#;ab personal

[amaryllisblackthorn]

omgosh i think i've finally identified a piece of art in the darling bedroom from ouat that's stumped me for y e a r s !!!!!!

[wizrdlzrd]

[m4g0hun]

lost child

[frownyalfred]

it's always "why is Bruce never wearing a shirt" and "why is that man walking around naked in the Cave" but legitimately when I got into shape you would've had to pay me to put on a shirt indoors. you start getting ab and bicep definition and your shame and self-consciousness completely disappear.

[dilapidatedanchor]

Varric you would have loved fanfiction

[sillywormz]

when a character has a shirtless scene and they have washboard abs and no sign of any belly fat not even a little bit

[kenjakusbraincum]

Sukuna is old. He is also weirdly cultured for the monster that he is. With so much time on his hands, he loves indulging in arts and literature, and as with everything else he tries, he's good at it. You wouldn't know this, of course, you are only his pet. The time you spend with him is limited and hardly consists of intellectual conversation. You are there to serve one purpose and you know that quite well. So when you wake up in his bed one morning, two things come as a surprise. First that you're even here. It's one of those rare occasions when Sukuna couldn't be bothered kicking or carrying you out of his chambers once your time together was up. Second, he's awake, bent over his desk and so concentrated on a little figurine in his hand that he doesn't immediately notice you've shuffled awake. Once your eyes focus, you see that he's holding a tool in his other hand. He's carving wood. You're almost hypnotized by the scene. The scene feels so private that even for a pet like you, who knows Sukuna in the most intimate way, it feels like you shouldn't be watching. But you can't look away.

"Awake?", he asks, without sparing a glance at you. You apologize for staring, and look for your clothes around the bed. You throw them on just precisely enough to cover up until you reach your chambers, just wanting to be as quick and innocuous as possible. You wait for Sukuna's approval to leave. He gives you a simple nod, once more avoiding to look at you. You leave feeling conflicted. Special, because he allowed you to stay and watch (even as little as you did), but saddened because he barely looked at you, once more solidifying in your mind that you're only interesting to him when you're naked and bent over. As long as you've been here, you could never stop wishing for his validation.

Sukuna knows when you get insecure too. He notices the way your eyes droop, the way you close in on yourself and seem absent in his presence. He justifies this excessive worry about you by telling himself he likes to be the only thing that bothers his pets. All the way until he realized he already is the only thing that can make you sad. This realization falls upon him one time he lashes out on you and sees the immediate change of heart on your face. Now, he isn't one to apologize, especially not to someone who is as low under him as his pet. But why does he feel guilty when he sees this one act of his ruin your day? When he catches a glimpse of you sitting in the garden with your head hung low, or leaving more food on your plate than you usually do. If only you knew the way you really made him feel.

He beckons you to his chambers, and you follow three steps behind him like a good pet does. You didn't expect this time to be any different than others. You've become used to serving Sukuna on days you loved him and on days you hated him. But when he tells you to close your eyes, you know something is different. You obey, of course, and listen to his footsteps as he fetches something from the room. His hand takes yours and opens it, placing a piece of wood onto your palm. You already know, but you wait for him to allow you to open your eyes. He lightly presses his thumb on your cheek under your eye, and when you look, you find a small wooden fawn, curled up and asleep in your hands.

"Master!!..", you start, but nothing else can leave your mouth. You turn the figure around in your hand, inspecting and admiring the details. He's given you gifts before, but not ones carved by his own hand. Not ones made with love.

"You don't have to squint anymore.", Sukuna says, almost jokingly. But his face is as serious as ever as he looks at you, his muse. He thinks of the first time he's exhausted you to the point of passing out right after your nightly meetings. You were relatively new and very unsure of your safety. He thinks of your small body curled up in sleep on the edge of his bed, knees pressed to your chest in a primal, subconscious attempt to protect yourself. His little pet, his fawn.

You slur on and on about how beautiful it is, how you don't know how to thank him, the usual when you receive a gift. And as usual, Sukuna shuts you up with a kiss. You welcome it and wrap your arms around his neck, giving yourself in to him and letting him take you to the bed.

And he takes things slow tonight. He's gentle and so, so giving. Every sensation is delicate, prolonged and heightened to exhaustion. You cling to him, pull him impossibly close, and come apart under the comforting weight of him. Afterwards, you hold his hand to your face and kiss it softly. His hands, so large and strong, capable of such violence, yet for you they craft gifts, cradle, caress, love... in a very subtle and distant way, of course. With these thoughts your hands slip away from his, you turn around and quickly drift off.

He looks at you now, sleeping so close to him. Trusting him with your back, and turning your curled up form to the outside world. As if he is no longer a perceived danger. He smiles to himself in victory, and plants a chaste kiss to your shoulder to wish you one final goodnight.

[fury161]

portraits for a de au i think about a little bit

[comfort-character-central]

Your f/o would never make you feel bad about your intelligence or the way your mind works. Even if you have a hard time understanding or processing, they'll never see you as dumb, stupid, or anything of that sort. They support you completely and the last thing they want is for you to feel insecure about it.

[amaryllisblackthorn]

i've finally been hit by the tumblr desktop layout change. 😭

[maroonmused]

“spider-man 2 was robbed” “the game awards are rigged” and only yuri lowenthal was brave enough to raise the discussion of would peter parker and astarion explore each other’s bodies in their respective action adventure/rpg narratives

[myoswu]

HIGHSCHOOL AU !!

[jesse-pinko]

It’s literally not my fault that the themes of Breaking Bad become that much stronger if you read Walter as a closeted gay man… like where to even start okay it’s 2008 and this guy is so, so insecure in his masculinity and so, so resentful of his picket fence family life. He’s done what he was “supposed” to do by societal standards and he still doesn’t feel like enough of a man compared to his brodude brother-in-law specifically. He can’t escape the feeling that something is missing, that it’s all a charade, and he finds it hard to believe the rest of the people in his life really are content with this lifestyle. Nobody seems to understand, and he hates them all for not seeing how unhappy he is. He gets his cancer diagnosis and is suddenly acutely aware that he feels burdened and unfulfilled by the life he’s built for himself, and that time is running out to change things.

It’s when he sees Jesse Pinkman fall half naked out of a window that everything changes. He’s pretty, and young, and floundering without guidance or a support system. He desperately craves human connection and lacks the self-esteem to take his life in any particular direction without someone instructing him. He’s grieving his aunt, the only person he had looking out for him, who died of cancer. He already views Walter as an authority figure. He’s alone.

And with Jesse around, Walter doesn’t have to come to terms with anything about himself that might challenge his masculinity, because it isn’t an equal relationship. Because he’s still “the man” in this dynamic, the one with the power, the one calling the shots, the dominant one, the firm hand. Moreso than in his relationship with Skyler, who refuses to be bullied into the role he would assign her, that of the submissive, subservient little wife who looks to him for guidance and permission. As a criminal, Walt can express care for another man in the only way that traditional masculinity would deem acceptable; through violence. His love language is violence. Violence toward Jesse and violence on Jesse’s behalf. He runs over two men with a car for Jesse. He kills Jane and Mike, a romantic and paternal threat respectively, because they were going to take Jesse away from him. He tries on occasion to verbalize their relationship into something more traditionally familial, as if saying it might make it true, but it never quite fits the mold exactly. He reasserts, over and over again in what he later admits is a lie, that he is doing this for his family, that everything he does is an extension of his masculine role rather than deviant from it. He would kill and die for Jesse, he does kill and die for Jesse. In fact, in a story of self-actualization that still has Walt cling to his delusions of grandeur up until the very end (almost as though becoming Heisenberg wasn’t actually self-actualization so much as an escapist fantasy) his arc concludes with him actually self-actualizing by committing one last act of violence on Jesse’s behalf. In Ozymandias, he tells Jesse about Jane as a way of playing into Jesse’s worst fear that Walter never cared about him, that everything they did to and for each other meant nothing. Walter’s last act on Earth is a refutation of that; it’s an admission of care. His last act of self-actualization was a confession of love for another man.

[waiting-foratrain]

> do you ever think about how scary remembering being alecto must have been for nona? because i think about that a lot.

(NONA THE NINTH SPOILERS) (this is mostly a post inspired by my personal experience and feelings so feel free to disagree. but also i Am correct)

dissociative amnesia is terrifying. just. full stop, point blank- as a concept, to experience, however- its terrifying. the idea that there’s something missing and half the time you don’t even know it’s gone? and then to remember? to slowly start remembering every horrible thing that happened to you? to be nona, remembering, and suddenly realise that you’re doing what everyone around you seems to have wanted you to do since you first opened your eyes, you’re remembering- only it isn’t helping, and instead, you’re realising that everything you thought you were was built on a fault line that only seems to keep growing with everything more you remember?

and then it’s nona, the girl who’s anger has only ever been treated gently and peacefully by the people who love her, who is determined to be good, to be helpful, suddenly having to remember so much unrestrained anger, so much pain? and the more she remembers, the more she becomes sure that all of that is what she is going to be left as when her time, and her life is up. of course that scared her. how could it not scare her?

i don’t think it was just the realisation of who she had been that was terrifying - it was the understanding that she was a makeshift person walking around in a world where (nearly) everyone else got to be wholly themselves for as long as their bodies lived- but she’d been on borrowed time her whole life, and suddenly she has a rapidly running out countdown.

further - dissociative amnesia isn’t just about the loss, it’s about the shape of the loss. it’s about the gaps in the narrative of your own life, gaps you can’t see because your mind has plastered over them, smoothed them out so seamlessly that you don’t even think to ask what’s missing. It’s about waking up one day and realising the foundation you’ve been standing on isn’t real, and worse, that the truth waiting underneath it might be so much worse than the not-knowing… and when those memories do start to surface, you don’t quite know what it is, but it feels like a betrayal- and you aren’t quite the same as you were before anymore (which happens on such a bigger scale with nona!!!! it’s so important to me, that in ntn, nona’s remembering is not celebrated. so often in media, i see people remembering memories lost to trauma related amnesia portrayed as a good thing, and every time i’m just sat there thinking ‘is it worth it? really?’)

like. just imagine you’re nona, for me. your mind kept those lost memories from you for a reason- it buried them because it thought you wouldn’t survive them, and maybe you won’t, but now, whether you’re ready or not, they’re coming back. they’re clawing their way up from a grave you didn’t even know was there, and you have to look them in the eye and reconcile the person they tell you you were with the person you fought to be.

for nona, remembering meant losing herself. she didn’t just gain alecto’s memories, she became alecto again. the life she had built, the life she had clung to, the love she had felt, all of it just unraveled beneath the weight of who she had been before. how could it not be terrifying?

to remember. to finally give in and remember what she’d been so determined to not, to finally know what you were missing - and have to realise that your fears weren’t unfounded. it is scary - because remembering doesn’t make you whole. sometimes, remembering just erases you instead.

[mineralboa]

btw i think there should be more fics where jeff is described as a BIG dude..... ..

(not quite as big as he appears here obviously,,the character hes strangling is falling to their knees or something idk)

[citrusai]

taash said "they were doing it" and people ran with the interpretation of an npc that doesn't know solas or the history of the elvhenan even when bellara interjected and said, no, that's not right. that's not how it was for the elvhenan. they formed bonds before they had physical bodies. and people ran to doompost or create weird anti-solavellan shit even though mythal & solas refer to each other as old friends and when she releases him there is no tenderness or love in it. it is the act of unchaining a dog from his post, the stepping down of a general. but to each their own ig.