#solaspeaks

But just consider: when HxH comes off hiatus...

The Leopika reunion we've all been waiting for is just medical trainee Leorio is frantically trying to save his idiot rat's life because Emperor Time is finally taking its toll.

That's it. Just pure angst for five chapters.

in which theodore nott falls into the very thing he despises most.

t.w.: mentions of addiction, loss, harm, death; i am not responsible for your media consumption!

a/n: it’s been a long time coming! thank you to the lovely @nottendo for dealing with my brain dumps while i write. love you all and enjoy some good old fashioned angst!

at the age of four, theo did not like the smell of smoke. It was icky, it stung his tiny nose whenever his father smoked cigars at home. his mother would tut, shoo-ing the man to the balcony saying, “not in the house!” after a bit of bickering, his father would go out for hours, and little theo would wonder what was so appealing about the nasty smell? but he would be so easily distracted by his mother’s tender care and the fresh air that smelled faintly of lemon that the question- and the smoke- were quite easily dismissed.

at the age of seven, theo came home from playing at a nearby park to the smell of smoke in the house. he thought, for a brief moment, that it was merely his father smoking indoors because mom wasn’t home- but no. this smoke didn’t smell like cigars or the tobacco theo’s father used. it smelled all wrong, like ozone, charred herbs, and burnt flesh. he wandered further into the house, the air growing heavier with each step, the smoke closing in on him as if it knew where he was going. the closer he got to the balcony, the stronger it became: clinging to his clothes, his skin, his very breath. he called out for his mother, certain she would make it go away like she always did- so certain that she would hold him again and the smell of fresh air would finally relieve his little lungs. hands caught him before he could reach the mangled body on the floor that was his mother, his father’s grip iron, his voice sharp as he told him not to look. that night, the house was quiet in a way it had never been before; magic scrubbed at the walls and every window was thrown open. but the smoke lingered anyway, settling into the rooms and into the spaces where everything he loved used to be.

at the age of twelve, theo sat in a train compartment on his way to hogwarts. he’d spent all of the night before scrubbing his skin raw, trying to rid himself of the lingering smell of smoke that never seemed to leave his home. afraid it would follow him all the way to his new school. in his compartment there was a boy with black, curly hair who hadn’t stopped talking- mattheo, he’d said- and a girl sitting quietly by the window with light spilling in around her. she smiled at theo and for a brief, terrible moment he saw his mother. the feeling hit him all at once. sharp, throbbing, equal parts fear and guilt. he learned it then, sitting there with the countryside blurring past the glass. he could not afford to care for people. no matter how kind they were. every time he did, smoke seemed to follow, an ominous ring of inevitable destruction of everything theo cared about.

at the age of fifteen, theodore learned their rhythms. mattheo always loud and funny and reckless in a way theo couldn’t fully shield himself from. the girl was quieter, more kind, always bringing fresh air into rooms theo could have sworn were sealed up like tombs before she walked in. the three sat together in classes, shared homework answers and sweets and laughter- and through all of it, theo never allowed himself to let them in. he let mattheo talk at him, not to him. when he tried, theo replied with practiced half truths and a carefully guarded heart. when the girl smiled, he smiled back- just never long enough for it to mean something more. when she leaned closer, he leaned back. the girl felt too much like fresh air, like if theo breathed in too much that she would slip away into smoke. mattheo was noise and chaos- survivable to theo, but her? she was clear skies and easy to breathe in, and theo had learned the hard way not to trust such easy, beautiful things. to him, this was how things were always going to be- he never let their warmth seep in, because where warmth was, smoke always followed.

at the age of sixteen, theodore smoked his first cigarette. the air was already changing. the second wizarding war loomed close enough to taste, thickening the halls with whispers and fear and things no one wanted to name yet. mattheo still talked, loud and reckless and endless. but theo heard the gaps forming between his words. the girl still brought fresh air with her, still laughed by open windows, still sought theodore out and leaned in close. it all was beginning to feel wrong to theo, the way things had felt right before his mother vanished. theo knew what waited for him- the dark mark tugged at him long before it ever burned into his skin. smoke had found him once without asking. this time he chose it. the cigarette burned slow between his fingers. he inhaled. exhaled. it was the only way he could think of to let the smoke settle in his lungs on his own terms. it was the closest he had come to breathing where his mother had disappeared. the cigarette might have been everything theo hated, but at least he could control when the smoke came.

at the age of seventeen, theodore learned that smoke could still find him without asking. the dark mark burned into his arm with the same stench he remembered from that night- burnt flesh and ozone and charred magic that stole the air from a room instead of lighting it on fire. it was his mother all over again. the same smell, the same suffocating finality. theo hid it beneath long sleeves and silence and cigarettes. he smoked more than he ever had before, chain smoking until his lungs ached and the smoke blurred the edges of everything he could not bear to name. mattheo had been marked too. theo did not speak of it- neither of them did- but the girl noticed anyway. she saw the way theo flinched when fabric brushed his arm. the way smoke clung to him now like a warning. on one fateful night, she came to him. he’d been smoking in the astronomy tower, cigarette after cigarette until his eyes blurred and his lungs ached. she called for him in that sweet voice theo knew he didn’t deserve to hear anymore. she approached. reached for him with a concerned furrow of her brows- and that’s when he rolled up his sleeve. the following words were his projection- angry, hurtful things that should’ve managed to push her away completely, words that should have protected her from theo’s smoke-filled life. somehow, for some unnameable reason, the girl stayed and pulled him into an embrace so tight and warm that theodore suspected it wasn’t the smoke burning his eyes anymore. it was her- her stubborn way of charging headfirst into smoke he couldn’t save her from.

at the age of eighteen, theodore felt like he was dissolving into smoke. the second wizarding war was at its apex, and the cause that branded his arm was a constant reminder that he was fighting on the wrong side. on nights after long, terrible missions, he would smoke. smoke. smoke. and wonder what his mother would think if she could see him now. he had tortured and killed and done things so unforgivable that he was certain she would hate him for them. the girl should have hated him too. yet somehow, after every mission, he returned to his dorm to find her waiting on his bed with open arms. she never asked what he had done. never asked what he had seen. she only held him while the smoke bled out of his lungs and into the air between them. sometimes she cried quietly into his shoulder. sometimes she just held on tighter. devastated. not by who he was, but by what the world had done to him. at the age of eighteen, theodore made a decision. he learned her weight by heart. the way she breathed when she slept. the way her hands shook when she thought he was gone for good. he stopped wondering what she saw in him and started worrying what would happen to her if he disappeared. and somewhere between the smoke and the horrors of war, theo made a decision that he would survive this. for her.

at the age of almost nineteen, theodore lit a cigarette and did not finish it. the war still raged on. the dark mark still burned beneath his skin, and the weight of all he had done made smoke was the easiest thing to reach for. he inhaled once. maybe twice. felt it settle where it always had, safe in the way ruin often is. then he thought of her. asleep in his bed. breathing clean air, trusting him without knowing how often smoke followed him home. theo stared at the cigarette burning down between his fingers and realized he did not want her lungs carrying the same ache his did. he did not want smoke touching something that had never belonged to it. so he stopped. pressed the cigarette out before it could finish what it started. for the first time in years, theo opened a window. the rest of it disappear into the night alone. for the first time, theo did not need to watch the smoke leave. it was enough to know that while he lived, she would never have to breathe it in.

When the main four all finally reunite, Kurapika has killed Kalluto and Illumi because they're Spiders. And Killua does NOT know how to handle this and just. Shuts down.

(Cuz let's be real, I don't think he wants his family dead. He just wants them to leave him alone/to understand him. He's just a kid, after all. I don't think he understands what the Zoldycks have done to him yet)

Except THIS time the hiatus will be like...Nanika knowing Killua is sad and asking Gon or someone to help fix it and they CAN'T and the hiatus comes just before the fourth request-

So, obviously this is going to be very much influenced by my perspective on me being queer/LGBT+ and the current state of representation in the media, but these are some very basic guidelines that I think curious writers would benefit from following when writing a character from a minority group you're not a part of.

Be careful. - I say this as kindly as I can, because frankly, I want to see more representation, and I want to see it everywhere. And I'm never going to see it if I have to wait for the "right" person to make it. But just be aware that you're writing a story through research and not personal experience, so if someone points out a bias or facet of the situation you didn't think of before, listen to them. It could benefit your overall story and it's readers immensely.

Don't carelessly make it the focus of your plot. - For real, though. If you're a straight person writing a queer/LGBT+ romance novel, for example, you need to be aware that your personal romantic experience will only be so helpful. Obviously exploring the lens of another viewpoint can be very, very helpful on a personal level - it's one thing that helped me realize I wasn't straight! - but please do it with a certain level of tact. The more research you do, the better!

Find sensitivity readers! - this will be one of your saving graces. Ask a friend/acquaintance/someobe from that minority group if they're willing to help you read through your portrayal of these characters, and to point out things you've done that aren't conducive to well-written representation. Also, the more sensitivity readers you have, the more varied viewpoints will go into your understanding of this identity.

Don't spotlight it. - this might seem weird, at first. But honestly, the more normally you treat the character, the easier it will be to believe. This means, basically, that if it's not immediately plot relevant that the character isn't straight, you don't have to toss it in as a mandatory descriptor. At the end of the day, write minority characters as individuals first, identities second.

Make lots of them! - don't let this one minority character be your last. Keep writing them, keep introducing representation to your stories - we want to see that. I know fellow LGBT+ and queer folks genuinely want to see that - so don't do it once for the woke point. Take what you've learned and build on it. Write it better!

And finally - Support Minority Writers! - actively help out and promote fellow writers, especially if they're writing characters that represent them. Find folks that are writing good rep for minority groups and tell your following "Hey, if you liked this, check this out! This author really knows what they're talking about!"

I think that's it for very basic guidelines on how to write a character from a minority group. The bottom line is to be willing to learn, and to be respectful, and if you're willing to do both of those things, then you'll be fine.

PLEASE LOOK AT THIS ABSOLUTELY GORGEOUS ART BY @trashsketch THAT YUI COMMISSIONED FOR ME-

I’ve been saving this until my askbox was empty - and it is now - so it’s time to share! It’s mostly for fun, but I thought I’d do it anyway.

I have decided to start doing commissions!

More info available on my Carrd: https://avtorsola.carrd.co/

Types of Commissions I’ll do!

Ship art

Fanart (yes, even for fandoms I don’t really know)

Original Character art

D&D-related art (negotiable)

Writing Commissions (max 3k words)

Possible Art Styles!

Sketches

Lineart

Color Art

Flat color

Cell shading (think anime shading)

Paint shading (blended)

Illustrations

Definition - Any full-color image with a complex, full-color background

Chibi Art!

Lineart

Flat Color

Cell/Paint Shading

Possible Writing Genres!

Fanfiction - (familiar fandoms only, please)

Varied fiction genres

Creative writing, general

D&D-related

Character backstories (300 words) discounted with purchase of character art

Pricing and more thorough details/guidelines are available on my Carrd site, linked above (and also linked in my bio)

I’ll only be taking a few commissions to start off with - first come, first serve - and I’ll post on the Carrd site when the slots are full. I’ll also make a quick lil note on Tumblr and Twitter, because sometimes Carrd takes a little bit to update.