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anneapocalypse · 2 years

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Dragon Age: The First Three Graphic Novels

Warnings: Canon-typical violence, slavery, sexual violence, discussion of the handling of a transgender character.

The Dragon Age series of graphic novels published by Dark Horse Comics begins with The Silent Grove, released serially in 2012 after the first two games were out. The storyline continues with Those Who Speak, also released in 2012, and Until We Sleep in 2013. These three graphic novels were written by then-lead writer David Gaider and Alexander Freed and illustrated by Chad Hardin, with cover art for the third book by Anthony Palumbo. Since these three books comprise one story arc, I'm going to talk about them together.

I should probably say up front that I'm not really a comics reader generally; it's just not a format I've ever been especially drawn to. I'm so not a comics reader that when I noticed panels seeming sort of weirdly out of order on my first read, it didn't occur to me until like the third book that this was because those pages were formatted as two-page spreads, and I was reading them on my tablet with only a single page displayed by default. This is also to say that I probably don't have the appreciation for the tropes and aesthetics common to comics. That doesn't mean the comic-booky stuff is by default bad, just that it tends to stick out to me and doesn't necessarily appeal to me personally.

I'm not a visual artist and I don't have a whole lot to say about the art, but there are a few things that stood out to me. Both Varric and Alistair have had their hair coloring tweaked a bit from how they appear in the games. Varric, who is pretty clearly blond in the games even in poor lighting, has had his hair colored sort of a light brown. Alistair is sort of a dark blond in Origins (the texturing of his vanilla hairstyle makes it look a touch darker and depending on the lighting it might appear to lean toward a strawberry blond, but you can see in the screenshots of this tutorial where nothing but the hair mesh has been changed that it's definitely a blond tint and not brown or red), but the comics (and later Inquisition) lean more into the strawberry side of the blonde, giving him a distinctly orangey hair color. I think this is done in part to make him and Varric look more distinct from one another, and I'm not really bothered about it. You can still clearly tell who both of them are, and that's good enough. Thankfully, they didn't "tweak" Isabela's appearance.

The comics maintain the slight distinctions in elven facial structure that DAII introduced (namely the prominent nose bridge) but throw out the blue-green undertones to their skin, probably for the best. Notably, the comics maintain the gray skintones for most of the Qunari we see, but not all—the Tamassran who questions Isabela has a lighter and warmer skintone, while the Arishok formerly known as Sten is given a skin tone pretty close to how he appears in Origins, maybe a little darker and a little warmer (and having gone back north, it makes sense that he would be more tanned than he was while traveling in the south). His hair is longer and he has a beard now but he's still hornless and still quite recognizable as the Sten we knew.

There is one artistic choice that I found increasingly irritating as I read these books and that's the way certain female characters are drawn in weirdly exposed or sexualized ways in specific situations. I'm not talking about, like, Isabela showing cleavage in her usual outfits because that's how she dresses. I find the panels where she's specifically posed to show her underwear during an action sequence weird, and I guess this is sort of a Comics Thing, but even that isn't what got under my skin the most. I'm thinking of, for example, Isabela in the flashback where she's being taken away from her childhood home by the man her mother sold her to for "marriage." Clearly much younger and probably still a teenager, Isabela is drawn in a low-cut top that shows a lot of her chest, while her mother watching her being taken is wearing the same style of top but cut noticeably higher. It's not so much a matter of whether a younger Isabela would have chosen to dress that way, as she certainly could have, but something about it in a shot where she's being sold into sexual slavery, with tears running down her face, just feels really skeevy to look at. Which, maybe that's the intent, but I don't personally feel like it adds much to that plot point.

But probably the worst example is in the flashback dealing with the time Isabela transported captive people for an Antivan slaver. I am not questioning why enslaved people would be wearing ragged clothes that cover them poorly (though there's definitely still a deliberateness to drawing their clothing ragged in a "sexy" way for the women). But when, pursued by the Orlesian Navy, Isabela and her patron throw the enslaved elves overboard to lighten the ship, there's literally a shot of a woman with her skirt blown up so that we can see her underwear as she falls into the sea screaming, and I just genuinely don't get that decision. If you must have an upskirt shot, what makes you decide that the part where enslaved people are being murdered is a great place for it? It's weird, and it's uncomfortable and not in a way that I think adds to the story. It's not making any kind of a point, it's just taking a moment that's horrifying, is supposed to be horrifying, and otherwise works as such, and sexing it up for no reason.

There is one more example that might fall in with this, but it's a bit unique and intersects with the writing in a different way, so I'm going to save it for later.

Beyond that, I don't have a whole lot to say about the art, other than I liked the style just fine. The text is what I tend to focus on, and most of what I want to talk about is the story and the characters.

Because this is a universe based heavily around player choices and their consequences, the supplementary books and comics all follow what's known as "Bioware's canon," a series of arbitrary choices that constitute not the only canon, but one possible continuity for the universe. The novels do make a point of dodging certain major points of divergence; Asunder and The Masked Empire both take place largely in Orlais and avoid ever mentioning who is currently ruling Ferelden. At the same time, Asunder also features Wynne as a major character and Shale as a side character; Wynne can die in Origins, and Shale may not be recruited at all in which case she and Wynne would never have met. These first three graphics novels lean in even further to embracing that arbitrary world state, and don't shy away from centering characters from the games who have many possible outcomes. This is a story about Alistair and specifically about an Alistair who's King of Ferelden, ruling alone.

I'm covering the first three together because they basically comprise a complete story, wrapped up at the end of Until We Sleep. These first three volumes star Alistair, Isabela, and Varric, all familiar companion characters from the first two games, whereas later volumes introduce more new characters in lead roles and focus less on established characters. The story begins in 9:38 Dragon, about a year after the Kirkwall rebellion. Alistair has been King for about seven years.

So, let's talk about our main trio for a moment, because I think the setup for it is rather funny.

Alistair, now King and sole ruler of Ferelden in this timeline, is on a personal quest to find out what happened to his father King Maric, who disappeared at sea in 9:25 Dragon and was subsequently presumed dead, causing the throne to pass to his only legitimate son, Cailan. The implication here is definitely that Alistair is hoping that Maric is not only alive, but willing and able to to reclaim his throne and lift the burdens of ruling from the shoulders of his bastard son. And for assistance he's hired on... Isabela, pirate captain, and Varric Tethras, dwarven businessman and storyteller.

How does the King of Ferelden end up in Antiva working with two of Hawke's old pals? Was Zevran busy? Alistair has met Isabela, once, at the Pearl while traveling with the Hero of Ferelden (who in this continuity died killing the Archdemon). He met Varric through Isabela. I get that Alistair doesn't want to involve the Fereldan navy because this quest is a big secret, but his next best option for help was a pirate he met once in a brothel? Well. Zevran did offer him some information to get him started, so perhaps it was also Zevran who pointed him toward Isabela, as we know they were previously acquainted.

Hilariously, though, some of the dialogue between Alistair and Isabela has the potential to imply something that I'm pretty sure isn't meant to have happened in this canon! Alistair calls her "an old... acquaintance, of sorts," with those ambiguous ellipses, and at one point Isabela exclaims to him, "Didn't you used to be fun?" I cannot imagine what about Alistair Isabela would have thought was "fun" in the brief time they met... unless something else went on between them. Later on, when Alistair asks if she'll take him to the Tellari Swamps to find the Witch of the Wilds, Isabela replies, with a knowing smile over her shoulder, "For you? Anything... but just the once."

With no canon romance with the Warden in this timeline, there's no canon threesome (or foursome) at the Pearl either, but... well, I can imagine and I found myself enjoying the idea that Alistair and Isabela got to know each other a bit better during their brief acquaintance.

So, we're two chapters in and I have a new ship, that's cool!

Anyway, these three are sort of an odd combination, but the story explores themes of identity and purpose for all three, though Varric gets the least of it, possibly because as a storyteller, he prefers not to focus on himself.

At the center of this theme is Alistair, Ferelden's reluctant King, and he takes center stage in the first graphic novel, with his voice providing the narration. There are several reasons he wants to find Maric, but perhaps the greatest is the one he tells Isabela at sea. Hearing the message Maric left his old cellmate for his son, that he was sorry, that he "had to do it," only reminds Alistair that Cailan was the son who mattered—that he was never meant to be King. "I need to know..." Alistair says.

"If he abandoned you?" Isabela fills in.

"If he abandoned his Kingdom," says Alistair.

Despite Alistair's longing for a family, I think he accepted long ago that his father never wanted anything to do with him, that he could never be anything to Maric but a threat to Cailan's rule, and so he found his family elsewhere—in Arl Eamon, in Duncan, in the Grey Wardens. But becoming King changed everything for Alistair. And if Maric is still alive, if he could have come home but didn't, then he is responsible—for abandoning his people, for leaving them with an inexperienced ruler when the Blight came. For Cailan's death. For the civil war. For Alistair being forced onto the throne.

Meanwhile, here is Alistair, sailing off on his own voyage, leaving Ferelden in the care of some regent, presumably (I don't think it's ever mentioned who that might be). Placing himself in the path of danger and potential death, for his own personal reasons. I doubt that irony is lost on him.

In the Tellari Swamps, Alistair and his companions meet Yavana, a Witch of the Wilds of Antivan legend and allegedly the one who broke Maric out of the Antivan prison where he had been held. Yavana confirms that she is another daughter of Flemeth, and if the legends are to be believed she is a much older one. We know that Morrigan never met any other daughters. Whether Yavana is the same Witch in the stories dating back hundreds of years, however, I'm not sure. Unless Flemeth passed on to Yavana the knowledge of how to extend her life, and Yavana has herself been taking daughters to possess over the ages, I'm not sure how she would have survived, and I'm also not sure whether that skill is unique to Flemeth due to her carrying the spirit of Mythal. At any rate, Yavana calls Morrigan a "poor, confused child" for having refused the "gift" of Flemeth's possession, which lines up pretty well with what Flemeth tells Morrigan in Inquisition: that "a soul is not forced upon the unwilling," and that she would never have possessed Morrigan's body without her consent. Interestingly, it seems that Flemeth never chose to possess Yavana, despite her apparently willingness. Instead, Yavana has lived here in the Silent Grove, protecting these great dragons.

A quick note on dragons: while reading, I never got the impression that Yavana referring to the dragons as "these great ones" or "great dragons" was meant to denote an actually distinct type of dragon; I just took it as a descriptor, not a classification. The wiki certainly seems to believe they are distinct, however, based apparently on an annotation by David Gaider found only in the Library Edition of the graphic novels, which is only now available in very expensive used copies and which I don't own, and thus I can't verify what that annotation actually says. Based purely on the text on the comics I would be inclined to think that "great dragons" were simply older and more powerful high dragons—and it's worth noting here that high dragons are not themselves a distinct species, but simply mature female dragons that appear in many different varieties. So "great dragons" are a thing, and it seems that their blood in particular confers some sort of power, but we'll get to that. Beyond that vague distinction, nothing is really clarified here.

Alistair and Isabela respond with confusion to the idea that dragons need protection, and this is where Yavana drops what I think is going to turn out to be a very important piece of worldbuilding:

How many "heroes" hunted dragons over the centuries, until almost none were left? It was nearly a tragedy for us all. ... In destroying what it does not understand, mankind would destroy itself. The blood of dragons is the blood of the world.

What does this mean? We still don't know, but I think it comes back in Inquisition when Solas is so upset at the Grey Wardens for their plan to pre-emptively seek out and kill all the Old Gods. He is likely right that their plan is backwards, of course—that the Archdemon is not the source of the Blight and in fact not even corrupted until the darkspawn find it. But I also get the sense that Solas knows more than he's saying—that he knows killing all the Old Gods would cause something very bad to happen. In fact, I don't think it's a far-fetched theory to say that killing all the Old Gods might bring on the end of the world. I think this would go pretty far to explain Solas's general contempt for the Grey Wardens, to the point that he is reluctant to admit they have done any good at all: "They are fools," he says, "a fact only amplified by Corypheus's meddling." I think this assessment is pretty obviously unfair given that no one else shares whatever knowledge Solas is hiding, but that's Solas. He argues that they have merely bought time, making no real progress—by which I think he means they've never figured out the source of the Blight or how to actually end it, only how to kill an Archdemon and send the darkspawn back underground.

We also learn in Inquisition that dragons have an unusual resistance to the Blight, though clearly this resistance is not absolute. But I would guess that this is why the Grey Warden Joining requires the blood of an Archdemon: this confers some of the old dragon's natural resistance to the Grey Warden and is what might allow them to survive the taint.

I think that not only does Solas know the death of the last Old God could be disastrous, he also knows the true source of the Blight, which the Grey Wardens are nowhere near understanding. I think Flemeth must have known this too, especially given that she has a daughter in the business of preserving dragons. Notably, this run of comics began after Dragon Age II, at which point it had definitely been established that Flemeth was going to turn out to be Mythal, because there are way too many hints about that in DAII.

But back to Alistair, and his family history. In The Stolen Throne, we saw Flemeth save Maric and Loghain during the Orlesian occupation of Ferelden, allowing Maric to lead the rebels to victory and restore the line of Calenhad to the throne. What we never saw is what Flemeth asked of him in return, and now we learn: she made Maric promise that he would seek out Yavana when his heir was grown. She needed his aid in awakening the sleeping dragons that lay hidden and protected in a cavern beneath the grove. She needed Maric for this because of his bloodline, but we'll learn the specifics of that in the next book. Before he could complete the task, though, he was taken by Aurelian Titus, a Tevinter magister seeking power from Maric's blood. Blood, blood, blood. It's all anyone ever wanted from Maric! Says Yavana:

Your heart beats with the old blood as well. Where do you think it comes from? It sings of a time when dragons ruled the skies. A time before the Veil, before the mysteries were forgotten. Can you hear it?

Another fascinating little bit of worldbuilding here! Of particular interest to me is that it was established this far back that the Veil didn't always exist. And dragons existed before it.

So, Yavana asks Alistair to help her in exchange for aid in finding Maric, and instead he stabs her.

This is... an interesting moment for Alistair. Personally, I think his choice to kill Yavana is impulsive and childish. She isn't responsible for what happened to Maric (the promise was made to Flemeth, not to her daughter), and killing her neither avenges him nor brings Alistair any closer to finding him—on the contrary, Yavana could have helped him and was offering to do so. Alistair cites his distrust of Morrigan and Flemeth, and he claims he's seeking justice, but I think that in reality, he simply needs someone to blame for his own and Ferelden's misfortune.

At the same time, it's after this that Alistair finds new purpose and direction. He tells his companions that he's tired of being a pawn—that he's going to kill Aurelian Titus, find Maric, and then go home to be King.

"It's about time you said that," says Varric.

I think at this point Alistair does believe Maric is dead, and means to avenge him, but has about given up on the idea of a rescue. This is the beginning of him accepting his future as Ferelden's King.

But there are few more twists coming his way yet.

Those Who Speak shifts to put the focus more on Isabela, giving her the narrative voice and also giving her some backstory.

We have a few interesting firsts in this volume. We get our first female Qunari character, the Tamassran who interrogates Isabela. We also get what I believe is our first canonically transgender character, Maevaris Tilani, who will play a prominent role in the rest of the story.

This is also, I think, the first direct look we get at the Qunari in the north; previously we'd on seen them in smaller groups in the south where they are not presently at war (except for very briefly in Kirkwall). In the north, the Qunari are actively at war with Tevinter and have been for a long time, and our heroes get themselves briefly tangled up with the Qunari.

As mentioned above, we see Sten again! He's no longer Sten, however, having been promoted to Arishok after the previous Arishok was killed in Kirkwall, because he's a character we've seen before and therefore he must go on being important for all of the franchise for the rest of time. :P I don't honestly mind this; I liked Sten in Origins and it's not implausible that he would have risen in the ranks after his successful return from the South and helping to defeat the Blight, plus he now has unique cultural and tactical knowledge of the south. (As a sidenote, he is also presumably still the Arishok during the attempted Qunari invasion in Trespasser, though of course officially Qunari leadership denounces Operation: Dragon's Breath after it fails.) Alistair's past acquaintance with the Arishok ends up being plot-relevant, or perhaps we should say plot-convenient. It works well enough. But it's still one of those Things this series does a lot. Incidentally, Alistair keeps calling him "Sten," and the Arishok keeps correcting him, which is understandable but also sort of reveals how little Alistair pays attention to what other people are saying sometimes.

The Arishok formerly known as Sten agrees to let Alistair and Varric go because they are basalit-an, the Qunari term for an outsider worthy of respect. Considering that Alistair never got to know Sten well enough to understand that "Sten" was a title, I have to wonder what he did to earn that. He isn't even the one who killed the Archdemon, in this timeline. Is it just that he fought with the Hero of Ferelden? In that case, I guess the whole crew would be basalit-an. Maybe it's that the Grey Wardens earned Sten's respect. In any case, here it is for narrative utility.

Isabela's backstory is the emotional core of this book, revealed to us in her memories as a Tamassran questions her about her life and past. Her one experience trafficking in slaves is the reason she refuses to ever do so again, and the reason she freed Castillon's captives when she discovered them, thus leading directly to the desperate need for coin that led her to steal the Tome of Koslun, thus setting in motion the events that led to the Qunari invasion of Kirkwall. The Tamassran prods her for her history, and in particular her birth name, holding up the possibility of redemption.

The interesting thing about the way this volume plays out is that the Tamassran sort of wins. Isabela escapes, but before leaving she does reveal her birth name to her captor, though she says it is no longer her name. Isabela regains her ship, Alistair gains aid from the Arishok, and the trio set forth again—but in the pages to come, we will see that the Tamassran's questioning has set Isabela off-balance. As the second book closes, she tells Alistair "I'm not sure I'm Isabela any longer," and her internal monologue notes that after this mission, "There are going to be some changes," but leaves her meaning ambiguous. In the beginning of the next book, Varric notes that Isabela still seems troubled, and at the moment seems to prefer being called "Captain" to "Isabela," indicating that her emotional arc is still ongoing.

Until We Sleep places us in Varric's point of view, opening with an entertaining little narration Varric has made up about the nameless henchman he is about to kill: "Do you want to feel sad for a luckless, nameless thug who joined the wrong cult?" he teases the reader, "or do you want to accept that Arthur the Wicked had to die, and move along?"

Alistair and his companions are now in a temporary alliance with the Qunari, which is sort of notable because Qunari making alliances is presented to us as a very big deal in Inquisition. But the Arishok respects Alistair and any Tevinter magister is a common enemy, so they have that much going. It is actually the Arishok formerly known as Sten who gives us the final piece of the puzzle of Alistair's weird bloodline: Calenhad the Great gained his strength by drinking the blood of a great dragon, on instruction from a witch with whom he struck a bargain. (It's always a witch, isn't it? It very well could have been Flemeth herself, for all we know.) Why does drinking dragon's blood have this effect? We don't know. How does blood that is drunk and digested become a part of one's own blood in a way that can be passed on to one's children? Far be it from me to impose science on a fantasy world with magic. But I do find this all hilariously silly and I think the writers kind of knew they were writing something dumb because they even have Varric there to lampshade what a "special snowflake" Alistair is turning out to be. Royal-blooded, elf-blooded (unbeknownst to him), and now dragon-blooded. And none of those things have brought him anything but unhappiness! Oh, Alistair.

I do think that as with all information that comes to us from biased in-universe sources, we need to take the Arishok formerly known as Sten's version of this story with a grain of salt, and Isabela even points this out. Dragon's blood in Alistair's veins is verifiable by other sources, but it would make sense for the Qunari to interpret this as Calenhad and his descendants having lacked any true heroic qualities, the source of their power and influence being artificial. But power alone doesn't make a leader. Nevertheless, I think Alistair reflects some of my own feeling when he says, "Couldn't he just have been a hero?" To which Isabela responds, "Maybe he was."

Very special bloodlines aside, I am very curious how this whole blood of dragons thing is going to play out in the future of Thedas, especially given my earlier theories about the importance of dragons. Alistair himself can't really be essential to any future story, since he has multiple opportunities to die in Origins and yet another in Inquisition—unless some future plot point of a game diverges based on those previous decisions. Still, it's a hell of a setup for, I hope, something, even if doesn't directly involve Alistair or his family. In fact, maybe especially if it doesn't. After all, if Calenhad did this, others could have as well.

Blood, in this universe, is basically magical in one form or another. Lyrium is the blood of titans, with properties that may either fuel or cancel magic. Darkspawn blood carries the Blight, and properly prepared with lyrium and the blood of an Archdemon (a corrupted dragon) confers a temporary resistance to the Blight. A blood mage can use the blood of any living person to fuel magic; blood magic makes one more susceptible to demons, but makes it harder for one's spirit to enter the Fade... but now we're getting into the weeds. Untangling the mysteries of blood and magic in Thedas shall have to be another entry for another day. For now, suffice it to say we have discovered yet another effect of blood in this universe: drinking the blood of a dragon (at least, a great dragon, whatever that means) will make you really, really strong, and also infuse your own blood with that of the dragon. Given that Calenhad learned this from a "witch" (let's be real, it was almost certainly Flemeth or one of her daughers), this is also likely a form of blood magic.

Incidentally, Aurelian Titus seems to believe that the Magisters Sidereal would have succeeded if they'd had dragon's blood. I wonder how true that is. He also remarks on the Qunari: "Dragonfire. It might have been their birthright. Instead it kills." This seems to tie into the rumor that Qunari themselves have some dragon in their blood, whether or not it is true.

While Alistair, Isabela, and their Qunari allies confront Titus outside, Varric is sneaking into Ath Velanis, and finds Maevaris chained up in the dungeon, and... okay, so this is where we need to talk about how Mae is "revealed" to the audience to be transgender. I need to put a lot of scare quotes around "revealed" because honestly, I didn't initially get that this was supposed to be a reveal, probably because I already knew Mae was trans from reading The World of Thedas Volume 2 first. What I did notice was that Maevaris is drawn very differently here from how she was drawn in the previous volume. She's chained with both arms above her head, with a black eye and a bloody nose, her clothing torn and ragged leaving most of her chest bare, which... well, I already talked about female characters being physically exposed in situations where they're being violently victimized and this does qualify in its own way. The difference is that instead of over-emphasized breasts, Mae is drawn here with a flatter chest and the kind of detailed musculature that is common for these types of comics to use for men, but not for women (to my dismay, generally)—not for Maevaris herself, in other parts of the story where she's fully dressed but her arms are bare. My initial thought was not "Oh, this is how we know Mae is trans," but rather "That's a weird choice to make only for your one transgender woman and not for any other female characters whose vocations would certainly make them strong and muscular." It wasn't until I read on the wiki that Maevaris is "revealed" to be trans in this book that it clicked that... oh, that's what this was supposed to be. It's never explicitly stated in dialogue that Mae is trans in this story; there's dialogue that supports it but wouldn't be definitive by itself.

So, this falls into the trope of showing the audience that a trans character is trans by putting them in a situation where they are exposed and humiliated against their will. Varric clearly already knows Mae is trans, but she still says "I don't want you to see me like this" as he's giving her a blanket to cover with. Even though Varric is a friend, this experience is still awful and humiliating for her—and she has also had her body exposed against her will to the people who did this to her, though thankfully we don't see that on the page. Let me emphasize here that I am very glad to have an unambiguously transgender character, always, and I hope we get even more. Nor do I want to say that there is only one right way to portray a trans character, or that nothing bad should happen to a trans character (Mae being captured by Titus, in and of itself, is fine and makes sense with the story after she helped our heroes earlier).

But as a way of telling the audience a character is trans, I just don't think this is great. Invasive as some of the questions the Inquisitor can ask Krem may be (can ask, as in, you have the option not to ask him those questions), this is invasive on a whole different level. Writing in such a reveal in a setting that doesn't use the same words we do is always going to be a challenge, yeah. But I just feel like there are better ways than this, and the way Krem's dialogue is handled does tell me that at least the writers are trying to do it better, and I hope that effort continues. Let's hope for better with Mae herself, since I think there's a good chance we'll see more of her in the next game! I hope so, personally, as I do love Maevaris, and enjoyed her presence in this story a whole lot.

In this third book we get something so essentially Dragon Age it's almost a cliché at this point: an escape-from-the-Fade sequence! We start in Varric's dream, and this is really the most character development we get for Varric in this story arc. It's also confirmation that Bianca the Crossbow is named after a real person, which I hadn't realized was confirmed prior to Inquisition. So that's neat, although notably the Bianca in Varric's Fade dream looks distinctly un-dwarfy. In fact, Varric himself looks pretty un-dwarfy in his dream, even as he and dream!Bianca discuss the Merchant's Guild being after them and Varric having been born outside of Orzammar. I wonder if that's meant to represent Varric's complicated feelings about dwarven identity. It's certainly a more interesting and more charitable explanation than "someone thought dwarf!Bianca wouldn't be hot enough."

Isabela's arc culminates in her Fade dream, or perhaps more accurately her nightmare, in which she is a loyal adherent of the Qun, in full Qunari garb right down to the dark red vitaar across her chest and face. I mention the latter part specifically because I don't think viddathari can actually wear vitaar; it's supposed to be poison to anyone without qunari physiology. I think the fact of Isabela wearing it here in her nightmare symbolizes the totality of her conversion. Or somebody just forgot the lore. But isn't the other interpretation more interesting? ;) As Varric begins to break through to her, we see the vitaar vanish first, before the rest of Isabela's appearance transforms back into her pirate tunic and she is once again herself.

Varric, in a rather touching kindness to his friend, declines to narrate what is actually happening in Isabela's nightmare, instead asserting that "She was never tempted by the Fade for a moment. Not even a little." We, the audience outside of Varric's universe, are allowed to see the truth. Asked if she really wants this life under the Qun, Isabela admits, "It would be easier. Simpler." Maevaris knowingly responds, "It always is—letting someone else define you. I don't know you, but I know that much."

By the end, I think every character here can relate to that sentiment.

Henceforth Varric, Maevaris, and Isabela set forth to find Alistair, who in true form has been taken in by the illusion of living family, his father King Maric alive. (He also flirts with Isabela here, and once again, I ship it.) But before long, Varric figures out that this Maric is no demon in disguise, but the real Maric—his spirit trapped in the Fade.

After they defeat Titus in the Fade, they are able to return to the real world, though Maric is reluctant to return, saying that Alistair is likely a better King than he ever was. "The people I love are all here—Cailan, your mother, Loghain. None of them are in the real world any longer, are they?" I appreciate the fact that Maric is so committed to the lie of Alistair's dead human mother than he even remembers to lie about it while they're both dreaming together. I'm also amused that the list of people Maric loves includes Loghain, but not Queen Rowan. Yeah, this Maric is completely in-character. Also, I will ship Maric/Loghain until I die.

In the end, though Maric agrees with reluctance that he will try to return, once Alistair sees the state of Maric's suffering body in the real world, he chooses to let him go, destroying Titus's magical device that was keeping him alive and allowing Maric to die. I like this. Maric's time was over, and bringing him back to Ferelden would have been a narrative mess as well as a political one; plus, he really didn't want to come back. As Varric says, "It's a terrible thing, to live as part of someone else's story. You need to finish this, or the story will never end."

Each of the three main characters gets their little epilogue panel, and in Alistair's, Varric remarks that he did all that he set out to do—kill Titus, find Maric, return home to be a proper King. The Alistair on the throne, accompanying this image, looks distinctly unhappy. He has completed his hero's journey—accomplished what he swore to do, and even gained a stronger sense of self by the end: "I thought I needed Marric... he needed me." Alistair is a hero. He has a complete story arc, with the hero's end. Yet like his father Maric, holding the throne does not bring happiness. Alistair's arc is the most complete here but I would not say that it has a happy ending. I also don't think a happy ending needs to be the point of a story. To me, Alistair's greatest weakness as a character has always been his passivity, and indeed unlike Isabela and Varric, the tragedies of his past and the discontent of his present revolve pretty much entirely around choices made by others, not himself. This story is about Alistair making a choice, on his own initiative, and following through with it to the end. It may not be a happy ending, but it is a strong one, and I think it also represents Alistair becoming willing and able to be King.

Varric has the least of an actual arc of the three main characters, but that sort of makes sense for who he is. Varric's whole deal is that he prefers telling other people's stories to his own; "the one story I'll never tell" (as he says once in DAII) is his own personal tragedy, losing Bianca to her arranged marriage and the insurmountable threat of the Merchant Guild's wrath. Until We Sleep touches on this part of his past, but mostly to affirm that that part of his life is over and done and he knows it. Varric does not change here, but this isn't his story.

It's Isabela's arc that feels a little incomplete to me, and I wonder if that's partly the nature of this story being written serially, because the ending of Those Who Speak really seemed to imply some sort of major change on the horizon for Isabela, whereas the resolution in Until We Sleep was much more Isabela getting back to who she was when we began. We learn her backstory, yes, and we see her briefly shaken by her encounter with the Tamassran and what that experience unearths from her past. I doubt we're ever meant to think Isabela was seriously thinking of converting to the Qun, only that she couldn't help wondering what her life would have been like had she followed her mother's path. The end of Those Who Speak and the beginning of Until We Sleep do sort of tease the idea that she's going to change her name again, though of course that doesn't happen either. Isabela's resolution is ultimately about returning her to status quo rather than changing her; she loses and regains her sense of self, and she does so by revisiting her past, but I hesitate to say that experience has actually changed her in the present. What "changes" she meant at the end of Those Who Speak are never specified, and ultimately left hanging. And even the ending, I think, is meant to leave us with a hint of doubt. Varric's narration over her final panel reads, "Isabela asked me later if I thought he [Alistair] did the right thing. I told her there's no way to know." This seems to reflect the what-ifs of Isabela's own life and choices, doubts that may still linger, but with no clear sense of how this changes her life going forward.

Even Varric himself ends on a somber note, his final panel showing him alone and unsmiling, at a table covered with papers, a quill, and a pint and pitcher, with the second chair empty. His narration concludes: "We all go through our entire lives not knowing. Wondering. Trying. Until we sleep."

Thus, all three characters end on a note of either unhappiness or uncertainty. But taken all together, there's a unity to the ending tone and I think that's meant to be the point.

I enjoyed the comics even more on my second read, I think in part because I had become more comfortable with the medium and better able to appreciate what it adds to the storytelling. Despite its flaws, this storyline was a fun read, and it adds some interesting things to the worldbuilding pot for further consideration.

Crosspost. Originally posted on dreamwidth on 7/9/21.

#the silent grove #those who speak #until we sleep #dragon age graphic novels #dragon age #alistair theirin #varric tethras #isabela #maevaris tilani #blunders of thedas

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glumgums · 2 years

Note

Canon Mexican? Where did devsis confirm this? /gen

don't think i have to say any more than this

#you don't have to say it for it to be confirmed. muscle cookie - default and in this costume - is meant to be a LUCHADOR.#which is SPECIFICALLY FOR MEXICAN CULTURE #so like. yeah #cookie run #muscle cookie #glumquery #anon #ALSO WITH THIS FACT?? IT'S HARD TO DENY???#the dark hair... the tan skintone.... you see what i mean?

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beetlebethwrites · 3 years

Text

RO round-up! I wanted to make a post I could link in the intro post but also give you all the chance to see all of them at once.

SKINTONE POST

Let me know who you’re all liking and send some questions about them maybe? RO reaction questions are more than welcome!

Name: Matt Atkinson

Specialism: Science Communication and Presentation

Interest: Teaching

Age: 24

Height: 6’ 3”

Description: Matt is your fearless leader. The whole reason you embarked on this project in the first place was his idea. You never would have even thought about making a real go of a communication project if he wasn’t so determined, but the project is his baby.

Matt is tall and broad with the figure of a university rugby player who played the wing position. He has grey-blue eyes and has short cut, neat sandy blond hair which is usually swiped up and away from his face. He's classically handsome with a strong jawline and a wide-bridged Roman nose which has been broken a few times in the past, an injury which only emphasises the broadness of his nose. His skin is naturally light and warm-toned, but he tans easily and due to the amount of time he spends outside, he’s usually quite tan even in the winter. His overall demeanor and appearance usually means that he can hold the attention of a group of teachers pretty well. He's the peak of smart-casual, as his usual combination of a shirt and blue jeans reflects. He also has the tan lines to show what his usual outfit contains, with distinctive tan lines from his collar and cuffs being a constant.

Name: Eve Keane

Specialism: Script Writer

Interest: Insects esp. moths

Age: 25

Height: 5’ 3”

Description: Eve is a writer whose talent for communication has made her the perfect scriptwriter for your new programme. You’ve never met anyone else who can script Matt’s easy and enthusiastic patter, but when you tell her she’s doing a great job all she does is blush since she’s not too good at owning up to what she can do well.

Eve is possibly the most Irish person you’ve ever met. She has all the hallmarks; pale cool-toned skin covered with light brown freckles, almost olive green eyes, mid-back length mostly straight red hair and who could forget that adorable Irish lilt? Due to her pale skin, any blush she has is very distinctive and spread from her cheeks all down her chest. She has a round face, slender long nose on which black circular wire rimmed glasses usually sit, and lips which aren’t full or thin, but often painted with a clay red lipstick, the only very obvious part of her otherwise light make up. She has gentle curves to her entire body and a few insect tattoos on her legs in muted colours. Usually dressed in earth tones and long skirts, the only reason that you know she isn’t actually from a history book is that she works with you.

Name: Alex Sancho

Specialism: Social Media

Interest: Mammals

Age: 24

Height: 5’ 7”

Description: Alex is the closest thing you have to a best friend from university. You met in the first week and have been inseparable since then, even living and studying together while you were at university. They were brought onto the project because of your insistence that you needed a social media presence, and Matt was happy to hand off the admin to someone who came with your recommendation.

With warm amber skin and fit with pretty dark brown eyes, Alex is someone who is easily attractive. They’re naturally fairly slender although not broad and have a flat chest. They have a heart shaped face and a full bottom lip. Their dark brown hair reaches their ears and is usually in fashionably (and purposefully) messy curls which are only occasionally tied back, although never when they’re trying to impress someone. They will occasionally wear subtle make up for events, always in warm tones. They’re usually dressed in just a jumper and jeans, usually knitted from a soft, tactile material, but it never looks as sloppy on them as a casual style as it does on everyone else in your team. Then again, maybe you’re biased...

Name: Jordan Bridgetower (gender-selectable)

Specialism: Camera Work

Interest: Amphibians

Age: 22

Height: 5’ 8”

Description: Jordan is your new camera person. Freshly out of university from their filming degree, they can’t believe they’ve walked into a proper nature photography gig already, even if it is just something part-time for you guys channel. They’re eager to please Matt and get your channel starting with the quality it deserves!

Jordan has deep warm-toned skin, hazel eyes and is very slender, despite the fact they always have a healthy appetite. There’s definitely something to be said for young people’s metabolism, even though there are only two years between you and them. They have an oval face, full lips and a wide, slightly short nose. Their hair changes pretty constantly between wearing it in their natural thick curls, cornrows and braids, mostly because their sister is a hairdresser and she’s very talented, plus loves to get the chance to practise on them since they allow her to do what the want.They usually wear colourful hoodies and loose clothing which are hand-me-downs, but in exceptional condition.

Name: Charlie “Char” Graham

Specialism: Music

Interest: Getting through life

Age: 26

Height: 5’ 9”

Description: Charlie works at the coffee shop you work at on a more-than-part-time less-than-full-time basis. They’re technically your shift manager but their laid-back attitude coupled with the fact that they don’t seem to have a clue what they’re doing in the first place makes it tricky to take them seriously. To his credit, he said he’d write the jingle for your show.

Before meeting Charlie, you didn’t know that ear piercings and hearing aids could go together, but throw in a punk hairstyle and it seems to work. Char has neutral fair skin, an oblong shaped face, grey eyes and dyed navy blue hair that is shaved on the sides, although is naturally wavy. They are heavy set and fairly broad, although his figure is often hidden by their clothes. Their black eyeliner seems to get more creative and decorative by the day, which is likely why they also seem to look more and more tired. They have many piercings which are usually filled with dark or black metallic piercings, including his septum, bridge and eyebrow on his face and many tattoos which even they’ll say are questionable at best. He’s always dressed in black and grey but their dedication to the punk style is sometimes a little too much when coupled with the brown apron of your workplace.

Pictures of the ROs are here, but they’re only rough so people can get a feel for them all.

Name: Professor Bo Yeon Park

Specialism: Lecturer

Interest: Ecology

Age: 33

Height: 6’ 1”

Description: An ecologist you originally interviewed for the channel, Matt is keeping in contact with xir for future research on the channel. An academic by nature, xe’s not entirely sure that what you’re doing is for the best, xe’d rather people read all of a paper than see it ‘dumbed down’ for the layperson. Xe’s not sure about what you and your team do at all, but maybe you can change those ideas...

Usually decked out in dark coloured, tweed and thick glasses, xe is the real picture of an academic, right down to the few strands of grey hair among xir dark straight hair. You’re not sure that xe can actually dress like that all of the time. Xir grey eyes are usually hidden by a scowl and bushy eyebrows but xe is pretty when relaxed. Xir skin is a fair olive, xir face is diamond shaped with a low-bridged nose, and xe has obvious cheekbones and thin lips. Xe is slender although surprisingly muscular from the amount of outside work xe does, although this is hidden by xir usual outfits of androgynous academic style.

Skintones for the ROs are here! This is very important information please cast your eyes upon it.

#romance options #interactive fiction #love interest #interactive novel

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pedros-mustache-main · 4 years

Text

the arrangement

summary: it is all clear and simple—until it isn’t.

word count: 6.6k+

warnings: sugar daddy relationship, age gap (john is ~35, reader is ~23), angst, language, innuendo, suggestive themes & moments (not 18+ but be mindful—probably more so than with anything i’ve written!)

a/n: for the sake of this fic, veronica et al. don’t exist. i refuse to write infidelity. okay i hope you enjoy because i am very upset about the cottagecore!brian fic that i wrote which was eaten unceremoniously by the monster living in this website. xoxo!

1986.

he doesn’t kiss you; you won’t let him.

it’s all a part of the minutiae of your arrangement. he has his rules: a shower before and after—sometimes together, but mostly alone; meetings out of the public eye, normally his london flat; no contact with his colleagues. you have your rules: no outside arrangements with other women (or men, for all you care); no spur-of-the-moment visits; and above all, no kissing.

he can—and does—have a field day with the curves and contours of your body whenever he gets the chance. his mouth knows your skin well, and you’d like to think you know his in a similar fashion. you know what it feels like to be touched and held and loved by him, but his lips have never so much as brushed yours, and you intend to keep it that way. it’s just a quirk, a bothersome little thing you carry with you to all of your arrangements. kissing is too intimate and, though you’ve been more than intimate with john, there’s a line in the concrete you are unwilling to cross. he respects that, so the arrangement works.

you like him. he’s charming and intelligent, thoughtful when it matters. he never forgets a date despite his busy schedule, and he seems to anticipate your moods, knowing just when to spoil you a little extra to ease the pain of a ruined portrait or sour customer. he supports your art endeavors, though you are firm about him staying away from your studio apartment. like kissing, it’s too intimate, too personal. he pays the rent, though, and is admittedly happy when you confess he has inspired a piece or two.

still, he’s confounding. there’s a pervading sadness about his person, even when he’s laughing. it runs deep—that sadness—and you can’t pinpoint the origin. you suspect he must be lonely even though he’s one of the world’s foremost musicians. why else would he dote on you endlessly? why else would he throw his hard-earned money at the feet of a girl too young to be his proper lover and too guarded to ever give him the chance at something real?

not that he’s tried to move the arrangement to something deeper. he hasn’t. for that alone, you’re more than content to stay with him. you’ve had strings of other arrangements before, but never one that’s lasted this long. it always falls apart eventually—unmet expectations, dangerous feelings, the unfortunate death. a year and a half with john is a long time, and you’re surprised he’s not bored with you yet. you’re surprised you aren’t bored with him.

but truly, he is kind and well-off—physically and monetarily—and so long as he’s keen to have you around, you’ll stick around. you aren’t complaining.

of all your arrangements, you like john richard deacon the most.

he’s been gone for some time, consumed by the magic tour and promoting the latest queen album. he’s tired, ready for a break, and when he calls you a week before his return, you can hear the shoulder-crushing weariness in his tone.

“i’m getting too old for this, [y/n],” he says.

his sigh is heavy, and it gives you pause. you hold still, the paintbrush between your fingers suspended in midair. you twist on your stool in discomfort. though you know your role—and you play it splendidly—there’s always a flare of uncertainty in the back of your mind when john muses personal.

you shift, cradling the telephone between your shoulder and your ear. “you’re only thirty-five, john,” you say after a moment. “hardly an old fart.”

“well, i feel one.” something crinkles over the line. “i think we’ll be on break for a good while after this. freddie is—” he sighs again. “when can i see you?”

you can’t help but smile. you dip your head to the side as you study the foot of the angel in your painting. there’s something not quite right, so you lift the corner of your smock and wipe away the top of her big toe.

you like it when your men are eager; it means they still intend on supplementing your income and leaving you fine gifts. as soon as the eagerness begins to fade, as soon as the meetings are less and less frequent, you know it’s time to look elsewhere. nearly two years later and john is more eager for an evening with you now than he was at the start. you have nothing to worry about.

“when do you get back?”

“thursday.”

“then you can see me thursday.”

he exhales in something that sounds a lot like relief. you bite your lip to keep from smiling wider. he’s wrapped so tight around your pinky; neither of you seem to care.

“good, good. i’ll bring you something from barcelona. what do you want?”

"hmm. surprise me.”

“you don’t like surprises.”

“you’re right. how about some of those fun little tiles? the colorful ones, y’know?” he hums in agreement. “i can put those in my kitchen.”

“tiles? my baby wants tiles?” he laughs, and you’re thankful for the thousands of miles between you. the affectionate term, spoken normally in jest, sends your thoughts straight to the gutter every time, loathe as you are to admit such a thing. “fine. tiles it is. see you thursday.”

“it’s a date, mr. deacon.” you pause then add, “get some rest, john. you sound knackered.”

“i am.”

“i’ll see you thursday, handsome.”

he says goodnight, wishes you sweet dreams, and hangs up. you drop the phone to its base and sit back, stretching your arms over your head.

the canvas before you is taller than it is wide—twenty-four by thirty-six. the customer, a repeater, requested something angelic and bright, a new addition to their marble villa in the south of greece. you’re happy to oblige, but you’re stuck on the bottom portion. should the angel be in flight? poised on a cliffside? in a garden? you know it doesn’t matter, that the buyer will be happy regardless, but it matters to you. each painting needs to tell a coherent story, and you like for that story to fit well with the piece’s ultimate home.

your mother says you are blessed with a gift by god. john says you have natural talent. you think you’re just good at copying. it’s not forgery; all of your paintings are as unique as they are original. still, you’re excellent at replicating dead-and-gone styles: renaissance, rococo, romantic, hell even the odd modern piece. whatever the customer wants, you can reproduce it for a fraction of the cost. your work pays handsomely, but averaging only one painting a year doesn’t pay all the bills that pile up on your kitchen island over the months. that’s where john comes in. it evens out in the end, with more than enough on the side to play with.

rising from your stool for a much needed break, you cross the concrete floor, the stone cool beneath your bare feet. the evening has gone drafty, so you shut one of the tall windows looking onto the side garden. you pick up your mail from beneath the flap on the front door and rifle through. nothing urgent, though there’s a letter from your mother. you tuck it to the side.

john would detest your studio if he ever saw it. it’s unfeeling, bare bones and vaulted ceilings and exposed beams. most of the open floor plan is used for your painting endeavors. there’s discarded portraits along the wall, a few untarnished canvases tucked in a corner. there’s a worktable that doubles as a kitchen table, and a cramped kitchen shoved beneath the loft which houses your bed and wardrobe. you don’t mind the gray walls and gray floors and metal and lack of personal touches. if anything, the simplicity allows your creativity to explode.

after a piece of jam and toast for supper, you return to your painting. the angel should be on a cliffside overlooking the sea, you decide; after all, her home will soon be greece. dipping your brush to the mixture of tan and dark brown you’ve been using for her skintone, you curl a leg beneath you and set to work. only this time, you struggle to keep the excited smile from your face.

john’s coming home. you missed the bastard—him and his money.

thursday evening you find yourself on john’s front stoop, fist poised to knock on the door. the dress beneath your coat is silky, like water against your skin. you feel underdressed for the turn of the season but you’re likely to be without clothing entirely within the hour so you grit your teeth against the chill on your legs. you clear your throat, adjust the curled ends of your hair, and knock on the door. the bottle of champagne in your hand grows heavy as you wait, and you finger the small string of diamonds around your neck.

john inhales through his nose sharply when he opens the door. “[y/n],” he breathes before sweeping you into a tight embrace.

you laugh, crushed against his chest, your arms snug around his shoulder. he smells clean, like soap and fresh tea. you lift your legs, giggling further as he spins you about the rowhouse foyer.

“okay, okay!” you squeal. “put me down!”

he drops you to the floor, your heels clicking against the hardwood. “let me take your coat,” he says, sliding behind you to remove your outer layer. you shimmy out of the garment and bite you lip on a smirk when he sucks in a breath through his teeth.

“like it?” you ask, twirling on the ball of your foot in a slow circle. your dress—pale pink, short and open in the back—leaves little to the imagination.

“you’re a sight for sore eyes, angel.”

he steps away from the coatrack to circle his arms around your waist. he settles his hands in the curve of your spine and drinks you in, his pupils expanding with appreciation. you preen under his gaze and rest your palms on his brightly patterned shirt. you never tire of this—no matter who your benefactor is. the glazed look in their eye when they see you wearing a necklace newly bought or sporting a handbag of your choice or simply pushed against their strength is intoxicating. you feel powerful and desirable and unstoppable all at once.

“missed you.” john lifts a hand to brush a lock of hair away from your face, and the gesture is decidedly intimate. it sends a chill down your spine, your mouth tightening. you know if this were any other relationship he would bend forward and capture your lips, marking you as his and erasing the weeks apart with a single touch. you know he’s fighting the urge to do so now; you can see it in the way his eyes flick to your mouth and hold there.

to ease his yearning, you wind your arms around his neck and squeeze him tight, curling your fingers in the base of his recently trimmed perm. you like the fluff; it’s quirky—like him. “missed you, john.” you kiss the corner of his jaw and pull away, trailing to the kitchen.

he’s hot on your heels.

lifting your rump onto the kitchen island, you cross your ankles and grin as he enters the room. “did you bring me my tiles?”

john blinks, as if he’s not sure what you’re talking about, but then recognition lights his eyes, and he snaps in remembrance. “ah yes, the tiles! hold on.” he slips into an adjoining room before returning with a brown box tied with a white ribbon. “here.”

you take the box, smile at him where he leans against the counter opposite you, and tear off the string. within the box there’s a small index card covered in john’s neat script. you lift it and meet his eyes again; there’s a faint blush on his cheeks as you read aloud.

“[y/n], i thought you deserved something better than a few titles. love, john.” lowering the card to your side, you push back the tissue paper to see a framed pencil sketch of a woman mid-gown fitting. the seamstress is crouched against the floor, her back to the viewer. the woman being fitted is twisted, glancing over her shoulder as the seamstress works, her reflection visible in an invisible mirror. you squint and push your nose to the corner then nearly drop the frame to the floor.

your head snaps up so fast it cracks. “john, you didn’t.”

he just beams, nodding.

tucked in the right hand corner of the sketch is the artist’s signature, a signature you know well. mary cassatt.

“got it in paris,” he explains. “thought you could use an original from your favorite.”

you brush your fingertip along the signature and feel the sting of tears beneath your eyelids. of all the gifts you been handed—holidays in rome, designer bags and jewelry, luxury rides to and from the city—this, this, is the best. part of you hates the sudden rush of emotion that spreads through your chest, but you allow the feeling to take hold, opening your arms to him. he steps between your legs, and you curl yourself around his body.

“thank you, john,” you whisper. your voice is muffled by the fabric of his shirt, but the way he presses his hand against your shoulder blade tells you he heard you loud and clear.

he hums against the crook of your neck. the vibrations tickle your throat, and you flush. you draw back, far enough to meet his gaze, but close enough to feel his breath against your face.

god, you could kiss him.

the thought strikes you like a bolt of lightning, and you resist the urge to gasp. you’ve never thought it before; the rule of no kissing is ingrained in you so deep the mere idea of breaking it sends you for a loop. but there he is—generous and gorgeous and yours. he knows you well, spoils you well, and all he asks is you entertain him in return.

how did you get to be so lucky?

clearing your throat, you brush past him to hop off the counter. you tug the hem of your dress down a smidgen and touch his shoulder. “want me to go shower?” you ask, cocking your head toward the bathroom.

he turns to face you and shakes his head. “no.” his arms are around you again, as if it pains him to keep his distance for a moment too long. you can feel it in the thrum of his heart against your ribcage. you swallow hard.

your brow pinches in a frown. “but you—”

his mouth is already tracing the lines of your neck, warm and wet and dizzying. he grips your hip, his fingertips pressing through the satin of your dress. “forget it, [y/n]. i’ve missed you,” he whispers, a tattoo on your skin. “come to bed.”

“but the sho—”

he pulls back and lifts a hand to grasp your chin. the touch is not angry, not possessive; it’s just firm. the words in your mouth dry up, and you meet his gaze with wide eyes. “i said forget it.”

you nod, mute.

his eyes lower to your mouth. his tongue darts out to swipe his lower lip.

he steps away, his fingers trailing down your arm until they circle your wrist. he leads you through the house, silent, until you reach the foot of his bed. moonlight washes through the open terrace doors. a misty rain drifts into the room, bringing with it a chill and a whisper of autumn.

you toe off your heels, run your finger down his grecian nose, over his straight jaw. there’s this feeling in your stomach, one you can’t quite place. it’s a mixture of contentment and nerves, joy and apprehension, all at once. it’s a foreign feeling, and there’s no time to dissect it as john leans close.

his nose nudges yours. “i missed you.”

you sigh, wistful, and pull him onto the bed.

come morning you are sated and sore. you groan through a stretch, curling your back like a cat as you adjust to the morning light. you slept well, better than you have in several weeks. you can’t be sure if the dreamless slumber was due to exertion from your evening activities or pure tranquility. you missed sleeping beside john; he has a comforting way about him, even in the throes of pleasure or sleep.

you turn your face to see john already wake, propped up against a pile of pillows. you grin and reach for him.

“morning,” you mumble on a yawn.

he blinks contentedly at you, a half-smile on his mouth, a lit cigarette between his fingers. “morning.”

“sleep well?”

he nods. “that was the most sleep i’ve gotten in weeks.”

with a chuckle, you pinch his bicep. “funny—i thought the same for myself.”

he pats the space beside him, and you shuffle to lie perpendicular to his body, your head on his bare chest. he drapes an arm across your torso, and you lift his hand to fiddle with his long fingers.

the terrace door is still open, allowing mid-morning warmth and the gentle hum of the street below to fill the room. you sigh and smile when john takes a drag of his cigarette and tilts his head to exhale in the opposite direction. he knows you hate the smoke, thoughtful boy.

when he turns back, he catches your eye, furrowing his brow as he studies the look on your face. “what?”

you shake your head. “nothing.”

he grunts, shifts a little lower along the pillows. “tell me about the paintings you’ve got going in that pretty head of yours.”

“just one for the moment—an angel near the sea. it’s for the olsons and their villa in greece.”

“olson? wasn’t he the one who bought that nudie fashioned after his wife?”

“precisely the one!”

john smirks. “how’d you feel if i had you paint something like that for me?”

you guffaw, flipping over onto your stomach to slap his breastbone. “john!”

he holds up his hands in surrender, though there’s a mischievous twinkle in his gray eyes. “oy! it’s just a thought!”

you huff. “continue like that and i won’t finish the painting i’ve started for you.”

he leans back against the pillows in surprise. his neck is contorted in the effort it takes to properly meet your eyes as he sits, and you poke the double-chin that’s popped up beneath his jaw. he swats your hand away, though his fingers wrap tight around your wrist. he presses his pointer finger against your pulse point.

“you’ve started a painting for me?”

“course i have. don’t sound so surprised.”

“what’s it of?”

you narrow your gaze. “don’t know if i should tell you. it’s supposed to be a birthday gift.”

“my birthday’s not for a while, [y/n].”

“my paintings take a while, john.”

he sighs, squeezes your wrist, lifts it to kiss the bone on the side of your hand. “tell me,” he mumbles, his mouth against your skin, eyes locked on yours.

on an inhale, you give in. “it’s victoria park. well, victoria park seventy-five years ago.”

his eyebrows rise, and his fingers tighten around your hand. “victoria park? my victoria park? from leicester?”

“where else, silly?”

he goes quiet.

the air in your lungs stills, and that funny feeling you had the night before flares in your stomach. you feel your jaw slacken as he rakes his gaze over you in such unabashed adoration it makes your gut twist. there’s an overwhelming desire to be near him, to feel him as you’ve never felt him before, rising like the tide, and you are pulled to it like a baby sea turtle searching for the safety of the ocean. it’s a natural pull, but you are determined to ignore it.

you sit up, brush a lock of hair behind your ear, and turn your back to him.

he runs his finger along the curve of your shoulderblades. you shiver.

sensing your discomfort, john sits straight in bed, the covers around his lap rustling with the movement. “you know,” he says, pulling on his cigarette again. “freddie would like one of your paintings.”

“what?” you look over your shoulder with a frown. “you told him about me?”

he shakes his head. “no, i just mean what you do is his style. he’d be thrilled to have something so… romantic.” he pauses and lifts a brow in question. “i could mention it to him, ask if he’d be interested?”

your frown deepens. this is not the john you know. john rarely speaks about his bandmates, preferring to keep his exploits with queen separate from your arrangement. when he does talk about his job, it’s normally a complaint here, a silly little story there. though you’ve been with him more than a year, you know more about his life before queen than his life during. he’s private, like you, and you respect that. it’s why your arrangement works: mutual respect for the other’s boundaries.

but there’s something different about him. you noted it the night before. first no shower. now suggesting he introduce you to freddie. it doesn’t make sense.

or maybe it does. maybe this is his way of shifting the relationship, subtly, under your nose, done before you realize what’s happened.

a thread of panic weaves itself around your spine.

“what’s this about? you’ve never wanted me to meet freddie before.”

he shrugs, playing innocent. “just an idea. we’re on break now, will be for some time. i figured meeting you would give freddie something to fuss over.”

“you know how i feel about my studio, john.”

“i know, i know. you like your privacy.”

john stubs out his cigarette in an ashtray on the bedside table then scoots closer, drawing you close with an arm around your waist. his mouth works idle patterns along your shoulder, the spot where your neck meets your back, the ticklish spot behind your ear.

you tighten your hold on his arm, your nails biting his skin. when you speak, your voice is but a whisper.

“i don’t want things to change.”

he stills, lifting his head from your skin. “sorry?”

“i said i don’t want things to change.” turning, you meet his eyes, nearly losing your breath in the process. he’s close; you can practically taste him on your lips. “what we have works. don’t you think?”

“’s just an idea, [y/n].”

ducking your head, you play with the hair on his arm. your heart squeezes tight. “i know. but i say yes now and tomorrow you’ll be…” you lift your face.

he seems to understand without needing you to finish the thought.

he untangles himself and swings his legs over the side of the bed. you watch his movements, stiff and irritated. he pulls on a pair of ratty joggers, rising from the bed to shut the terrace doors. you startle at the sound of glass rattling in the windowpanes.

“john, i—”

he cuts you off. there’s another cigarette between his fingers now. “better take a shower,” he quips. his eyes remain planted on the cigarette packet in his hands. he taps the thin stick against the cardboard several times before jamming it between his teeth. “you didn’t take one last night, and we wouldn’t want things to change, now would we?”

the door slams shut, the blast echoing in your empty stomach.

you don’t hear from john for a week and a half. it’s not uncommon, the length between visits. he’s busy, you’re busy. sometimes you can barely find time for yourself, let alone him. still, there’s no box of chocolates delivered to your doorstep, no flowers dropped off at an inopportune time.

there’s just silence.

it worries you at first, and you wonder if he’s dropped you like a hot potato. it wouldn’t be unheard of. one arrangement ended in a similar fashion, and you nearly lost your studio in the process. but john is better than that. he wouldn’t leave you on the verge of homelessness, would he? he cares about you too much to do such a thing.

your fears are assuaged when a bouquet of flowers does arrive one afternoon. you have paint smeared along your forehead, and your neck cracks as you stand to answer the doorbell, but the sight of sunflowers in a pretty blue vase erases all your uncertainties. the note tucked in the ramble of flowers makes you smile—sorry for being a dick. give me a call if you forgive me – j—and you tape it to your refrigerator.

john is still yours; you are still his.

you call him that night, and after reaffirming your boundaries, the phone call devolves into a mess of heavy breathing and whispered encouragements and sinful sorts of pleasure.

as you fall asleep, you’re struck by something he said in the hazy cloud of post-bliss: even if this is all you give me, i’m happy.

even if this is all you give me…

he wants more. how much you aren’t sure, but enough that you can’t fall asleep as readily as you normally do. frustrated, you slip from bed and finagle your way down the stairs to the kitchen. you warm a glass of milk and lean against the counter, sipping slowly. your eyes fall along the mary cassatt print, now housed on the kitchen wall above the vase of sunflowers. the milk in your stomach curdles.

john deacon loves you; and if you tarry any longer, you’ll be close to loving him, too.

the decision to call the arrangement off does not come lightly. you mull over it for days on end, even as a sliver of your heart warms to the idea of allowing john to love you as he pleases, of letting yourself love him back.

it’s all you can think about the next time you see him face-to-face. as he pours you a glass of wine and lays you out on the living room floor, your thoughts are elsewhere. when he takes you shopping for canvas frames, you let him hold your hand, but you can’t focus on what he’s saying about the best fit. even when he mentions your studio and you find yourself willing to invite him inside, you cannot shake the feeling that you are losing a part of yourself you will never regain.

but would it be so bad? giving in?

you’re interested in john, that much you will concede. he’s good and kind and generous and a hell of a good romp and you enjoy your time with him. but the stubborn part of you refuses to let go of your own autonomy. you will not become his plaything, his arm candy at all the queen functions he so dreads. you value your independence too much—the safety of your well-crafted walls—to be anything other than his dirty little secret.

you’re prepared to shove your concerns aside and continue on until john makes the decision for you. he gives freddie your studio address, and freddie shows up one morning unannounced. you invite him in, sketch out a painting over the worktable, smile when necessary, and ignore his wonderings about your connection to john but on the inside you’re reeling. you’re livid and you’re hurt.

you’ve never been hurt by one of your arrangements before.

after freddie leaves, john answers the telephone on the third ring. “hello?”

“we can’t see each other anymore,” you say, your voice firm.

he’s quiet for a moment. “i’m sorry—what?”

“you heard me, john. i’m calling it all off.”

“why on earth would you do that?”

unbidden, an answer rises to your mouth: because i think i like you as much as you like me and i’m scared.

with a harsh clearing of your throat, you instead say, “you sent freddie here. i told you not to do that.”

“he did what? no, [y/n], i didn’t send freddie to you.”

“then how else would he know who i am? my clients don’t run in his circles.”

panic laces the edge of john’s voice as he rushes to explain, but you grit your teeth against the sound. “i swear, angel, i didn’t tell him where you live. i might have told him about you, yeah, but he’s my best friend, and i needed some advice.” he hesitates, sucks in shaky breath. “don’t do this. don’t call it off.”

you swallow hard. for the first time in a long time, you feel a wash of tears over your eyes. “you want too much from me, john. i can’t give you what you want. i’m not the girl for that sort of life.”

“oh, baby, i—i’m sorry. i know i’ve been pushy lately but i—” he sighs. “god, i love you so dearly. i’d give you the world if you let me.”

at this you choke on a sob. surprised by the sound, you press a hand to your mouth.

oh god, you love him too. the feeling crashes over you like a wave, and you’re the sea turtle who has found the safety of the sea. john is your sea. he envelops you, carries you to safety and uncertainty all at once. but you know him—he will protect you, guide you, with everything he is and all that he has.

you love him, you love him, you love him.

but it’s not enough. it’s not supposed to go like this, and you both know it.

“i’m sorry, john,” you whisper. you didn’t remember that tears taste salty. “please don’t call me, okay?”

you hang up before you can hear his protests any further then you crawl into bed and weep.

several months pass. autumn fades into winter, and you grow colder by the day.

you’re stressed. you cut john off entirely, opening a separate bank account and shuffling your monies and generally working to disentangle him from your life. but no john means no stable income. you’re fine for the time being, your painting for the olsons paid for and gone; but you’ve taken to rushing your artwork now, allowing customers to sit for hastily and poorly arranged portraits with their dogs and children. the paintings are lovely, yes, but they’re not you. it pays the bills, though, so you can’t complain.

you continue on freddie’s painting. he paid you upfront, so you owe him that much. in the evenings, after shooing the last snot-nosed kid and yippy dog out of your home, you turn on the lamp above the canvas and return to the sort of art you yearn for day and night. the painting screams freddie mercury all over.

there’s a man, mustached and tan, draped against a purple chaise in the center of the canvas. he’s flanked by a tall gentleman with wiry hair who is focused on a globe in the corner. to the far right, two other men—one blond, one brunette—whisper amongst themselves. you realize, belatedly, that you are painting queen in some sort of ridiculous nineteenth century daydream. it makes you snort every time you sit down to work.

you struggle to capture john in the painting. you know his face better than you know your own. you dream of it every night and wake to an image of it every morning.

you love him. you miss him.

you’re not certain when you started loving him. maybe six months in when he took you to new york and the moma and the empire state building. maybe nine months in—your first christmas together—when he gifted you a song. maybe a year in when he confessed his deepest fears—fears of loneliness and isolation and an empty old age—and made you promise to stay by his side. maybe when he came back this last tour and you wanted to kiss him so badly it hurt to hold back.

you’ve never been in love. you don’t quite understand the way it works, but you know enough to know that you love him. perhaps you always will, your disco deaky, the thoughtful boy.

you finish freddie’s painting come the first of the year. it’s been four months without john, four months entirely on your own. you have no compunction to find another arrangement. no one could fill the shoes of john deacon even if they tried, and the idea doesn’t appeal to you like it once did. you’ll go it alone for a while and revel in the autonomy you so desire.

freddie invites you to dinner when you call and say the painting is ready, and you reluctantly go. you’re half afraid he’ll pull some trick and invite john as well, but he swears he’ll be on his best behavior. the night of the dinner, you dress warm and gently arrange the framed canvas in the boot of your car. after losing your way twice, you eventually find his house and park outside. jim helps you carry the painting through the tight gate and into the front parlor where freddie waits, hands clasped in excitement.

“oh, i could just piss myself i’m so thrilled!” freddie squeezes your shoulders when you unveil the completed work. “i look so divine, like bloody oscar wilde!”

the edges of a smile lift your mouth. “yes, divine indeed.”

“you are more talented than you know, [y/n],” freddie says. he boops the end of your nose. “you shouldn’t hide your talent.”

“i don’t! i sell my work.”

“yes, but you could be a star, darling. i could make you a star.”

“i don’t want to be a star, freddie.”

“then what do you want?”

you sigh, shrug, and curl your lips in a wry grin. “not sure anymore.”

“perhaps dinner will help you figure it out. come on, it’s ready and we don’t want it getting cold.”

you follow freddie to the dining room. what awaits you sends your blood running cold as the frost outside. john richard deacon, handsome as ever, sits at the table, a smoke in hand. he looks up when you enter, surprise painting his face at the sight of you bundled in a winter coat in his friend’s dining room.

you twist in the doorway. your fists tremble with rage. “fuck you, freddie!”

he cringes. “okay, i can explain. you just have to hear me out before you slit my throat.”

john rises to his feet. “[y/n]…”

you ignore him and keep your gaze on freddie. “you promised!”

freddie nods. “yes, i know, but you see it was my fault that this whole thing fell apart.”

at this, john turns his head. “what are you on about, fred?”

“well, when you told me about your relationship with [y/n]”–-he lowers his voice to a stage whisper, looking at you from the corner of his eye—“when you told me you loved her”—he returns to his normal voice—“i got very distracted by the idea of a painting of the four of us. so i ignored your issue and looked her up and then it all fell apart.”

john sucks in a deep breath, shaking his head. he runs a hand down his face, and you note the weariness etched along his eyes. “fuck, fred.”

“so, you see, it’s my fault. if i had just left well enough alone, you two might still be shagging like rabbits and spending all that hard-earned money instead of moping like a pair of silly-pants!” he sobers, his nose twitching. “i really am sorry. it was selfish of me.”

“freddie—” you start.

he shakes his head. “no! i won’t hear any excuses—not until you’ve made up.” a timer somewhere in the kitchen dings, and he snaps. “now… if you’ll excuse me…” he slips from the dining room, shutting the door behind him with a tell-tale click.

you look to the floor. you should get your winter boots polished. they’re horribly scuffed.

john speaks first. “you look good, [y/n].”

lifting your head, you scoff. “you always were a flatterer.”

“no, i mean it.”

you run your eyes over him and feel your heart trip. god, you missed him. “you look good, too.”

“what have you been doing?”

“oh, this and that. mostly painting portraits.”

“you hate portraits.”

“i know.”

outside, the cricks chirp loudly, but you wonder if john can heart the beating of your heart over the chorus of insects.

“[y/n], i—”

“john—”

he smirks. you look to your toes again.

“you go first,” he says.

lifting your head, you dare to step further into the room. you steel yourself, biting the inside of your tongue to keep from spilling your guts at his feet. “i was wrong, too.”

he cocks his head to the side in confusion. “what do you mean?”

it’s time, isn’t it? seeing him now... how could you ever live without him?

“i was foolish and stubborn and willful. i knew what i wanted, but ignored it for the sake of my own stupid ideals.” you step closer and catch a whiff of his cologne. it sends a thrill straight to your belly. “turns out i need people just as much as you do.”

“what are you saying?”

“i’m saying i was wrong to turn you away. i was scared. i’ve only ever known love with a price tag on it, never real love. not until you anyway. as complicated as it is, you have loved me better than anyone else, and i was blind to it for so long. and even when i wasn’t blind to it, i pushed you away. i’m sorry.”

he swallows, his adam’s apple bobbing. “what—what are you saying?” he asks again.

“i’m saying i miss you and i’m a right git and i love you and i’m sorry.”

he reaches for you, his touch like fire on your wrist. “i shouldn’t have pushed you.”

you shake your head in disagreement. “i needed a good pushing. i didn’t realize how much i needed you until you were gone. and fuck all about the money. i don’t care about that. i needed you. i need you.”

john moves his hands to cup your face, his palms warm on your cool cheeks. he leans downs and presses his forehead to yours. you exhale, sure that if you open your eyes, if you move an inch, you will wake from whatever dream you inhabit. you don’t want this moment to end—him and you and no one else, all the possibility in the world stretching out before you.

“you don’t know what it means to hear you say that,” he whispers. “i would be content to love you silently, but, god, i love you.”

you laugh and open your eyes, blinking back tears. you pull away to meet his gaze. “even though i’m a stubborn fool?”

“i’m more stubborn and more foolish than you ever could be.” his thumbs work over the apple of your cheeks. “i love you,” he breathes.

“i love you.”

you grin. he matches your smile.

“kiss me,” you whisper.

his eyes widen, his mouth parting. “but—”

“it’s part of our new arrangement. you can kiss me whenever you like so long as you promise not to smoke in bed.”

“fuck. i—” he shakes his head, eyes fluttering shut. you lift a hand to his cheek, and his eyes open.

“i know. me too.”

he captures your mouth, the touch soft and everything you have waited to find, everything you have searched for in all the wrong places. he kisses you, holds you against his body, weaves his hand in your hair. he moves his lips in tandem with yours, and you feel like you’re floating.

he kisses you, and you are home.

#john deacon #john deacon x reader #queen #queen fic #j writes #the arrangement

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antiloreolympus · 3 years

Text

6 Anti LO Asks

(Slight spoiler warning)

1. One thing that bothers me with the whole Persephone is a fertility goddess blablabla is how would Leto know that she is one? Since Apollo was manipulated by Leto and whatnot.. how exactly did she know that Persephone is a fertility goddess? Bc Demeter made sure that noone met Persephone and kept her in the dark about her powers and everything.. so it doesn’t really make sense for Leto to know that Persephone is a fertility goddess for her then to manipulate Apollo into raping her and trying to make her his wife

2. Y'all who want a good Persephone theia-mania-comics is right there

3. Another thing among the so many things that comics get wrong about Persephone is her hair and skintone ( for skintone LO is going to be excluded since Persephone there looks like bubble gum) but all of the comics have Persephone with pin straight hair (and them being light brown or red) and it doesn’t even make sense.. Persephone is from Greece, she’s Mediterranean and yes although you can argue that Mediterranean don’t all look the same doesn’t it make more sense for the gods to look like the stereotypical Mediterranean? Especially Persephone since she’s the goddess of vegetation and personification of spring.. she’s supposed to have thick wavy to curly hair, black, dark brown or a brown-reddish colour.. she’s supposed to have olive skin tone and maybe even a little bit of a tan.. dark brown eyes and a greek nose... in LO persephone has short straight hair and sometimes when it gets long it looks a bit wavy but at least it’s fluffy but in HxP ficlets for example she has this dark reddish straight hair and looks pale.. in LO she almost looks like an american girl? Like how are you going to make a comic about greek mythology and not have them look greek or a mix of roman and greek since their mythology intertwines

4. The fact that RS made Chiron a woman shows that she wants for Persephone to have only Hades as the stable and understanding male figure in her life.. which he even isn’t. The only thing that relates both of them is that they have trauma and even this basically relates all of the Olympus together.. it’s not sth special.. Hades is such an asshole in LO it’s bothersome and to have him obsessing over a 19 year old girl who is then forced to stay with him bc she is on the run? Which also doesn’t make sense bc she’s a wanted criminal and meanwhile she is out there shopping? (In the beginning they were trying to hide her and make sure she wouldn’t be found by anyone and now everyone knows where she is and is not doing anything about it bc she lives in Hades house? Zeus and Poseidon should be calling and dealing with Hades every single day about this not just ignoring it) and now Persephone is going to therapy which is great and I actually loved how Chiron asked her what she wanted to do with her life and what she liked and although she only said things her mother wanted to do I really hope she realises that she has done mostly what Hades has wanted to do and that she takes a break from him..

5. The fact that Hades is such a volatile man and gets angry so easily is not a good thing.. like in the latest fast pass you see him yelling at Persephone for sth she said (i think she said she had a bad experience with a doctor or sth? ) and then you have him yelling at workers and just about everyone and then fighting with civilians as well? Like i’m sorry but what about this screams husband material? Bc to me Hades is literally a walking red flag (in his case a blue flag) and it’s so insane to me how LO fans think this is what a man should be like? Like in the previous chapters Hades would make fun of Persephone and just try to make her feel small but just because he was nice to her a couple of times and has the hots for her he suddenly is a nice guy? Hades is the oldest brother and the oldest king and he is supposed to be wise and calm and instead we have a 40 year old looking 2000+ year old man who acts like a 13 year old boy? With everything that Persephone has been going through she doesn’t need another man who is aggressive and yelling at everyone.. she doesn’t even need a man? She needs therapy and to find herself but that’s a whole other thing.. and you could say that Hades has his own trauma and that’s why he acts like that and like no? Hades needs to go to therapy and i think he even was going in the first few chapters so what happened there

6. I 100% agree with the other anons saying that so far no comic in Webtoon has portrayed Persephone the way she should be.. she almost acts like a child and is way to bubbly and sweet and like? She’s the queen of the underworld she shouldn’t be like that? And i don’t know if it’s the whole trend of making characters look as intimidating as possible and then giving them the personality of bubble gum but even in the other comics Persephone is drawn like a bubbly girl which doesn’t really make sense.. Persephone isn’t even technically a spring goddess she is a vegetation one? And yet everyone in their comics is like Persephone goddess of Spring.. she’s not only a vegetation goddess but also a chthonic one meaning that she should look more dreadful and serious and even a bit scary? Them giving her red, pink or blonde hair and a cute face doesn’t really make her look fit to be an underworld queen

#anti lo #anti lore olympus #lo critical #lore olympus critical

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tiergan-vashir · 5 years

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Huh is that what happened with the Nier crossover thing. Cause like the first few promotions for the YoRHA cross over shows 2B to have a darker complexion. But, now the recent trailer is like "Nah, she is definitely still light skinned. Those other images were just...2B in...uhh...environmental shading. Yeah, that's it!" I suddenly feel very exhausted.

Yep. Also, going to provide some context for people who are all “WTF is the FFXIV community bitching about this time.”

Shoving it under a cut, because it’s going to have pictures and get real long because of it. (If mobile doesn’t do the cut, I’m sorry in advance :V)

When 2B was introduced to Soul Calibur in a crossover, a color variant nicknamed “2P” was introduced as well, which is essentially like a reverse-color 2B. She’s got dark/black hair, a white dress, and… a darker skintone.

While 2P is basically a replica/recolor/variant of 2B, she’s a replica known for her dark hair and darker skin. This darker skintone was not some weird accident that Soul Calibur did and SE wasn’t aware of. SE sells 2P color variant action figures at their store where it is described as having “a darker skin tone as if she was tanned by the sun, and a white outfit that looks sharp against her black hair”.

2P was shown as still looking pretty dark-skinned in the original promotional artwork.

But the 2P we’re seeing in the marketing artwork now is NOTICEABLY paler.

So they basically took the dark-haired, darker-skinned recolor in a white dress and made her EXACTLY the same in FFXIV, using the exact same nickname 2P… but they significantly lightened her skin, while changing nothing else.

That looks and feels bad and is why people are unhappy or upset. They might just make 2B (if/when she shows up) translucently paper-white pale to ensure there’s still some contrast, but it’s still a bummer.

We can’t really say “Maybe it’s the lighting” because she’s well lit here. We also can’t say “different game with different rendering engine” because a different rendering engine doesn’t mean it’s suddenly impossible to depict slightly darker skin. Especially in a game that already HAS a wide range of skin-tones for players to choose from.

So we can only assume somewhere between the original promo art and now, someone in SE decided she had to be paler to market well.

And yeah - I get it. It’s a fighting game color variant with a nickname. 99.9% of the time, it’s not that big a deal and wouldn’t matter for shit. But when you grow up from childhood seeing people who look like you get whitewashed, erased, minimized, or altered all the time, everywhere, it’s added weight on top of the weight you were ALREADY carrying. A weight that spans back years and years and years pressing down on your shoulders.

And that even though I’m not that old, I have already had to deal with DECADES of mounting frustration and disappointment over stuff like this occurring in our movies, shows, and games. I can only assume it’s worse for black and brown folks who not only have to deal with that shit here in the states, but also from a whole other country on the other side of the planet.

If it feels like people are getting oversensitive and angry out of nowhere over something small, consider that this small thing is really just another added rock upon a mountain of things they’ve been carrying over the course of their lives. People don’t get annoyed about this stuff out of nowhere in a vacuum. They get annoyed because it’s happened often enough that they get absolutely sick of it.

#discourse #racism #long post #Anonymous

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firefrightfic · 5 years

Note

I know youve done one for Jason specifically already but can you do 10 (physical appearance) for all the batboys! Might be interesting to see how you differeniate all these blue eyed black haired boys haha

Hee, it is sometimes a trial to do, but yes, here we go.

Dick: Dick is that perfect boy next door. Square jaw, high cheek bones, and when he smiles, the cutest dimples. I actually did a previous appearance post for him, too, as well as Jason, showing some of my favourite canon depictions, but it was written prior to what is now the most famously perfect of Dick appearances in comics being published.

Travis Moore’s art is the perfect adaption of the classic Dick Grayson look for the modern era, from the hair (thick, short and wavy) to the face, as well as body type. He’s an acrobat, not a body builder or weightlifter, which means that while he does have muscle (and plenty of it, because no one could do the manoeuvres he pulls off without some incredible strength) he’s firmly on the side of lean and athletic rather than broad.

Skintone-wise, I lean towards a light tan, which is a throwback to his Romani heritage, and when it comes to his eyes, I actually like to imagine them as a very dark blue, rather than the sky blue tone a lot of artists go with (which made me quite pleased to see the new Young Justice season animating Dick with darker coloured eyes).

Dick is just damn good looking, okay. Not to a super model level, but no one would ever kick the boy out of bed, that’s for sure.

Jason: (For reference, here are the two prior posts I did on his appearance, as mentioned by anon in the ask above). Nothing’s really changed in my opinion of his looks since then, but I’ll still do a quick summary here as well.

Jason is angular. Facially, anyway. He has a sharp cut jaw, with a thin but well defined mouth, a narrow, crooked nose from being broken one too many times, as well as bold eyebrows and pretty, almond shaped eyes. You can call him good-looking, but he’s not handsome or pretty in the same way Dick or Tim are (or even Damian will be when he’s older). No, Jason is much more likely to be described as striking to look at rather than conventionally attractive. Particularly because of his eyes, which are a blended shade of blue and green, and unusually vibrant, particularly when put against the pale shade of his skin. I also like to imagine him with freckles these days (which is totally the fault of @pentapoda and @jaykore with their wonderful fanart).

Another unique trait he has on the other batboys is that his hair is curly, rather than straight or waved. It’s also rather thick, like Dick’s is, but unlike Dick’s it never behaves itself, and Alfred was driven up the wall more than once in trying to make it sit neatly for photographs back when Jason was a boy.

Build-wise, he’s somewhere between Bruce and Dick. Lean bordering on heavy, and of course, those thighs. Jason has legs for days, as the saying goes. You just want to lick them. Unsurprisingly, my favourite canon art for him is Dexter Soy’s by a mile.

Tim: The prettiest out of the bunch, with a heart-shaped face, chin and cheekbones you could cut glass on, as well as a bit of a snub nose and perfectly cupid-bow lips. His hair is thin and more or less perfectly straight, as well as the most pure shade of black out of the boys. Meanwhile, his eyes are closer to grey than a true shade of blue, and tend to look all the more stormy the more wrapped up in thought he is (they also, unsurprisingly, have near constant bags under them, considering his terrible sleeping habits, and stand out terribly well against his pale skin).

As in canon, my head Tim is the shortest out of the bunch, and deceptively thin-looking at first glance. But he actually has a lot of muscle, as all the Bat-boys do. It’s just always disguised by the fact that when in civilian wear, he likes to wear oversized, baggy clothing for comfort.

Best canon example for my headcanon is Marcus To.

Damian: Basically a mini-Bruce, surprisingly broad and heavy for his age (if still short), but with Talia’s darker skintone and some slight softening of his features. He’s also the only one of the boys who doesn’t have blue eyes. Instead they’re jade, like his mother’s. Also his hair is unreasonable spiky and coarse the only place where genetics failed him.

He is just very square all over, but when he grows up, he actually kind of becomes a little… super model-ish? Talia and Bruce’s looks together are a devastating combination, after all. He’s also going to end up being the tallest out of all the boys, beating out even his own father in the end (something Bruce will never be allowed to live down), as well as the heaviest. Boy is thicc.

Best canon art to match my headcanon is Patrick Gleason’s work. I also really liked the way he was drawn as an adult during his initial appearance in the Batman Beyond comic (minus the skintone).

#Anonymous #asks #batfam #dick grayson #jason todd #tim drake #damian wayne #headcanon meme

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musesofmagnificence · 5 years

Note

Shun X June (Just curious for the if they have an kid ask meme, besides that my main muse, Earl Zolubu, mortal Olympian son of [mortally late] Hades & Persephone, has Shun in him. XD)

//SDFGHJKL SORRY THIS TOOK ME SO LONG! Tbh, biggest reason I didn’t do this earlier is because I don’t normally think about this pair a whole lot, actually? Like, literally no such thing as ship hate on my blog, and these two are super cute, it’s just not what I usually ship, bUT HERE’S MY THOUGHTS!

send me a pair name and I’ll tell you what I think it would be like if they had a child.

Name: “Makoto” seems like it would be a good name for their child, as it commonly means “sincerity and truth”

Gender: Male

General Appearance: Dark brown hair and bright green eyes, along with more of a medium to slightly tan skintone

Personality: Considering his parents, he’d likely grow up as a gentle soul. He probably grows up admiring June’s fierce strength, wishing to be like her in so many ways, and that combined with a determination and conviction like Shun’s when it comes to his stance on violence, it makes him a remarkably admirable boy. Also on Shun’s side, he most definitely learns how to be incredibly creative in solutions to problems when he sees Shun as basically the only Saint of his generation to solve problems with something other than his fists half the time.

Special Talents: He has a natural affinity for Fine Arts, and his parents have NO idea where it came from XD

Who they like better: SDFGHJKL I mean, it depends on the situation. Generally, he loves his parents equally because of how much they adore him and how safe they make him feel, but sometimes when he does something that he probably shouldn’t…he likes whichever one is going to lessen his punishment LMAO

Who they take after more: Oh man… I kind of want to say Shun? Like, he has his mother’s fierceness and might not be quite as against violence as Shun, but otherwise his personality, heart, strong conviction and willingness to sacrifice for the sake of his loved ones? That’s all Shun. Plus, as a bonus, he’s incredibly smart when it comes to healing herbs and such from watching Shun work.

Personal Head canon: Bby boi was adopted~!

Face Claim: Sorey from Tales of Zestiria

#blue scorpion king #bluescorpionking #ooc #mun #;watermelon prince #;princess chameleon #thank you for the ask! this was so much fun!

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ilovedangos · 5 years

Text

Cosplaying CLANNAD

CLANNADman

Okazaki is the average high school kind of guy that almost every anime has. He’s not going to be hard to portray unless you’re the weird minority who lives in a different world. To be like him all you need is:

spiky blue or dark hair (natural or dyed)

tan skintone (If you’re naturally pale you can choose to get a tan. All optional anyway!)

male Hikarizaka school uniform with senior badge

plain and casual clothes

a straight face (He's never seen without one except for few occasions.)

a low voice

realist attitude

street-smarts

casual, informal way of speech

teenage immaturity (Okazaki is the rebellious type who always breaks the rules.)

talk less (He isn’t a very talkative person.)

talking slowly (Okazaki is always calm and never talks fast.)

low energy level (He is always tired, laidback, and very relaxed.)

a sense of humor (He and Sunohara are never caught dead without one!)

Cockroach

Nagisa is a shy girl who is bad at making friends and later become’s Okazaki’s wife. She is going to be hard to cosplay because of her shyness, eccentricity, and often animated demeanor. If you’re not a shy or strange person, I suggest you carefully follow every single one of these tips to better understand how she acts:

short red or brown hair with antennae

amber contacts (because of her unnatural eye color but optional)

kawaii makeup (Nagisa doesn’t wear a lot of makeup so you can just go for an ulzzang look with faux lashes if you’re eyes aren’t big.)

peach skintone (Getting a tan or not is all optional.)

female Hikarizaka school uniform with senior badge

girly, cute clothes with light colors that aren’t too stylish (Nagisa is a girly girl so besides her school uniform, she is seen wearing skirts or dresses.)

girly and childish high pitched voice (Again she is a girly girl and also very childish.)

always say “desu” at the end of your sentences (She’s one of those weirdos with fucking verbal tics!)

smile and talk a lot (Nagisa is a very bubbly and talkative girl who is never suffering in silence.)

talk fast (She is a very excitable and nervous person.)

blush all the time (She lacks composure.)

innocence (She always follows the rules.)

optimistic attitude (Nagisa sees the good in everything to a fault.)

very good manners (Nagisa is demure, always talks politely, and never swears.)

apologize and forgive (Nagisa always apologizes even if the other person wronged her.)

sensitivity and earnesty (Nagisa doesn’t have much sense of humor and acts on her feelings. Like her mom, she cries a lot or gets defensive when insulted.)

Dangos (She always talks about them nonstop; you can even sing the song all the time to be more like her.)

Fujibayashi twins

The twins are CLANNADman’s friends whom act as support for the Drama Club. They are just normal Japanese high school girls that are easy to portray if you live in Japan or have knowledge of Japanese culture. Since they’re opposite in personalities, you’ll have to be aware of how they each act.

Kyou is a bold and energetic girl who has been good friends with Okazaki since their junior year. She is the archetypal Tsundere, which means type A. To have her aggressive personality, you’ll need:

long purple hair (dyed or wig)

white lace hair ribbon (left side)

bold makeup (Kyou has piercing purple Tsurime eyes so you’d want to apply lots of eyeliner to look fierce like her. Then fill in your eyebrows to complete the look.)

fair skin (If you’re naturally tan I suggest you stay that way.)

female Hikarizaka school uniform with senior badge

flashy, bright colored clothes

knee-high socks

audacity

high energy level

a bad temper

loud, rough voice (mezzo-soprano)

informal, tomboyish way of speech

talk at a faster speed (She’s very energetic and expressive.)

cooking skills (For a tomboy, Kyou is an excellent cook.)

athletism (Participate in as many sports you can in your school.)

work ethic

good sense of humor (She can use sarcasm but she doesn’t have the silly humor like CLANNADman or Sunohara.)

textbooks (to throw at idiots, especially when you see CLANNADman or Sunohara)

pet boar (optional)

sibling to protect (optional)

Kyou's twin is a timid girl who knew Okazaki through her sister and had a crush on him ever since. She doesn’t have as much of a personality nor presence like the other characters which makes it an advantage to easily cosplay her. All you need in order to be like this Dandere girl is:

Similar appearance as her twin except short hair and hairpiece (right side)

mild-mannered face (She has blue Tareme eyes.)

female Hikarizaka school uniform with senior badge

light, dull makeup (Fujibayashi doesn’t stand out much so she won’t be wearing lots of makeup.)

light, casual clothes

soft-spoken, mezzo-soprano voice

cautiousness and hesitance (Unlike her twin, she is a girl who thinks before she speaks or acts.)

clumsiness

talk at a slower speed (She doesn’t talk very much.)

decent manners (Fujibayashi is a fairly polite girl in both speech and behavior, especially compared to her boisterous sister who always yells and acts brash.)

work ethic

sense of humor (She has a decent and average amount of humor, no problems understanding jokes or sarcasm.)

do anything for your true love (Fujibayashi can be bolder when in a serious situation that involves her love, Kappei. She risked telling him white lies and had the courage to have his baby if he didn’t want live.)

player cards (Her hobby is fortune telling.)

older sibling (optional)

Tomoyo

Tomoyo is a tough and cool girl who becomes good friends with Tomoya and Sunohara. She is the 'Strong-Silent-Type' who is very mature for her age; she’d be an example of a Kuudere. Tomoyo is a female version of Tomoya since she doesn’t have any noticeable quirks like many of the other characters and is the most sane compared to the other girls. She is a classic tomboy so to cosplay her you’ll need:

Rapunzel length messy silver hair and bangs (dyed or wig)

thick black headband

dark, dull makeup (Tomoyo is more quieter compared to many of the girls in both appearance and personality. You can apply smoky eyeliner then draw your eyebrows in a dark, deep color to give the serious look that she has.)

pale skintone (You can always remember to put sunscreen so you don’t get tan.)

female Hikarizaka school uniform with junior badge

athleisure style or streetwear

piercings (a few here and there)

stoic face

deep monotone

being talented (She is very strong and nobody, not even Kyou, can beat her in that. Eat healthy and exercise to be more fit, beautiful like her.)

intelligence (Tomoyo is a straight A student and has many opportunities ahead of her. To seem smarter, you can pick up a book or 2, study more, or watch the news.)

sense of responsibility (Tomoyo is diligent and hardworking.)

talk less (Tomoyo is a girl of few words; she speaks only when necessary.)

talk slowly (She is a sensible girl who doesn’t have time for nonsense such as Sunohara.)

casual but direct form of speech

confidence (why she’s known as the STRONG silent type of girl)

dark or dry sense of humor (Tomoyo is very snarky and sarcastic like CLANNADman.)

Kotomi

Kotomi is a taciturn and sluggish girl Tomoya reunites with as she is his childhood friend. She is the school’s genius and is seen always reading books in the library. Kotomi is the archetypal Dandere lacking in social skills and common sense which makes her seemingly strange. What you’ll need to cosplay this hot nerd is:

dark purple hair (dyed or wig, medium length)

horsetails tied with 2 large pink beads

pale skintone (not too pale)

female Hikarizaka school uniform with senior badge

formal clothes (Kotomi is a nerd so she always dresses conservatively.)

emotionless face

low, quiet mezzo-soprano voice

talk less (Kotomi is a very taciturn and reticent person who is barely seen talking.)

talking at a very slow speed

good manners (Kotomi is a polite girl despite being a nerd with no social skills.)

low energy level

books (Her hobby is reading all day.)

violin (If you’re a violin player and want to have a deadly weapon, put pressure on the strings to make it sound higher and deafening.)

teddy bear (She loves bears.)

weak sense of humor (Kotomi isn’t one for humor and when she tries, it’s not supposed to be funny. Because she lacks social skills, she doesn’t know how to tell jokes.)

Fu-chan

Fuko is a childish girl who befriends Okazaki and Nagisa. She is actually a ghost whose real self is still in a coma. Fuko is a very loud and hyperactive girl who gets easily distracted. Since you have to be good enough to act as this silly girl, you’re going to need:

dark green hair (natural or wig, medium length, low ponytail tied in a big blue ribbon)

technicolor contacts (She has light unnatural colored eyes.)

bright, colorful kids makeup

tan skintone (optional)

female Hikarizaka school uniform with freshman badge

youthful, colorful clothes

loud, childish voice

very animated facial expressions and body language

talk at a very fast speed (Fuko is the most talkative character in the show and is never speechless.)

artistic interests

little to no manners (Fuko acts like a little girl and tends to come off rude at times)

wooden “starfish” sculpture

childlike sense of humor (Fuko tends to joke around with Tomoya and Sunohara, but her humor isn’t as mature as theirs.)

Sunohara

Sunohara is Okazaki’s best friend who is another fellow delinquent. He is the Boke of the duo and tends to make the stupidest, most immature jokes ever. Sunohara is very easy to portray because he is another average idiotic, immature teenage boy just like CLANNADman. All you’re gonna need is:

bleached hair (He is an archetypal Anime delinquent character.)

fair skin (If you’re naturally tan I suggest you stay that way.)

blue contacts (He is “baby-faced” so his light blue eyes emphasize that.)

male Hikarizaka school uniform with senior badge

sloppy and bright clothes

loud, excitable voice (He has a more higher voice than the darker, more serious CLANNADman.)

obnoxious facial expressions and body language

very rude, informal way of speech (Sunohara talks in an abrasive manner, lacking any sense of politeness.)

talk at a fast speed (Sunohara talks a lot, way more than the quiet Okazaki.)

low energy level (He is a very lazy and tired guy who is hard to motivate.)

waste time (He is known for being the dumbest character in the show.)

distract people for no reason (He always provokes others for stupid reasons.)

cause trouble all the time

irresponsibility (Sunohara is a coward who puts the blame on others for his own mistakes.)

think you’re all that when you’re not (Sunohara has a huge ego even though he is still thought as a loser.)

silly, dirty sense of humor (Sunohara is very insensitive and makes offensive jokes which gets him beaten up a lot.)

Miyazawa

Yukine is a nice, quiet girl Tomoya meets in the back of the school library. She helps him and anyone who visits her, always serving them tea and casting spells. She is the girliest but most wisest, mature of the characters, so to be like her you’ll need:

straight light brown hair with ahoge (natural or dyed, medium-length)

sleepy eyes

full-face or light makeup (Yukine is a mature, feminine character so she’ll have to look pretty and refined. You can start off with contouring your face, applying foundation, etc. Then lightly apply eyeliner and draw in eyebrows. Apply light eyeshadow, mascara, blush, and lipgloss as well.)

pale skintone (not too pale)

female Hikarizaka school uniform with junior badge

lowkey, feminine wardrobe (Yukine is a motherly figure who wears sophisticated clothes.)

a warm, welcoming smile

quiet, reserved voice (Yukine never raises her voice unless something serious happens.)

low energy level

talk at a slow speed (Never talk too fast as that’s the opposite of calm which Yukine is.)

great manners (Yukine is always polite and considerate to others.)

cooking skills (She’s very feminine so she’s obviously going to be good in the kitchen.)

magic spells book (She likes books people don’t read very much, that get left without being touched.)

tea set (She always makes and gives tea when she sees someone.)

#clannad #cosplay

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passiontaee · 6 years

Text

[rec:] (m) | 01

pairing: leaderline x reader

genre: smut

ratings: m 18+

warnings: studio sex, daddy kink, choking, foursome, crying kink, cum play. spanking, light bondage, anal sex

word count: 2,558

summary: it’s not easy dating idols, let alone two. but luckily they’re in the same group. the only problem is one of their group members has his eye on you too and well, three guys one girl? Seungcheol makes your blood boil but yet and still he also seems to know how to make you weak in the knees. and whether you know it ot not, Soonyoung and Jihoon have picked up on this and have arranged something for their baby girl.

a/n: she’s going to die but that’s okay! here’s your leader line smut b. Also, uhhh don’t try to fit this many dicks in your ass. Or any other orifice.You might rip something important.

Polyamorous relationships were pretty difficult. Especially when you’re dating two idols. Well, originally one, but at some point Jihoon had been added to the triangle and thus the love circle was complete. You’d fallen in love with Soonyoung and his delightful personality, sweet smiles, and sinful hips. He’d been your first, and who you’d assumed would be your last, but Jihoon had something you’d enjoyed as well. Enjoyed a bit too much. Soonyoung had seen that and well, after a few trial runs, and now it was safe to say you proudly belonged to two amazing men. What you thought was odd became normalized; dates with two men at the same time, threesomes, and watching the two fuck each other when you were tired or when you weren’t able to have sex—curse that monthly curse. Of course, it wasn’t about just sex. Sex was great with the two yes, but you truly loved them both. And they loved you just as much.

Seungcheol was a problem. There was just something about him that drove you up the wall. Maybe it was how he’d cling to your boyfriends, or how he’d hover over you. Flashing smiles, fleeting touches, and light presses of his hips against your ass when he reaches for things and insists on going behind you versus sidestepping and going around you. But you can’t deny it—as much as you want to see his pretty little neck wrung between your tan fingers, you would rather have those long fingers wrapped around your neck as he pounds into you. Looming over you with lust in his eyes and his jaw set. You don’t tell Soonyoung and Jihoon about those nights you spend in your own apartment, where you fantasize about Seungcheol even when you’re having phone sex with the other two males. There were a few times Seungcheol almost slipped out when you were having sex with Soonyoung, but of course you always managed to save yourself before it happened. But your boyfriends picked up on how you’d glare at Seungcheol and the other male would smile kittenishly at you, as if he knows that you hate him but wouldn’t mind letting him split you open. Or in half. Ugh.

♡

“You’re so cute when you try to resist my advances.”

You hear him before you see him, rolling your eyes as he corners you in the kitchen. Yet again.

“Seungcheol—”

“Come on, y/n. One little taste. I’ve had my eyes on you for the longest, and I know you’d enjoy letting me pound that sweet ass,” he hums, hovering yet again. Caging you between his arms as he prevents you from moving, hands on either side of the counter. You start nervously sweating but you don’t look at him because yes, you want that. Instead, you gather your strength and you scoff, pushing at his chest.

“Back off, I need to get back to my boyfriends,” you insist, making eye contact. He pouts momentarily but relinquishes, instead leaning on the counter beside you, watching you.

“I’m sure they won’t mind. Besides, you’ve got two. Wouldn’t hurt to add another now would it?” he questions boldly. You look at him as if he’s lost his mind. You want to slap him, but it’s Mingyu who tears you away from grabbing the kitchen knife and castrating the cocky bastard right in the kitchen. Regardless of the fact that Jisoo will positively have a heart attack at the copious amount of blood you know that the male will lose.

“Hey y/n, Jihoon-hyung wanted me to tell you that he’s tired of waiting and he and Soonyoung-hyung are about to start without you. Whatever that means but it sound nasty so please.” The tan male looks disgusted but you perk, giving Seungcheol a glare as you make your exit, patting Mingyu on the arm as if to thank him for saving you from either murder or bending over and spreading your ass for Seungcheol to take and claim.

♡

You arrive to find them cuddled up. Well, more like Soonyoung clinging to Jihoon, chin on his shoulder as the shorter male fools around with some sounds on his computer. You grin at the sight, closing the door gently. You wonder if you’re supposed to feel jealousy seeing them together without you, but the copious amount of sex tapes they’d sent you tell you otherwise. You slide on over, kissing them both on the temple and slither over to Jihoon’s other side, sitting beside his computer. You know blocking him from the device would mean you wouldn’t get the sex you want, so you refrain from being a brat. For once. Soonyoung notices you and looks at you with a grin, melting your heart. So cute.

“Sorry it took me so long,” you hum. Of course, the three of you wanted to fool around. This time in Jihoon’s studio. This is his sacred place, his bubble. So the fact that he’s allowing this is a feat in itself.

“It’s fine. Let me finish this up really quick. You two can get started and I’ll join in in a second,” he says. You pout, attempting to bat your eyelashes at him, but he ignores you. Soonyoung doesn’t mind this set up and gets up, walking over to your side and immediately slipping between your legs, arms going to wrap around your waist as he plants kisses along your cheek playfully. You giggle softly as his lips move closer to yours, starting off with quick pecks until they turn into slow, deep kisses where his hands move to grip your waist, thumbs digging into your skin beneath the oversized hoodie you’re wearing.He bites gently on your bottom lip, pulling at it and you glance over, seeing Jihoon watching intently. I thought you had work, you think to yourself, but you turn your attention back to Soonyong’s sweet mouth, his tongue slipping into your wet cavern which causes you to mewl, cupping his cheeks and keeping his face close to yours. He presses into you and from your position you can feel the beginnings of an erection, which makes you smirk, pulling away and mouthing at his jaw hotly. He sucks a breath in through his nose, positively aroused, his hands moving to the top button of the hip hugging jeans you’re wearing.

“I thought I said wear a skirt today,” you hear him pant in your ear, a bit amused judging by his tone. You press a lightly kiss against where his ear and jawbone meet to placate him.

“It would’ve clashed with Hoonie’s hoodie,” is your reply, Jihoon humming at the affectionate nickname, eyes back on his computer screen. You don’t miss how he adjusts himself in his thin sweats, cheeks a little pink. Of course he’s moderately aroused from watching you and Soonyoung making out so sloppily, and from watching you two feel each other up. Who wouldn’t be? You feel a nip at your cheek and yelp, only to hear laughter coming from Soonyoung shortly after. He enjoys biting; leaving little marks all over your honey colored skin that constantly remind you of who you belong to. It’s been something he’s been fond of doing since even before Jihoon joined you two, but now Jihoon likes to add to the mix his own marks; bruising purple and dark blue. They look so beautiful with your skintone that he sometimes even takes pictures. In both their phones there’s a special album of not safe for work photos they’ve taken of you in various states.

Tied up and gagged with cum cooling across your breasts and face.

Ass covered in hand marks from the spanks they give you.

Bruises around your neck and collarbones from their mouths and possessive hands.

Really, you three are wild—absolute freaks. Management has tried their hardest to shield these from the fans, but a video of Jihoon spraying your face with semen and rubbing it in with his tip got leaked a few months ago and well, the fans knew how nasty you three were. Not that you particularly care very much. You hum as your jeans are pulled off, warm hands palming your thighs. Soonyoung drops to his knees immediately, your left hand flying to his soft hair. You breathe through your nose shakily as he moves his lips from your knees up up to your inner thighs, pressing wet kisses and light marks from his teeth into your soft skin. You watch fondly, fingers scratching at his scalp. He’s good at giving head —absolutely an animal. Knows how to use his fingers, teeth, and tongue to bring you over the edge again and again, pushing you into overstimulation. There’s something oddly arousing about watching how his eyes darken at the sight of you whining for him to stop, insisting you can’t take anymore when you orgasm once and he keeps at it, force not relenting and speed not slowing. Soonyoung is a bit of a sadist when it comes to pleasing you, but oh is it worth it.

“Eat our baby out, I’ll be back,” Jihoon says, getting up. He gives you two a fleeting glance, bites his lip, but promptly exists the room. Doesn’t even give Soonyoung a chance to agree or disagree with this, because Jihoon, despite being so small, is in fact the dominant party in your relationship. He’s dominant even when Soonyoung insists on fucking him. Fingering him open messily and getting lube everywhere while you watch and flick your fingers shakily against your clitoris. You’ve gotten off far too many times listening to the little noises Jihoon makes when he’s full of Soonyoung’s cock that it’s ridiculous. Your attention is thwarted when they’re a tongue pressing at your slit through your panties, hands pushing your legs further apart and pulling you closer to the edge of the desk, greedily lapping at the slight amount of fluid caught in the cotton of your underwear from the kiss earlier and Jihoon’s words. You make a noise, pleased, as he moves his head back, hands reaching up to pull the pink material down and off your legs, tossing them into Jihoon’s chair. You blink and he’s up on his feet again, kissing you with a grin.

“A present,” he whispers, moving his way back down. He reckons the hoodie can stay on a little longer. You look cute in just the hoodie, slightly oversized. Jihoon loves oversized hoodies, and you’re no different, oftentimes stealing his and wearing them in his stead. But you know how cute Jihoon thinks it is when you steal his tops, jackets, and hoodies so he relinquishes and allows you to get away with it. Because his baby is cute and you’re his baby.

“My panties?” You ask, parting your legs a little more. Soonyoung hums at this, hearing your amusement as he glides his pointer and middle fingers up from your lower lips to the upper, collecting slick as he does so. Lips drawn back in a playful grin as you shudder.

“Yeah, why not? They’re that cute pink pair we like so much. You look so good in pink, baby. So pretty. Sometimes, I want to throw pink lingerie at you. Make you wear lace panties and lace bras. You looks so pretty in pastels,” he sighs as he slides his slick fingers through your slit again, memorized. “Covered in cum and wearing skimpy lingerie? Imagine how good it’ll look. Jihoon would love that,” he purrs. Your hips buck when he slips both fingers inside of you, humming at the pleasant stretch from the intrusion. He’d be adding his tongue soon, you already knew and were mentally preparing for it. But no matter how many times you’d prepare for that pink muscle to work your walls in the best way, you’d always lose your shit. Always.

“Soonyoung—” you’re not really sure what you’re begging for, maybe for mercy when he crooks his fingers towards that one spot that has you hunching over, wanting to ride his fingers. Hands gripping the edge of the desk as your noises become a little louder. He positively enjoys this, seeing you come apart from just his fingers alone. He moves in after a bit more of this, scissoring his fingers open so that he can make room for his tongue. But he doesn’t immediately dive in. No, he’s not that kind. He gives your lips wet, open mouthed kisses, smothering your sweet cunt with kisses in adoration and desire. His tongue swipes up some extra fluid that oozes out of your opening, your eyes on him the entire time. It’s almost painful to watch his filthy tongue fondle your little pearl; the tip flicking against it with little remorse. Your cry out, legs shaking. “Soonyoung please,” you can’t handle him teasing, not right now. He moves away with a suckle, grinning up at you.

“Come on, you can’t cum just yet. Not until our surprise,” he coos at you, but returns his head to your heat, his lips wrapping around your swollen nub and sucking, teeth scraping lightly against the sensitive bundle of nerves. Your lips part and you choke on a sob, hips struggling to remain on the desk but it’s hard when Soonyoung is sucking at your engorged clit and scissoring long finger inside of your canal. The early beginnings of an orgasm start to grab you by the neck until the door swings open and the color drains from your face.

Seungcheol.

You can’t even process Jihoon walking in behind him and shutting the door, can’t even feel Soonyoung between your legs. Your eyes meet as he glances down, seeing a blonde head between your legs and smirks at the sight of your useless legs trembling. He licks his lips and suddenly you’re remembering that Soonyoung is between your legs, giving you the best head of your life and you choke, reaching a hand down to tangle in his hair, gripping it and eliciting a growl from his pretty mouth. You’re suddenly all the more aroused by the fact that you two now have an audience—and that Seungcheol solely has his eyes on you. You’re unsure what you’ve done to deserve his attention constantly but it triggers that rubber band inside of you to draw taut and pop, a silent scream causing you to gasp and nearly wheeze, eyes widening and jaw dropping as you orgasm, the man between your legs eagerly lapping up your release. He pulls away, miraculously and strangely, and licks at his glistening lips. You try not to look down at how your cum drips down his chin as well. Knowing you’re weak to that sight.

“What, what’s he doing here?” you manage once you’re slightly cognitive, by this time Soonyoung hovering over you at his full height, stroking your hair and bringing you back with his lips at your neck, lightly grinding against your leg. Jihoon clears his throat, realizing now’s a good time to explain.

“Our fourth party,” he states simply, though there’s a knowing smile on his face. You can hear Soonyoung chuckling from his position between your legs, partially, face buried in your neck. You blink at Jihoon, confused.

“I don’t understand —”

“We’re having a foursome,” Seungcheol blurts out.

Your soul leaves your body at that moment.

[ chapter two ]

#choi seungcheol #s.coups #kwon soonyoung #seventeen hoshi #seventeen woozi #lee jihoon #seventeen #seventeen fics #leader line seventeen #change up

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schpiedehl · 7 years

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An open letter to Hamilton (etc) fan artists, Re:whitewashing

Hello. Time for another ill-constructed rant on probably already well-tread ground. Specifically whitewashing in fan art (even more specifically Hamilton art though this could be applied to any fandom) and when it is ok. lol jk it’s never ok. PLEASE NOTE: I am an (amateur) artist. I am not ragging on artists because I “don’t understand how hard making art is,” “how hard artists work,” or what have you. These are legitimate problems of representation in fanart (that I have witnessed firsthand) and this is my earnest attempt to elucidate these issues. Feel free to interact with this post as you see fit. I am always free for debate if you disagree, would like clarification, or have anything to add.

+Look out for those embedded hyperlinks for more content

Preface: I am a member of far too many fb Hamilton groups. Sometimes people post their art, apparently forgetting that when you post things online you open yourself to critique. Hilarity ensues.

I often see Hamilton characters (generally portrayed as original Broadway cast members - Lin-Manuel Miranda, Okieriete Onaodowan, Anthony Ramos, etc.) who have been horrifically whitewashed - complete with lightened skin, bizarrely red or light brown hair, lightened eyes, and so forth. The most common defenses for this misstep, from both artists and fans, are personal style and apparent inability to approximate accurate skin tone (“I tried but skin color is hard”). Here’s why both of those excuses are utter bullshit.

1. Personal Style:

A lot of things in life are open to interpretation and all art is inherently interpretive. But the racial and cultural identity of a real life person is not one of these interpretive things. [PAUSE: before anyone says that this is precisely what Hamilton is doing with its casting, don’t.] First of all, I get it, personal style is important to art. Some people trend toward realism while others prefer more abbreviated, abstracted, and/or cartoony styles and part of that is selecting stylized color palettes, interpreting color in new and inventive ways, and playing with light, value, line, form, etc. This is NOT what I am talking about. It is entirely possible to honor a person’s background using relative or approximated shading/tone/coloration and to create beautiful art in the process [example: Chris Vision’s color series]. This little rant is specifically directed at people who "attempt" to depict Hamilton (etc) actors/characters using realistic/semi-realistic color palettes (as in, how they appear irl, accounting for abstraction, drawing style, etc) but fall short when it comes to depicting the actors, particularly in regards to racial background. You can find excellent examples of what I mean at Calling Out Whitewashed Hamilton Art and I’m positive you can find far too many examples in this and many other fandoms simply by scrolling through the tags on Tumblr and Instagram. So without further ado, lightening a person/character’s skin in fanart is racist. There’s really no ifs, ands, or buts about it. Foremost, the practice of editing a person of color to appear more European (skin, hair, eyes, even facial features) intentionally erases the cultural, racial, and ethnic background of the person in question. This is incredibly disrespectful to the actors who portray these characters and works to undermine what Hamilton as a whole is trying to build. If Hamilton is trying to reclaim American history for People of Color, stripping the racial, ethnic, and cultural backgrounds from the actors represents a rejection of conceit and, perhaps, even a form of appropriation. It is as though “fans” are saying that they want the art that is made by and for POC while simultaneously rejecting the distinctly racialized aspects of that art. When artists depict Lin!Hamilton as white, they are rejecting the Nuyorican background which Lin brings to the character in both writing and performance and projecting faux whiteness upon the character. In doing so, whether consciously or not, they are rejecting the actor’s race as well. Lin is beloved because of the art that he makes which allows many fans to look past his racial and cultural identity rather than accept it as an intrinsic aspect of both the man and his art. Moreover, the ubiquity of this whitewashed art also reveals a lot about what “fans” find visually appealing and acceptable - e.g., the Eurocentric standard of beauty. Whitewashing in art represents not only a rejection of POC’s culture but, obviously, their physical attributes as well. Dark skin is lightened and or whitened, hair is often straightened and/or lightened to a light brown or red hue (with the exception of Laurens, whose features, hair in particular, are often feminized as a form a queer fetishization but that is a rant for another day), and features are changed to appear more European. Often, depictions of characters are changed so much it is nearly impossible to tell that the art is based on any particular actor. In addition to being, again, extremely disrespectful to the actors, this further perpetuates the extremely harmful notion that beauty only exists in European features and sends a direct message to POC fans that their appearance is neither beautiful not accepted by the fanbase of a piece of media that was made by other POC specifically to appeal to them. This seems especially true of dark skinned black individuals who are often completely stripped of the melanin in fan art, further driving home notions of ingrained cultural colorism and anti-blackness. With Hamilton in particular, it is fine to “change” a character’s race if and only if you are depicting a character as a different actor. For instance, while Lin!Hamilton is Latino, Michael!Hamilton is a black man and depicting Hamilton as such, while uncommon among fan communities, is better than fine [*the lack of art of dark skinned actors is another point of contention. Not only are dark skinned actors frequently whitewashed, many are ignored altogether]. Depicting Michael!Hamilton as light skinned or white, however, is obviously not fine. Having established that lightening a character’s skin or depicting them with more European features is inherently racist, the claim that whitewashing is a stylistic choice is invalid. If you make the “stylistic choice” to depict a POC as white, you are racist. End of story. And if you want to do better but find yourself wanting to draw Lin!Hamilton as white, remember that this guy existed and just draw him instead. It’s not that hard. 2. Technical Difficulties:

One of the most unfortunately common excuses for whitewashing in fanart seems to be that, for some reason or another, artists have difficulty accurately approximating actors’ skin color so they presumedly just make something up, This results in Lin!Hamilton and Phillipa!Eliza looking a bit like Snow White, Oak!Mulligan looking a little tan, and so forth. As an artist, I understand that approximating realistic skintones can be rather hard, especially with traditional mediums, but it is glaringly obvious when artists don’t put in any effort. With traditional mediums such as paint, markers, or color pencils, artists can blend to create the colors which accurately (or as accurately as possible given the limitations of certain mediums like watercolors) approximate actors’ skin tones. If the colors dry lighter than intended, the artist generally layer and blend more to achieve a better approximation. If they then scan their image, they can use a photo editor to fix or correct any mistakes. It might not be the easiest to find good matches (speaking from experience, there aren’t a ton of good warm brown toned markers and thus a lot of blending is sometimes required) but, as previously stated, it’s generally easy to tell when someone at least tried to get close to a correct skin tone. With digital art, it’s even easier. Fact: Nearly all art programs have a nifty eyedropper tool which can be used to pull color swatches directly from a reference picture. Even MSpaint has this function. By pulling multiple swatches from a variety of reference images (to account for different lighting conditions), an artist can build a relatively accurate gradiented palette for skin tone. It’s really that simple! And if an artist notices that the color isn’t quite right, it’s nothing a few tweaks to hue and saturation can’t fix! If my tone seemed a bit sarcastic/passive aggressive in that last paragraph, it’s because it totally was. I see this excuse so much more often than I see any other excuse for whitewashed fan art and it is incredibly frustrating but also, as an (extraordinarily mediocre) artist myself, it rings incredibly inaccurate, especially for digital art. I completely understand that it sometimes takes a lot of time to get used to a medium but when an artist’s color palette is literally limitless, there is absolutely no reason (aside from personal, possibly subconscious/implicit but no less real, biases) for an actor/character to be depicted as white/light skinned when they are not. As previously discussed, that is disrespectful and harmful, and really only serves to make the artist (and those that support work) look like a jackass. And look, if you find yourself making whitewashed art, it’s not as though it is impossible to change. When someone criticizes your whitewash-y art, don’t get defensive. Don’t claim that it’s your style or that you don’t know how to color POC. It looks and sounds really fucking ridiculous. Instead, evaluate your art and place it into a cultural context. Take it as an opportunity to improve. And maybe also take the opportunity to learn a little about yourself and your biases. This wasn’t meant to be a call out post and I’d like to end this on a positive note so here are a few wonderful Hamilton fan artists who are worth a look: terror-in-a-dream zzzoehsu linmanwhydididothis mikiprice thegentlehoneybee dorothywonderland maeng

#hamilton #lin-manuel miranda #fanart #fan art #whitewashing #racism #longpost #rant #daveed diggs #Okieriete Onaodowan #phillipa soo #alexander hamilton #anthony ramos #lams #discourse #Renee Elise Goldsberry #john laurens #michael luwoye #jasmine cephas jones

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