#accepting any alternative ideas for who would be who !!!

[justaghostwithbones]

This is so beautifully articulated. I alternate between sprinting forward to moonwalking back… sometimes years. Sometimes I take up residence in that bygone time, and wallow in trying to change it, while imaging I don’t know how that storyline tragically ends. Sometimes I sprint forward then; start building the blocks of the life that I want. I’ll get it partially built… and then… and then… and then… I’m back in the past again, somewhere else this time. Trying to prevent a different moral crime.

But for just about a month now, I’ve held still (with a moment or two of those springs to half-build things; though instead of running backward, I just pause). I’m learning to crawl. I’m building those skills.

(CW: death, grief, suicide, animal death)

Something I’ve learned, so painfully, through so many genuine tragedies—the death of my little family: first my husband of almost ten years… then the first dog we adopted together (and even the people who hate it when others compare human children to pets would fully vouch for the fact that I showed my guys more love and sacrificed more for them than many human parents of human kids), who died spontaneously in my arms from a condition that couldn’t be screened for. He didn’t suffer, it was fast. I wailed when I felt his last breath. I had never felt something die before and it rewrote some of my DNA. I never wanted to outlive my dogs, and I couldn’t believe I had to. I had these primal screams of rage at “God” for everything I had already lost, but my baby deserved peace from me, even if he wasn’t really “there” at the moment, so I swallowed my rage and I held him for over an hour. Talking about everything he was and everything he meant and all of the people he had inspired with his spunky personality as a rescued dog who had done some time in the streets. I pressed my forehead against the top of his head and health my breath, unable to accept he was gone. I listened to songs with his fuzzy, sweet body cradled close to me while I kissed his face.

His “big” brother, whom we adopted a year later than our first guy, but was triple his size deteriorated quickly, and after torturing myself with data and research, I looked into his eyes one day and knew that he was asking me for help. He’d been to veterinary specialists several times in the previous few months, but there was nothing any of them could do for him. It was just age. He was a large breed dog who was at least 14. They kept telling me I couldn’t have done more. I knew the only help I could give him was to let him go. So I made an appointment and planned for him to pass peacefully under a tree my late-husband planted. I took him to the place where my husband and I got married. I gave him all of the carbs he wanted (once he got into the double digits, he felt he earned the right to snag food, and he never met a piece of bread he didn’t love). I took pictures of him against the backdrop of the Rocky Mountains in the summer. I slept on my husband’s side of the bed (because he slept in a raised bed my husband built for him there), so I could pet him all night, every night I still had him. That gold-hearted guy ended up passing two days before this wonderful vet service was scheduled to come to my house… he still couldn’t fully let go, so they made an emergency visit, and he ultimately died in my arms on my late-husband’s side of the bed, after a couple hours of me laying with him and telling him stories and playing him songs and mapping out his irises like they would be my compass, because I had to no idea how to navigate life without his protective instincts. Because I didn’t know if my bones had another loss in them. I silently begged for his wisdom and felt so selfish for not being able to stop time and reverse biology and get more time with him. He loved my husband much more than he loved me, in the beginning, and there was some real poetic beauty in where he chose to let go—he didn’t get up on the bed regularly at that point; he hadn’t for years. But for a couple hours, I got to thank him out loud for everything that I could remember to say out loud. He licked tears off my face. His tail wagged when my mom arrived. I whispered to him until I felt his heart stop, and continued after.

In under 2.5 years, I lost my husband, my career, my health (I still am not allowed to work due to my disabilities), and my babies I’d “raised” for 12, and 11 years, respectively. And I haven’t moved forward. The only reason I’m still alive is that… those weren’t my only two babies. Months before my husband died, he fell in love with a puppy we stumbled upon unintentionally while picking up something from a pet store. We didn’t know there was an adoption event held that day. So just over 5 years ago, now, we adopted a puppy. By now, he’s a “legitimate” service dog (cardiac training), and my best friend and confidante. There have been so many nights where I’ve wanted to unsubscribe from earth but just look at him and know he couldn’t live without me. He is my tether to now, and he is how I’ve navigated losing close family relationships (I didn’t suffer the loss of my husband, career, and babies in a way that was palatable for some people. I didn’t do anything crazy, they admit. I just… cried too much. Wasn’t fun to be around. So they didn’t come around. Or call. Or text. I don’t have any real “social media,” so I wasn’t suffering in their face or anything. I just… wasn’t supposed to suffer at all, somehow). He is the reason I’m working so hard in therapy (and have been for nearly 4 years, but REALLY doing painful work for the past 4 months) in the hopes that I will start to want to wake up. That I will look forward to living. That I am determined to find a way to live and not just exist. That I can build a sustainable way to move forward.

But right now, I’m proud of myself for holding still, even when it hurts everywhere and I know all my internal escape routes, all of the ways I can distract myself, all of my hiding spots, all of the ways I can bleed to distract my brain from its selfish existential suffering. But I’m not using them. I’m just holding still, sometimes shakily, sometimes while holding my breath, sometimes through hours of silent tears running down my face.

It’s a kind of poetic irony that I found this person’s beautiful sentiment—that made my neurons start firing in a way that I could write about things I’ve never been able to speak aloud with any level of detail—on the eve of “spring forward” (though I, along with literally everyone else, hates the fact that we can’t stick to either daylight or standard time year round. It’s literally the only thing there’s true consensus about in the U.S.; sincerely); because that’s what I want to do. Maybe in March I’ll only be crawling, but it’s still forward motion. Because I know I won’t make it through 2025 if it’s like 2024. The world is getting worse and I have every excuse to do the same. The world is getting worse so I refuse to do the same. The world is getting worse so I am going to get better.Not perfect. Not perfectly. Tearfully, painfully, tragically, better. I’m going to keep the coffee dates adults pretend to make. I’m going to meet the neighbors I’ve lived near for 13 years. I’m going to learn how to exist among tragedy without feeling tragic. I’m going to learn to tell the stories of what I’ve lost with the aim of learning to gain things, not as an excuse for why I don’t ever even dare to want anything because I know so deeply the pain of loss. I want to grieve, but not be the physical embodiment of grief. I want to learn how to want things. I want to learn how to say that I want things. I want to learn what I like to do. I want to learn how to find joy and not just be busy.

I want.

how do you reconnect to life after being disconnected for so long

[monabee-draws]

Character Motivation, Inciting Incidents, and Veilguard Backgrounds

Okay, big title for what will likely be a short post but I hope this draws out some cool idea-generation from the fandom. [Spoiler, it got long and out of hand, apologies.]

One crucial aspect of the origin stories in Dragon Age Origins is that it answers the question "Why the hell is the protagonist out here?" in an incredibly definitive way. None of the warden candidates start out wanting to be a warden. Many of them are full-on coerced into it at the end of their storylines by Duncan, and the choice is taken away from them as part of their narrative. They aren't presented with any other option. This is echoed in both Hawke and the Inquisitor's 'inciting incidents' even if we never see their background play out before the tale begins: Hawke is running from the Blight and not only has to leave home, but is actively corralled into going to Kirkwall and staying there by his deal with Asha'bellanar. There is no other option for them - Carver says so outright ("The Wilds are to the south, that's no way out.") The Inquisitor is faced, similarly to a Warden Tabris, with the threat of being hunted down and killed if they don't accept the protection that comes along with playing Herald. You begin the story in chains, and the condition of your release is effacing yourself to become what the Inquisition needs you to become.

None of these stories offer any kind of meaningful alternative to the direction the protagonist must follow to begin the narrative. If Hawke tries to sell or lose the amulet, it reappears. If someone refuses to drink from the chalice at the Joining, Duncan kills them. The Inquisitor has to play along just long enough to prove their innocence to the wider world, and by that point it's impossible to get out of it.

By contrast, Veilguard assumes Rook wants to be here without offering us any reason for them to be (positive or negative.) Now, I'm sure you want to say 'but their backgrounds!' but please, hear me out first. "Rook is a heroic character, they're a good person who wants to save the world and hey the world needs saving!" is a very 'Guardians of the Galaxy' character motivation: Greg lives in the universe so they would very much like said universe to continue existing. From one perspective, this supports Rook's characterisation as (almost) too selfless. Of course they jump onto the Solas bandwagon with Varric and go off to save the world! They're a hero, that's what heroes do. However, this is true of literally everyone in Thedas (except for some reason the Venatori and Antaam, though I guess they want the world to survive in a very specific way, so.) What makes Rook's heroism special? The lack of ability to insert nuance here harms Rook's 'Realness' as a protagonist. We cannot actively roleplay the kind of motivations that would push someone to travel with strangers away from everything they've ever known in pursuit of quarry they're not even sure they understand (Rook is confused in the introduction about Solas' many names, which I read as poor explanation on Varric and Harding's part of the true nature of their quarry; additionally, Laidir's letter from Isabela implies that Varric hasn't really explained Solas to Rook yet in the 'Six Months Ago' letter.)

Yes, each backstory justifies why Rook cannot go home, but why does Rook go with Varric? This aspect of the story is written around - Varric is there and Rook always cares about him. But why? Why not lay low somewhere until your faction drama blows over? For certain backgrounds leaving isn't even required, just suggested, and you could easily relocate your operations for a little while (GW, SD) or stay home away from work (MW, VJ.) Only a Crow and LoF Rook could reasonably expect to be hunted down and killed even if they laid low, maybe Shadow Dragon at a push. The backgrounds are written in such a way as to justify why Varric might see a spark of good in Rook, but give little to no reason why Rook would consider following that spark to work with Varric. I reiterate here: Taking a hard stance and writing Rook as a heroic character IS FINE, but even heroes have motivation. We as the audience NEED to see that to become invested. Not everyone is willing or able to make things up to fill this gap.

This is why, like many others, I think we should have had the opportunity to play through our origin missions rather than merely reading them in character creation/having information drip fed to us (if you're lucky and play a MW or Crow Rook) or not be expanded upon at all during the game. [Disclaimer: Yes wardens absolutely get the most reactivity but not in a way that explains who Rook was, which wardens they knew or areas they worked in, or anything beyond them knowing Antoine and Evka from before.] Show us how we meet Varric, and why we should care about him. Plenty of Tabris' probably hate Duncan, plenty of Broscas and Aeducans probably love him. But all origins give the player the groundwork to decide how that dynamic is going to play out before the character exits the narrative. So when Duncan haunts it - through Alistair, through Loghain, through Wynne's dialogues about duty and sacrifice and through the Landsmeet decisions - it actively draws out an emotional connection.

Veilguard gets away with handwaving a lot of emotional investment because it trusts players have played at least one game with Varric in it already - and if you have, of course you'd love him and follow him to save the world. It is practically impossible to not be friends with Varric in DA2 and Inquisition (unless you make very erratic, specific decisions on purpose.) Would Rook be any different? But there's the rub - Rook doesn't get to decide if they are any different. There is only one option - to travel with Varric to help stop Solas. But because that is never defined - we never see the lack of alternatives, we are never faced with the Blight or the Wilds - the motivation along this single path never arrives. All Wardens have to stop the Blight. All Hawkes have to survive. All Inquisitors have to become the Herald. But we get to see the moments in which that non-choice is made, and it is a crucial moment to understand who a character is, and what kind of narrative they live in, and why they maintain forward momentum along that path. Rook's story is a hero's story - specifically the kind where they actively decide to be that hero - but we never get to be there when the difficulty of that choice occurs.

All that to say, in the end, that I am deeply curious why YOUR Rook decided to try and save the world. What is their relationship with Varric? With the task at hand? If you had to write the recruitment mission or Inciting Incident to reflect your Rook's morals, beliefs, motivations and relation to Varric, what would it look like? These are big questions I wish we could have played out even basically in Veilguard proper, but I'd still like to know. It's a question I struggle with for all of my Rooks, and there's great fanon out there. It would have been nice to not have to rely on that.

[chonkymoth]

I'd like to present an idea to the masses...........

[alchemistc]

He's been good. He's been - pretending to be good well enough that no one has been suspicious.

It's just -

That was it. That was The One.

And sure. He can get back out into the world. He can fall in love again. There is a beautiful man somewhere out in the world who will make him laugh, make him cry.

He's just not sure he wants to put the effort in anymore.

For a hot second he'd really thought -

Not that it matters, anymore.

He's pretty sure his leg is pinned. The cockpit is more smoke than air, at this point. He can feel his toes, but honestly that might be more a curse than a blessing.

He's been staring at the phone in his hand for the last five minutes. Ever since he realized he didn't have the leverage to try to move the bracket keeping him from slipping free of the broken, crunched in door frame.

It's selfish. It's the most selfish fucking thing he's considered since he decided to break his own heart instead of letting someone else.

But logistically he's got about seven minutes until there's too much smoke and not enough air in here, and that's only IF the fire doesn't catch somewhere else.

He's got enough bars. And there are two numbers he could call. Two ways this could go.

The phone rings through four times, and on the fifth, someone answers.

"This is a bad time, Tommy," Eddie says, and Tommy feels a little hysterical. The laughter comes in fits, only slows when he gets a nice good whiff of smoke straight up his nose.

"Sure is."

The tone shifts. "Are you okay?"

"It was a bad idea anyway."

He feels woozy. Glances down at his leg and realizes that stain he'd thought was shadow is... definitely blood.

"Listen. I'm - when Evan gets the call, don't let him go alone. It's my fault for not updating my ICE."

The silence on the other line is deafening. "Tommy, where are you? Don't - don't make any decisions you can't come back from." It's a panned line he'd heard at the VA the half dozen times he'd gone.

"Yeah I didn't really make this decision myself. I'm just - I'm losing a lot of blood, here, and there's not a lot of ways for the smoke to get out of this cabin, and -."

High alert has a very specific sound and feel to it.

Eddie's cursing, something is shuffling, he's snapping his fingers in the distance. God, they're probably at work. "Where are you?"

Tommy rattles off his last known coordinates. "I already told dispatch, Eddie. I'm just. They're not gonna make it in time, and I need you to promise me you won't let him be alone when -."

It'd been a trip he would have been riding shotgun for, if Tommy hadn't made sure he wasn't. He's grateful for that, at least.

He's really not expecting much, he thinks. Eddie doesn't have to go far out of his way to support Buck. It'll hurt him, true. But Tommy's gotten pretty used to being the cause of that. And. He'll be dead, anyway, so he won't have to carry that guilt for long.

And then Eddie betrays whatever vestige of friendship they had left, because it's not Eddie's voice that responds.

"Hey asshole. Do you have enough leverage to break the window?"

He's got a good voice. A little gruff, a little heavy.

Tommy doesn't want this.

"No."

"Actually no, or are you just accepting your fate again without even talking about alternatives."

It's not how he thought he'd go. Dramatic final hour phone call, the end of their relationship as a metaphor for the bleakness of his situation. "I'm sorry, Buck."

He's having trouble focusing his eyes. There's a beat behind his ears that keeps slowing down. He thinks he might be hearing sirens but -

"Evan," Tommy says for the first time in six months. "I'm so sorry, Evan."

He says - something. The tone of it is there, even if he can't quite make out the words.

Tommy blinks. Coughs.

There's a phone in his hands.

Why is there a phone in his hands, he's supposed to be flying a -

He'd crashed it, actually.

Well shit.

Damn.

Eddie's gonna be so pissed if he has to find out second hand that Buck's going to get a really fucking shitty call in a few hours.

He should call.

---

When he blinks open his eyes, he finds his fingers first, nearly has a panic attack when they don't move they way he wants them to, except - oh.

There are fingers interlocked with his.

Tommy follows the line of the arm, even though he knows.

"Sorry," Evan says, and there are tears unshed at the corners of his eyes but he looks mad as hell. "You only get one dramatic exit out of my life in a calendar year."

[loudstan]

You promised

Summary: Jisung unlocked a new fear: you leaving him.

Pairing: Werewolf Jisung X noona female reader

Warnings: smut, insecurities, jealousy, mentions of baby traping, switch Jisung, handcuffs, some angst (you know me)

Note: the first scene takes place during Chenle’s story, so if you haven’t read that one it may be confusing, but you don’t need it. And to my followers: thanks for waiting! This is just a short scenario to get back into writing and grammar/spelling wasn’t checked but oh what the hell, enjoy!

“A WHAT?!”

Jisung's usually deep and quiet voice turned into an uncharacteristic squeal as a response to what his best friend had just confessed. Any other day he would have immediately apologized to the other customers, who jumped and turned around, surprised at his sudden yell, but he was so scandalized that all he cared about right now was for Chenle to tell him he had misheard him.

“A memory loss spell…,” Chenle repeated, his eyes looking empty as he took another sip of beer.

“WHA–,” Jisung caught himself before he could scare everyone in the pub again and proceeded by lowering his voice. “But you two are mated!”

Chenle nodded slowly. “And we are so bad at it that our pack leader himself told us we were better off never seeing each other again. Forgetting the other ever exists.”

Jisung opened and closed his mouth dumbly before trying to come up with an alternative solution. “You guys j-just need some time and–”

“We've been together for months, Jisung. She…,” Chenle sighed and entangled his fingers in his hair with frustration. “She hates me…”

There was a moment of agonizing silence until Jisung's own eyes became watery when he heard a quiet sob coming from Chenle.

“But…” the younger one insisted. “It was so hard for you two to get together…you c-can't just forget everything…”

“Maybe it was hard because we weren't meant to be together,” Chenle said bitterly, still hiding his face behind his palms, like this would keep the other from finding out tears were rolling down his cheeks. “I literally forced her to stay with me and it still didn't work.”

Jisung’s hand hesitantly reached for one of Chenle's to uncover his face and meet his reddened, swollen eyes. “There has to be another way, Chenle.”

Chenle forced a weak smile. “Yeah? What would you do if your mate hated you so much she wanted to forget you and leave you behind?”

Jisung froze. His brain couldn't even phantom the idea of his mate leaving him. He had assumed once a wolf had bitten his partner they were bonded together forever. He had had a really hard time making you understand that he was serious about you and accepting him as a mate. But now he was finding out that not even the mark on your neck could secure you by his side.

“Why? Did she say something to you?” Jisung finally asked, tightening his grasp on Chenle’s wrist.

“No, why would your mate tell me–?” It was Chenle's turn to be confused. “She and I barely interact unless you're around. You know that.”

“Then why would you say that?” The younger wolf insisted, not letting go of the other.

“I was just asking what you would do if she wanted to leave–”

“She won't,” Jisung stated. “She fucking won't.”

“I'm not saying she will!” Chenle insisted, with a frustrated groan and forcing Jisung's fingers to let go of him. “I'm asking for advice! What would you do in this kind of situation?”

Jisung sat back and exhaled shakily, trying to get a grip. Right, you weren't actually leaving him. It was all hypothetical, because you would never ever do that to him. It was impossible, considering the way you looked at him with so much attention and adoration that he often forgot what he wanted to say and blushed like an idiot. Or the way you played with his hair when you cuddled. Or the way you stuttered whenever you paid close attention to his hands. Or the way your body arched when he touched you…

No, he was sure you would never do that to him. But if he ever found out you had such thoughts he would–

“Take her far away,” he murmured, still lost in his thoughts, and not even aware he was saying it out loud. “Somewhere no one else could find us. Just the two of us. And keep her there for as long as I have until she changes her mind. Make sure she needs me the way I need her. Baby trap her if I have to–”

“You're terrified of children,” Chenle pointed out, taking Jisung out of his trance.

JIsung blinked quickly and looked at Chenle with wide eyes. “Huh?”

“Being a dad scares you,” Chenle reminded him, arching his eyebrows inquisitively. “Yet you said you would… baby trap your mate?”

“B-baby–,” Jisung stuttered, blushing. “I didn't…I– did I?”

Chenle squinted at him, momentaneously forgetting about his own problem because something was clearly wrong with Jisung as well. “Are you having your rut anytime soon?”

“Yeah, I–this weekend probably, uh…yeah…”

“That's why you're saying weird things…” Chenle sighed. “You have the most possessive instinct I've ever seen in a werewolf.”

Jisung laughed awkwardly.

Chenle analyzed the younger man as he fidgeted on his chair. For a while now, he had been wondering if they were losing Jisung to his animal side because sometimes he did and said things that his introvert best friend would never.

Should he alert the others? Just in case?

His thoughts were interrupted by Jisung spilling beer all over his clothes and clumsily trying to clean up after himself. Chenle snorted and grabbed some tissues to help him.

What was he even thinking?

Jisung wasn't dangerous.

So Chenle pushed those thoughts away to focus on his own problems with his partner.

Jisung, on the other hand, couldn't stop thinking about that stupid hypothetical scenario. He kept telling himself that things were fine, that you had shown no sign of wanting to end things and that he had nothing to worry about.

Until the moment his rut was due.

You both had planned to spend it together in your apartment, because he was too shy to do it at his place, with the rest of the pack around. He showed up with a backpack with clothes and some essentials, trembling hands, and a light blush on his cheeks. The implications of what he was here to do made him feel dirty, but at the same time he had been anticipating this all week. His rut hadn’t started yet, but he was already feeling a little feverish and weak, so you made sure to take good care of him by drying his hair after a shower, feeding him something light, and cuddling him to sleep.

You caressed his face gently as he inhaled and exhaled peacefully. He was adorable. It was hard to believe he had presented as an alpha.

You pressed your thighs together at the memories flooding your head. You were feeling a bit needy since the moment he had shown up at your door, but you knew it was better to let him rest during pre-rut, so you pulled away and got up, walking out of the room quietly.

Grabbing your phone and your wallet, you decided to go to a store nearby before it was too late, so you could buy some extra snacks. Last time Jisung had devoured everything he could find in your kitchen once he wasn’t feeling horny anymore, so it was better to be prepared. But as soon as you opened the front door, it was slammed closed by Jisung, who was towering over you from behind.

“Where are you going?” his raspy deep voice asked, panting next to your ear.

“I–,” You tried to turn around to face him but he growled, so you stayed still. “I was g-gonna buy us some snacks–”

“We have plenty,” he said curtly. “You checked earlier.”

“We could get some more, you know, just in case?”

“In case of what?”

“In case you need more food? You’re a big boy and–”

“Man.”

Right, he hated you calling him that. “You’re a grown man,” you rephrased, stressing the word that seemed to be so important to him. “And you may get hungry.”

“Hungry?” he echoed, taking a step back to give you some space to turn around and look into your eyes. He didn’t seem to fully believe you.

“Yes. So don’t worry about it, and go back to bed, okay?” you said, pushing him lightly to guide him back to the bedroom.

But suddenly he grabbed your wrist and pulled you into the room with him, locking the door behind him and leaning on it as if he was guarding it.

“You can’t,” he said, barely audibly.

“What?” you asked, dumbfounded.

“You can’t leave me,” he clarified, speaking up slightly. “You s-said– you said you would spend my rut with me.”

“I–, it’s just the store…”

Lies.

“Lies,” Jisung repeated what the voice in his head told him.

“Wha– why would I lie about that?” you asked, cupping his face.

“You can’t forget me,” he pleaded.

“Forget you?”

“You regret this,” he rambles incoherently. “You regret us.”

“No!” you quickly reassured him, pressing your palm more firmly against his fevered cheeks. “Of course not! I love you.”

His gaze softened and he nosed your palm. “Promise?”

“I promise,” you whispered.

Jisung fought the voice in his head telling him that you’re deceiving him. That you’re waiting for him to lower his guard to sneak out and disappear forever.

With a pained groan he pulled you closer by your waist and kissed you urgently, hoping this would shut his wolf up. And it worked, for a moment, because he was very distracted by your tiny gasp and your fingertips grazing his nape.

But it came back quickly. As he walked you back to the bed and pushed you gently on it, his wolf insisted.

She’s playing dumb.

Jisung glared at you, but he didn’t see any malice in your flustered, confused, pretty face. He shook his head, as a way to tell his wolf that he was being stupid and got on top of you occupying himself by placing wet kisses on your neck and collarbone.

You’re a poor excuse of an alpha.

He growled, giving you goosebumps and wondering what had him so worked up.

You think she’ll stay with you, when you’ve barely presented?

She doesn’t actually see you as a man. You have to remind her all the time.

He sucked on your neck and dug his fingers into your waist.

“Jisungie…”

She’s leaving as soon as she finds out about the memory spell.

“Fuck,” he growled, and his fingertips were pressed a little bit too hard on your soft skin.

“Ji, hold on–” you winced, grabbing his hands and trying to soften his grip.

If you don’t do something, she’ll disappear.

“FUCK! I KNOW!” he exclaimed, grabbing your wrists and holding them above your head, catching you by surprise.

You look up at him with wide eyes, wondering what you have done to upset him. His furious expression switches to a remorseful one.

“I–uh…I wasn’t yelling at you, noona…”

“...Then who?” you barely whispered.

“Me…I mean, not me, but…that side of me,” he mumbled.

You gulp and try to free your hands, but his grip tightens. “What is that side of you saying?”

He shook his head. “Nothing, it’s dumb,” he said quickly.

“It’s not dumb if it makes you react like this,” you insist.

He keeps quiet, biting his lip. “Just…don’t go, kay?” he finally says.

You nod. “If we need more food I’ll just order some.”

“No, I don’t mean–,” he sighed. “Not just the store. I mean…in general.”

“Ji, I’m your girlfriend,” you rolled your eyes. “And I literally have your mark on my neck. Where would I go?”

“What if there was a way to leave me, even after being marked?”

“Like what?” you asked, genuinely curious, but he mistook your curiosity for eagerness.

“Why do you want to know so badly?” he asked with an accusatory tone.

“Oh my god, Jisung,” you laughed incredulously. “You are the one who brought it up! I just asked a question!”

“Don’t laugh at me, noona,” he warned you, but his voice broke.

At that moment you understood that his pre-rut was probably messing with his head and that he really thought you wanted to leave him.

“How can I prove it to you?” you asked him seriously. “What can I do?”

He licked his lips and his reddened eyes traveled from your face to your captive hands. “I don’t know if it would prove anything, but… it would make me feel…better.”

“Anything,” you encouraged him. “Just tell me what it is.”

“Okay, uh…I’m gonna– c-can you close your eyes?” he asked nervously. “And don’t move,” he added when he freed your hands.

You nodded and closed your eyes, trying to comply with his simple requests, knowing that he was in a very vulnerable state and needed as much reassurance as possible. You felt his presence gone when he got up, his hurried steps, the zipper of his backpack, and what sounded like him looking for something. Then, he hurried back, and you felt the warmth emanating from his body on top of yours, while something tickled your wrists and then, a sudden click sound made you snap your eyes open.

“Jisung?” you opened your eyes to see his hungry gaze fixated on your wrists, which you couldn’t move. You looked up to see both of your hands handcuffed to the bed frame, with a pink fluffy pair of cuffs adorning your wrists like bracelets. “Ji, what–”

“Haechan hyung gave these to me,” he said, sitting back to appreciate the view. “I know he was just trying to mess with me when he packed them in my bag, but…they ended up being useful…”

You laughed nervously. You had never had your movements restricted in this type of context, and Jisung being the one to do it was unexpected. “Ji, there’s no need for this. I told you I won’t go anywhere.”

“Yeah,” he agreed, touching the cuffs and grazing your forearm delicately. “Now you won’t.”

“Then how am I going to touch you?” you pouted, trying to reason with him.

He halted and frowned. He hadn’t considered that. He really liked you touching him, but was it safe to uncuff you now?

Absolutely not.

“Later,” he declared.

“Later when?”

He bit his lip. For him, later meant when your legs were trembling so much you wouldn’t be able to go anywhere. “Later,” he repeated.

“Can I at least get a kiss, then?” you asked.

“...You want that?”

“Do I want to kiss my handsome boyfriend? Duh, of course, Ji!”

A timid smile formed on his lips. For a moment he forgot all the negative thoughts that had plagued his mind and all he saw was you, pliant under him, wanting him, loving him.

He leaned closer and placed a soft kiss on your lips, delighted at the way you immediately whined when he pulled away.

“Want more?”

You nodded and he kissed you again, licking your bottom lip suggestively only to pull away again when you parted your lips.

“Ji…”

“Hm?”

“More…”

He complied, kissing you slowly and sensually, occasionally pulling away only to hear you whine and press his lips on yours more urgently than before.

But of course his wolf wasn’t done tormenting him.

She’s trying to free herself.

His hands flew to your wrists to check that the cuffs hadn’t magically opened during your makeout session.

“What are you doing?” he asked agitatedly, as the insecurities started coming back.

“Kissing you?” you breathed out confusedly.

Distracting you.

“You keep pulling at the cuffs,” he said, looking at you like you with wide eyes, like you had betrayed him.

“I didn’t– I didn’t even notice, I–..I just wanted to feel you closer…”

You could tell by his conflicted expression that he didn’t believe it.

“Ji, don’t you trust me?”

His eyes widened and he withdrew his hands. “I…I trust you but…”

He stared at you, opening and closing his mouth dumbly. He trusted you. He loved you. But his stupid rut was making him dumb and his wolf kept telling him that you were still trying to distract him. Maybe it would shut up if he was the one distracting you instead.

Before you could ask him to explain what was wrong, he repositioned himself between your legs and took off your shorts swiftly.

You gasped and tried to close your legs out of reflex, but he held them open effortlessly by grabbing your knees, his eyes fixated on the wet patch on your panties.

“Ji?”

He let out a sound between a moan and a relieved sigh. You were turned on because of him. You weren’t lying when you said you wanted him. He caressed your mound with his fingertips, barely grazing the fabric, but it was enough to have your legs flinching.

Taste her.

Fuck yes, they finally agreed on something. He nodded quickly (to what, you didn’t know) and removed the tiny piece of clothing from you before diving in. He made out with your folds gently, adding his tongue to the formula encouraged by your moans.

“You’re so good at this, Jisungie…” you praised, lost in pleasure.

He moaned and humped the bed, sucking a bit harder.

“Ah!” you gasped, opening your legs wider for him. “Can tell you ate out a lot of girls…”

He shook his head absentmindedly, unconsciously creating a new pattern with his tongue that made you see stars.

“No?” you insisted. “Are you sure?”

His eyebrows furrowed, and he detached his lips from your center to look up at you, confused. Why were you talking about other girls? “What?”

“Just a thought…” you murmured, looking away, a little embarrassed. This was something that had bugged you since your first time with him, but you hadn’t been dating for long and there had been no chance to bring it up. He knew about your past with Jaehyun, but he never mentioned anything about his previous partners. It shouldn’t matter, but you were so curious…and maybe a bit insecure. Now you felt silly. “It’s nothing–”

“Tell me,” he commanded. His voice was soft, but firm.

You sighed. “Remember our first time together?”

He hummed and kissed your inner thigh. How could he forget?

“Well…you uh…acted like you knew exactly what to do…”

He blushed. “Oh…”

“Yep…” you nodded, waiting for him to admit to his promiscuous past.

“I just–I read online what girls like…” he hesitated. “I watched some videos too…I wasn’t too sure about what you would be into, so I just did whatever that felt right…”

“There’s no way that was the first time you gave someone head,” you said incredulously.

“It was…”

“You even made me sit on your face!”

He groaned, pressing his hips harder on the mattress at the memory. “Did you like it?”

“Y-yes, but…”

“It was so good…” he whispered, going back to flicking your clit with the tip of his tongue.

“Oh…” you arched your back and tried to remember what you were talking about.

“T-then…to the other girls, the ones before me–”

“There’s no one before you,” he said between licks.

“R-right, like a guy like you doesn’t–ah! d-doesn’t have girls lining up to suck you off…”

He paused and looked up at you again. “Noona, are you…jealous?”

You could feel your ears getting hot at the accusation and looked away.

“You are!” he exclaimed. He sounded relieved. Happy even.

She’s possessive of you too.

The sound of his laugh angered you a little, but you couldn’t think of a comeback with the way he suddenly sucked your clit into his mouth and moaned loudly.

“AH! F-fuck!” you moaned, fighting the cuffs uselessly.

He circled your clit with his tongue a few times before going down a little to circle your entrance. You squealed when his tongue entered you, drinking all you had to offer. His eyes rolled back when he felt you contracting around the slippery muscle, and he went deeper, rubbing his nose on your clit just enough to make you come with a gasp, releasing directly in his mouth.

He licked you clean softly until your legs were shaking, landing one last kiss on your hip and resting his head on your stomach before he spoke again. “You’re the only one I’ve done this with, noona.”

You breathed out shakily. “What about o-other things?”

“Went on a few dates when I was a teen. Nothing serious,” he admitted. “And there was this girl…she gave me a handjob a couple of years ago…”

You felt your stomach drop. Jealousy really was an ugly feeling. But you tried not to sound too disappointed. “Oh, that’s…nice…”

“I moaned your name,” he confessed.

“You WHAT?!”

“I had already imprinted on you,” he mumbled, drawing figures with his finger on your belly. “I was really horny but you wouldn’t even look at me. I thought it wouldn’t hurt to try…maybe gain some experience…but it didn’t feel good and I uh– couldn’t cum until I thought about you and then–yeah…”

“...That’s it?”

“Well, she told everyone I was small down there after that incident, so not many girls tried to approach me. I didn’t want anyone else so it worked out great, I guess…” he murmured, kissing his way back to your center. “And then I finally got to make you mine…”was the last thing he said before he started eating you out again.

“Jisung! Hold on, w-wait–” you squirmed under him, because there was no way he was planning to keep going when you were still sensitive from the previous orgasm.

“Don’t move,” he groaned.

“I think one w-was enough–ah!”

“But you said I was good,” he reasoned, giving you a long lick.

“Y-you are, Ji, you’re s’ good b-but– Oh, my g-god!” you moaned when he gave your clit little kitten licks that added to the painful pleasure. “Jisung, Jisungie, please–”

He circled your thighs with his arms and sucked hard, chuckling when you screamed his name.

She’s perfect like this.

“Ji, p-please, please,” you mumbled, shaking like a leaf at the new orgasm approaching too fast, too strong, too much–”JISUNG! F–...Aaah!”

He hummed, approving of the embarrassing sound that escaped your lips as you came in record time because of him. He rutted the bed and his dick twitched at the thought of doing it again and again–

“Jisungie, no m-more…” you begged, tugging at the cuffs desperately.

He sighed and climbed up to grab your wrists. “Stop that,” he warned you. “I told you already: you can’t leave.”

“I’m not trying to leave,” you whined.

“Then stop squirming and let me make you feel good,” he said, trying to go down on you again only for you to quickly close your legs and turn to your side. “Noona!”

You shook your head and he growled, easily manhandling your legs open for him to fit between them once again.

“Enough,” he said, his voice sounding deeper, dangerous. His red eyes and his body temperature made it clear that his rut was about to start, and his alpha instinct was not happy with your behavior. “You’re my mate,” he reminded you, like you could ever forget that.

You nodded.

She’s yours.

“You’re mine,” he said, pinching the soft skin of your thigh.

“Y-yes…,” you whimpered.

You can–

“--Taste you as many times as I want,” he declared, starting to lower his head again.

“BUT–But I want to taste you too,” you said quickly.

Jisung visually malfunctioned, halting his movement and looking at you with wide eyes, then frowning like he thought you may be deceiving him.

“Please, Ji, don’t you want my mouth?”

He could feel the precum staining his pajama pants. “Noona’s mouth?”

Instead of replying, you parted your lips, opening wide and sticking your tongue out slightly, all while maintaining eye contact with him and being cuffed to the bed. No video online had prepared Jisung for such a view.

He had never moved so fast in his life, straddling your chest and pulling the elastic of his pants down just enough for his erection to pop out.

“Want it,” he panted, placing his hips closer to your face. When he felt the first lick on the tip he moaned loudly, grabbing onto the very same bed frame you were cuffed to for support. “Yes, noona, please– Oh!”

You circled the head with your tongue playfully before bobbing your head slightly, loving the way his abdomen contracted and his head fell back in pleasure.

“I love your mouth so much, noona–” he rambled, trying his best (and failing miserably) not to thrust his hips into the delicious warmth.”C-can you take some more?? Just a little–Ooohh yes, yes–Ah!”

You felt a little bad for all those girls who blindly believed he had a small dick and avoided him in the past, because they clearly missed out, but at the same time you were thankful that only you could see him like this. You had never been too possessive but for him… you obviously were.

He lowered his hips even more, caging you under him and starting to fuck into your mouth. “I’m gonna—just ah…just like this– you don’t mind, yeah, noona?”

You moaned, making his legs tremble due to the pleasurable vibrations. “Fuuuck,” he groaned, grabbing your hair with one of his hands to keep you in place as he went faster, deeper. “Yeah, noona, like t-that ah, ah, haa…” he let out a whimper when you gagged.

It felt so good he just had to use his other hand too, now grabbing your head with both of them to bring you impossibly closer. You choked and teared up when your nose touched his navel, and nothing could describe the bliss that took over him, finally cumming down your throat with a deep groan.

“Oh–Ooohhh, f-fuck…”

You coughed and whined when he finally let go of your head, trying to calm down the burning sensation in your throat. Once the tears subsided and you were able to focus again, you noticed that your boyfriend’s hard cock was still on your face, as he jerked off furiously.

“Haa, haa…” he panted heavily, getting off at the beautiful sight under him.

“Jisung–” you were interrupted by your own gasp at the drops landing on your face.

“Aaah!” he moaned, forcing himself to keep his eyes open to watch his cum paint your face. “Pretty, s-so pretty…” he sighed, finally slowing down to a stop and climbing off you…and going straight back to eating you out.

“NO!” You shrieked, squirming and kicking.

“You’re wet again,” he pointed out, not bothered by your aimless kicks, still licking your folds.

“Of course I’m wet! I’m with you,” you tried to defend yourself.

He let out a soft moan. “You can’t say something like that and not expect me to pleasure you until you go numb.”

“I want you to fuck me!” you whined, making him malfunction for the second time in a day.

“Yeah?” he breathed out, boring his eyes into you.

“Please, alpha,fuck me–”

You didn’t need to tell him twice. Actually, you couldn’t even finish the sentence before he was sitting up and sliding into you, causing you to let out a broken moan. It had been a couple of weeks since you last had him inside of you like this. Not because you weren’t horny, but because he insisted on letting you rest as much as possible before his rut to avoid hurting you. But what he achieved instead was to make both of you lose your minds as soon as he entered you.

“Haa…” he let out a shaky breath, pulling out and pushing back in weakly, fighting the dizziness that took over his body.

You tugged again, desperately wanting to touch him. “Ji, take these off,” you begged.

He shook his head. “I like you like this,” he admitted, fucking into you again.

You whined. “I want them off!” you insisted.

“And I want to keep you tied to the bed forever,” he whispered, drunk in pleasure and lust, accelerating the movement of his hips to have you moaning weakly. “Pumping you full again, a-and again–Mmh…waking you up with m-my tongue that y-you like aah…you like s’much…”

You curled your legs around his waist, bringing your bodies closer together and he sobbed.

“N-noona…Close–” he admitted, embarrassed. There was something so arousing about having you so vulnerable under him, with no choice but to take everything he gave you.

Pups.

He gasped and stilled his hips, much to your dismay. You tried to move under him, tried to make him hit that spot again, but he quickly grabbed your hips too and kept them in place.

“One s-second, noona…” he said with a pained tone.

“It’s okay, Ji, I’m close too,” you assured him, not knowing what the real problem was.

“That’s not–”

Give her your pups.

“Oh, fuck,” he whispered, looking at your belly.

Now, before she tries to leave again.

He quickly looked at your wrists which already had some marks due to the chaffing of the cuffs, and then back at your stomach.

“Jisung?” you asked nervously. Something was off with him since he arrived. He looked like he was constantly fighting something, but what?

He finally looked into your eyes, and his were clouded with tears.

“What’s wrong?” you asked.

“Do your wrists hurt?” he asked back, his voice barely audible.

“Oh,” you had forgotten about it for a minute. “Just a little,” you admitted. “But if it makes you feel more at ease…”

As soon as you said you felt pain, even if it was just a little, he reached for the key on the nightstand and unlocked the handcuffs. He waited anxiously for your next move, but you immediately grabbed onto him, pulling his upper body towards you and hugging him tightly.

You felt him sigh on your neck and pepper it with kisses. “You’re staying?”

“Of course I am,” you said. “Do you trust me?” you asked once again.

He nodded.

“Then I want you to relax and let me do something, okay?”

He nodded again, but he tensed when he felt you push against his chest.

“It’s okay,” you assured him.

He slowly relaxed and let you move, and in a few seconds you had him on his back with you on top, his hard cock still pulsating inside of you. With wild eyes, he moaned softly at the sight. Having you under him was hot, but you on top was crazy. He didn’t think he could choose. His hands immediately held onto your waist as you started bouncing on his cock hard and fast. If he was close before, he was going to explode now.

Cum inside.

He whined, but he didn’t have the strength nor the will to stop you. Instead, he thrust up into you, trying to ignore his wolf’s words. He looked up at you, eyes full of doubt.

“Wanna cum inside, baby boy?” you purred, feeling your climax approach again.

Yesyesyesyes…

His mouth opened into a silent moan, and he nodded.

You smiled and leaned in for a kiss, moaning as he held you in place to take his thrusts.

Fuck her until it takes.

He shook his head. “Noona’s on the pill,” he mumbled against your lips, licking your lips and swallowing your moans while saying (what you thought were) incoherent words. “‘s okay, it;s okay it’s…It’s s-safe…”

“That’s what’s been bothering you?” you laughed softly, kissing his cheek lovingly. “It’s not the first t-time we do this, y-you know it’s safe–AH!”

It wasn’t the first time you slept together, but it was the first time his wolf asked asked for pups and Jisung was freaking out because now was a terrible moment to be a dad but —

“Noona, noona, noona–oh, oh, oh–OOOHH!”

He let go, and his knot finally started forming, keeping you both in place while he filled you with his seed, and his wolf purred with delight. You rutted against his pelvis a couple of times until your own body trembled with pleasure, collapsing on top of him and into his arms. He held you tightly and let you rest for a bit. After all, this had just been his pre-rut. You both needed to rest before the actual rut started.

Pups…

He nodded, smiling dumbly and allowing himself to enjoy this fantasy only this time.

[f1shart]

thinking about buzz beating up the curious brothers again. like what do you mean

but buzz is older than them?? time to dissect this (and by that i mean overly complicate it!!)

Making Sense of Buzz Grunt Beating the Shit Out of the Curious Brothers (and Loki)

I went into this assuming that, considering how old Buzz is, him beating up the Curious brothers + Loki as a teenager was statistically impossible, especially considering their age in actual human years—but was I wrong? Is it actually possible that Buzz did fight them within the time he spent as a teenager?

First, some supporting information.

Age Conversions Based on Adult Lifestage

Buzz: Day 14 or 43 years old Pascal: Day 10 or 38 years old Loki: Day 9 or 36 years old Vidcund: Day 6 or 32 years old Lazlo: Day 1 or 25 years old

These aren't even my own age headcanons for them (except Buzz's which is surprisingly accurate), just calculations. If you want to know how I got them then feel free to ask 😇

Evidence Provided by Memories

As seen in the picture, Buzz fought everyone "as soon as he aged up." However, it's possible he just has no memories of early teenhood.

Pascal similarly gained the memory as soon as he aged up. This idea is more plausible with him because he was accepted into private high school after the fact. Sure, in gameplay, this can happen as late as the last day as a teenager, but I doubt this is what Maxis was trying to convey since they literally handpicked these memories. Meaning: Buzz beat him up in middle school…?

Loki's only teen memory is losing the fight.

According to the Sims Wiki, Vidcund has no memory of Buzz beating him up (how hard did he hit him?)

Similar to Loki and Pascal, Lazlo's first memory as a teenager is getting beat up by Buzz.

Is This Possible In Normal Gameplay?

Disregarding any other family memories that arose around the time (I do NOT want to try to decipher the entire Curious timeline), the fight memories are in fact possible with their Sim ages.

The teen lifespan in The Sims 2 is 15 days long. Buzz is 4 days older than Pascal, 5 days older than Loki, 8 days older than Vidcund, and 13 days older than Lazlo.

Ensuring that everyone still falls within the teen lifestage, I made a table of the earliest and latest possible ages everyone could have been when Buzz attacked:

Converting their teen days into human years, Buzz either beat them all up as an 18 year old OR slowly picked them off until age 17 which is right before he kissed Lyla. None of this, however, is possible based on the initial age calculations.

Buzz's Attacks Based On the Adult Age Conversions

Buzz is 5 years older than Pascal, 7 years older than Loki, 11 years older than Vidcund, and 18 years older than Lazlo. There are two ways we can interpret their memories: either the Curious brothers + Loki were teenagers when Buzz attacked, or Buzz was a teenager when he started attacking them.

On the basis that Buzz is still a teenager, and assuming each fight happened in close proximity to one another, he specifically had to have been 18 years old when each one happened. This makes Pascal a 13 year old, Loki an 11 year old, Vidcund a 7 year old, and Lazlo…a newborn. ☠️ Alternatively, Buzz may have started younger and continued fighting until 18, the only teen year he could have possibly encountered Lazlo in.

If that seems implausible, then maybe Buzz wasn't a teenager and instead beat the boys up as soon as they turned thirteen. This would make him 18 for Pascal, 20 for Loki, 24 for Vidcund, and 31 for Lazlo. (Side note: Tank and Ripp would have been born by then.)

Conclusion

Regardless of whether you base it on Buzz been a teen or the victims being teens, him beating up Lazlo looks pretty bad. And if you go by gameplay rules, everything flows surprisingly well. According to normal gameplay AND real-life age conversions, Buzz is a big meanie who beat up at least one kid as a legal adult, at least with the age conversion system I used…

Me personally, I think he was college-aged when he started bullying them. (Or maybe they attacked him? Plot twist.) Of course, what I discussed weren't the only possibilities, but they should give a good idea of how things actually went… and maybe they can inspire your own headcanons! ^_^

this is such a useless pseudo-essay LMFAOO

[torchwood-99]

Eowyn and Romance

Something I truly appreciate about Eowyn is that she, from the start, a romantic being, and (although not explicitly so) a sexual one, as in she obviously feels both romantic and sexual desires.

Often the rebellious female lead will chafe at the prospect of marriage, only to change her mind when the "right man" comes along. I tire of this narrative, not because I begrudge female characters who dislike the idea of romance and marriage and sees hem as the antithesis to freedom, but because I loathe the narrative of them "learning a lesson" and "mending their ways".

Marriage and romance, when both are unwanted, are a denial of freedom and autonomy, and in patriarchal societies where wife is subservient to husband, particularly so.

Eowyn however associates romantic love and marriage not to a lack of freedom, but an escape to it. And this makes sense when we consider the cage that Eowyn is kept in.

Eowyn already takes on the "domestic" burden of the wife, running her uncle's household and acting as his nurse. As his niece, his adopted daughter and his subject, Eowyn is in a position of utter subservience to him. Yet as his nurse, he is dependant upon her.

This does not balance out their relationship and result in some sort of equality, it means that Eowyn has to endure all the submission of being a dependant, without the relief from obligations or duties, and all the labours and responsibilities of being a provider, without any of the authority or power.

Although Eowyn is mistress of the hall, she is not mistress of her own hall. She is not a queen, and if Theodred, later Eomer, were to wed, her rank as leading lady would be supplanted.

As Theoden's nurse, she is also carrying the burden of being the family caretaker in the family, tending to Theoden's needs, and also stifling her own unhappiness before her family in order to fulfil her duty. Emotionally she is trapped, stuck by tending to the feelings of others, as much as she is physically.

All of this has resulted in Meduseld becoming a cage for Eowyn.

To be married would be to take her away from Meduseld. To be married would be to lift her from an estate she finds demeaning. To be married would be to be mistress of her own home.

And when we look at the men she is attracted to, and the qualities that attract her, we see how different the sort of love and relationship she hopes to have are to the one she has with Theoden.

Aragorn and Faramir are strong, and powerful in a way that Theoden has not been. Eowyn's sense of identity has been tied up in Theoden, so Theoden's infirmity and, by her understanding, his "shame" has become her own, helped along by Grima's manipulation. On a more practical level, Theoden's dependency on her is extremely limiting to her own freedom and opportunities.

Eowyn is immediately attracted to Aragorn because of his power, and Faramir's strength of a warrior is one of the first things she notices about him. To be joined in a union with them would be to be associated with their power. To be married to them would be to have a function and existence beyond that off dry nurse.

While Aragorn and Faramir are noted to be fierce warriors, they're gentle too, Faramir in particular is defined more by gentleness than he is warrior prowess. He is a warrior by necessity, a nurturer by nature. As the assigned caretaker of her family, to be married to someone who would take equal (if not outright greater) responsibility for both of their physical and emotional welfare is pivotal for Eowyn to gain her freedom.

Whereas marriage is often seen as the alternative to ambition, romance an alternative to fighting, when Eowyn offers her love to Aragorn, acceptance would not have taken the form of marriage, but of joining him on his ride to the Paths of the Dead. For Eowyn, to be a warrior is to be free, and her vision of life with Aragorn is that of two warriors, side by side. That is how she envisions marriage.

Although post war Eowyn turns towards healing as opposed to slaying, Faramir acknowledges Eowyn as a warrior, and celebrates her for her deeds and her valour. And while Eowyn no longer wishes to be a shieldmaiden, taking joy "only" in the songs of slaying (that "only" suggesting that she will still take joy in them, and will maintain a part of her shieldmaiden identity), the desire to heal, to grow things, is a wish shared with Faramir, and when they embark on that journey, it's one they do as equals.

Eowyn has been pigeonholed into the role of family caretaker, and her family sees her entirely through that lens. As a result, they not only fail to see her true desires and ambitions, they not only fail to acknowledge her as a warrior, but they also fail to fully appreciate that she needs care, emotional care, in turn.

It is Eowyn's duty to give care, not receive it. It is Eowyn's duty to facilitate their deeds, not achieve her own. It is Eowyn's duty to celebrate their feats, not be celebrated in turn.

And Eowyn performs this role, she allows them to maintain this view of herself by internalising her unhappiness, her frustration and despair, because she sees it as a her duty to do so.

She finally drops the performance in front of Aragorn, and reveals to him just how as despairing she is. Aragorn does not fail to see beyond Eowyn's mask, and in his speech in the Houses of Healing shows he acknowledges both her suffering and her courage, but he does not free her.

He instructs her to resume the performance, and to try to content herself with one more doing all the labours that no one remembers, the valour that goes without renown.

Faramir meets Eowyn, and he sees she is wounded, she is sorrowful, he sees she is proud, he sees she is beautiful, he sees she is a maiden, "young and sad".

When Faramir is falling in love with Eowyn, he notices she looks "queenly", suitable for one whose deeds have put her, in Aragorn's words, on an even standing with the queens of old.

When Faramir asks Eowyn to marry him, he tells her he does not pity her, because she is a "lady high and valiant" and has performed deeds that will not be forgotten.

When Eowyn says she wishes to become a healer, and love all things that grow, Faramir eagerly agrees, and says, if she wills it, they will go to Ithilien and grow a garden there, and all things will grow with joy in Eowyn's presence.

Faramir sees all aspects of Eowyn. Eowyn the sorrowful. Eowyn the beautiful. Eowyn the queen. Eowyn the valiant. Eowyn the legend. Eowyn the healer. Eowyn the gardener.

Faramir sees all these parts of Eowyn, and one is not diminished by the other. Her valour isn't compromised by her vulnerability. Her need for care isn't compromised by her ability to lead.

This is reciprocated on Eowyn's part. Beregond bemoans that people fail to appreciate Faramir's capabilities as a warrior, because he is b nature more of a scholar and a nurturer. Eowyn immediately notices Faramir's strength and his gentleness, she is able to see the multitudes in him that she wishes to have seen in her.

It is notable she meets Faramir at a time when both of them are injured. Faramir is in a place of vulnerability as Theoden was, but Faramir is under the care of the healers. Eowyn's company helps to heal him, he wishes her to walk with him because he thinks it will be a comfort to be with her, but the bulk of his care is shared out by trained healers, for whom treating the sick is a profession, a calling perhaps, but not a familial duty that defines every facet of their existence.

Eowyn does not choose to be with Faramir in the place of choosing freedom. She chooses Faramir because the love he offers, the understanding he offers, the capabilities he possesses, will free her, in a way that Eowyn has been desiring and longing for.

[cthulhus-curse]

Extra Credit

Pairing: Natasha Romanoff x Reader

Word Count: 6,020

Warnings: Age Difference, Alluded CSA, Alternate Universe - College/University, Angst, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, Smut, Teacher-Student Relationship | 18+ Minors DNI

A/N: Hopefully I scheduled this & the other fics correctly and not for the following year because I may no longer be around to fix it.

Summary: A series of snapshots of loving months alongside your professor which lead up to one of the most difficult decisions you’ve made in your life.

“Good morning, sunshine. Ready for another day of work?”

Although exhaustion ripped through your body, the sound of the woman’s voice made you smile. You learned to enjoy it through the past few weeks. Each day you woke up at what felt like the crack of dawn and went straight to work. Although it was right on campus, an office not too far from your dormitory, you weren’t used to being awake at such early hours. At least the pay was good and your boss was even better, you mused. 

“I can’t wait,” you replied flatly. Your boss, Professor Romanoff, came up to the desk you called a home ever since being hired. She held up two cups – one was her usual morning coffee and the other scalding hot chocolate topped off by a mountain of whipped cream. As always, she called you a child for picking that over anything caffeine-heavy. “Thanks for this.”

“No problem, sweetheart. Gotta keep my little assistant awake enough to get through the day,” Natasha chuckled. “Don’t worry, it won’t be heavy for you. We just have to get through grading some papers and then the rest of the shift is yours.”

The smirk remained plastered over your features as she handed you the hot chocolate before moving further in her office. Being the head of the English department at your university, Natasha got her privacy intact. It’s not like she was thrilled to work with her fellow professors anyway. 

“I heard there was a big party being hosted by your friends in the girl’s soccer team. I assume you’re planning on going?” Natasha’s tone was filled with curiosity, but never anger when she so much as alluded to your private life, specifically that having to do with one Wanda Maximoff. “I can let you go a few hours early if you need to get ready. Classes are done for the semester and you need to enjoy your college years. I’m sure Miss Maximoff would be happy to see you again. I know she means a lot to you.”

Ever since you had accepted the job as Natasha’s assistant, Wanda had given you the cold shoulder. You had spoken to her from time to time, but only when she came back to the dorm after days of being away, only to leave once again. At first you blame yourself for causing a rift in your relationship, if one could even call it that, but eventually you came to realize just how immature she was – taking a simple job offer did not mean your feelings for her changed in any way. 

“I actually haven’t seen her in awhile. She’s staying at Carol and Val’s place I think,” you shrugged while taking a sip of your drink. The way it burned its way onto your tongue and down your throat caused you to hum happily. 

“Oh? And how are you feeling about that?”

“I’m taking it pretty well. You know she’s not very fond of you and I think I pissed her off by agreeing to work for who she deems as ‘a fucking witch bitch’. It’s just childish and stupid,” you rolled your eyes at the mere idea of it. “I hate being someone’s second choice like that. She doesn’t even see how much I love her.”

Just like Wanda didn’t see you, you didn’t see Natasha. Your professor was crestfallen at the voices you threw at her. She hated seeing you in such pain, not being able to do anything about the mistreatment you received from your casual fling. The older woman cared for you, perhaps more than she led on – the mere image of seeing you in pain made bile rise up your throat before it was maintained in place. 

“Then it’s her loss. You deserve better than that, honey. You’re an amazing, beautiful, and smart woman. You don’t need to be sitting around waiting for someone to notice you. If she doesn’t like you the same way you like her, then it’s time to move on,” Natasha explained as she attempted to keep her own emotions at bay. She threw a sympathetic look your way even if you didn’t notice it. “Listen Y/N, I know we aren’t as close as you are with Miss Maximoff, but I care about you. You are by far my brightest student yet and I see so much potential in you. You don’t deserve to be thrown around like trash, only used when she gets bored with someone else. You deserve the world.”

“Yeah? And who’s gonna give me that?”

The ‘me’ went unspoken from Natasha. She simply sagged her head and stared down at the mountain of paperwork laying in her desk. It would be to no avail if she decided to work – with a brain oozing with thoughts of you, her focus disrupted. 

“How about we try something different today? We can work for a bit and then I can take you out for lunch. My treat,” Natasha said. “How does that sound? I just hate seeing you like this, sweetie.”

You thought about it for a second. There was something awfully safe about Natasha. As much as you wished to spend countless hours obsessing over Wanda, sometimes you found yourself humoring the idea of your professor. She was sweet, always protective as she huffed at the idea of you being hurt. At first you assumed it was some sort of motherly instinct, but after having caught yourself staring down her cleavage from time to time, the top buttons of her blouse always open, and she stared back with a smile, you knew something much more intimate lay beneath. 

“I’d like that,” you replied, suddenly drunk on Natasha’s presence as Wanda was left behind. 

“Good! Now time to work, hon. You don’t get paid to sit all day and look pretty,” the redhead chuckled at her own joke, suddenly feeling much more rejuvenated. “If you finish quickly, maybe we can grab some dessert as well.”

━━━━⊱⋆⊰━━━━

A shudder ran down your body as hands traveled across your back. Fingernails left heavy trails in their wake, surely to be worn with the utmost pride. You hummed, eyes closed while holding still, standing there naked as the day you were born. In the dusk of the room, you let yourself be the center of attention; the center of her attention. 

“What did she do this time?” Natasha asked from behind. Her mouth was quickly upon your upper back, kissing its way along your shoulder blades. Never did she lose her tenderness when touching you. “Tell me, darling girl. Use your words.”

You didn’t know when it had begun. One day you were at work standing in front of your boss’s desk before you became trapped against it. The first time Natasha kissed you was then and there. Neither could hold back the attraction you shared for one another. No longer did you prioritize Wanda as you allowed your professor to take you. 

“I found her sleeping with Kate. She was…she was laying in my bed, Nat. I saw them and just ran away. She fucked her in my bed!” You sobbed, but didn’t allow yourself to shed tears. Not long before you had promised yourself never to cry over Wanda again. “I didn’t know who else to go to. I just thought of you and ran.”

“Oh baby, I’m so sorry. I hate that she keeps hurting you,” Natasha mumbled back as she hugged you from behind. “Don’t you dare run away this late at night again. You know how much I worry about you. I’m just a phone call away, malyshka. Always.” 

“I’m sorry,” you responded before biting down on your lip. “I promise I’ll be good from now on. Your good girl, right?”

“Darling, you are always my good girl.”

Natasha motioned you to get on the bed, your head against a pillow as your ass remained up in the air. She allowed her hands to roam over your backside, smirking as a hand went down against a cheek. It was only a soft hit. Never did Natasha wish to inflict any horrid pain over you. As her eyes noticed the faint bruises Wanda left along your skin, she huffed. 

The redhead stood over you. She carried a dildo between her legs that was attached to a harness. Similar to you, she was fully nude minus for the red briefs she wore. Strong arms reeking with muscles held you close. As she inched the toy between your legs, you let out a loud moan. 

“I don’t like how she hurts you. I know you like it, Y/N, but she leaves you looking like a piece of meat. Does she even take care of your wounds, baby? Or does she leave you like that after hitting you until you’re crying out for her to stop?” Natasha questioned, already knowing what the answer was. Ever since first seeing your body, she was the one who took care of you as a surrogate for Wanda. “I know I can’t control what you do, but honey, this isn’t right. I can’t stand seeing you like this.”

Rather than vocalize your response, you hid your face against the pillow. Natasha slid inside you softly, allowing the dildo to fill you with ease. There was a grunt that you basked upon – it was low and throaty filled with your professor’s longing desire. She used all her force to drag you into a makeshift sitting position. From then on, Natasha allowed herself to, only gently, give you the pleasure Wanda failed to gift you with. 

“I want more,” you begged, eyes rolled to the back of your head the further Nat moved inside of you. Movements were languid and sloppy. All the older woman focused on was your own pleasure, not speed or roughness. Unlike Wanda, she took her time getting to know exactly what to do and how to touch you. “Please, mommy, I need more!”

“Whatever you want, my little angel.”

Natasha did not spend time rummaging through the newfound honorific. She beamed at it, but didn’t comment on anything. Instead, she thrust her hips forth fucking you with love that Wanda never gave you. Kisses were spread all across your back. Each grunt, each little noise she made mixed with your own, made you feel in heaven. 

Hands gripped your breasts from behind. They squeezed the mounds tightly, rolling erect nipples through the fingers. As Natasha pumped the strap-on in you, your cunt dripping with juices while velvety walls hugged her tight, she brought a hand down your body. Fingertips pressed against your clit and began teasing it, flicking the bud as you screamed loudly – surely her neighbors would hear. 

“You’re doing so well for me, Y/N. Just look at how you’re taking my cock. My pretty, little girl,” Natasha moaned when hugging you tight. She nuzzled her face against your shoulder before nipping your skin. There were various hickeys left upon you, signs for Wanda to see if you ever dared return to her. Natasha knew you weren’t hers, but each second she spent with you made her crave you even more. “I bet she can’t fuck you like this, can she? That little…she can’t make you feel this good. Only I can make it better. I’m the only one that will ever keep you safe and you know this.”

When you finally came, Natasha was there to keep you close. She remained frozen in place as your orgasm shot through your body. Not even a second passed before she inched you on the bed, allowing you to rest upon the soft mattress with the dildo still inside you. 

“I never want to see you hurt again. If she ever does this to you, if you end up going back, I want you to call me when you need me. I never break a promise,” Natahsa muttered as she placed a kiss over the back of your head. “I’ll always keep you safe.”

From then on, you found yourself hesitating each time you merely humored the idea of going back to Wanda. Even if you told yourself that the relationship with Natasha was nothing more than platonic, you questioned the validity of such a statement. Every second you spend with her, you fall further for your professor. 

━━━━⊱⋆⊰━━━━

“Tell me about your family.”

The two of you had escaped the cruel Bostonian summer filled with never-ending traffic and burning skyscrapers. It was the dead-center of the season and the entire city was plagued by a mix of potential commuters for the various academic institutions or those who, for some reason, decided for it to be her vacation destination.

Natasha had taken you away to a small town across the state. It was remote, small enough so that the two of you could enjoy your life in public without the student body of the university to find you. All you had done was pack all the bags you could muster for the weekend getaway. It was peace which became well-deserved. 

You weren’t much of a fan of them, but Nat had always spoken highly of the times she took her sister to pick out peaches ever since she first learned how to drive. The two of them would escape into an orchard in the depths of Ohio and come out with their hands full with fruits. The mere memory she shared with you was enough to get you to agree to her plans. 

“Well, there’s really not much to talk about. I was adopted by Melina and Alexei,” Natasha began as though it was the most casual thing in the world to refer to her parents by their given names. “I have a sister, also adopted, named Yelena. She’s the light of my life. A bit of an asshole I must say, but she’s the one I care about most.”

“Yelena Belova? That’s your sister?” You asked with furrowed eyebrows; it was a name similar to that of a member of Wanda’s team. 

“Yes. I realize she’s friends with Miss Maximoff,” Natasha replied with apparent dismay. “As hard as I’ve tried to keep her away from that girl, the two are almost inseparable. I trust her enough to not do anything overly stupid though. Lena has always been a bit of a firecracker.”

The two of you walked hand in hand along the orchard. There was not a label to whatever you had yet, but it didn’t care. Natasha was clear when she said she would never pressure you into it. Instead, you allowed yourself to be a free agent who, at times, found yourself wishing to have something more with your professor. 

Eyes roamed over the woman’s body. Usually you saw her in professional clothes or the occasional nightgown when you stayed over at her place, but never with a pair of shorts and a loose camisole. There were sunglasses shielding Natasha’s viridescent eyes from the sun, but you had looked into them for long enough to memorize their beauty. 

You noticed how she covered her body from time to time, hands over her thighs, cowering away from the nonexistent public that dared gawk in her general direction. It hurt to see. She was the perfect image of beauty to you, but a disgusting void to herself. 

There were rare moments in which Natasha allowed you to touch her. She was a fan of studying each and every one of your favorite sweet spots, running hands across your skin before making you giggle under the drunkenness of arousal. The few times you had placed your palms upon her frame you did so in a tender manner – Nat was a porcelain doll under your touch who could break at any seconds. It merely lasted a few seconds before she pushed you off and rushed to apologize for acting out, only for you to shoot her a warm smirk and tell her there was nothing wrong with that. 

Shaking your head, you brought yourself back to the present and carried on. 

“Yeah, your sister’s always been nice to me though. She’s not as close with Wanda if that makes you feel better. I’ve mostly seen her chasing around that Kate girl. Maybe it’s an underclassmen thing,” you shrugged. “What about your parents?”

There was a pregnant pause, clear hesitation, before Natasha continued.

“Well, I never met my biological family nor did I care about seeking them out. My mom has always been amazing,” Natasha stopped for a second, her hands gliding across the peaches that she carefully eyed. “My father…not so much.”

“Why do you refer to her as mom and him as father?” came your question before you could help yourself.

It was clear her demeanor had changed. Natasha stood with her back straight, hands clasped in front of her as a means to shield herself. She only stared forth into nothingness. Her body was with you in the orchard while her mind went back to when she was a child – to when she was alone with him. 

“It makes it less personal,” she finally answered. “It’s also easier than calling him ‘the man whose wife wanted to adopt two kids he never wanted’ and then turned my childhood to shit. I grew up way too fast because of that…that durak!”

The yelp she let out was fueled with emotions you had yet to see. Natasha was rarely angry, let alone emotionally vulnerable to let you peek through her walls. Her body sagged after fighting so long being tense. You could see tears rushing down her face even with sunglasses that covered them, but knew not to make a comment.

“Nat, has he ever…?”

You didn’t want to humor such a thing. Even then, you already knew the answer given her body language and unspoken words. While you fought with the idea of potentially driving to her father’s house and beating him to a pulp, Natasha found herself glad it had been her over Yelena. If something were to happen to her sister, she would never forgive herself. Each time he came at night, the woman sacrificed herself. It was a small price to pay for her beloved sibling’s safety. 

“I don’t want to talk about it, baby,” Natasha said with a cracked voice, turning the other way to move further into the orchard. You gave her space knowing that whenever she felt comfortable enough to talk, she would. All you could do was follow along as the professor whispered again. “I’m sorry.”

But behind her broken tone, deep down, you could hear a younger Nat’s faint cry of ‘yes’. 

━━━━⊱⋆⊰━━━━

There were moments in which exhaustion overtook you during long tedious days. You could barely move a muscle and still feel as though life had been sucked out of you. Most of your summer was spent chasing around Natasha, who you remained working for throughout the following months with little to no workload. Being around the woman, doing mere iced coffee runs and chatting without a care in the world while in the office made you feel free for once in a lifetime – for the first time since you met Wanda, she was an afterthought. 

Natasha was quick to jump in and take care of you through those moments. She always acted out in small, loving ways when paying for your food, giving you rides, or merely holding your hand as the two of you walked into your next adventure. Her desperation to hold you in her arms and promise you all would be well was intense. There was love radiating from her a mile away which you were far too shortsighted to see. 

“Tell me what you need, malyshka. Come on, little darling, use your words.”

After a particularly difficult day, you found yourself safe in Natasha’s lap. There had been no overexertion of your being during that day. It had mostly been relaxing as you worked alongside your professor on a Friday, but when you received a call from Wanda midday, the woman asking you to meet up, you merely froze and broke down in the office – your ‘friend’ only reached out when she needed something from you and it had been nearly a month since you last spoke amicably. After you only hummed as a reply and ended the call, Natasha was there to break your fall. 

“Mommy’s here for you. I know today has been a really difficult day and that you’ve felt really stressed, but I don’t want you focusing on those icky thoughts. I just wish she didn’t hurt you like this,” came the older woman’s whisper as she pulled you close. The two of you had rushed out of the office even hours before Natasha liked calling it quits. Even as behind as she was with her future lesson planning, she still prioritized you before anything else. “Use your words, detka. Tell mommy how she can help.”

“I don’t even want to think,” you flatly mumbled with tears threatening to fall down your eyes. Hands gripped the professor’s clothes while your forehead lay frozen in her shoulder. With arms wrapped around your body you finally felt safe. “Please help me forget, Nat. I never want to think about her again. I just-” your words were cut short by a short while your voice was left cracked. 

“Shh it’s alright, my darling girl. Mommy’s here to make it all better.”

While holding you tight, Natasha allowed a hand to slip down your body. It snuck to your lap then between your legs. No teasing was found – she knew you how overwhelmed you were and was ready to give you whatever you wished for without question. When naked fingers went past the waistline of your sweats and underwear, landing upon your already throbbing sex, you couldn’t hold back a throaty moan. 

You quickly realized Natasha wanted to separate herself from the man who agreed to adopt her. He was rough, violent, and torturous much like how she saw Wanda, whereas your professor never failed to bring a smile to your face even as she smacked your backside harshly — she always soothed the skin with the palm of her hand before carrying on. She wanted, no, needed to break away from his grasp over her mind. Otherwise she’d end up as a battered slave of his once again. 

Fingertips brushed against your clit then studied the entirety of your slit while coating themselves in your everlasting slick. Natasha peppered your wet cheeks, filled with desolate tears, with kisses. She mumbled only the sweetest words while easing herself in you. You cried out about your sorrows, about Wanda’s mistreatment over you, while the older woman simply sat there and held you through it. 

“You’re the most beautiful girl I’ve ever had the pleasure of meeting. Anyone who dares make you feel this bad is an idiot. Y/N, my love, you deserve the world,” Natasha said lovingly. She nuzzled her face against your own, foreheads pressed together with fingers knuckle-deep inside your cunt. You couldn’t even muster the enthusiasm to grind on them. Instead, you remained shaking as Natasha made it all better. “You never let yourself be treated like that by anyone, alright? Whether it’s Miss Maximoff or me, or anyone else. My darling angel should be treated as the princess she is. You’re one of a kind, honey, a perfect little bear. I never want you to forget just how valuable your existence is.”

Tears of joy were mixed with your gloomy ones. There were cries of pleasure and internal pain that Natasha never stopped supporting you through. She allowed her lips to touch down upon your own. With your orgasm approaching soon and her tender care, you were elated. 

“My sweet baby,” came Natasha’s hushed whisper. She made you come, your back arching while fingernails dug deep into the redhead’s outfit. There was a loud moan, though distant, that boomed across the room. Even as you fell apart, strong arms held you in place. Such a wondrous creature such as yourself, according to your boss, deserved to see the stars. “You did such a good job for mommy. Always my perfect girl,” she breathed out with fingers still deep inside you. “All mine.”

You swore there was a muttered ‘I love you’ thrown somewhere, but with the mix of mental and physical exhaustion raining down upon your body, you merely shrugged your shoulders and fell limp against Natasha. Although you wouldn’t admit it, your heart longed to say the words back – out of everyone in your life, you never expected to fall into the depths of love with your professor. 

━━━━⊱⋆⊰━━━━

“I don’t know why you like this show so much. It’s just senseless killing and at the end they solve everything and go home.”

Although it was supposed to be a relaxing weekend towards the start of the Fall semester, you found the mind boggling statement to fill you with feigned rage. Even as classes began, the arrangement between you and the professor carried on. You still worked for her even if there were no classes in said semester you took with you. As disappointing as that was, you began seeing more of Natasha regardless in more ways than one. 

The two of you were sitting on the couch late one Friday night. You were exhausted with your course load and Natasha cursed off the new freshmen she had to teach; they always pretended to still be in high school. A bowl of popcorn was nestled between your legs. While you watched Criminal Minds, Natasha settled for insulting it. 

“It’s fun, Romanoff. Entertaining at the very least.” you shot back with a knowing smirk. You had been the one to introduce her to various shows. Who would’ve thought that the great Professor Romanoff was living underneath a rock her whole life? 

“Wow I’ve been demoted from mommy to Romanoff. That’s sad,” Natasha laughed before grabbing a handful of popcorn. “Who’s your favorite character?”

“Probably Rossi,” came your shrug. “He’s the guy with the beard.”

“Really?” At the surprised tone your lover let out, you feigned offense. “I thought you’d like one of the girls. What about that brunette with the bangs?”

“Oh, Emily left for the Interpol. I would like JJ, but I don’t know. There’s just something cool about Rossi in this season.”

The two of you remained silent for a few seconds. It wasn't awkward, but then again, nothing was with Natasha by your side. Even if you slipped and fell in front of her, you wouldn’t feel embarrassed. The woman never judged you, instead supporting your every decision while also guiding you through life. You felt comfortable enough with her to be yourself. At times it felt as though it was you and Nat against the world. 

“Maybe you just have daddy issues,” Natasha casually offered. Moment passed before the two of you burst out laughing. Tears sprinkled in your eyes while your breath left your body. With the amusement that basked in the room, you both were giggling messes. 

“Hey!” you huffed when gaining some of your composure back and lightly slapping Natasha’s shoulder. “We both have daddy issues.”

“Fine, but I have more than you. Mostly because I’ve never actually met my real dad. Maybe he’s an asshole like Alexei,” Natasha giggled. She never failed to look radiant as ever, especially when laughing and seemingly worry-free. You had to do several double takes because the beauty that exuded from your professor was far too enthralling to break away from. As the laughter died down and you were left holding one another, her head on your shoulder while you leaned back against the couch, she spoke. “I want you to be my girlfriend, Y/N.” 

You had both agreed to keep things unofficial and yet there was that unmistakable skip of a beat your heart underwent when Natasha spoke her words. Teeth gnawed at your bottom lip nervously. There were striking green eyes which made it difficult for you to ignore the pegged comment. While your heart longed you to reply with a ‘yes’, to finally be Natasha’s forever, your mouth reacted differently. 

For the rest of the evening the two of you sat by and finished watching the show. Natasha was silent as she ghosted over her house, leaving you alone in the living room before hiding out in her bedroom. It was the first night in months that you slept in the guest room by yourself. And to your dismay, you went to sleep listening to Natasha’s quiet sobs that escaped the privacy of her bedroom. You had felt bad for Wanda when she got sad about you seeing your professor casually, but listening to the redhead’s woes was synonymous with your heart being squeezed to death. 

━━━━⊱⋆⊰━━━━

It was October when you fell in love. 

You returned to your dorm room days later behind the guise of assuming Natasha wished for you to be far away. She had barely spoken a word to you at work. Most of the time she sat by her desk with sagged shoulders, glasses perched at the edge of her nose, and glossy eyes hiding behind the frames. You desperately wished to say something, but when Wanda sweeped back into your life, the guilt ate at you until nothing was left behind. 

The Fall semester quickly rolled by. You were at the end of the month and still couldn’t sleep without seeing Natasha’s face tainted in your mind. At times when Wanda lay above you, hips thrusting with straps wrapped around them and letting out low grunts, you closed your eyes and imagined it was the older woman. The memories of her doing the same were soaked with humiliation. You had broken her heart, you knew. Never would you dare forgive yourself for having caused so much pain upon the frail, angelic woman. 

“I hate her so much,” Wanda had grumbled when you walked through campus hand-in-hand passing by a certain professor whose sight was solemnly trained on the floor. Your hand was squeezed as your eyes drifted to Natasha. As much as she seemingly hated you, all you wanted to do was run up to her, wrap her in your arms, and bed for forgiveness. Even if it would take ages, she was worth it. “Fucking bitch.”

Perhaps it was Wanda’s comment or the fact that you finally gained enough confidence through your depressive episode to take action, but that night you found yourself standing in front of Natasha’s house. Your roommate was long forgotten and for the first time in your life, you couldn’t care less about who she was fucking. All that mattered was the woman you, without admitting it, had fallen for. 

There was a desperate knock upon the hardwood door. There was furious rain which fell down upon your body. That along with the cool breeze of the night made you freeze in place. Still, you felt as though you deserved it. Even then, you’d do whatever it took for Natasha. 

“It’s 10pm on a Wednesday, Y/N. Someone better be dying,” were the first words Natasha spoke to you once the door swung open in a low grumbled voice you knew to be from when she awoke. “To what do I owe the displeasure? Did you come here to tell me how great Miss Maximoff is compared to-”

You cut her off by practically tackling Natasha into the house. Even if your body was dripping with the tears of the sky, you clung to the woman as though your life depended on it. She was clearly taken aback and yet never moved away. Instead her arms were left unmoving as you embraced her. That was good enough for you, you assumed. 

Putting your heart on the line has never been easy. You were the person who shoved her emotions so deep down that you somehow told yourself Wanda was the one for you. Although she hurt you so much, you still remained by her side. It wasn’t difficult to assume Natasha had felt something similar when you rejected her. She had spent countless months giving you the utmost love and never daring to ask for anything in return. You were always protected by her mere presence until one day you decided to throw it all away. Going to her house, you were without hope of being taken back. There was slight hesitation reeking in your chest, but as soon as you saw your former lover, you swore you fell for her once again – she would forever be worth it. 

“I’m the world’s biggest fucking idiot and I admit it. I should’ve said yes to you,” you began. Life had been tedious without Natasha even if only for a few weeks. You hated how only a cold slap in the face in the shape of one Wanda Maximoff could awaken you from such a dismal nightmare. “I hurt you so badly and I never, ever expect for you to take me back. I was an asshole. A svo-lach' if you will,” you could practically feel Natasha’s slight smirk at the mention of a Russian word she had taught you. “I miss you and I don’t think I can do this without you. It’s probably stupid since we weren’t with each other for ages. It wasn’t official and yet I can’t stop thinking about you. I want you to be my girlfriend. It’s always been you, Nat and it always will be.”

No words were spoken as the door was locked and you were dragged to the bedroom. Even if dripping with water, Natasha helped undress you. She threw you against the bed, viridescent eyes twinkling under the dead of the night before taking her rightful position over your body. There was not an area of your freezing body that she didn’t kiss her way through as sudden warmth radiated from her skin and onto yours. 

When you first kissed her after weeks of being away, you swore there were fireworks going off. Never had kissing Wanda felt even remotely good or similar. You were enthralled by the way Natasha was seemingly everywhere. Her hands drifted up your body before taking your breasts into her palms and squeezing them, nipples rolling through her fingers before being pinched – she did always have an adorable fixation on your chest. There was a sense of longing within her. The two of you hadn’t been together for far too long. During the rest of the night, you explored what was missed, holding one another as cries of pleasure were let out. 

Positions were switched from time to time. Natasha would be on top before you pushed her against the mattress and had your head disappear between her legs. There was nothing to be said. You two communicated through sweet and rough touches, connecting as one without the need for words. There was a moment when you made her squirt, legs shaking as your fingers were dug deep inside her cunt. Natasha was left wide-eyed and suddenly droopy while you lapped at the mess – even when a spent mess, she was the most beautiful woman in the universe. 

When neither of you could keep going it was already the early hours of the morning. Your bodies were sore and marked with the reddened tracks of fingernails. It was the first time in ages that you finally felt as though you belonged. Natasha was your person, she was safe, and she was home. It was then that you, while fingers trailed across the back of the woman’s hand, decided never to dare leave her again. 

“I love you,” she muttered once you were breathing raggedly, laying back on the bed with bodies intertwined and hearts aligned. You felt yourself crawl out of your skin, frowning as the words were spoken. Without even daring to turn around, you went to grab Natasha’s hand. When squeezing it, you gave her your response. 

You couldn’t say it out loud, but she knew then you loved her too.

[utilitycaster]

I follow someone who peaced out of C3 like a month ago, and while she still throws out the occasional post about it, despite mostly running on ✨vibes✨ since pre-Predathos fight. one of her latest takes caught my attention. The wording was a little messy, but the core argument seemed like it might have a point. She’s saying the biggest issue with the story is a lack of internal logic, which makes the characters feel kind of disconnected from their own world and setting. Her main example was the Schism, like, the general idea that the Titans were bad news for mortals should be widely accepted, and they’re dead so they’re not coming back even if the gods leave. She also argues that the idea that the gods would always choose each other over mortals isn’t really backed up by history. Basically, she thinks Bells Hells ignore some of the fundamental structures of modern religion in Exandria, which in turn makes a lot of their arguments about the gods fall apart.

So I guess I’m wondering does it seem like there’s a lack of internal logic to you? C3 is my first campaign, so I’ve been piecing together older lore as I go, and I can’t tell if this is a niche take or if there’s some bigger context I’m missing.

Yes. Or rather, I have a couple of different guesses as to what happened. In short: I think that either Matt wanted to set up a big dilemma and failed to do the worldbuilding to really support it textually; he didn't have a clear vision of what this would be at all (HUGE fucking mistake, like, actually concerning me re: the potential of a 4th campaign level of mistake and I hope it's not that); or, alternately, and honestly right now my guess is that this was the case, he straight up did not think the characters would be such selfish dickbags and thought going in that this would be a clear "we have to stop Predathos" and intended the familial connections within the Vanguard and the scene in Hearthdell to be added nuance to provide some understanding of the Vanguard not as simply mindless evil monsters but people who have genuine grievances that have been exploited by predatory cult leaders, and was not prepared for a campaign where the party immediately took the Vanguard's side.

Religion in Exandria has never been super formalized or organized. Some of this is, of course, that you don't have to like, convert or even attend services if you have a relationship with a god. But as a result, it means that any exploration of religion as hegemonic falls apart. I am not saying religion needs to fit the regular daily or weekly practices many people irl have (depending on one's levels of observance), and those characters whose powers canonically involve a deity often do observe either restrictions (Caduceus's vegetarianism) or have some form of meditative personal worship, but we never see like, a system of worship outside of Vasselheim, and Vasselheim lacks the powers that the real-world pope has (let alone the medieval era pope). Tuldus was forced by his family to pray, but it's never depicted as part of How All Worshipers of That God are expected to behave. This is really the crux of a lot of problems with this campaign - people keep taking very individualized issues - which are real, but individual - and treating them as a sign of widespread oppression that simply isn't backed up by the text. In fact, the biggest case of widespread religiously-involved oppression is the Empire going after worshipers of illegal Prime Deities (as we see with the Schuesters - the parents are arrested, leaving their young children to fend for themselves) - and the biggest case of widespread proselytizing and missionary work is from the canonically theocratic (and ruled by one person for over a millennium) Kryn Dynasty, which, hilariously, might end up even more powerful given that the Luxon - the source of their religion, their philosophy and cultural practices, and their arcane prowess - has been brought up as relevant to the gods-become-mortal plan by the Raven Queen and seems to not be under any threat from Predathos, and might even get more powerful. Vasselheim's colonial efforts, while certainly not defensible, are small potatoes.

The player character's grievances against the gods all boil down to "I prayed to the gods and they didn't make my life better" while failing to consider that a combination of genuinely wild specific personal circumstances (being Ruidusborn; being the child of an elemental-worship cult with terrible instincts and later running a heist on a Vanguard collaborator; being a shadow sorcerer who caught the eye of an evil Vecna-worshipping wizard in need of a host body) are the root cause. It's like. If your parents kick you out for being gay, that's homophobia, but if your parents are part of a cult that blows itself up and you are orphaned as a result that is not systemic oppression, that is a very specific cult and shitty parents. So that fails to really ground them in the setting. Compare to campaign 2, where Caleb wants to ensure the Volstrucker program is brought to light and eliminated - as he says, no more children on the pyre - vs. here, where arguably Laudna and Ashton are opening the door to far more unregulated cult/evil necromancy shenanigans now entirely unmitigated by the gods. At least Imogen will probably end the Ruidusborn I guess, as a side effect completely unrelated to her actual goals (which are, frankly, unclear) In a campaign that talks about tethers, the characters seem untethered to anything - institution, place, even for the most part family, and only loosely to each other, and it shows in their lack of care.

The other part is that yeah, a lot of things that were given to the Mighty Nein and Vox Machina as "things people would know" aren't given to Bells Hells. Now this could have a mechanical basis, namely, no one has much of a formal education and most of them are also not terribly intelligent on their own. However, it does feel baffling that they can't recognize holy symbols, or don't know the story of the titans at the time of the Schism (which...setting aside the many issues with the concept of "history is written by the victors" which is both inconsistently true in the first place and is frequently used in an anti-intellectual manner to undermine historical study that points out such things as historical racism; just because history might be inaccurate that does not mean that wild speculation otherwise is necessarily true, especially since we do know from EXU Calamity that titans did, indeed, intend to side with the Betrayers against mortals at the start of the Calamity). It furthers this feeling, after Vox Machina being relatively educated even in a story that was not as worldbuilding-focused, and the Mighty Nein having multiple research-oriented characters and a party deeply rooted in a rich world, that Bells Hells feel off and adrift and ignorant, especially since they don't even seem to remember history they lived through such as the Apex War.

Honestly, what I think is most interesting actually is that we don't ever get anyone express a motivation based on structural oppression in-game. Ludinus never got over his parents dying in a war where the options for the Prime Deities were leave mortals to die or fight the Betrayers, knowing there will be devastating casualties, but in setting up his elaborate plot he murdered countless people, destroyed through his communing with Predathos the first rebuilt elven society in Western Wildemount, and participated in actual structural oppression within the Dwendalian empire for literal centuries; he cared not for any widespread liberation and would remain on top, as an archmage, after this imagined revolution, which makes it not much of a revolution worth having. Liliana's problems were caused by Predathos, and many of the Vanguard we see are Ruidusborn. The only other Vanguard we really get to talk to are Bor'Dor, who was oppressed on the basis of his religion and preyed upon by the cult; Tuldus, who see above; and various Paragon's Call members who are mostly just following orders and getting paid. And Bells Hells, when they have the audience of Vasselheim and the rest of the world - a golden opportunity to call out the colonialism - fail to bring up Hearthdell.

In the end, the motivations are all personal pain - in many cases, inflicted, in fact, by Predathos and not the gods - or vengeance. I honestly don't know if the narrative is trying to claim there is something deeper, or if it's simply some of the characters and a chunk of the least knowledgeable fans, but yes, the worldbuilding fails to support a morally complex narrative. It fails to debunk that which was established earlier (and indeed makes the fall of Aeor far more sympathetic than when it was introduced during Campaign 2) and fails to establish any widespread harm the gods did that wasn't the result of someone threatening to kill them. I do not think one can meaningfully debate with someone who puts a boot on your throat, presses down, and claims you're the oppressor when you fight back, nor with someone who argues along those lines, and that's all that fans and Bells Hells have ever done. And yeah we might actually make a world with a formalized hegemonic religion as a result of Bells Hells' actions; it just will be a different god, underscoring that this is either motivated by people who don't know what the fuck is going on; or by vengeance rather than justice.

[atley01]

Tips for all of my alternative & Chronically ill/ disabled friends!

A big thing that's helped me feel more comfortable accommodating my disability is finding accessibility tools that reflect my personality / interests.

I should put a disclaimer that making disability "aesthetic" should not be the most important thing about your health! I do this where I can to help me accept my disability.

Here are some alt accessibility tools I've found / made & utilized for myself!

1. If you're prone to nausea:

Anti-nausea meds work, but I also find that peppermints work just as well! I always have mints on me. At home, I've stored them in this coffin container!

I do keep a few of these mints in my bag, as well as ginger hard candies (they taste very strong, but are VERY efficient). I got the peppermints at Dollar tree, and they've genuinely been a life saver.

Alternatively, I've found this adorable ouija board altoids container that has mints in it!

The mints are even fun-shaped! I also saw other horror-movie themed altoid containers in-store as well. Since they're tiny, they dont work well for severe nausea, but they are still helpful!

2. If you struggle with temperature-regulation:

For me, my hands and feet are always FREEZING, but my core will be super warm. What has helped me a lot has been gloves and fuzzy socks!

I have a lot of spooky gloves like this, but I prefer the fingerless ones because I can still use my phone and be warm at the same time! I've also heard my friends who are wheelchair users say gloves can help protect your hands if you use a manual wheelchair. Another added bonus is that certain gloves can help limit mobility for those of you who struggle with hypermobility in your hands.

3. Do you have noise-canceling headphones? Decorate them!

I decorated my N/C headphones in shark stickers because sharks are my special interest!

These are Soundcore Life Q30's. I have gotten compliments on the stickers many times! You could put halloween stickers on yours or decorate your headphones in other ways! I've seen people crochet horns onto the headband portion of their headphones.

4. I would recommend any chronically ill person carry a cup around to stay hydrated:

ESPECIALLY If you need electrolytes. You can either have a drink like propel or powerade in your cup (or any drink of your choice, and you could put electrolyte packets in there).

This specific cup isn't the best at keeping my drink cold, but it holds a decent amount of liquid! And it's spooky. If you're someone who struggles to drink enough water, I've found that getting a fun cup helps me a lot!

5. Make communication bracelets!

If I'm having a difficult time voicing my needs, or I'm in a verbal shutdown, these bracelets can come in handy for me.

I'll either wear them on my wrist when needed or present them to my friends so they can read the bracelet and understand what I need. I keep them on a keychain that way I dont lose them and can transport them easily. An example of some of the phrases I've turned into bracelets is; "No spoons," "spoon debt," "verbal shutdown," and "flashbacks," (for when I'm having a PTSD episode.) You could make a bracelet with the medical condition you have as a DIY medical-alert bracelet. I added tiny spoon charms to some of my bracelets because I thought it was funny.

5. Mobility aids!

Decorate your mobility aids with things like stickers, kandi, lights, etc! Pinterest, instagram, and tiktok have a lot of good ideas. You can easily customize your mobility aids to look spooky or look however you want them to!

6. Bags!

I know that for me, I NEED to carry a bag around whenever I go out because it has important medical items that I need, but it also keeps all my important items like keys, id, ect, in one spot so that I dont forget / lose them. SOME spooky bags are expensive, but you could find a plain black bag at a thrift store or walmart and accessorize it with patches, keychains, and pins! I've seen people paint designs onto their bags before as well.

• You dont have to spend a lot of money on your accessibility tools!

Find ways to DIY them, or get them secondhand! You could even try working with household items you already have! A lot of these items, or items very similar to it, can be found at the dollar tree - even the materials needed to make the beaded bracelets! (Outside of the spoon charms)

Thats all!

If I think of more, you'll see me again! Be spooky, and be kind to yourself!

[middlingmay]

Alright so what if it was Gale who was losing it in the Stalag and not Bucky?

Bucky who's always been more untethered finds his snarling and snapping is more common, more accepted in the Stalag so long as it's not aimed at the guards. He doesn't have the pressure of trying to keep all of the worst bits of himself so contained, only blowing off steam at the bar or between the sheets. He still hates it, is still angry and furious and impotent, but in the Stalag he can express that more.

And he helps the others express it, too. Gives everyone one pass a day to curse him out as badly as they can, and he screams right back. Organises secret fights for morale - a chance to get the hurt and frustration out, a chance to exert themselves, a chance to bet with the meagre things they had and something to look forward to. The first person on their back was the loser - no first blood bullshit. This place was already taking too much life from them.

But Gale? Gale who's been angry his whole life but had to keep it on lock down. Gale who found the war and the air force as an outlet for his wilder impulses. Gale who needed to be in control of everyone and everything and pretend like he wasn't. He can't do any of that in the Stalag. He's always been afraid to let his emotions loose and lashing like Bucky. He didn't do well being so powerless, and didn't know how to be him in a place like this.

He can't do missions or rally the men. The crystal radio helps but that's only an hour here or there when it works. He creates chores and rotas and organises classes. But it all feels so useless.

He doesn't realise that between Bucky and Gale, the 100th stuck in the Stalag are managing to tolerate life there pretty well. Their hungry and constantly in danger, but they have both structure and an outlet when it got too much. Gale just sees himself as an utter failure if a soldier, a pilot, a major, a friend and a man. And ihe alternates between days where he's sick with rage from it, and days where he can't muster the will to rise from his shitty bunk. And Marge’s letters go unanswered.

He's not the self destructive kind to veer near the fence or pick a fight with a guard, but he takes minimal care of himself, giving away rations and leaving the warmest clothes for the others and not taking medicine when he gets sick in case someone needs it more later.

It drives Bucky crazy. And after exhausting every other idea he has he decides there's only one way to get a spark of life back into Gale. So the next fight he slates is Bucky v Buck.

Gale doesn't find out until he follows John who wants to show him something. It takes shockingly little persuasion, and Bucky things he's been waiting for something like this but would have never let himself take the plunge without being thrown straight in.

Lookout duty is a punishment that night, because no one wants to miss the fight of the two Majors of the 100th.

They knock the Holy hell out of each other. Gale's lip busts open easy, but he hits like a hammer. And John's nose is a prime target and his moustache is sodden with blood pretty quickly. Bruises blossom everywhere, and in the end, they fall down together. John sinks a boot into Gale's ribs and he.socks John's jaw so hard his ears ring.

They lie gasping on the floor and the match is declared a jaw and the boys are losing it as much as they can without getting caught.

But John sees it, lying there. A sparkle of life and feeling in Gale's eyes again.

That night in their bunks when they're somewhat patched up, Gale reaches out for the first time since they got there.

"I didn't get you too bad?" He asks as he trails his finger so ermsome of the more prominent bruises he can see even in the dark.

"Oh, I can feel it," John tells him through a genuine grin. It only tempers when he takes Gale's hand in his and thumbs over the too bony protrudence of his wrist. "You with me?"

Gale licks the crusting concealing blood off his lip, setting its healing back some. "Till there's no more pilots left in the sky, John."

[junipernight]

I redesigned Yangchen's outfit!

... I actually designed a lot of outfits for her, because I am Extremely Normal about these books, and also I like costume design and learning about historical clothing.

Short disclaimer: These fantasy clothes aren't culturally or historically accurate, just historically and culturally influenced. I don't have any expertise in East or Central Asian culture or clothing, I've just been clicking around on the internet a lot the last two weeks learning things because that's my idea of fun lol. If you wanted to talk to people who actually know things you should check out @atlaculture or like @ziseviolet, both of whom's blogs I referenced while drawing.

I only designed two alternates for the outer robes. The first is based loosely off the robes Buddhist monks wear (loosely, because drawing draped fabric is hard ^^') especially the Tibetan zhen robe. This garment is just a long wide rectangle of cloth which can be draped across the body in lots of ways (versatility ftw!).

The other garment I drew is a Chuba, a traditional garment from Tibet and the Himalayas. It's a robe, but it highkey reminds me of kilts and hoodies, in that it a) can be worn over one or both shoulders or just as a skirt and b) it makes a giant pocket over the stomach. The long sleeves can be folded up or tied back btw.

I spent the most time on the middle layer, because I was thinking it has to be something she could comfortably fight in while also being suitable for diplomatic meetings, meditating, espionage, and possibly sleeping.

And like. You can fight and hike and whatnot in loose skirts, but it's annoying how twisted up they can get while sleeping. ALSO, YC does a lot of flying and leaping, so my girl needs pants. My faves are definitely the Xiaolin monk pants and the yellow wrap pants Aang wears. I tried dhoti (Indian wrap pants) because that kind of looks like what the giant statue of Yangchen meditating might be wearing, but I think it looks odd paired with a highwaisted shirt instead of a long tunic. Maybe I'll do some more drawings with her in a tunic and dhoti or a monk's dhonka and shemdap later, idk.

As any good historical fashion nerd knows, foundational garments are everything (◡‿◡✿).

But also, there's a scene where Yangchen and Kavik pretend to be lovers, and are "discovered" by a maid sleeping in the same room, with Yangchen in a state of partial undress (gasp!)

I am living for this fake drama; I need to know how scandalized the maid was lmao.

When the maid walks in, Yangchen immediately wraps herself in a bedsheet before ushering the maid back out the door. Maybe all she did was take off her outer robe... but why would she need to wrap herself in a sheet if she was wearing a long-sleeved high-necked gown? I got the sense from both the book and cursory research about buddhist monks that walking around without your outer robes was socially acceptable, at least in casual settings. I think it more likely she was in her underclothes, which historically (in the west anyway) would also double as sleeping clothes.

"The Aang" is censored because this is Tumblr-dot-com. Its mostly a joke, but also, I know other countries are less uptight about bººbies, so like, maybe it's a valid option ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

The ~Water Tribe~ look is based off Sokka's swimwear and not Katara's, mostly because chest binding seems antithetical to airbending.

All the other undergarment designs are based on hanfu neiyi, because that's what I could find reference photos and romanized names for.

I'm tired of typing now. Lemme know if you have questions about something, or want me to post a larger version of a specific outfit. I am open to feedback and tentatively open to requests.

[plaidos]

I have no particular dog in this fight as I'm not a GF superfan or anything, but I would like to question a bit of your analysis.

I think you're right that the version of GF where Dipper is transmasc makes Mabel's canonical actions transphobic.

I would like to question the insinuation that those same actions would've been "normal sibling rivalry" (?!) were Dipper closeted transfem or even cismasc, as opposed to "worst sister ever" (!?) behavior. Especially if we're going with transfem Dipper, those incidents of bullying remind me much more of patterns of bullying against transfeminine people, and intersex people CAMAB (such as myself) that I've personally witnessed/experienced.

Also, to the idea that Mabel being transphobic fundamentally changes her character in some way. Like, sometimes characters we're supposed to like hold a bigoted attitude which they will unlearn over the course of the story. Sokka from Avatar and Weiss from RWBY come to mind. Mabel being one of those characters doesn't fundamentally change her storyline or arc.

you’re right, Mabel’s actions and teasings are still mean with a transphobic undercurrent — even if Dipper is a dyadic cis boy, to be honest. but she’s also a twelve year old born in 1999. i too have received the kind of bullying associated with the way Mabel acts towards Dipper about his gender, but i’ve also had similarly “jokes” from loved ones who didn’t realise how shitty they were being because they didn’t have the political framework to analyse what is fucked up about it.

but if we’re reading Dipper as transmasc, it’s like… everybody he knows is accepting enough of his identity to gender him correctly, but they’re still totally willing to say things to him that you would categorically know are bigoted even at that age. like a twelve year old cisgender girl who knows about trans people and respects their existence might not realise how needlessly callous she is being when she teases her (seemingly) cisgender brother for having “girly” interests, but that same cisgender girl would probably be able to identify that her openly transgender brother wouldn’t want to wear makeup and that it would be incredibly fucked up to make him. i’m not saying it’s “right” but Mabel needs to actively Be A Transphobe (rather than just having some twelve year old cis girl ideas about gender & masculinity) to treat Dipper the way she treats him if he is openly transmasculine, but I feel like there’s more of a plausible deniability. i feel like the Mabel we see in the show is a couple years away from being like “wow, that was spectacularly mean of me, i hope that didn’t have an effect on Dipper’s self worth”

i feel like if (in the crazy alternate universe where this is possible) there were an episode where Dipper came out as transfem after feeling hurt by Mabel’s jokes she would be really torn up about it. she’d say something like “i’m really sorry, i didn’t know you felt so strongly about gender… i thought we were just joking around but i should be paying more attention to how you feel, Dipper…. wait, maybe you don’t want to be called Dipper any more. Oh no I AM a bigot!!!” and then Soos would come in and be like “heheh. total hatecrime dude” and then we’d cut to Bill being like “i don’t care what gender you are pine tree… i’m gonna get that GIRL if it’s the last thing I do” except girl would be obviously ADR’d over in Alex Hirsch’s normal voice with his live action mouth over Bill’s animated mouth

also transfeminine Dipper has just always made more sense. the big argument was that he uses a nickname instead of his birth name which he keeps a secret. and that would make sense if Dipper had a girl’s name, but Dipper’s birth name is “Mason”. so he actually is choosing to not use a male name and instead use something gender neutral, even though he really loves matching with his twin sister & having matching names is a family tradition — so he probably has a pretty big reason to not use it, considering he still doesn’t even with all the reasons he has to.

[copperbadge]

As someone who's very conscious of individual fundraising, between my job and my work with Radio Free Monday, I'm seeing an uptick lately in something that I want to talk about. But it's sensitive, so I'm asking you all to read this in the spirit of help, and understand that any negative tone you take away from this is not my intention.

We live in communities: neighborhood, friends groups, workplaces, fandoms. Part of the point of community is that we help others in that community. But there's an aversion to the idea of non-reciprocal aid, of accepting financial help that won't be repaid. And on the one hand I understand; nobody wants to be perceived as a freeloader. But I don't think we can move past the idea of transactive relationships, an ultimately capitalist idea of how we relate to others, until we stop stigmatizing it, even when we're the beneficiaries of it.

I see a lot of "normally I would never ask for help" and "I hate to ask for money" and "I'd rather die than accept charity but" and I'm sure that's true. But...you don't need to say it.

If someone is inclined to give, it doesn't matter. If someone isn't inclined to give, it doesn't help. Charitable giving on the individual level is not a sales situation. There is no magic combination of words that will induce someone to give if they weren't going to. And the more we protest that normally we wouldn't accept, the more we loudly imply that there is shame in asking, the longer it will take us to achieve a compassionate and supportive society.

And also, frankly, you're making other people feel like shit for asking too. Which I know is not something anyone wants.

If you need to ask for money that sucks and I'm sorry. I've been there and it's a real bind to be in. But I also know that in those situations energy is short, and this is one less thing to expend energy on -- instead of protesting your aversion to asking, put that energy into doing one thing to make it easier for folks to give -- make your payment app username a hyperlink or a QR code, or make a carrd with your giving options and link that.

Instead of "I would never ask for money normally" say "I know there are many kind people out there who will see this." Instead of "I hate to make this post" say "You all understand how difficult life can get." The nonprofit world has done a lot of studying of what makes people give, and positivity is a huge aspect of it. Opening with a negative, particularly a negative that people see constantly in other solicitations, is more likely to hurt your chances than to help.

Don't follow a script that continues to debase and abuse you. Mainly because it's not actually helping; there's no upside to prostrating yourself before an imaginary combative donor. Talk to the people who are actually likely to give, who recognize themselves in your words when you talk about kindness and compassion and who don't need you to shame yourself in order to be worthy of support. This is not to scold or shame anyone further, but to offer an alternative that is kinder to you and more helpful to the people who want to help.

Do yourselves and your fellow sufferers the kindness of dignity; lord knows you've had enough unkindness already.

[signanothername]

How do you see Nm's and Ccino's relationship? Is it different from canon?

Ngl didn’t expect people to be this interested dhdhhdhdh

Kay so, ngl, i’m still kinda refining how I interpret Ccino and his Au as a whole, so what imma say is just a few paragraphs of the gist of how i think of it so far dhxghxhxh

Nightmare found out about fluffytale and by extension Ccino through doing research of different AUs, as Nightmare has a tendency to study AUs to understand how they work and how he can apply it in his own plans/take advantage of them

The reason Fluffytale even caught Nightmare’s attention at all, was for 2 reasons:

1- the Au no longer has any Alternative timelines as there only seems to be one single timeline left, meaning, it’s the one singular unique Au, single main Au with no copies that illustrate different events, and the code of the Au seems completely corrupted, meaning the very concept of new timelines being created is impossible

Nightmare isn’t completely sure why every other timeline seems to have been erased out of existence and why the code is corrupted, but he guesses it’s Error’s work

2- the Au has a cafe which is open to host whoever in the multiverse, regardless of who they are, whether infamous for violence or known for their kindness, whether they are a person who’s part of another Au, or an outcode, it welcomes everyone, including his twin, and by extension himself

Not only did Nightmare see potential in having another set of eyes on the outside world and a great source of info, but even as a source of negativity considering the misery in that universe in general

Nightmare eventually visits the Au himself and watches the cafe from afar for a few weeks before actually visiting the cafe himself

Obviously, with the intent to make a “deal” with the owner of the cafe (Ccino)

Ccino is completely unaware of the state of his Au, thinking that other timelines do exist, and by extension, having a bit of courage to refuse Nightmare’s “offer” at first

Nightmare being the bitch who never takes “no” for an answer, threatens Ccino that he will destroy his Au, and kill his family, and let him watch it happen, which again, Ccino is fine with (lie) as long as he knows there are other timelines in which they live peacefully (he’s not actually fine with it, he’s terrified of Nightmare and his threats, but the idea of other timelines existing gives Ccino a little bit of hope that even if he dies, another version of himself and his brother are out there happy and safe)

And that’s when Nightmare tells him about the state of his Au, and even proving that there’s only this one timeline, and that crushes any sort of hope and confidence in Ccino, and well, Nightmare takes that as a chance to manipulate Ccino into a deal

The deal Nightmare’s trying to entrap Ccino into is for Ccino to be an outside source of info on the multiverse and what happens within it, considering his cafe is open to anyone out there, and an active info source at that, so if Dream were to visit the cafe, Ccino is to report that to him immediately, if anything happens within the cafe that could be good info that might benefit Nightmare, Ccino is to report that to him, if Nightmare were to visit himself, he expects a full report of what’s been happening out there when Nightmare’s been busy with his own nuisances, however Ccino isn’t allowed to provide info about Nightmare or his gang to anyone else

Ccino however, wouldn’t just accept Nightmare’s deal without his own terms, so he tells Nightmare that if he were to provide info, Nightmare’s forbidden from harming his Au or anyone in it (including people who visit his universe from other universes, no matter who it is, even if it’s Dream) which Nightmare (reluctantly) agrees to, and so the deal is made

So now, Ccino acts like an outsource spy to Nightmare without anyone’s knowledge, so an innocent Dream who thinks he can tell Ccino whatever thinking Ccino’s a good confidant would have the shock of his life if he ever found out anything Ccino was told went to Nightmare

Ccino obviously, finds no joy in this, and he even tries to keep somethings from Nightmare, it’s just hard to do that when your soul starts beating fast and fear grips his nonexistent throat and Nightmare catches his fear and starts questioning him :)

Ccino carries a lot of guilt for it, but just like any victim under Nightmare, Ccino is forced to do shit he isn’t proud of or want to do, it eats away at him and is just making his mental health worse than it already is

Ccino hears from Dream about how much Nightmare means to him, and so, since his job is to “provide info” he also relays those sweet conversations to Nightmare, hoping it might stirr something inside his cold soul, Nightmare barely twitches at such comments tho (further crushing whatever false hope he may have)

I plan for Presso (Fluffytale Paps) to also have a big role in the story and how it all connects to Nightmare, but I’m still working on that part so uhh nothing to say about that for now zhxhhdhdhhs, all I know is that I want Persso to also fall into making a deal with Nightmare shshhs

Ngl been working on a comic with Nightmare’s and Ccino’s “deal” but i’m far from done dbbdbxbx here’s a lil snippet tho

[forcedagere]

I personally really like the idea of Bill x Reader x Ford. This one kinda ties into my previous post, but it’s not required reading. I suppose this would be an AU where Ford accepted Bill’s offer during Weirdmaggedon, or something else went wrong resulting in Bill staying in power :)

Contents: forced age regression, yandere, implied mental manipulation

Whereas Bill is far from the best caretaker (though he tries, in his own way), Ford takes care to create a semblance of structure in your life. He doesn’t have tons of practical experience with children or little ones such as you, but he makes up for it with dedication. He takes to caring for you as if it were a newly discovered, fascinating field of study. In other words… He reads many, many books, and tries all kinds of things to figure out what you like best.

Ford is not entirely fond of the kind of dynamic you have with Bill. It's not because he doesn't want to be referred to with parental terms, that's simply a matter of preference, but that he insists on you being friends above anything else. Considering the dynamics at play here, Ford cannot help but view it…

"As simply pedagogically irresponsible, Bill." The triangle in question rolls his eye. "Oh, boohoo! Fancy McFancypants over here knows what’s up!” Bill glances at you from the corner of his eye. Seeing you crack a smile while you’re sketching away with your crayons, he’s encouraged. “You read one book on how to raise a kid, and now you wanna tell me what to do? Get lost. Kid, c'mon, prove him wrong-- I'm your favourite, right?" You look up from your latest piece of art. You are drawing all three of you, in fact. You're usually deaf to their arguments, it's such a constant that you've grown used to the noise and stopped viewing it as a threat. (Your daddy calls it 'bickering'; Billy, when daddy isn't listening, calls it 'flirting'. That makes you giggle.) But you don't like getting involved in it yourself! So you firmly shake your head, and drop the pacifier attached to your necklace to speak. "No favourites… I love you both," you say with the confidence only someone as little as you could have. Billy's eyelid flutters, and your daddy smiles.

To put it simply, Bill is the ‘fun, rule-breaking parent’ and Ford is… A little less that. One should not take Bill Cipher as the benchmark of taking good care of a human, though.

Ford will make sure your meals are more varied than the endless stream of candy that Bill feeds you, and get you tucked in for sleep at regular times, too. Compared to Bill, who enjoys playing games with you and ‘roughhousing’, Ford prefers calmer activities. He’s definitely up for the occasional board game, but, most of the time, he’ll read to you, make drawings upon requests (or give you lessons!), or toy around with science experiments safe for someone who gets the urge to put anything that looks interesting inside their mouth.

He might’ve taken you for an adventure or two outside, but… The world hasn’t been the same since Bill got his hands all over it. He may be technically immortal now. You decidedly are not, as far as he knows. Either way, he doubts that Bill would let you out of this room to begin with. He doesn’t have to ask to be able to know that. If there is any reason he would keep someone locked up the way he does with you, it must be because you have some form of special connection to him. Ford does not believe he would risk that.

Really, Ford isn’t stupid or blind. It’s not that he’s going along with all of this because he is ignorant of Bill’s manipulation of your mental state. Bill can call it a ‘nudge in the right direction’ all he wants. He’s keeping you regressed. But everything has changed. He has changed, and Ford doesn’t know if he made the right decision. He fears he hasn’t. (Somewhere out there, in an alternate universe, a Stanford must live who made a difference decision. Ford hopes he’s happy.)

Spending time in this little contained room, with something dependent on him and eager to be looked after by him, who doesn’t know better and never will… It’s not good, it’s the very definition of selfish, but it’s comforting to him. Grounding, in a sense. With an eternity of time left ahead of him and the foundations of his previous life all but crumbled, he has something steady to return to. It doesn’t matter how much he rationalizes it. It’s twisted and fucked up, plain and simple.

…He supposes he can understand why Bill finds him so amusing, even now.

A little whimper snaps him from the spiral of his thoughts. Your bottle is empty. He should get youa refill, then pull you back on his lap.