of loving nips and kisses, though. constantly has his lips pressed against the nape of your neck or crown of your skull.

- sleeps with you in his arms. no way in hell you’re allowed to wake up before him.

- face sitting. he wants every pound of you on his mouth and nose, his arms wrapped up and around your thighs, pushing your cunt into his tongue.

- wanting to feel good too. no matter how hard he’s been going down on you, he wants release, too.

- praise. lots of shrewd language and name-calling.

><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><>

“fuck, that’s my good fucking girl- you’re doing so good, sweetheart- so pretty all sweaty and wet cuzzah’ me, huh?”

><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><>

- face fucking. he’ll stop no matter how close he is to his peak if you need him to, but he wants it so far down your throat. and you better swallow every last drop.

- breeding kink? idk i just feel like he’s super into seeing you carry his kid (only when you’re ready, though. he of all people knows what a big deal pregnancy is).

- decent aftercare. he at least puts some amount of effort into it; probably brings you a glass of lukewarm water, a damp towel from his bathroom, maybe one of his t-shirts if he thinks of it.

- expect to wait a while for him to say “i love you” back. he’s been hurt. too many times. he loves you, he breathes you, he craves you. he just doesn’t know if he’s ready to actually admit that to himself yet, let alone to you.

[ryuuseini]

Man I should not Judge (bc I truly do Get It) but I am suddenly disappointed in my Black friend (who is the friend I've been complaining about) telling me his two main OCs are Korean/Italian

Idk man I couldnt really tell you why but it makes me :/

[eowynstwin]

This truly is the last thing I want to say on this blog and then I'm done psych I lived bitch, but given how the fucking catastrophe started it's only appropriate this is how I end it—

You have racist bias whether you like it or not. Particularly if you are US American, racism was baked into your worldview no matter what kind of household, liberal or conservative, you grew up in. Racism is quite often far more covert than it is overt. It is not just a voluntary behavior; it is more often the subconscious ways you organize and hierarchize other cultures and people.

In the case of Gaz—sure, you might actively believe that he deserves to be more included. You think he's a good character and people really should think about him more! But you personally headcanon him a certain way, and really it's not a headcanon you're actually all that into, so that's why you don't talk about him as much. It's not because he's black, it's because he doesn't fit the thing you like talking about the most. The fact that he's black is really just a coincidence, you're not excluding him because of that. In fact, you're sure other people like him for exactly the reason you're not all that into him, and you'll just leave it to them to pick up the slack. Or you'll get to him later! In fact, you have some ideas for him. You just haven't gotten around to them yet.

Take that and multiply it by thousands of white women in fandom—not just this fandom, not just Gaz's character, but every fandom and every character of color. It doesn't matter that there's no active malice behind not personally liking black characters and other characters of color. Non-white characters still take a backseat to their white counterparts, because white women in fandom cannot wrap their heads around black, brown, indigenous, and Asian characters as complex, complicated characters worthy of their interest or frankly, their desire.

They cannot wrap their heads around this because they were conditioned not to by decades of racist culture.

Case in point; plenty of white women in this fandom have fallen head over heels for Makarov and Graves. The sins of these out-and-out villains are totally forgiven by virtue of their sex appeal, and because they are portrayed by attractive, charismatic men who put a lot of passion behind their performances.

But can we say the same for Hadir? Can we say the same for Hassan?

The sins of these two Middle Eastern characters do not outweigh those of their villainous white counterparts, yet how many angsty fix-it fics have been written exploring Hadir's complicated relationship with violence and imperialism? How many enemies-to-lovers or even lovers-to-enemies fics have been written about Hassan, the face of whose homeland has been irrevocably marred by US interference?

No one who points out the racism of this trend is accusing these white women of active, militant white supremacy. I'm not saying any of you even have to like Gaz, Hadir, or Hassan. But your preferences have been tuned for you by a culture shaped by slavery, imperialism, and white supremacy. That is not something you can escape merely because you support the BLM movement or reblog vetted Palestinian gofundmes.

The only way you can truly fight your own racism is to be actively anti-racist. It is about far more than who you give money to or what graphics you pin on your instagram. It is an everyday practice of learning how racism has shaped your worldview for you.

This is not work that is done in a week, a month, or a year. Becoming anti-racist takes as much time as it took to make you racist in the first place. For some of you, the work may turn out to be easy. For others, it may be hard. You must do it either way.

Some good places to start:

Things Fall Apart by Chinua Achebe

Ain't I a Woman? by bell hooks

We Real Cool: Black Men and Masculinity by bell hooks

A Burst of Light by Audre Lorde

The Body Is Not An Apology by Sonya Renee Taylor

Fearing the Black Body by Sabrina Strings

Reading Lolita in Tehran by Azar Nafisi

Being Palestinian edited by Yasir Suleiman