saitamawife

[saitamawife]

How to Become a Political Activist

Wake up on a Tuesday in a gooey sweat, eyes burning from not enough sleep.

Doomscroll for 35 minutes instead of getting out of bed. Let the dogs whine beside you.

Post to Facebook: “I can’t take it anymore. “The American public is asleep.” Check back obsessively to see who’s liked it.

Coffee in hand, walk the dogs through the neighborhood park. Scold yourself for not doing enough. Ask if doing anything even matters. Then ask what you should be doing.

Read a news alert about the gutting of yet another federal agency. Swear loudly into the void. Wonder how we got here, and how much worse it can get.

Decide, then and there, to do something. Even if it’s small.

Sign up for a Zoom call with a local advocacy group. Listen as speaker after speaker denounces the administration in increasingly blunt terms. Feel the first tingle of hope. Let it linger.

Join more calls. Listen, but don’t speak. Feel slightly less alone.

Start researching. Dig into the history of broken systems and the context they were built in. Read the news—but only from sources you trust. Don’t look away when it gets overwhelming.

Talk to friends, family, coworkers, and acquaintances, even when the conversations turn infuriating. Tell them they should be talking about this too.

Meet former colleagues for drinks—ones who’ve been laid off or ground down. Let the anger rise as they describe their new realities. Tell them you��re doing something—and that they can, too.

Before your first protest, scrounge up a piece of sturdy cardboard. Rummage through junk drawers for the Sharpie you lost months ago. Write a mediocre slogan.

Show up. Meet fellow protesters. Hear their stories. Realize your own reasons go back to your ancestors—some of whom were killed in Nazi Germany. Remember your grandmother’s mantra: “Never again.”

Spend your free time denouncing the administration to anyone who’ll listen. Smoke weed some nights because it’s the only thing that takes the edge off. Wonder if you’re smoking too much.

Keep going. Attend more protests. Notice the crowds are growing. That helps. Expand your network: friends of friends of friends.

Eat chips and salsa for dinner. Stress-eat ice cream that makes your stomach hurt.

Watch as more federal workers are fired. Watch as the president calls journalists and judges “radical lunatics” on social media. Watch funding for food stamps, scientific research, cancer research, and green energy disappear. Watch humanitarian and development aid dry up. Watch universities threatened and DEIA erased, along with Black history. Watch the Department of Education dissolve. Watch public figures bullied into silence. Watch a body of water renamed in the president’s image.

Silently suffer as wildfires rage, tornadoes demolish communities, and human rights erode in real time. Agonize over the fact that democracy is faltering—not just here, but everywhere.

Ask yourself why it’s so damn quiet.

Decide you must do more. Realize the most powerful thing you can offer is your voice.

Start a blog.

Write a post.

Wonder if you’re actually making a difference. Or just screaming into the algorithm. Do it anyway.

Call it an act of resistance.

Repeat, until they can’t ignore you.

Source: How to Become a Political Activist

[saitamawife]

ㅤֹㅤ⊹ㅤ #ㅤSWEET GIRLㅤ.ᐟ ֹ ₊ ꒱

☆⁠ PAIRING : Viltrumite Men x Fem Reader

☆⁠ CHARACTERS : Mark Grayson, Nolan Grayson, Thragg, Conquest

☆⁠ HEADCANON : How do they eat that kitty?

☆⁠ NOTES : +18 contacts. Minors DNI. English is not my first language. Hope you enjoy!

— MARK GRAYSON ⋆

Mark? Oh, he's obsessed with your pussy. Like it’s his purpose in life. Like he could live between your thighs and never get bored.

The first time he goes down on you, he groans the second his mouth touches you—like he’s addicted to the taste, like he’s never had anything better. His tongue? Everywhere. He licks, he sucks, he’s fucking messy—his mouth is completely drenched, his chin glistening, his jaw aching, but does he stop? Fuck no.

He eats you like he’s making out with your pussy, moaning, whimpering every time your fingers tug at his hair. His hands? Strong and desperate, gripping your thighs, keeping you open, keeping you right where he wants you. And when you grind against his face? Oh, he loses his fucking mind.

"Fuck, baby—yeah, use me—fuck my mouth—God, you taste so fucking good."

And when you cum? He shudders. Literally. Shudders. And then keeps licking, lapping up everything, groaning like he’s getting off on it. His hips are grinding into the bed, desperate for friction, but he doesn’t stop until you’re pushing at his head, too sensitive to handle more.

And even then? He just grins up at you, his lips swollen and glossy, his face a fucking mess.

"Please—just one more? I need it."

— NOLAN GRAYSON ⋆

Nolan eats pussy like he’s doing you a favor—like you should be on your knees thanking him for it. He doesn’t rush, doesn’t dive in like some horny teenager. No, he likes to make you wait. He spreads your thighs wide, takes his sweet fucking time looking at you, smirking when he sees how wet you already are.

"Already dripping? I haven’t even touched you yet."

And then? Oh, baby, you’re fucked.

His tongue is hot and firm, pressing right against your clit in one slow, deliberate lick that makes your hips jerk. And he just chuckles, gripping your thighs tighter so you can’t move. He eats you like a man who knows exactly what he’s doing—his tongue doesn’t just tease, it works you. He flicks, sucks, presses just right, watching your body react to every calculated movement. He’s testing you, seeing what makes you twitch, what makes your breath hitch, what makes you fall apart.

And when you do? When you cum on his tongue, thighs squeezing around his head? He just groans, deep and low, like he’s starving for it. And he keeps going. Of course, he keeps going. His hands hold you down, his tongue fucking into you, lapping up every last drop like he owns you.

Because he does.

"Good girl. Give me another one."

— THRAGG ⋆

You do not survive this.

He doesn’t tease, doesn’t ease you into it—no, this motherfucker pins you down, buries his face between your thighs, and ruins you.

His tongue is rough, fast, overwhelming. He latches onto your clit immediately, sucking so hard your vision goes white, your hips jerking off the bed. He doesn’t stop. He doesn’t let up. You’re squirming, trying to get away because holy fuck, it’s too much—but his hands? Oh, baby, his hands are keeping you right there.

And the noises? Disgusting. Deep, low groans vibrating against your clit, wet slurps as he fucking devours you. His beard? Rubbing you raw, making sure you feel every inch of his mouth on you.

"Mmm—what’s wrong? Too much?" (smirk) "You can take it. You will take it."

And when you cum? He. Does. Not. Stop. Your legs are shaking, your body arching, and he just keeps licking, keeps sucking, keeps feasting until you’re sobbing from overstimulation. And then? He flips you over and does it again.

"You’re not done. I decide when you’re done."

— CONQUEST ⋆

He forces your legs apart, buries his face between your thighs, and sucks your clit so fucking hard you scream. He doesn’t build you up slowly—he wants you wrecked instantly. He eats you like he’s punishing you, like he’s proving a point.

He’s everywhere at once, licking, sucking, fucking into you until you don’t know where the pleasure is hitting you from. And his hands? Shoving your thighs apart, holding you still, forcing you to take it. You try to close your legs? He growls.

"The fuck do you think you’re doing? I didn’t say you could run."

And when you cum? He laughs. Laughs against your overstimulated clit, sucks harder, watches as your body twists, trembles, begs for mercy. But does he stop?

No. He keeps fucking going.

And when you’re ruined, your voice hoarse from screaming his name, your thighs trembling uncontrollably? He just grins, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, looking at your wrecked, soaking pussy like it’s his greatest fucking achievement.

"Aww. Did I break you already?"

"Pathetic."

— MASTERLIST ☆

— © luv-lock. Don't copy, repost or translate any of my works here or any other websites ☆

[saitamawife]

bitch this is all you’re gonna get. this life, this face, this body. you better not ‘maybe in another universe’ your way out of everything. sit your ass down and face this. go make tea and have a picnic and read a goddamn book. kiss your loved ones, send that damn text, and hug your siblings. this is all you’re gonna get.

[saitamawife]

subtle ways to include foreshadowing

one character knowing something offhandedly that they shouldn't, isn't addressed until later

the crow rhyme

colours!! esp if like, blue is evil in your world and the mc's best friend is always noted to wear blue...betrayal?

write with the ending in mind

use patterns from tragic past events to warn of the future

keep the characters distracted! run it in the background until the grand reveal

WEATHER.

do some research into Chekhov's gun

mention something that the mc dismisses over and over

KEEP TRACK OF WHAT YOU PUT. don't leave things hanging.

unreliable characters giving information that turn out to be true

flowers and names with meanings

anything with meanings actually

metaphors. if one character describes another as "a real demon" and the other turns out to be the bad guy, you're kind of like...ohhh yeahhh

anyways add anything else in the tags

[saitamawife]

My god my girlies

MY GIRLIES. I am still crying, I am still crying about this. Every day I cry about this.

You bitched so hard about being forced to read 1984 in school when it’s so problematic (tm)

Maybe you should have actually paid attention when you read it

Because all these AI fics

You are LITERALLY MAKING THE GARBAGE NOVELS FROM 1984 that are written by machines

You have literally recreated the worthless soulless machine-made books

Literally,

Literally. Every once in a while it hits me in a fresh wave of disbelief and anger. You have literally created the dystopian book from the dystopian story about why dystopia is bad, and you are passing it around like it’s this amazing thing. I’m crying, I’m crying.

[saitamawife]

When he’s fucking you and shifts position to bend a leg so he can plant his foot on the bed and fuck you harder >>>>>

[saitamawife]

Our lives before the genocide were not perfect, to say the least, but we were happy and hopeful. Our dreams were and are still bigger than the walls, barbed wire, and tanks surrounding us but today we find ourselves in a situation where hope keeps being dimmed by constant humiliation and unprecedented injustice. The adults in my family are barely holding on.

They're doing their best but what is our children's fault? What did they do to deserve such unbearable suffering at a very young age? When will this nightmare end? Will I be able to see them all someday safe, sound, happy and thriving like all children should? Such cruel neverending questions keep haunting me night and day. What we seek, above all, is not only to live in safety but also with dignity which is a basic human right we have always been denied.

whenever I see Omar and Salah's pictures in our beautiful home that was leveled to the ground, I can't help but compare them to the state they're in now; struggling to survive in a flimsy, airless makeshift tent surrounded by rubble, all sorts of disease-carrying insects, the stench of sewage floods and garbage, and the smell of death everywhere only made worse by the sweltering summer heat. The newborns' and the children's innocent faces amidst such misery won't leave my thoughts. They fill me with grief and rage because of how helpless I am. Seeing the kids smile and hold their heads up high, despite all the suffering and fear their little hearts have to go through every single day, is pure torture. Their childhood games have been replaced by waiting in long lines for food and water and carrying containers, sometimes heavier than their fargile malnourished bodies. Most of their playgrounds, kindergartens and schools have been reduced to dust and rubble, and the ones left are still being bombed allowing them no respite or refuge from

the horrors of the war.

For almost ten months now, our little angels have been enduring hardships beyond their years; ripped from the safety and warmth of their home and everything they knew and loved and forced into a life of pain and peril where only the unknown awaits them. Your support is our only ray of hope amidst such a dire and bleak situation. My family and especially our children need you now more than ever as the airstrikes, starvation, and water and health crises are only intensifying and we are being further humiliated and annihilated. I never wanted it to come to this. I used to think I could handle everything myself but I truly have no choice but to ask for help now. Please help me protect my family and bring them closer to the life of safety and dignity they deserve as all humans do, wherever they are.

Verify by :

@nabulsi @el-shab-hussein

‏The fundraiser has been vetted here, Line 132

‏My campaing

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‏Please continue to donate and share to save my family's life

‏Even if it's just $1, or just one reblog, all of these small actions add up to make a huge difference in my family's life

[saitamawife]

god is a bit of a freak, why's he watching me getting railed on the couch, staying pure for a wedding, he's got fucked up priorities — aka an ancient, obsolete god of fertility hears your prayer

pairing: fertility god!katsuki bakugou x fem!reader w/c: 2.8k warning/s: voyeurism, oral (f!receiving), references to sex rituals and safe sex lmao, i think that's everything, mostly lead up notes: sorry i wrote this fucked up from a cold lmao i hope u all enjoy either way! inspo/acknowledgements: god is a freak by peach prc ty @kweenkatsuki-fics @aquadenks @peachsukii @rabbbitseason for ur interest teehee

crossposted to ao3 • masterlist • wip updates & voting • kofi • askbox

the ancient tongue was dead, dying a slow death as all languages did, evolving again and again with every civilisation that rose and fell, until it faded into obscurity. with the death of their language, their communication with their believers, the gods faded, too, their followers dwindling more and more as their names were buried along with the civilisations they led. once adored, worshipped, feared, now, their names only existed on scrolls, yellowed and deteriorated beneath layers of mortal history, unspoken in aeons.

katsuki kicked the door shut behind him, the bag of produce in his hand swinging back and forth with the movement. there was once a time where he was lavished with offerings of food he now had to purchase; countless altars he tended to piled with vegetables, wines, fire, soil, blood, accompanied with prayers to answer. he'd all but assimilated into living as a mortal; cooking (he was grateful, at least, for electric stoves, cooking lerthargically over a fire not quite how he wanted to spend eternity), showering, learning, exploring and working alongside the humans that once lived in his shadow.

he was one of the first to deflect from utopia, to abandon his temple, to give up on the belief that the gods, their language could return to how it was, and with it their followers. katsuki had simply grown bored of waiting alone in the stone temple, of wandering the perimeter hoping to find a lost mortal he could grant a miracle to, to find a mortal to bring meaning to godhood again. after all, what was a god without his believers?

he hadn't given up his blessings or miracles, albeit on a smaller scale than he once had, he still granted wishes as he had in utopia's heyday, the offerings he received now smiles across counters as people passed along paperwork, hoping to be one of the lucky ones, praying over pregnancy tests in bathrooms instead of in his altar. he gave up godhood, but he refused to give up his miracles, even if the mortals didn't know he was responsible.

the pot was finally at a rolling boil, his knife poised above the produce when he felt it, the sensation freezing his blood in his veins, the pull of a prayer in his veins, an echoing whisper of his name lighting his nerves alight. the god freezes, blond hair slipping into his eyes as his ears burnt, twitching at every noise, waiting to hear the sweet sound of the prayer once more.

"bakugou."

his face falls from shock to a scowl almost immediately, his pupils dilating, his skin itchy from adrenaline, his stomach twisting. it couldn't really be his name. this couldn't be a prayer. not after all this time.

the obsolete incantation runs off your tongue seamlessly; almost melodic, light as you cite the prayer carved into the stone at the base of his statue, your dialect nothing like what the prayer used to sound like, but the more you read, the harder he finds it to hate. your voice clouds his head, every word past your lips making the fog denser behind his eyes. there was a dull pain alongside it, an ache that pulsed with your every breath, the pain of a prayer.

the call of the prayer felt… foreign after so long (a millennium he thinks? maybe more, maybe less, years, decades, centuries and millenniums all blurred into one for immortals), katsuki was accustomed to the silence every god feared, the silence of being abandoned by your believers, of dwindling power and control. even with how it was feared, this almost felt worse; a single prayer cornering him in the kitchen after an aeon alone, a single spotlight in the darkness worse than the endless pitch black.

"told you it was bull." barefoot, he paces back and forth in the apartment, shifting uncomfortably as you traced a fingertip over the carved inscription, the touch feeling as if it was on the very nerves of his scalp, down the curve of his spine, catching on every bump of his vertebra. crimson eyes droop, a thick hand rubbing at the bridge of his nose, an attempt to soothe the pain of your voice bouncing around his head, the sensation of your touch on his effigy.

"hey, stop that," your giggle almost has his feet sliding against the tile, nearly tumbling backward as he stops in his tracks; his muscles straining to follow the magnetism of your voice, the melody of your intoxicating laugh while he rationalises your existence at all.

"is that why you brought me here, huh? you think being in some ancient sex temple means you'll get some?"

perks of being a god: immortality, immeasurable strength and influence, impenetrable skin (with maybe a couple flaws). downsides of godhood? the power of their followers over them.

it was… overwhelming, the itch beneath a gods skin when a devout believer called their name, the weight of a prayer, the unshakable desire to follow the call. thankfully, the perks also included the facilities to do so; something akin to teleportation, the voice like a blinding beacon in the night, guiding the god.

once upon a time, civilisations ago, it was a lot, too much, the night always lit like it was daylight with the light his followers cast out. his temple existed for this very reason, devout believers building the god a home, a sanctuary for the light of his followers, complete with the marble sculpture of the built god. then, it was at the centre of the village he ruled over, now, you and your lover had hiked up a mountain, and back down into the valley to find it, the stone weathered and covered in vegetation, it was a miracle you'd been able to work your way inside.

dragging his finger over cold stone, every ridge and bump as it once was, katsuki reminisced about a time before the silence, before the darkness, a time when people lined outside his temple with dreams of a child. years ago, women came alone to his temple, clad in robes they'd weaved specially for the fertility ritual (sometimes gifted at their weddings), kneeling in the altar to offer anything they had in exchange for their heir; piles of gold from queens who begged for a prince, beloved and wise to rule their kingdoms peacefully, warriors armed with iron to wish for a knight, strategic and strong enough to return home from battle again and again, farmers gripping their herbs with soil-stained hands, praying for a child born with kindness and thumbs so green the village would survive the winters once more, a marble statue of the god, towering at over 9 feet tall from a sculptor wishing for a child with as much passion for the arts as their parents.

visitors now were only accidental, stumbling upon the temple in the darkness of the valley, seeking shelter, safety, protection. never a prayer tumbling from their lips for an heir (he answered their prayers nonetheless, never allowing harm to befall anyone on his blessed grounds).

peeking from behind a pillar overtaken by the vegetation, he finally spotted you.

you sucked the breath from his lungs, walking further into the temple, a cute, mischievous grin tugging on the corners of your soft lips, chasing your lover with your eyes as he spoke, "you don't think it's romantic? fucking in an ancient sex gods temple?"

"he was the god of fertility, not sex." you step onto the age worn sigil by the base of the imposing statue, brushing layers of grey dust away.

you look so similar to the countless women before who laid on his mark, the way you studied the carved sigil carefully, curiosity and stars sparkling in your eyes, a heat burning beneath your skin, adrenaline spiking in your veins. eras ago, women were bare on the sigil, stone icy against their skin as they drew runes, marking their skin with blood, dirt or ink, in the language native to the gods.

"what's the difference?" their voice was low, lips brushing beneath your jaw, biting at the sensitive skin beneath your ear, nimble fingers sliding beneath your shirt to tug it higher, higher, on your torso, tugging the material over your head with a flick of his wrist.

the god was no stranger to topless women, probably seeing hundreds and thousands of them in his prime, but the way the man in front of you toyed with the fat on your chest nearly making his eyes meet the inside of his skull. your allure was impossible to resist when your boyfriend rolls your nipples between his forefingers and thumbs, tugging on the sensitive skin to pull a delicious whine from your throat.

the silence had made him soft.

"i've been waiting all day for this," katsuki's blood rushes in his ears when you both fall to the floor, limbs already beginning to tangle together, bodies becoming one at the mouth, at the hips, at the chest. your sweet sounds echo in the temple, increasingly breathless the longer you kissed and nipped and sucked and bit at your boyfriend.

the ancient tongue was dead, katsuki knew that, knew you had no way to know what you'd read, like some naive final girl in a cliche horror film, that the very god you were laid at the base of was real, that he could see and hear you, that his cock throbbed watching you. you had no way of knowing what you'd started. carmine eyes study the beat of your heart in your chest, the way your tits look when your breathing quickens, how irresistible you look when deft fingers trace the seam of your panties.

katsuki prays himself for the first time in his long life that he's the only god to see you right now, to watch your face change the lower your boyfriend travels, dragging his tongue over your skin as he goes (katsuki's thankful for every time the mortal man bites at your skin, for the yelp it elicits anytime his canines sink into your flesh). his fingertips twitch at his sides, itching to finalise the ritual you'd started with the single murmur of his name, the first syllable of a language foreign on your tongue but you'd recited it so naturally.

you exclaim your lovers name with another sweet giggle, his hands now gripping your ass, tugging your obstructive underwear down your pillowy thighs, tossing it as far as he can the moment the garment is free from your ankles.

the god's ears scald at the way you sound when the brunet's tongue flicks against your skin, sucking at your pussy just to draw increasingly needier sounds from your pretty mouth. he's not even watching you and he already knows your hips are jumping from the stone floor, grinding onto your lovers mouth and nose to work yourself closer to an orgasm. your moans echo in the stone temple, bouncing in every corner before travelling back to his ears, tempting his attention to you.

he stays steady, sharp carmine eyes narrowing on the altar.

more specifically, the lump of material atop the bench.

your underwear is draped across like an offering of its own to him, far more lewd than gold, iron and herbs, but it made his core ache when the moonlight caught in the centre of the fabric, a small damp spot glistening in the light.

fuck, it hurts, every nerve aching, screaming to finally put an end his celibacy, unbroken for far too long. he hadn't felt a need for a mortal like this since the beginning of his existence, the pure want filling his head with fog. this is a duty, this power he has, it is what he was made for, there was never this heavy, dense fog filling his head before, no follower making his blood burn like you were. and you didn't even know what you'd done.

bakugou's gaze is finally drawn back to you, your spine arching away from the stone, fingers tangling at the base of your boyfriends skull, tugging the hair harshly as you chanted his name, your hips stuttering, grinding messily back and forth on his face, until you stopped. you were still wound tight, your thighs clamped tight around his ears while you recovered, a dopey, lovesick smile planted firm on your cheeks.

your squeal makes his dick twitch, one last flick of his tongue over your overstimulated clit, blond eyebrows furrowing so hard at the centre it makes his head pound, you were making his head hurt. a desperation to finish the ritual filled his lungs, every breath a reminder of his name on your lips, of your panties across the altar, of your naked body atop his mark.

he needed this, needed to bury his cock in a pretty cunt, to fill you until you were a babbling mess, needed you.

sitting back on his knees, your lover wiped your creamy cum from his chin with the back of his hand, spreading it from his face to his fingers, hardly doing anything to clean the mess you'd made of his mouth.

your boyfriend finally moves out of the way, giving katsuki the front row seat he deserves, your thighs shining with slick the masterpiece he'd come to see. unblinking, he thinks he's squeezing his cock through his pants, he's not sure, too hypnotised by the way your hips still twitched, chasing your boyfriends warmth. onyx and ruby eyes alike study your face, glued to the way your eyes roll into your skull when his fingers, still wet with your cum, trace your clit once more, teasing the entrance of your pussy before circling your sensitive nerves once more.

katsuki knows he's stroking his cock now, frantically tugging at the zipper still preventing him from relief, his fist moving at the same pace you grind your hips down to your lovers hand, sucking his fingers into you, squeezing your cunt around them until your thighs shook. his hips rock into his hands when your tongue lolls from your mouth, your moans getting faster and faster once more.

he has to bite his lip to stifle a groan of his own, his fist pumping faster and faster again, squeezing the base of his cock when you press a kiss as soft as silk to his lips, looping your hips around his, tugging him closer when you came again.

"fuck, baby, next time you cum, it's with my cock inside you." dark hair shields your face from katsuki's vision momentarily, your boyfriend leaning over you, searching his discarded coat for something, tugging it closer and pulling each pocket inside out.

your thighs slip from his hips as he moves, wincing as your thighs made contact with the icy stone instead of his warm skin.

"shit, i think i left the condoms in the backpack," sliding the empty jacket over your chest, you tuck it beneath your arms, clutching it close to you with one hand, the other waving your boyfriend off as he ventured back toward the entrance of the temple, your gaze lingering on his ass until he was out of sight.

another perk of godhood: the blessed ground was subject to the chosen gods whims. some gods had their temples in the centre of labyrinthian mazes, others had their temples impossible to find, buried beneath the earth or deep in the ocean, hidden between mountains, camouflaged in vegetation, some invisible until the winter solstice, or until the new moon. katsuki never quite cared for that, leaving his temple as his followers built it for him, not implementing challenges for believers to prove their dedication like others had, only protecting his hallowed ground. until now.

stone scrapes against stone harshly, the coarse sound painfully invading your ears as the temple entrance seals. you drop the jacket into your lap, rushing to shield your ears from the sound with your palms pressed hard to your ears, searching around the room for your boyfriend, for his protection, katsuki supposes, like a mortal man could save you from the god you summoned, from what you started.

stepping out from the dark corner, his figure casts a sharp, long shadow as he stands to his full height in front of the statue. like this, you look identical to the women he used to bestow his miracles on; splayed on his sigil, staring up at him with dewy eyes (your blown pupils imperceptibly widening when your gaze rakes over his large form, taking everything in; blond mess of hair, darting crimson eyes, ruffled shirt as he rushed to hold it in his mouth watching you get your cunt eaten, his still-unzipped pants and finally the impressive bulge of his cock), your lips parting when he finally relaxes his shoulders, now standing easily at the shoulder of his statue.

"you-re—" your eyes dart between the imposing statue and his steely face, your voice airy, wobbling slightly as you continued, "you're real?"

© all works belong to @k-atsukibakugou, @gwen0m, and dlirious on archive of our own, do not plagiarise, translate, repost or recommend my work on other platforms or translate my works, i do not give permission for my works to be bound and sold. 18+ minors and ageless blogs do not interact.

[saitamawife]

[saitamawife]

[saitamawife]

jesus no

[saitamawife]

I cannot stress how important it is to be intersectional about your feminism. listen to black women, listen to trans women, listen to disabled women, and please acknowledge the fact that there are different types of women who go through different types of struggles than you

[saitamawife]

beauty standards are so fucked up what happened to i love your body because it's you. what then.

[saitamawife]

so I got into grad school today with my shitty 2.8 gpa and the moral of the story is reblog those good luck posts for the love of god

[saitamawife]

[saitamawife]

It's interesting how there's an abundance of videos showing IOF soldiers gleefully committing various atrocities toward Palestinian civilians and not a single one of those videos showing them actually fighting Hamas.

[saitamawife]

reblog this to remind the person you reblogged it from that theyre loved