#CLOSE THE DIVIDE!!!!!!!

[dittolicous]

My two cents on the whole 'ride Pokemon aren't nobles' debacle with PLA; I frankly think its kinda dumb that they made a big deal in game about the Ten Pokemon that fought with the Ancient Hero... but only treat half of them as worthy religious figures for whatever reason.

I've always approached it as there being two different levels of Nobles - The Greater/Offensive (aka the canon Nobles™️) and the Lesser/Defensive (aka the canon Ride 'mons). The Offensive ones are those that would take battles head-on to keep it far away to protect the Clans whereas the Defensive would focus on directly keeping the Clans safe. Hence why they would over time become the Ride 'mons, as they would carry people safely away from the dangerous battles.

The Ride mons might get a little less direct respect overtime because the common person is simply more familiar with them, more chummy, compared to the others who keep their distance and cause people to fall back on overly respectful to make up for any discomfort. But they are ultimately all still Nobles at the end of the day.

Of course, this is just my fanon take. It certainly is my approach for the Catching Trains fic (not that its been of much focus lol). But it's my sandbox too so I figure I'll build castles the way I like.

[seoyangi]

໒꒰ྀིっ˕ ~｡꒱ྀི১ 🍮 눈감기의 막내 서경배 ! 𓏸𓈒 ָ࣪ 𓂂 𓏸

[yu2ki]

Whisper of the Heart (1995)

[houseofpsychoticwomxn]

okay okay, how do u think boxer!frank would react to you crying during sex cuz you missed him all day while he was training ? ☹️

- a crybaby

omfg u and me both babe this is so real 😭

𓆩♡𓆪 18+ smut ! 𓆩♡𓆪

you clung to frank as soon as he walked into your shared apartment, asking him if he needed food or water or a hot bath or —

“will you let me take my shoes off first? you missed me, i know. i missed you too baby, but i’m sweaty and gross right now, see?” he carefully pulled you away from him, holding up his hands clearly in need of some tlc, eyeing your soft white shirt that he couldn’t bear to ruin.

“so let me take care of you!” you moved your hands back to the wide space of his shoulders and pressed your chest into him, frankly not caring whether or not you got a little dirty in the process.

“come on, frankie. you take care of me all the time.” you gave him your best pout, taking his dropped shoulders and lack of further protest as a yes and dragging him to the bathroom.

it really was supposed to be all about him, his sighs of content as you gently patched his hands up and poured some lavender epsom salts in the running water music to your ears. unfortunately this is frank, and he wouldn’t rest until you were soaking in the warm bubbly water with him. you’d be lying if you said you didn’t need it too though, long restless nights waiting on him to come back home catching up to you.

˚₊‧꒰ა ♡ ໒꒱ ‧₊˚

it was quiet for a while, both of you listening to the others slow breathing as you soaked in the relaxingly scented water. until he pulled you towards him anyway, bringing you into his lap from your curled up position sitting between his legs.

the water splashed around you, leaving behind bubbles on the side of franks mouth and a smile taking its place when you brought them back to the water. he always did say you made him softer.

his hands made their way from your own to your neck, warming your face with just a few kisses. by the time he was actually fucking into you there were already tears pooling in your eyes, pressing your forehead against his to keep him as close as possible.

as soon as a shaky breath and a broken sigh of his name fell from your mouth he was grabbing your face, making you look up at him as the tears fell. “hey what happened, huh? you want me to stop?” you were shaking your head before his last word was out, sniffling as his thumbs wiped the stray tears away.

“no, it feels good. just missed you.” your words were quieter than you meant them to be, interrupted by your own cracking voice, but he still heard you.

“you just missed me that much? ‘s that right?” and the tears were back, nodding as you moved to hide your face in the side of his neck.

“y’know you could’ve just asked me to stay, sweetheart.”

[lottiesliterature]

Summary:Javier Peña is injured during a mission, and you’re forced to take care of him while stuck in a small, one-bedroom cabin.

Warnings: 18+, mdni, injury (bullet wound), one bed, close proximity. Pedro Pascal

Wc: 1,340

The mission had gone south quickly.

It had started like any other operation—precision, stealth, and quick thinking. But things escalated when Javier was shot. It wasn’t a serious wound, thank God, just a graze across his side that was bleeding more than it should, and that’s how you found yourself in the remote cabin, tending to his injury in the middle of nowhere.

I'm fine,” he muttered, slumping against the wall as you wiped away the blood with a disinfectant soaked cloth. His eyes never left the floor, and his jaw clenched in that stubborn way you knew all too well.

You shot him a skeptical look. “If you're fine, then why do you look like you're about to pass out?” He didn’t answer. Of course, he didn’t. Javier Peña was a man who hated showing vulnerability, even if he was the one who’d just been shot. His pride always came before everything else, including the reality of his injuries.

The tension in the room was suffocating, the kind that came from two people who knew each other too well and not well enough all at once.

His eyes flicked to yours, dark and unreadable. “I said I’m fine. You don’t need to—”.

“Don’t,” you cut him off, sitting back on your heels and glaring at him. “Don’t do that thing where you pretend you’re invincible. It’s not working.”

The room fell silent except for the sound of your ragged breathing and the storm rattling the windowpane. His dark eyes flicked up to meet yours, and the intensity in them made your heart skip.

“You don’t have to do this,” he said quietly, his voice softer now but still edged with that irritating stubbornness.

You froze for a split second, your hand hovering over his side. The heat of his skin beneath your fingers burned like a warning, but you ignored it. “Yes, I do.”

“Why?” The word was barely a whisper, but it hit you like a punch to the gut.

Your fingers tightened around the cloth, and you tore your gaze away from his, focusing instead on the blood staining your hands. “Because you’d do the same for me,” you said, your voice low but firm.

Javier’s silence was deafening, and it made the air between you feel heavier.

When you finally looked up, his face was inches from yours, his expression unreadable but undeniably vulnerable. The proximity sent a jolt through your body, but you couldn’t afford to get distracted—not now.

“Lift your arm,” you said, your voice trembling just slightly.

He hesitated, his eyes never leaving yours, and for a moment you thought he might argue. But then he exhaled sharply and did as you asked, wincing as the motion pulled at the torn skin. You didn’t miss the way his hand brushed against your side, whether accidental or deliberate, and it sent a wave of heat straight to your chest.

You worked in silence, your hands steady despite the whirlwind of emotions threatening to overwhelm you. Every time your fingers grazed his skin, you felt him tense beneath your touch. The closeness was unbearable, every movement drawing you closer to an invisible line neither of you seemed ready to cross.

“Doesn’t hurt,” he said gruffly, breaking the silence.

“Liar,” you muttered, refusing to meet his eyes.

A low chuckle escaped him, though it was tinged with pain. “You always this bossy?”

You glared at him, your temper flaring. “Only when my partner gets himself shot and refuses to take it seriously.”

For a long moment, neither of you spoke. You finished cleaning the wound, your hands lingering on his side longer than necessary. When you finally looked up, the raw emotion in his gaze made your breath hitch.

Finally, you broke eye contact, your voice shaky as you muttered, “You should lie down. You’ve lost a lot of blood.”

“I’m fine,” he said, the gruffness in his tone not enough to mask the exhaustion bleeding through.

“You’re not fine, Javier,” you snapped, standing up abruptly and pacing to the other side of the small room. The tension in your chest was unbearable, a knot that refused to unravel. You gestured to the single bed pushed against the wall, your frustration bubbling over. “Just take the bed before you pass out.”

He shot you a look, one brow raised, the kind that usually made people stop arguing. But you weren’t most people.

“You’ve lost blood, and you’re hurt,” you added before he could argue. “You need it more than I do.”

“You’re exhausted,” he countered, his voice rough but firm. “You think I don’t notice how you’ve been running on fumes?”

You ignored him, grabbing the blanket you’d pulled off the bed and laying it down on the floorboards. The room was small, cold, and lit only by the flickering yellow glow of the bedside lamp. But you didn’t care. Anything was better than sharing that bed and having to endure the unbearable tension lingering in the air between you.

“I’m not arguing with you about this,” you said, lying down on your makeshift bed. You turned your back to him, pulling your coat over yourself for extra warmth.

He let out a frustrated sigh, but he didn’t say anything else. The sound of him settling onto the bed filled the silence, followed by the creak of the old mattress.

You tried to sleep, but the floor was unforgivingly hard, and the chill seeped into your bones despite your coat and the thin blanket. Every time you shifted, the bruises and tension from the day’s events flared to life, keeping sleep just out of reach.

Eventually, though, exhaustion won out, and you drifted off.

Javier lay awake on the bed, staring at the ceiling. The room was quiet except for your soft, uneven breathing, a clear sign that you weren’t resting peacefully.

He sighed, running a hand over his face. Stubborn. That’s what you were. Stubborn and self-sacrificing, always putting him first even when you didn’t need to. It made his chest ache, though he’d never admit it out loud.

When your breathing finally evened out, he swung his legs over the edge of the bed with a groan, standing up carefully to avoid pulling at the stitches in his side. The sight of you curled up on the floor made him frown. You looked so small, so vulnerable, and the thought of you spending the night like that stirred something deep inside him.

“Damn it,” he muttered under his breath.

He crouched down beside you, moving slowly to avoid waking you. His hands hovered for a moment, hesitant, before slipping beneath you—one under your knees and the other supporting your back. You stirred slightly, letting out a soft murmur, but didn’t wake as he lifted you effortlessly.

“You’re impossible,” he muttered softly, more to himself than to you, as he carried you to the bed.

The mattress creaked as he laid you down gently, pulling the blanket up over you. He hesitated for a moment, his hand lingering on the edge of the blanket as he looked at your face, now peaceful in sleep.

Shaking his head, he moved to sit back on the floor, resigned to a sleepless night. But before he could settle, your hand reached out, catching his wrist.

“Stay,” you mumbled, your voice thick with sleep.

He froze, his breath hitching as he looked down at you. Your eyes were barely open, your grip on his wrist loose, but the vulnerability in your voice was enough to shatter the walls he’d so carefully built.

After a long moment, he exhaled and climbed into the bed beside you, careful to keep some distance. The mattress was small, and the proximity was impossible to ignore, but he stayed still, watching as your breathing evened out again.

“Stubborn,” he whispered one last time, a faint smile tugging at his lips.

And for the first time in a long time, Javier Peña allowed himself to relax, the weight of the day melting away as the quiet rhythm of your presence lulled him to sleep.

[druidshollow]

Space is suddenly thrown into a panic, so Phrases helps them ground themself.

hellooooooooooo this wasnt an excuse to draw phrases and space cuddling. no of course not. i think the flickering blue light flung them into a flashback regarding dunes attack since the flashing is similar to the power given off by her spear. flashbacks can be caused by even very small triggers which is something i think space unfortunately struggles with pretty often. theyve got a good support system now though <3 phrases speaks pretty repetitively at points here- they're aware that space isnt mentally in the present and they're asserting what they know to help. sometimes you have to repeat yourself many times for someone in a panic to hear you or really process what youre telling them

[ahollowgrave]

PIGEON’S GPOSE WRAPPED 2024

one / two / three / four / five / six / seven / eight / nine / ten / eleven / twelve

Gpose Wrapped 2023

WHEW! Here it is! My favorite shots from over the year, one for each month (or... close enough!) I love putting these together it's such a fun way to look back and I'm always stunned at what I was up to at the start of the year. Odette started the year surrounded by friends and she ended the year surrounded by friends! How lucky is she. I almost had enough Skeleton shots for the first six months of the year, but then I got to March and actually gasped when I remembered how we all played Mermaids together! That was such a fun time!! Man, I have so much fun taking my little screenshots!!! It has led me to some of my favorite people!! I'm so grateful I still love this hobby and screenshots.

Thank you guys for being here, thanks for making stuff, and thanks for sharing it!

(down here is a second, secret gpose wrapped)

one / two / three / four / five / six / seven / eight / nine / ten / eleven / twelve / thirteen / fourteen

This year I had more than enough shots to do a second Gpose Wrapped (and then some) featuring my friends' OCs! That's wild!! These aren't in any particular order and one of them never made it to Tumblr. But I had so much fun making these and sharing them with my friends!! Thank you to the people who reached out and traded with me! Next year I want to be brave enough to do more shots with friends. Brave enough to ask, brave enough to brainstorm them, braver!!! There are people I gotta catch up with, too!

[anghraine]

Speaking of the social context of P&P and Austen in general, and also just literature of that era, I'm always interested in how things like precisely formulated hierarchies of precedence and tables of ranked social classes interact with the more complex and nuanced details of class-based status and consequence on a pragmatic day-to-day level. I remembered reading a social historian discussing the pragmatics of class wrt eighteenth-century English life many years ago and finally tracked down the source:

"In spite of the number of people who got their living from manufacture or trade, fundamentally it was a society in which the ownership of land alone conveyed social prestige and full political rights. ... The apex of this society was the nobility. In the eyes of the Law only members of the House of Lords, the peerage in the strictest use of the word, were a class apart, enjoying special privileges and composing one of the estates of the realm. Their families were commoners: even the eldest sons of peers could sit in the House of Commons. It was therefore in the social rather than in the legal sense of the word that English society was a class society. Before the law all English people except the peers were in theory equal. Legal concept and social practice were, however, very different. When men spoke of the nobility, they meant the sons and daughters, the brothers and sisters, the uncles and aunts and cousins of the peers. They were an extremely influential and wealthy group.

"The peers and their near relations almost monopolized high political office. From these great families came the wealthiest Church dignitaries, the higher ranks in the army and navy. Many of them found a career in law; some even did not disdain the money to be made in trade. What gave this class its particular importance in the political life of the day was the way in which it was organized on a basis of family and connection ... in eighteenth-century politics men rarely acted as isolated individuals. A man came into Parliament supported by his friends and relations who expected, in return for this support, that he would further their interests to the extent of his parliamentary influence.

"Next in both political and social importance came the gentry. Again it is not easy to define exactly who were covered by this term. The Law knew nothing of gentle birth but Society recognized it. Like the nobility this group too was as a class closely connected with land. Indeed, the border line between the two classes is at times almost impossible to define ... Often these men are described as the squirearchy, this term being used to cover the major landowning families in every county who were not connected by birth with the aristocracy. Between them and the local nobility there was often considerable jealousy. The country gentleman considered himself well qualified to manage the affairs of his county without aristocratic interference.

"...The next great layer in society is perhaps best described the contemporary term 'the Middling Sort'. As with all eighteenth-century groups it is difficult to draw a clear line of demarcation between them and their social superiors and inferiors. No economic line is possible, for a man with no pretensions to gentility might well be more prosperous than many a small squire. There was even on the fringe between the two classes some overlapping of activities ... The ambitious upstart who bought an estate and spent his income as a gentleman, might be either cold-shouldered by his better-born neighbours or treated by them with a certain contemptuous politeness. If however his daughters were presentable and well dowered, and if his sons received the education considered suitable for gentlemen, the next generation would see the obliteration of whatever distinction still remained. The solid mass of the middling sort had however no such aspirations, or considered them beyond their reach.

"...This term [the poor] was widely used to designate the great mass of the manual workers. Within their ranks differences of income and of outlook were as varied as those that characterized the middle class. Once again the line of demarcation is hard to draw..."

—Dorothy Marshall, Eighteenth Century England (29-34)

(There's plenty more interesting information in the full chapter, especially regarding "the poor," and the chapter itself is contracted from a lengthier version published earlier.)

[every-sanji]

[blossoms-phan]

if I had a nickel for every time a phannie broke containment and got a hit tweet for accidentally turning their bead box the wrong way I’d have two nickels which isn’t a lot but it’s weird that it happened twice

[roominthecastle]

[mishy-mashy]

I just like the foreshadowing here

Somewhere around ch. 310

And then, in ch. 406

AFO can't let himself feel hatred too much, because that emotion reminds him of Kudo, and that AFO was the one to kill Yoichi.

It reminds him of Kudo, who he hates the most. And his last memory of Kudo had been the man spitting in his face that no one took Yoichi; he had been killed by the Demon Lord AFO proclaimed to be.

"Right. It's him... it was always him."

AFO is probably referring to Kudo. But the panel focuses on AFO himself, as the real culprit to Yoichi's murder.

He could be referring to himself. That's why he then narrates, "The one I loathe above all others"... right before completely losing his shit against Bakugo (Kudo).

Because he got reminded again.

[seoyangi]

⋰˚εεεεε (＞＜*)ノ ١٥٧٤ ⠀ ⠀ ʕ´   ᩙᩙ `  ʔ  ♡⠀⠀⠀

[dykedvonte]

Ulysses obsession with the Courier is a special type of sad to me cause the Courier’s part was so important but so unwitting. They had no idea what was in the package they delivered and neither did he. Neither had an idea of what it could’ve done and the Courier was only caring out their job (mind you the Courier could be killed via notes in the express contract if they don’t). To them it was just another regular delivery to the divide and one that they likely thought would help, just like all the ones before.

It’s so tragic for Ulysses to hold so much ire to the Courier when it really was the case of it could’ve been anyone. Anyone could have delivered that package but they did and so he focused the blame on them and it destroys what he is trying to instill in the courier on a fundamental level.

[chlorophyllium]

So its been almost a week since I asked one of my coworkers (almost 70) if he's ever seen Goncharov when we were talking about movies I've never seen. I even gave him a sticky note with the movie title, director, year of release, and the starring actors before I went home.

I asked him today if he's seen it yet and answers "No but I was looking at the note you gave me and it sounds familiar so I might have and not remember since I've seen so many movies. It has all these big names and sounds good!

See I even put your note right here on my folder to remind me when I got some free time!"

He sounded so excited to watch it, I don't know how to tell him.

[lottiesliterature]

American Sweetheart °Masterlist

Pair: Cowboy Joel x fem reader

Summary: You are a city girl, freshly engaged dreaming of the simple life. You plan a wedding in the countryside of Texas. Your friend Tommy lends you a room in his house down there to prepare for the wedding. What he didn't tell you is that you'll have a roommate. A little blast from the past?

Warnings: 18+, mndi, swearing, bickering, cheating??, Joel Miller as a cowboy♡, close proximity, second chance.

Series

Chapter One: Summer Days and Starry Nights

Chapter Two: Whispers of the Past

Chapter Three: Small Town Beginnings

Moodboards

Cowboy!Joel x The Girl Next Door!reader

EEEE making moodboards and scenarios are making me so excited to write!!! Very appreciative to the 25 people that liked the first chapter and many more to come. Xoxo