#and they barely whitewashed him!!!! | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

floralovebot · 11 months

Note

What are your thoughts on how nickelodeon made the Princess of Linphea lightskinned? Was this them trying to whitewash Linphea?

That's interesting!

I mean listen I wouldn't put it past them yknow? This is rainbow and nickelodeon, two companies very cozy with whitewashing and racism. But I do think this could've been more innocent on their part. We didn't see a lot of the people of Lynphea in the first three seasons but we did see some, notably Miele who is also very lightskinned and could very well be white or very white-passing.

I think it's also important to remember that Rainbow is,, pretty bad with racial sensitivity and they treat all of the planets as very "color blind" so to speak. Like Melody is considered the "Asian planet" yet the princess is likely wasian but so white-passing that most fans thought she was completely white. We've also seen multiple other characters from Melody that don't "look" asian (obvs being asian doesn't have a "look" but in the realm of animation and rainbow racism? yeah they do). Nabu and Helia are both heavily asian-coded, yet Nabu (and his family) is from Andros while Helia is implied to be from Lynphea or Solaria.

We also see multiple shots of the crowds on other plants like Domino and Solaria where you can see characters that are definitely Not White. And while those characters could easily be from a different planet, they're also usually wearing the clothing associated with that planet and are considered Part of the people.

Rainbow often mixes different races and ethnicities for literally all of the planets. Like the argument that a character couldn't be from one planet because they aren't a specific race does not work in the winx universe. All of the planets are incredibly "mixed". And again, while there's obviously a discussion to be had about whitewashing cultures, being color blind, uncomfortable implications of colonization, etc, the princess of Lynphea being a white girl or at least partially white-coded or white-passing is actually really on brand for them and not something that I would entirely blame Nickelodeon for.

#and listen im Not saying that these planets wouldnt be mixed or cant be mixed #i mean obviously just look at earth #the way rainbow does it just usually comes off as very color blind racist whitewashing yknow the usual vibes from them #rainbow never intended for any of the planets to represent a specific group of people #the only one they really did that with was melody and even then it was Barely #like it is still very much the East Asian plus occasional southeast asian planet #but we still see characters of other races and ethnicities on melody #we also see other asian coded characters Not from melody #like... rainbow just never actually meant for any of the planets to be That Specific #it may have been completely unconscious but i wouldnt be surprised if it was a very conscious decision on their part #its ironic now obviously with all of the whitewashing and racism but iginio was originally very excited about winx being diverse #him wanting winx to be diverse is literally the reason that we have characters like flora and aisha #so i wouldnt be surprised if them making the planets very Mixed and Ambiguous was a conscious decision #and again thats not to say that they did it in the best way #more often than not it comes across as tone deaf or straight up racist #but yeah ANYWAY i really don't think nick is at fault for krystal being white/white-coded #that's definitely on rainbow and they likely weren't Trying to whitewash lynphea as it was already like that #answered

3 notes · View notes

teeth-cable · 1 month

Text

I need more people to talk about how just like the POC designs, the writing is terrible at clueing the audience what race and ethnicity the characters are.

Beside stereotypes, the racial coding in the writing is little to non-existence. The characters don’t have mannerisms from their cultures, speak in slangs or idioms relating to their group from their time periods, or make cultural references.

Without having to rely on outside sources (Livestreams, looking up VAs, leaked audition sheets, etc), the only characters I would successfully guess would be Vicky, Val, and Velvette, and even then, it doesn’t mean the racial coding is good.

Vicky is the only one from this list whose racial coding isn’t atrocious. I can tell she’s Latino because she curses in Spanish, but that’s it. This is admittedly nick-picky , but I wish when cursing she would have used Salvadoreño specific slang and curse phases to signal she’s Salvadoreña.

Val, I can tell is Latino too, because of his accent and him cursing in Spanish, but it’s egregious. The accent fluctuates so much, it’s strong, then weak, then strong again. Not sure if the VA was struggling or if this was an intentional direction given to him, though the fact, I and other people were confused, at the direction, speaks for itself. Another issue with his accent is how it’s sexualized, contributing to the Latin Lover stereotype of his character.

Velvette, I won’t sugarcoat it. I wouldn’t even guess she was supposed to be black though the writing or the majority of her designs until the finale. The finale, the last episode of the season and the only time she has textured hair with her screen time being around two minutes and sixteen seconds in total.

Visual designs isn’t where race coding ends. This is important to remember because it ignores the good coded characters (King Dice from Cuphead, Darwin from TAWG, the Funk trolls from Dreamwork’s Trolls) and how Viv failed and could have done the racial coding better.

For Viv, she has to rely on other coding methods too because there are characters who aren’t humanoid enough, or even humanoid at all, for visual coding to work. There really isn’t anything I can say to explain why the race coding sucks beside Viv doesn’t care about representing POCs.

I wanted to create this post to highlight how Viv fails at coding in every aspect. The fandoms and critics shouldn’t praised her for giving Velvette textured hair or darkening Sera’s skin from her leaked audition sheet. We need to stop praising creators, especially white ones, for doing less than the bare minimum (The bare minimum being making POC characters look POC) when creating POC characters, or worse, justify it. I’ve seen people tried to justify the terrible POC designs by using one of Carmilla’s daughters as an example, as if one decent POC design in a sea of ashy and euro-centric or erased features for the majority of the POC cast suddenly invalidates the criticisms.

I’m also getting tired of the fandom making posts questioning why people have and still draw the POC characters as white, as well as people harassing artists for accidental whitewashing. I’m hate the whitewashing too but in this case, it’s different because this is Viv’s own fault due to her poor racial coding. Not every fan will have the same intense knowledge you do or even should, to know what a character’s race or ethnicity is, that’s Viv’s responsibilities as the creator.

Mind you, these were the human designs we had before the show aired. Alastor being mixed creole and Niffty being Japanese yet they look white as hell here.

#꧁rambles꧂#hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel critical #hazbin hotel criticism #hazbin critical #vivziepop critical #vivziepop criticism

228 notes · View notes

wroteclassicaly · 10 months

Text

A/N: I can’t sleep, I miss Eddie, and we still going through it, babes… So I channeled it into this. Love y’all, and thank you for making my dark days brighter ❤️

Warnings: Hurt that ends in comfort, angst with a happy ending, friends to lovers, fluff, depression, anxiety, mentions of past trauma/injury (Eddie’s wounds), & mental illness (reader has bipolar disorder).

The noise is soft, quiet enough that you can hear it if you lay to listen for a few seconds. Then it raises in octaves, a few clatters and curses. And despite the haze of your mood, a brief bit of fog dissipates, pinching your brow into an amused raise.

“Shit, fuckin’… slap my ass and call me your whore.”

You cover your mouth with a snort, as your fuzzy sock clad feet touch hardwood, and you make your way into the night light lit hallway. There’s a buttery glow from your kitchen that spills out around the corner, giving you a perfect view of your overly theatrical friend — Eddie Munson, as you come into the eye-line. He’s clad in a black t-shirt and whitewash jeans, his pizza decorated socks covering his own feet. His curls are damp, bordering on drying, and he hums a rhythm as you watch him flip a golden shaped object with your Goodwill gifted spatula. You perch yourself against the paneled wall, a warmth stirring in your belly.

He’s had to have used your spare key, and now he’s here before it’s barely even daylight — making something in your kitchen? First off, he wakes up this early? And second, he can cook?

That’s what leaves your mouth, following a series of scolding laughters when he’s clearly startled and drops the utensil on the stove. His rings clink together as he pinches his shirt collar, and you want to apologize, an instant guilt brimming you at surprising him like this. After everything that happened a few months ago, you really should’ve thought your entrance through (despite this being your own home). Eddie tuts, a smirk suddenly finding him amongst his Bambi eyed mirth.

“You scared the shit out of me, kiddo. Thought you were another hoard of bats coming for my other nipple.” He snatches up the utensil and flips it Steve Harrington style, calming your sudden anxiety, and easing your guilt.

You make your way over beside him, bare hip resting against the kitchen counter. He smiles softly, pouring in (what you now see is pancake batter) more of the mixture, flashing a wink your way. You look so fucking perfect and soft, just in socks, panties, and your oversized shirt with stars and crescent moon prints scattered about on it. He’s used to seeing this on you, but it never gets old. When you nursed him back to health after he was released from the hospital, you both grew a lot closer, having been mere acquaintances beforehand.

Changing his dressings, soothing his nightmares, helping him in and out of the shower — you took care of him in ways Eddie never knew existed. You were fearless, you were brave, you were funny, you were smart, you were beautiful and sexy, and as Nancy Wheeler had put it — he was totally fucking in love with you, like old classic — tickle your belly and balls type of romance movies. Once he had reluctantly left to return to the trailer with his uncle to repair the damage, he found that his desire to be near you had increased. And all was going well, until you started staying away from everyone, your voice languid and breathless when he’d call. He was worried it was your own processing of things that occurred, even if you’d been through it a few more years than he had, but Wheeler came through again with her knowing.

You were dealing with something that Eddie recognized as ‘manic depression’. He’d heard about it, seen it printed on the pamphlets in the nurse and guidance counselor’s office. Bipolar disorder. Nancy had explained (with the help of Steve) that you get like this sometimes, that it almost always follows your elevated periods of elated euphoria. Combine that with everything else that happened to you — Eddie immediately went into protective care mode.

He’d gotten up, showered, dressed, and phoned Harrington since he wasn’t able to drive yet. Steve came without question, especially fast on his way when Eddie mentioned the errands were for you. Both boys had gone to the local fabric shop, purchased the curtain and rod, tripped to the grocery store, and Steve had dropped Eddie off. He used his spare key and got to work on his speciality: chocolate chip flapjacks. He intended on surprising you with them, maybe waiting until he thought you were awake.

He didn’t mean to startle you, nor upset you. He’s quick to ease and relax, joking with you, praying you’re not mad that he’s here, invading you, your space, and whatever you’re going through.

Eddie flips the last cake, sprinkling in a few chips, and he’s flashing a cheshire grin, one that fades to a crooked tilt of his lips. “M’ sorry… I didn’t mean to, sort of… break in here? I planned on waiting — shit, that sounds creepy. No, I just wanted to have this ready for you… whenever you might, maybe want to have it?”

You cause his heart to swell ten times in size when you smile and reach up to push a lock of his curls off his forehead. “I’m glad you’re here.”

You’ve put an old movie on TV as you devour the fluffy, butter and syrup covered mountains. Whatever Happened To Baby Jane. Like you, Eddie is comforted by classic horror films, and can easily fall asleep to the controlled atmosphere they contain. When forks clatter against floral printed ceramic, and you take Eddie’s plate, deciding to forgo the dishes, he makes a beeline for the remaining bag, showing you the other items. You nearly cry on the spot, emotions circulating that you aren’t prepared to deal with today.

Turning off the living room television, you follow Eddie into your bedroom and help as he mounts the new rod and hangs your blackout bedroom curtains. And you… maybe sneak a few looks at the way his shirt rides up and his jeans tighten across his ass. It doesn’t take long before he’s got them secured, first breaks of dawn light spilling in through your blinds and illuminating his sweet features. Your fingers itch to touch, and you think he might reach for you, might feel the same wild, heart racing sense of vertigo, yet being serenely satiated.

“Oh yeah, here.” He slides his wallet from his back pocket, the chain dangling across his palm, and he pulls a small square card with a quote on it — out, handing it to you.

One day you will tell your story of how you overcame what you went through and it will be someone else’s survival guide

Below it, you recognize his doodling. A hand drawn, mini bouquet of daisies. He might not be able to afford real flowers, but he can use what skill he does have and draw them for you. He just hopes that you don’t mind. Your eyes are brimmed full of tears when he looks back up to catch your reaction. His gut sinks into his ass, and he fears he overstepped or set something off.

Hell, probably both.

He tries to backtrack. “No, hey. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean for that to make you upset, sweetheart. I just… I was trying to find something to think of to say, because my words kind of get lost in my mouth, catapulting into the space of my brain.”

“Eddie, it’s okay.” Your voice is jagged, tone being dragged over fragments of emotion, throat swollen and damp with it.

He keeps going, more bold to be vocal now. “I think that it’s okay for you to ride it out here. You don’t need to force yourself into ideas of sunshine and physical activity. You’ve been through so much shit, and if your brain is on fire, then you deserve to put it out and let it fuckin’ rest.” He approaches you cautiously, tone gentle and warm like honey going down, almost raspy with it. “You don’t need to force yourself to be okay. Not with anyone, and sure as hell not with me. I mean, you’ve seen my guts hanging out and my nipple ripped off, I’d say we’re well past pretending, aren’t we?”

You’re speechless, body growing heavy and eyes tired. You can’t convey the hope that blooms, popping a bubble through the haze of the fog inside you. It’s not much, but it’s enough to help your psyche stop the race and let you breathe. Eddie is able to sense your fatigue, and he reaches out to squeeze your shoulders, motioning to the hall. “You close these on up and I’ll call you later tonight, yeah?”

He gets about two steps away from you and you’re calling for him. It’s comedic how fast he turns around. “Eddie? Will you stay?”

You’d turned the movie back on, on the set in your room, curtains closed and leaving the expanse shrouded in the glow of the set. Your head is resting on his chest, his jeans on the floor, legs tangled in yours beneath the patchwork quilt. The air conditioner is going, right along with the steady beating of two hearts, and Eddie doesn’t stop you when you knuckle-nudge his splayed palm up, pressing his fingers open to slide your own through. He accepts, squeezing, lacing, looking at you through the opening of light, and you lean into the kiss he presses to your crown. You’ll talk about things later, but for now… It’s okay.

456 notes · View notes

octoberwitchsblog · 5 months

Text

Just finished the first episodes of the Crown's last season and it's safe to say that a more vulgar shitshow never saw the sight of the screen. Everything, from the treatment of Diana into this constant victim, to the villainization of the Al-Fayed family (as if Mohammed would give two fucks about anything else than justice for his only boy), without forgetting Charles' whitewashing, is absolutely vulgar in every way. Representing the only Arab characters of your show like literal fame-diggers in order to make the royal family appear more "dignified" is honestly borderline racist.

It's amazing to me how those writers take such a distorted version of the truth and treat Diana and Dodi, and even Mohammed Al-Fayed, DEAD PEOPLE, like pawns in their romanticization of the royal family. I mean, Diana appearing as a ghost to Charles to absolve him of literaly destroying years of her life ? Really ? The first seasons of the show got us used to better quality and better respect of the complexity of these characters. This is just becoming a cheesy and biased documentary instead of being the nuanced portrait of one of the most complex institutions in the world. What a disappointment. The whole thing is barely saved by the exceptional performances of all of these actors, but even they deserves better than this fanfiction writing.

#the crown #princess diana #elizabeth debicki #queen elizabeth ii #dodi al fayed #mohamed al fayed #king charles iii #diana spencer #the crown netflix #the crown season 6 #dominic west

167 notes · View notes

queen-breha-organa · 1 year

Text

So ahead of the Bad Batch season 2 release, Brad Rau (the series director) has given an interview with Collider.

In this interview, he’s asked about Unwhitewash The Bad Batch and I want to take a moment to talk about his response. The interview snippet is below, and you can click the link to see the entire conversation:

Interviewer: Okay, okay. I also wanted to touch on something that comes up a lot in the Star Wars fandom. I know you're both on Twitter, so you may have seen it: "Unwhitewash The Bad Batch." I know that Season 2 was, I think, almost completely finished by the time Season 1 was already on our screens. So I'm curious to know if that's something you're going to address or at least acknowledge moving forward with seasons.

Rau: We listened to all the concerns of the fans. Interestingly, in Season 1, before Season 1 came out, we're always doing this, we went back to look at the skin tones, and we made some corrections to make sure that we're being true to the legacy of the clones in Clone Wars. Absolutely, 100%

-Collider, 'The Bad Batch' Season 2 Showrunners on Working With Dave Filoni and & Creating the Clones' Personalities

I have multiple problems with this response, and it’s implications.

First, “We listened to all the concerns of the fans”. This is not evident now, nor has it been evident in the past. This interview is the first time we’re seeing a formal response to this issue. Saying you are listening, and showing you are listening, are two separate things.

Second, “we went back to look at the skin tones”. Setting aside the fact that whitewashing is more than just skin tone, it’s evident that no one paid any attention to accurate skin tones for any characters.

Besides the Clones, Kanan, Depa, and Fennec are all lighter than their original animated/live action counterparts. This skin tone lightening is a dismissal of the character’s and actor’s cultural and racial identity.

Third, “we made some corrections to make sure that we're being true to the legacy of the clones in Clone Wars”. The Clone Trooper animation models in TCW are also heavily whitewashed. Going back and referencing whitewashed and inaccurate models does not allow for improvement, rather, it allows for a continuation of the original problem.

Temuera Morrison is a Māori man. He plays Jango Fett, who is the Clone template. This means, all Clone Troopers should look like him. Temuera is the template, not outdated and whitewashed animation models. His round features, brown skin, dark eyes, and curly hair are the template.

This response from Brad Rau is not just inaccurate, but it’s disrespectful. It’s a blatant dismissal of issues while also implying they did the bare minimum when they really did nothing at all.

This continued intentional ignorance and dismissal keeps proving that LucasArts does not care about taking responsibility for their actions, or providing accurate and respectful representation for People of Color.

#Star Wars #the bad batch #anti bad batch #Star Wars the clone wars #Clone wars #unwhitewashtbb #unwhitewash the bad batch #uwwtbb #racism #fandom racsim

665 notes · View notes

magdelanesingerin · 9 months

Text

I have my reasons why

This is a companion piece to @spielzeugkaiser 's Lovechild AU which continues to grab me by the throat and shake me around by the emotions. Especially after the recent update with Vesemir taking Jaskier and Milek to Kaer Morhen while Geralt was…indisposed, I found myself last night imagining all of the worst case scenarios that must have gone through Jaskier’s mind when he considered telling Geralt about Milek, and how those fears must have evolved over time. Soooo, THIS.

Jaskier is chasing Geralt’s retreating back down an impossibly long, whitewashed hallway.

“Geralt wait!”

The Witcher stalks on without so much as turning his head.

“I’m…I’m pregnant.”

The light seems to echo the throb of his panicked heartbeat once the words are free, pulsing brighter and brighter around him. Geralt stops and shakes his head, turning back just enough so that Jaskier can see the look of disdain on his face.

“I know,” he growls disgustedly. “I’m a Witcher, Jaskier. You think I couldn’t smell it on you? I knew before you did.”

“But…then why…Geralt…don’t leave me…” he stumbles forward but can’t get closer. The space between them stretches strangely.

“You and your bastard whelp aren’t my problem.” Geralt starts moving away again, and Jaskier can’t contain the words that burst out of his chest like a flock of birds, too loud and brittle in jagged shapes he can almost see fluttering through the air.

“It’s yours. The baby. It’s yours.”

Geralt turns slowly in the too-bright hallway, his face twisted in a snarl. The shape of him looks sharp and vicious outlined against the white walls. It hurts to look at him. He seems to grow to fill the narrow space until he looms over Jaskier like a mountain.

“Fuck,” he sneers. “I knew you were pathetic, Bard, but this is a new low. To lie to me about something like this to make me stay with you?”

“It’s not a lie. Not a lie. There was only you.” Jaskier tries to speak but his words fall out of his mouth silently and shatter on the floor without ever being heard. He wraps his hands protectively over the curve of his belly to shield it from the shards as they scatter.

“Witchers are sterile. It’s impossible.”

The white walls of the hallway fall apart and become the white sky of an open hillside, wind whipping around them as Geralt shouts at him, teeth bared, eyes wild.

“Why would you say that to me? Are you really that cruel and selfish? Of course you are, what else would you be! Haven’t you ruined my life enough?!”

Jaskier’s feet are suddenly scrabbling on a slope of loose shale and he feels himself start to fall.

He wakes with a sob, body curled uncomfortably into a tight space in the back of a wagon. His legs are cramped, his back twitching and screaming at him as he jerks to consciousness. He grits his teeth against the spasming muscles and tries to stretch what he can in the space allowed, cradling his rounded belly. He can feel his baby shift and kick, and rubs his palm over them soothingly.

continue on Ao3

#geraskier lovechild #spielzeugkaiser #a/b/o au #nightmares #stress dreams #jaskier #maybe I'll write something HAPPY for this verse at some point eh?#lol probably not

312 notes · View notes

bijoumikhawal · 10 months

Text

anyway I am going to spoil everyone's fun. The Mummy is a racist movie, it's frustrating that it's popular and no one discusses that, and let me explain why

Whitewashing/brownface/self orientalism. The Carnahan's are meant to be mixed race. Their actors are white. Oded Fehr is white and a significant portion of his career has been playing exotic brown people in media made for white people, specifically while weaponizing the ethnic ambiguity he does have. Imhotep is white- insult to injury, his actor is an Afrikaner! Playing a pre-colonial African character! The only Egyptians played by people who arent white are the sex pest warden, Dr. Bey (also a minor character who dies), and Anck-su-namun. None of their actors are Egyptian.

The portrayal of Egyptian men. The warden and Jonathan are both portrayed as pathetic, weak, morally circumspect, and the warden is a pervert. Imhotep is also a pervert, frankly. The Egyptian public at large- mostly male crowds and male workers- are literally canon fodder and senselessly killed on multiple occasions. They're turned into mindless zombies, with no consideration given to what happens to them afterwards. Did hundreds of people just die? In public? The only two Egyptian men that aren't utterly horrible are Evie's boss, Dr. Bey, and Ardeth.

The portrayal of Egyptian women. The only two we actually hear speak is Evie and Anck-su-namun, both of whom have orientalist tropes applied to them- Evie, when they make her dress "local", and Anck-su-namun with the whole titlating "the pharaoh has me walk around naked and covered in wet body paint so no one can touch me without him knowing" nonsense- similar tropes are applied to Ardeth, frankly, with how his tattoos are portrayed, his ethnic background, etc. They specifically chose tattoos a Western audience would still find sexy (which aren't based on the actual local tattooing traditions). Face veils in early 20th century Egypt didn't really look like that, even the ones you might call flirty, and I find portrayals that make Ancient Egyptian society's overall often greater comfort with bared skin into titillation for the audience pretty offensive, especially as there are currently existing cultures in Africa viewed through lenses like that. It's not merely ahistorical, it's apart of a broader issue with how living people are viewed by others.

This is more of a me thing, other Egyptians may not agree: I think mummies as a horror trope are racist. The key fear to mummy movies is that white people might get punished for disturbing the graves of the honored dead. You are asked to identify with literal colonizers and view the local population as antagonistic (past and present in this case), especially in this movie, which is set before England started pretending it wasn't controlling Egypt (and by the damn way, ask ANY Egyptian when the country got independence and we'll say 1956. Between 22 and 56, England still had explicit control over some of the government, notably foreign relations and military, it used this an excuse to justify control of Sudan, and it was militarily occupying the country, especially the Suez area. When King Farouk tried to make a decision they didn't like, they put his palace under seige. That is not independence. Whoever made the 1922 declaration the first result on Google is manufacturing apologia for imperialism).

#cipher talk #There is a great deal of complexity with the Abdeen Palace incident and I don't think Farouk was in the right- I think the royal fam were #Fucking idiots frankly and I'm glad we're rid of them. But the fact that it happened???#the mummy 1999 #ardeth bey #Like Britian didn't have moral reasons to oppose Farouk's politics. It was purely a matter of who they were allied to #Anyway. Duh the stupid mummy movie is racist but I have personal beef with the stupid mummy movie

374 notes · View notes

frostycatblr-fandom-files · 7 months

Text

A (Hair)Cut Above The Rest [Hunter x Fem!Reader]

Warnings and Information: Trying to brute force my motivation to write by writing this in the course of an hour or so, so blame any spelling/grammar/plot mistakes I didn't catch in the editing on the caffeine. Undescribed fem!reader. Hunter is not described completely accurately to how he's depicted in The Bad Batch show (meaning not whitewashed) and is having a little hair trouble. Reader helps him out. Mando'a pet names are used. Order 66? Don't know her. [I got a haircut recently and I'm gonna have Hunter thoughts about it apparently.]

Word-count: 1,688

Through a turn of events that would take too long to recap, it has been you and the sergeant of Clone Force 99 aboard the Havoc Marauder for the past four days, and only you and the sergeant. You haven't minded traversing the stars, just the two of you, but you suspect he's beginning to become antsy for one reason or another the longer you and Hunter have been away on a supply run.

Several times now you've caught grumbling and grimacing every occasion he has to adjust the crimson bandana for any reason.

He's being as discreet as he can be, but you just get this feeling that Hunter is growing so uncomfortable the longer you're away from his brothers. "How much longer until we get back to the rest of the squad on Saleucami?" When he asks you this question, it's through gritted teeth and measured breathing, like he's trying to reign in his temper or something. Stave off panic, perhaps.

You look at the astronav and perform a quick mental estimate with a shrug. "Probably a day, or less. Why?"

"I don't think I can wait that long…" Hunter swears bitterly under his breath as he rips the knot of his bandana apart, and lifts the thick, curled brown hair off the back of his neck. "It's my hair," he explains with a flushing face, "normally one of my brothers helps me with this when it gets too long, but it's just you and me right now, mesh'la. I really need your help. I don't think I can wait another day before I can get this extra weight off my head and neck. Please, Ka'ra…"

He's near-desperately asking you for help in wrangling his hair, even buttering you up with pet names in Mando'a. Beautiful. Star.

Before he can beg again, you agree to help. Maker help you for having such a tender heart; never one to turn away a friend in need. "I'm not exactly a cosmetology school graduate, but I'll see what I can do." You just have to grab some items like a few hair clips and something to cut his hair with from your shower kit that's stashed in your bunk first, and then you can meet him in the refresher that's just barely big enough for Wrecker to comfortably fit in to get a handle on Hunter's hair situation.

"I don't need pretty, I just need it gone." Hunter insists, his breathing a little hitched. "There's just too much weight on my head, ka'ra." He's looking for a place to sit in the fresher, finally opting for the floor. It'll have to do. You have to kneel behind him as you make a quick assessment, and you promise you'll be gentle.

"If I'm pulling too much, you let me know, okay?"

You start to make the first cut, hoping to whatever higher powers that be in the galaxy that you'll have feeling in your knees by the time you're done. It's not exactly pleasant to put all your weight on your knees for a long time in such a cramped space.

Hunter comes just short of moaning in his relief as the weight eases off his tender scalp with every careful cut, and every slow pass of the comb through his hair to keep things tidy and mostly blended as you do your best to cut his hair in the tiny on-board 'fresher. You're going slow to start out with, doing your best to avoid sending him over the edge. You're no stranger to the rare instance that touch and taste and sound and smell becomes much too much for the Clone with half of a skull forever painted into the bronzed skin of his face. And you prove your attentiveness by how tenderly you hold the hair off the back of his neck, sensing he needs a break from all the tugging and brushing of his thick head of hair after ten minutes.

"Thank you… thank you, ka'ra…" Hunter utters, grateful that you offer reprieve without being explicitly asked. He can allow his eyes to flutter closed for a moment and likely lose himself in the constant thrum of noise inside the attack shuttle. "Feeling a bit better already."

"Oh, good. If you want me to let go, or you're ready to start again, just say the word."

"I appreciate you doing this…" he says again in a fervent utterance of thanks after some time passes by in silence, nodding decidedly when he's ready again. "...I just couldn't wait any longer. It was getting to be too much."

You pick up the pair of scissors you had set down in order to hold his hair up, and get back into position behind him. "You're welcome, Hunter. Don't want you to be too uncomfortable, now do we?" You've heard his brothers say those words a hundred times over. (But his brothers aren't here with you now. You'll be back to them soon. Hopefully they've kept out of trouble while visiting the Lawquanes.)

Sometimes Crosshair, Echo, Wrecker and Tech say it in teasing, when Hunter's hesitant to go perusing a quaint summer market on Naboo because of the pressing crowds. Sometimes they say it while trying to force him into his bunk, knowing that the careful cocktail of muscle relaxers and pain relievers will knock him flat on his ass once they've kicked in after particularly long missions, and Hunter stubbornly believes he'll lay down in his bunk before they do.

You've laughed yourself silly listening to Crosshair or Echo scolding him with a stern, mostly concerned "Get back in bed, Hunter!" like a child caught out of bed on more than one occasion as he's tried to stumble his way through the shuttle. "You don't need to take care of that right now, let one of us do it. You're. Drugged. Lay down so the medicine can do its job."

As more and more hair is snipped free, you see the relief washing over him, the discomfort ebbing away at last. "Feeling better?" you ask, brushing through his ends one last time to make sure it looks mostly lined up.

"Much. Thank you, mesh'la…"

You could theoretically have all his hair cut at once, and you offer while you've still got the scissors and comb in your hands, but Hunter thinks he can wait on thinning out the rest when you get back to the Lawquanes with things they needed for the farm. It was just the weight of his hair on his neck that he was struggling with the most today.

"Well, I'm glad I could help. Hopefully I didn't do too bad a job." you say with a gentle chuckle, brushing the loose hair from his shoulders and sweeping up the mess with the small dustpan set Hunter found somewhere else on the Marauder. He runs his hands through his hair experimentally, and then carefully ties it back with the red slip of fabric he tucked in his pocket.

"Not too bad I'd say, mesh'la…" Hunter's warm, appreciative grin sends your stomach fluttering at the sincerity, the way his eyes crease ever so gently with the gesture is equally precious. "Certainly a cut above what I could've done on my own."

"Who usually helps you cut your hair?" you wonder, fixing a curling lock of hair back into place previously trapped under the bandana.

"Cross does, typically."

"That's nice of him," you reply with a bright smile, "hopefully I didn't steal all his fun when we get back to Saleucami and he finishes the rest of the haircut."

Nothing gets past the sharp-sighted sniper: when you disembark the Omicron-class shuttle, Hunter just a little behind you as you carefully tromp down the ramp, Cross stops mid-turn in a game of Sabacc up against Cut, Echo and Tech to voice himself.

"I told you you should have let me cut your hair before you left, Hunter."

"You did, yes."

"And you didn't listen," Crosshair continues, shaking his head almost disapprovingly. Almost. He's slightly more worried than it would appear. "Had sensory troubles and had to cut it, didn't you?" Hunter bobs his head once, and sheds the bandana to allow Crosshair to perform an inspection, Sabacc now abandoned momentarily. "Hmm. Doesn't look half bad this time, Hunter."

"Afraid I can't take the credit. I asked her to help me." Hunter explains, nodding once in your direction. Crosshair's tone of scrutiny changes, now that he understands it's not his brother's handiwork.

To his memory, this is the first time you've offered to help Hunter deal with his hair like this. His brother takes good enough care of his hair on his own, save for cutting what he can't see or comfortably reach behind his head, and that's where Hunter usually turns to his brothers for help.

Wrecker, who's just gotten back from exploring with Omega, Jek and Shaeeah since they saw the Marauder coming in for a landing near the farm not too long ago, sees that Crosshair is still passively fussing through Hunter's recently-cut hair and assumes he's missed the trimming.

"Hey not bad, Cross! That was quick!"

"Can't take the credit," Cross chuckles softly, nodding in your direction, "but she can."

And there's a little cleaning up that he notices he'll need to do, but otherwise, you pretty much nailed it. "Not bad, doll." Crosshair offers at long last. "Not bad at all. Think you're gonna replace me if I'm not careful." After dinner, time and circumstances allowing, he'll coach you through on how he usually takes care of Hunter's hair when it reaches a certain length since Hunter trusted you enough to ask for help out of the blue, after Hunter recounts the ordeal to his brothers and sister.

"Always happy to help, Hunter." you promise him.

Hunter returns your friendly smile as he ties his hair back for the time being, saying he'll help Cut gather everything from the shuttle and put it in the shed for the time being before everyone helps with getting things ready for dinner.

"I'm certainly lucky that you are, mesh'la."

Don't have a fic taglist for the time being. For now, though, if you'd like to join a taglist for specific types of fics (for example: just TBB-centric or just TCW-centric (or both)) don't hesitate to ask. 🩷

[Masterlist] [Requests: OPEN]

107 notes · View notes

anarchyspider · 6 months

Text

The flip floppy-ness that so many writers give to Damian's character really pisses me off sometimes. Like. how are we supposed to perceive his growth if you keep changing him? He has obviously grown and has so much more to do and even more to explore concerning his character, but it feels like barely any writers scratch the surface of the literal goldmine here lol

I think the fighting ability element especially bothers me. One day he's portrayed as the person he was brought up as, a highly skilled combatant that can take down many people in a variety of ways and then another he can barely lay a hit on anyone and someone else has to step in, usually in the case of him being haughty and getting humbled for some reason for the millionth time.

I love Damian SO dearly. I just wish more writers felt the same/actually understood him and his character. And I also wish they'd stop whitewashing him PLEASE!

#damian wayne #dc #my thoughts #woah talkies...

84 notes · View notes

jeanbie · 1 year

Text

WAYS TO SAY I LOVE YOU #2 ★ masterlist.

pairing: zeke x reader

genre: porn star au | warnings: sexual content, fem!reader | wc: 806

⏤ Imagine the first time they say I love you. Imagine it spoken at night, roughly, in the middle of an intense romantic encounter.

It’s different this time around.

It’s just two lovers on a scratchy, whitewashed blue bed-sheet, with the silence as their soundtrack.

The room is oddly cool, almost as if completely submerged under midnight waters, a draught carrying with a swooping gesture across the bareness of the bedroom. Well, it could be described as a bedroom; instead, perhaps just a room accompanied by a bed and a large lion-footed chester drawers with one or two shirts hanging from over the edges. A messy, rather sloppy sight that was overshone by the heat and the friction of the two bodies atop the double bed, the world theirs to take. A dappled light shone through the half-open curtains by a bay window, the blinds slanted with tasteless effort to close them moments earlier. It doesn’t feel like how it felt before; a blinding light cast down onto a pretty bed with unflattering drapes, the offbeat pop song that choreographed each movement of your partner. No sketchy, planned, rehearsed scene could even dare to live up to the feelings shared this night between two lovers.

His lips began to smother from the underside of your jaw down the smooth expanse of your neck, kissing tenderly at the highlights. Both lovers already bare, shivers coursing through their veins at every small collision their bodies made; his hands smooth across your thighs, his palms merely spreading them apart to accommodate himself between. Your neck, now but a canvas of bruising eggplant shades and red welts upon your collarbones arches back, and you sigh out in delight at the way Zeke explores your body like it is a treasure map- let him be the pirate.

At the absence of his clothes, Zeke pushed himself deeper inside of you, the safe grip on your legs hoisted up to fit around his waist being nothing but strong gestures of encouragement; a gentle squeeze told him not to worry but to instead, keep going, and so he did.

His teeth move to graze at the juncture of your neck, whispering moans painted across your skin as his body moves like a wave in, out, in, out; a rhythm only you two can keep up with. He tries- you can see- to be gentle, the way a lover should be, but at the sight of seeing your mouth hanging agape, a pornographic groan erupting from the back of your throat, pride swallows him whole and naturally, he grows cockier and cockier by the second. Catching his lips with your teeth when he figures it’s ‘time’ to press kisses to your mouth, he growls– words caught dead on his tongue.

“Yes, baby, like that,” he praises, encourages, “just like that.”

His hands, shakily, move to hold the calf of your leg, adjusting himself so his final movements can be perfect. As the moon shifts at a different angle, and the light changes, you can see his hips falter and slow, shifting to a grinding pace and his hands move in a stuttery movement, callous palms rubbing across your skin.

“M’gonna cum,” he whispers. “Babe-”

“Let go,” is what you reply, lips ghosting over his own. “Let go, baby, let go, fill me–”

Who is he to deny?

The feeling of your stomach sporadically churning and tensing up, a line of sweat builds on your hairline as he keeps up his pace. Soon, he thinks, soon.

“I love you,” Zeke almost whines, “God, I love you so, so much.”

A groan elicits from your lips- “I love you, too- oh, my god, I love you–”

“CUT!”

The lights switch on, blinding you and almost instantly, Zeke falters to turn his head over his shoulder, staring at the crew with raised cameras and artificial lights, clipboards in hands, the small light flickering red.

“…thinking we take it from the third angle, again,” the director suggests. “Cut the love-ending, too, you’ve gotta keep your audience interested. Nobody wants to see a couple actually in love.”

Zeke nods, “sure thing.”

The crew begin to manoeuvre their gear around the set, chattering amongst themselves as you drop to a thud onto the sheets, disappointment evident on your features. At the sound of your breath slipping from your lips, Zeke looks over and gently- almost playfully- shakes your leg.

“Cheer up, babe,” he murmurs. In contrast to the porno, hearing him say babe just makes you feel more disappointed. “You did well.”

He leaves a fleeting kiss on your leg before letting it drop to the sheet where your body lies, and lifting himself up from the mattress. As the bed rises due to his weight moving, your chest sinks with even more disappointment.

But you are the only one to blame- what a silly thing to do, falling for a guy you can never really have?

#zeke yeager #zeke jaeger #zeke x reader #zeke yeager x reader #zeke yeager smut #zeke yeager imagine #zeke smut #zeke imagine #attack on titan #aot #beast titan #war chief zeke #snk #snk imagine #aot smut #magunes #mine #jeanbie

174 notes · View notes

rough-writ3r · 4 days

Text

THE VIDEO

She knelt on the centre of the bed, the sheets stripped off it, leaving just bare mattress. Her outfit was simple, a white cotton t-shirt and pink, sheer panties. Her thighs bare and luminous in the whitewashed room. The tattoo on her upper thigh stood out in sheer contrast to the milky white of her skin, contrasting with the neutral shades of the room around her. Hair cut short and a little messy- she hadn’t had time to fix it that morning. Full, firm breasts pressing against her t-shirt, braless- her nipples hard and pushing against the fabric.

Her blood was fizzing, and her throat felt a little constricted as she waited for him to set up the tripod, the sections folding out and clicking into place. Fingers tracing the patterned contours of the mattress as he set the camera on the tripod and switched it on. He was in a crisp, clean blue shirt and grey suit-pants- barefoot. The buttons on his shirt undone, hastily thrown onto his body.

The camera whirred and came to life, a red light shining at her from just over the lens. She enjoyed the intent look of concentration on his face as he set up the camera, popping off the lens cap and opening the preview screen, clicking dials and pressing buttons. When he looked up at her and smiled, he knew that the camera was recording, drinking her in. Something fluttered inside her.

“Take it off,” he told her, standing behind the camera. “Slowly.”

She nodded at him and obeyed. He didn’t look at her- he looked at the screen. She slowly pulled her t-shirt up over her head, over her luscious tits, enjoying the feel of the material as it slipped over her nipples. She let the t-shirt fall to the ground. The cold air on her skin, goose bumps forming, tightening her flesh. His eyes glued to the screen. Her eyes flickered to the lens that was devouring her soft young body and he smiled.

“Now the panties,” he ordered.

She nodded into the camera lens, the opaque glass pieces flexing inside it as he moved into a close up. She felt her pussy throb. Thumbs hooked into the waistband of her panties as she slowly rolled them down, exposing her mound to the camera. Her underwear slipping over her thighs as she lay on one side, kicking them off her ankles.

“Spread,” he commanded.

Her eyes locked on the lens of the camera as she slowly spread her legs, displaying her perfect, pink slit. A hand wandering down her stomach, exploring her skin, sliding inevitably toward her crotch.

“Stop,” he ordered. “You haven’t earned that yet.”

Her hand froze and she laid back, her eyes filled with lust, pleading into the lens. A tremble running through her body as she waited for his words.

“Show me your ass.”

Immediately she was on all fours with her firm buttocks facing the camera. It was almost like she could feel the lens on her body, touching her. The whir of the machine as it zoomed in and angled over her perfect round little ass. She looked back over her shoulder, deep into the lens, her pussy pulsing as she imagined what she looked like on film- so exposed.

“Eyes forward,” he told her.

Her face snapped back. She could hear him walking away from the camera, standing behind her, the weight of his body as his knees touched the bed. And then the ringing slap of his hand landing on her ass. He spanked her over and over and the pain shot through her body, warming the soft flesh of her ass. In her mind all she could think of was how the moment was captured by the camera. She found herself picturing how she looked on tape, what shade of red was written on her ass. Her pussy was dripping wet and shivering with pleasure, radiating heat.

She heard him unzip his pants and felt his hands on her hips. The swollen head of his cock pushing against the folds of her sex.

“Hold still,” he hissed as he pushed the head of his cock inside her.

She cried out as he speared her slowly on his cock. His hand in her hair, gripping it tight and pulling her head back hard, as he pushed deep into her. The entire length of his cock filling her up. He hauled her around by the hair and she found herself face to face with the camera, with the wide-open lens and the little blinking red light. She stared into the camera as he used her tight hole, fucking her for his pleasure. The wetness dripping down her thighs and a feeling of brightness, of fiery delight- filling her up from her fingertips to her spinal cord.

She stared deep into the lens as he pounded her perfect pussy and thought about all the men on the other side of that lens, the men who would see her being used like a little slut. Watching her getting fucked as they stroked their hard-ons, worshipping her, debasing her, wanting her more than anything they’d ever wanted in their lives. She thought about all the cum spilling over all the hands and pooling on the bellies of all the men in the world.

She came for the camera, her vision blurring, but never closing her eyes. She stared deep into that lens like it was the eyes of a lover. Her orgasm spiralled through her like barbed wire- ripping her apart. His hands pressed her face into the mattress, and he pulled his cock out of her quivering snatch. Kneeling over her face as he quickly stroked his twitching cock over her perfect face.

“Close your eyes, slut.”

She shut them tight, and he groaned, his thick hot load streaming over her face, clinging to her. She could feel it pooling over her eyes and splattering over her lips. So warm and musky and potent. She opened her mouth and her tongue flicked out and tasted some of that sweet juice.

“Stop,” he barked and gripped her nipple hard, twisting it. “Who said you could taste that?”

She clamped her mouth shut. Holding the little fleck of cum in her mouth and savouring the flavour.

“Leave that cum on your face.”

And with that his weight left the bed. She lay there on her back with the cum on her face, filling it dribble down her chin to the hollow of her neck. Cum starting to drip down her nostrils, the smell of it filling her mind. She wanted to taste more. Then she felt his weight on the bed again heard the much louder whir of the camcorder, She could feel the lens contracting and zooming on her face, recording the delicious load of cum on her face. Her pussy jumped at the thought.

“Now you can lick it up.” He told her.

Her mouth was immediately open, and her fingers scooped the semen into her mouth, licking her face clean. She opened her eyes and saw the lens of the camera right there.

She smiled into it.

#roughwriting #k1nk blog #cnc free use #cnc fr33use #fr33use

26 notes · View notes

pretty-weird-ideas · 9 months

Text

Trauma Porn vs Representing Black Struggle in IWTV

TW: Domestic Violence (Focus) Rape (mentioned 1x)

Spoilers for the IWTV AMC Series

I think a lot of the distraught or incredibly positive reactions to Episode 5 of IWTV’s ending from black fans is because of the noticeable lack of genuine representation of black IPV let alone black queer people facing IPV at all. So not only was the scene without a trigger warning and absolutely out of nowhere (with of course the obvious foreshadowing and Lestat’s abusive behavior setting it up) but it was something that has barely been done for mainstream genre TV.

So as a black fan, seeing violence towards black people (trauma porn) is certainly not new to me... but seeing black queer people’s stories focus on IPV is something that I haven’t seen. It leaves me incredibly conflicted in ways that cannot be transcribed.

Genre TV, media in general, and even reality has an obsession with whitewashing (pun unintended) IPV towards black people unless it’s specifically meant to degrade us and utilize racist stereotypes. Rarely ever does IPV towards queer black people get spoken about in real life, let alone in fiction. So for a story to just be for real for a hot minute about that topic is both disturbing and jaw dropping.

I oscillate between “I can’t believe they would ever put this on TV” and “I’m so glad that they made this a plotline because nobody talks about this,”. IPV perpetrated by white people towards their black partners especially from a historical context is not talked about. And it certainly is not the focus of period pieces or literature as often as it should be.

This is even being taken away from us TODAY in history books; centuries of rape and domestic violence from the slave trade to Jim Crow is being censored RIGHT NOW. This is not isolated behavior.

And to see white IWTV fans sidestep this entirely back during the final stretch of season one to complain that having Lestat (who canonically abused Louis in other ways) assault Louis somehow ruined LESTAT’S character and THEIR SHIP. While completely sidestepping what themes they were intending and got across (you know like genuine media literacy) and the onscreen brutalization that happened without warning is disgusting.

Being able to cherry pick quotes and argue about whether or not slapping is “DV” is not only gross but it’s just not media literacy. That’s literacy... like good job bestie you can read! But it’s certainly doesn’t mean you have the range or comprehension to understand the intended themes of Episode 5 at all. And until white people begin to understand the nuances of being a black person being abused by a white person who holds power over you, it’s going to continue being out of reach.

It’s one thing to dislike it’s inclusion, because I also agree. But I’ve noticed that The Great Lestat Discourse TM has become the discussion rather than the perspective of how white supremacy aided in perpetuating domestic violence and the choice to show gory and unflinching physical abuse without a trigger warning.

White fans being disingenuous and asking Louis to fade into the background until Lestat (the white character) becomes the focus for TVL. While constantly mocking and ignoring the concept of IPV towards black people makes the point for me as to why this was an interesting and purposeful direction to head in. IPV is so ignored that when IWTV includes it, fans went out of their way to argue whether or not their favorite white boy would DARE TO DO THIS, and not why the writers did this and what they were attempting to say. IPV and queer victims of abuse are so ignored that after this happened people started making posts talking about APOLOGIZING TO A FICTIONAL LESTAT for writers “slandering” him! Discussions about abuse in interracial relationships during Jim Crow are so far ignored that people started to publicly doubt that actual domestic violence in interracial relationships existed at all! So badly that the writers had to come out and say that they wouldn’t make Louis “not the victim” when recontextualizing episode 5.

#interview with the vampire #iwtv #amc iwtv #TW:abuse #TW:Rape

118 notes · View notes