#Learn to treat people better and I hope you grow and learn

[macabrecabra]

As I look back, after another round around the sun and managing to still be here (shocked, but proud I got the help to keep fighting <3) it makes me reflect on things.

The things that left deep scars. Where sometimes I feel certain things happened a year ago. A month. A week. Sometimes feels like it happened yesterday. Those traumas, big and small, that warp your sense of time.

For me, it was four years ago now. It feels strange. Four years ago at this time, with a group of people (I don't think they were ever friends in hindsight. The emotional abuse was...bad. Therapy has unwound that enough for me to see it now...) that made me question my sanity, who I was, and made me feel guilty, awful and less than human...

Four years, but I feel like it happened just a few months. That aching scar. But it has been four years. Four years and I am in such a better place. I'm happier. I'm healthier. I have so many more new friends. I've met people who I can share my experience with and in turn, hear theirs. I feel part of a larger community, part of the larger world.

And all I can say is thank you, to everyone in these past four years, the people who stuck with me, who helped me get out of that situation, who helped ME grow into a better person.

I'm getting emotional now, but eh, I get one big emotional post a year eh? And this it is. A thank you to all my followers, friends, and even the small people that stopped in to say hi over the years. You did more for me in four years than you can ever know <3

[puppyeared]

i feel like im not making any sense but does anyone else feel like there are stories that let u run with them and ones that spell everything out for you

[us-the-voices-and-more-voices-2]

me: wow, I uh actually am an okay person whoa.

also me: how is this possible it shouldn’t be why how why how why how why how why how why how.

[girlfishes]

Radblr hot take here but I believe that men are capable of changing to be better. To say that they are incapable of being good is saying that they aren’t fully responsible for what they do because they aren’t capable of being better.

No. They can be better. And they are morally worse and more corrupt for it. Men can choose to fight the patriarchy and treat their female counterparts with respect and dignity. But they choose not to, because they can reap the same or more societal benefits by being misogynistic.

Baby boys aren’t born misogynistic. Sure, they may be born with whatever male hormonal differences do, but that isn’t even 1% of the reason why they grow up to be misogynists.

As they grow up they learn that misogyny is rewarded. As they grow up they are exposed to porn which they choose to use as a sexual role model. As they grow up they watch their parents model a hierarchal power dynamic. They see all of this, and they like it. They choose it for themselves.

I think that men can change for the better. People here hear this and say “you can’t teach them” or “coddling them won’t do shit” and I agree. What women need to do is stop rewarding and enabling their behavior.

We need to free women from human trafficking and exploitation, and we also need to convince women who make porn of their own free will to stop. We need to punish the men who make it. We need to help women out of their abusive marriages, and we also need to convince women who are in relationships with even slightly misogynistic men to end them. We need to have zero tolerance for casual misogyny. We need to start shunning men who are misogynists. We need to hold accountable women who are enabling the men in their lives to hurt other women. Shun men who watch porn. Shun men who say slurs. Stop having their children.

And for the men sympathetic to our cause, we need to convince them to use their privilege as men to further feminist goals. We need them to vote for women’s rights. We need them to intervene during “locker room” misogynistic talk when women aren’t around. We need them to break up the male solidarity around misogyny in a way only they can do.

But we can’t do this as individuals. Strength comes in numbers. Women do face societal consequences for standing up to misogyny. Other women need to defend her and provide for her needs. And in order to do this we need to educate ourselves. Make money. Be independent of men. Become doctors, lawyers, teachers. We need to do everything we can to support women in places where they cannot do these things.

If we can do all of this, men will change. Maybe not the men who are already set in their ways. But those growing up will see that misogyny does not reward them in life. They will not see porn. They will not see their mothers submitting to their fathers and they will not see women submitting to men. And they will choose to treat women as human beings. Because they can.

Radical feminism is not a doomerist movement. I have a future in mind. I hope you do too.

[eddiemunsons-missingnipple]

Hey have a request I’d love to see a fic like this:

Dad!Eddie x mom!reader their reaction when their 18 year old daughter comes home with her first real boyfriend turns out it’s a metalhead like Eddie :)

I hope you can do something like this <3

This is so cute, and I love the idea. I just picture Eddie being a complete girl dad. Hope you enjoy. 🩷

Requests are open for the time being.

Dad!Eddie Munson x Mom!reader

Warning: none, just some fluff.

A/n: This is fluff, but I still do not want minors interacting with my work. Not proofread

"He's coming over!" Your daughter Julie raced down the stairs yelling out to you.

Eddie looked up from his phone with his reading glasses hanging off his nose. "Who's coming over? He?"

You saw him looking towards you and then back at your daughter. She just turned eighteen a few months ago. She was born on July tenth. Which was also the birthday of Ronnie James Dio. Something Eddie never stopped bragging about saying it's "the most metalest thing ever."

He fell in love all over again the moment she was born. She was glued to his hip. Anywhere he went, she went. If he was eating, so was she. If Eddie got a tattoo, then he was buying her one out of the bubble gum machine for her to match.

He couldn't stand watching her grow up. Seeing her go from this tiny little thing to a young woman was difficult on you both. She had his eyes and dimples along with his sarcasm.

"Oh, uhh, her boyfriend Eddie, remember he's coming for dinner." You reminded him while trying to keep things calm.

"Boyfriend?" He repeated.

Julie rolled her eyes. " Yeah dad boyfriend you know the guy I've been telling you and mom about for like the last two months."

Eddie didn't say a word back. He knew he couldn't stop her from dating. He actually didn't hate the idea of her dating. He hated the idea of some guy hurting her.

That's all it really came down to. He's tried so hard to shield her from all the bad in the world. But you've helped him realize that's impossible, and he needs to just let her learn.

Once your daughter left for the day, you sat with your husband. You wanted to take his mind off of things and just help him relax. He already possibly has high blood pressure. You didn't want to make it worse.

"You wanna go out back and work on your tomatoes? " You got up and started massaging his shoulders.

He smiled and took off his glasses. "I actually gotta tune up my bike, but maybe tomorrow, sweetheart."

"Are you okay?" You leaned down by his ear.

"I'm fine-- I'll be fine." He reassured you. You turned your head and gave him a little kiss to his cheek.

He was still as handsome as the first time you saw him. His eyes have the prettiest crinkles from all of the years of laughing. His smile lines are visible under his stubble. His hair is starting to finally grey in certain parts. You've been together since you were practically kids.

You and him fell in love the millisecond you laid eyes on each other. Your parents hated him at first. They tried so hard to keep you two apart, but you weren't having it. Nothing was going to keep Eddie away from you.

He tried so hard to win your parents over, mainly your dad. Since your mom softened up when she got to know him better. Your dad was a different story. Your dad didn't like his look.

The tattoos, hair, and music he was strictly against. Eddie was used to being treated like that. He was used to people judging him before they really knew him. That doesn't mean he still didn't try to get your father's approval because he did. All the time, with little to no luck.

You noticed Eddie had been in his garage all day. He said he had to give his bike a quick tune-up, but that usually only takes a few hours. He's been out there since this morning. You look at the clock, and it's now going on 4 pm. Julie has been home now for just an hour or so. She wanted to get ready in time to introduce you to her boyfriend.

You know he's nervous about meeting Julie's boyfriend. He doesn't want to seem like some weird overbearing parent. This is her first serious relationship, it seems like. Eddie wants to be protective, but he doesn't want to scare the guy off. He doesn't want your daughter to hate him.

A loud knocking knocking at the front door tells you he's here. Before you could even leave the kitchen to answer it, Eddie somehow is already there.

He swings open the door and is met with a guy not much taller than him. He has short dark hair with a denim vest similar to his old one. Various pins and patches littered all over it. He was wearing an old Slayer shirt underneath with black boots.

Eddie eyed him curiously. "Whooo are you?"

"Oh, I'm um, Noah...Julie's boyfriend." He held out to his to shake Eddie's. His other hand held some flowers in it.

Foot steps come running up next to them both, and it took Eddie a moment to process who they belonged to.

"Dad, this is Noah." Julie took his hand and brought him inside.

"Right-nice to meet you." He finally shook his hand back as he walked past him.

Eddie was stunned. The second he saw him, he got instant flashbacks of when he was younger going to meet your parents for the first time. He wanted to hate the guy. He wants to be this tough, hard ass to him. But now he can't bring himself to do any of that.

"Eddie, come help me with dinner." You whispered.

"Yeah - Yeah, okay, I'm coming." He shook his head and smiled to himself.

"He bought me flowers." You pointed at the vase holding the bouquet.

"So i buy you flowers all the time." Eddie shrugged, still trying to keep up the facade that he doesn't like the guy.

He grabbed a knife and helped cut up some onions. He looked out the window in front of him and watched your daughter and her boyfriend outside. You stopped what you were doing to focus on them, too. You saw how Eddie's eyes had softened when Noah put a little buttercup flower behind her ear.

You and him instantly had memories flooding in from your earlier years as a couple. Where Eddie would find a pretty flower and put it behind your ear. Or how he would lay with you for hours looking up at the stars. You could see he was getting a little emotional about it. More memories of picnics together in the back of his van.

"You gonna cut those onions or keep zoning out?" You nudged him.

"Sorry, I'm ju- I'm just thinking." He spoke quietly.

You went over to him and rubbed his back. "About?"

"I'm supposed to be a dick head to him, but I can't bring myself to be that way" Eddie kept looking out the window, watching Noah with your daughter.

"Who said you had to be that way?" You looked out to where he was.

He shook his head. "No one... I'm just being over dramatic like usual."

After dinner was over. Noah and Julie were sitting on the couch together while Eddie was sitting in his chair. You were busy getting dessert ready for everyone.

"Hey dad, did I tell you Noah is in a band." Julie giggled.

Eddies face lit up. "No, you didn't. do you play?"

"Uhh, well, I used to drum, but now I sing." Noah informed him. He acted a little shy to even have it brought up so suddenly. He felt put on the spot.

He nods "I used to be in a band too."

"Really?" Noah moved a little closer towards Eddie leaving Julie behind at the other end of the couch.

"Yep, I used to play guitar and sing, actually." Eddie smiled and looked proud to be talking about his former band days again.

"I have some old stuff in my garage where my band "toured" for a bit and my old gear." He pointed behind him.

"Can we check it out?" Noah looked like a kid in a candy store when Eddie mentioned his old gear.

"Follow me," He grunted while getting out of his chair. His knees popped as he stood up. Years of hard work finally taking its toll on his body.

Julie just sat there watching her boyfriend and her dad, leaving her all alone in the living room. You were busy in the kitchen cutting cake and putting the pieces onto plates.

"Guys, dessert is ready!" You jogged to the living room to find it empty except for your daughter.

She rolled her eyes "they're in the garage."

You couldn't help but chuckle.

All day, you had anticipated this first meeting to be a disaster. Now you have your husband and your daughters boyfriend playing guitar together. You know Eddie didn't have a mean bone in his body. Even at his cruelest, he was still considered nice to most.

"Think dad likes him?" Julie crossed her arms, looking annoyed. She was being sarcastic. You could tell by her tone.

You pressed your lips into a thin line, trying hard not to laugh. "He hates him, I'm sure."

You could hear them both screeching from out back. Heavy metal loudly playing, and Eddie's old guitar plugged in. You and your daughter sat eating dessert, trying to drown out all the music. The night ended with Noah being invited back over next weekend. While Eddie was upstairs putting ice on his now sore neck. He forgot his age for a few hours and became that young twenty something man again.

[seresinhangmanjake]

kind of an angsty prompt, reader is one of feyd’s more “unpopular” concubines, never actually having been acknowledged by him and as a result is treated pretty badly since she is seen as “undesirable”. but one day when house harkonnen is having a celebration and other houses are invited, she catches the attention of paul atreides, who is desperate to take her as his own. the baron concedes, since feyd doesn’t pay her any attention, but over the years feyd gets to know more about her personality and falls for her, as she has more power as paul’s sole concubine and can assert herself much better than when she was his. kinda a “didn’t know what you had till you lost it situation”.

The Only One

Feyd-Rautha x concubine!reader

Warnings/Notes: I made it a little bit different, so I hope that's ok. The chronology of this is all messed up from the movies. People are alive who wouldn’t be, but just go with it. People being owned. Feyd is grumpy boy. Slight smut, so 18+. Angsty-ish, but lighter ending. Cursing.

Words: 3300

Feyd-Rautha Masterlist / Main Masterlist / Tag list

Your mother once told you that love was wonderful. Just like that. Simple words, as if factual, as if love were so stunningly special that it didn’t need flowery language to prove it’s worth. Love is wonderful and one day you will see so for yourself. That’s what she said. But what did she know, really. She was a blip in the universe who promised you would partake in an experience that has done you more harm and little good. This love she spoke of—you’ve seen it. Worse, you’ve felt it. And it is nothing like she described. It has been anything but wonderful. 

Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen does not love you. In fact, if he were to love at all, you wouldn’t even make the list of potential receivers of that love. There are many in line before you. Three, to be exact—his harpies. Were he capable of love, he would love them. They are the ones he visits in the night, not you. They are the ones he keeps at his side, not you. Like you, they are owned by him, but unlike you, they are paraded around while you are cast aside. 

You don’t know why he claimed you if he was never going to use you. He declared you a concubine—effectively forbidding any hands other than his on your body—only to leave you untouched for the better part of a year. Untouched. Unloved, in every sense of the word. 

Perhaps it is because you are not like them. You’re not from Giedi Prime and you fumbled to learn their customs, and maybe that was too unattractive. Maybe all he saw in you was a fool failing to adjust to the life he leads, and maybe he could not look past that to see how hard you were trying for him. 

Since you became his property, all you’ve wanted is for him to like you. Not even reciprocate the love you harbor, but simply enjoy your presence and come to you every once in a while rather than allowing the harpies to tend to him. It doesn’t seem like too much to hope for, but you know better. He doesn’t care for you. He paid no attention to you as your heart attached itself to him, and yet it attached with mighty strength anyway. 

You’ve stopped pretending like you don’t know where that leaves you. For some time, you played the mental game. He could grow to love me…one day. If only he paid me a second of attention, he would see my devotion and realize I'm what he’s always wanted. Fairytale stuff used to deflect your fate. But you know your fate, and it isn’t a life by the side of the cruel-hearted man you've come to love. It’s a life alone. 

—

“Care for a drink?” you hear. 

Without looking in the direction of the voice, you say, “No, thank you,” having been taught that as the sole acceptable answer to a man’s advances. No, because you belong to him. Thank you, because rudeness can start wars. 

“You’ve been standing here all night,” the voice continues. “You have to be thirsty.”

He must know who you are by now. The Hakonnens have hosted grand events before, and you’ve always been present. If the men who have approached you in the past did not know who owned you, they would learn rather quickly. A word from a nearby guard and a glance into Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen’s glare and those men would back off. 

You look Feyd’s way. He’s busy with the harpies. No glare in sight.

“My House brought our finest wines. I can guarantee you would enjoy a taste.”

You can barely hold back your groan. Your head whips in the direction of the voice. “Thank you, but–” You cut yourself off with a gasp.

Paul Atreidies chuckles. The emperor chuckles. “Bring her a glass,” he says to a Harkonnen servant. The servant hesitates for a second, which only you seem to detect. He has no choice but to obey the emperor, yet doing so may cost him his life. Yet, he heads off, disappearing into the crowd toward the refreshments.

“I apologize,” you say as you bow your head in shame. 

His finger crooks under your chin and lifts so your eyes have to meet his. “A pretty face should never be to the ground. Even a concubine’s.”

“You know who I am.”

“Of course I do,” he says. “I’ve seen you before.”

You flush with embarrassment. If he’s noticed you before, then he’s noticed you alone before, standing in this exact spot against the wall. And if he’s noticed you and is willing to talk to you, then he likely pities you. To have the emperor’s pity—a gift or a sign of weakness?

The servant returns, handing you a glass half filled with a deep maroon liquid. Paul Atreides lifts his own glass and clinks it against yours. The rim meets his lips. He takes his sip and then smiles as he watches you do the same. 

He raises a brow. “Good?” You nod. “Good. Would you like more?”

“No,” you reply after hastily swallowing. “Thank you.”

He grins again and then turns so you’re shoulder to shoulder, staring out into the mass of mingling bodies. “I don’t enjoy these,” he says. “My birthdays are more intimate affairs.”

You don’t know what he’s getting at, but insulting the birthday of the Baron’s most promising nephew makes your stomach drop. Were the man beside you not the emperor, and had anyone overheard him, he would have a blade run through him by the end of the night. 

“What good is spending your birthday with people you do not love and who do not love you?” he says, and with great restraint, you keep from spitting that a Harkonnen cannot love and so it makes no difference to them who is around. Then he says, “You know, I could make sure you always have plenty.” 

When you look at him, his head nudges to the glass in your hand. Your heart thumps. “I–I don’t understand what you mean,” you tell him, hoping that what you think you understand from his words is wildly incorrect. 

“You could be mine,” he tells you. “I would like for you to be mine. I would actually touch you, unlike him.” Unlike the man whose neglect has rendered you useless. 

“Surely your wife would not be pleased.”

“She’s used to it,” he says. You didn’t know what else you expected. You’ve heard of the famous Chani. “I intend to ask the Baron for you. Out of politeness, of course.” Because he could just take you if he wanted. He is the emperor, after all. But rudeness… “Would you like that?”

Not unless you like being separated from the organ that keeps your body alive. But then again, that organ has been mutilated to the point that not much else could damage it. 

Your eyes dart to Feyd. He’s watching you from his seat across the room, his blue irises darkened. He cannot do anything about the closeness of Paul Atreides. He wouldn’t, you know, but if he wanted to, he couldn’t. A harpy runs her hand across his cheek. A lump forms in your throat. You look away. 

“I think I would,” you answer. 

—

“He can’t have her!” 

You can hear him through the grand doors. You’re not supposed to be here, but you couldn’t help yourself. You wanted to know his reaction to you leaving, but you didn’t expect this. You figured he’d send a servant to pack up your belongings and set them by the entrance of the fortress right before shoving you outside with his own two hands. 

“He can,” the Baron says. Something crashes against a wall. Its pieces clink as they hit the ground. 

“She belongs to me! She’s mine!” Feyd shouts. “She–”

“You don’t use her. She’s no great loss to you. If the harpies are insufficient, you can find another elsewhere, but this one now belongs to the Emperor.”

“He's forcing her,” Feyd says. “He's stealing her from me!”

You wonder if anyone other than Paul Atreides knows the truth: that you were offered a chance to leave and have decided to take it. You’re not being stolen. The Emperor did not remove the collar around your neck simply to replace it with one of his own. He asked; you said yes. 

“She agreed,” the Baron answers, effectively ending your curiosity. It shocks you, not seeming like information necessary for an Emporer to tell one of his subjects. “Not that it matters,” he says, and you agree. 

“Make him give her back to me!”

“I’m not interested in increasing tensions between our Houses over some concubine, nephew. Find yourself a new one.”

You know he will. It won’t take him long, and he might actually put his hands on this one. You ignore the clench in your stomach at the thought of his touch on someone other than the harpies. Maybe she would be more like you—color to her cheeks, hair on her head. You hope you never meet her. It’ll make you sick. It would mean it really has been you. All this time, you were the problem. You were the defective one. Only you weren’t worth his attention.

When presence enters your space, you know it’s time. You face the Kaitainian guard, and he turns. You follow him away from Feyd. 

—

Feyd POV - One Year Later

You carry yourself differently around him. Your back is straighter, chin higher. You keep your hands clasped in front of you at all times. Feyd never made you stand like that, like someone shoved a stick down the back of your dress—your dress, which he hates. 

If you’re going to be dolled up like a present on his birthday, the least his cousin could’ve done was wrap you in colors he likes. Some silver chain or thick, black leather. Not this shimmery golden, flowy fabric of another planet. 

It pisses him off. Showing up in Paul’s clothes, doing your hair up as they do in Kaitain instead of letting it loose around your shoulders, standing as Paul wants you to stand—all of it is like a stamp on the memory of you being taken from him. 

You’re changed, but you no less belong to Feyd than you did before. The real you is still in this new woman somewhere, and he intends to bring you back. 

He’s been planning it for a year. It took him time to gain enough trust from his uncle to be granted full rein of the Harkonnen armies, but all he had to do was prove his ruthlessness and wait until his brother showed himself for the fool he is, and now he has a footing in Arrakis. Complete control over spice production, which he can manipulate from right under his uncle’s nose. Something Paul Atreides wants. 

—

Reader POV

The second he returns from his meeting with Paul, you can feel him. Watching you. Staring. Drinking you in. You try your best to ignore it, but you can’t help but wonder what he sees when he looks at you now. You’re not the same. For a year, you haven’t lived the life Feyd-Rautha made for you, and in that year, you’ve been exposed to the antithesis of that life. Finer clothes, better food, maidservants of your own, physical touch. You’re treated with kindness, and you have been used as you are meant to be used. 

Unfortunately, that doesn’t mean you are any more loved on Kaitain than you were on Giedi Prime. That place is for Chani. She permanently resides in the eye of the emperor, and you, just off to the side. But you’ve come to accept your reality. You’ve made your peace with never being someone’s first choice. What you haven’t made your peace with is Feyd. 

You wish you could say otherwise, but you still have those feelings stirring inside of you. Love, that even after another year of contemplation, you still don’t understand. He never gave you reason to love him. But you couldn’t help yourself. Watching him from a distance was enough. You fell in love with a man you witnessed show leniency and a form of kindness to women who weren’t you while imagining yourself in their place. It was, and is, pathetic. Yet, you continue to love him. And now you’re seeing him again, and he’s just as beautiful. 

You sneak a glance at him. His eyes are still on you. He’s alone, no harpies to his left or right. Your eyes scan the room. No harpies anywhere.

“Are you alright?” Paul asks as he comes from behind you to be at your side. 

“Yes.” No.

Paul takes a sip of his drink. “I know it must be awkward, but are you enjoying the party? I cannot tell by the look on your face.”

“I am.” You’re not. 

In your peripherals, you see him nod. “I have…” he sighs. When you look at him, his head is tipped downward. 

“You always say beauty should not face the floor,” you tell him. 

“I do,” he says with a smile, lifting his head. He takes a deep breath. “I have to tell you something.” An immediate sense of dread fills your gut. “He’s asked for you back.”

Your body freezes, and then your heart begins to thump against the wall of your chest. It pounds with the ferocity of a hundred drums, almost painful in its desperation for freedom, escape. “And?”

Paul’s eyes find yours. You see the silent apology. “I’ve agreed.”

“What!” is a hushed burst of air. You can’t draw attention to yourself, but you know if anyone is already looking your way, the mask of indifference you’re trying to keep on your face won’t fool them.  

“I’m sorry. He offered me something I cannot refuse.” 

You don’t have to ask if that something is truly more than your worth. By the sight of the emperor, it is worth more than ten times your value to him, and you can’t stand in your spot anymore. Your composure is being chiseled away at by the second, but this is not the place to fall apart. The emperor says your name and for the first time, you don’t respond as you walk off. 

Knowing your way around the place, you find a secluded corner just outside the doors of the grand room. Your breathing is uncontrollable. His. You’re going to be his…again. Or you already are. It sounded as if the deal had been made, signed, and done with. You’re not leaving Giedi Prime at the end of the night. You’re not going back to luxury, comfort. You’re staying put. Once again, ignored and treated as a useless object. Once again, a low member on the list of those Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen wants. 

Suddenly, a stream of light blinds you, the muffled voices rise in clarity, and then both are gone. No light. Dimmed voices. You blink. Feyd is in front of you. 

Scoffing, you say, “What do you want?”

He stares at you some more—a long interlude that makes your nerves wiggly under your skin. Then he walks, he enters your space, he puts his hands on your cheeks, and he kisses you. 

The very first kiss. And you wish it was awful. You wish it didn’t send a zingy shiver down your spine or raise the hair on your arms, but your body doesn’t feel like your own as his lips meld with yours. You’re simply along for the ride, taking what he’s giving. 

When he pulls away, he rests his forehead on yours. “I should’ve kissed you before,” he says through a ragged breath. “You’re so fucking sweet.” And then he goes in for another kiss. Another kiss that you don’t return because you’re too stunned to do so. 

Coming to your senses, you plant your hands firmly on his chest and shove. He stumbles. The surprise of it doesn’t last long. 

“Don’t,” he snaps. “You’re mine again.”

“Why did you do this?” you spit. 

“I never should have been forced to lose you,” he tells you, but you don’t really hear him as your words continue to tumble out of your mouth at a rapid rate. 

“You don’t need me. I’m a waste to you. You never touched me–”

“I didn’t want to ruin you,” he says. “That’s why–”

“You only touched them–”

“Because you were something pure.”

That, you do hear. “Pure!” you shout. “You liked me pure? If so, then you’ve wasted trading whatever you had to have me back. I’m not pure anymore. And do you know why?”

Feyd’s blue irises darken a shade. “Stop.”

“Because I was his,” you say, a whimper in your throat as you reminisce about the ease of the past year of your life. “And he actually used me.”

“Stop!” He grabs your arm. You fight his grip, but it’s a waste of energy—he’s too strong for you—and then you’re being pulled into the closest room. He tries to press his lips to yours and in that moment of vulnerability, you’re able to pull yourself free from his grasp. 

“Don’t you dare! Go to your harpies.”

“They’re dead,” he says, reaching for you again. You leap back, but he manages to catch you. He pulls you close and your chest slams into his. 

“Why?” you say as you struggle, your body wiggling in the circle of his arms. 

“I killed them when you were taken from me.”

Your spine goes rigid. You blanch. “W-Why?”

Feyd groans as if he’s tired of you playing stupid, as if he’s tired of you wasting his time on ridiculous questions with obvious answers. “Because you made them tolerable. I thought of you whenever I had them, but then you were gone, and I couldn’t think about you without thinking I was never going to have you.”

Your lungs lock in all oxygen, and suddenly, against your will, a crack splits the hard shell of your anger. It’s not so simple to believe what he says. That he always wanted you? That you were too precious for him to touch? You think it’s more likely your appeal increased when he lost control over you, but his words are distracting, too much to comprehend in the limited time you have before he’s kissing you again. This time, you soften in his hold. You kiss him back. 

Your hands slide up his chest to the back of his neck. His mouth moves to your cheek, your jawline, your neck. He bites down on sensitive flesh. His touch trails down your spine, over the swell of your bottom to your thighs, and he lifts you up. 

It’s a few steps to the foreign bed. On your back, you yank up the skirt of your dress as he rips his shirt off and undoes the fasteners of his pants. He pulls them down just enough to free himself. His arms curl under your knees. He jerks your body to the end of the bed. One hand goes to your waist. The other pumps his member twice before he guides himself inside of you. 

It’s not like Paul. Not even close. Thicker. Longer. You watch Feyd where you didn’t watch Paul. Through your own pleasure, you examine his. The pinch of his brow. The parting of his lips. The breath that leaves them—it’s heavy and yet soft. The way he stares at you. Always staring. 

You love him. 

“You will be the only one,” he says. He leans down to connect your lips. “The only one.”

[candyskiez]

so, you've heard shows be recommended because they had gay characters. you don't really know what they're actually about though, and don't know if they'd be something you'd be into and are worried about spoilers. here's spoiler free plot summaries of em!

The Owl House

The Owl House starts out as a typical teenage girl goes into a fantasy realm story, but with a twist. Actions have consequences. The protagonist is a girl named Luz Noceda, who was being sent to a camp to make her behave normally by her mother after causing too much trouble at school. She ends up finding a place she's always dreamed of: a fantasy world. A world where everyone's so much weirder than she is. And she thinks, maybe if I don't belong out there, maybe people will like me here. Maybe I can be special here.

It's a story about found family, propaganda, erased history, living with disability, religious trauma, and neurodivergence. It's fundamentally a show about people who's brains work differently finding each other and making a family that treats them right. Definitely my favorite of the ones on this list. It's about people who've been oppressed being pissed about it and about finding yourself again after giving up on everyone around you for so long. It's basically a show about being a minority and trying to be understood and to understand yourself in the process. It's about growing up neurodivergent and how isolating it feels and figuring yourself out. It's about repairing broken relationships and parents who fuck up. And it's just. Such a love letter to anyone who was the weird kid in school. It's sad and heartbreaking and also so hopeful, and it's wonderful.

Content warnings: Abuse, Death, Grief, Animal Death, Suicidal thoughts, Vague suicide attempts, Depression, blink and you'll miss it s/h, body horror, religious trauma

She Ra and the Princesses Of Power

Adora was raised in the Horde since she was a baby, being fed propaganda about how cruel the princesses were. After learning how the horde actually was, though, she defects. But there's one problem. Her best friend, Catra, stays behind. Adora finds a sword that can transform her into She Ra, and might be the key to figuring out who she really is, while Catra takes her place as force captain.

It's a story about abuse, at the end of the day. Adora and Catra were stuck in a golden child and scapegoat dynamic, despite how much they care about each other. This leads to them knowing everything about each other but not understanding it. There's a fundamental disconnect between them, because both of their traumas are completely different. They have complete misconceptions about each other. Even in their initial split, they both have completely different perceptions of what's going on and why the other is upset. It's not a story about magic princesses, it's about the cycle of abuse and what makes it so complicated. Does it have flaws? Yeah. But ultimately I really really enjoy it, and when it does something right it does something RIGHT. Get through season one, it starts kids show-y but it gets very good during later s1.

Content warnings: Abuse (obviously), body horror, gaslighting (and I mean actual gaslighting, not what the Internet thinks gaslighting is), suicide, depression, flashing lights and eyestrain during the finale

Steven Universe

Steven Universe is a sins of the father story. Steven is the son of the leader of the rebel group The Crystal Gems, who's name was Rose Quartz. He navigates the confusion of being half gem and half human, as well as trying to figure out the mess of the rebellion and what his mother left behind. He's constantly in her shadow, for better or for worse.

It's a story about grief. How it impacts relationships, how it taints history, how it impacts family. It has some definite flaws, but ultimately it's about very flawed people who have lost so many people in their life trying to cope with it. Trying to handle what they lost and trying to adjust to life without them. It's about how expectations fuck a kid up and about agency and just a show about complicated relationships in general, at the end of the day. Also, it has some FANTASTIC music.

Content warnings: Grief, Abuse, body horror, very creepy people I don't know how to tag, heavy allegories for homophobia

Nimona

Nimona is a story about a guy who gets framed for murder. His name is Ballister Boldheart, a commoner who hoped to become a knight. It seemed everyone was waiting to watch him fail, so it was no surprise when he was the immediate target. Heavily injured and away from the man he loves, he's left alone trying to figure out a way to prove his innocence- until a strange kid comes into his life. This kids name is Nimona, and while he is intent on proving his innocence, she gave up on being anything but a villain a long time ago.

It's about deconstructing the model minority myth, trans rage, propaganda, and with a healthy dose of "FUCK the police".

Content warnings: Heavy injury, on screen suicide attempt, flashing lights

feel free to add more shows! just remember to keep the summaries as spoiler free as you can and add content warnings!

[etherealspacejelly]

Some of my opinions, in no particular order

golf courses should be abolished. mini golf can stay. actual golf? no. golf courses take up so much water to maintain their grass, grass which, btw, is a monoculture and bad for wildlife. the area that golf courses take up could be used for affordable housing, or natural areas left to grow with wild native plants that are better for the insect populations. but nooo, we gotta use all this land so that stuck up rich people can play the most boring game ever invented. bullshit.

the police should be abolished. i would settle for defunding but really they just need to go.

children are people, treat them as such. kids have thoughts and feelings that are just as real and valid as yours.

on a similar vein, you are allowed to not want children, but that doesn't give you a free pass to hate kids or be mean to kids. they didnt ask to be here, be kind.

there should be a maximum wage. after a certain point, there is no amount of labour you could possibly do to Earn that much money. your workers earned that money, and you are stealing it from them.

there is a difference between millionaires and billionaires. when i say eat the rich im not talking about actors and musicians, im talking about people who are directly responsible for poverty, hunger, suffering, and homelessness around the world. people who hoard obscene amounts of wealth that No One could ever hope to spend in an entire lifetime and simply watch while minimum wage workers struggle to put food on the table and the elderly freeze in their homes.

sex ed should start in primary school, at an age-appropriate level. if kids are old enough to ask questions about sex, they are old enough to learn about it in a safe environment. they should be taught correct anatomical names for body parts (penis, vulva, vagina, etc.).

there should be more research into autism and ADHD in adults, this shit doesn't just go away when you grow up.

diagnostic criteria for disabilities, disorders, and mental health conditions should be written by people who have or have had these conditions. how is someone supposed to know if they have autism, for example, if the symptoms are written from the perspective of someone who has never experienced it?? doesn't make any fucking sense.

hostile architecture should be illegal. unhoused people deserve a place to sleep. or better yet, give them houses. there are literal studies done that prove that housing people saves the government money in the long run, so why aren't we doing that? make it make sense

edit: updated to add more clarity to the golf thing. didn't explain that one well enough and left some people confused

[jogetsobsessed]

Always an Angel - Paul Lahote

Ok, I've been obsessed with the lyric “Always an angel, never a god for a few days now. I don't know why all of a sudden but it's been all I can think about. I know there are a bunch of literal interpretations but I look at it as a version of “always the bridesmaid, never the bride”, always the side character, never the main character. So I hope this comes across how I want it to lol. 

Also, the timeline is kinda messed up in this, just live in ignorant bliss and ignore it pls, and thank you!

---------

Always the option, never the priority. 

Always the bridesmaid, never the bride. 

Always the lover, never the loved. 

Always the fighter, never the fought for. 

Always an angel, never a god. 

------------

You were used to being sidelined, looked right through. 

No matter what you were doing, or who you were with, you were never the main focus. 

Growing up boys never spared you a glance, your best friends being the main targets for their glances and flirty remarks. You were never the one asked to dance, always the one asked to hold a friend's purse or bag. If the car was full on the way to get ice cream, you were always the one that was going to be left out. You never learned inside jokes and standing alone at parties, you didn't even know why you went, it's not like anyone would notice if you left anyway. 

At night when you would break and confide in the one person you knew truly loved you she would always question why you remained friends with the people that caused you so much pain. And through your blubbering, you would look at her like she was crazy. Explain to your mother that it must have been too long since she was a teenager. Because that's not how it works. Living in a small town the pool of potential friends is small, and having friends that treat you horribly is better than having no friends at all. 

You would apologize to her years later, after maturing, and realizing that the remarks you directed towards her were uncalled for. The anger you threw her way was misguided and unfair. She didn't deserve the way that you treated her. 

When Bella Swan moved to town you thought everything was going to change. She was from a big city, you didn't know much about Phoenix but you knew they probably didn't harbor the same small-town mindset that Forks did. 

She had no clue who you were. She didn't know the unspoken reputation that hung above your head like a storm cloud. 

And at first, you were right. 

The two of you became friends quickly, Bella taking a liking to your quiet demeanor, such a drastic change from Jessica and her goons. 

Your friendship appeared surface-level, to everyone but the two of you. In school, you both kept to yourselves and didn't talk much, even to each other. You would drag her along with you when you gathered the strength to hang out with your old friends. But you didn't do that often, seeing as they saw her as a shiny new toy and didn't treat her as a second-class citizen. 

But after school the two of you would talk, your friendship would come alive in the comfort of your own homes, and you two would look like actual teenage girls and not two seventeen-year-olds who should be on the highest dose of Lexapro. 

She was the first person that you saw as a true friend, that was until she committed, in your opinion, a cardinal sin. 

Bella had gone off the deep end and you hadn't seen her in days. But that was normal, she would spiral, skip school, and then show up as if nothing happened. So you weren't concerned, sent her a few texts checking up on her and getting one-word responses back. Then the following Monday came around. You were waiting by your truck, lazily twirling your hair, eyes glazed over as you dissociated waiting for the bell to ring. 

But amid your dissociation, you were pulled back to reality when a shiny black Volvo came to a screeching halt a row over. You knew who drove the expensive car so you tried to be as nonchalant as possible as you peered over your shoulder to get a good look at the owner. 

You wished you hadn't. 

Because getting out of the passenger seat was the person that you considered your best friend. Your best friend was sitting in the passenger seat of the car of the guy you had a crush on since he arrived at Forks High School. 

She knew about your long-standing crush on Edward, she was the only person other than your mother who you had told. It came tumbling off your tongue one late night about a month after she had arrived in town. And you had sworn her to secrecy, begging her to never tell another soul. 

But now it seemed to not matter, she had broken your trust and your heart. 

------------------

The next year drug on. With Bella being completely infatuated with Edward you were left to crawl back to your old friends. They accepted you with barely open arms, reluctantly saving you a seat at the lunch table, sometimes sending you the location for Friday night activities. 

When the Cullen clan abruptly left Forks Bella did to you exactly what you had done to your friends months earlier. Part of you didn't know why, but you let her back in, although this time keeping her at an arm's length away, never fully trusting her, 

Eventually, however, Edward came back. First making his appearance walking hand in hand with Bella in the dreadful hallways of Forks High School after she had disappeared yet again for a few days with not even a courtesy text. 

This time seeing them together didn't feel like a hot knife was piercing your skin. How could it, you no longer felt the same that you had for Edward. Because he had proven himself to be just like everyone else. He made you feel invisible. 

------------

The heat of late spring had arrived and you took in all the warmth that you could as you walked down the small rocky path to the mailbox. Graduation had come and gone and you found yourself in isolation. The people you had forced yourself to be friends with in high school no longer mattered. You didn't have to play the uncertain game of high school politics anymore. Starting university was on the horizon and while you dreaded leaving the comfort of home you were excited, this was going to be your chance to reinvent yourself. You were no longer going to be the person no one cared to look towards. 

Pulling out the various envelopes you felt your heart stop beating when the light lilac envelope was pulled to the front. You knew what it was, you didn't even have to open it. But you did, ripping it open, praying that you hadn't torn apart the coveted invitation. Sure enough in bold letters, you read “Edward Anthony Masen Cullen and Isabella Marie Swan request your presence…”. 

The phone call with Bella that night was awkward. You haven't talked much since graduation but she assured you that she wanted you to be at the wedding. You had wanted to push and ask her why she was rushing to get married. I mean you along with everyone else knew that they had only known each other for a year and hadn't been dating for the entirety of said year. But she sounded happy, the happiest she had ever seemed. So you didn't say anything, instead prying for details about the impending nuptials. 

-------------

Thousands of flowers cascaded down creating a custom perfume in the air. Your eyes darted between the bunches of wisteria and sweet peas and you were in awe. The wedding had snuck up on you. So much had happened over the summer leaving you feeling unprepared to start school in the fall. Leaving you to make one of the hardest choices that you had ever made, deferring your acceptance into your top school to the following fall quarter. 

So when you got a reminder on your phone that read “Bella and Edward wedding tmr” you were at a loss for words. I mean you had everything you physically needed, a dress, a present, the right pair of shoes. But you had forgotten one important thing, a date. 

It wasn't going to be the first time you had shown up to an event without one, but it was probably going to feel the most embarrassing. 

So here you were, standing next to your group of “friends'' from high school as they gossiped about the possibility of Bella being pregnant. “What do you think?”Erik asked you, giving your arm a soft nudge with his. “I don't know guys '. Jessica of course had a counter, pointing out that out of the group you were the closest with her. Luckily before you had to come up with an excuse of why you didn't know for certain the music began, signaling that it was time for everyone to turn their attention to the altar. 

A few tears managed to slip down your cheeks as you watched your sometimes best friend say “I do”. In that moment all the turbulent times the two of you experienced didn't matter. You were just happy to be in the presence of two people who were madly in love and confessing it to each other, permanently sealing their love with a dramatic kiss. 

The reception area was decorated equally as beautiful. You were grateful that Bella, or more likely Alice had set you close to the dance floor. That way you could watch people without feeling like a total loser, hanging out in the corner by yourself. At least this way you could still enjoy the happiness of the other guests without feeling the gross amount of body heat from the dancing bodies. 

The ice was melting quickly in your lemonade, the night had not been rewarded with a cool late summer breeze so you were appreciative of the cool drink. The night had seemingly been going according to plan. Your ‘friends’ had migrated to another table across the dance floor with the excuse of wanting to talk to some of the other guests, but they had not returned in almost two hours so you were holding your breath. 

Mentally you were planning your escape plan, glancing at your watch. Waiting for an acceptable time to leave, not too early into the night but not too late that you were leaving only minutes before the bride and groom's big exit. As you granted yourself yet another glance at the heirloom watch you wore and looked back up a gasp unwillingly left your lips. 

The mystery man, who looked almost familiar, chuckled at your surprised look. Confidently he took the empty seat next to yours, turning his body to give you his full attention. “May I help you”, you didn't recognize your own words, your tone was a bit rude and you didn't even give him a second to introduce himself after she sat. 

“I’m Paul Lahote”. 

Once he gave his name to you your eyes moved up to meet him and the electric shock that you felt in your veins almost felt real. There was no doubt blush forming on every inch of your face and you were praying that the low light of the Edison bulbs did a good job at protecting some of your dignity. You gave him your name, barely squeaking out your last name. 

Things like this didn't happen to you. A man that looked like him didn't talk to you. A part of you wondered if Jessica or someone like her had already turned him down, because let's face it, you were always the option but never the priority. 

“I think you should share a dance with me, no pretty girl like you should be sitting alone at a wedding”. The flare in your cheeks was visible now, you were sure of it. No matter how low the light was you could have sworn a red glow was emitting from your body, like an accusing halo. 

“Paul…you don't have to dance with me, I was just getting ready to leave”. Gathering your belongings as you begin to stand up. “No!”. He said, eyebrows raising to the top of his forehead once he realized how loud he exclaimed. Sheepishly he looked around offering small smiles as an apology to a few of the guests who looked at him like he had three heads. 

“Please, I noticed you when I walked in before the ceremony and I haven't been able to shake you from my eyeline all night. I don’t think I can take no for an answer”. 

The fact that your heart was still caged behind your chest was an act of god. Because at this point it should have flown away due to how hard it was beating. You were at a loss for words. The thought that someone was putting you first, taking interest in you was unbearable. And you were crumbling at his gaze. 

His outstretched hand found yours that you slowly had begun to uncurl from against your body. Swiftly he whisked you out onto the dance floor, pulling your body flush to his. 

Clumsily your feat matched his falling into routine with his steps, your body swaying in unison to the light melody. He hummed along softly to the quiet music as he kept a firm grip on you, almost like he was afraid to let you go. 

The song ended and awkwardly you looked around not knowing what to do. Paul however looked happy as can be, letting go of your hand but keeping the one on your lower back in place. He led you back to the table where you had spent most of the night, pulling out your chair before you could even react. You thanked him as you sunk into the back of the chair trying to ground yourself. 

“Man, I feel like the luckiest guy here at this whole damn wedding I got to dance with the prettiest guest of them all”. He said matter-of-factly triumphantly, taking a sip out of the glass he abandoned when he first approached your table. You scoffed, there was no way he was being for real, the alcohol had to have been getting to him now if he was saying such an untrue statement. 

“I think you've had enough”. Your voice was shy and your eyes barely peeked through your almost closed eyelids. The embarrassment you hadn't felt earlier had returned and you were suddenly hyper-conscious of everything happening around you. 

“Doll this stuff doesn't make me feel anything, you, however, are making me feel alive for the first time”. His drink was abandoned yet again as he scooted his chair closer, invading your bubble, and causing you to squirm under his gaze yet again. 

“Paul, I'm flattered but again I think your choices are impaired. There's no way you feel anything like that for me”. 

Paul was out of his chair before you could continue your babbling, cutting you off by capturing your lips in his. 

After he pulled back for air his forehead rested against yours, the two of you matching your breathing. You were yet again at a loss for words, kissing the hottest boy at your best friend's wedding was not on this year's bingo card. But as per usual it seems Paul had the perfect thing to say, “My angel forgive me if this is forward, but l you need to let me love you, I have a feeling that you're gonna be stuck with me for a long time”.

[luffysinterlude]

This is my first time requesting something so I don’t really know how to do it lol but would you be able to write a shanks x reader where shanks is readers captain and confesses to her? Thank you!

SOULTIES. . .

★ summary: shanks confesses his love for you. (fem!reader)

★ warnings: one piece antics, ooc!shanks, reader is extroverted, angst if you squint, idiots in love, reader and shanks might’ve manifested each other (soulmates basically), assassin!reader, fluff/somewhat suggestive (thanks beckmann!!), WC: ≈1.8K…is this a drabble?!

★ an: never really thought abt writing for shanks so thank you for this request! i tried my best so i hope its somewhat something you wanted, anon! ^^

shank’s sure you’re secretly a witch that has some sort of past-life soul tie to him.

he thinks maybe it’s because he’s somewhat always drawn to you; it’s subtle, but whenever he feels your presence near him, he searches for your figure. it’s also somewhat obvious, to everyone but you. maybe you did know of his infatuation with you, maybe you didn’t.

but shanks felt his life change the day you were found hiding in his ship, demanding that he and his men accept you, claiming you have nothing else better to do with your time and that you’ve always wanted to explore the world. he didn’t have much of a choice, considering the red-haired pirates had already been at sea for three days since their last stop.

you snuck on the red force during a party thrown by locals for the pirates, hiding in a supply closet, discovered by the right-hand man of the captain. at first, you were worried of what they might do to you, but then remembered that they were just men.

“well, sweets,” the man said. “i’m sure a woman wouldn’t just waltz her way onto a very notorious pirate ship and not know how to fend for herself…?”

you smirk at him, a spark in your eyes as the tone of your voice held a slight challenge. “i was trained to be an assassin.”

it was then he felt a sudden shift in the air, chuckling at your remark. he’s always up for a new challenge.

“well, we got a reason to party boys!”

again, he’s sure there’s a past-life connection between the two of you. (he thought how easily he was able to trust you, after blacking out.)

+x+

it’s been two years since you’ve joined the red-haired pirates, time flying as you enjoy the thrills of life. you’ve never felt this free before, coming from a noble family and being able to escape thanks to a certain red-haired man. you’ve dreamed of life feeling this way since you were a little girl, wondering what beauties your family had kept hidden from you.

you’ve learned so much. you’ve experienced so much. truth be told, you’re not sure if life could feel any better than this. though, you do wonder what would happen if you fell in love.

you’ve been courted by many suitors your entire life, growing up only to be taught two things: how to kill, and how to be a wife. the word love was something you associated with the tortures of your old self, but you feel as if you’re finally ready to experience it on your own; without people in your ear scolding you on how to act and how to ‘love’. you think you have a grasp of what the feeling feels like, but you’re still somewhat unsure.

you’ve accepted that your next suitor — someone you already know — is someone who won’t make you feel restricted or tied down. you’ve decided that you deserve nothing but the best treatment, and so far on this journey of freedom, one charming pirate captain has set your standards to the sky.

“food for thought?” a familiar voice breaks your thoughts as you blink back to consciousness, your eyes focusing on the waves in front of you. you’re standing on the observation deck of the red force, a light breeze brushing through your [h/c] locks as your captain stands next to you. in his hand there’s half of a cookie, a giggle escaping your throat when you notice it.

“is said food present?” you reply back, taking the half-eaten sweet treat anyway. a small chuckle reaches your ears as he leans over the railing, eyes watching the smooth waves. it’s night time now, stars sprinkling the sky. “just thinking,” you answer his question.

captain shanks. the shanks. a name that’s feared by many, though it’s one that brings you peace and joy. he’s a charming man, always looking out for not only his crew, but friend and foe alike. your mind can’t help but start thinking about marineford, the first time you’ve ever seen shanks in the flesh. a beautiful man, you first thought. a powerful one at that too. he looks like freedom.

“hmm. you shouldn’t let your thoughts consume you so much.” he states. it’s late and he knows he should be resting, but for some reason he wasn’t able to ease his restlessness. when he saw your figure out on deck, he then knew it was you keeping him up. “not sure what you’re thinking so hard about but if you need a reminder: you’re everything everyone says you are — powerful, beautiful, and intelligent according to the tabloids. a threat to the world, you’re quite the star.”

his words make heat rush to your cheeks, a sudden wave of nervousness hitting you. your relationship with the captain has always been full of back and forth teasing with a few intimate gazes, but to hear him state a compliment so sweet to you makes you want to shy away. instead, you put your brave face on, and return the gesture.

“yeah? and how does the big and scary emperor ease his mind on nights like this?” or maybe not. you internally cringe at your comeback, a feeling of disappointment lingering wishing you had said something more flirty, but as your eyes finally find the captain’s face, a tint of pink painted his cheeks.

“well this big and scary emperor, usually finds something — or someone — to spend his time with,” this time, shank’s the one cringing internally, the weight of his words settling on him. great, now she must think i’m a whore, he thinks.

you realize you’re both tip-toeing around each other. you both want to say something — which usually isn’t this hard — but you’re also both unsure of how the other feels, so you’re holding back.

you sigh as you physically feel your guard being lifted.

“i wonder…” you start quietly. “how it feels to be in love.”

shank’s eyebrows raise at your confession, something he’s never been told before. he’s had plenty of interactions with women — lovely ones at that — but he’s never heard a woman speak of love so vulnerably. he turns his body to face you, arm resting against the railing of the deck. he takes in your side view, the moon shining down on you so brightly.

and then he feels it, a feeling so foreign yet so familiar to him.

you suddenly turn to face him, eyes catching his in a soft gaze. he looks different, you think. the way his eyes shine brightly from the moon’s rays. the way his hair seemed to be brighter as well, despite the lack of light. you tilt your head, silently questioning his silence, wondering if you had said something stupid.

“have you ever been in love, captain?” you ask, watching as his eyes widen slightly, your question throwing him off guard.

one of the things shanks admires about you is your curiosity. in the time he’s been around you, he’s noticed many things about you — how you love dancing, eating [f/d], scolding the boys — but your curiosity makes you different from everyone else. people always assume you’re just nosey and full of gossip, but really, you’re just curious.

he’s never heard of you spreading rumors or telling lies, so he knows how genuine you are.

sure, you might overstep boundaries with some people, but shanks never minded answering your questions. you’ve confided in him before, telling him how your parents basically shielded you from the outside world. how caged in you felt.

“i think…” shanks starts. he steps closer to you, staring down at you. stars reflect in his eyes as he cradles your cheek suddenly, your body relaxing under his touch. “that’s the feeling i feel when i’m around you.”

you let out a choked breath at his sudden confession, the world around you both going silent. your eyes are wide and your jaw is slightly wide, chest swelling with warmth.

the captain who’s been helping you to experience true freedom just confessed something so delicate to you.

you’re unsure what to say. it hits you so hard that you feel tears well in your eyes and you feel your throat go dry.

“y-you — you what?!” you say. “you can’t just say something like that out of nowhere, idiot!” you scold the tall man, his eyes closing as he chuckled at your reaction. “sorry, cap’n. got a lil carried away there…but do you mean it?” you ask, averting your gaze away from his.

he rubs his thumb across your cheek, looking at you with eyes full of love, as if he’s trying to imprint this image in his head. he thinks about all the teasing the both of you throw, how you’ve never been scared to bite back. he thinks about the times he’s watched you publicly shame men who make you disgusted in bars, how your strength impresses him every time. he thinks about the times where he’s been lucky enough to witness you on the battlefield, so full of life despite being surrounded by death.

“yes.” he finally answers, the tension suddenly gone. “you’ve always been so curious about others, it’s made me curious in you. i’ve watched you grow over the past two years and somewhere along the way,”

“i fell in love with you. the way you naturally take on responsibility and the way you’re not scared of anything. i fell in love with the way you’ve faced death with a smile on your face, how optimistic you are.”

“i fell in love with the way you look in the mornings, the afternoons, and the evenings. and for the first time ever, i’m seeing you this late at night. and you look as beautiful as ever.”

“i fell in love with your presence, how you’re able to shift the energy in the air wherever you go. i’m not sure you even realize your effect in the places we visit. you bring such a lovely, warm spirit into the room, you have no idea how many bad days you’ve turned good.”

his words made you sick. your breathing got heavy as he confessed everything he’s learned to love about you, and a feeling you’ve desperately tried forgetting crawled its way back into your chest.

this time, your body accepted the feeling and for the first time in your life, your body filled with love. a warmth that’s somewhat familiar but so distant. something that’s new, almost sort of a craving you didn’t know you were capable of having.

and then, you kissed your captain.

you hoped he felt the love you had for him, words not being enough to describe the emotions running through you. he kissed you back; hand grasping the back of your head gently, pulling you closer to him.

you threw your hands around his neck, shanks’ body jerked forward, his eyes slightly widening at your strength. he relaxed and smiled into the kiss, giving you one last peck before pulling away from your grasp — before you accidentally hurt him.

“what? never handled a strong woman before?” you tease, smiling at his small tumble backwards. “i think i feel love when i’m around you too.”

+x+

the next morning, a tired shanks dragged himself into the dining area, pouring himself a cup of coffee. he fails to notice beckmann sitting across from him, too lost in his thoughts; the previous night replaying in his head.

“you’re an asshole,” beckmann starts. “i get you all had a great night, but not everyone needed auditory confirmation.”

★ an: ahhh!! ty for reading ^^ please feel free to request head canon scenarios!! i’ve never written for shanks so i hope i did him somewhat justice…as always, constructive criticism is always appreciated and welcomed!!

[dr-spectre]

I wanna say one final thing about the Marina stuff that went down.

Seeing all the cool fan art that has sprouted due to what has been going on and people sharing their love and passion for Marina is absolutely incredible and reminds me of the importance of the character.

Marina as a character speaks to such a wide range of people and i think it's incredibly sweet and powerful stuff. This character and the culture she embodies is important to a ton of people and as a community, we should NEVER... EVERRRRR forget that!!!!

Marina is my second favourite Idol, i find a lot of relatablity in her despite my appearance looking absolutely NOTHING like her. It feels amazing to know that there is a HEAVILY autistic coded character out there who i can find some comfort in. Not the same kind of comfort as Callie, but different.

I really do love Marina, and I wish my brain would hyper focus on her instead of the magenta squid woman...

I hope we can move past this and learn how to treat people who look different from you much MUCH better. Although the Splatoon community can be very accepting of others and is genuinely one of the more kinder communities out there, it still has a really awful and down right racist side to it, that makes me sick to my stomach.

The stuff i saw about the situation involving Marina and her VA really pissed me off, and i felt so incredibly disappointed. I want this community to do better, and i want minorities to feel safe and comfortable here. It's not fucking fair man.

It's insane to me that the series that's an allegory for racism is full of racist individuals who freak out over seeing a person that isn't white and straight... UGHHHH! It makes so angry, SO. ANGRY. God forbid a woman has a darker tone of skin...

We got 4 idols based on Japanese culture and its different aspects in terms of Idol popstars, a Brazilian singer, an Indian performer, and a black octopus woman. Being racist and defending the act of white washing in a series full of diversity and representation is such vile shit and there is no place for you here, or anywhere else for that matter.

Im not even talking about the person who made that pale skin Marina art, they have said sorry and will focus on improving themselves, only time will tell if they do. But, the people who defended them and then got mad at others who crictised something as important as a character's skin tone... Fucking despicable behaviour.

I really wanna believe in good and hope that the Splatoon community can really grow from this and actually fully embody the messages the games have shown us. But so far, it seems like some of y'all haven't got the message drilled in your fucking heads.

If you freak out over two dark skinned fictional women like these girls right here, then I'm genuinely worried about how you act towards real-life women of colour.

Do better. Seriously. Get better at how you perceive others and really reflect on yourself and what you say towards people who look different than you.

[saberlight1]

— my love, mine all mine, lucy gray baird

pairing(s): lucy gray baird x fem!reader, mentions of coriolanus snow x fem!reader.

warnings: slight tbosas spoilers, mentions of ptsd, trauma, angst, possessive!lucy, Y/N usage, slightly mean!lucy, standard ballad of songbirds and snakes warnings.

authors note: boom! another one. i am so happy you all love my writing! keep sending in these requests, y’alls ideas are so cool and i adore reading them. this fic is based off of this request, and i hope you all enjoy it! much love .

masterlist

When your eyes first laid upon Lucy Gray Baird, you were immediately enthralled by her presence. Everyone who had ever gotten the honor to meet her would say the same.

You had grown up in the very same district that her and her family, The Covey, were locked up in after being rounded up by the Peacekeepers. Most people around Twelve talked shit on them for being different, but the thing that drew you in the most to her was the fact that she didn’t give a shit.

She didn’t care what anyone thought, no one in her family did. They loved what they did, and that was singing. You saw this on full display at the Hob, where they performed every other night.

You already knew she was beautiful, but, God, when you saw her on that stage, beaming, you swore Aphrodite was standing before you. Her voice was just as beautiful as her, as she danced around stage, captivating the whole room.

At the end her performance, you snatched a daisy out of someone’s bouquet as you walked by, speed-walking to the corridor you were watching her walk into.

“Lucy Gray!” You called, the girl turning towards your call immediately, a smile still on her face. You held out the flower, a soft smile on your face. “You’re beautiful, as well as your singing.”

She blushed, her laugh coming out. “Why, thank you, darlin’.” She took the daisy, taking it up to her nose to smell. “What’s your name?”

“Y/N,” You beamed. “It’s a real pleasure to see you and your family around here. You really light it up ‘round here.” You complimented. “Twelve’s a normally dull place, but here.. it’s different.”

“Thank you, truly.” Her hand grabbed yours, squeezing. “I’ll see you around.”

And she kept her word, finding you after her next show to get to know you better.

And just like that, the pair of you were inseparable.

She introduced you to the Covey, and after they learned you had pipes, you were immediately brought into their group. You loved it, it felt as if you had found the people you’d been longing for your whole life.

But you found yourself staring at Lucy Gray for longer than normal, a dopey smile lazily draped across your sun kissed features. It wasn’t until some teasing from CeCe and Billy that you realized that you had feelings for the girl.

“Aye, Y/N, it seems like you got some drool right there…” CeCe teased, a playful smile on his face as they caught you staring at the girl for the 100th time.

Billy butted in from his side. “Yeah, you do. Someone’s fallin’ for the songbird,” He laughed. You rolled your eyes at them, before taking their words into consideration.

Holy fuck, you were falling for her.

I mean, how could you not? She was a beacon of light, her presence alone brighting up every room she walked into to, and she had treated you wonderfully, even going as far to include you with her family.

You were caught up in your love daze, not realizing the crushing realities that came with your feelings. But when you did, it left a sour taste in your mouth.

The butterflies swirling in your abdomen stopped in an instant, replaced with an oozing, grueling feeling of worry. Lucy Gray could find you repulsing— and the whole Covey would leave you as well.

It left you wishing you had a factory reset button to forget your feelings at once.

“Y/N, what’s with the frown?” Lucy Gray suddenly appeared in front of you, her signature smile on her cherry lips.

Your eyes snapped to hers, your nerves only growing. “Oh, nothin’. Just thinkin’.”

She sat down next to you. “Oh, really? Didn’t think you was capable.” She joked, making you lightly shove her with a smile.

Your breath caught in your throat when you realized how close you were to the girl. Her honey eyes stared up into yours, and you struggled to not look at her lips. All you wanted to do was close the space between the pair of you.

But you decided on that day that you would settle for this. After all— having her as a friend was better than nothing.

It wasn’t until the reaping of that year that you decided to throw caution to the wind.

It was the Covey’s first reaping, and it was for the annual 9th Hunger Games. Your nerves always got the best of you during this time of year, but it seemed that you weren’t the only one.

You sat in your room, Lucy Gray sitting at your desk in the corner. She said she was trying to write, but you could tell by the bouncing of her leg and her tense body that it wasn’t going well.

You licked your lips, putting your book aside. “You alright, Gray?”

She turned her head, her eyes meeting yours from over her shoulder. She sighed, turning back to the paper and rubbing her temple. “No,”

You stood up, coming to stand next to her, your hesitant hands rubbing her shoulders, the tense muscles deflating under your touch. “What’s wrong?”

“I.. I just really miss my mama.” She let out a sad breath. “And this reapin’ stuff is got my nerves wrecked.”

“I know the feelin’.” You bitterly chuckled. “You won’t get your name drawn, Lucy, none of you will. Your names are only in their once, your chances are slim. You should be okay. I miss my ma, too. I know it hurts.” You tried your best to calm her.

Her hand came up to grab yours that was resting on her shoulder, lacing your fingers together. “You know, you are about the only good thing in this District,” She smiled up at you, her worry lines faded.

At her words you felt those butterflies return, as your eyes flickered down to her lips, your teeth pulling in your bottom lip as you tried to talk yourself down.

Lucy Gray noticed this, however, and with a smile still plastered on her pretty face, she leaned up ever so slightly and captured your lips with her own. Your eyes widened in surprise, before they fluttered closed, your hands coming up to cup her face.

You let out a happy hum against her lips, the girl standing up to get a better grip on your hips, her lips never leaving yours. When you broke apart for air, a giggle left her slips at the sight of your lips stained with her lipstick.

“I’ve wanted you to do that for so long,” You admitted with a smile.

A smirk grew across her face. “I was waitin’ for you to grow the balls to do it first. Turns out you were too chicken.” She teased, her arms wrapping around your neck as she left small pecks on your lips.

You didn’t even pretend to be offended by her words, instead rolling your eyes playfully before kissing her again.

“Be my girlfriend,” She whispered against your lips. You pulled back slightly at her words, before jumping into her arms.

“Yes, yes.” You chuckled, as the girl hugged you back just as tightly.

That led you to now, where you smiled at the same brunette that was laid in your arms. She was different, anyone who had been what she went through would be, but she was also still your same Lucy Gray in all the best ways.

After you got her back from the games, you vowed to never let her go again. The turmoil you felt in the weeks that she was away from you, not knowing if you’d see her again or not— you never wanted to feel that again. And she felt the same way.

“You got a starin’ problem, girl?” Lucy Gray teased with that southern drawl you loved, seeing that you were lost in thought.

A warm smiled crossed your face at the sound of her voice, your hand going to play with her hair. “If it means I get to look at you, then yes, I do.”

She giggled, snuggling deeper into your arms. “Yeah, yeah, you sap.”

“You love it,”

She rolled her eyes, playfully. “I do,” She looked at you seriously now, leaning up to kiss you softly. You smiled against her lips, the feeling of her expressing her love for you in such an intimate way always making you smile.

You would proudly admit that you were head over heels in love with your girlfriend to anyone. But you knew you couldn’t— hell, the only people that even knew you were together was the Covey and her mentor, Coriolanus Snow. People didn’t seem expect, nor accept your type of love.

She had told him during her time there, during the nights they spent together talking through the cage bars. She talked his ear off about you, a love-sick smile on her face the whole time, the girl forgetting that some people weren’t accepting of your love.

But to her surprise, Coriolanus didn’t care if she was with a girl. In fact, he was thrilled, which confused her to no end. (She didn’t know this, but the only reason he was happy was because he now had something that would fuel her to win.)

You thanked every star above for the Snow boy for bringing your girl back to you, even if she was brought back with sharper edges. You didn’t care, you had her back in your arms. And you wanted to thank him.

But, Lucy Gray was a different girl than what she was when she left, even if she tried to pretend that wasn’t the case. She was more paranoid, more protective of the people she loved— especially you. More than you anticipated.

So the next morning when you set out to find the boy who was currently serving time as a Peacekeeper in your very district, the one goal in your mind was to thank him, the thought that this might be upsetting to your girlfriend not even crossing your temple.

You decided to bring him a rose— Lucy Gray mentioning to you that his Grandmother grew them, and you just happened to as well. It wasn’t like the pure ones his Grandmother grew in the Capitol, but you deemed it good enough.

You caught a glimpse of his platinum buzzcut, a smile growing over your ruby red lips. “Snow!” You called, jogging up to him in your cowboy boots. He turned at the call, his eyebrows furrowing when he saw it was you.

“Y/N?” He questioned.

“Hey, Coriolanus.” You smiled, holding out the rose for him. “Lucy Gray mentioned something about your Grandmother and roses, and just as a thanks for you bringin’ her back to me, I’d like to give you this,” You motioned to the rose.

To your delight, his hard face warped into that of a smile. “Thank you, Y/N. Truly.” His hand came out to squeeze your forearm affectionately. “I appreciate it, and you don’t have to thank me for that.”

“I do.” You assured him. “I don’t know what I would’ve done if I didn’t get her back. You saved her… so, truly, thank you, Coriolanus. I mean it.” You felt eyes on you, but you shook the feeling off.

He nodded sheepishly, not used to the type of compliment you were giving him. “Of course.. Thank you for the rose. Let me know if you need anything, I’ll see you around.” He smiled, giving your forearm one last squeeze before he turned.

“You’re welcome, Coryo.” You flashed him one last smile before you turned on your heel yourself. What you didn’t expect to see was to see those honey eyes you loved staring daggers at you.

You cocked your head to the side as she began to stomp her way towards you. Once she reached you, she grabbed your wrist with a hard grip, and without word dragged you back to your now shared home.

“Lucy, what’re you doing?” You asked, just as your neared the front lawn of your home.

She clicked her tongue, a sign she was mad, and shook her head, continuing to lead you to the house in silence. Once the pair of you got in, she threw her bag on your shared bed, crossing her arms.

“What the hell was that?” She asked, her tone hard.

“What are you talkin’ about, Lucy?” You asked, stepping closer to her. She only backed away, her head shaking once again, while you visibly shrank at her rejection.

“Don’t play dumb, Y/N. You know better,” She scoffed, rolling her eyes. “I been runnin’ around, lookin’ for you like some fool, while you were off with my mentor, lettin’ him touch you. Why were you with him, huh?” She pressed. “What, you think I’m stupid or somethin’?”

“Coriolanus?” Your eyebrows furrowed, still not quite catching on to what she was so angry about.

“Yes, damnit, him.” Her voice slightly raised as she walked up to you, her gaze lowered as she glared at you. “Why were you givin’ him a rose, huh? Why were his hands on you?”

You licked your lips as you took in her state. Her pupils were blown out, her jaw slack— God, she looked so hot when she was angry. You shook your head at your thoughts, trying to be serious.

“Aye!” Her fingers snapped in front of your face, angrily. “Answer me,”

“Lucy, I— I was goin’ to thank him..” You whispered, your voice dying in your throat as you submitted to her fiery gaze.

“Why?” Her voice was low and raspy, sending shivers down your spine.

“For bringin’ you back t’me.” You admitted, looking at the floor guiltily as it sunk in that how much you truly had upset her. “I never got the chance to properly thank him, and you said he liked roses. So I brought him one, I thought it would remind him of home. I didn’t mean anything by it, I swear,”

Her eyes softened. “Oh, baby, I’m sorry..” She whispered, one hand coming up to cup your jaw, rubbing softly. “I.. My mind went somewhere completely different when I saw him touchin’ you.. It just made me angry,”

A sly smirk came over your features. “I think you mean jealous, Lucy Gray.” You whispered teasingly.

“Only you could make me this crazy,” She smiled. “But, I am sorry.” She said, guilt swirling in her eyes.

“Hey, it’s alright.” You reassured her, seeing that she was beating herself up. “Even I get a little jealous seein’ Billy drape hisself on you when he’s shitfaced, it’s normal, baby, I ain’t mad.” Your goofy smile mixed with your southern accent making her smile come back.

But just as it returned, it was replaced with a serious look. “Just.. stay away from him, alright? I don’t fully trust ‘em.”

“I won’t go near him again, I promise. I just wanted him to know I was thankful for bringin’ my best girl back t’me,” You tried to cheer her up, your lips ghosting over hers.

“Good. ‘Cause your mine,” She smirked, closing the space between the two of you as her lips kissed you hard, her teeth nipping your bottom lip as you let out a gasp, granting her access to your mouth as she deepened the kiss.

You smiled against her lips, thanking the stars above that you had the pleasure of being hers.

[ak319]

oof, i loved arthur’s reaction to her escape attempt! imagine if it’d been longer, like you said reader was around 15-19, if she were 15ish and he found her again when she was in her early 20s or something 👀 maybe even with a family of her own

(AN: Oh. My. GOD! *screams*, straight outta a soap opera but make it darker, lol. I had so much fun writing it!!!.) Alter version of this Warnings/MDNI: Not incest, strictly platonic, abuse, death// I don't condone such behaviour

You'd found a quiet, unassuming happiness on the ranch, a kind of peace you'd never known before. The people Annabelle left you with were very good at covering your tracks and gave you the best opportunity to start your new life. Sure, there was the occasional pang of guilt, a fleeting thought of your brother and how he might have worried after your sudden disappearance. For leaving without a word. But you consoled yourself, convinced it was for the best. He was your guardian, not your puppeteer. The dread of him coming and taking you back didn't fade though. Both of you had conflicting views, you needed freedom, and space to grow into yourself instead of witnessing the dangers and the crime they committed there and pretending it was fine, and the Alder ranch had given you exactly that.

The work was hard, but you loved it, and the Alders treated you like family. And then Farris arrived. When you were 18.

When he arrived, you were wary at first, assuming he’d be just another complication, perhaps a jerk. You already feared meeting new people but he quickly proved you wrong. Farris was thoughtful, with an understated kindness that made him easy to be around. His silence wasn't standoffish; it felt respectful like he knew you had your own reasons for being there, just as he did. He had a way of giving you space without making you feel lonely, and when he did speak, it was usually to ask questions that felt... refreshing. He genuinely wanted to learn from you, which was a new experience, and something that made you feel a bit prouder of the knowledge you'd gathered on the ranch.

And there was something undeniably magnetic about him. He was handsome in a way that didn’t demand attention, with an earthy charm that suited the simplicity of ranch life. You caught yourself smiling at his quiet humour, the way he’d sneak a comment here or there to lighten the load. Working alongside him, you felt more like an equal than you had in a long time, and that feeling, that respect, was something you hadn't realized you’d been missing all along.

When Farris confessed his feelings, it caught you so off guard that, for a moment, you didn’t know what to say. Someone wanted to be with you? You, with your past and all the silent shadows that came with it? But Farris was gentle, giving you time to think, to consider your own heart without pressure. And you did think, a lot, trying to let this possibility unfold in your mind. Eventually, with a shy, tentative "yes," you opened up, your whole being feeling like a flower cautiously reaching toward sunlight, still uncertain yet irresistibly drawn.

The two of you became the talk of the ranch, your quiet glances and shy smiles making even the Alders chuckle with delight. It was sweet, people said, watching you both, a pair of lovestruck teens caught up in something innocent and tender.

Farris eventually opened up about his past, speaking softly, as if sharing a guarded wound. His parents had been trapped in a constant cycle of bitterness, each too absorbed in their own struggles to think about him. They didn’t care for each other, for the vows they’d made, or even for the boy caught in between. By the time they split, he’d been left to fend for himself, a ghost drifting between them, unwanted. Yet here he was, looking at you with such hope, with a gentleness that was born from hardship but longing for something better, beautiful and loving than what his parents had.

He wanted a love that was real, something far from the fractured, selfish version he’d grown up with. And he wanted it with you. That simple, earnest wish kindled something inside you, something bright and tender, something you hadn’t dared hope for until now.

Now, at twenty, you’re happily married. Farris has never once wavered from his vow, not for a single moment. He’s never let you feel the sting of loneliness or regret. He’s only ever been there, his love a steady presence, his every word and gesture a reminder that he’s here for you, that he will always be here.

He knows pieces of your past, the fragments you were willing to share. You chose to tell him only as much as felt necessary, as much as you felt safe giving away. He’s never pressed for more, never pried into the shadows you’ve tried so hard to leave behind. Instead, he accepted every part of you, the parts you showed him, and the parts you held back. And in his acceptance, you’ve found a peace you didn’t think possible, a quiet sense of safety that feels like home.

You both thrived together in the quarters on the ranch, living in a cozy one-bedroom home that felt like a world of your own. It was small, yet everything you needed was right there, wrapped in love and laughter. But Farris, with his dreams and ambitions, wanted something more, a life away from the ranch and its unpredictable weather.

So, you both made the leap and moved near Valentine, a small community with friendly faces and warm hearts. Farris found a job at a nearby publishing office, where he poured his creativity into his work, while you channeled your talents into selling beautiful embroidered fabrics. Farris supplied your creations to the local markets, and together you earned enough to not just survive but to thrive.

In the evenings, your home transformed into a small haven of learning. You taught the local children, sharing knowledge and igniting a spark of curiosity in their eyes. For you, spreading knowledge felt like soaring through the sky; every lesson was a chance to lift someone else up. You found joy in teaching, especially the girls, encouraging them to embrace their potential and dream big.

⋆⋆⋆

You were now eight months pregnant, combing your hair in the mirror after freshening up in the morning. When you were satisfied with your appearance and turned around, you saw Farris walking towards you, shaking his head in what seemed like mild disappointment.

“What?” you chuckled, touching your hair and turning back to the mirror to check for anything on your face.

He didn’t say anything at first, instead reaching for two bracelets from the jewelry box he had gifted you. He gently put them on your wrists, a soft smile playing on his lips.

“You know how much I hate seeing you empty-handed, not looking like a newlywed bride,” he said, his voice teasing yet affectionate.

You let out a laugh, a genuine one that echoed through the room. “That’s because I’m not! It’s going to be a year soon, I’m not so new anymore.”

He frowned playfully and pulled you closer, his hands resting on your waist. “It doesn’t matter. For me, it’s important to see my beloved ready. It makes me feel happy to see you every time, all dolled up.”

Farris gave a little smirk, his eyes glinting with that familiar playfulness. “And what’s wrong with getting ready for me?” he teased, adjusting the bracelets on your wrist as if they were the final touch to a masterpiece. “It’s a good thing. It should be the first thing you do after waking up, come out looking all lovely, and before I get home too. And it’s not up for debate, alright?” He tapped your nose, his tone both firm and light-hearted, making you grin and blush at the same time.

“Alright, alright,” you laughed, shaking your head at his silly demands, which you knew were simply his way of showing how much he adored you. You couldn’t imagine a day without his little ways of making you feel cherished. You are officially spoiled rotten.

"You and your demand of seeing me ready all the time.. I literally just woke up..." You tried to stifle a yawn, still sleepy-eyed as you leaned into him, but Farris only chuckled softly, his eyes crinkling with that familiar fondness.

“Well, that’s on you,” he teased, pressing a gentle kiss to your forehead. “If I had my way, you’d wake up ready for a wedding every day.”

You let out another laugh, warm and easy. “You mean you want me walking around in a heavy gown and jewels while I’m like this?” You gestured to your rounded belly, the weight of the baby beneath your hand both grounding and joyful.

He grinned, resting a hand over yours. “Every bit of it. The bracelets, the smile, all of it. Even just like this, especially like this.”

A soft warmth bloomed in your chest, and you rested your head against his shoulder, feeling content in a way you’d never quite known before. “You’re lucky I indulge you as much as I do,” you murmured, trying to sound exasperated, but the smile in your voice betrayed you.

“Well, c'mon, that's my right as your husband now, and I’m grateful every day,” he replied, brushing a strand of hair behind your ear. His hands stayed on your shoulders, steady, as though grounding you there with him. "After all I earn for you, to buy you all this so you wear it. Not keep them in a damn box."

He leaned down, his voice a quiet murmur. “You’re glowing, you know. It’s like… even the smallest things make me grateful that you’re here. That you’re mine.”

You smiled, closing your eyes and savoring the moment. “I know,” you murmured back, brushing your fingers lightly over his hand. “And you’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me. And this little one,” you added, giving your belly a gentle pat, “well… I think they’d agree.”

He chuckled, a sound that felt like sunshine on a quiet morning. “Then I guess I’d better keep making you happy, huh? Not that I’d want to do anything else.”

He drew you into his arms and pressed a kiss to your forehead, then another, softer one, on your lips. His hand drifted down to rest gently over your belly, his thumb tracing gentle circles.

“Love you both,” he said quietly, the words wrapped in tenderness. You rested your head against his chest, feeling his heartbeat, and let out a sigh of pure contentment.

“Love you too,” you whispered, letting yourself sink fully into the embrace, savoring the warmth and comfort of the moment.

⋆⋆⋆

Before you knew it, time slipped through your fingers like grains of sand, and you were blessed with a beautiful daughter, Adia, a precious gift that illuminated your lives in ways you never imagined. Farris had poured his heart and soul into building another room in your small house, carefully crafting every plank and stone, each stroke of his hand a testament to his love and commitment since the moment he learned you were expecting.

Now, Adia was six months old, a bundle of joy who filled your days with light. You had just finished your evening classes and, with a sense of anticipation, hurried to cradle your daughter, who stirred from her peaceful nap.

"Aww, my cutie," you squealed, "Look who's finally back to earth." The innocence of her giggles somehow bittersweet in the quiet of the house.

You carried her into the kitchen, “Let’s get some (coffee/tea) ready before dad comes home,” you said softly,

“Let me heat those pastries too-” you began, but were abruptly cut off by a sharp knock on the door. Confusion twisted your stomach as you approached, pausing just before turning the handle. A sudden thought struck you like ice water.

Farris has keys. Why would he knock?

With a racing heart, you crept to the window, peering through the curtain. The dim light of the lamp outside cast eerie shadows across the porch, and your blood ran cold. There they were, three masked men.

Charles stood at the front, his fist raised to knock again, while Sean shifted nervously beside him, eyes darting around as if sensing the gravity of the moment. But it was the figure in the distance that sent a chill through your bones.

Arthur.

Leaning against his horse, Arthur's entire form was cloaked in black, the cigarette smoke curling from his lips, lingering like a sinister whisper in the dusky air. He stood there with an unsettling casualness as if the weight of his presence meant nothing to him. He looked more dangerous than the last time you had seen him, if that was even possible. But you knew better. He was not here to offer a friendly visit. No. His intentions were laced with malice.

He looked like death himself.

“I swear, Arthur, this is the house. I saw her here,” Sean insisted, his voice taut with urgency.

Panic gripped you. No, no, no. You backed away from the window, the world narrowing down to the pounding of your heart and the cold sweat that broke out across your skin. One hand flew to cover your mouth, the other instinctively clutching Adia’s small head to your chest, as if you could shield her from the impending storm.

This has to be a fucking nightmare.

The dread of your past clawed its way back into your mind, and you jumped at the sound of another heavy knock, followed by murmured voices. The familiar cadence of Arthur’s tone sent a wave of nausea through you. It felt like a sinister echo from your past, threatening to shatter the fragile peace you had fought so hard to build.

What if Farris comes and they do something to him? The thought twisted in your gut, a dark cloud overshadowing your desperate need for escape.

No, please, God.

You raced to turn off the stove, the pot of simmering pastries forgotten, then dashed for the back door, your only thought to reach Farris or find help. But as you flung the door open, dread flooded through you. There stood Charles, frozen in place, eyes wide with a mix of surprise and something else, guilt.

"N-no, please...Charles.... don't. Leave me alone, I beg you..." you stammered, your voice trembling.

He took a step back, but his eyes betrayed him, brimming with remorse. "I am just following orders."

Before he could close the distance, instinct kicked in, and you slammed the door shut, your breath coming in panicked gasps, adrenaline coursing through you. Even Adia seemed to sense the shift in the air, her small body tensing against you as you bounced her gently, cooing in a feeble attempt to soothe her. But the noise around you grew louder, the panic rising like bile in your throat. You needed a weapon, something to protect her.

Suddenly, the front door was thrown off its hinges, splintering wood echoing through your small sanctuary. Heavy footsteps thudded against the floor, reverberating in your chest as you sprinted to Adia’s room, locking the door behind you with shaking hands.

Then came the shattering of the back door, another sound that sent your heart racing as you backed away in horror, retreating to the closet. You clutched Adia tightly, covering her mouth with your palm as silent tears streamed down your face.

Everything is over.

Everything you had built, your little heaven, was about to be shattered. The weight of dread pressed against your chest, making it hard to breathe. His anger was palpable, suffocating, reverberating through the very walls of your home. After all these years, if he had still found you, it meant he had been hunting you, waiting, and his patience had finally run out.

An impatient Arthur was not a forgiving one.

'Farris, don’t come home. Please, just don’t.' The words twisted in your throat, heavy with despair, as you whispered them into the darkness. It was the first time you ever wished for him not to return, and the realization shattered your heart.

“Shh, baby, please,” you murmured frantically, rocking Adia gently.

This time they didn't bother kicking the door, it was simply blown to pieces. The door frame splintered, and you could hear the heavy footsteps.

It took no longer than 5 seconds for him to fling the closet open and stare down, with eyes that now were empty. So different, so fucking different from the ones you grew up with.

"A-arthur..." You whimpered out shaking your head as if telling him to just forget all this and go.

"Grab the fuckin' kid, Charles."

"No- NO! NO! ARTHUR! Don't you touch her!" But it was futile for you to fight against the latter as he snatched her like a doll and took her out with Sean. You leapt after her but Arthur grabbed you by the hair and slammed you to the ground, wasting no time to pin and immobilize you.

“Had fun?” he sneered, landing a blow to your face that sent stars dancing in your vision. He held back, just enough to keep you conscious, but the intent was clear, this was just the beginning. “Oh I bet you did, right? While I worried sick day and night!”

The next hit came like a thunderclap, the sting of his palm echoing through your skull. “Fuckin' left after everything I did! Like I didn’t even fuckin’ matter to you at all! And then what do I find? That you are here, enjoyin' your life, OPENING YOUR LEGS FOR SOME GUY!?”

You coughed blood and managed to stop him from hitting again another "A-arthur, s-sorry. Please, don't...I'll visit you in the camp whenever you want me to, you can come here when-" He landed another slap and then gripped your chin with a bruising force shutting you up, the pressure on your throat tightening to the point where you struggled to breathe. You were sure that you were going to die then and there. His fingers dug in, a cruel reminder of the power he wielded over you.

“You don’t get a say in this,” he hissed, his voice low and menacing, a dark promise wrapped in each word. “You’re comin' with me, whether you like it or not. And if you make a sound, I’ll make sure your precious little lover pays for it.”

“NO! I-I’ll go,” you gasped, each word a desperate attempt to stave off the storm brewing within him. “I’ll go with you.” Adia's wails outside the room made the situation only worse, every fibre of your being just telling you to rush out and hold her to your chest.

Every fibre of your being screamed against this nightmare, but the thought of what he could do to Farris, the man who had given you a life, a family, made your heart race with terror.

Arthur’s grip slackened just a fraction, enough for you to catch a gasp of air, but his expression remained cold, and calculating. “You better mean it, or I swear to God, I’ll burn everything you love to the ground just to watch you squirm, just like you made me, for all these fuckin' years."

He yanked you to your feet, his grip on your hair forcing you to stumble forward, a reminder of his unyielding control.

“Adia…” you whispered, desperately trying to reach him with your thoughts. Pleading him pathetically again, once fucking again. It's never going to end.

He didn’t respond, but the sight of Charles trailing behind, cradling your daughter, confirmed your worst fears, they were taking both of you. The cold night air bit at your skin, amplifying the fear clawing at your insides. Sean’s sympathetic glance pierced through your growing anger, igniting a furious spark within you. You lost it when he mouthed a 'sorry'.

“Fuck you,” you spat, the words slipping out before you could contain them.

Arthur halted, his body tense as he turned to face you, fury simmering just beneath the surface. “The fuck did you jus' say?”

“I-” You hesitated, the weight of your situation pressing down harder with every passing second.

But before you could form a coherent thought, a voice shattered the night.

“HEY! (Y/N)! Who the hell are you guys!?”

Your heart plummeted. “FARRIS, NO! RUN, PLEASE!”

Arthur’s gaze flickered with annoyance, and without a second thought, he threw you aside like a ragdoll, sending you crashing into Sean’s waiting arms.

“What, not happy to see your brother-in-law?” Arthur taunted, a cruel smile spreading across his face as Farris stepped into view, his expression shifting from shock to rage, but he knew better than to lose his cool in front of these criminals.

It was the brother you had warned him about, the outlaw who had haunted your past like a shadow.

“Look, I know how you must feel,” Farris began, his voice steady despite the terror swirling around. “But we’re married now. You can’t just take her away from her family, Sir. Not like this.” His calm facade masked the storm brewing beneath, his protective instincts surging in response to the sight of you, bruised and at the mercy of men he had no trust in. Not to mention his daughter being held by one of them.

“How I feel? I'll tell you how I felt. I barely slept not knowing if she's even alive out there, in this brutal world, searchin' for her at every chance. How I feel, my ass,” Arthur’s voice dripped with venom, his eyes narrowing.

“You son of a bitch, you have no idea what I’m capable of.”

“Just let him go, Arthur, it's not his fault! Don't do anything to him! You can kill me if you want!" you pleaded, your voice breaking as you looked between the men who now stood as barriers in your life, one of them representing something you desperately wished to protect. “Please, don’t do this.”

Farris took a cautious step forward, his body tense, but he had to for his family.. “You don’t have to do this, Sir. She's your family, don't hurt her like this, don't take her away like this, from me, we love each other...please. Think of the child at least.." He pleaded, trying his best to win this losing battle.

"Is that so? Alright."

Arthur drags you forward, placing the pistol in your trembling hands. Farris stands there, helpless, his gaze moving from Arthur to you, filled with confusion and a sorrowful acceptance.

Arthur leans in close, his whisper twisted with venom. "You’re the one who ran, sister. You wanted this life, didn't you? Now, you end it. Show him you’re done."

You shake your head, choking back sobs. "Please, Arthur... don’t make me do this! Please!"

Arthur’s hand closes over yours, his grip unyielding, forcing your fingers around the gun. "No one to run to this time," he says, his voice laced with dark satisfaction. "If you want to keep breathing, you’ll do as I say. Or maybe he’d prefer a slower death? I’ve got time.”

“Do it,” he hisses, tightening his hold until the gun aims squarely at Farris.

Charles steps forward, desperation flickering in his gaze. He turns to Arthur, his voice low but urgent. “Arthur... come on. Just let him go,” he pleads, his hand shielding Adia's eyes. “He’s done nothin’ worth all this.”

Arthur’s jaw clenches, his eyes cold and unyielding as he keeps the gun levelled. “Stay the fuck out of this, Charles,” he warns, his voice a harsh whisper. “She made her choice the moment she left without a word. This is your punishment, ya' hear me?.”

You glance at Farris and the sadness in them nearly undoes you. His lips part, trying to reassure you even in his final moments. But the fear is there, and the heartbreaking acceptance, as he takes one last look at Adia in Charles's arms and then meets your eyes. He nods, just once, his lips moving in a silent farewell. “I love you both, never forget it and this isn't your fault. Remember that," he whispers, his voice barely reaching you.

Arthur digs his fingers into your wrist, forcing you forward. "Go on then," he sneers, "show him how much you love him."

"Fa-rris no, please, I love yo-" The words painfully get stuck in your throat, as you hiccup.

Your vision blurs, but with Arthur’s iron grip guiding you, your finger finds the trigger, pressed down by his strength, leaving you powerless. The shots echo through the stillness, ringing in your ears as you watch the light fade from Farris’s eyes.

4 shots.

He drops to his knees, his gaze still locked on yours, one last shuddered breath escaping him.

Arthur finally releases you, and you collapse, the gun falling from your hands as you sink to the ground, numb with shock and despair.

"See?" Arthur’s voice cuts through the silence, laced with dark amusement. "This was always your choice. Remember that."

“No!” you choke out, tears streaming down your face, screams sounding raw and primal, rip from your throat as your heart shatters into fragments. You lunged toward him, instinctually rushing to his side cradling him.

“Farris! No, no! Please, don't! I am so sorry!” Your voice was a repetitive haunting echo in the cold night air, but he didn’t respond. You couldn’t breathe, a flood of emotions clawing at your throat.

Arthur stepped forward, a sinister smile spreading across his face as he savoured your despair. "Guess, he just had to die today. Did a mistake comin' back. And you..."

With a swift movement, he grabbed your arm and pulled you away, dragging you toward the waiting horse tethered nearby while you thrashed and tried to reach back into Farris's embrace. “This is how you pay for your betrayal, to me and the gang,” he hissed, hoisting you onto the horse with a force that left you gasping.

“HE DID NOTHING WRONG! YOU FUCKIN' BASTARD! I HATE YOU! I HATE YOU ALL! YOU ARE ALL FUCKED UP!" you pleaded, tears streaming down your face, blurring your vision as you turned back to where Farris lay. The cold grip of dread consumed you, and every fibre of your being screamed for answers.

Arthur merely chuckled, a dark and chilling sound that reverberated in your ears. “Wrong place, wrong time. It’s a shame, really, right boys?"

He mounted the horse behind you, the weight of his presence suffocating.

You felt the horse begin to move, hooves thudding against the ground as the distance between you and Farris grew. You strained against the reins, desperate to look back, to Farris or to see Adia safe in Charles's arms but Arthur’s grip on your waist was unyielding.

“Stop! Please!” you cried, your heart racing with each passing moment. “Farris! Farris!” The name escaped your lips like a prayer, but the silence that answered only deepened the void within you.

Every beat of your heart echoed the same questions, how could he do this? Why would Arthur tear apart the life you had fought so hard to build? You started thrashing trying to jump off the horse and when that didn't work you started smacking yourself on the head.

“Stop wailing like a fucking lunatic,” Arthur growled, his voice low and menacing as he grabbed your wrists. “You’ll only make this worse for yourself.”

And so you cried, tears mingling with the night for the life you had lost and the love you had been taken from.

⋆⋆⋆

You stumble back into camp, hollowed out by grief, barely feeling the hands that try to guide you or the murmurs of people around. It’s like your own heartbeat is drowning out everything else, each beat a cruel reminder that you’re alive while he’s… Farris is gone. Every step feels heavier, like dragging chains through mud, and the weight of it pulls you into a fog that you can’t see your way out of. It’s all too much, and you can’t bear the thought of another breath in this place, under Arthur’s shadow.

Arthur’s voice comes from behind, gruff and dismissive. “Get her settled, Miss Grimshaw. She’ll calm down soon enough.”

It’s a trigger, hearing his voice, so callous, so indifferent. The anger wells up, fierce and desperate, drowning the fear as you pivot, finding him with your gaze. Arthur turns, catching sight of you just as your hand reaches out, fast and resolute, seizing the gun holstered at his hip. You grip it tightly, the cold metal a final, grim comfort.

“Hey!” Arthur’s eyes flash, more surprised than afraid, but he freezes, hands raised as if to placate you, assessing the danger in your expression.

“What’re you doing?” His voice is low, a warning, but there’s a crack in it, something uncertain. He’d expected grief, but not this.

You steady your trembling hands, the barrel pointed between you and him and everyone around. Your voice, a rasp torn from the depths of your pain, barely makes it out. “Why should I stay? Hm? After what you’ve done… after you took everything from me?”

Arthur’s expression darkens, his jaw clenched, but he doesn’t make a move. The camp falls deathly silent, all eyes watching. “You wouldn’t, stop it." He says, but there’s a flicker of doubt there. He didn’t think you had this in you.

“I have nothing left,” you hiss, the tears burning in your eyes as you hold his gaze. "Just...why Arthur..?"

Something flickers in Arthur’s face then, a flash of worry, but he schools it quickly. “Put it down. Now. You’re no good to anyone dead. Least of all that little girl of yours.” His voice cuts, striking right at the fragile remnants of your will.

At the mention of Adia, your grip weakens and you glance at her, your baby who will not even properly get to know her father. The thought of her, defenceless and alone, keeps you anchored just long enough for the fight to drain from your muscles. Your hands go limp and Arthur immediately takes the gun from your hands. You snatch your daughter from Charles, your knees hitting the dirt as the tears finally spill over, and Arthur is there, one hand resting on your shoulder as if he’s won some twisted victory.

But he can’t take your grief. That’s yours alone.

There were old faces and new ones at this camp, but you couldn’t bear to see anyone, each familiar visage only serving as a reminder of the life you once knew, a life that felt like a distant memory now. Even Annabelle has died, as Hosea informed you with a heavy heart. It just couldn't get any worse.

You spent days in a daze, confined within the solitude of your tent, surrounded by the oppressive security that hung in the air like a storm cloud and staring at your wedding ring sometimes, reminiscing about the fairytale of life that got snatched from you in a blink of an eye. Each moment dragged, your sense of time warped as you replayed the events that had brought you here, Farris, Arthur, and the unbearable weight of loss.

You hold Adia close, not letting anyone near her, not the women from camp who bring food and clean clothes, and especially not Arthur. Each time he approaches, there’s something in his gaze, a mix of guilt and a twisted sense of responsibility, as if he’s trying to make up for what he’s done. But you don’t forget, and you don’t forgive. Never.

You could never forget how he looked at her with disgust that day, his contempt for you and your choices etched deep into his features. Calling you all sorts of names. Reducing you to some mere wench.

He tries, though, lingering outside the tent with trinkets and offerings. Small things, toys he’s scrounged up from nearby towns, little comforts he imagines will make it easier for you both to settle in here. You can see the frustration tightening his jaw every time you refuse to accept anything from him, every time you turn your back, clutching Adia tighter.

“Y’ain’t lifting a damn finger here,” he announces one morning to the others, his voice rough with command as if he’s declaring some kind of victory over the damage he caused. He stands tall, as though he’s your protector now, trying to mould himself into something noble. “Keep her off chores, you hear?”

His words carry through the camp, but they’re hollow, a show for the others. To everyone watching, it’s Arthur taking care of his sister and her child, doing what any family man should. Yet to you, it’s just another layer of manipulation. His guilt is a quiet thing, veiled beneath the orders he barks, the food he insists you eat, and the rare times he offers to hold Adia.

Then, one fateful day, you discovered you were pregnant. The news came as a surprise, a sudden twist in a life already tangled in chaos. For a fleeting moment, happiness flickered within you, a light in the darkness. Yet, that joy was overshadowed by your relentless sorrow for Farris. You cried daily, the tears mingling with the hopes and dreams you had lost.

No one left to wait for now, no one whose warmth you could sink into at night, no one to smile at as you fuss with your hair, adjusting every strand just right. Who would make you feel seen and safe, someone to dress up for, to look at with eyes full of love, watching their gaze soften in return? Your hands remain empty now, the very same hands that Farris doted on , the fact that the last thing he saw was them holding a gun at him. Your heart would shatter physically every time you think about it if it was practically possible.

He wouldn't be here to witness the birth of his second child.

“If it’s a boy, what a fine addition that would be, right Arthur?” you overheard Dutch say one day, his voice carrying through the thin fabric of your tent. You cringed at the thought. You knew exactly what Arthur’s vision entailed which was a shadow of Dutch's, raising your blood, his nephew, to be just like him, a cold-blooded killer, a reflection of the darkness that now surrounded you. The thought filled you with dread, the prospect of your child inheriting that legacy.

You were going to raise your son like how Farris was. A gentle soul.

As you held Adia close, her soft breaths a balm against the tumult of your thoughts, it steeled your resolve. No matter the cost, you would raise your children to know love, to know compassion and to see beauty in a world that had torn you apart.

[certifiedsexed]

hey there! i don’t mean this in bad faith at all, and i’m not trying to use a term that’s a fascist dogwhistle. i promise i’m just confused😭

so i’m not a guy, nor have i ever been perceived as one, but in one of your recent posts, you said that men can’t experience oppression solely based on the fact that they’re men. which was kind of confusing to me — i don’t think you’re wrong, i think it’s me but i don’t know how to get to how you see it like that.

because in my experience, men can experience oppression because they’re men, although i don’t know if i’m saying that right or conflating the meanings of certain terms. i’m probably wrong, and would just love some clarification?

for example, my brother and i were always held to different standards growing up — it was expected of me to always cry and be emotional, and i was a ‘stone cold bitch’ if that wasn’t the case, but if my brother wanted to show negative emotions like sadness he was treated like there was something wrong with him too. and i know it wasn’t my brother — i spend a lot of time working with my high school’s diversity team, and in a lot of the events we organise, guys talk about how they feel enormous pressure to be angry and never sad, and to have stereotypically masculine interests and never deviate from that norm.

i also know men who’ve struggled to get jobs such as teaching as those are viewed as ‘female’ jobs and it’s a common view that men who want those jobs are ‘only in it to be around kids’. i’ve heard many women around me perpetuate sentiments like that, so i know they’re not making it up, even if it isn’t equal to the systematic oppression women face in almost every aspect of their careers.

i’m not providing these examples to prove you wrong, since i do think you’re right. i’m hoping that a window into the way i’ve always thought might help you clarify this in a way that can help me to change my mind, since i just think i’m lacking some clarity or context here. i think i’m conflating abuse and stereotypes with oppression, but i’m really not sure. any advice would be really appreciated!

i’m so sorry if this comes off badly, i don’t mean it that way. i’m just trying to learn, i promise i’m not trying to promote the kind of hate and close mindedness you’ve been seeing in your inbox as of late.

Hi! As always, I do not mind answering genuine questions!

The things you're talking about growing up and seeing boys around you pressured to present only certain emotions, that's part of the patriarchy!

Certain emotions are supposed to be "feminine" and thus boys shouldn't show them, while girls are often always considered "emotional" in some fashion. That's not oppression based on those boys being men that you're talking about.

It's the backlash that the patriarchy, and by addition trans/misogyny has on men. It's boys being pressured not to show certain emotions because those emotions are "feminine" and they're supposed to associate feminimity with weakness and shit.

What you're talking about there is also trans/misogyny!

The idea that men who do things perceived as feminine are predators, the idea that specific jobs are "female" jobs [while even in those specific female jobs, men are generally paid better and find it easier to get into those jobs than women trying to get into traditionally "male" jobs"]

[Though obviously this varies based on race and whether they're trans, etc, etc.]

To be a little more clear, all of the things you're talking about don't primarily affect cis men/boys. They fuck up transfems, because it's trans/misogyny.

You're right! It's not systemic oppression.

You might wonder if it's social oppression, which is also a no. Social oppression would require a historical/systemic oppression behind it. But that doesn't exist in this case.

What it is is the common issue oppressors run into. While they benefit greatly from oppression, there is also backlash they face from their own systems of oppression.

Like white people who fall into suicide cults trying to work towards white supremacy, or TERFs who fall into groups where they slowly pick each other off as they discover they're not all exactly the same and wind up accusing each other of not being "real" women, systems of bigotry simply do not work out perfectly even for the oppressors.

They never do.

To create the patriarchy, you must establish trans/misogyny, you must establish intersexism and you must push people to conform to those ideals, even if they hurt your own.

It's similar to how white supremacy can harm white people, despite white people obviously not being oppressed racially. The backlash of oppression hits even the oppressors sometimes.

Suppression, as a term, would honestly work far better to describe what you're talking about.

So yes, it's stereotyping, yes it's abusive to tell your children not to show/feel their emotions but it's not oppression based on these guys in your life being men! It's part of how trans/misogyny, transphobia and intersexism are enforced.

I understand exactly where you're coming from! It doesn't sound bad and I genuinely don't mind answering questions! Especially since you've got some good ones!

I'm not sure if I rambled too much to explain this properly but I hope this helps! Let me know if you have any other questions and/or need me to clarify anything here. <33

[howtofightwrite]

Is it possible for a character who is 18cm shorter and not as muscled as their opponent to pin said opponent to the ground in a few calculated moves? Both characters are fit and exercise regularly, but the shorter character has trained in various martial arts (with and without weapons) and the taller one is more proficient in sword duelling. My intent is to write a sparring scene where the shorter character humbles the (overconfident) taller one. Any specific martial arts I should look at?

So... being shorter doesn't matter. In fact, in this situation, it is an advantage.

I'm going to point out here that if you're not careful, your character that you want to have a badass moment is going to look like an complete asshole because they are humiliating another character who they actually are better than. If they haven't been trading off humiliations to build tension (safely so no one gets hurt) then you're going to have a lopsided “sparring” session. Or, you will, if you haven't been building up your narrative to support the humbling. (And there is a lot that goes into these scenes to make them work, which, if you're not familiar with how martial arts training works then you'll approach it from the wrong mindset and hit Starke's pet peeve.)

Let's hit the ground running with the high points:

Sparring is not dueling.

Sparring is not play fighting.

Sparring is not so you can humiliate your opponent.

Sparring is not about fighting anyone or anything.

Sparring is a training exercise so that both of you can work on improving specific techniques.

Do people in real life get carried away sparring? Yes, they do. Are they complete competitive idiots about it? Yes, they are. Do they get punished for it? Absolutely, they do. This is especially true where they'll be expected to put their lives on the line. Treating violence like a game is detrimental, and leaves the trainee ill-prepared for dealing with real danger when in the field. Make no mistake, that is exactly the mindset you are describing in this question. Your characters (at least your minor ones, the trainers in this situation if your leads are too young or too dumb to comprehend their reality) should care about stomping this attitude out. And you as the author should to. Why? Because if you don't take the violence in your narrative seriously neither will your audience.

There are rules, as a writer it's imperative you establish the rules (and there no rules means you haven't established them for violence in your setting and therefore won't be able to establish the baseline that can be built upon later) and one of the rules is that you're not going to spar someone with a weapon (wood or otherwise) unless you both have weapons. There's not a lot of value in having one character spar with a weapon and one spar without one unless it's a knife, and the point is learning the dangers of knife fighting. And knives make sense because they are in the same distance range as fists. Swords are in a completely separate distance category. They are mid-range weapons.

You don't practice disarms by sparring, you practice disarms by practicing disarms in a controlled setting where you're repeating the motion over and over. Can you humiliate a person by being good at practice disarms? Yes. You do it by being a complete dick. It also requires the character in question to be better at the moves in question than the other character performing them because they need to be able to confidently, or at least believe they can, counter the other person's growing anger while taking the move a step further or two than they're supposed to. It also means they can get away with it without arousing the suspicions of their instructor (or act with their instructors approval) and no one gets hurt. (We hope.) For a character to do this is a sign of overconfidence, FYI. As is trying to humiliate someone in a sparring session. The characters that are good enough? They don't do it.

In fiction, good sparring scenes serve one real purpose. They establish a baseline of skill in safe setting so the audience becomes comfortable only for that to be disrupted and thrown into chaos when the characters encounter real violence. There's two paths for this. Either the character is a big winner only to be brutally beaten later, or they get dumped on their ass to find that they're actually much better prepared than they thought later when it matters. That's why so many stories with these scenes dump their MC on their ass, especially in any Wuxia or Shounen manga. This is because the authors of these stories understand that sparring has no reflection on how well a person will do when they're allowed out of the training safe space. If your baseline is: my character is awesome. Then it's all downhill from that point on.

Say it with me, Losses Create Tension. If your character is winning all the time, you have no tension and your fight scenes will be boring. The goal when it comes to creating a character who is good at fighting is to make other characters look better. Or, from an antagonistic/mentor point they exist to establish the height our MCs must eventually reach/how much further they have to go in their journey. Kakashi's fight with Zabuza or the first fight between Itachi and Sasuke in Naruto are both great examples of how to do this well.

I'm not saying you can't write a sparring scene like the one you intend. I can't tell you to do anything, what I want to you to start doing is considering the implications of the scene, what it may say about your world and characters that you didn't intend, and it's overall impact on the whole of your narrative. Narrative gratification here is work you'll need to do to build back your tension later. Is it a win your MC can afford?

Now, you can look at any martial art that has a ground fighting component for what you want to do unless you're planning on having the duelist spar with their sword. If you want that, you're going to have to do a lot more work with a smaller pool. This will be doubly true if your characters are of European descent and you want to avoid the East Asian martial art styles.

Type: “how do you knock your opponent off balance?” into Google and you'll find a lot of variations.

The basic concept behind putting someone on the ground isn't strength, it's balance. The key is disrupting your opponent's balance. If you're skilled enough or your opponent's footwork is bad enough, it can be done in a single move. In fact, it can be done a variety of different ways from a variety of different moves from countless different martial arts. The question isn't can it be done, the question is how does your character want to do it? The fact they are short only helps them because their center of gravity will be lower than their opponent's, they don't have to work as hard to maintain their balance, their stance doesn't have to be as deep, and they will have an easier time knocking a taller person over. Most people who've never practiced martial arts have no idea how foundational the footwork is or how important the feet are to staying upright.

I personally like reviewing Silat for studying balance, not necessarily for techniques, but because I find their instruction on the concept easy to grasp/digest. They do the string on the top of the head and the balance triangle, which if you can wrap your mind around that you'll be able to conceptualize fight scenes where the character focuses on knocking an opponent off balance better. 

The above is a more advanced video, but if you have no martial arts background or even a sports background whatsoever then you want to aim for instructional videos that focus on concepts over techniques. The advice is always write what you know and if you don't know learn. Copying techniques onto the page won't create a great fight scene. Understanding the concept, philosophy, and basic body mechanics behind the techniques will get you much further. None of them are stand ins for real experience or doing it yourself. If you really want to be good at it, find a martial art you like, find a school nearby, and invest the time.

All of your characters' martial arts moves (whether they are dueling with a sword or fighting hand to hand) function around the body's center of gravity. Your center of gravity is slightly above your hips and in your core muscles i.e your abdominal muscles. They will be trained so maintaining their balance is second nature. When martial artists talk about overextending, they're talking about putting your weight past your balance point which puts you in danger of losing your balance/falling over or being grabbed, kicked, etc and getting thrown, tripped, or forced into a fall. This can happen when you're throwing a punch, doing a kick, lunging with your sword, or doing any other sort of movement. You end up in a position where your balance between your front and back leg is destabilized, which creates the opening for your opponent to throw you. Or when you fall over on the ice, because that happens too.

Some other martial arts to turn to:

Judo

Jiu Jutsu

Aikido

Baguazhang (Seen in Avatar the Last Airbender as the basis for Air Bending)

Tai Chi Chuan

Northern Shaolin

Taekwondo (if you want to do it via kicks, all kicking martial arts innately focus on balance)

Krav Maga

Ninjutsu

The list goes on.

I also recommend dipping your toes into live action martial arts flicks to start getting yourself accustomed to more complex choreography. This is getting yourself out of the animated space (like in anime) and into the space where you have to watch a live person perform the techniques. Asian cinema has a different choreography style than the US does, because there are different cultural expectations. Overall, the choreography is more intricate and they break the action down a lot more (as opposed to American media where they zoom out to cover for the stunt double.) It's easier to see how the bodies are working and they put a lot more focus on destabilizing balance as part of the fight sequences. Hollywood doesn't get into the weird martial arts shit unless it's an actual martial arts action film. You can also do an Avatar the Last Airbender/Legend of Korra deep dive because the action there is also usually on point, but I'm a proponent of going to the source when you want to learn something. So, you know watch Alchemy of Souls instead.

-Michi

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[shirefantasies]

How Many Kids Do They Want? LoTR Edition

This is just a headcanon set I like to think about because I love little ones & think all of the characters would make great parents in their own way 🥰 I definitely am going to expand on this in the future but for now enjoy!

Aragorn

He wants to bring a life into the world, but only under good circumstances. When the time comes, he favors a small family he can focus on- one child is enough for him. As much attention as he can possibly give goes to his little one that way, no resentment, no competition, all of the time in Aragorn’s world to spend with those dearest. Despite the pressure to have a son, he is happy to have either a son or a daughter as long as they are happy and healthy and provided for. Aragorn’s child will grow up with an amazing guide to do what is right and care for their friends and family, not to mention learning Elvish and many skills to survive outdoors if need ever arises.

Legolas

Open-minded for sure, but I think he actually leans toward a larger family. No extreme amount, but four or five sounds good to him! Legolas is very caring, patient, and even has a playful side that all lend well to spending time with wee ones. No strong preference on sons or daughters, Legolas cares more for smiling faces and fair hearts. He pretends to be competitive with his children to motivate them, but always caves and lets them win in the end! They’ll all become amazing archers if he has anything to say about it.

Boromir

Having a big family warms Boromir's heart. He wants to be different from his father, carve out space for each and every child individually. Having a big family shows in his mind how much he loves his spouse and can provide for everyone, too. Boromir is definitely the type of dad whose children just come barreling toward the door upon his return home, rocketing into his arms as he manages to catch them all! If you ask him, Boromir's ideal family size would be four or five children. He loves the idea of having a son or sons to train up, but really doesn't want to miss out on having beautiful daughters too, so his hope is for a mix of both. Constantly encouraging his sons and praising every achievement at their passions. The girls are ladies of Gondor and nothing shall take that from them, least of all their father, who is always joining their tea parties and letting them take turns as queens knighting him and each other.

Gimli

Dwarves tend to have smaller families, whether that is by choice or happenstance. Gimli enjoys the idea of having three children, a moderate amount, and of course he really would love a son. He wants a mini-me as they say, a small reflection of himself to share all his favorite things with and teach to defend all that is important to him. Daughters are less common among his people, thus of course they are of great value and would be a blessing were he to have any as well. Gimli would constantly be hyping them up and reminding them that they are worth so much, any man in their life had better treat them so or else!

Frodo

If he were to have children, Frodo favors a smaller family. Growing up, it was just him and his uncle for as long as he remembered, and he likes the idea of being able to focus more on his child. Thus, his perfect family size if you ask is simply one or two children. In his mind there’s something about having a son, perhaps a mirror to his own youth or someone to impart his lessons into in the sense that feels most traditional to his family dynamic, but the idea of having one of each makes him so happy- Frodo’s little girl would have him wrapped around her finger!

Sam

I know I said at one point Sam only wants like three but that’s because I didn’t realize he canonically has so many forgive me. We all know Sam loves the idea of having a big family! Canonically he’s even down to have thirteen children, but of course he is fine with a smaller number too. Just definitely more than one, at least three or four. Sam has so much love to give and he adores bringing life into the world and nurturing it more than anything. Every little one is their own unique person he loves to foster and dote on. He wants some of each of course, but just loves the idea of having little girls especially!

Merry

Really wants one of each. His family will feel like a full package that way and he wants every type of experience he can have, walking a daughter down to her wedding and letting her dress him up and playing games with his son. Teaching both of them how to stand up and fight for themselves, of course! Merry is so the type who wants a mini version of both him and his spouse if he can have it. Would make so many jokes about the little clones and just melt for the child who looks like his partner. Regardless of who she looks like, his little girl has his exact smile and you'll always catch them making it at each other before the next moment of teasing and mischief!

Pippin

Wants so many kids. Five to ten, no problem. Numbers aren’t his concern so long as he can be involved with each and every one of them. Just the type who wants his family to be a small army! Definitely wants to experience having sons and daughters, but statistically he’s going to anyway at his rate! So good at getting down to their level and having the greatest time with them, but also showering them with love and calming words and learning their needs by actually listening. Just Pippin and his little army of fellow neurodivergent sweethearts all with different passions and gifts and special interests.

Faramir

Willing to concede to his partner especially if that’s who actually bears the children. Faramir adores the idea of having a family, of doing everything differently than he experienced, of pouring true love and respect into a little soul doing their best, and that is where his happiness truly lies. A part of him likes the idea of having two sons as full atonement for his and Boromir’s difficult childhood, but even one would make him happy. He is so patient at explaining things to a young mind and his optimism comes out all the more when spending time with a little one- all the world’s beauty is that much brighter!

Eomer

Big family! More than a number he dreams of a boisterous, active home where no one is ever lonely. A warm hearth and the voices of children nearly ever-present. His heart swells as he imagines having one in each hand and plenty more all around him. Eomer, for whatever reason, has the number six in his head. Of course he wants sons, sons to train as fine riders and fighters, but his sister has proved to him that that future is not lost on Rohan’s maid either. He would be so much softer, gentler with his daughter(s), still showing her things like how to shoot an arrow or how he sharpens his blades but with greater care. Gathering everyone for story time is one of Eomer’s greatest delights.

Haldir

For much of his life, Haldir did not think about children, was uncertain that was a future he would even attain. Thus, as the time approaches for consideration he realizes he simply feels blessed by the prospect and is very willing to listen to his partner about their wishes. Granted, he does not wish to live beyond his means or in a way that he could not provide for all he needs to, but in general he is open. The beauty of Lothlórien grows with every new addition, every fair member of elfkind so he is happy with boy(s) or girl(s). He would teach his daughter(s) to walk with grace and uphold their ancient strength and remind his son(s) that honor and respect must center all their actions.

Eowyn

Traditional housewife ‘duties’ were never her desire. Thus, she does not want a large family, though the idea of raising a little life with her partner makes her happy. She only wants one child, maybe two so they can play together, and her family will feel complete. Any child(ren) of hers will surely be active, so she and her spouse will have their hands full with whoever! Strength is a matter of the heart, and Eowyn will raise a strong family no matter if they are male or female. She loves the idea of having a daughter or daughters to share her stories and triumphs with, though- future Shieldmaidens of Rohan!

Arwen

She wants to be able to focus on her family, so ideally not a huge one. Carrying on her legacy and having someone to care for with her partner, a living breathing proof of their love and commitment, is the most important part. She has never been too particular about if the child is a boy or a girl, just that she wants to be there for them and a calming, loving presence in their life as much as possible. So good at holding and reassuring them it’s like magic.

Elrond

Elrond is patient, steady, and he likes to take his time both with his children and between having them. He is happy with a smaller or average-sized family, two or three children. That way he can spend his time, care, wisdom, on them all and lavish Rivendell’s resources on them in different ways. Perhaps they are interested in the rich history, the weapons of old, the art, textiles, the sheer natural beauty of the location. Whatever it may be, he will offer it to them so long as they use it well and with respect. It appeals to him to have one of each, but we all know he would have a soft spot for his daughter!

Lindir

All I can picture is twin dad Lindir. Don’t ask me why, all I know is this man elf has his hands full with a baby on each side. Exasperated but lovingly shaking his head as the two identical little elves/half-elves try to convince him they are their sibling again! Or even having one of each on one fell swoop, teaching them both their favored instrument and singing with them! Lindir doesn't mind so much whether he is to have sons, daughters, each, so long as his children have the finest things in life and know that he shall always give them what he can.

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