Nesta watched the shadowsinger with a frankness that most people shied from. Azriel returned the look with a stillness that most people ran from.
Even Feyre had been hesitant around Az initially, but Nesta considered him with the same unflinching assessment she laid upon everyone.
Maybe that was why Azriel had never said a bad word about Nesta. Never seemed inclined to start a fight with her. She saw him, and was not afraid of him. There weren’t many people who fit that bill.
hfhf?fhfdhfhhf???fhfhf?fhf?Fhhfhfhf?fhfh
idk man i’m outta words
Oh nice so she just admits he’s a bully picking on easy prey. :)
don’t you just love when sj///m is accidentally self-aware when she writes?
Ngl tho nesta has shown way more genuine interest in azriel than she has in cassian lmao
SHE HAS! and he actually shows genuine care toward her well-being, as evidenced when he asks if someone pushed her down the stairs.
what a sentence that is damn
New canon: aroace azriel and aroace nesta trying to find a good girlfriend for their lesbian BFF mor
First published in 1637, with the first attempt at a definitive text produced in 1756, The Madman of Florence was probably first performed sometime between 1621 and 1627. It is difficult to categorize- its famously ambiguous ending and largely unsympathetic cast of characters, as well as its bloodbath violence, did nothing to endear it to critics for centuries (it was banned onstage from 1757 to 1830, and even after the ban was lifted the Victorians wanted very little to do with it), it has enjoyed renewed popularity since Laurence Olivier’s groundbreaking 1952 staging with the National Theater.
i watched the adventuring party clip where murph talks about how flirting as theo was fun because theo is Repressed TM and i started thinking about how all his characters are repressed but in wildly in different directions. specifically how fucking superb it is that riz gukgak is a repressed teen boy but WHAT he is repressing is. his asexuality
(you never set out to forge one of the most loved love stories in the world.
that’s a lesson she knows very well.)
irides is the name she chose, once upon a time when the world was younger that it will ever be again. it’s the name she sought, the name amongst the many she tried that seemed to fit.
they call her the spirit of rainbows. they say her eyes are clear as crystal and that her pupils are shaped like diamonds; they say her hair is the colour of freshly fallen snow and beams of coloured light reflect off it. they say she dances during rain showers and that her joy creates the multicoloured arcs of light she’s known for.
this essay originally looked a lot different. it was originally just about whitewashing in the mo xiang tong xiu fandom. however i’m uncomfortable writing that essay. and not because i’m scared people will be mean to me, or because i don’t know what to say.
the problem is that in mxtx fandom, public incidents of racism are consistently mined for entertainment. and whether or not the white people who enjoy drama sleuthing intend it, turning racism into a spectacle creates a chilling effect on people of color’s ability to talk about racism.
i’m going to talk about this in three parts: first, a case study in racism as entertainment; second, my personal reflections on that event; third, the broader historical-cultural context for talking about china, suffering, and entertainment.
“She relaxed in relief and beamed at me, not a polite business dinner smile, but the kind of uncontrolled hundred-watt smile that made her eyes light up and crinkle at the corners. I’d say yes a thousand more times to see her so happy. I was doomed.”
“And where were you twenty years ago? Ten years ago? Where were you when I was new? When I was one of those innocent young maidens you always come to? How dare you! How dare you come to me now, when I am this!”
when people who only follow me on normie social medias are like ‘wow you’re never online you barely ever post’ im always like :) thank you :) yes I am extremely offline. without mentioning that I spend like 15 hours a day posting nonsense on a barely functional social media app that most people think shut down in 2018
It’s too crowded. So crowded that there’s only one seat left, an aisle seat next to a woman wearing a mousy looking cardigan and skirt combo that makes him want to roll his eyes. Is she in the right store? He should just turn around and leave. But he gets so little opportunity to indulge in his love for horror novels, and passing up a reading for a debut author getting lots of splashy reviews would be a waste.
He should turn around and leave, but, he swallows his irritation and swiftly sits in the hard, uncomfortable folding chair.
You turn your head, glancing at him as he does. It’s unavoidable. You look like a deer in headlights, with your quaint clothes and expressive eyes. You look so out of place here, in a little horror knick-knack shop. The cashier leaning over the desk to watch the book reading has pierced eyebrows and probably more piercings under her clothes. The person on the other side of you is decked out in black lace and ruffles.
You’re so different compared to the rest of the crowd. Mundane.
![itchicko: [x]](https://64.media.tumblr.com/e9c564d89b6e542915b042797547cd13/tumblr_mlffqysv1R1rck739o1_1280.jpg "itchicko: [x]")
