#i always hesitate to post about bodily looks

[notafraidofredyellowandblue]

I know this is an extremely controversial topic and we shouldn't discuss what we don't know but this is coming from a good place.

I'm just worried. I hope Richard's health is good. But surely him having a belly like that is a sign of something that's not going well. He's not gaining weight anywhere else on his body and this isn't about his weight at all. I'm just concerned that his gut may be a sign of something like IBS, bad liver or heart problems due to his smoking.

Again I'm sorry for bringing this up but it is not normal and I don't want him to suffer in any way.

Hi anon.. it's kind of you to worry about his health, i think we all want our guys to be happy and healthy and enjoying life 🌺

That said, i think we shouldn't try to put diagnostical health labels on what we see, we have no idea how his health is (and we shouldn't really)

Richard's bodytype has always been of the 'rounder' variety, even in his younger days; he was never as lean as for instance Flake or Olli. Maybe just in the 'cocaine years' he was a bit more angular, but we don't want to go back to that (at least i hope he won't).

to me he looks a bit 'better filled out' all over, also especially in the chest and shoulders area, and the tummy gets the extra effect of sticking out about because of the curve in his back.

Most importantly for me, he feels comfortable the way he looks, even giving us glimpses of the goods by letting his coat hang open (and bending forward....he knows we're looking 👀)

And who knows, maybe he carries a little bit extra weight because he quit smoking and is eating sweets instead....come to think of it...has anyone seen him with a cigarette recently 🤔

🌺

[sailor-aviator]

Meet Me at the Sea: Chapter Five

Meet Me at the Sea: Chapter Five

Pairing: Jake "Hangman" Seresin x Reader

Summary: Your best friend, Bob Floyd, had insisted you join him for the summer at his family's home along the Carolina coasts. You had been hesitant at first, but ultimately agreed to his request. Now, here you were in a new town with strange locals who spoke in hushed whispers and cryptic retellings about glistening scales, glowing eyes, and haunting songs that echoed from the sea. You didn't believe them at first, but when you wake up on the beach one morning after having fallen overboard the night before, you can't help but think that maybe you hadn't imagine the strong arms and deep, green eyes of the man that had saved you.

Trigger warnings: Language, Mean girl Mandy, Flirting, Alcohol, Siren call, Supernatural elements, Kind of suggestive/smutty but not really? idk

Word Count: 4.2k

A/N: Alright, alright! The ball is starting to roll! We've got a lot going on now, I think. Can't wait to hear y'all's thoughts! Also, shoutout to @goldenseresinretriever for letting me bounce ideas off of her! You the real MVP!! If you're feeling kind/generous, please consider buying me a ko-fi! Also, if you DO NOT fill out the form below (Tag List) then you will not be tagged! I will be referring to that Google form from now on! As always, reblogs, comments and likes are greatly appreciated! Asks/requests are always open! 18+ ONLY!! You can find me on AO3 under sailor_aviator where I also post my updates!

Series Masterlist || Jake "Hangman" Seresin Tag List

“I thought the bonfires happened the other night?” You asked Bob as the two of you made your way down the practically deserted streets. It was late, and the only people out were the young adults still looking to have a good time. The family friendly activities had ended hours ago, and now it was time for the partying to start.

“They were supposed to,” he said, eyes scanning the dimly lit street, “but they got postponed because of all the rain the other week. This was the only night that worked for most everyone around town.”

“That works out for us, I guess,” you hummed, hearing the sound of crashing waves grow closer as you neared the beach.

“Hey, thing one and thing two!”

The two of you turned around to see a grinning Bradley jogging up behind you, and you turned with a smile to greet him.

“Hey, Bradley!” You chirped. “We thought you’d already be down at the beach with everyone else.”

“I was, but I forgot my phone at the house,” he said, waving his phone in his hand. “So I ran back to grab it. Everyone else should already be down there, though.”

“We better get a move on before all the drinks are gone,” Bob mused, already moving once again. Bradley fell into step alongside you, bumping your shoulder with his.

“Feel like I haven’t seen you in forever, Skipper,” he joked, casting a smirk down at you. “You been avoiding me?”

“I could ask you the same thing,” you giggled.

Bradley scoffed, giving you an offended look that was made less serious by the grin on his face. “Me? Avoid you? Don’t be ridiculous. Who in their right mind would avoid a sweet, little thing like you?”

“You must not really know her then,” Bob snorted. “She practically cut my hand off when I went for the last fry at lunch today.”

“That was entirely your fault,” you huffed, sticking your tongue out at him. “You know how much I love french fries.”

“Yeah, enough to cause grievous bodily injuries, apparently,” he smirked. You scowled at him before looking back at Bradley who was also smirking at you.

“He’s being dramatic,” you offered with a shrug.

“Barely.”

“Like you’re one to talk,” you griped as the three of you walked down the stairs and onto the beach. You could see the glow from the various fires flicker in the night, groups of different people huddled around each one. “I have to set an alarm every morning to wake up before he does if I want any bacon.”

“Oh, trust me,” Bradley laughed, steering you towards a fire on the edge of the grouping, Bob in tow. “I grew up with him. I know how much bacon he puts away.”

“I am not that bad,” Bob huffed, earning identical dubious looks from both you and Bradley. You giggled when Bradley quirked his eyebrow at you.

“Sure you aren’t, Bob,” you laughed, earning a scowl from your best friend.

“You made it!”

The three of you turned to see Nat waving at you, the rest of the squad already settled in on the towels surrounding the small fire. You felt a shiver run up your spine as you made eye contact with a pair of mossy green ones. You looked away as your cheeks warmed, letting Bradley guide you across the fire and down on a group of towels, Bob on your other side.

“So,” said the brunette sitting next to Jake, blue eyes calculating as she took you in. She was just as beautiful as the last time you saw her. Tan skin glowed in the light from the fire, body lithe and athletic. She looked like she walked off the cover of a fashion magazine, and her narrowed gaze was trained on you, lips curled into waht appeared to be a permanent sneer. “You must be the tagalong I’ve heard so much about. Skipper was it?”

You shifted uncomfortably, glancing over at Bradley as he stiffened next to you, a glare fixed on his face as he looked at her.

“Yeah,” you said, offering an anxious smile as you looked back at her. “That’s what they call me anyway.”

“It’s cute,” she said, tone indicating that she most certainly did not find it cute. “I’m Mandy. You’ve probably heard of me from the others.”

“Oh, yeah,” you smiled. “I’ve heard a lot about you.”

“I’m not surprised,” she continued with a smirk. “I’ve known everyone here since we were in diapers. We go way back, you know. Don’t feel bad if you end up feeling left out in our conversations, okay?”

You shifted again, this time knocking your knee into your bag. The shells you carried with you jostled, clinking together, and you blushed when everyone looked at you.

“What was that?” Mickey asked, peering over to get a better look. You lifted your bag as you began to pull each shell out and placing it carefully on the towel.

“Oh, these are the shells and things I’ve been finding everywhere!” You smiled, running your fingers over the conch. “Aren’t they amazing? I’ve never seen so many beautiful shells in my life! And they’re all perfectly in tact, can you believe it? It’s like someone just plucked them up off the ocean floor and set them out for me to find!”

“That’s quite a collection,” Nat chuckled, shooting a smirk off to the side. You followed her line of sight, and your eyes made direct contact with the mossy green ones from earlier. Jake looked at you with an expression that could only be described as awe as he took you in, eyes peering down to where you cradled the conch gently in your hands before looking back up at you. His eyes shone in the firelight, a hint of a smile on his lips as he looked at you. You felt another blush creep up your neck, and you leaned forward to place the conch closer to the fire for everyone to see. You heard a sharp intake of breath, and you looked up to see Mandy with a look of rage and shock on her face as she stared at you. You realized quickly she wasn’t staring at your face, but rather down at the base of your neck. Her eyes darted up to meet yours and her expression shifted quickly into one of cold contempt.

“You actually carry those around with you?” She sneered, scoffing out a laugh. “What are you? Five?”

You frowned up at her, suddenly feeling self conscious as you glanced around the group. Their smiles had shifted into looks of irritation as they glared at the brunette.

“Oh, I just-”

“I mean,” she sniffed, cutting you off, “I suppose it’s fitting for someone who looks like you though, right? You’re not exactly dressed to impress or anything.”

You looked down at your clothes, a frown on your face. You weren’t normally self conscious. Sure, you didn’t look like a model like Mandy, but you didn’t think you were hard on the eyes. You had dressed for comfort though, and it was plain to see in your jean shorts, tank top, and white button up. Mandy wore a pair of cutoffs and a tight fitting tank top that showed off her figure, and her makeup was immaculate. You hadn’t seen the point in putting any on. Should you have?

“Mandy,” Bob growled, glaring in a warning.

“Oh, I know she’s your friend and all, Bobby,” Mandy continued, a viscious smirk poised on her lips. “But let’s be honest. I mean, we’re among friends, right? And friends should be honest with each other. You’d be lucky if anyone gave you the time of day looking like that. Nevermind the silly, little shells you’re carrying around everywhere. You really should have left those back at the house, you know. And tell me you brought something nice to where for the ocean dance festival. Can you imagine if you wore some frumpy shorts to something like tha-”

“Shut up.”

All eyes turned to Jake who was glaring into the fire, eyes cold as the water that lapped the shore behind you. Mandy narrowed her eyes at him, rage clouding her features.

“Excuse me?” She spat, turning to face him. His gaze shifted to her, jaw clenching.

“Was I not clear enough?” He said evenly. “I said ‘shut up.’”

You hadn’t even realized that tears had gathered in your eyes until Bob laid a gentle hand on your shoudler causing you to jump. You looked over at him, sniffling as he gave you a concerned look. You wiped at the corner of your eyes, scrambling to your feet. You felt everyone’s eyes on you as you shifted from one foot to the other, avoiding their gazes.

“I’m, uh,” you gulped, trying to fight back the tears that were threatening to spill over. “I’m gonna go get something to drink.”

“I’ll come with you,” Bradley said, moving to his feet and giving you a gentle smile. “I’m parched.”

You turned to Bob with a watery smile. “You want anything?”

He studied you for a second, eyes uncertain. You gave him a look that you hoped communicated your need to pretend like you were okay, and he pressed his lips together.

“Just a beer.”

“You got it!” You smiled, trying and failing to add your usual cheeriness to the statement. You gave a half smile that you were sure came off as more of a grimace as you made your way towards the line of coolers on the other side of the fires. Bradley followed you silently, and you kept your head down, feeling the tears start to stream down your cheeks.

You knew you were being silly. They were just words after all, and you were a grown woman. You shouldn’t be letting silly words get to you like this. But why did they hurt so bad? You knelt by one of the coolers, fishing out two beers and a coke. You handed one of the beers to Bradley, refusing to make eye contact with him as you pushed the lid to the cooler closed.

“Hey,” he said, grabbing onto your arm gently, pulling you so that you faced him.

You kept your head down, and Bradley let out a sigh.

“Listen,” he started, hesitating as if he were choosing his next words carefully. “You shouldn’t listen to Mandy, okay? She’s a stone cold bitch on the best of days, and, well, she’s never been told ‘no’ a day in her life. She’s always gotten what she wanted, when she wanted it.”

“What’s your point?” You muttered, glancing off to the side as you wrapped your arms around yourself. Bradley let out another sigh, taking his hand from your arm to run it through his hair.

“My point is that she’s taking her new experience with the word out on you, and it’s not fair. I know it’s hard, but just ignore her, okay? She’s just jealous.”

“Of me?” You scoffed, finally meeting his gaze. Bradley smirked down at you, casting you a wink.

“You’re pretty great, Skipper,” he hummed. “Anyone with eyes can see it. Now, come on. Let’s head back to the others, yeah?”

You nodded, and the two of you made your way back to the fire. As you approached, you noted that Jake was the only one still there, eyes trained on the flames in front of him, seemingly deep in thought. He jumped when Bradley plopped down next to him, leaving just enough room for you to slide in between them.

“Where’d the others go?” Bradley asked, twisting the top off his beer and taking a swig from the bottle. Jake grimaced, gesturing around towards the other fires.

“Take your pick.”

Bradley hummed, leaning back on the towel with his legs outstretched towards the fire. The three of you were silent for a moment, and you felt a tingling sensation on your left side. You turned to find Jake already looking at you, eyes soft as they took you in. Your breath caught in your throat, cheeks flushing. You thought you should have been been creeped out with how intensely he was staring at you, but you felt oddly comfortable under his gaze. In fact, you found yourelf sitting up a little straighter, almost preening under his gaze, and a small smile tugged on Jake’s lips as he took you in, eyes blazing as they reached your neck.

You jumped as Bradley suddenly leaned over in front of you, breaking the spell you found yourself under. A shit eating grin was etched onto his face as he looked at Jake.

“Did you know Skipper here always wanted to be a mermaid?”

You felt yourself begin to splutter as your cheeks warmed for a different reason, eyes growing wide as you peered between the two men. Bradley waggled his eyebrows as Jake’s own shot up on his forehead. A smirk graced his lips, giving him a devilish look to his already handsome features. He looked at you, smirk intensifying as he saw your flustered state. He leaned forward, smirk growing into a grin as you glanced away.

“Is that so?” He hummed, warm breath ghosting over your face.

“I will remind you that I was, like, five at the time,” you snapped, glaring at Bradley. He only chuckled, resting his chin on his hand as he smirked lazily up at you.

“I think you’d make a cute mermaid, don’t you agree, Jake?”

Jake nodded with another hum, eyes taking on a look you couldn’t place, but it made you squirm nonetheless.

“Just imagine her swimming around with all her little fishy sidekicks,” Bradley teased, eyes alight with mischief. You scoffed, turning to face him.

“As if,” you snarked, “my sidekick wouldn’t be a fish, it would be a stingray.”

Jake quirked an eyebrow. “Why a stingray?”

“Oh,” you blushed, your nerves kicking up again. “Because they’re my favorite.”

Jake nodded slowly, like he was trying to commit that fact to memory. Bradley snorted beside you, and the two of you looked over at where he was smirking, eyes peeking at Jake before looking back at you.

“How could I forget?” He drawled, taking another sip of his beer. “I met Rusty when you and I were snuggled in bed the other morning.”

“That’s not-”

You were cut off by a growl to your left. You turned to see Jake’s entire expression had changed. His jaw was clenched, eyes trained on Bradley as if he wanted to take his head off. His fists were clenched so tight, you wouldn’t be surprised if he was drawing blood from where his fingernails dug into his palms. He was almost too still as he glared at Bradley, the other man looking smug as he took in his friend’s appearance.

“Are you okay?” You asked the blond, and his eyes glanced over at you, gaze seeming to soften as he took in your concern.

“Bradshaw!” Reuben called from across the way. “Get your ass over here!”

Bradley heaved a sigh, rolling his eyes as he got to his feet. “And that’s my cue,” he muttered.

You watched as he strutted over to where Reuben and Mickey were gathered with a group of people you didn’t know, leaving you alone with Jake.

“He’s such an ass sometimes,” he muttered, shaking his head.

“Isn’t he one of your best friends?” You asked him with a giggle. Jake’s demeanor seemed to relax at the sound.

“Unfortunately,” he grumbled, casting another glare over at where Bradley stood chatting and laughing.

“Are you sure you’re okay?” You frowned, noticing how tense he still seemed to be. He looked back at you, hesitating before letting out a sigh.

“Yeah, I guess I’m just feeling a little overheated or something,” he muttered, flexing his hands as he uncurled his fists. He moved to stand, and you followed suit.

“Think I’m going to go take a walk to cool off,” he mused, rolling his shoulders back. You frowned, rubbing a hand over your arm.

“Oh, okay,” you said, glancing at the ground, shifting your feet in the sand that covered the towel. Jake seemed to hesitate once more, chewing his bottom lip.

“Do you want to join me?” He asked you, his green eyes hopeful as you met his gaze. You felt a smile tug on your lips as you nodded.

“Yeah, I’d like that,” you murmured, moving to grab your bag. You stopped when you noticed it was placed neatly on top of the towel you had been sitting on previously, shells already back inside.

“I, uh,” Jake stuttered, rubbing the back of his neck bashfully. “I hope you don’t mind. I didn’t want anything to happen to them, so I put them back in your bag. I guess I should have asked first instead of just moving them. I’m sorry if I-”

“No,” you smiled, “it’s okay. Thank you.”

Jake gave you a nervous, tight lipped smile before nodding. “You can leave your bag here if you want. No one is going to take it.”

You returned his nod, gesturing for him to lead the way down the beach.

The two of you walked in silence for a few minutes, the ocean waves crashing off to your right, and the cool, night breeze ruffling your hair.

“Listen,” Jake started, stopping to turn to you, eyes earnest as they took you in. “I’m sorry about Mandy-”

“Oh, no, Jake,” you frowned, shaking your head. “You don’t have to apologize for her.”

“No, but I do,” he stated firmly, face serious as he looked at you. “It’s my fault she’s taking it out on you. She’s been so convinced that she and I are going to end up together, and now that she knows that’s not the case, she’s on the warpath.”

“Jake,” you sighed, “I understand feeling some kind of weird responsibility for her, but her actions are her own. You shouldn’t have to apologize on her behalf. She’s a big girl just like I am, right? We’re adults who are capable of making our own decisions and apologizing for the wrong we do. None of this is your fault.”

He didn’t look convinced, and you took his hand in yours to offer him some kind of reassurance. A bolt of electricity ran through you, causing you to let out a gasp, and a warmth rushed over you, causing you to squirm. You felt like a magnet, drawn to Jake in a way that you couldn’t even begin to understand. You wanted to feel more of him, to consume and be consumed by him. You had never felt anything like it in your life, and you looked up at him hazy eyes to find that he wasn’t any better off.

His own eyes had a haze to them, seeming to glow in the moonlight. His breathing came out labored, almost like he was fighting to maintain his composure. His eyes raked over you, a hand coming up to rest on your cheek, and you nuzzled into it without thinking.

“You’re so pretty,” he breathed, voice barely above a whisper as he inched closer to you.

“You’re just saying that,” you muttered, leaning into him.

“No,” he stated firmly, causing you to jump just a hair. His other hand came up to rest on your hip, pulling you closer so that you were practically molded against him.

“No,” he said again, gentler this time. “I mean it. You are the most beautiful thing I’ve ever laid my eyes on.”

If it were possible, you were sure your skin would have heated up even more than it already was. As it stood, a pleasant warmth spread through you at his proximity, and the hand that was cradling your cheek slowly drifted down until it brushed the mark on your neck. You let out a wanton cry at the shock of pleasure that jolted through you at the simple touch, and Jake smirked down at you, stroking softly over the mark again and again as he drew more pleasured cries from you.

“It’s okay,” he cooed, leaning his forehead against yours, nuzzling his nose against the tip of yours. “I’ve got you.”

You couldn’t find it in you to feel embarrassed at the intense amount of pleasure you felt at the simplest of touches, too focused on the way his hands felt on you. You raised your own, one hand cradling his cheek as the other ran through his golden hair. He let out a groan as you tugged gently on the soft strands, and you couldn’t help the small smirk that spread across your face. Jake’s eyes met yours, the green of them so intense that it took your breath away. He glanced down at your lips, slowly leaning in-

“Jacob Seresin!”

You gasped, grasping at your ears at the almost inhuman shriek that pierced the night air. Jake pulled back, placing you almost protectively behind him. You peered around him to see Mandy glaring at him, blue eyes practically glowing with rage. Her gaze turned to you, and you shrank back slightly, hiding behind Jake a little more. This only served to make Mandy even more irate, and she snarled as she stomped closer to the two of you.

Jake bristled, standing taller as he continued to block you from Mandy’s warpath.

“How dare you,” she spat at him, lips pulled back into a sneer. “You’re mine.”

“No,” Jake growled, “I’m not.”

You shifted behind him, moving out from behind him slowly, and the pair turned to look at you. You gave them a sheepish smile, as you inched around Mandy, hands up in a form of surrender.

“I’m just going to head back so you two can talk in private,” you murmured. Jake looked like he wanted to argue, but Mandy’s glare had you moving before he could say anything.

You wrapped your arms around yourself as you walked back towards the bonfires, already missing Jake’s touch. You had never felt anything so intense in your entire life, and you wondered what had come over you to make you act so brazenly. You weren’t one for hookups, but you weren’t even sure that’s what that was going to be. He had held you so gently, like you might break or run away at any moment. You had been so ready to give him every part of you in that moment. You knew you should have been worried at that thought, but a large part of you thought that it felt right, that you should give yourself to him. The more you thought about it, the more you found yourself wanting to turn around and go back to him.

You were about halfway back down the beach when it started. It was quiet at first, distant. But then it grew louder, and you found yourself slowing to a stop, turning towards the crashing waves to your left.

The song was beautiful, melancholic. It was unlike the one you had heard before, this one sounding more animal like than human, but you still found yourself drawn to it. It called to you, begging you to listen, and you did, feeling the sound drift through your mind and pulling you in. You weren’t sure when you started walking, but you felt the sand shift beneath your feet as you slowly made your way towards the water. The fires faded from your sight, the churning waves beckoning to you like gentle hands that promised refuge. The song grew louder, all consuming, blocking everything else out but the need to answer. You felt the wind whip your hair around you, the cold sting kissing your cheeks as the crashing waves grew louder, the song more desperate. The sand beneath your feet grew cold as you ventured into a spot where the water met the shoreline. You’re almost there, the song called to you. You felt a relieved smile tug on your lips at the thought of finally reaching your goal and answering the song. You felt the water come just up to your toes before retreating back. You closed your eyes in anticipation. Just one more step.

You let out a cry as you were yanked away from the water, a strong hand on your upper arm. Your arms reached for the water, your mind still foggy as a loud, keening cry sounded from the water before disappearing entirely. You whirled around to see Javy staring at you with an intense worry, Nat just behind him, worry clear on her face.

“Wha-” you mumbled, pressing a hand to the side of your head as it began to pound. “What happened? Javy?”

“Hey, Skipper,” he murmured gently, pulling you closer, away from the water. “We’ve been calling you for a while now. You okay?”

“I…” you trailed off, glancing between him and the water. “I’m not sure.”

“How about we get you some water, yeah?” Nat suggested, wrapping her arms around you as she led you back to the bonfires. You nodded slowly.

“Yeah,” you muttered, glancing back at the ocean. “Yeah, okay.”

Tag List: @jakeseresinlover @haley-hotchner @queerqueenlynn @dempy @fanficfandomlove @aworldwideapart @stoptaking-the-good-names @maximus890 @sky2nd @devil-angel-winchester @hopip99 @hookslove1592 @lemmons1998 @yuckosworld @uniquedreamlandcheesecake @imamomof8 @pietrothemovie @kmc1989 @mamachasesmayhem @hangmansgbaby @imnotcreativeenoughforthisblog @deliriousfangirl61 @hangmandruigandmav @na-ta-sh-aa @witchybabel @keyrani @i-wanna-be-your-muse @buckysteveloki-me @clancycucumber230 @dreamlandcreations @emotionallysalty @fandom-life-12 @a-girl-who-loves-disney @nouis-bum @topherwrites @squeaky-bumblbee22 @hangmansgbaby @goldenseresinretriever @bobgasm @linkpk88 @number-0-iz @xl-pr @stillreadingfantasy @shibble @horseshoegirl

[are-you-still-writing-that]

Killua Relationship Headcanons

As soon, as I step out of a format, believe me I´m struggling. So, I already know, that I will also struggle quite badly with this one. Though, I´m sure I will find my way around this one as well.

What I´m looking at is a request from a darling anon, who requested relationship headcanons for Killua, in response of me posting the yandere headcanons. So, I will have to take another look at this boy and figure out how he would act as well in this particular situation.

Well, that´s surely going to piece of cake, won´t it...

Killua Relationship Headcanons

He was very likely the driving force behind getting this relationship started → very picky who he talks too, or even which names he remembers

Because of something like this, he wouldn´t even realize if you were the one flirting with him

This could become very funny (at least to me), if you´re oblivious

A bit of a bastard to you

Tends to pick on you quite a bit → all in good faith, even though some of his comments tend to turn into a mean direction

Hilariously enough, it´s how he tries to show you affection → bit of Kindergarten-Logic that one

Still very attentive and attuned to you → knows when he hurt you and apologizes, also aware when something seems to be stressing you out

He is aware of what you´re feeling

This will cause, by the way, as many problems as it´s solves

Because he somewhat expects you to be attuned to him in the same way

Which means he rarely talks about hat he feels, and just thinks you will know what he feels without him telling you

It´s like pulling teeth when you try talking emotions with him as well... good luck...

Someone who shares food with you

Another way he tries to show you affection → like I said very much like 5 year old...

Say goodbye to an evening at home → wants to see new stuff whenever he can and enjoys sharing the experience with his partner

You better get along with Gon and Alluka

Otherwise he will drop you without hesitation (their opinion means everything to him) → later yours will as well

Actually takes a lot of input from you

Tends to remember your likes and dislikes very well

Will show this very off-handedly (probably not even actively memorizing anything)

Has a habit of losing himself in his relationships

You NEED to ask him every now and then for his opinion and separate the two of you into individual people, instead of being one

Needs someone who can slow him down every now and again → he´s always alert, all the time, it will burn him out someday

Don´t sweep him along → he needs the space, otherwise he will be lost!

Hilariously enough, a bit of a gentleman → tends to walk on the side wherever the road is, like he bodily puts himself between the road and you

In general tends to put himself bodily between any perceived danger and you → also something that seems to happen unconsciously

Also the first one that will pull you away from some things

Likes to keep you in sight of him → a strong tendency to let you decide where to go, or to simply point over you shoulder when he wants to go somewhere specific

Not big on PDA → will hold your hand, sure, but please don´t kiss him, yeah the hug is also fine

Terrible at communication → never tells you anything

Doesn´t mean he is good at keeping secrets though... → he will share it before you know it with Gon or Alluka

Their secrets are also shared with you though Still, there is always some understanding between the two of you and he always tries to make sure that you know that he loves you. He understands your actions and your words and knows that you know him well enough to understand him as well. He is someone, that will try to make the relationship work. And with a little bit of cooperation, you two will make bond, that could last a lifetime.

[its-in-the-woods]

Chapter three - Life's Too Short

Chapter one , two <- if you missed it.

Cooper howard/The Ghoul x Lucy Maclean

Post end of season 1

No beta.. I tried to edit 🫠

Ninety five percent written just tweaking

⚠️ Warning ⚠️

There will be canonically typical violence and eventually smut

This chapter has vague suggestions of NC bodily harm. As well as minor description of irradiated male anatomy.

+18 only - MDN

Slow burn sorta kinda

Please be nice this my first fic in almost a decade 🫣

Will eventually post on AO3 once I can get access... or where suggested 🤷🏻‍♂️

The Ghoul laid out on the bed, he had kept his pants and shirt on. His stomach was full, boots off, gloves off, hat resting on the bedside table. His guns and bandoleer within easy reach. The bed was as old as he probably was but beat the ground any day. It wasn’t often he let himself enjoy a bed. They were costly and the ground was the same everywhere. 

Tracy hadn't pressed too much more on why they were after the Knight, Mister Piggy himself. He made sure to leave extra caps for the gesture. He hadn't seen her in over thirty years. The time hadn't been kind to her. A not so subtle reminder of how everyone he knew died. Lucy had been fiddling with her pipboy, looking for something he wasn't sure what. The little filly had impressed him when those assholes had drawn. No hesitation. Bang bang dead. Thought she still was always looking to do things more diplomatically. But she was learning. That venom in her would serve her well out here. 

He glanced over at her. She had stripped out of most of her clothes as soon as they had gotten to the room and locked and barricaded the door. The shower had running water. Cold water but it would do. She had insisted they cleaned their clothes at the bare minimum. He had just shrugged and let her do what she wanted. Which also included patching several holes in their clothes. He didn’t let on that he was a better seamstress than she was. 

But now she sat there in nothing but a stained white tank top and matching underwear. All creamy skin and black hair. Tracy has been kind enough to give the girl some soap and hair oils to use. He noticed that Lucy had lost some of the curves she had had initially, not that he really mind either way. He licked his lips wondering what she would taste like. Being noseless meant he had less sense of taste but it was still there. He bet she'd taste sweet as honey and soft as old world dinner rolls. So soft.

Lucy turned around and not for the first time caught him staring at her.

"I didn't know your name, which is pretty awful of me. Can I call you Coop?" Her big eyes stared up at him from under the fringe, a small spark twinkling in her eyes. She didn't flinch anymore when he would hold her gaze. Would just stare right back at him.

Something twitched in his stomach, something he needed to ignore. Though at this point it was going to get pretty hard to ignore. Pun intended.

" ‘Uppose you could. Cooper." He muscled out his voice raspy, the damn girl was slipping in and he needed to put some distance. "Don't really matter to me what you call me"

Lucy looked away, worrying at her lip. Her soft lips. That would taste like sunshine and whipped cream. Yep, that was enough of that bullshit. He pushed himself up. Distance, distance was really needed. 

"Gonna have a shower" He growled, grabbing a thin towel and his gun before walking to the bathroom. Trying unsuccessfully to ignore the ache in his guts.  “If anyone tries to get in, shoot them.”

He slammed the door to the bathroom a little harder than he meant to, it bounced once off the door frame before shutting. Locking it he turned the shower on. He unbuttoned his shirt, dropping it to the floor. He grabbed at his belt and popped it open. His cock twitched as he undid his pants. Stifling a groan he pushed his pants down and let it plop out, his hands running over it. It was the same color as the rest of him, scarred too. Though he tried not to think about why, every scar had a story, most of them were ones he didn’t want to remember.  His hand stroked it a couple of times out of reflex, as he closed his eyes. The feeling in his new finger, her finger, sent little jolts down his back. Flashes of her looking up at him made him growl.

He’d hate himself more later, maybe the cold water would make him hate himself less. Being Ghoul meant he didn't feel the cold or heat as much. Didn't feel a lot of things as much. But the throbbing heat between his legs sure made itself known. Life was too long to not enjoy himself a little.

***

Lucy blinked a few times as the door to the bathroom banged. Once again feeling slightly confused at his reactions. She didn't care if he looked at her. They had spent this much time together looking really wasn’t hurting anyone. It wasn't like she didn't look at him. Curiosity was normal and healthy. At least she thought it was. Like when the Ghoul, Cooper, had taken off his leather duster and rolled up his sleeve. His arms were red, sinew muscle, carved with old scars and battle wounds. Ever since they had first met she'd wanted to know what his skin felt like. Was it warm? Did it hurt? Was his whole body like? Had he lost his sexual organs too? How would that work? Part of her really wanted to know the answer to the last question.

Lucy shook her head at the thought, resigning herself to not knowing, it wasn't like the Ghoul was all touchy-feely. Instead, she went back to her pipboy hoping for a radio station. Nothing. She groaned and laid herself on the thread-barren mattress. At least it was soft and it was warm here. She may actually get some decent sleep, even if the place looked like it hadn’t been cleaned in two hundred years. 

A groan escaped through the door, Lucy sat up for a moment wondering if the Ghoul was hurt. Did something happen that she had missed? Instinctively she got up and grabbed the gun beside her. Another muffled sound came out. She walked to the door double checking that the small barricade they'd made was still in place. It was. Maybe something had crawled out of the walls? Anything was possible really. Her hand went to the doorknob and then stopped. Her eyes went wide. 

He wasn't groaning. Nope. She'd heard something similar before, the night her not-so-husband had had sex with her. The way her cousins would make sounds when she grinded against them in dark closets. Lucy's face felt flushed and she walked quickly away from the door. Better to give him privacy. Apparently, even Ghoul's have needs. Maybe that meant he did have penis. Was it the same color and texture as everything else? The thoughts flitted through her mind. She'd always been curious about how anything and everything worked. Maybe she would ask him? No. No, that was not a good idea.  Cooper barely tolerated most questions, but intimate ones would be off the table.

The shower shut off and Lucy decided to put herself in bed under the covers. Maybe he’d feel more comfortable if she was covered. She pulled the blanket up over her chest tucking it under her armpits. Grabbing a magazine she'd snagged from the dining hall. 

Ghoul walked in in just pants. Lucy's heartbeat shot up, blood running to her face. He was red and textured all over the same as his face. Accept more. Layers and layers of scar tissue melted over him. In some places it looked as if someone had sliced chunks out of him. She swallowed and looked up to see those bright gold eyes staring back at her.

"Like whatcha see, Sugar?" His voice drawled out as he stared back at her.

"Sorry, I just wasn't sure. Umm. If.." Lucy fumbled for her words as if her brain had turned off. She had had so many questions and they were all gone now. 

"If what?" He licked his lips still staring her down. Why did he have to look at her like that? Why was her stomach knotting up?

"If. Ahh. The rest of you looked the same." Lucy broke eye contact, for once she was happy her sun-beaten face would hide most of her blush. She looked back down at her magazine not taking in any of the pictures.

The Ghoul let out a wheezing chuckle and grabbed his holster and pack setting them on the bed.

"Grab your weapons." The Ghoul grunted. Lucy moving quickly to reach between the beds, grabbing her backpack and unloading the few weapons in the bag. She was happy to take her mind off the way his skin moved as he started to disassembl his weaposn. 

***

The Ghoul dug through his bag, and grabbed his weapons cleaning kit. Laying it out beside him. He looks up at the girl, who’d wrapped herself in a blanket,  following his lead she deftly begins to take apart her pistol. This has become a pretty common evening routine for them. The purple finger worked as if it had always been hers. He passed her a rag to clean things down with. The look in her eyes when he had walked out left a smirk on his face. He was many things but he wasn’t stupid, and he was definitely okay with making her as uncomfortable as she made him. Even if he was slightly disappointed that she had hidden herself under the covers. 

Ghouls weren't exactly desired by many. Hell, more towns didn’t want Ghouls on their property than otherwise. But that didn’t mean he hadn’t gotten his fair share of tail in the last two hundred years. Some folks called it a kink or fetish, whatever it was, it had been enough to satisfy that carnal urge. That hit just about any man or woman that walked the wasteland. In all fairness though, he liked to be alone. Or at least he had. The little Vualtie was growing on him, kind of like a tumor. 

Her hands suddenly grabbed his own, he meant to snatch it back but hesitated, she wasn't prone to grabbing him without reason.  Both of her hands held his, her hands were so small in comparison. Small, soft with a few new calluses around the edges. The roughness rubbing over his made his dead heart twitch.

“Why is my finger on your hand?” Lucy asked bluntly, looking at him as she held onto what had once been her digit. God, her eyes were ridiculous. 

Ghoul wheezed, “ Seem to remember you bit off mine. Seemed like a fair trade.”

“You could have sewn your old one back on.” Lucy huffed and turned his hand over inspecting it like she did one of her magazines.  Her fingers carefully went over the raised scar where his skin and hers joined.

“I like this one better.” Cooper chuckled and pulled his hand back. Lucy narrowed his eyes at him. Looking down at her purple fingers. She wigged it a few times.

“It doesn’t have as much feeling in it,” Lucy muttered under her breath as she began to put her freshly clean weapons back together. 

“Nerves don't grow back the same way,” Coop said, rubbing at the scar that went around his new finger. “Especially if the part is older”

“So can you feel with mine then? Cause it's new?” 

Cooper smirked, “Better than before, yes.”

Lucy licked her lips, biting at the already freshly chewed marks before she turned back to the cleaning job. Cooper watched her skilfully put her weapons back into the bag and holsters. Her skin had its fair share of fresh pink scars on it, they had seen enough scraps together.  He followed suit putting his own tools back into place. A wretched cough wheeze through him, vision going blurry as he tried to take a deep breath but couldn’t. He reached for his bags but Lucy was already there handing him the inhaler with a fresh shot of chems slotted into place.

Grabbing at the inhaler he snatched it from her hands and took a long hit. Adrenaline surged through his veins as his dusty lungs reinflated. Coughing and hissing he took another puff before leaning onto his knees to cough more out. A few more deep breaths and his vision got a bit clearer. Lucy was crouched in front of him, her eyebrows knitted together with worry. 

He waves his hand at her. “M’fine.” He growls, putting the inhaler beside him and taking a few more deep breaths.

“Your welcome,” Lucy sighs, gathering up their things and putting them back into place before she crawls her cute ass back into bed. If the Ghoul had been thinking straight he would have come out with a snarky remark.  

Instead the Ghoul let out a sigh, closing his eyes, as the adrenaline starts to fade. “I’ll take the first watch” 

Chapter four here

[thebottomfromhell]

reading your post about the younger demons and their father figures was so lovely and i was left wondering. Since Zohakuten has a father figure, would the other clones have one too? After all, they still look young, young adults at least. Would they have a father figure and how? Was it Zohakuten's influence or not? With their unique personalities, they would certainly have quite a variety of interactions for a parent to deal with, be the father human or demon, but mostly human. Poor reader lol

I would ask you to write for both a human and a demon parent, but if it gets too long, that's up to you. Whatever it is, I'd love to read it.

It's an interesting ask, I'll see what I can do since I really don't have the same type of appreciation to adults that I have for children. This will be trying to parent people that don't need parenting, they need a therapist in an era were therapy was a scientist fucking up your nervous system.

Male Reader over his twenties Parenting (or trying) the Hantengu Clones, AU (Canon Divergence) where Zouhakuten doesn't need the clones to fuse to be formed. Previous post.

Warnings: Mentioned cannibalism, Mentioned non-consensual bodily/mind modifications, Implied unhealthy relationships and Attacks to reader (Implied, mostly).

Human Reader:

When you decided to take Zohakuten in, you didn't expect this. For there to be other 4 young men with his very same face, each of them being a different emotion or something like that. "Oohhh, he smells tasty. Can I eat him?" The one with the wings asks in front of your face, nose inches from you as he smiles. "NO! No eating papa!" Said the boy as he grabbed the yellow eyed version by the wings and pulled him off, throwing him agains the wall without breaking it before looking at you, clearly proud of himself. "Zohakuten, not that I don't appreciate that you defend me, but you shouldn't use violence to solve problems between your loved ones." Besides, he was probably joking, right? ..... Right??

Well, the main poin is that, just like the kiddo, these 4 are in your house to hide from daylight. You soon learn to identify them, Sekido the angry/red one, Karaku the green/that only seeks pleasure one, Urogi the bird/joy clone, and Aizetsu is the sensible/blue/always sad one. And they are... a lot. Sekido is very violent, he barely shows any respect, care or affirmation, also he often lashes out, so Zohakuten and Aizetsu had to come to your rescue to not be killed several times. Karaku and Urogi steal and take everything in the house besides testing everyone's patience, causing trouble around, and the bird one almost ate you twice with, again, Zohakuten and Aizetsu to the rescue. And Aizetsu... nah, he is fine, but he could grow out some spine. Maybe you should take him to a small night trip with Zohakuten.

The thing is, without Zohakuten (and Aizetsu, but you are hesitant to add him since he came with the peoblem) you would be dead already with those demons in your house. The only thing that is stopping them from tearing it down is that they will lose their free refuge against the sunlight. "I can throw them out if you want to." Tells you the kid with those big eyes of him, only looking for approval as you reach to pet his hair softly. "No kid, they are your family, aren't they? So your brothers can stay." He looks lightly confused "Brothers? We are not brothers, we are just clones of the same demon." You laugh a bit nervious "Then technically you are brothers. Besides, Aizetsu and Sekido try to help with the chores, so it's not so bad."

He thinks about it a bit, and you leave him be. To be honest, because of how he needed to be formed before and they could only meet in Hantengu's mind he really doesn't feel that kinship towards them. But you are right, they all have the samw origin, so they are technically brothers. In the end, with your help and protecting you everytime he needs to, he starts to become closer to the other clones. It's... not so bad. Even Urogi and Karaku... they are fine.

"I have finished doing the dishes." You see his work, well done and tidy, as Aizetsu looks to the floor playing with his hands, clearly waiting for some affirmation you usually give when they behave or help around. He looked so cute you just had to pet his head "Well done, boy." Urogi saw it and started to behave too, clearly also wanting some head pats "Please, I promise I'll be good!" At times he seems more like a pet than anything else, but if it gets him out of trouble there is no harm to it. In the end, Karalu got bored of being mischievious alone and also started to bahave. "I needed to do something, don't think too much of me getting you a boar. I know you humans like to eat pork and it offered a fun time." He still blushes in the when you pat his head.

They were clearly kin in physical contact, Sekido to a less extent, but in a good humour he also accepts pats and hugs. "Very good as always, Sekido!" They all blush and, besides Urogi, evade to look at you when you show affection this way "S-Shut up. It's not a big deal." And you swear this group... really, they are difficult, even when they behave, since dor some reaaon they can't seem to grow out of certain tendencies. They will even outlive you, so there is little more that you could do than making sure they don't cause a mess.

They never see you with the same eyes that Zohakuten does, they never call you "papa" or actually treat you as if you were their parent, but they do listen to you and know you will listen to them. You don't know if it was the kid who told them, but rather sooner than later they started trusting you their burdens, looking for advice if the need it. They also help you around as much as they can.

"We are going out for the night. Get ready." You say one sunset, they usually get out at night to eat and do what their master tells them, but only for tonight, and maybe once again later, you want to have a normal family trip.

You all go outside, make a campfire (you have to teach them how) and stay the hole night up, you let them wander and rest, tell them funny stories even when your eyes become tired, teach them a camping trick or two. Aizetsu, Sekido and Zohakuten stay the whole time besides you, the kid sitting by your side and hugging you. If you came with an interesting enough story Urogi and Karaku joined in to ask questions. They are very animated.

"Y/N-san, you look a bit tired. The sun will come up in an hour. I think it's ok if we go back. Thank you for tonight." Yeah, you do feel a bit tired, and you still have work left to do. "I will carry you!" "NO WAY, YOU WILL GO FLYING WITH HIM!" "You are all annoying. Karaku, you carry him." "Huh? Why do you just shove the responsibility on me?!" They will forever tire you, but...

You will get used to it.

Demon Reader:

You know you are younger than Hantengu, and you just know you were younger than he was when he gave him blood. It's clear you were not even in your 50's when you became a demon, Hantengu must have been over his 80's. And yet, the damned clones that started to join Zohakuten after he made something for the original body to become and be trapped in the kid. (You knew he didn't like his Upper Four, but nobody expected him to behave so harshly.) "Stop eating human food, you two! I don't care if it's a game, I don't want you to go around throwing up!" Three, you correct in your mind. Aizetsu is also into it, but his innocent face made you just not include him. "Aww, don't be like that, old man. Let us have some fun!"

To your surprise, Zohakuten hits Karaku to shut him up. "Don't talk to papa like that!" You can't help but smile at the young boy. "Thanks, kiddo." You pat his head softly before turning your attention to Aizetsu, the more reliable of these three. "Where is Sekido?" He just shrugs "Urogi grabbed me before he and Karaku followed Zohakuten here. This human house is nice, since where do you use it?" You sigh as you look the place, you have been over a month in here, so you should probably leave before the week ends. "A while, so don't get used to it. While it's a secluded area, one of those damned crows might find out I killed the family that lived here sooner or later. Now thr peiority is finding-" you are interrupted by the door slamed open.

"YOU FUCKING PIECES OF SHIT! I TOLD YOU ZOHAKUTEN WAS GOING TO VISIT A FRIEND AND YOU FOLLOWED HERE! AND HOW DARE YOU ALL LEAVING ME BEHIND?!" He steps in as if it was his home as he keeps scolding everyone else. You can only sigh again, you are not even going to wonder how did they find you. (You told Hantengu where you were, that is how Zohakuten knew the area, then he should have been able to find you by the smell of human blood.) You wait for anger clone to stop berating the others as you distract Zohakuten using his tanuki to take them both out ("Kiddo, go and play with Dorobō outside before all this yelling stresses him out. Don't worry, I will go for you both once the others are finished."), he doesn't need this kind of energy.

Once Sekido finally starts panting of all the hating monologue he just did you step in. "You three don't ever do that again." Well, technically two this time, since Aizetsu didn't come here wilingly. But still. "Sekido, there is no need for you to scream your lungs out. It only affects you more than them." He looks at you as if he waa a rabid dog wanting to bite your face off, but he doesn't say anything else, just leave for a room, hopefully to calm down. "Karaku, Urogi, Ai- oh, you are already into it. Karaku, Urogi, you also clean the mess you left." Thankfully they obey, mostly because you managed Sekido for them.

"It's safe now- for Dorobō, I mean. He is already an old doggy, he is probably a bit sensitive to the yelling, just like kids." You say as you sit besides Zohakuten, you was racing his pet in climbing (obviously not using his full speed) trees, they were now taking a break, the boy petting the small animal in his arms. "I'm sorry they followed me here, I didn't want them to come. What are we doing with them?" You only smile wanting to reasure him before you look to the horizon, less than 30 minutes for the sun to come up. You can sense it. "Well, I definetely can't let you throw them out now. Besides, I'm sure they will behave is prompted to do so. C'mon, lets go inside."

You take Dorobō from his arms and jump to the floor, since you are a lot gentler that Zohakuten at landing. When you step inside the house is clean, not as tidy as before the clones arrived, but clean. Sekido is still in the room. "Are you ok?" You ask comming in after knocking 5 times without answer. He still looks like he wants to kill you, but doesn't do anything. "They shouldn't have left you behind. It's ok to be angry, but you can't explode to everyone like that. Zohakuten is a kid and needs some healthy environment and adults to take cara of him. That is why he always look for me." He looks even angrier, if that it's possible, his eyes even get wetter, so Sekido looks away in case he starta crying of frustration. You only sigh bedore going to him to pet his head, trying to smile to reasure him. "WHO DO YOU THINK YOU ARE?!" He cuts off your arm in one movement, you heal after some moments.

"Hey, it's ok. They are fine. You are fine. I'll make sure they won't do it again, but try to calm yourself." You say calmy as you close and secure the curtains and move a wardrobe to cover the window. "The sun is starting to go up. You can hide in here for as long as you need." You smile at him before closing the door as you leave.... that was tiring. And doesn't change much, since you start to be their confident from now on (of all clones you never thought Sekido would be a snitch).

You start traveling with them, they take care of their business and you just make sure to be there. Besides Zohakuten, they barely need anything else. They do all like praise and headpats, so you take advantage of that. Guess you'll have to get use to it, and it's not that bad once they get under your skin. You'll live, specially now that they even protect you from slayers. Even thought this, with your inmortality, should last forever until the end of times with you having to handle them...

You'll live.

[faytelumos]

Writeblr ROYGBIV

Rules: Find each of the ROYGBIV colors in your WIP.

Red:

It was still light out, and the rain had let up significantly. [Syfreth] took me to the tree line south of the village, and there seemed to already be some things there. I hesitated for a moment when [my friend's] parents looked up at me. They were both there, holding each other, and [their] dad's eyes were red and wet in the rain.

Orange:

I looked down at the fire, the flicks and flickers of orange light underneath the cover. The smoke was still sweet, and it swirled together above the cover and into the rain. I swallowed again and rubbed my eye. [My friend's] dad knelt down and sat back on his ankles, and he cried quietly.

Yellow:

"Hey!"

We both turned, looking back to Toler's voice. He scrambled and loped over the forest floor and up to us, holding his hands in his front coat pouch instead of keeping them out like he was supposed to.

"You're going to trip!" Ia said, already walking back to him. He just smiled at her, his face flushed and bright.

"Look what I found," he announced, completely ignoring her, and drawing a hand from his pouch. The fistful of vibrant, yellow-orange was like a flame in the forest, and I rushed to his side, my mouth already watering.

"Cloudberries!" Ia gasped, eagerly cupping her hands together.

Green:

The leader shifted his balance in the entrance to the Dome. We were all lined up in the order we'd come back in. The two hunters and Eeteh were in front of me. We had lines painted on our faces in black and green, mostly on our foreheads, down our noses, and over our lips. The man who had painted my face also put lines under my eyes. But everyone still had the smudges on their foreheads they'd received after getting into the spring.

Blue:

Ohrik crouched down and pulled away some rocks from near the base[ of the tree]. "Look, look," he said, waving me down. I crouched next to him and looked where he was pointing. There were bunches of shiny little bugs, skittering about between the wet parts of the rocks. Their backs glimmered many colors, red and green and yellow and even blue. Ohrik reached down and let some crawl onto his fingers. They looked like seeds walking on eyelash legs, and he held his hand up so I could look closer at them.

Indigo Violet Purple:

"How… bad is it?" I asked. I moved to get to my feet and stood stiffly. Every part of me was sore and stuff now. He held up my underfur for me to hold, and I did. The white of my skin was sharply colored by dark, purplish red where the harness had hurt the most.

Thanks for the tags, @tildeathiwillwrite and @dyrewrites! I didn't expect to easily find these colors, since this particular world is always gray and rainy. But I suppose that makes the colors we do see all the more striking!

Tagging @afoolandathief, @amethystpath-writes, @annakayy, @gummybugg, @kaatiba,

@those-damn-snippets, @serenanymph, @surplus-of-sarcasm, @written-in-starlight, and anyone who wants to play!

Also tagging @thelazywitchphotographer and @mr-orion; I think this is the most number of words I've posted of my WIPs at any one time! :0

Bonus Round!

From Hhamath's story, which is much more colorful:

Red:

Paesha struck, and my heart stopped at the booming sound of Lutem's roar as she lunged.

Ræs, Mæpe, and Athetæm fell from Lutem's bodily assault, and I tumbled when her tail hit me in the chest. I scrambled to my feet in time to see her fangs and teeth buried deeply in Paesha's neck, red flowing over orange, Lutem's eyes wild.

Lutem thrashed as Paesha tried to bite her, fangs dripping amber, and I turned to Mæpe where she lay screaming on the floor.

Orange:

"Darling," she breathed, and her voice was sweet and soft. "Don't you recognize your mommy?"

I flinched again. It was like being struck by a boulder running downhill. Mother. This was my mother? The bright orange scales, the voice, the dread—

"Get away," I breathed, backing further into the wall. She looked at me, unblinking, twisting her ears to me but keeping them low.

"What?"

Yellow:

Nevermind that the sun was edging nearer the horizon and the day had begun its first attempts at cooling off. But outside, against the sun-faded green of the building, its deep blue accents and shingles, and the bright purple and yellow floral displays, I was sure to stick out from far down the road.

Green:

Athetæm and Ræs entered just as waiters were moving about the tables. Ræs was wearing the same shirt, vest, and trousers he had worn to our house for dinner. We had managed to put a new style on Meva's outfit despite using the same piece from the same event, but Fethu, Athetæm, and I were all wearing new and fancier clothes. Athetæm had a dark cream under guard to complement his dark complexion, and a light blue, silk cover that had frills around the neck and on the cuffs of his long sleeves in the front. Fethu wore a light green dress, open down her back, with soft pink accents and ribbons. I had dug out my typical garb for fights: a midnight green cover and cape with yellow-green ties. It had been a gift from Athetæm, and I had learned to trust him when he said the contrast with my unnatural coloring was eye-pleasing.

Blue: *

His hand was shaking slightly as he touched the lid where it was most worn. He turned his head to look at me, and his eyes were wide and reddened. He was… so scared. He smelled absolutely terrified.

Before I could ask him anything, he turned to the box and opened it. Inside was more blue silk, plush and soft-looking. This was a jewelry box, but instead of a necklace, it held a vibrantly colored rat skin.

I had seen mouse skins before, ones that had been dyed green or gray to contrast with the ink their messages were written in. But this was not the same caliber. This skin, on top of being surprisingly large, was dyed a lurid, shimmering blue, with golden highlights running down the spine. The edge of it, where Ræs delicately held and handled it, were worn to the point of being nearly bald. Ræs turned around slowly, gently manipulating the little hide to rest fur-down in his hand, exposing the golden lettering tattooed into the rat's inner skin.

He handed it over with the same care and delicacy he used to handle Mæpe. I took it gently in my wings, staring down at it, sure that I would never in my life hold a more expensive rodent skin.

"Can you read it?" Ræs breathed.

Indigo Violet Purple:

An Usevæ stood in the doorway, her head slightly lowered, one claw raised as if to step forward. She looked very much as if she were trying to be unobtrusive, but she was so large that she had needed to open the door almost all the way to get her shoulders in. She was staring at me with wide eyes and perked ears, and even held the forks of her tongue out slightly from her lips, her orange scales seeming muddled in the purple-ish light of the main library.

---

* In this world, people use tanned mouse skins to send little messages, because of a story/folktale where a mouse carried a letter. Common practice is to paint the message on the underside, and the receiver will wash the message off after they've read it and reuse the skin for a new message when needed. They're hard to make, and normally associated with love letters and secret meetings.

[megidoreyn]

Heyyy it's about the art questions

I would like to know your answer in 18 (the purpose) and 22 (artspiration).

I would also ask 3 but I'd completely understand if you prefer not to answer

The rest are already answered

Hope you have a great month. ;D

Hey there! Thanks for the questions!

⭐️3. Show us your oldest piece of art you have on hand

→ It was a real trip down memory lane to look back on some of these, but here's a sample of some old things from 2021-early 2022! (Prior to posting on social media in Aug 2022) Back then, I didn't have any real incentive to improve my art outside of drawing quick sketches like the pictures above. I had issues being cleanly (due to lack of motivation), committing to learning character details, and more LOL. →Fun fact, I drew on a very tiny 11 inch screen 4GB RAM laptop with horrible color calibration for about 3 years until finally getting something better in early 2022 too LOL. It might be noticeable in some of the above pictures with the color choices being a little too light or too saturated, LOL.

→As also seen at the bottom of this post, It might come as a surprise that I also draw fanart for my favorite assorted fandoms outside of megaten too, LOL. I just never post it in public since they're meant as warm-up doodles!

To be honest, 2020 thru late 2022 was a very low point in my life. I had given up on all creative endeavors at the time due to: My career, being diagnosed with a bodily issue of which the effects I still deal with even today, and other personal issues.

It truly wasn't until late 2022 (when I started posting online) that I truly felt confident picking up my tablet pen again and view art in a more positive light…!

NGL I had written out my entire life story here but ended up deleting it--it would have made this post terribly long regardless LOL💦 Perhaps it'll be a story for another time, though!!🙏 And it absolutely has to do with why the Samurai husbands mean lot to me!

⭐️18. What is your purpose for drawing?

→ That's a good question! For me, (especially due to my visual agnosia) it'd have to be the ability to draw whatever comes to mind with skill and precision. To not hold back and draw whatever comes into your mind's eye without fear or hesitation from others (or your own critical inner voice)… And to be able to properly convey the meaningful themes of your work as clearly as they come into your mind... That, to me, is true freedom.

➡️As for BL content: Despite not posting much of it in public (yet), my purpose in drawing BL (or OTP content in general) is to transmit feelings of love + warmth in my art! To depict tenderness, warmth, and love with affectionate, natural-looking body language to make it as believable + realistic as possible...That's always been my goal! →The world is a scary place out there. Though, if my OTP content can make someone feel a slight glimmer of peace, tranquility, or even hope to keep moving forward...then I'll be incredibly happy!🙏💕 It's always my intention to convey nothing but sweet wholesome vibes and warmth with my pictures, and I truly hope that feeling comes across too. ➡️I'll be super candid and say I actually really enjoy angst and raunchy content as much as everyone else! But drawing wholesome + sweet characters in love just comes much sooo much easier and naturally as breathing to me, LOL. Just because I don't post angst or raunchy things, doesn't mean I dislike it! ☝️

⭐️22. List at least one of your “artspirations.”

→ I tend to gravitate towards professional artists with thick painting (厚塗り) coloring styles, dynamic illustrations, and artists that have a strong grasp of anatomy, character design and storytelling! It's hard to pick just one, so here's a brief selection of ones that come up at the top of my head right now!

Thanks again for the questions! Have a wonderful January and rest of your 2024 as well!✨🌟

[joe-spookyy]

what do you like about an American werewolf in london? like give me a full yap post i wanna read abt your opinions and thoughts yk

ok huge ask thank you sorry i put it off for so long there’s just much to say….

well to be honest i like just about everything about it it’s such a unique movie. but let me break it down…

first - the effects. guys i know i never stfu about the practical effects in every movie ever but i just really appreciate the way everything is done sfx wise in this one. it’s over the top and extra gory, but it’s in a way that works. it’s campy, it’s goofy, and it kind of just adds to the chaos of the film. the demons from david’s nightmare are all uniquely designed and well thought out even though they are literally just in that one scene. the werewolf design is one of my favorites ever in media. it looks wolf LIKE, but it’s clear that whatever that thing is, it’s not a normal wolf. this is, in my opinion, exactly how werewolves should look. and of course the transformation scene is just iconic. it emphasizes the pain involved in the transformation and really brings out the element of body horror in the movie, reminding us that there’s something even more scary about a loss of bodily autonomy as compared to just your traditional monster attack. and of course, it’s very technically impressive. rick baker the man that you are. i also really like jack’s wound makeup, and i think the way he decays throughout the film is a super cool creative choice and translates very well.

next - the comedy. yes, it’s a horror movie. but it’s also got a strong element of dark comedy that i think makes the movie what it is. the absurdity of the situations - from david’s absolutely bonkers dreams to the finale taking place in an active porn theater, the movie always has something wacky happening in one way or another. and i think this also adds to the humanity of the characters. we’re able to see them as people first, rather than just seeing them as future members of the kill count at the end of the movie.

and of course - the serious stuff. even though it stays pretty consistently silly, it also doesn’t hesitate to remind us of the gravity of the situations being portrayed. david is genuinely losing control of his mind AND body, and he’s faced with the decision to either kill himself or risk killing others. and the scene in which he calls his family right before he attempts always shuts me right up. additionally, it is a tragedy, as are most werewolf narratives. of course i can’t forget to mention it functions pretty damn well as a horror movie also. no matter how funny it is, it has some genuinely scary or at least off putting moments. i still stand by the fact that even standing on its own, the subway scene is one of the strongest sequences i’ve seen in a horror film, and is a great example of how you can scare your audience even more by NOT showing them the monster - leaving everything up to their imagination.

now - the music. i actually really love the score for this movie. there’s not a lot of the actual orchestral piece, but i think it fits perfectly. it’s got a very eerie and kind of melancholy sound to it which i LOVE, and the graininess of the sound adds to it a lot. also, i can’t mention the music without mentioning the soundtrack. i love how every song featured has something to do with the moon it’s such a cute thing to do. and the abruptness of the end credits song really encapsulates the whole movie, i think.

finally - i’m a sucker for werewolf movies. there are like a bajillion iconic horror movies with vampires or zombies or ghosts or demons or mad scientists but there are very few solid werewolf movies. this is one of them. so i’ve latched onto it.

anyways thank you again for the ask for further info check out my aawil propaganda post linked below. i hope you give it a watch.

https://www.tumblr.com/joe-spookyy/754775997496311808/asks-you-about-american-werewolf-in-london

[daybreakrising]

HEADCANONS - WRIO & HIS SCARS

FIRST, A WARNING: there's going to be mentions of violence, death, etc in this post, as you might expect. there won't be anything too graphic, but... just a heads up.

now, the majority of wrio's many scars are fairly generic: earned in combat, through tinkering with his gauntlets, little mishaps here and there. he's not afraid to throw himself bodily into a fight and will not hesitate to protect someone else by getting in the way of an attack, so he's littered with scars of varying shapes & sizes, and from various sources. these are the scars he will happily talk about, tell the stories behind.

the scars i want to talk about here are the big ones: the throat / chest scars, the scar beneath his eye, and the ones on his forearms. these scars are always given a variety of false stories: only those closest to him, those he trusts, will ever learn the real truth (and, of course, those who were present at his trial). so, let's start with the worst of them-

THROAT / CHEST SCARS

so, whilst canonically we're not told exactly how he got them, it's heavily implied from his story information that it was during the murder of his foster parents. it says this in his character story 4:

"Watching the crimson stain spread across the floorboards, a wildly inappropriate thought entered [his] mind. How many Melusine officers would it take to investigate all the traces of blood in this place? His thoughts then immediately leapt elsewhere. To think that his blood was so like that of those who had deceived him that they could run together, melding effortlessly. How revolting."

-which, followed by the revelation that he wakes up in a hospital bed, really leans into him being injured in the process (and quite seriously, given he expected to die).

in my version of events, the foster mother was the worst of the two in terms of the treatment of the "problem" kids & was the driving force behind the scheme in general. she exhibited many s.ociopathic tendencies & was the more manipulative of the pair - and when it came to it, was also the coldest and cruelest. this was the biggest betrayal for wrio, as she had always been the kindest and softest towards him when he was still caught in their web of deceit.

so, when this angry, vengeful boy started making his plans to stop them for good, a lot of that ire was directed at her. when he returns to enact his revenge, he goes for her first as a result. (a quick note here to say: he attacks at night when he knows the kids will be safely elsewhere, as he doesn't want them getting caught in any crossfire, so to speak). of course, planning to kill someone and actually doing it are two very different things and, whilst his conviction never waivered, he did not land a one-hit killing blow as he had hoped.

it's already not going as smoothly as he'd like - and it gets rockier still when his foster father understandably wakes up. there's a brief moment of confusion before he works out what's happening, and wrio has to change his plans because the father is bigger and stronger and likely to overpower him if he's not careful. (looking back as an adult, he realises he made a mistake in going for the mother first. he should have taken out the stronger opponent as priority, but he's the first to admit he wasn't thinking clearly at the time).

luckily, years of fighting on the streets (and the use of his first ever gauntlets) has paid off - without going into unnecessary details, he is able to bring down the father and successfully finish him off (it's messy, very messy, a true product of rage). during this act of brutality, however, the mother has slipped from the room. wrio's immediate fear was that she'd run to the sleeping kids, followed by: she's crying for the gardes. both were incorrect. she had, in fact, gone to fetch a weapon of her own.

her intentions may have been simply to defend herself (did she recognise wrio in the shadows of the room? or did she think some other ghost of their past had come back to exact revenge? we will never know), but when she sees wrio standing over the ruin of her husband, she sees red and lunges for him. as it happens, the first weapon she laid her hand on was a simple gardening tool: a hand cultivator, that one of the children had been using earlier to help the gardener with planting new flowers.

she goes in for the kill, no hesitation. she sinks it into his throat with every intention of tearing him to pieces. luckily, the momentum of her lunge works against her - she does manage to rake it down from throat to chest, but not with the force she'd need to immediately kill him. don't get me wrong, it's nasty, and he's extremely lucky to have survived it, and if she hadn't overbalanced them, he might not have.

and this leads us on to:

FACE / ARM SCARS

woman and boy hit the floor. there's a struggle. wrio manages to keep her from clawing his face to shreds but he can feel his strength quickly being sapped from him from the horrifying wounds she's left behind. he can feel himself starting to struggle to breathe. he's certain he's going to die here, so in a last, desperate attempt to end things, he gets his hands between them, fists against her chest, and he activates the mechanism in his gauntlets.

his current gauntlets may have undergone many changes since those first ones, but they still work in much the same way (only now with added cryo). at such point-blank range, and in a less-than-ideal state of refinement, the effect that powerful little mechanism had was... explosive. literally.

excuse the brief, slightly graphic description here but: he punched a hole through her chest.

effective, yes, but also not without consequences. the gauntlets shattered with the force of the impact, exploding outwards into many, many pieces. both his arms were cut up in the process, leaving him with several deep wounds in which were embedded small shards of metal (these had to be carefully removed by surgeons in the hospital).

and it was a piece of this flying shrapnel that sliced so dangerously close to his eye.

(this incident is what led to him developing a much more refined mechanism in later versions; and the horrific result it had on a target is the reason the damage is more... controlled).

this was the last of his strength used up, however. when the gardes finally arrive (alerted by concerned neighbours, as this was not a Quiet altercation) and discover the scene, they at first mistake him for another corpse, particularly as he is lying next to one mangled body and trapped beneath a second. it is a melusine who notices that he's still alive and immediately calls for aid - perhaps if she had not, he really would have perished with them.

(sometimes, wrio wonders if that might have been better. but only sometimes.)

[autumnwoodsdreamer]

WiP Wednesday

This is the beginnings of a oneshot, filling an anon request (I’m getting to it! Slowly but surely!) I’ll post the request when I’ve got the whole thing written ;)

. . . . .

It was a dumb idea.

Getting the kid to tail her.

What was he thinking? This wasn’t some freah-off-the-line hack who didn’t know how to look over their shoulder without looking like a deer in the headlights. This was Natasha freakin’ Romanov: if she couldn’t claim to have invented the spy genre, she had definitely perfected it.

But he was desperate.

And Pete was worried about her, too.

“Something’s up with her, Mr Stark,” he had said, just that morning. “She missed training yesterday, and when I asked her about it, she told me she forgot. Mr Stark, Miss Romanov never forgets anything.”

Tony suggested the tailing as a throwaway joke, just something to soften the concern pulling out the kid’s puppy eyes. As he said it, though, it sounded with the ring of a very possible idea.

So, here he was, one rough plan later, sitting at a desk in his workshop, eyes glued to a screen showing Peter’s current position as a blinking red dot (with angular little spider legs—the kid had added that, when, Tony didn’t actually know). Through his headset, he communicated with Peter, talking to him, mostly listening to him narrate his every move.

The kid was enjoying it. He felt useful and trusted, and he was having fun spying on an actual spy.

Tony followed his trail carefully, calculating every possibility of where any road could take him. If Natasha’s trail led anywhere dangerous—into dark corners of the city or near any known criminal hangouts or potential rendezvous locations—he would call off this little endeavour (and he had made the kid swear to listen to him without hesitation or, so help him, he would send a suit to drag him back to the compound by the scruff of his neck).

He didn’t think there would be anything too much to worry about, but he knew… well, he knew Natasha. There had been times when she had tread off the straight and narrow, had gone where no one who wanted to sleep at night dared to even glance at, all to get a job—necessary but no less unsavoury—done.

He would be relieved at the end of this, he kept telling himself. He would learn that her absentminded moments were just a side-effect of spending mental and physical energy on some mission Fury had slipped her—“unofficially” because that was the only way he and whatever remained of SHIELD operated these strange, broken days.

This wasn’t some exercise to assuage Peter’s worries. He, Tony, was worried; had been for a while.

He couldn’t trace when he had begun worrying about Natasha exactly.

There was natural concern when he first met her, as Natalie: she was, as he then believed, a nice, normal person, and association with him—especially at that time in his chaotic life—came with risks to anyone in his vicinity (even ones who could bodily flip ex-boxers). Those waves of concern died flat when he saw her in that SHIELD uniform, the signature eagle emblazoned on her.

During the Battle of New York, his mind drifted to her a few times. She was one of the non-powered, unarmoured humans on the team: it was natural to worry about her when there was an army of murderous aliens pouring from a black hole in the sky. (He hadn’t forgotten that jagged jolt of anxiety that split through his veins when he saw her riding one of the Chitauri’s crafts, her back completely unprotected…)

After that, the missions the team shared, even the ones she skipped out on, always somewhere else, doing something else… there was a part of him that had begun to wonder, every time he saw her just come strolling through the tower at random, if this would be the last time he ever saw her, if the next call from Fury would be to inform them that their resident superspy had met her tragic end, somewhere classified, doing something classified.

It came out in bitterness sometimes, in snarky little remarks.

Look who decided to show up.

Ah, so you do remember where we live.

Are you an Avenger today? Or a SHIELD agent? I can never tell.

It came out in sentiments, always couched with nonchalance.

Please tell me that’s someone being fashionably late?

You come back in one piece: there’s only one Black Widow, after all.

Don’t get killed out there.

He just… wasn’t sure when all those discordant flashes of concern had shifted from idle and transitory to this near constant knot in his chest.

[leadendeath]

i don't want to reblog the post because my commentary is not relevant to the subject, so i didn't want to put this in said post's tags. also as i type it turned into a long...? something. vent maybe? i don't even know what to refer to it as. but i've seen a couple of posts recently that have really got me thinking.

as i'm writing this, they both just appeared on my dash. they are this one and this one. i'm definitely going to post this now (i have to) and not just save it in my drafts forever.

Having sex with friends sounds nice! I am pro-that! (pro meaning not anti) for me it would alleviate my fears of hooking up with those I just met or haven't known for years because friends are less likely to murder/kidnap you or give you a disease! (I do not want to die from sex lmao) the con: now they know what i look like and what bodily/physical problems i have that aren't visible to the general public. no. i can't have sex with my friends. my god. it all boils down to my body dysmorphia. literally the mortifying ordeal of it being known

So I think again, like I often do, about my place on the ace spectrum. I usually do not care for labels, don't find them necessary to apply to myself, but it's totally cool if other people have tons of different labels that they use. I am pro-that too! I myself am definitely grey-ace or demi-something. I landed on aegosexual- a disconnect between yourself and your sexual attraction- for a long time. I am never sexually or romantically attracted to somebody I don't know. Not even people on the screen. What if that hot (definition for this context: visually appealing) actor is a dick? Good looks garbage personality? At least you can do research on him. Not the case with "irl contacts" (definition: non-famous and real people who you might actually meet or know in person).

I know that I definitely experience sexual attraction, and want to have sex. Based on that I don't feel quite right calling myself asexual.

I don't LIKE that I feel too bad about experiencing sexual attraction to act on it. There's this weird feeling that's hard to place, but closest to "guilt", I'd say. Disgust with myself.

That time I was propositioned to go back to a con hotel (i turned him down and he listened and respected me and was nice, it's just i stopped myself), or that other time when making out and groping (different guy different occasion; we could've gone further but i stopped myself), or even just flirting and talking about our turn-ons and things we Like with my long-distance online sort-of bf that I had. I'm even hesitating to follow the "after dark" art accounts that I want to follow on bird site because of the guilt and almost embarassment I feel at myself (I'm fully aware that the only reason most people have locked accounts which you have to request to follow is to keep out minors and trolls btw, and i'm certainly neither of those!).

All of this is stuff I want and that's enjoyable to me, but this nagging "don't do that. you're gross. why would you say/do that? you're being weird. stop. stop. stop. you're not allowed to do these things." is always there in my mind. I don't want it to be there, and it's always there.

Now, this doesn't come from religious trauma, like "sex before marriage = wrong and bad"? "gay sex = ultimate evil"? Nah, I was never told those things. I didn't even have a very religious upbringing. These thoughts can't be explained away by any of that. Even my mom has always been like "you can have a girlfriend or a boyfriend! i don't mind as long as you're happy! :)" yknow having that nice accepting approach to that time when I was like 15 and settled on bi for "what i was" at the time. No judgement, no condemnation there either.

It's not real.

When I learned that I have ocd, suddenly I started to maybe have an explanation for these thoughts. Some people's obsessions focus on repetition or contamination. A good part of my obsessions focus on condemnation. I'm scared of it. I take "beating yourself up over something" to the next level. Just like any other person who's familiar with delusions, intrusive thoughts, etc will tell you: knowing it's not real doesn't make it any better. Doesn't make it stop. Doesn't make it go away.

When I could explain this detrimental thought process away by finding this horrible disorder to pin the blame on, I felt freer. I've thought many times throughout my mentally ill life about bringing up my (questioning)asexuality to a therapist one day, and I still will, even more so now. i felt before like I'd bring it up to them and not be able to back it up with any evidence, and just be brushed off? That's a stupid way to think, I know. And a therapist who would really do that is one you'd leave immediately. You don't need evidence to talk about how you feel, that's so silly... but that thought itself comes back around, in a vicious cycle, to my needing to justify myself because otherwise I am Wrong And Bad. jeez. what a way to think. i hate that. will be so glad when i get it under control after 25+ years.

edit: oh ya there's also this. my tags on one of the above posts i never reblogged, sat in my drafts.

my disability is inseparable from my sexuality, whatever it is.

[candyheartedchy]

1) Jerks that never quite grew out of the seemingly harmless but "Third graders are the meanest people on the planet they'll look at you and make fun of you in such a specific way without even knowing you" kind of personality bonus points for how much they don't hesitate to involve light bodily harm like tripping or shoving people over the more handsy they seem about it the more it clicks some see in case bonus points if they're actually losers: Jax, Myc and in between you saying you watched Ballmastrz I went digging and found you self shipped with Babyball SO-

2) Goofy and I'm talking GOOFY there's not much to it there just has to be a silly factor to them other than very lowkey if there's an attempt on their behalf to be sly you enjoy that the idea some an extremely Goofy character being as gauninely suave as they can be with you is definitely a win in your book especially when normally they either aren't suave or do not charimatically come off as such naturally you also tend to go for the ones most people normally wouldn't while on occasion you have a popular fan favorite pick most of your silly ones are while worth their weight most people don't See it but you do and you're going for it I like to think this one definitely accounts for Gazpacho some but I account it because I've seen other picks in passing but I'm going somewhere with this

3) ,This type is prevalent brcause I've only seen it once but it had such a grip on your heart you fell for it immediately: the one everyone leaves behind and is narratively used as the butt of a joke you havr an extremely kind heart both empathic and sympathetic I think I saw in passing you Get it what it feels like (theoretically or not) to feel abandoned or the joke everyone's in on but you and it makes you compassionate to characters like such I saw this with Poppet (placeholder name)

Now the reason I landed on these three in particular is because they all sum up one character I always see in the recommendations of your posts when I scroll down or like aomething: Zim is to me all three somehow

Thank you for coming to my Ted Talk

I feel attacked lol

[internalself]

i read your piece on transdisability and trace, and it explained things well for me- you are good at explaining things in depth. however, i have a question on the topic of trans race (as a black person who also uses a transid label). please don't take this in bad faith. i hold no hatred for those who id as trace. i'm just curious about things regarding it, and how to understand! sorry if anything is worded oddly.

how would a person trans race (whether poc2white, poc2poc, white2poc) go about expressing their incongruence in a way that Doesn't come off as/is.... racist? for example, as someone who partially identifies as an animal, sometimes i express this by wearing animal ears or talking about things that relate them back to how i am an animal, or how ive experienced these things that animals do. but how nonhuman animals and animals cultures exist are wildly different.

however, if a transrace person wanted to express their racial incongruence by wearing things closed off to members not apart of that culture (like certain native american items such as the headdress being closed off to non natives, or in the black community it being looked down upon for nonblacks/whites to wear braids in the way we do as them having ties to slavery & tribes across the sub saharan as well as nonblacks being able to face less repercussions wearing our hair vs us facing them) would that not be.... wildly inappropriate to do? or be racist if they were doing things related to the race they see themself as, such as emulating closed cultural things or speaking of the experiences of (bodily) x race folks as if it were their own, or even wishing they had experienced them?

im aware race is a social construct and its function is to oppress and separate, but it can come off as odd when people aren't that race try to take claim of those cultures and races, whenever (in the case of poc2poc/white2poc, or even otherace2 white ethnic groups such as the sami) these people tend to have already had so much of that culture taken away from them, typically by the dominant racial group. from what i see i feel like it'd veer less into possibly racist territory for trace folks to context with other cultures that aren't theirs without taking claim to them, or even making desires to have different features like a different skin type or hair type known without trying to take claim to an ethnic grouping or other race. but then again... i don't know trace people, only vaguely observed. I'm just wondering how in these circumstances would People who identify as trace not just be racist. I'm sorry that this got super wordy! I'm just curious and went off on a tangent on how i viewed it and all. have a nice day!

This ask has taken me a while. Because it's very long, at least on mobile. In the future, I'd really appreciate asks with multiple questions to be cut into smaller asks, or things that can be condensed to be condensed at least with a TLDR. this has been making my executive dysfunction... do what it does best.

(Not mad)

Further, when I mention race in here (and all my posts) I mean cisrace unless I specify trace people specifically. If you get triggered or dysphoric by talking very bluntly about race like I will be, this may not be the post to read.

I also want to note I'm always a little hesitant to touch on the topic of trace & similar race & ethnicity inconcruence. It's probably the most controversial and it's easy to troll and target, and it forces me to release more information about myself than I'm super comfortable with? If that makes sense.

Race is also a very... subjective and touchy topic generally that many people have different experiences with unlike age and species. So a LARGE part of this is just me bouncing ideas off the wall to hope they break some bricks. There's no right or wrong answer. My opinion on this subjective topic is not the one truth. Especially because not every trace person is the same, and will navigate their identity differently.

I want to start answering this with a correction real quick. You mention war bonnets, i assume when talking abt an ambiguous headress.

1. Clarify next time. "Headdress" is not a n8v only word, it generally is a word for any head-dress... in other words, ordimental hats.

2. There's no "Native American culture" we have MANY cultures. War bonnets are plains tribes pieces. Further, they're so closed that not just anyone can wear one. I wouldn't. It would be like saying any Christian can just walk up to the pope and steal and wear his hat. Like, most wouldn't do that because they understand that's a hat that is specific to someone's job connected to spirituality. (I only use this comparison because it's an easy thing to invision.)

3. Appropriation does not necessarily come from the action done, but benefits gained. Non native people can own spiders web charms! They're not closed to specific people who earn them, or a part of sensitive ceremonies. It's a baby's thing. The issue comes when non native companies start selling dreamcatchers and outcompeteting native sellers. The issue of appropriation happens here because native people are hated for having our cultures, and suffer for that- but what is seen as "consumable" and "marketable" from us can be sold while we continue to face an ongoing genocide. That's the issue.

4. I'm not black, so correct me here if I'm wrong. But the way appropriation fits in here is explained similar. White people wearing black styled braids or dreads often do so because it's "trendy" or to fill some other kind of social niche they will benefit from- while black people wearing the hairstyles will be still discriminated against for it. A white woman with cornrows has a better chance to be picked up for a job than a black woman with cornrows because of racism at play, but when like so commonly these days, random pieces of mostly black American culture is scraped for trends for mostly white people, the white woman may benefit online from the "trend"- and at the end of the day she can just go back to her natural hair styles, while the black woman wears it to protect her hair and keep it healthy, and can't just have "white hair" any day. The white person can safely benefit from the trend and kick it to the curb to be "outdated" whenever, which the black people who had it scraped from is now forced to deal with the fallout of- and usually face MORE lash back from people now that it's "outdated."

The differences here and a few things I want to point out are...

The trace person isn't doing this by trend we can assume. (While I can't encourage styling your hair in ways that aren't meant for your texture and may damage your hair and scalp) this person is also likely to face social knockback.

Not all trace people choose to take /any/ steps to transition. I'm not shaming those who do things to validate themselves, but many choose not to, this kind of interaction is not necessary and therefore shouldn't be held to trace people as a whole, but rather to the individual depending on your personal feelings on the topic. I am trans species and I don't personally clothe myself in any way that validates that... it does nothing for my dysphoria. Many trace people are similar. Ask yourself if you think transgender people are controversial to yourself if they choose to transition physically because the patriarchy exists.

Not all trace people are white, so we can't really approach these with this binary "white people vs everyone else" view.

Not all trace people are trace to an existing or any race. Many people consider themselves raceless in different ways or not having a human race, or a race from a fictional setting, etc. Hard to appropriate when your race is "wolf."

I really can't speak much on the idea of white 2 poc trace people- its not my experience and I don't know much about it.

I feel like a lot of this can be summed up with the help of asking yourself if you see them as valid or not. Because if you see a trace w2poc person as still white and don't validate them, you're gonna see a lot of these issues the same way people claim transgender people are "appropriating being a woman." Even if they claim to be understanding they'll still insist a trans woman as a man. Would it be tone deaf for a trans woman to say she wished she experienced more misogyny? Yeah it could probably feel that way. It's all ill say on that, because I have not ever been nor am I a woman, and I've never wished my experiences with race was worse. While I can understand how someone may find it validating (even negative attention is attention, and after being starved of attention towards a silent facet of yourself, you may crave anything), it can be upsetting to see though. It's less of a real wish from what I've seen, and more a cry of "anyone, anything, can anyone see me? Even if you hate me?"

I absolutely do believe that all trans identities should be treated softly and with an understanding about the violence of the walls we've put up in the past. But just like how being transgender has intersections with sexism... I feel like we need to talk about a controversial statement I'm about to make.

I believe there's an intersection of transness and race. (And disability but this is not the topic/time for that.)

Let's look at the way people react to well known trace people. Oftentimes, immediate disgust. The transphobia, same as ever exists in this intersection to say, "look at this crazy person! They think they can change the way they are! They're wrong and deviant!" But racism is also present. Almost always, especially from white crowds, there's a surge of racism flung at the individual- under the guise of "gross I hate transness!"

I've seen people describe the intersection of transphobia and misogyny as "transphobes treat trans people they way they wish they could treat cis women. Because they see them as women just enough to be misogynistic and violent, and trans enough to justify that." And I want to say I think similarly, many people treat trace people poorly the way they wish they could treat other races, or even their own. It's an excuse to be racist. A trans->black person will be seen as black enough to be hated for their blackness, and trans enough to be considered a joke.

I will also finish off here by saying I am not uncritical of the actions of much of the community. I've vented to people before about how it can be frustrating to see people waltz in and act in ways that put a bad taste in my mouth. But I've also interacted with lots of very good faith trace people who are very mindful and understanding of their identity. The loudest voices are trolls, and it concerns me moving into a time where transid is becoming slightly more visible that people are almost entirely unable to ignore bait or recognize trolling. I have seen genuine people who are... interesting in the way they choose to interact with race.. but I chalk them up to being uneducated and kids most of the time.

For the most part I see this with transjapanese people who's only exposure to the idea of being Japanese is anime, usually children's anime as well, which gives them a really skewed perspective on the racial experience. I've also met people who have a very in depth knowledge they've gathered from respectfully asking others, reading articles and stories by others, etc. It's usually just a victim of misinformation, lack of information and confusion of the topic.

I also want to point out how in different countries, different experiences can exist. Going back to the idea of transjapanese people, a lot of people begin to pull comparisons to the experiences of asian americans.. but we live in a world where Japanese people in Japan /are/ the majority, and /are/ the preferred race of many in the country when it comes to race based bigotry. A white person absolutely could suddenly find themselves treated poorly for their race in japan as soon as they're anything other than a tourist. It's worth noting the way race works outside of America. A lot of discussions tend to focus here, but the American experience with race is not a universal one. A Japanese person in Japan is not likely to be called an English slur for Asian people. In other countries, that may change.

The topic of nativeness and blackness are both very unique in their foundation in America and that American foundation being about suffering. But I also feel like they're special in their lack of very clear cut borders.

While it's a hot topic, nativeness is hard to define. Blood quantum is a twisted tool of white supremacy, there is no "percentage when you stop being native." Lacking identity with your nativeness, losing your care for your ancestor(s) is, to many, where it starts/ends. This is unique because of how many, still to this day, native kids are kidnapped and unable to connect to their cultures. They're placed in white religious families and essentally wiped of their "nativeness." These kids do not stop being native, until they choose to stop being native. A mixed child is not less native if their skin is lighter or darker than their native parent. They stop being native when they choose to stop being native. A mixed child's child, listening to oral stories from their native grandparent is not less native in this moment. They're not ever. They're not white until they decide to be. It's hard to describe to you. In a world that wants to genocide us, physically, culturally, you can't judge it based on physical build, you cannot judge it on cultural connection. If you uphold being native in spirit, you are native, to an extent. Many native nations have a long history of accepting members of other tribes, other counties, other races. If you fight alongside us, in a world against us, to the oppressor you become my sibling. To me, you become my sibling. Does that make sense? It's why so many have to reconnect. It's why reconnecting is so hard. No blood quantum is required to join the Cherokee nation, for lots of us, what makes someone native is a very... heavily debated topic. Some n8vs have a very hard line, saying as soon as you disconnect culturally you're gone forever, or if you didn't grow up on a reservation. Some are very loose, saying anyone can reconnect. I'm looser on it, and it makes me happy (though, anxious) to see transnative people. We're in a cultural(+) genocide. I don't think you can afford to be picky with who keeps that culture alive, so long as they're respectful.

Like I said earlier, I'm not black. But I want to, with my understanding, go further from here by saying "black" is a vague word that means different things in different places. A lot of the time here in America it means specifically black Americans with a history connected to American slavery and segregation, etc, hence 'black culture' but in different parts of the world it may mean anyone dark skinned. It could mean anyone of African decent, it could include people from south America, I know there was a discourse a few years ago about if native Australians could call themselves black. If someone in America fit the bill, many people would consider them black, not asking or caring if they're a first generation immigrant or if they're a tourist or even African at all. Many mixed people are considered black regardless of if they self identify as being black or mixed. Etc.

So similarly I think there's a sort of... I don't know, food for thought about these 2 ideas of race especially in an American context that are especially flexible and poorly defined with the socal contrast of race.

Sorry if I missed anything, I tried to comb through the text block multiple times to catch every point but I'm very, very dyslexic. I may have missed things, feel free to send them more condensed. Further, I'd like if you'd read this post on race as a social construct if you haven't already, reader. Seeya! And of course, thank you for the question I hope I answered it as well as you'd like.

All of our culture and idea of race is a construct- but that doesn't mean it doesn't exist. [Link]

[ed-recovery-affirmations]

how often is it okay to eat chocolate or desserts?

I've gotten asks like this over the last couple of days, and I have a feeling that a lot of it's from the same anon. I wish I could give you an answer that would help you feel better, anon, but I don't think that I can.

I think possibly you are looking for a concrete number of treats that you can eat to guarantee that you never experience a health problem. Unfortunately, because digestive needs and genetic bodily predispositions vary so greatly, I really do not have one concrete answer for how often it is okay to eat desserts. I'm also hesitant of posting stuff like that on this blog, because I know that a lot of people with EDs tend to get compulsive and I wouldn't want to disrupt anybody's intuitive eating journey by imposing my own personal limit on sugary treats.

I get the sense that you are very, very scared, both of eating the "wrong" things and of getting sick down the line. This is understandable. I have a chronic health condition, and being sick is scary. It sucks. But more than that, it's stigmatized, especially health conditions like diabetes that people always assume are linked to fatness. But even so, there's no morality (or lack thereof) in getting sick. Obviously we should take steps to prevent it when we are able, but the fact is that human bodies are never infallible, and people can make all the "right" choices and still become sick. Or they can become so obsessed with making all the "right" choices that that becomes a sickness in and of itself.

I really don't think I'm the person that can help you with this. Maybe you could talk about your concerns with a therapist to address where your eating concerns originated and how you can become calmer around food. If you have a nutritionist or a doctor who is more familiar with your personal health needs, they might be able to have a conversation with you about an ideal overall amount of sugar. I truly hope you are able to find a balance of foods that keep your body and soul well, anon.

[imaginarianhaven]

A safe space for our& age/pet regressors, system littles & system middles to simply be. While they& do post on our& main blog ( l*d*i*********m ), they& will for the most part post here. • Chronological big age is 23; little age is approximately 4-8; middle age is approximately 14-17. • Bodily Mixed White & Native ( Mi'kmaq, Wolastoqiyik, Abenaki, Métis & Huron-Wendat ) / Indigenous & West Asian ( Ashkenazi Jewish ). • Two Spirit, Genderfluid, Trans/Nonbinary & Intersex. • Disabled & Neurodivergent. • Chimera Multigenic HC-DID System.

𝐁𝐘𝐅 . . .

• Non-agere/petre blogs are welcome here, as long as you are appropriate & are sfw, especially with our& littles, so don't tell them anything you wouldn't say to an actual child or a teenager. This space is closely monitored by caregivers & protectors of the Imaginarians Galaxy & we& will not hesitate to protect them.

• We& typically don't lose intelligence when regressing, our& thoughts may become childlike, however, we're& still aware & we're& physically bodily still adults. We& do have a system member who is a literal baby infant, though. Depending on how young our& regression is or how young a little is, we& may regress to a very young age or have a very young little who may need help with basic tasks. Most of our& littles know how to stand up for themselves as do our& middles but it's important to note that they're still children & teenagers respectively.

• EN/FR. Our& mother tongue is English mais j'ai& comprend et parl�� français aussi même si je& suis un intermédiaire, mes& pronoms personnels sont il/elle/iel/ael/ellui, merci !! We're& also learning our& indigenous languages as well as Spanish/Español & Mandarin/官话 with a few other languages on the backburner ! We& use any pronouns but indigenous pronouns & plural pronouns (notably with an & next to a name or pronoun, it's not an absolute requirement but it's appreciated) are most preferred!

• Tonetags are not only preferred but highly encouraged, if not required most times!

• We& sometimes voluntarily regress for fun, as a form of escapism, coping or to recreate the childhood we& never had or the very least never remembered having, sometimes our& involuntary regression is in default mode where we& could be having a whole adult conversation & we're&, like, 4 in our& head but the overwhelmingly vast majority of the time, we& regress involuntarily to cope with stress, mental illness (notably c-ptsd, social anxiety, autism, adhd, bpd, etc.) and/or trauma. This isn't about using regression for sexual gratification and/or submission at all; this is for either voluntary regression or involuntary regression & for our& littles & middles. There are never any rules, age limits, gender restrictions or guidelines to what regression looks like, & not all of us& are happy go lucky. We've& been regressing for a long time without even realizing it & although we& don't have any specific community, we& enjoy the overall general community & are grateful for it.

• We're& a flip (for y'all who don't know what that means, that basically means someone who switches between a regressor & a caregiver) but are the vast majority of the time regressors. We're& currently looking for an online SFW, nonsexual caregiver that is outside of our& system for both myself& & some of my& littles should they want another caregiver which you can find the form here, as well as possible online agere friends (it doesn't necessarily have to be always limited to agere related stuff, we can also be friends when we're big); our& caregivers & protectors in our& system are not looking for littles outside of ourselves& to take care of.

• We& like both active & calm regression, playing outside when it's warm, potentially playing hide & seek, going to places like shopping trips, takeout food, the beach, & the carnival & cuddling with our& cats & dog, wrapping ourselves& up in a blanket, watching cartoons & movies, coloring, playing videogames & regressing in vrchat in agere specific maps like nurseries & the like; we& also have an agere avatar. We're& also very sleepy kiddos especially due to our& cfs so nappy naps are very important.

• We& may go nonverbal when tiny & one of our& littles cannot speak at all, but we& can communicate through writing, communication cards, AAC, sign language & emojis whenever on discord; we& also involuntarily often use babytalk but if you need a translation, you can always ask one of our& caregivers & we'll& do our& best to translate what's being said; voicecalls & videocalls with close friends only.

• Despite this being an agere/petre/system little/system middle blog, this blog isn't entirely 100% SFW in the sense that this blog may have horror related content due to some of our& littles & middles having exomemories of darker origins & darker sources, but anything potentially triggering will be tagged & this is overall the vast majority of the time a SFW space, it's just that we& want a place for all of our& littles & middles to feel like they can be themselves, even if it isn't considered entirely SFW or the typical agere aesthetic. May possibly add our& nonhumans here as well.

• This is a sideblog, therefore our& likes, follows, etc. will come from our& main blog.

• Absolutely no discourse, bigotry nor fakeclaiming of any kind is tolerated here, nor are any debates. This is our& personal space. Do not waste our& time.

𝐃𝐍𝐈 𝐈𝐅 . . .

Doubles, ABDL/DDLG/CGL/Ageplay/Transage/NSFW/Kink/18+/gore blogs, MIK (minors in kink), MAPs, anti-CGLRE, queerphobes, racists, bullies, meanies, blank blogs, abuse apologists, TERFs/SWERFs/radfems, transmeds, if you are/kin Ivan Glaziev ( unless canon divergent, but even then we& will still be greatly uncomfortable given the source material ), if you are/kin Daniel Monroe, if you are/kin Uranos Corsica.

[silvaswiftcast]

Fluffvember Prompt #16 Soothe

Characters: Silva Cataracta and Hien Rijin (Though Ricmorn is not in this scene, he is mentioned!)

Rating: General

Notes: This scene takes place in the later half of post-Stormblood MSQ about a month or so after Silva and Hien enter a relationship with each other, so things are still new and she's still a little shy around him with certain things. If you're curious about Silva's scars and how she got them, I've written about them a few times! You can find the links to them here: Scars and Sunshine and Second Chances! Please be mindful of the tags in them, especially the first one as it does have NSFW elements in the third chapter. Words contained in [brackets] are in another language, in this case, it's Doman.

Content Warnings/Additional Tags: Polyamory Relationship (V Relationship), M/F/M Relationship, Playful Banter/Teasing, Mild Angst (very, very mild), Disscuions of Old Wounds/Scars/Bodily Harm, Domestic Fluff.

The sudden knock on Hien’s door made him look up from the massive pile of paperwork, trade agreements, and wordy letters on his desk. Curious… A glance at the chronometer on the south wall told him it was still early afternoon — a time of day when none of his advisors usually bothered him unless needed. And while he still had one more meeting to attend, it didn’t start for another two bells.

Which meant there could only be one of a few select people waiting for him behind that door.

“Come in!” he called out, setting the document he was reading off to the side.

Hien couldn’t help the grin lighting up his face when he saw Silva open the door just enough to poke her head through.

“I was hoping it would be you,” he teased.

She let out a light laugh, shaking her head. “Now’s not a bad time, is it?” Vibrant sea-green eyes wandered to his desk, noticing the vast display of important-looking papers scattered about his desk. “I… I have a favor to ask you, but if you’re busy, I can find someone else to help me and—” 

He immediately rose to his feet at the question. “It’s never a bad time for you, [wildflower.] Please come in.”

His eyes and brain could use a brief break before the words started blurring together.

Silva opened the door far enough to squeeze through before shutting it. And for added measure, locked it behind her. When she turned around again, the young lord was already halfway across the room to meet her. She closed the distance with a few quick steps. They murmured sweet “hello’s” to one another and exchanged slow, lingering kisses as they embraced.

It wasn’t until Hien ran his hand up her back that she let out a small hiss of discomfort — and reminded the Raen why she was here in the first place.

“Oh— My apologies, Silva,” Hien said, quickly removing his hand. “I didn’t know you were injured or—”

She quickly dismissed his apology, a nervous laugh bubbling from her chest. “Not an injury,” she told him, wanting to ease his concern. “At least not a new one.”

His brow furrowed as he took in her words, a little confused. “Not a new—” And then understanding dawned on him. He carefully smoothed his hand over her upper back and shoulders again, mindful of how much pressure he applied. “Your scars are bothering you today.”

It wasn’t long ago he saw them for the first time in their full glory, without clothes hiding them. (He was used to seeing them in glimpses as they peeked out from behind her gear since he’d known her.) He stumbled upon the moment by chance one late afternoon. Silva was a little hesitant about him seeing them, not that he blamed her, but was willing to let him tend to them as she and Ricmorn told him the story behind them. A story of bravery and great sacrifice for someone she loved — for someone she wanted to protect.

The tale made him admire her even more. Made him love and respect more than he ever thought possible.

Silva leaned into his touch as she nodded, sighing. The ache was still there — always would be on her bad days — but it was easier to ignore in favor of her other lover’s gentle caresses. “They are,” she answered, meeting his gaze. Clarity shimmered in his peridot eyes when she held up the small jar of soothing balm she used for them. “Ricmorn is busy elsewhere for the moment, and Miki has her hands full with her apothecary today. And there’s no way in any of the seven hells I would go to my uncle about this and—”

“I would be more than happy to tend to them again, [wildflower,]” he promised, taking the jar from her. The small gasp of surprise escaping her told him she wasn’t expecting him to offer his help with something so personal. It was his turn to put her at ease.“Whenever you need it — I’m here,” he told her, brushing his fingers along the flat edge of an ivory horn. “Always.”

“O-oh,” she whispered, wetting her lips. When Hien's expression softened, she shifted her gaze elsewhere, her long tail twitching. “I— Okay.”

His kind words did the trick.

“Come,” he murmured, pressing his lips to the small patch of ivory scales decorating the middle of her brow. The sound of her happy hum was sweet music to his ears. “Let’s get you someplace more comfortable. You’ll feel better once I rub some of the balm into your skin.”

Before Hien could pull away, he felt Silva wrap one of her arms around his neck to hold him in place. He was about to ask if something was wrong until she carefully pressed one of her horns to his cheek, gently nuzzling him. His heart melted at the affectionate gesture.

“Thank you, [my heart,]” she breathed beside his ear before turning to press a kiss to his cheek. When she pulled away from him and reached for his free hand, lacing their fingers together, he was grinning from ear to ear.

“Of course.”