#though every choice has casting issues

[laiqualaurelote]

In the light of my transcendent theatrical experience seeing James Lance in Uncle Vanya, I got to thinking about the line in all the men and women merely players when Ted mentions during the interview with Trent that the Richmond Players had performed at least one Chekhov play before deciding to stick to Shakespeare ("You ever tried staging Chekhov in a pandemic? It’s a real downer, let me tell you") and therefore:

[theredofoctober]

MANNA- CHAPTER THIRTEEN: TEA

Dark!Hannibal Lecter x Reader x Dark!Will Graham AU fic

TW for eating disorders, noncon, abuse, drugging, Daddy kink, implied child abuse and more

Read after the cut...

-

For a near week your deceptive submission endures, the hours newly tightened by a schedule your host has contrived to divert you from your anti-appetite.

Days rise from the borderless veil of time like castles from a dawn mist. Made a school child again, you sit before documentaries and foreign art films, take up a journal whose pages bear but glances of your internal woe.

You find yourself wishing that you could write with any particular talent.

As a girl you’d yearned to be an author, never daring to materialise the urge with any substantial effort. Now you can’t imagine you’ll ever be allowed so loose-penned a profession, if any at all, kept covetously home and infantilised until you cannot think beyond a fraction of words.

Why, then, does Hannibal go to such arduous lengths to educate you? Surely it is only so that—before the eyes of peers—you'll be the cultured averment of triumph through therapy.

In the soirees of your doctor's hopes you cleave, willing, to his side, bewitching the throng with smirking witticisms before sucking his cock with that same clever mouth when the last guest steps, merry and ignorant, into the night.

Already Hannibal aspires to materialise that abstraction. You find proof enough of it in the wardrobe he’s amassed for you, which expands as the days progress.

Some of his choices are attractive to you, reluctant though you are to consider this— long velvet gowns in puce, umber, black, blouse and skirt co-ordinations plucked from the runway, some still in boxes emblazoned with designer names.

Others of the selection offend you, however, in their bald intent for closed-door wear. Girlish dresses in light chiffon, corseted silk in flowering lace. Short necks and hemlines, some of them scarcely reaching the knee. Then there are sheer nightclothes stored in perfumed sheets, no practicality but for the sort of sleeping in which no slumber is to be had.

You’re to dress like some obscure young celebrity, a whimsical echo of an era thirty years passed. Still, there is an attempt in this incredible closet to appease you as well as to change, adapting your preferences to a style acceptable to Hannibal’s eye.

It’s of particular note to you that the garments are each the same size, implying that you haven’t gained significant weight since your last awareness of its value. Conceivably the labels might have been replaced, but it’s so unlikely a trick that the theory is quickly thrown out.

Hannibal is inviting you to trust his process with a peace offering of equilibrium, the second-best prize to starvation.

You are not such a fool as to take it yet, though in action you may appear to have done so.

When in the presence of your keepers you remain in unwavering character, an amplified, changeling copy of the child you'd once been. In this way you're allowed your little misbehaviours—pulling a face at food you do not like, or the shrugging rejection of an idle caress.

So long as you sit at meals, and don’t speak in any manner that threatens the illusion of family you are unharmed, and laden with unending gifts. It would be a winning childhood, had you been born into it through a far less insidious violence than that which brought you here.

Still, the awareness that you must simper and lisp for another month before you venture an escape soon wears upon your tolerance.

One Saturday morning, alone in your room, the silence of that cushioned cell amplifies your every thought to a piqued tenor.

You miss when hunger bled like smoke through your skull, ridding its halls of all but its fey shape. With a scalding clarity you behold what you are now: a homunculus, the issue of diablerie, cut small by men’s black magic.

You cast yourself amidst a tide of cushions and mimic your own words upon them in a bitter snarl.

“‘Yes, Daddy’”, ‘no, Daddy’. ‘Little one’. Oh God! It’s all so stupid. Stupid!”

An involuntary laugh chatters through you like a coin thieved from a beggar’s cup, hateful and maniacal. Yet you perform this anger as you do the docile coquette, the bounds between that self and your own a gradient that softens by the day.

It’s become rather easier to be a monster’s daughter than a woman, this you cannot deny. The longer you are extracted from the world the less you’ll remember of how to live within it, if you ever knew, before.

The misery of this thought proves too much to bear.

You cry until your head is as hot about the brow as a horseshoe turned white from the forge. The sobs wrench the muscles of your stomach in two pained halves, and still you weep until you laugh again, thinking how deranged you’d sound to any eavesdropper in the rooms below.

Afterwards you sit very quietly, like an ailing bride in a Victorian novel; you are, after all, very ill, and it suits you well to behave so.

Having nothing better to do, you switch on the television and skim through the channels with neither aim nor interest.

Thin, beautiful women populate the screen, their waists like darner flies, their wrists as narrow as your thumb. Even the history programmes feature experts with trim figures in sensible interview dresses.

Perturbed, you flick on and on until you find something on eighteenth century Paris, hosted by a grandfatherly old professor marked safe from scrutiny in the absence of compare.

You watch until your lids fall, thinking of catacombs full of monk bones, the cloying scent of ancient death, each as forgotten under dust as you are by all those who once loved you, and revered by those who never have.

In the afternoon Hannibal wakes you gently by turning the television off at the set.

“Are you feeling alright, little one?” he asks. “It’s unusual for you to sleep in so late.”

You hum in a noncommittal fashion, scarcely bothering to open your eyes.

Perhaps he’ll let you drowse the day away; you’d dream through all horrors like this, should your insomnia give you reprieve. A week, a month, a year sold to the sandman in exchange for peace— yet the dark would follow you there, also, antlered men in imagined night.

“You’ve been in bed long enough,” says Hannibal, peeling back your sheets with a brisk tug. “Up you get. Alana is visiting us this evening. She’ll have some questions for you.”

Weakly attempting to thieve back the blanket, you say, “I really don’t feel like talking to her. Can’t you do it? Please?”

“Jack won’t be satisfied with a second-hand report. Alana must see that you’re comfortable here. Not a particular incentive for you, but I can provide others.”

You open one eyelid, enticed by this readiness to bargain.

“So what do I get if I say yes?”

“A light dinner,” says Hannibal. “And—depending on your behaviour—perhaps another reward we’ll negotiate later tonight.”

At this you sit up; starving is a precious contraband in the doctor’s abode, worth more to you than every decadent thing under its rafters.

“Feeling better already, I see,” says Hannibal, through one of his charitable smiles. “Please stand by the mirror and allow me to dress you.”

Unbidden there comes the thought of his hand under your skirts, pressing inwards like a starfish sucking at a stone.

“Oh, come on, Dad,” you say, in flustered haste. "Really?”

“There’s a certain picture I’d like to create for Alana’s benefit,” he insists. “One of wellness and serenity. Your selections tend to imply something far more brooding and morose.”

With a testy little sigh you slip out of bed, rubbing your arms free of rising gooseflesh.

“You bought me those ‘brooding and morose’ outfits, remember, Dad? What does that say about you?”

“That I seek to please you,” says Hannibal, touching your mouth with playful thumb. “Today I hope that you’ll return the gesture.”

He holds aloft a pastel blue dress in transparent lace, a beaded line of detailing pointing downwards at the hips in a suggestive v.

“I don’t know,” you say, far more sharply than intended. “It’s short. And I don’t like the colour.”

“The shade will suit you,” Hannibal replies. “And you’ll wear a shift underneath for modesty, if that’s your concern.”

You don’t bother with reproof; he’s guiding you out of your nap-rumpled clothes and into the dress before you can think of an excuse he’ll entertain.

Unresisting, you only glance aside, breathing shallowly so as not to brush your chest against him as he adjusts your collar.

That Hannibal hasn’t made love to you since you shared a bed makes you think that he’s waiting for something, a moment fermented to sweeten the sex. He is, you warrant, as driven by pleasure as any man, being only of a tighter and more methodical restraint.

You can’t decide whether you’re glad of the wait or if you’d prefer he throw you down on your bed and ravish you now to have done with it.

Doubtless Hannibal considers an identical dilemma, turning you before him like a ballerina in a mirrored jewellery box.

“Even the greats couldn’t hope to replicate this image of you,” he says, as he inspects his work. “To attempt it would have them rending the canvas to pieces rather take credit for their failure.”

The compliment is long forgotten when, later, Alana breaches the house, her pretty face above her mulberry blouse like a lily in a violet bouquet.

Her casual manner in kissing Hannibal’s cheek at the door suggests a social visit, as does the gift of white wine under one thin arm. Still, she remembers her duty, taking you aside with a subtle professionalism within two minutes of having greeted her host.

Her kindness is a shingle in a cyclone, dashed away by the futility of its own existence.

“Dr Lecter told me you’re doing a lot better than when I last saw you,” says Alana, placing one of her graceful hands atop your own without comment as to its frigidity. “Are you feeling more positive now, or would you disagree with that?”

Slipping your fingers out from under hers, you say, “Well, I have a TV now. I’m allowed to do a lot more things I’m actually interested in. That helps. Thanks for that, by the way. I know you talked Dr Lecter into it.”

Smiling, Alana says, “I can’t take credit for that. He was already making preparations when I brought it up. He's racked up quite the shopping bill.”

The notion of Hannibal navigating the catalogues of online stores is ridiculous, somehow anachronistic, but then again you’ve witnessed him tapping at a sleek iPad, a jarring sight, on every occasion.

“How about mealtimes?” asks Alana. “I understand you’re working towards a plan that’s easier for you.”

“It’s still hard,” you mumble. “Tough. You know.”

Your eyes are on Alana’s patent court shoes, picturing a blandly organised rack of identical heels in alternate shades. Perhaps ankle boots for the colder days. Simple. Nothing flash.

Alana pauses, quickly assessing your disinterest in the exchange.

“Hannibal says he’d like you to agree to more therapy sessions,” she says. “He feels you’re opening up. I think we both know that’s probably wishful thinking on his side, but don’t shoot him down just yet.”

“I won’t,” you say. “Couldn’t anyway, right?”

Alana rearranges her discomfort into another closed-lipped smile. You can’t envision that lipstick ever moving, striped across her face as yours has been by both of the friends that she holds dear.

“So how are things between you and Will now?” enquires Alana, quite on cue. “Rumour has it you’re getting along like a house on fire.”

Truthfully Will has rather cooled since the night of the seizure, his envy retreating to the black of some inner primordial cave. He seems both caustically amused by your recent performance and cynical of its longevity, yet neither judgement is as severe as before.

The thought of your kindness sits with him, has been taken up with the cagy hunger of an orphan to a heel of bread. Piece by piece you’ve given him more of it in flirting words, but these he’s yet to take, turning each away with a smirk.

“Don’t try so hard,” he’d said, only a day ago, but when you’d thrown an idle foot across his lap as you read a book beside him he hadn’t removed it, only pretended to ignore the intrusion.

“Me and Will are okay,” you say to Alana. “That’s all.”

You must give away something of your successes in your expression, for Alana’s mouth twitches into a coy grin.

“Just okay?”

At that moment Hannibal knocks on the open door, a merciful trespass, setting you free of her.

*

As promised, you’re offered a modest salad while Hannibal and Alana make their way through numberless courses over the gifted wine.

At first you’re too absorbed in the mortification of eating in front of the other woman to pay attention to their mounting chemistry, dragging the same tattered leaf through streams of congealing oil.

It’s only as you’re making a fortress of cutlery across a lump of uneaten meat that you take full stock of the flirting at work before you.

Though attempts are made by both parties to fold you into the conversation they are mild at best, almost neglectful.

Alana glances up into Hannibal’s eyes in frequent, laughing enjoyment, touching his shoulder or forearm lightly; he, for his part, looks upon her lips and the curves of her form and speaks fondly to her, his voice hushed with a want of sex.

You’ve heard it often enough to know it, and should be glad to have his attentions otherwise distracted.

Yet your hands creep under the table, squeezing your thighs and stomach as though to claw out the matter you've ingested through your meat.

"I'm done," you blurt out, cutting across Hannibal's opinion of a recent classical performance he’s attended. "Can I go upstairs?"

It's with difficulty that you bite off the habitual 'Dad' that has replaced 'doctor' in your vocabulary.

Hannibal offers you a near invisible look of disgruntlement at the interruption, quickly mollified by Alana's fingers at his elbow.

"I'm sure we're boring you," she says. "Go on up and relax. You don't have to stick around just to be polite."

You glance at Hannibal, seeking his approval before you stand. His eyes, within so static a face, are black glass in their suspicion.

"I'll come up to speak to you later on," he says, at last. "If there's anything you need, don't hesitate to ask for it."

Rather than go immediately to your den above you linger to watch as the couple drink in the parlour, so close as to almost be in one another’s arms.

You see from Hannibal's relaxed posture that he is not ablaze with a fascinated love for Alana as he is for Will; he holds her merely with the affection of an old friend, and, too, with an uncomplicated desire.

He would never rape Alana Bloom; such violence, to Hannibal, is an entry into a cabal of which she has no part. Her value to him is as representation of his treasured comforts, and all that which Hannibal would not willingly change.

Alana is as used for her parts as you are, in her way, and oblivious to it, like some grinning scarecrow blind to the birds that snicker and creep at its back.

Yet as you watch her lean, murmuring, into Hannibal’s neck you feel a tooth of ice grind through your heart and turn away, feeling numbly for the bannisters behind you.

Almost on hands and knees you climb the steps to your bed, brought low by that astonishing cold.

Pausing at the bathroom you prostrate yourself at the toilet’s mercy, still unable to empty yourself of the pain and bile you'd evict to be naked of your jealousy.

In surrender you rest your head on the cool floor and remain there even after the compulsion to vomit subsides.

If you cannot flog yourself for your sins as the saints did then this will do, sprawled before the porcelain God of another degredation.

Presently the bathroom door creaks open, striking an unwanted rod of light across your face.

“Go away,” you mutter, wiping your face with an angry scrub of your knuckles. “I don’t want to talk to you.”

Hannibal looks at you with a minister’s pious severity.

"I see. So I was correct. You object to Alana and I having a sexual relationship. Any other father would sternly inform you that it’s none of your business, and as your therapist it’s even less so.”

Raising your head, you snap at him as fiercely as you dare.

“What about me?”

“My friendship with Alana is very different to what you and I share,” says Hannibal, and you snort, wiping a stream of clear mucus across your lips.

“I’ll bet.”

Hannibal turns his head at a quizzical angle, and you perceive the very second of his understanding like the unveiling of some trick.

“You must explain yourself, darling,” he says. “What is it about this that has upset you?”

The logical answer should be that you wish to save Alana from him, that you cannot watch her beaming, black-haired head roll out from under the axe.

Instead, you blurt out, “Don’t you get it, Dad? How it makes me feel? You’re supposed to understand me, and I’m pretty sure you do. You knew that it would hurt me. You did this on purpose the way you wave me around in front of Will.”

Using the sink to right yourself you get to your feet, standing on pathetic, defiant tiptoe so that you might gaze into the devil’s face directly.

“If you have to do this, then please, just me. Just me. I can’t stand it. It makes me feel sick to think about you and her together. Knowing you’ll touch me afterwards. Don’t do this to me. Please."

“I see,” says Hannibal.

He speaks with such calm that you deflate from your anger at once.

“Very well,” he says. “I can make an excuse for Alana to leave. Would that please you, little one?”

This time you don’t answer, only stare at him with huge and terrible eyes until he retreats to the stairway.

“Oh, god,” you say, under your breath. “Amy, you’d really hate me right now, wouldn’t you?”

You hear Hannibal and Alana talking in low undertones, the female voice a coo of thoughtful sympathy. In time Alana collects herself to leave, but only when her car propels itself quietly from the driveway does Hannibal come to you again.

By now you’re sitting at your dresser, making a humiliated attempt to recollect your dignity with cosmetics. You know that Hannibal will not like what you’d made of your face—the eyes painted black, your lips the colour of your heart, a sinking, well-bound stone.

Yet all he says as he stands behind you is, “Look at me, little one.”

Your hand shakes, blotting your eyelid with an errant apostrophe of mascara.

“Don’t want to.”

“I know. I’d like you to, even so.”

The gentleness of Hannibal’s voice is an agony to you. You’ve never hated nor been more drawn to him than you are now, this impossible spirit in the vessel of a man.

Stiffly you turn on your chair, meeting his gaze to find it truly repentant.

“I won’t make love to Alana again,” says Hannibal, and you know as you do the reality of elements that he does not lie. “I see that this triggers your fear of abandonment too greatly. But it might not be possible for me to avoid all romantic advances.

“There are rumours abound as to our arrangement already, and it will seem suspicious if I don’t take a lover. But I’ll do my best to be faithful to our family.”

He pauses, watching you battle to suppress your disgust for him, for yourself, for all things in the bracken of his design.

“For now, I’d like you to relax,” says Hannibal. “This level of distress will make you ill. I’m concerned that it already has.”

Taking you by a hand as clammy as mermaid skin he leads you down to the living room to serve you from a pot of fragrant tea.

Though its calorific value is likely near to air you catastrophize with immediacy, unable to touch the cup, let alone drink.

“I’m not doing it on purpose this time,” you babble. “I’m not, Dad, please, you’ve got to believe me.”

Hannibal raises a hand to caress you— that, and only that, and yet you shrink against the couch in expectancy of a blow.

An appalled look tightens Hannibal’s expression, a hypocrisy of which he seems endlessly capable.

“There, now,” he says. “I can tell the difference between unruliness and genuine struggle. You and I both know that tea is only leaves and water— why do you believe against logic that it will affect your weight?”

“I don’t know,” you say, with a helpless shake of the head. “I feel like if I drink it I won’t be able to stop myself. I’ll eat and eat until I’m... big, and then I won’t be able to go back to the way I was. Everyone will see me differently. Treat me like they used to. People can be cruel.”

“And none crueller than you are to yourself,” says Hannibal, and he eases the cup between your hands so that you must take it or scald yourself raw. “There is nothing shameful in having a body of any kind, and any who judge you for that would wear their foolishness like a flag for all to see. Nevertheless, I’ve balanced your weight here, and will continue to do so if that is what’s needed for you to believe in my intentions.”

He aids you to drink, lifting the cup to your mouth over and over until the last drop. From the bitter taste you know it altered by some drug.

For once you do not care.

The night has left you so ashamed of your bearing that you’re half joyful to be done with it, sinking back as euphoria transforms all things that touch you into nirvana.

Your fingers drape across your body in aimless exploration, stopping only as Will enters the room with Hannibal at his side.

The younger man’s eyebrows jump as you giggle and hide your hands behind your back.

“You’re smiling,” says Will. “And I’m not sure how I feel about the circumstances.”

“Our girl is relieved to see you, Will,” says Hannibal. “A familiar face is a balm for even the most taxing day.”

Will looks from you to Hannibal ponderously.

“Alana was here earlier,” he states.

“She was, much to our little one’s chagrin.”

“Do you have to talk about her?” you interrupt, in loose-tongued irritation.

Hannibal chuckles.

“We do not. There are other topics I’d find far more engaging.”

You watch from under heavy lids as the men discuss the Lover’s case in low, library murmurs.

“Tanya Marrow was found washed up by the Patapsco River this morning,” says Will, with a grim regret. “Her wounds were fresh, meaning the Lover only mutilated Tanya and placed her into the doll when he was ready to throw her away. He was content with how closely she resembled the woman he’s desperate to make, for a while.

“But she wasn’t close enough. In the end he had to remind her that she was just a toy to him, and punish her for her lacking.”

The contrast of these dreary horrors with the rainbow light of feeling through your needy cunt should sicken you, but your mind is in disorder, barely one thought akin to the next.

“We’ve made a breakthrough in regards to the dolls,” Will continues. “The well-made ones are expensive; for one person to have so many implies that the Lover is either a wealthy collector, or that he’s able to access them at a considerable discount. Possibly for free.”

“I’m assuming the factory producing these dolls has been identified,” says Hannibal.

Will swallows a mouthful of whiskey.

“There are only four vendors known to produce the style of doll the Lover uses. Jack’s got someone looking into their customers, narrowing down the suspects to buyers in Virginia. Considering how specialised these clients are that shouldn't take long.”

The older man listens with a solemn intensity, scarcely drinking from his own glass.

“I see the Lover almost exactly now,” says Will. “He knows he has to take his bride eventually; he’s circling her, choosing women that are closer and closer to her physical proximity. The next target will be someone she knows.

“It’s a dangerous move, but by now the Lover wants someone that’s stood so close to this woman that he can taste her. Imagine her beneath him when he defiles the inferior victim.”

Fear swims, crocodilian, within you, disturbing your narcotic stupor.

Seeming to sense it, Hannibal says, “Let’s continue this line of conversation later on. I wouldn’t want to give our surrogate daughter bad dreams.”

Will glances at you, watching you fumble idly with the hem of your dress.

“You don’t plan to cast her as our daughter in tonight’s play, do you?” he asks, plainly.

“That would unnecessarily chasten the evening,” says Hannibal. “She’s the woman for whom we are legally responsible, and what we deem fit for her continued health is ours to determine.”

You recline across the couch like an empress, watching the firelight glance shadows across your skin like a garment in a dream. Hannibal slips a hand from your shoulder to your breast, teasing the tiffany lace across your nipple, and the warmth and delicacy of the touch breathes through you a shiver of ermine delight.

Only vaguely do you acknowledge your revulsion, a whisper at a keyhole on the other side of the house.

“What did you give her for her to let you touch her like that?” asks Will, curiously.

His hands play upon the sides of his whiskey glass, and the thought of them upon your thighs or between them drives your lower lip between your teeth with unbeckoned desire.

“I’ve offered her release from her spirited rebellion,” says Hannibal. “Even having promised us fealty, this act she wouldn’t easily endure. I wish for her to experience intimacy unhindered by her mental bounds.”

His fingers glance beneath the neckline of your dress and cross your bare skin as a swan's wing meets the sky, rushing a moan from you more akin to a sob in its juddering resonance.

“Besides,” Hannibal continues, “she’s had a trying afternoon. Her body welcomes this.”

Will’s face, washed honey bronze by firelight, is so neutral that even if you were not high you’d fail to extract the mechanisms of thought behind it.

“We’ve both succeeded in bringing her to climax,” says Hannibal, as his other hand folds your skirt against your pelvis. “But never her consent. Tonight, perhaps we will.”

“In this state she has no real autonomy,” Will argues. “We’re witnessing an illusion.”

Hannibal pauses, his face like that of an antiques dealer slyly unveiling some stolen wares.

“Not exactly,” he says. “Little one: you’ve described me as handsome. Do think that Will is good-looking?”

Your concentration wavers as two digits inscribe an ouroboros in your arousal. The wrongness of it all only enhances the sensation, the thought of being a lovely toy for older men to play with.

Your name on Dr Lecter’s lips recalls his question.

“Yes,” you say. “I— I do.”

You don’t know why you’re honest. Even a child, embarrassed, could lie.

Will smiles, and for a moment there is something almost sweet in his expression.

Then the dark of him slithers behind it again with predatory ease, and he leans forward, knees apart, possessed of a revelation of self-assurance.

This is the self he becomes when challenging Dr Lecter, the arrogant observer of all living things.

“I already knew that,” says Will. “I don’t mind hearing it clarified, though.”

You can’t imagine him ever admitting that you’re beautiful in return. Hannibal would, has done so already in such a succulence of language that your mouth could water with it, but not Will, not in so many words.

All that he will allow thus far is that you are not ugly. Blearily you vow to unwind from him his obsession.

“Puppy love,” says Hannibal, looking into your face with a gentle irony. “You’d like him to touch you, wouldn’t you, little one?”

This you don’t answer, and rather than press you again Hannibal makes you come with three fingers inside you, patient as you cry out and roll your head aside in conflict and delirium.

You cannot decide if he means to reward you for your participation with Will or to humiliate you for that same eagerness. It is bewildering and erotic, this envy they have for one another; to quell it you must kneel to the hierarchy, submissive always to your covetous masters.

“Join us, Will,” says Hannibal, at last.

Briefly you think that he won’t, a scoffing lord, above it all.

Then he crosses the room, sets down his whiskey and kisses you, first your mouth, then your neck, leaving the taste of smoke and almonds wherever his lips meet.

Whimpering, you kick your feet on the couch as each petal of ecstasy comes loose from a branch within you.

Sometimes Will’s teeth push against your flesh, not quite biting; Hannibal, on the other side of your neck, gently does, as though inheriting the expected assault from his would-be lover.

His fingers form a cylinder of delight in you, the pad of his thumb undoing another orgasm in a trio of strokes.

“How gifted we are to receive such delights,” says Hannibal, and as you groan he docks his arousal in your own, filling you so entirely with his cock that you think and feel only the fucking and nothing more, a witless hole.

Will brings your hand to his erection, and there is no uncertainty in that motion, nor in his lips about your breast. His rough tongue, the saliva like a paste jewel on your nipple—

Writhing, panting, you stir through pleasure upon pleasure like the layers of the earth, soft, dark, deep.

Your palm tightens on Will’s cock like a night sea about the lighthouse it yearns to bring down, working him with a knowing purpose. As Hannibal continues his pelvic rolls against you Will draws back, avoiding the early release that your cunning fist would bring.

Not once do the men make contact in a sexual manner with each other, and you don’t understand it, this avoidance of the ultimate lust. Yet perhaps it is that they fuck through you, for when Hannibal achieves his orgasm and moves away Will pushes into you without caution of the other man’s seed still warm in that same place.

He looks up into Hannibal’s eyes as he does it, watching his response as he weaves pleasure from a loom of servile flesh.

But then you make some shapeless sound of need, one hand extended, not quite touching him, and Will's eyes return to you with such intensity that you forget that brief, lost woe.

He mimics Hannibal’s command of your body, hands moving, unrushed, from breast to hip as he opens you further to him. His violence is a mage’s dance, something once done around fire, and charged now through the vessel of a young and studious man.

No wonder, then, that you have neither strength nor will to repel him. You roil, loose-limbed as the dead, only your noise and perspiring response to sensation to evidence your ongoing life.

Hannibal’s arms go loosely around you, holding your head in his lap as Will makes love to you with a brooding fervour. Every touch is like the discovery of a new and indescribable existence, having traversed to some frontier of feeling only sects of pleasure have previously founded.

You know yourself wanted by both men, now, feel it through their mutterings of ecstasy, the unending pressure of mouths and hands upon your skin. They crave your wanting of them in return, lap up your slightest sign of it, tainted as it is by Hannibal’s poison.

Will pours in you his ending, his breath a kiss against your eardrum.

You come again with both men gazing upon you, their faces as close and beautiful together as stringed pearls.

Dimly you fear that they will succeed in their work with you, no matter how fiercely you defy their twofold will.

“Hey,” says the younger man, nudging your shoulder lightly. “Snap out of it. You’re bleeding. Did we hurt you?”

Your first thought is, “yes, of course you did.”

The next, having looked down at the red dart through the milk of semen on your thigh, is the same nip of terror you know from an unexpectedly high number on the scale.

The final cognition—and one almost certainly true—is that this carnival of sex has brought that crimson forth like the incitation of bacchanalian madness.

The shock of it wrings you near dry of the doctor’s drug, a bald winter sobriety.

“I’m sorry,” you whisper. “It’s my period. I haven’t had one in years.”

[gay-dorito-dust]

Hi there, i love your writing alot!!

https://www.tumblr.com/gay-dorito-dust/729892805178261505/reptilesyzith-hc-with-a-gender-neutral-partner?source=share

If asks are still open, can i request this but with the lin kuei trio? i wonder how their reactions are gonna be.. 👀

Oh yeah! Absolutely!

This is based off of this x reader who can respawn like in a video game but died for a bit but just with the Lin Kuei trio.

Character ooc? More likely than you think.

Tomas Vrbada

Distraught and ashamed of himself.

He promised you that he’d be better but upon hearing news of your passing had struck him deeply as thoughts began stacking onto one another, clustering his head with the what ifs and the what could’ve beens had he been there to prevent it from happening. Yet he wasn’t and that was Tomas’ biggest issue throughout all this, that he wasn’t there to prevent your death from happening, and that he failed in every doing that was enough to knock the air out of his lungs and for his knees to buckle.

So in response to loosing his family and now you was to overwork himself until he physically couldn’t take it anymore, and or distract his mind from further speculating that everyone also believed that your death was his fault. Something Kuai Liang would always say otherwise to but he could tell his brother knew that but wanted to feel as though they were as some weird form of motivation to get stronger.

He would even stay up late at night, unable to remember a proper nights sleep seeing as how he had grown accustomed to sleeping with you tightly in his arms, in hopes that one day he’d catch you coming back home. Only for Tomas to end up sleeping at his windowsill disappointed and tear streaks on his cheeks that he would wash away before leaving him room, though not before casting one last look behind him in hopes that you would’ve appeared in his room; just to be proven wrong again as he would then sigh sadly and close the door behind him to work himself to the bone once again.

Imagine the look upon his face when he opened the door to his room, only to find you stood there, looking as though you had been there the entire time. ‘Tomas? I-‘ before you could even get to finish your sentence, Tomas had already had you in his arms with his face shoved into the crook of your neck, his grip tightening as tears touched your skin. ‘You’re here, you’re really here. Thank god.’ You heard him say into your neck and you couldn’t help but hug him just as tightly, having severely missed his warmth.

‘Yes. I’m here Tomas, I’m sorry for everything I’ve put you through I should’ve-‘ once again you were interrupted by Tomas who pulled his head from your neck to push it against yours instead. ‘You can explain later,’ Tomas said softly. ‘All I care about right now is that my wish came true, you finally came home.’

Kuai Liang

Seething with anger and filled with guilt.

Kuai Liang was a whole mess of emotions and didn’t have much choice when it came to healthy outlets for him to choice from, so instead he just worked himself tirelessly into finding whoever was responsible for your death.

He, much like Bi-Han, had more or less suppressed any and all emotions that weren’t either an insatiable blood thirst or rage but that didn’t mean he wouldn’t have days where he’d express guilt over the fact that he had let you go out alone, thinking that you would come back, only to be told by Tomas that wouldn’t be the case.

Kuai Liang didn’t get much sleep that night becuase he was too busy being enraged with himself and the events leading up to now, trying to recall if he missed something pivotal, but couldn’t a trace which only proved to piss him off even more and allowed for his grieve to become anger then finally to revenge. He has loved you so deeply and so much that he knew that he wouldn’t rest until he had simultaneously brought both peace to your soul and had avenged you.

Yet even when he had achieved what he wanted, he still didn’t feel accomplished, Kuai Liang felt as though he was still missed something, missed something important. He thought that when he had his revenge he would feel somewhat better but as it had become more and more apparent to the pyromancer, the loss of a loved one was like an unsealable wound, destined to bleed forever with every mention of their name.

All that bloodshed, all that he felt, was for nothing…or so he had thought…

‘Kuai Liang?’ He perked up at your voice but didn’t dare look over his shoulder, feeling himself extremely unprepared for this moment. ‘I’ve heard that you’ve become a vengeful man, I guess I can’t blame you but none of this would’ve happened has I been straightforward with you from the beginning.’ You told him, fiddling with your hands.

‘How do you mean my love?’ Kuai Liang questioned, now looking at you as he stepped towards you, hands instinctively grasping your arms gently, tugging you closer to him so that he could see that this wasn’t some dream by feeling your body warmth against his own. ‘I should’ve told you not to mourn me because I have this ability to respawn.’ Kuai Liang still looked confused so you continued. ‘It means that if I were to die, it’ll only be a short while before I came back but this time I stayed dead a lot longer then supposed to…when I came back I heard that you had gone on a killing spree.’

You saw that Kuai Liang was still silent and decided that it were best if you left him be and not hurt him any further but found that his hold on your arms had grown tighter before being pulled into his chest, where his arms then quickly caged you in, preventing you an escape rout tl but you didn’t care; his arms were where you wanted to be.

Bi-Han

Eerily silent is how Bi-Han was when news of your unsuspected death.

Showing absolutely no visible emotions whatsoever but behind that ice cold dementor was a broken man who rejected the notion that his dearly beloved could be dead. So he then chooses to isolate within himself and essentially reverts back into being the unfeeling and unrelenting Grandmaster of the Lin Kuei, completely forgoing the man he had become upon your arrival within his life, Bi-Han could handle physical pain; but it always seemed that the emotional and mental kind left the most scars upon his mind and soul.

Repressing and shoving his emotions down, Bi-Han would then act like he wasn’t all that affected by your recent passing, but with his gradual ruthless and dwindling patience, it was safe to say that loosing you had somehow made Bi-Han an even colder man. No one would dare say so as they valued their lives to ever think to accuse their Grandmaster for ever being soft, nor question his leadership: after all Bi-Han only wanted the most loyal and faithful within the Lin Kuei under his command.

So imagine his surprise when he saw whom he presumed to be you suddenly appear within what was once your shared room one day, completely unscathed.

‘Bi-Han!’ You sighed in relief. ‘I’m so glad to see you my beloved. I have so much to explain that I probably should have told you from the start!’

Bi-Han’s eyes narrowed as his heart and mind were at war with one another, for on one hand he wants to truly believe that you have come back to him and that the news of your death were vastly exaggerated but even if that were to be true, then you had left him to believe you were dead and you haven’t been as truthful to him throughout your entire relationship. Bi-Han had given you his trust and yet all you’ve given him in return was half truths, he should have thrown you out by now or killed you himself but even as his grip on his ice dagger tightened, he knew deep down that he had made his choice long ago in what he wanted to do if you should ever come back to him.

‘Then I suggest you speak quickly.’ Bi-Han said as his brows furrowed deeper. Your smile melted off of your face as you noticed his stance before your eyes fell to the ice dagger within his hand, you should’ve known that Bi-Han wouldn’t act so kindly to you suddenly showing up as though you were never killed in the first place. To Bi-Han, it probably felt like you had decided him because you didn’t love him anymore which couldn’t be further from the truth; You loved Bi-Han but even you must admit that hiding your powers from him was quite possibly the most stupidest thing you’ve ever done.

‘We’ll be here a while.’ You told him sheepishly as you sat yourself down on the edge of the bed before gesturing for him do to do so as well. Bi-Han sighed, cursing himself as he gave in to your invitation to sit down but whilst doing so, he remembered to put a bit of distance between the two of you as silence befell the room. You cleared your throat and began, ‘I have powers that prevent me from dying per se. So for example if I were to get fatally wounded, I’d be dead for a bit but would ultimately come back without a single trace that I was ever hurt, or you could say that I respawned as though I’m in a video game.’

Needless to say after your long winded explanation, Bi-Han felt as though he received some closure from it all, but don’t expect him to fully give over his trust to you again, that’ll take some time to mend but thankfully you were patient, and Bi-Han was glad to not have to say goodbye to you just yet.

[aristia-pjoheadcanons]

HOO Crew - Argo Headcanons

Headcanons of the Heroes of Olympus cast on Argo II.

I´d like to imagine that they had bonding activities Behind-The-Scene, just so they can understand how each person works and figure out their strengths.

UNO, TWISTER, SPIN THE BOTTLE, TRUTH OR DARE, WOULD YOU RATHER- ANY GAMES AVAILABLE. Leo has thought of it all.

Connor and Travis probably snuck in theri prank supplies for them to use. Annabeth and Piper wouldnt mind pranking the boys - swapping theri shampoos and making them smell different. (small pranks that only they notice)

Percy and Frank are just confused why the duo is giggling and sneaking glances during breakfast.

Hazel wouldnt want to miss out, having the ourage to just walk into Annabeths/Pipers room "Hey, what are you guys up to?" and joining on the fun.

Making strategic plans for every duo, trio, and combining different people together for every scenario. My girls would think of everything, Annabeth taking the leader-role. Plan a way to attack a monster, with FRANKXANNABETH LEOXANNABETH, PERCYXJASON - Like I said, different combinations of people and figuring out the best choices.

Frank and Annabeth are the most versatile out of everyone. They can be combined with everyone. Percy, Jason and Leo have some drawbacks-since theyre used to doing things in their own tempo even though they have already been on a quest with people they cna easily defeat a monster by themselves. Piper and Annabeth decided to work together - a girl with emotions as her weakness (her pride) x a stubborn girl that ran away from her emotions but is forced to see it as her strength (because of the abilitiy Aphrodite gave). Piper being the best medeator, the balance that holds the glue but can also need reassurance - if the stress is too much she needs support.

Annabeth, Frank, Jason combo would work but would be somewhat slow since theyre all leaders and have great minds-but they have different POVs of things and can often fall into a deep discussion-which you often dont have time for on the battlefield. its not like they argue, but theyre the types of people to think very deeply for every plan. Jason would see the strategic side of Frank and invite him inside his cabinroom, because he can see a leader inside of him. Then, Jason would invite him to join his and Annabeths planning.

Piper and Percy would be awkward at first, until they start talking about monsters theyve fought. Percy loves the stories Piper tells, because they always have wisdom and something to learn from. Her stories helped him understand that every situation different perspetives if youre willing to see it. It taught him patience & tolerance. Instead of being quick to anger, control is important-perhaps thats why he could control the poison in Misery, Pipers teaching helped his powers grow in a different way.

Leo having insecurity issues, would struggle to fit in with the others. I see him almost as a self pitying character, but he denies any self pity at the same time. With Hazel and funnily enough, Frank he would see strength. More on this later.

Nico would sit on the highest branch on the ship. Frank would fly and give him a blanket and silently sit there as a bird. Nico would only eat grapes, Hazel would always offer food and Nico would smell it and say it smells nice but never eat it. "When you eat, I feel full" he would say to try to reassure her.

Percy wouldnt mind letting people use his room as a way to hangout, but the problem would be cleaning up after sleepovers. Leo has snacks stashed everywhere, where not even Coach Hedge can ge this hands on. They would all be on a sugar high and have a hard time sleeping afterwards.

You would think that it is the girls who gossip in theri room the most but NOO its the boys. They all gossip about someone or something. And they live for it. They would try to invite Nico but since he would say no, they just make sure to gossip where Nico is sitting so that he can atleast hear. The girls would be downstairs and the guys would be on deck talking smack about some bitch in the past.

Jason and Percys dynamic would be fine, but they would butt heads for no reason. Which could mostly be due to stress and not sleeping well. I just dont really see them fighting over any leader spot, since WiseGirl is there to take that role.

[gillyweedgrl]

You should be watching Pit Babe! - A Brief Review

Saddens me to think how many people are missing out on a great show because they think it’s not worth more than a trash watch, if that.

I mean, realistically, is it the most amazing cinematic work of all time? No, not unless pretty-boy power bottoms with daddy issues are your thing, which in my case they are, so let's talk about Pit Babe!

Note: I've tried to keep the spoilers to a minimum, they're mainly in the tags and links so follow them at your own risk, you've been warned.

Honestly, Pit Babe is a pretty damn good show, especially if you A) pretend the Omegaverse factor doesn’t exist and take the show for what it is and B) you don't mind not knowing what's going on half the time, just sit back, relax and enjoy the ride.

Overall, Pit Babe has got a good production value, a slightly absurd yet entertaining plot, a great choice of cast with amazing chemistry and pretty decent acting skills amongst the mix of seasoned actors and newbies.

For a totally biased fair and balanced review: There are some details that are left vague instead of being explained in depth or at all (yet), but that’s to be expected when you adapt a novel into a movie or series. It would get boring for the audience if the pace was interrupted to explain all those little details that we’re likely to find out along the way anyways (shout out to those who've watched the latest episode; finally!).

There are also some scenes that feel like they’re not as necessary and some background/plot devices that made a little more sense in the novel but I personally don’t feel like they detract too much from my viewing experience.

Babe (played by Pavel) and Charlie (played by Pooh) as the main leads do a really good job at shouldering a large percentage of screen time. Charlie comes across as happy-go-lucky, a bit clumsy/goofy, entirely fearless and a little naive, which is mostly true, but there's clearly more to him than that. Right from the start Babe is clearly someone guarded, detirmined and skilled at what he does (racing cars and having sex) and he has a very tight cirlce of people he trusts. There's a winning combo right there, quite tsundere/sunshine from the outside but definitely more breath the surface that gets exploded as they go.

Way (played by Nut) is Babe's best friend and racing companion, they've been racing together at Team X-Hunter for years but there's clearly more than friendship on the mind for Way, though the feelings appear to be one sided.

Alan (played by Sailub) is the owner of Team X-Hunter and an all-round cool Uncle (which the whole team call's him (despite barely being in his mid 30's). He's kind but firm, he cares for his team like they’re his family and it does seem as though they’re his only family.

And the rest of the cast consists primarily of:

Team X-Hunter:

Dean (played by Lee); a junior racer with slight douche vibes

North and Sonic (played by Michael and TopTen); everyone’s babies, they’re junior racers and content creators

Jeff (played by Pon); the newest member of the team, he’s a part time mechanic and full time conspicuous

Pete (played by Ping); the money guy Alan brings on board to sponsor the team

Team Red Racing (the rival team):

Winner (played by Pop); the guy who never seems to win against Babe

Kim (played by Benz); the new racer they hired to beat Babe

Tony (played by S Vorarit); Red Racing's newest benefactor and *shock horror* Babe's former foster father (try saying that ten times fast)

Kenta (played by Garfield); Tony's right hand man

Then, there’s the 🌶🔥🤯

I, personally, enjoy a little spice/heat in my shows. It’s not necessary for every show, of course, but I do think that when it serves a purpose to the story and it’s done well then it can be quite enjoyable and this cast/production team is doing it really well.

As I said, the chemistry between the cast really is amazing (both on and off the screen, if you're interested in that kind of thing) and although the spicy scenes aren’t nearly as abundant as they are in the novel, there are some really good ones. I decided to bite the bullet and binge read the novel over the past couple of weeks, I blame @pharawee’s breakdown posts for those sleepless nights, and it was worth it for me but not necessary for watching the series.

Lastly (as if this post isn't long winded enough as it is) there are a handful of things in this series that we don't see too often in BL's and make it worth watching even more:

It's got race cars, murder attempts, mafia influence and supernatural powers (at least half the characters have one).

There's no evil ex-lover out to get revenge or get back together with one of the mains (thank the BL gods).

It's got a Soft Top/Dominant Bottom dynamic where the title character is both super masc and a pretty princess.

And we can't forget, it is technically an Omegaverse series (or rather, it's Omegaverse-lite) which none of us saw coming!

Anywho, to conclude; yes, you should be watching Pit Babe. No, you don't have to read the novel to understand what's going on because none of us understand what the hell is going on at any given time. Charlie and Babe are fucking around and finding out, the rest of us are just long for the ride, Alan and Jeff are having a whole ass rom-com-drama in the corner, the babies are making their content and having a blast and the others aren't quite on the map yet (or are they? *wink, wink*), but I sure hope they will be soon!

If you made it this far, thank you and are you okay? Do you need to have your brain checked?

[galaxygolfergirl]

What does Elsa want?

Since I’ve been on a bit of a Frozen binge recently, I was having some thoughts:

If anyone’s been in the Frozen fandom for as long as I have, we’ve all wondered whether Elsa would ever become attached to someone. The early Jelsa shippers, Helsa (which I do ship, I have my reasons, don’t @ me), #giveelsaagirlfriend trending on twitter, the newer Elsamaren shippers, and so on. Ever since Disney realized the franchise potential of this story, that's been the big question brought up for the past decade.

I will say I can definitely understand the perception of Elsa being aromantic/asexual because honestly, think about it: considering her past struggles with controlling her powers and her fear of hurting those she loves, it’s probably very difficult for her to be vulnerable with other people, even platonically with her own family. If she was that uncomfortable being around others and trying to manage her issues, how uncomfortable is she with being in love? Being desired? Wanting to be with someone?

No matter what options they go with for her in the 3rd sequel, it might be an interesting perspective to see this more vulnerable side of Elsa, if they choose to give her a romantic partner, because for the past two movies we’ve only gotten the perspective of her focusing on herself. She wanted to learn the truth of who she was and to make her peace with it, no longer denying her magical abilities or trying to shove them down out of fear. She wanted to reconnect with her sister and try to have a family again. But what does Elsa want for herself beyond that? Who can really stand on her level and approach her?

In spite of her connections with her sister and the rest of her family, there is still a level of unapproachability to her because of the dissonance between her humanity and the almost mythic nature of her powers. Even though Anna loves her sister, we can observe that even she struggles sometimes to understand Elsa’s powers, especially her role as the Snow Queen/the 5th Spirit, and Anna falls back in awe of her like everyone else. It’s like this quote from the movie The Philadelphia Story (which is a great movie btw, highly recommend):

“You're like some marvelous, distant, well, queen, I guess. You're so cool and fine and always so much your own. There's a kind of beautiful purity about you, Tracy, like a statue.”

To which Katharine Hepburn’s character replies:

“I don't want to be worshipped. I want to be loved.”

Does Elsa want that kind of love? So far, the answer’s been a tentative “no,” at least from the writers and cast. Whether it's because of the potential conservative outcry or disappointing the lgbtq community yet again is anyone's guess, but for now I can only assume that leaving her unattached has been the safest option for Disney so far.

But since we’ve already crossed the threshold of Elsa’s self-acceptance and self-realization of her powers, where do we go beyond that in terms of her character? It’s only natural to wonder what she wants beyond understanding herself, being comfortable with her powers, and being accepted. She has a supportive family, is making friendships with the Northuldra, and has a kingdom that loves her, but does she stand alone or can someone meet her at her level? Romantically or otherwise? Who can challenge her, really?

Tracy Lord: "I don't seem to you made of bronze?"

Macaulay Connor: "No, you're made out of flesh and blood. That's the blank, unholy surprise of it. You're the golden girl, Tracy. Full of life and warmth and delight.”

Does she have to remain this mythic goddess that everyone admires, who has to have a dress transformation/inspiration anthem about self-actualization every movie? What if she had a moment where she was grounded and had to focus on something besides her powers? What if she lost them? How would that affect her character then?

Those are questions I hope might be answered in Frozen 3. I'm fine with whatever choices they make in terms of her sexuality, as precarious at that may be, but I just think it would be an interesting aspect of her character to explore whether or not she could have an equal, or whether or not she can finally come down to earth.

Tracy Lord: "How do I look?"

Seth Lord: "Like a queen. Like a goddess."

Tracy Lord: "And do you know how I feel?"

Seth Lord: "How?"

Tracy Lord: "Like a human. Like a human being.”

[raven-at-the-writing-desk]

Is it just me or has the card illustrations (specifically the groovy) been kinda bad lately? Like don't get me wrong most of the pre groovy are absolute bangers, but the groovies? Not so much. But lately there has been an obvious decrease in quality with anatomy, and even 😐 a whitewashing problem.

Take Lilia's dorm groovy for example— the piece is gorgeous, but whenever I zoom into his face the way they draw his face looks so off.

As for the whitewashing issue, I've noticed that Leona's beastly garb groovy had him very ashy looking (but some may argue that it's just the lighting casted on him)

Right now though the one that's been bothering me the most is the obvious whitwashing on Kalim's tsum groovy. We really can't argue that it's a lighting issue there, cause Jamil's firework card had a similar setting and he didn't look that light.

Personally, I think TWST’s Groovy illustrations have always been hit or miss since the beginning. I have similar issues with the faces in Lilia and Leona’s Dorm Uniform Groovies, and the anatomy seemed slightly off in a few others. I can’t find the original post anymore (I think OP didn’t tag it??), but I clearly recall an artist having spoken about how the pose in Epel’s initial Dorm Uniform art looked weird; they included drawings of how Epel’s spine and limbs looked vs how they should look to illustrate what they meant. Those are just a few examples of then and now though, and we have to keep in mind that if we include ALL available cards then the funky faces and weird posing/proportions only make up a very small percentage of what’s out there.

The more important issue at the moment is the coloring choices that were made for a few recent SSR event Groovies: Beastly Garb Leona and Tsumsted Kalim. They are pictured below with a few other card illustrations I pulled that have similar lighting (or as similar as I could find). You’ll notice (especially for Tsumsted Kalim’s Groovy) that the characters’ skin colors are much lighter than they should be.

Now I’ll be honest here 💦 I actually can’t tell (even when eyedropping the colors to compare; I don't even know if eyedropping is an accurate way to compare colors since the lighting and environment in every illustration is never EXACTLY the same) if Leona’s Beastly Garb Groovy is just the strong sunlight or if it has been whitewashed. I don’t have enough knowledge and/or experience with color theory and in real life to know for certain. However, as the Anon has said, that same argument cannot be made for the Scarabia duo. It’s particularly bad for Tsumsted Kalim because Yasmina Silk Jamil also had fireworks in the background, and his skin color is fine there. Sometimes artists purposefully use an altered color palate to achieve a different feeling in their pieces (for example, pastel colors for a soft, soothing look). I don’t think that was the case for Tsumsted Kalim because everything else in the Groovy art looks pretty true to color for the lighting (but again, I'm not an expert in coloring so I could be wrong). When taken in conjunction with Leona’s Beastly Garb… it could indicate a troubling pattern.

There’s been a lot of speculation going around for why this has happened, chief among that speculation being the TWST team has likely hired new staff and/or colorists (and Japan, being Japan, is pretty homogenous; it may be difficult to find artists with an understanding of how to color and shade darker skin tones). Again, these are just guesses circulating in the fandom. Nothing is confirmed, and nor does this excuse what has happened.

This has, very understandably, caused a lot of hurt and upset in the TWST fandom and community. So now the question is…

What can we do about it?

You can communicate your feelings to the TWST team! They have a form to collect thoughts and opinions from the playerbase, which can be accessed here.

PLEASE NOTE:

Be polite and professional. Nothing good comes out of anger, especially if the anger is directed at others; if you are rude and/or curse at the staff, they will be much less likely to hear you out.

Communicate in Japanese. The staff you are sending your complaint to are Japanese, and the game itself is Japanese (Beastly Garb Leona and Tsumsted Kalim are not yet out in the EN server, which is staffed by totally different people).

If you don’t know how to write in Japanese, this Twitter user has created polite templates to communicate our concerns with the whitewashing. (Their whole thread is great; please reference it if you need additional assistance!!) I would not recommend adding extra text, especially if you would be relying on a translation program to do so. Speaking in broken Japanese can be perceived as rude and will only detract from your message.

A similar situation to this occurred during the initial run of Fairy Gala; TWST had used “exotic” in its text, and after receiving an influx of feedback from the players, the devs went in and changed the dialogue to no longer use the term. It’s possible to make the change we want to see a reality if we respectfully make our thoughts known.

[markrosewater]

hey mark! recently people I know have been expressing issues with what I'm calling "vocabulary fatigue". Wizards has been recently utilizing a lot of very flavorful mechanic names and ability words, which is something i myself appreciate, as someone who plays a lot of limited and only needs to focus on a few of them at a time, but a lot of my friends are saying is making their experience with the recent sets worse, because they have to remember what cards do when it isn't super obvious from their actual text. In the past year or so we've had a lot of new "action batching" mechanics (by which i mean vocabulary that references a specific action or kind of action so that cards can more easily care about that action without spelling the action out every time) such as "the ring tempts you", "decend", "commit a crime", "collect evidence", "suspect", and "face a villainous choice" as opposed to older magic sets, which didn't deal with this design space as much. although other mechanics in the same vein exist, like Monsterous, their prolificness in the last year or so feels like complexity creep.

Although the names are flavorful and saving on card space as allows for powerful and interesting cards, the volume of new vocabulary for older pretty routine actions (such as making your opponent choose things, permanents entering the graveyard from anywhere, interacting with your opponent or their cards, or exiling cards from your graveyard to pay a cost) can feel incomprehensible and overwhelming at times. There's a reason "whenever you cast a noncreature spell" has bever been erattaed to "whenever you exhibit your prowess"

Thanks for reading! Have a great day.

The reasons for the vocabulary increase in the type of effects you’re talking about is the result of solving a core problem. Commander has become the most played tabletop format. In order to hit a threshold that a theme is playable in Commander, it has to appear on more cards than can possibly fit in a single set. In fact, more that can fit in three sets (so even a return to blocks wouldn’t solve this problem.)

The solution is to play into themes that are backwards compatible. At first, we just hit upon themes that Magic has been doing a long time (caring about card types, graveyard, typal, etc.). Eventually, though we start to both exhaust those and start to feel to repetitive.

One of our solutions was discovered in Dominaria with historic. What we call batching. If we combo existing things, but in a flavorful combination, we create new backward compatible themes that haven’t yet been the core of decks. Yeah, you’ve made artifact decks and legendary decks, but none with those two effects, plus Sagas, combined.

In order for batching to work, we need to give it a flavor to hold it together, and that requires vocabulary. The flavor also helps the mechanic feel organic to the set it’s in.

In short, player preferences create new design challenges, and this trend is one of the things design is doing to meet those challenges.

[assortedvillainvault]

Hi! I was browsing the Lord Shen tag and found your blog 👀. I loved the headcanons for ShenxReader through the wolf henchmen's pov ❤️.

Would you mind sharing some headcanons but from the pov of the fluffy Lord peacock himself?

Hi Anon, thank you so much!!

I'm so sorry that my Lord Shen Masterlist slipped my mind - I'm fighting tumblrs atrocious tag search to find my previous writings for him and get them on there for you. In the meantime please - have some more!

Lord Shen x Reader Headcannons

- This stuck up, mithery, hairpin tempered ball of anxiety and condescension is officially your problem now. I mean. You chose this, so I’ll leave it to you as to what end of the bad choices scale you’re landing on, but man. You sure picked.

- I also can’t get over the fact that – in China and most of the East: white is associated with death and sadness, and mourning. You not only picked the unhinged genocide gun bird, you picked the only person in all of China to be literally born emo via albinism.

- I will get back to the above, but I’m mcfucking losing it over the image of Shen being. The smaller of the two of you.

- Like if you were a smaller creature he could properly get his elegant noble stride on, nose in the air and tail gently swishing behind him as he circles you, admiring every angle and relishing the nervous, excited little glances you give him. He might not be a strictly predatory species but he sure loves that thrilling edge of not-quite-stalking. He’s too high class for the genuine article, that’s what he has the wolves for.

- But if you had the audacity to be larger than him?!

- He’d grind his teeth if he had any. He wants so badly to intimidate you – making sure to step with an extra click of metal coated talons, words honey-barbed and sticky as he looks for chinks in your armour, having to crane his head back and up to look you in the eye and- look- could, could you just- just lean down? Lean down for goodness sake just- there. There. Lovely. As he was saying…

- Shen going to go bananas planning the perfect courtship. Everything must be. Exactly. As he plans it. God forbid you trip on the stairs. If you bribe the guards to move all furniture two inches to the left you’re going to have a great time watching Shen’s eyelid twitch for twenty minutes as he tries to figure out what’s ticking him off.

- Want a shortcut? Say nice things about his cannon. No seriously, it’s not a euphemism (though it could be-)

- The cannon is the culmination of Shen’s ambitions, the reason for his exile, the demonstration of ingenuity that set him apart. Seeing you run a hand smoothly over the intricate castings and complimenting his life's work is going to fill him with so many butterflies he’ll have the wedding ready by noon.

- Of course he does, underneath all the royal snobbery and sass, really, genuinely like you. More than he ever thought he could ever like another person. Go you.

- ...He can’t contain the terror that you might not like him back. Not because of all the murder, no, that’s clearly not the issue. But because he isn’t perfect enough for you. Because he’s not enough.

- Shen popped out of his egg all but rocking the 2007 bangs and MCR soundtrack of his time: born the colours of death in a house and species traditionally all the colours of the rainbow will have been like a self fulfilling prophesy – unspoken but not forgotten as he grew up and internalised his inadequacy by striving for excellence in literally everything else in life.

- Excellence in the form of weaponry, security, excessive control and genocidal ruthlessness. Combined with ingenuity, high intelligence and paranoia: all wrapped in a package of straining courtly manners and a need to constantly have the upper hand.

- You keep taking the fucking rug out from under him by reversing the script and being nice. Even his nanny (soothsayer, who has having a great time munching popcorn and giving incidental commentary) gives him shit and drives him up the wall – yet you’re out here, smiling (how dare you-) and- and saying he looks good (he knows, knows he looks sickly and out of place, a reaper amongst royalty-) and – of course you want to hand his hand really, who wouldn’t (who would?) - he’s fine, he’s fine-

- If he dared to let you go, he’d shatter like a discarded doll.

- How does it feel, reader, to hold the fate of all China in the balance of your smile?

[doberbutts]

The other thing I liked about Being Human (US) is that the core cast are all incredibly flawed and damaged people who still love each other at their core and genuinely want things to work even though they make spectacularly stupid choices at times along the way.

Aiden is incredibly easy to trigger due to his laundry list of past and present issues and when he's triggered he doesn't shut down or go quiet. He gets ANGRY. He gets *violent*. There was a joke between my friend and I when we watched over the summer and holidays that he was a big fan of using neck snaps to solve his problems but was startlingly bad at dealing with the fallout except by continuing to kill people to cover up his problems. When he fights with Josh he gets personal, he's so combative and confrontational, and he wears that prickly exterior whenever someone sees through the stone mask and pokes at a fleshy bit a little too hard.

But we also see Aiden break down and cry. We see him sobbing uncontrollably as he loses control again and again and again. Every time he manages to scrape together a bit of happiness before either he or someone else fucks it all up and it blows up in his face. He wants to stop. He doesn't want to hurt people anymore. And he can't figure out how to do it because it's like hurting people and driving them away or killing them is the only thing he really knows how to do.

So many times while watching I would yell "talk to your fucking friends asshole" and he would continue to either shut them out or get close but lose his nerve halfway through and remain silent. He wanted that connection very badly and simply couldn't make it happen. The few times he did open up to Josh or Sally he was well received, which I think was really a bright point in the writing because it showed the audience that the problem was that Aiden couldn't figure out how to be vulnerable due to [redacted plot things] rather than because his friends were jerks.

And overall I think that balanced well with Sally, who's various exploits *also* usually blew up in her face, and Josh, who oscillates wildly between "sad and more than a little afraid of himself" and "picks weird hills to die on because it's literally the only way he manages to feel any amount of control in his life". Josh and Sally both frequently vent about things to Aiden, but he almost never reciprocated until pretty close to the end of the series. He hides things from them, he dodges questions, he finds convenient excuses to not talk about stuff, even when they prod and pry to get something out of him.

He only explains after things hit the fan and everything goes to shit. Usually, because his friends have been there to catch him when he falls, and he has to tell them *something* about why there's so much blood on his hands (sometimes literally) yet again. And they get mad at him, but ultimately they forgive him, because fuck, a werewolf and a ghost aren't really in any place to judge now are they. Even then, it's not usually the whole truth.

(And it's interesting, in the what-if scenario where they weren't there to catch him as he fell, just how bad things got)

But then he's afraid he's going to lose Josh, and he's afraid he's going to lose Sally, and he's afraid he's going to die, and he goes to Josh, and he says "I'm scared, and I don't know what to do".

And Josh stops, and realizes that Aiden has never asked him for help, not really, and has never actually been vulnerable with him, and has always worn the brave and stoic face even as things are melting down at catastrophic levels. And he says, I'm here.

Aiden is such a bad victim and he makes some real stinkers of bad choices along the way but they make sense for his character once you learn about all the shit that's happened since he became a vampire and how fucked up things got for him before he realized he needed out. And he backslides and he backslides and he backslides but he keeps trying because what's the point if he doesn't at least try.

Anyway the hill I will die on is that this show would have done numbers on tumblr if it came out slightly later. Ah well.

[raz-writes-the-thing]

That Smile

Negan x TransMale!Reader (GN pronouns)

Synopsis: Negan offers some very Negan-esque support when he discovers that the Reader has had to deal with some transphobic issues at the Sanctuary.

CW: transphobia, no slurs used, Negan being very Negan, Negan being suggestive (as per usual), no pronouns used for the Reader though it is specified that they are trans male.

Requests are: OPEN

“Oh, fuck,” Negan says, looking almost like he’s about to panic. Which is decidedly not a common occurrence for him. “Shit, handsome- I didn’t mean it. I was just breaking your balls a little bit.” 

You might have made a mistake here. Of all the people you could have screamed at- the leader of the Sanctuary was probably not the smartest choice. Oh, but you just couldn’t help it. 

Not everyone stared, and not everyone was rude. There was pockets of kindness here and there- people who understood who you were and respected you for who you were. 

As always, though, there were people who did not understand. People who looked at you weird or avoided you in the market. Negan had set out rules for basic respect, but that didn’t stop the occasional hate-speech or threat. It was the end of the world, after all, not Utopia. 

“You have no idea what this is like, Negan,” you say with a sneer. He sets his jaw but doesn’t reply, letting you vent. “Every day someone makes a comment just loud enough that I can hear, or someone shoves into my shoulder. Or, hell, just the other day- someone called me something that was… absolutely vile.” 

You point an accusatory finger at the man, whose gaze is getting darker with anger by the second. 

“And you!” You start to raise your voice, and Negan’s lips twitch as if he’s trying not to grin. “You let it happen. And I am so sick of everyone’s fucking shit!” 

Negan rubs a gloved hand over his chin, chuckling darkly as he does so. 

“You done, gorgeous?” He asks, or tells, really. There’s no room for argument with the way he unclenches his jaw. “Because I have something to say, and you? You are gonna listen.” 

Negan places Lucille carefully leaned against the table before rounding it to stand before you. You swallow thickly, not sure where this is going, but not sure you like it either. 

“I need you,” he says slowly while raising a finger to brush your temple softly. “To cast your big ‘ol brain back a few days and really think about what I’m about to ask you.” 

You stumble over a few attempts at speech before he shushes you softly. 

“The fuckhead that broke the rules? Called you something he really shouldn’t have…” His eyes flit between yours, lips spreading out into a grin that would send molten heat through a celibacy-practicing nun. “...when did you see him last?”

You let out a little ‘uh’ sound, trying to order your brain to stop tumbling around and work out the answer. It had been three days since the slur, and… now that you were really thinking about it. You hadn’t seen him since. Usually he was always lurking around to get another shot in.

The realisation must have shown on your face, because Negan let out a throaty chuckle. 

“See? Now you’re gettin’ it,” he says, leaning back against the table and crossing his arms. “Now, I know you wouldn’t want me killing anyone, so, don’t worry. He’s not dead.” You bit back the sarcastic comment that threatened to spill out.

Negan runs his tongue over his bottom lip as if savouring something very sweet. Your eyes track the movement, and you know he knows it.

“But that doesn’t mean he’s having a good time, either.” 

“What did you, uh, do to him?” You ask, voice breathy with desire. No one had defended you quite like this before. And if you didn’t know any better, you’d think Negan was flirting with you just to make a point. 

But it had been like this for months. Negan putting on all the charm when you were around, and doing his damndest to get you to open up to him. He didn’t care that you were trans, he liked you for you. 

You liked him too, of course. How could you not? Big strapping man with big dick energy, a leather jacket and a phallic bat? What wasn’t to love? 

“Oh, you know,” he chuckled. “Threw him the hole for a few days. Shit, I think he’s still in there.” 

You stifled a smile, knowing that the asshole was now suffering for his crimes. Well, shit- turns out Negan did give a shit about your rights. It was almost like he was an active protestor for Trans Rights. The thought made you laugh.

“I’ll have to make a trip down there to see if he’s learned his lesson yet.” 

This time you can’t bite back the smile, and he draws out an appreciative noise. 

“Oh, there he is,” he brushes your chin with his thumb. “There’s that handsome smile. Fuck, you really turn me on, you know that?” 

Your grin splits wider and blood rises to your cheeks. 

“I’m serious!” He defends himself. “My dick is so hard right now- I could cut diamonds.”

You role your eyes at his theatrics, but he knows that you enjoy his crude comments. He knows you want him. His gaze softens for a moment, and the sincerity you see there almost makes you melt. 

“No more hiding things from me,” he says. “Something happens- someone breaks the rules? You come find me.” Negan lets out a huff of a sigh, caressing your jaw now. 

“Can’t have my handsome man upset, can we? I just live for that smile.”  

You don’t even notice the grin spreading across your lips this time. 

“Yeah, that’s the one…”

[bluejaysandblackbats]

Catch and Release

Fandom: DC Comics, Batfam

Summary: AU where Jason doesn't die in the explosion and he and Tim end up attending the same high school months later.

Chapters: 12/?

Characters: Jason Todd, Bruce Wayne, Alfred Pennyworth, Tim Drake, Dick Grayson, Barbara Gordon, Sebastian Ives, Jack Drake, Janet Drake

Relationships: TBA

Additional Tag: Jason Todd Lives, Jason Todd-centric, POV Jason Todd, POV First Person, Tim Drake Has Issues, Tim Drake Has Issues, Tim Drake is Not Robin, Jason Todd is Not Robin (Anymore), Bruce Wayne Needs a Hug, Alfred Pennyworth is the Best, Alfred Pennyworth Knows, Stalker Tim Drake, Jason Todd Has Chronic Pain, Jason Todd Has PTSD, Angst with a Happy Ending, Unlikely Friends, Injury Recovery, Emotional Baggage, Rage, Bruce Wayne is Bad at Communicating

Chapter Twelve: Middle Child

Tim came with me to get my cast off as promised. I felt queasy like I did all the other times, but I leaned forward and covered my face until the feeling passed. I traded my crutches for a cane, and Tim sat beside me as I gently attempted to stretch my leg. “Woohoo! Last one, Jason!” the doctor cheered. I cracked a smile. I liked her. She’d removed every cast I had from the accident. At first, it was because I thought she was pretty, but I grew to like her demeanor. She had a kid —a toddler— and it sometimes bled into her work. She sometimes baby-talked at me, but I didn’t mind.

“How many casts have you had removed?” Tim questioned.

“The long-arm one, the hip spica, and now this one,” Jason replied, “She’s removed all three. The hip spica twice, though… The bones in this leg wouldn’t heal together, so I had to get surgery which meant I was in this cast for another period. So I guess she removed all five.”

“That hip spica was a yucky one, huh?” the doctor replied.

“Yeah,” I replied. My body had been through hell, but it was healing. Maybe I’d never be the same, but at least I could train again.

“You can go as soon as you stop feeling yucky, okay?” the doctor whispered. I nodded. She left me alone with Tim, so she could grab a treat from her office.

“Jason, are you okay?” Tim questioned.

“Yeah… I’ll feel better in a second,” I replied.

“Does the idea of him returning to finish the job freak you out?” Tim questioned. I never thought about it. I thought about all sorts of things in the hospital, but the clown rarely ever crossed my mind. I wasn’t scared of him. He played a dirty trick and caught me off guard, but he wasn’t the threat everyone imagined he was. The clown was unpredictable, and that’s what frightened people. But I knew better. He had a sick obsession with Batman and was in eternal competition with Robin, but he hated me the most. He hated me because I had a bond with Batman. Batman was different when he was with me. Dick told me that all the time.

“I’m not scared of him. I might be traumatized by what happened, but it could’ve been anybody… Tim, all that Party City freak did was use my birth mom to lure me in and catch me off guard. I hate him for what he did, but it could’ve been anybody,” I answered.

“Is he part of your-?”

I looked up at Tim and shook my head. “I hadn’t thought of him until you asked… And I have no intention of getting revenge. I want to do something on such a large scale that Bruce has no choice but to look at me. I want Bruce to tell me he was wrong,” I answered honestly.

Tim patted me on the back. “I trust you, Jason… And I’ll be there to back you up with whatever you choose to do,” Tim replied.

“Tim, why do you believe in me?” I questioned.

The doctor returned with stickers. I picked one to humor her, and Tim got one for being a good buddy. We met Mr. Drake in the lobby, and he took us for ice cream. I know it wasn’t something Tim’s dad was accustomed to doing, but I had a great time. Janet met with us at the ice cream parlor. For a moment, I felt like we were a family. Bruce was supposed to be like that with me. He was supposed to be my dad, spend time with me, understand me, and-. I missed that more than anything.

Tim enjoyed his parents, and he needed that. "And then, Jason starts quoting the book from memory like it's nothing," Tim half-exclaimed.

It snapped me out of the momentary sadness I felt. "Yeah, but that's not half as cool as when Tim showed me how to develop pictures in a real red room. He's kind of a genius," I smiled. Then my phone rang… And it shattered the moment into a million pieces.

“Sorry, one second. It’s my older brother,” I mumbled as I stepped away to answer his call.

“Dick-.”

“Are you having ice cream with another family on a school day?” Dick questioned. I took my glasses out of my shirt pocket and scowled at him. “Don’t be like that… I’m checking in on you. I heard you got your cast removed.”

“Did Bruce ask you to follow me?” I asked.

Dick shook his head as he crossed the street. “No… But he did say you were mad at him. Can I borrow you for a little while?” Dick asked. I wanted to be cruel, but he caught me in a great mood. I grabbed my cane and met him a quarter of the way.

Dick was cautious once we stood close to each other, not wanting to be the first to start an argument. “Did you throw up this time?” Dick asked.

“Funny,” I rolled my eyes, “And to think I was gonna tell you how much I missed you.” Dick hooked an arm around my neck, nearly knocking me off balance.

“What’s it gonna take to get you home?” Dick asked.

“For Bruce to be normal,” I replied.

“What was your problem with Bruce?” Dick questioned.

“Not a good time… But I’ll tell you when my friend’s parents leave town for work, I promise. Oh, by the way, he’s a big fan, so you’re invited to have ice cream with us, as much as I hate the notion of you meeting my best friend,” I replied.

Dick followed me to the table, and I reluctantly introduced him. “This is my older brother, Dick Grayson. You might recognize him from-.”

“Haley’s Circus,” Tim interrupted. He was practically foaming at the mouth. I hate to say it, but I was jealous.

I swallowed my pride and ate my ice cream because there was no point in me being a spoiled brat about sharing my new brother with my old one… And it was worth the goofy smile on Tim’s face. It felt good to see him smiling. I felt how older brothers felt when they gave the perfect gift. It was nice being able to do something for Tim again. Besides, he’d always be my brother first.

[ladinthehat]

I literally can't fall asleep because I remembered Wayhaven exists, and I am going to make this a problem not only for myself, but anyone else who sees this post as well. I don't even write posts but I really need to throw my thoughts out somewhere lmao

Warning: spoilers for every TWC book, what did you expect. Also talks about mommy/daddy issues and some mentions of harmful stereotypes about POC, both in media and real life. ALSO probably lots of mistakes and rambling, it's literally 3 am give me a break

Wayhaven is such a promising series of books that fell so flat with book 3, even though some could argue there were already issues popping up in book 2. I, personally, enjoyed it just as much as the first one, but that's up to anyone's opinion. Hold on, this deserves a whole list.

My personal and biggest gripe, MC's relationship with their mom. To write something so complex and then chuck it down to two choices (the choices being "forgive your mom" or "don't forgive your mom and everyone will make you feel like a piece of shit") feels so disappointing, especially if you consider what people with parental issues usually deal with irl. Of course there are people who choose to forgive their parent or not, but more often than not (and, as a result of that, what feels most realistic to write in a book) they end up somewhere in-between - it's a bittersweet relationship which you can either choose to continue or not, but the past memories and missed childhood can't just be forgotten and thrown under the rug. That's what MC's relationship with Rebecca could've been, too: a *complex* relationship that can either continue or get cut off completely, and it's a choice that should be respected, because a child that has been neglected has the full right to not trust their willingly neglectful parent again. And to some degree the author does try to achieve it, but in the end you will still have only two choices. And also, in Wayhaven you can literally feel what option author considers to be correct and not choosing that gets you punished severely, e.g. the carnival situation and every dialogue where you choose to not be cordial with Rebecca (the author never forgets to mention how you made everyone feel terrible. "Congrats you piece of shit, you ruined everything because you just can't accept that your mom wants to be buddy buddy again, ugh.") This pattern of turning complex situations into only having yes/no answers, with a negative choice having severe punishments, is such a recurring pattern throughout the whole book series that at this point it feels like a feature that I just didn't get (e.g you don't even get a choice if you want to join the agency or not, you just do, because that's the correct option). Also, I don't believe that literally no one, not even MC's best friends or partner, would try to see their side or god forbid agree with MC cutting contact with Rebecca.

You can literally feel that N and A are supposed to be the star children of TWC. While it was less obvious in book 1, it can't be ignored anymore in books 2 and 3. It does feel even more weird because M and F have the darkest complexions out of the cast, and are depicted as overtly sexual/flirty for absolutely no reason, to the point that sometimes it literally contradicts what the author established about the characters before (M can't handle most fabrics touching their skin and can't eat food because the taste of anything is too much for them, what do you mean they are hypersexual?? isn't sex one of the most stimulating things you can do that can literally be too much for a lot of people that don't even struggle with overstimulation on a daily basis??), but it doesn't feel appropriate to say too much on this issue as I'm literally as white as paper, not to mention that this topic has been brought up by many POC in the IF community who can have more nuance on this situation than I ever could. I can, however, talk about how inconsistent and over-exaggerated M and F's personalities are, compared to A and N feeling much more realistic and well-paced. I hate how M and F are mischaracterized in their own universe and all the meaningful things are overshadowed by "haha M likes sex and is lewd and aggressive" and "haha F is a silly lil' goober". Their romances suffer from it too, which brings me to-

The romance routes could be so much better. And I'm not talking about N or A obviously, even though that's another can of worms that I, frankly, don't want to open, but F and M. M is dumbed down to being aggressive, sexual and borderline feral at times, which are all GREAT traits to give all at the same time in your book to a person of color btw (they're not), but their scenes perform best when the author acknowledges that M is actually none of those things. Just them existing in the same space as MC and feeling at ease and relaxed (and, dare I say, vulnerable) feel much more intimate and rewarding than literal sex scenes, and I feel like that's what romance with M should've been about: two people, who are both lost and confused and overwhelmed in this new to them world (M from memory loss, MC from being thrown into the supernatural scene) bonding, finding comfort and familiarity in each other. Breaking all that buildup with innuendos and sexual propositions feels unnecessary, to be honest.

Continuation of the previous point, but the same could be said about F too. Poor F, the forgotten child of TWC; they're my absolute favorite, and it hurts to see them being thrown somewhere in the background as a comedic relief side character so many times. I feel like they could be the character who gets MC the most, even if they're not dating or particularly close. They have a difficult relationship with their mom, they're thrown into an unfamiliar world that's hard to navigate and it feels like everyone wants too much from them. You can't tell me that it's not some great exposition for a deeper connection between F and MC, both romantic and platonic, as well as an opportunity to explore anxiety and impostor syndrome/separation anxiety (not interchangeable, just feels like either one could fit F) in a seemingly optimistic character. But nah, they like Rebecca and are just a funny little fella. Definitely not playing into more media stereotypes of the only black character in the main cast being a flirty comedic relief.

At this point TWC is going to rival One Piece on the amount of meaningless fillers. And they wouldn't feel so meaningless if the author didn't try to mix slice-of-life and supernatural, or at least didn't mix them so poorly, but most of the time an occasional meaningless scene is thrown into the plot for some short-term tension for what feels to be absolutely no reason other than increasing the word count. Take the blood drive thing as an example of this: what was this scene for?? It started unnecessary tension, had a weird solution and just offered nothing to the rest of the book except for allowing Bobby to finally confront the RO of choice in a very awkward manner. I feel like the author promising 7 books (correct me if I'm wrong, but I remember something like that mentioned in the earliest tumblr posts) feels like a the author chewing off more than she can bite. And it sucks, because had she not had that amount of books (and subsequently a gargantuan word count) looming over her head, we could have had more actually meaningful and fulfilling scenes like ones in the bakery, literally my favorites. It could benefit the pacing, worldbuilding and reader enjoyment greatly.

I could write so much more but at this point I could just go on forever lol

[cy-cyborg]

Maybe I just didn't see it because I was trying to avoid spoilers, but I'm kind of shocked at how much disability rep is in Baldur's Gate 3. Both in the way of the main cast and just casually in the NPC's and background characters - and I've only just gotten to that party scene in act one (I keep restarting because there's so many things I want to try with different characters lol)

So far I've encountered Wyll (prosthetic eye - and he actually refers to it as such which is personally a big deal to me, fantasy settings almost never use the word prosthetic unless it has a negative connotation), Karlach (heavy scarring and maybe her heart, depending on how you want to interpret that, she also seems to stim a lot in her idle animation/is very blunt and could possibly be read as either autistic or ADHD), and the two little teifling kids, Mol (missing one of her eyes/scarring on her face) and Donnie (non-verbal and probably autistic, based on the narrator's description of how he seems to find eye-contact painful/won't look at you). Very early and minor spoiler, but tav can also loose their eye, which you and wyll can bond over lol.

Not to mention the character's who are coded as disabled like Gale (who's curse seems to function enough like a disability/chronic illness that I'd consider him disabled within the context of the world, and it seems other characters do too).

Like I said, I'm not very far into the game and that's already 5, possibly 6 depending on player choices. I also considered adding Shadowheart to the list for chronic pain, but I haven't progressed her story enough to see where that's going yet, so for now I'm not including her. Are they all good rep? honestly, it's not bad. not great, but overall, not bad as far as games go. There's a few issues I've noticed (outside of gale and karlach, they don't seem to impact the main characters much, and tav instantly gets a magic cure-type prosthetic - though ironically mine seems to be bugged and isn't working, so I'm not getting the buff its supposed to give you lol) but it's leagues ahead of other fantasy rpg's I've played which mostly relegates any disabled folks to npc beggars.

Honestly, just the number alone, combined with the fact that none of them have been turned into sob-stories or even feel forced is a big plus in my book. They just exist like every other character, playable or otherwise. That on it's own is just refreshing.

[eyesofshan-if]

For my MC it's less an issue of loyalty to Hae and more loyalty to the emperor/empress. If the commander wasn't who they were or their master was anyone else they would flip sides in an instant. Not out of hatred for Hae but out of love for their culture and people. To see them be free and recognized as valid people by any means necessary. But seeing the emperor/ess treat them as "relatively" equal. Seeing them attempt to do right by MCs people albeit by subtler means. The one person that has the power to change things from within. Makes the commander want to give them a chance.

Could some of it be caused by an unhealthy amount of idolization spurred on by the emperor/ess saving them as a child? Most definitely. Perhaps a hint from the commander's unspoken attraction to the emperor/ess? Oh yeah. The commander is a complicated person who's loyalties are pulled in many different directions at any given moment. There are items on the scales that they aren't even totally aware of. And like any complicated being they are willing to reason their way through their choice. Even if they have to partially gaslight themselves to do it.

it's supposed to be hae, don't worry!

i do understand what you mean — i like that the commander's motivations and character can be as interesting and nuanced as the rest of the cast. i do think that every commander, though, will feel some sort of idolisation/devotion to yongsun, due to them being the ones who saved them. not to mention that yongsun was also the commander's only form of support during their formative years as a youth isolated in a foreign land.

circumstances and motivations will definitely get more and more complex and layered with the more people the commander encounter and the experiences that they will face. i'm looking forward to see if people's mind will change then!

[dangermousie]

While I am not in the least shipping Chu Qiao with YY this time around, I do like him as a character a lot. And I think the main reason is he is a rare person who accepts responsibility for his fuck ups and outcomes of his actions or inactions.

Think of the scene when he visits Yan Xun in jail. YX, desperately, keeps asking him whether he did X, Y, and Z - all actions that contributed to the platform tragedy (not warning him, preventing his escape etc etc etc.) And YY admits to it all even though there are explanations or excuses for each and every one of these.

He provides none of those explanations or excuses because he gets something most people do not - that all those explanations and excuses would be insults to Yan Xun, that all they would be is attempt for YY to justify himself as not that bad, but none of them would change the ultimate fact - his actions and his inactions (even if different in gradation or kind from what YX believes they are) all led to Yan Xun on that platform, being broken over and over. Trying to justify himself would be trying to go "I am also suffering! see, I also have pain" to the actual victim.

The closest he comes to that is this:

But he stops after that one sentence escapes him. Because ultimately whatever he did or didn't do, he realizes it all comes to this:

He protects them from outside prison (the only way YX and CQ survive the waves of assassins is because of him) but once again, neither knows because for all his coldness, for all his passivity, YY understands what is fair and what is deserved for him, and does not deviate.

PS As I was telling @aysekira, I have pictured LGX as my Mo Xi from Yuwu for years and years but never could figure out who I wanted for Gu Mang. And now I am going - aaaaaaa just have Shawn Dou be Gu Mang in my head cast. The look, the vibe, hell even the fact that he's a little shorter than LGX all work. And hey, they totally were great at both jumping into beds or fighting to the death. So mmmm.

PPS I normally loathe love triangles, but rewatching PA made me realize something - I don't really hate the trope, it's just that it's almost never done to my satisfaction. It's always ML and SML clearly delineated so you know the outcome/importance so what is the point. Also, it's either an OTP and an annoying interloper who has no chance or FL is waffling and if she doesn't care enough to pick, why should I? BUT!!!!! The very few times it's done right, I lose my mind - this, Bu Bu Jing Xin, Lost You Forever. By that I mean, both choices have to have equal narrative importance and arcs and time (PA for example, is definitely a dual ML drama in the traditional, not "we are putting a fig leaf over a danmei adaptation" form), but also I am a sucker of there is a possibility for either depending on reactions and the world and/or FL loves both differently for different reasons during different points in her life. This is vvvvvvvv hard to pull off right but when they do, mmmmm!

PPPS I don't usually go "threesome would solve all your problems" (and here it definitely won't since YX's issues are not of the type to be healed by love) but it would be at least worth a try? Chu Qiao definitely has enough energy for both of her dudes, YY is icy enough he needs two people to melt him and clearly poor YX needs double the TLC. win win win, say I.