yes. i know white is a tone. but still

Addewid (VIII)

Author: kpopfanfictrash

Pairing: You / Kai (Jongin)

Rating: PG-13

Word Count: 4,036

Summary: You cannot appeal to my better nature, for I have none. I am not human, little one.”

You’ve always known you were different. You’re able to see them, after all, able to see the Others. You’ve also always ignored them. Until the day comes where you’re forced to make a choice - one that throws your world into chaos. And sends you down a path you might never return from.

Originally posted by ariah-chan

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Life With Namjoon (01. Towels)

| [02] [03]  –>

A/N: Hey there! Well…I’ve decided to start a new little series (obviously) about what life with Namjoon would be like! This is just going to be a series for fun, really~ Just something I can update with little drabbles and stuff like that, when I don’t have the time or motivation to write a full blown fic.

Genres will like likely range from fluff, to smut, to angst. When I write things about actual life–ya know, things that are more realistic than fantasies usually found in fics–then I tend to be realistic with it. And reality isn’t a 100% wonderful ride hahaha.

That being said, lets get into it! ^^ But rest assured, the first installment isn’t angst. It’s a nice little fluff~

Words: 1,539


01.   Towels


It starts with Namjoon.

You’re lounging on your apartment couch when you hear a ripping sound in the bathroom. You frown and set your phone in your lap, turning and waiting for your boyfriend to emerge and explain the unexpected noise. And, not long after, the bathroom door guiltily creeks open, and Namjoon peeks his head out, his tanned skin still damp with water from his shower.

“Yes?” you ask patiently, and Namjoon can tell from your tone that you obviously know he did something wrong.

“I…uhhh,” is what he manages to say, bringing his arm up from behind his back. One of your white towels is in his hand, though now, unlike the last time you’d seen the poor thing, there’s a giant tear right up the middle—threads of fabric stretching out and twirling every which way.

“How…the fuck…,” you respond, absolutely baffled, and push off the couch. Padding up the hall, your bare feet a little cold against the hardwood floors, you approach the bathroom door and hold your hand out to inspect the towel.

“Woah—I’m naked,” Namjoon says, scooting back behind the doorframe a little, and you roll your eyes. As if that will stop you.

“How many times have I seen you naked?” You simply respond, taking the towel form his grasp, your thumbs rubbing over the frayed fabric.

“At least 10.”

You smile at his silly reply. “Well, you’re not wrong. But…seriously,” you say, holding the towel up to him and motioning to the damage. “How?

“I don’t know!” he immediately defends, motioning back towards the shower. “I just got out, grabbed a towel, and as I was drying off it just…ripped!”

“Kim Namjoon, God of Destruction,” you sigh, and then turn your back to him, waving the towel as you walk towards the kitchen. “I still love you, don’t worry~”

“Well I’d hope that it’d take more than a ripped towel to tear apart our love,” he responds, and you laugh, smiling to yourself as you hear the bathroom door close so that Namjoon can finish what he’d been doing.

Stopping in front of the trash can in the kitchen, you pop the lid open and stare sadly at the towel in your hands.

“Thank you for your service. You endured a lot,” you say, brows furrowed, and then drop the beat up fabric into the trash. Never to be seen again.


The next day, when Namjoon is out at the studio practicing with the boys and working on some new music, you step into the bathroom and fill the tub. Stripping off your pajamas, you turn and rummage around in one of the cupboards for a bath bomb. You had just bought some more after talking with Yoongi and getting a recommendation from him.

Finding the multi-colored ball, you walk over and drop it in the tub, watching the water stain colors. When it’s finally done, you carefully step in, sinking down into the hot water with a relaxed sigh.

As soon as you’re seated you realize that you totally forgot the book you’d been planning to read, and now sigh in annoyance at yourself. Pushing up, you step out of the tub onto the bath mat and reach for the towel you’d set out. Grabbing it, you quickly begin to dry your limbs, but freeze when you hear a familiar ripping sound.

Eyes wide, totally shocked, your bring the towel which had been around your back forward, fists clenching when you see that the fabric has ripped—almost an identical picture to what Namjoon had done yesterday.

“Dammit,” you groan, and drop the towel to the floor. Exiting the room, you retrieve your book and return to the tub, determined to get at least a little bit of relaxation in before Namjoon returns later and accepts his bragging rights when he sees what you’ve done.

Managing a half hour in the tub, you finally snap your book shut, pop the tub drain, and get out to dry. Grabbing another towel, you dry off much gentler this time, but the minute you stretch the towel behind your back and begin tugging on it from both ends, you hear the sound of a small tear. Groaning loudly, you give up and tug on the towel as hard as you can, listening to the fabric fall apart in your grasp.

Later that day, when Namjoon walks in your front door and sees you lounging on your couch, two damaged towels on either side of you, he cackles loudly and points a finger at you in apparent victory. However, his smile falls when he sees your upset frown, followed by you charging at him, clearly not happy to have fallen victim to the towels as well.

Catching you in his arms before you can make to hit him, he holds you tight and rocks back and forth, hoping to calm you down.

“Sorry—sorry, babe,” he says, bending down to kiss your forehead, and he feels you sigh against the fabric of his shirt, clearly not angry anymore, but certainly pouting.

“I’ll tell you what,” he continues, hands gripping your shoulders as he pushes you back gently so that he can look you in the eyes. “I have tomorrow off. Want to go shopping for new towels and whatever else you need?”

“Sure,” you immediately agree, mood brightening, and Namjoon smiles, leaning down to kiss you.

“It’s a date.”


The next day, you find yourself standing next to Namjoon in a department store towel aisle, towels caging you in on every side.

“Why are there so many towel options?”

“The human mind flourishes in creativity and people also have different tastes and different home décor—”

“It was a rhetorical question, Namjoon,” you say, reaching over to lightly smack his arm. He jumps at the feeling, looking over at you with a slight pout to his lips.

“So what color do you want?”

“You’re not going to try and be my interior home designer? Wait—nevermind. I’ve seen how you dress sometimes, I’ll just do it.”

“Ouch,” Namjoon responds, holding his hand over his heart, and you roll your eyes.

“You’re a-dork-able, don’t worry,” you laugh, reaching over and grabbing his hand. Considering the mask hiding away half of his face, you place a discreet kiss to the top of his hand, and his eyebrows raise.

“Is this a challenge to see who can make the other more embarrassed in public?” he asks teasingly, turning the tables as his grip on your hand tightens, and he tugs you closer to him. You’re blushing immediately, trying to casually wrestle out of his grip as his other hand lifts to rest on your hip.

“Stop it! You have an image to uphold!” you hiss at him, and when Namjoon sees how red your face has gotten his eyes crinkle happily, his grip on you loosening.

“Fine fine~ I’ll be continuing this tonight anyway.”

“Sure you will,” you scoff, and then step forward, finally getting around to why you two are here in the first place. Checking out a variety of the towels lining the shelves (and pausing to scold Namjoon when he doesn’t bother even attempting to fold the towels and put them back on the shelf properly), you finally narrow your options down to two towels. A dark blue, and a patterned white towel.

“Does it matter?” Namjoon asks, brows furrowed.

“Well…,” you say, weighing the towels in your hands. “A little. White towels are easier to bleach, but dark towels also hide stains, so…”

“Wait, what,” Namjoon pauses, baffled and horrified. “What are you talking about?”

You look at him pointedly. “I’m a girl, babe.”

He continues staring, apparently not getting it. You roll your eyes.

“You’re a genius but you forget about female reproductive organs. Christ.”

“OH,” he finally says, realizing, and you roll your eyes again, but albeit smile.

“Dummy. Accidents happen.”

“Yeah, I know, I know,” he sighs, stepping behind you and wrapping his arms around your shoulders lightly. “I forgot, my bad. But…why not get white, and then offset the coloring with a blue one? Are you really going to be picky about it?”

“Hmmm…you’re right,” you agree, and grab up another white towel, shoving all three towels into Namjoon’s arms once they’re chosen. He just smiles and rolls his eyes.

“What am I to you? A pack mule?”

What am I to you girl? What am I to you? I do love you crazy—ugh—do you??”

“Stoppp,” Namjoon whines, ears tinging with embarrassment, and you laugh, halting and grabbing his arm. Pressing up, you place a quick kiss to his masked cheek, and then take one of the towels from his arms.

“What are you to me? You’re my boyfriend and my best friend, and I love you.”

“I love you too,” he responds after a second, his heart palpitating as love fills his chest, and side by side you both step into the check-out line. After paying, you head down the street to your favorite café for lunch, and listen to each other with open ears and open hearts.

Just two kids, casually in love.

Exactly how it should be.

A little bit of sugar

(but lots of poison too)

Originally posted by fyeahbangtaned

Pairing: Namjoon x Reader

Genre: Noir / Angst / One-shot

Rated T for mentions of death and obsession

Word count: 4.8k

Synopsis: Namjoon is well aware that some, well actually most people could find his hobby not exactly common, yet he still considers himself to be a man of tasteful words and higher intellect - someone who managed to understand the true, deepest meaning of beauty itself.

And so he doesn’t really care if his methods of collecting pretty things end up being darker that expected, once you peek under the surface.

Author’s note: Oh my, my first fic for Namjoon, ah I’m a bit nervous, also I need to thank @pantaemonium, @meetevil and @yoongihime for dealing so much with me and my existential crisis about this ;^;

Again, I may or may not have added a decent amount of craziness and creepiness and other yummy things, so please be careful pals!! Hope you’ll like it tho <3


Namjoon likes to collect pretty things.

He doesn’t know when his passion started, maybe it was that time when he was five years and a half and his mother’s pearls looked so shiny and white around the pale curve of her neck – long fingers always skimming the gleaming necklace, stopping their adoring motions just to slap his chubby, longing hands away.

Good children do not touch their mother’s jewels, Namjoon, she used to warn, strict voice and even stricter lips in their tight curl.

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Heads up black americans

Black People from Caribbean countries also get told we have no culture, because whether you’re from french caribbean, spanish caribbean , dutch caribbean or the english caribbean countries your culture is viewed as a immitation of a great more prominent culture. Your culture is hardly viewed as an independent culture of its own. “Its not really a culture you created yourself, its really british/spanish/french culture.” 

Black People from the caribbean don’t know where in Africa we from either. We are not more knowledgeable or more conscious than you. Alot of us went through or is still going through that phase where we distance ourselves from anything african. Some of us will die not accepting our ancestry because anti-blackness & anti-africanness is world wide. Try telling a Jamaican, Bahamian or Guyanese etc their african and watch them freak out…” Mi nuh one of ‘em”

Black people from the caribbean go through “melting pot” bullshit, yep. The caribbean is a lot more diverse than the media lets on. The caribbean has a quite sizeable chinese, white, latino (i know its inclusive of alot of ethicities) and indian population, with a small indigenious population also. So black people who are noticibly mixed with any of these races think their a black of a better quality.Trying to find a Miss Jamaican/bahamas/trinidad/barbados etc who isnt mixed is a challenege, because that still considerated the height of beauty. Becuase even though black people makeup the majority of the caribbean, blackness is still hated and looked down upon. White people who stayed behind after slavery still have the most money, they make up like less than 10% of the caribbean and they have 90% of the wealth. 

Black people from the caribbean also go through colorism. The lighter the skin the more you are considered beautiful, inteligent, wealthy and capable being in charge. Yes the majority is dark or medium toned skilled but being “high yellow” or “brown” is still what many strive for; i know you’ve heard the songs about it. People will mixed up batches of dangerous chemicals that consist of hair perm (lye) & actual bleach to lighten their skin. 

Black people from the caribbean have different accents/dialects and these accents are actually hated. We don’t all speak the quasi-jamaican rambles that you’ve seen portrayed on tv and in movies. If you’ve been there long enough you can actually hear the differences in how we speak. These accents are looked down upon and considered low class, when i came to america my mom begged we to pick up the accent because it sounded more ‘proper’ even the AAVE. When i got to go to an american school everyone who didnt make fun of me for speaking jamaican actually thought my accent sounded cool which is something i wasnt used to. “I chat bad,” was ingrained in me. Alot of us don’t even speak a variation of english. Completely different languages are spoken in the non-english speaking countries. 

We hate each other:
Though we for the most part are all black people who went through relatively the same struggles of colonialism, slavery, labour riots, racism, lack of representation in politics, we cant agree for nothing. Most of the caribbean can’t stand jamaicans or atleast have a negavity view of jamaicans “ too violent, too loud, too proud.” Barbadian and Jamaicans hate each other. People from the Cayman Islands and the Bahamas think they’re better than everybody. Everybody and they mama look down on haitians. etc, its a whole mess and we practically the same people with the same history. Its all dumb as fuck. West indians are so hard headed. 

We contributed to african american culture: Yeah, either directly as immigrants or indirectly through the media. yeah alot the afroecntric movement of the 60s and of the 90s was from caribbean influences. I aint even gone talk about Bob Marley’s contribution, its been said. If you look in the wikipedia of alot of legendary African American actors, musicians and celebrities alike you’ll see that either they immigrated or their parents immigranted from the caribbean. We actually go through alot of the same issues you go through regarding race. I like to think we’re “central americans”, kinda too american for non americans but not enough for actual americans. 

anonymous asked:

I feel like there's a big issue on tumblr in terms of racial diversity. When there are historical poc people that are made white in any form of media people freak out and call it out (as they should), but if a white historical figure was made to be a poc in the media it's just, oh well it doesn't matter there's already enough white people everywhere else, and it's wrong. If a historical figure was white then that's exactly how they should be represented.

Yes, I agree. I know a lot of people won’t like to hear it or will tell me I’m wrong but erasing the culture of a white historical figure is just as much erasure as it is of a poc. 

A dear friend also told me just seconds ago that apparently a lot of Americans don’t seem to get that race and culture play out differently in Europe. Because in the US it is 100% about skin tones since the history of slavery and color specific oppression that is still in play, while here in Europe it is not. The idea that some of us might be marginalized or erased or despised when we have pale skin is just alien to some of them. 

Just Dinner: A Bruce Banner Oneshot

Originally posted by unmonstruo


Request: Hi. Could you write a story where bruce banner meeting his girlfriend’s family but her father didn’t like him because of their age gap. But the reader was adamant on being with Bruce. Until finally her father approved of their relationship and started liking Bruce. Thank you. P/s: I love your writings very much and you’re awesome.


Warnings: none


Characters: Bruce, Tony, T’Challa, Natasha, and Bucky


//


“You look fine Bruce, really.” Natasha says hurriedly, straightening his tie for the millionth time. He takes one last look in the bathroom mirror and begins running his fingers through his hair, nervous out of his mind.

“You get your hands away from that hair.” Tony says sharply, hitting Bruce’s neck with a comb. “It took me forever to get that part right and I will not let you screw it up…”

T’Challa grabs Bruce by the collar of his suit jacket, shaking his head at the uneven buttons. “Can’t even button his jacket…” he laughs, “Y/n’s got you this scared about meeting her parents huh?”

Bruce closes his eyes and takes a sharp breath through clenched teeth. “Yeah” is all he manages to say.

“Knock knock.” you call through the bathroom door, glancing at your watch and cringing at how late you’re going to be. “Bruce we have to go, now! The drive is at least thirty minutes…”

Suddenly, the door swings open and you fall through, T’Challa rushing to catch you at the last minute.

“Oh please.” Tony mutters, not bothering to ask if you’re alright. “The chopper’s on the roof. You’ll be at your folks place in 8 minutes tops.” he says, waving his hand dismissively.

You sigh with relief, and for the first time since Nat, T’Challa, and Tony whisked him away to get ready, you see Bruce.

He looks sharp in his freshly pressed suit and slicked gelled hair, stray curls still spiraling. He gives you his best “I can do this, I’m not nervous at all, this is gonna be great” smile before taking your hands in his.

You take a step closer so your foreheads touch, his eyes looking straight into yours. “Relax” you sigh, “It’s my parents, not a fleet of Hydra agents.”

His lips turn up in a loose smile, his arms wrapped around your waist. “I think I’d prefer the Hydra agents.” he laughs, leaning to kiss the top of your head before Tony pulls him away.

“That’s all very romantic and things,” Tony comments sarcastically, “But you really should get going. Bucky won’t wait in the chopper forever you know.”

You and Bruce give each other a look, unable to stop smiles from playing on your lips.

“Of course Bucky is piloting the chopper…” you mutter, looping one of Bruce’s curls around your finger. “Let’s go.”

“Hey, hands off the hair!” Tony scolds once more, pushing you both out the bathroom door. “I want you both home by midnight, got it? And be safe! The skies can be so dangerous, people flying every which way, ignoring the traffic lights.” he grins, turning away muttering before you can say anything back.

The entire helicopter ride, which lasted all of about 6 minutes, Bucky gave you both advice. How to keep it from becoming awkward, conversation topics never to bring up, what to do if an argument breaks out, he even gave a quick verbal lesson on dancing in case it ever comes up. 

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Random Snippet 21: When We Were Young

Possible prompt if it gives you any inspiration - Caroline leaves Mystic Falls almost as soon as she’s turned (because why would she want to be around Damon and all the friends who didn’t really help her). A few months later she sneaks back into Mystic Falls to visit her mom and runs into Klaus?

This was sent ages ago, and I’ve lost the original prompt, but I hope you like how this turned out! I wrote it super fast, so apologies on any errors!

Warning: Violence and mentions of past-rape.



Caroline stayed inside the house for a half-hour after her mom headed for her shift at the station. It’s been six months since she’d been home, and the achingly familiar scents were so, so hard to let go of. But she couldn’t stay.

Not yet.

The car she’d stolen had been dropped off in miles of backwoods, but Liz knew its location as well as the VIN. It’d get returned. She had a second mode of transportation waiting for her in Richmond, and then it was back to being a ghost.

One last lungful to hold her over, Caroline stepped onto the back porch. She flicked the lock into place just as there was a blur of movement, and rough hands dug into her arm. Caroline twisted, her elbow snapping up. The fight was quick and dirty, and she ground the vampire firmly into the wooden railing, fingers digging into his chest so the scent of blood was heavy between them.

“Damon,” Caroline said with a bladed smile. “Not so easy when I’m no longer a human, is it?”

“Where is she?”

“Who?” Caroline asked curiously, tightening her grip when she felt his muscles bunch. “I’d think twice about that, Stefan. You might kill me, but I’ll kill Damon. Hate for that to be on your conscious.”

Stefan stepped into the moonlight, eyes narrowed. “You’re supposed to be dead.”

Caroline shrugged. “Turns out, Mom couldn’t pull the trigger.”

She’d be haunted by it for the rest of her life. Sitting in her living room, sobbing as her Mom held her firearm in a white knuckled grip. Everything had spilled out - the blood bags, Elena, Damon. Her broken pleas to just end it. She was a monster. Caroline would never, ever forget when her mom had sat next to her, so close that their legs and sides had touched.

“You didn’t kill the nurse. She’s alive.” Liz had touched her hair, and Caroline had smelled the fear and determination. “But you can’t stay.”

Her childhood had ended when she was seventeen, because these two vampires had played their games.

“Where is Elena, Caroline,” Stefan questioned as he took a step in her direction.

“I haven’t seen Elena since she smothered me with a pillow,” Caroline said sharplyas she shoved her fingers deeper, wrapping them around Damon’s heart. “I will kill him, Stefan.”

Damon gurgled something, and Caroline tightened her grip. She had no use for him. Keeping her eyes on Stefan in warning, her next words were nearly conversational as she continued to squeeze.

“Mom told me you’d come to her, looking for Elena. She’s not particularly inclined to help you, after I told her about the compulsion and rape. Oh, why the surprised face, Stefan? Did you imagine it was something I should’ve been ashamed of? I’m not girly little Caroline anymore.“

It had been. It’s taken weeks of work to get herself to this point, but she’d made the decision not to break. Being a vampire had given her what she needed to take control of her life, and she wasn’t going to give it up again.

“I’m certainly intrigued,” an accented voice murmured. “Damon, she’s a child and that is quite the grip on your heart, mate. Stefan, I wouldn’t.”

She flicked her gaze to the side, wary at the new voice. There was a vampire she’d never seen before watching her from the stairs, lips curled into a charming, dimpled smile. He was amazingly good looking, but something about the way he watched her, calculated and ruthless underneath the veneer of charm, told her he was very, very dangerous.

“Hello, sweetheart. You must be Caroline.”

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Today I had to explain to an old lady why I'm brown
  • Me, at church function: Hi Grandma! It's so good to see you! Let me know where you're sitting to eat okay? *kisses grandma's cheek*
  • Old White Lady: Is she your real grandma? Like, for real?
  • Me: ...Yes.
  • OWL: 0_o
  • Me: ...On my mom's side.
  • OWL: 0_o
  • Me: My dad's side is where I get the skin tone.
  • OWL: Oh! Okay! *Still looks like she's struggling to grasp the concept of biracial people*

Arguing both sides of the “Integra Hellsing being biracial” argument with myself.


If she is biracial-

  • That picture in the TV Series of a woman in a saree holding a baby is of her and her mother.
  • She’s either half Indian or less, considering we don’t know if her mother is biracial or not. All we know is her dad looks very much white and she passes.
  • She has no noticeable connection to any culture in India that we know of. She doesn’t wear clothing or follows any cultural or religious practices tying back to it. She is a Protestant, she is British, and if she is biracial she’s pretty assimilated. 
  • Her race isn’t crucial to the plot or her character in the same way that it wasn’t for Jan Valentine, who is very clearly not white but is still the brother of the very, very white Luke Valentine.
  • The author hasn’t said anything about her mixed heritage (to my knowledge, correct me if I am wrong), BUT this could be something similar to what Jhonen Vasquez did in Invader Zim where Dib and Gaz are Mexican characters but it is never addressed because there wasn’t a need to. 
  • An entire round table of rich, white British knights aren’t prejudiced at all towards the only biracial woman in their ranks. Whether this is a good or bad thing is up to you.


If she is not biracial-

  • That picture in the TV Series of a woman in a saree holding a baby is of her and someone else. A doctor? A nurse? A maid? A family friend? The possibilities are endless since her mother is never mentioned and the person’s face is blocked out
  • The slightly darker skin tone is just that: a darker skin tone. There are many white people in Europe who have a wide variety of fair to slightly olive-toned skin. 
  • Her race still isn’t crucial to the plot.
  • The television series, yet again, got something wrong about the story.


In any case, whether Integra is biracial or not isn’t really important to me. When you get down to it, biracial people are allowed to exist in media without explanation and this could be another example of that. 

But if Hirano did make any official statement about the matter, I’d like to know. If it is true, then I personally think he could’ve done better with how she was represented, but we’ll be here all day if we start going into matters that Hirano could’ve done better with this story.


EDIT: Actually going to add to this after some other observations were made.

So when I first saw the TV series, I always assumed that Integra’s mother was either murdered or committed suicide because of the episode The Red Rose Vertigo. In that episode, a woman who says that she’s Integra’s sister shows up and when Integra falls asleep at her desk, she has a nightmare where these images show up:

When Integra wakes up however, her “sister” turns out to be a vampire who is sexually assaulting her and tries to kill her. Integra says that she knew something was wrong because she never had a sister. Me, watching this for the first time, thought to myself “Well, maybe she had this dream and remembered when her mother died and that kind of killed any possibility for her having a younger sibling down the line.” 

It wasn’t until much later when someone even brought up the picture of the woman with the saree in the episode “Master of Monster” that I had to go back and see it for myself:

The woman in question that we’re led to believe is Integra’s mother not only has darker skin, but black hair (from what we can make of this picture, at least). So she’s clearly not the same person from the nightmare. So hey, maybe the woman in the bathtub was the “sister,” since it does look a lot more like her:

But honestly? it is so easy to miss and this was a lot of information that was thrown at the viewer without any explanation, so I can see why someone watching it could miss it and not think Integra is biracial. It’s only ever hinted at in the television series (though it would explain why the sister is wearing a bindi???) but is never mentioned ever in the manga or OVA. Hell, even the mother herself isn’t mentioned in those other installments and nobody ever remarks on Integra’s ethnicity.

If anything I think it’s safe to say Integra is biracial in the TV series. In the OVA and manga? She could be, but it’s still left up to interpretation since it’s still so vague and easy to miss. 

I mean yes, her skin tone is darker than Seras Victoria’s (who is dead, but was still had a fair complexion throughout the series even in life) but then again, even Anderson’s complexion is darker as well:

Even in the TV series there are moments where his complexion is even darker than Integra’s even in the same lighting.

And yet I don’t see people insisting that Anderson is biracial or otherwise “not white”. With as little as we know about the guy? He could very well be. But it’s still speculation. For all we know, maybe he just has a nice tan? I don’t think it’s unfair to say the same for Integra. Considering how much the TV series changed about this character and the story, changing her ethnicity wouldn’t be that much of a stretch either. 

Send all your hatemail to my inbox.

SECOND EDIT: Apparently Major says this to Integra in the manga

Welp, there you go. She’s biracial and I can happily leave this cesspool of a fandom again.

k4t3yk4t

replied to your post

“I often see ppl commenting about the fact that you draw Harry with…”

There’s literally nothing in the books that says Harry (or Hermione for that matter) are white. The Potters may be an old family, but the wizarding community has never really been much for racial superiority (amongst themselves) see: blaise zabini

It’s not about racial superiority, it’s merely about the fact that the majority of population in the United Kingdom is white and has always been :)
Zabinis make sense because the origin of their surname isn’t English from what I’ve researched, so it’s fairly safe to assume it’s not a family of English ancestry. Besides, we barely know anything about this family, we don’t know their history, we cannot be sure about where they come from :) Meanwhile, both Peverell and Potter are surnames of English origin. We know that these families lived in Britain since medieval times, so it’s very much likely they’re all white.
But yes, I suppose it’s still open for interpretation because I don’t think the Potters were ever actually described as white in the books. Still, in my opinion, it’s more due to the fact that white writers tend to simply not describe the skin color of other white characters–an example of white normativity :) It’s not always the case obviously, but one’s skin tone tends to be explicitly relevant only when it’s not white, unfortunately :) Which is why I draw Harry as POC in the first place! To go against white normativity in media, at least one tiny step at a time! ^^ But I still appreciate the juxtaposition that Rowling created between two rich ancient pureblood white families: the Potters vs the Malfoys :)

Stay Awake

summary: Ruby has separation anxiety from the other side of the bed. Beacon Records AU
words: 1,100+
disclaimers: I do not in any way own RWBY or its characters.
A/N: A very happy birthday to Chelsea aka tumblr user blangyouredead! She asked for something from her awesome Beacon Records AU and somehow, this came about. I tried to do some cute Bumblebee, but White Rose happened instead. I hope you like it, Chelsea! Happy birthday to you, lovely!

“Weiss?”

She groans into her pillow and you immediately regret saying anything. Still, you’ve awoken her and there’s no fixing the situation now that it’s there.

“Yes, Ruby?”

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