#because it's stupid and that was mostly the point

[andromeda-collective]

i have multiple and im going to mention all of them but im starting with THIS FUCKER HERE (blade from honkai star rail) AND I HAVE A VERY STUPID REASON FOR IT

there was an minigame thing with a character named march 7th (dont ask) and there were little events you could encounter throughout it and one of them was that you had to choose between a red and blue pill (or the third option of giving a nonanswer) and since my choice didnt matter at all i went with the red pill because i know that the matrix is a transfem allegory and i also hc march as transfem but then another character made a little comment that blade would ALSO pick the red pill which completely makes sense for his character but since i was still on the transfem allegory mindset i had the thought of "wait does this make blade transfem??" so shes transfem to me now 👍

estrogen would NOT save her. not even REMOTELY. he's a suicidal immortal who physically cannot die because of a ritual his old friend-with-romantic-implications tried who he now wants dead more than anything else. hes basically possessed by evil plants that revive him every time he dies and he goes fucking feral. hes a mass murderer with a bounty of over 8 billion. nothing can save him. but transitioning might make her miserable life slightly more manageable? plus i mean.. throwing your old name away and being a new person? obviously a metaphor for being trans /j

boothill! this is slightly for shipping reasons (turning a het ship wlw for funzies) but mostly projecting my gender-nonconforming transness onto the only southern disabled character i know of. are we different kinds of southern? yes. are we different kinds of disabled? also yes. do i care? absolutely not. (also because butch southern women make the world go round)

also sampo because the idea that this fuck is a cisgender ANYTHING is laughable. this is a nonbinary transfem boymoding for shits and giggles who randomly switches to the girl voice when talking to someone JUST to fuck with them because nobody else would believe them and the person would think theyre losing it. typical masked fool stuff. gaslight gatekeep girlboss.

and then from genshin impact: zhongli. who has CANONICALLY used shapeshifting to become a woman. and has likely done so on more than one occasion. this guy is CANONICALLY GENDERFLUID WHETHER PEOPLE LIKE IT OR NOT. and you can obviously be genderfluid and transfem at the same time so why the hell not :D

most other characters i hc as transfem i dont have much of a reason for, but im gonna list them anyways cause hell yeah

argenti (hsr) - she can have a little estrogen as a treat

dr. ratio (hsr) - no reason i just think it could work

sunday (hsr) - something something religious-trauma-and-giving-into-what-you-once-believed-to-be-sinful

diluc (genshin) - fanfiction on ao3 changed my brain chemistry

kazuha (genshin) - also no reason i just think it fits

sebastian solace (a game on roblox called pressure) - im gonna be honest with you op, i just like putting this fucker in situations. and i would love to see the struggle of medically transitioning when you've been forcibly had your body and dna altered to the point of no longer being human. even ignoring for a few seconds the thought that maybe hrt wouldnt have the same effect (or any effect at all) due to the experiments, how could you will yourself to alter yourself medically in any way after the horrific trauma you've experienced? its between fucking with your already fucked up body or having the dysphoria kill you from the inside out. i am rotating her in my mind even harder now.

p.ai.nter (from same game) on the other hand? a lot simpler. make the ai with guns a girl. also just a funny idea: you know that "put eyelashes on it to make it obvious that its a girl" thing? yeah. painter doing that.

^ TELL ME SHE WOULDNT.

i would apologize for the essay but you did say i was legally required to share so this is your fault /lh

anyways i hope you enjoyed the women

If you see this post you’re legally required to tell me at least one trans woman headcanons you have for a canonically male character, I never get to see transfem headcanons like that, give me them, and for equality of my own please know estrogen could have saved Insector Haga and Dinosaur Ryuzaki I will not elaborate, also Yuya.

[itneverendshere]

need your confession - brother bsf! rafe

pairing: kelce's sister x hockey!rafe warnings: smut <3

part of this universe

It was the biggest game of the season so far—your university’s team against their biggest rivals.

You, however, were sitting on the bleachers, arms crossed, wrapped in your thickest winter jacket, trying to not to shiver like a little bitch, your legs pratically fusing to the metal. Next to you, Kie had a bucket of popcorn balanced on her lap, one boot casually propped against the row in front of you like she wasn’t on the verge of hypothermia too.

“Tell me again why we’re here when we could be literally anywhere else?” she asked, tossing a kernel into her mouth.

You exhaled sharply, your breath visible in the freezing air, eyes locked on the opposing team’s bench. “Kelce.”

You’d never missed a game in your life, the stupid sport had somehow made it’s way into your heart. It was practically coded into your DNA after a lifetime of being dragged to them, of screaming at refs, of celebrating wins and mourning losses. Although today you were more than tempted to do so, but you came, just to prove—to no one in particular—that you weren’t a coward.

Out there, somewhere in that sea of helmets and shoulder pads, was your biggest one-night-stand mistake. You were less than excited to see him skate across the ice.

Kie followed your gaze, pausing mid-chew. “Oh. Oh.” She swallowed. “You didn’t tell me he was on their team.”

“Because I was trying to block it out,” you muttered through gritted teeth.

There he was, stretching like he was God’s gift to hockey, that same smug smirk on his face that made you want to throw up in your mouth a little. The same guy you made the mistake of hooking up with last summer, back when you were blissfully unaware he was a complete waste of oxygen. Before you knew he played rough on and off the ice, throwing cheap shots at your brother, running his mouth, and generally acting like a walking red flag with skates.

“You have the worst taste in men,” Kie whispered dramatically, shaking her head.

“I was young and dumb,” you defended. “And drunk. Mostly drunk.”

“Still. You hooked up with a guy Kelce would literally throw himself into a fire to destroy. I’m surprised the universe hasn’t imploded.”

You groaned, sinking deeper into your jacket. 

Five minutes later you were gripping the railing, heart thudding as the teams lined up for the puck drop. The second your brother skated out, you tensed. Because you knew that motherfucker was going to say something.

And sure enough, after the first few plays, you saw him slide up beside Kelce during a pause in the game. His head tilted, mouth moving. Oh fuck no.

Kelce straightened up, grip tightening on his stick.

“Oh, shit,” Kie muttered, leaning forward. “Is he—?”

You braced yourself, waiting for your brother to lose it—waiting for him to drop his gloves and snap.

But before he could react, Rafe did.

One second, your brother looked ready to commit a felony, and the next, Rafe skated between them, shoving your biggest mistake back with his stick. Not hard, but enough to make a point. Enough to say, not fucking happening.

You blinked.

“What the fuck?” Kie breathed. “Did he just—?”

“Shut up, I’m trying to understand it too.”

Your brother shot Rafe a look, something between confused and annoyed, but Rafe ignored it, leaning in to say something low enough that even the refs weren’t paying attention. You couldn’t see his face, but whatever he said made the other guy’s smirk falter.

That did things to you.

The second the puck dropped, Rafe dropped him.

You hardly saw it happen. One moment, your biggest mistake was skating forward, and the next—bam. Rafe’s fist connected with his face so fast you almost missed it.

Kie sucked in a breath beside you. “Shit.”

You shot up from your seat, eyes still wide, watching as the guy hit the ice like a sack of bricks. Flat on his back, motionless for a second, before he started to stir.

Rafe just stood over him, still gripping the front of his jersey, still looking for a reason to throw another punch. His helmet was tilted back slightly, visor pushed up just enough to reveal that look—that look—the one that usually meant someone was about to get their ass beat.

The refs were already swarming, whistles blaring, but Rafe wasn’t moving.

“Are you fucking kidding me?” you hissed, gripping the railing.

Kie was still frozen. “That was—wow. That was—”

“Unhinged?”

“Hot,” she finished.

You whipped your head toward her. “What?”

She raised her hands. “Unhinged, sure, but also—”

You groaned, eyes snapping back to the ice just in time to see the refs finally pry Rafe off the guy, shoving him toward the penalty box. He went willingly, shaking his hand out like his knuckles didn’t ache from the impact, that same fucking smirk plastered on his face as he skated off.

Then, because he was an asshole, he looked right at you. Through the glass, through the crowd—right into your fucking soul.

And winked.

You felt your entire body heat up, which pissed you off because fuck Rafe Cameron. Fuck his stupid protective streak. Fuck his broad shoulders and that stupid confident smirk and— You were sitting way too fucking close to the penalty box.

Close enough that when he stepped inside, he barely had to turn his head to see you.

You were still gripping the railing, eyes narrowed.

Rafe sat down, leaned back, then tipped his head toward you—he was expecting a thank-you.

You scowled. “Are you insane?”

It didn’t even matter that Rafe Cameron was built like a linebacker or that he had at least five inches on you. You were prepared to climb his ass like a tree just to wring his stupid, smug neck.

He smirked, rolling his shoulders like knocking someone out was just another Tuesday for him.

“I mean, I’ve been told,” he said, voice muffled through the glass, “but you're welcome, princess.”

Your mouth actually dropped open.

Kie choked on a laugh beside you.

“You—you think I’m gonna thank you?” you seethed, standing up so fast the people behind you flinched in their seats. “You just got benched for ten minutes.”

Rafe shrugged, running a hand over his chin like he wasn’t even listening to you. “Worth it.”

You nearly groaned at how good he looked with his helmet off, cheeks flushed from the cold, blue eyes sharper than usual. 

“You can’t do that.

“Can’t protect my girlfriend’s reputation?”

“Stop calling me that,” you hissed, wishing there wasn’t a glass stopping you from punching his face.

“What? I thought we were still doin' that.”

“We were never doing that.”

“We definitely were,” he countered, tilting his head. “Y'were all over me last week, princess.”

“Stop it.”

“Habit,” he said, so fucking nonchalant.

“Drop it.”

“Can’t.” He grinned, giddy, like this was his favorite thing in the world. “Kinda like it.”

Your eye twitched.

You exhaled sharply, pressing your fingers to your temples. “You are so—”

“Charming? Handsome? Heroic?”

Kie wheezed.

“You volunteered to be my fake boyfriend.”

Okay so you were lying through your teeth now.

“You begged,” he corrected, like the little shit he was. “Practically threw yourself at me.”

Kie was actually crying.

You clenched your jaw so tight your teeth hurt. “I asked you one time to pretend to be my boyfriend because some guy wouldn’t take a hint.”

“And I did an amazing job,” Rafe said, nodding like he deserved a fucking trophy.

“You got into a pissing contest with him,” you deadpanned.

His grin widened. “And he backed off, didn’t he?”

You made a sound so aggressive that Kie clamped a hand over her mouth.

Kie nudged you. “You’re staring.”

“I’m glaring,” you corrected.

You made a deeply frustrated noise, something that probably wasn’t human, something that just encouraged him further. Rafe looked so fucking smug, he knew exactly what he was doing to you, like he thrived off it.

The ref skated over then, tapping the glass with the butt of his stick. “Cameron, quit flirting and focus.”

“Yes, sir,” he said, tapping his stick against the glass once before turning back to the ice, still grinning.

You slumped into your seat, suddenly exhausted.

 “So, when’s the wedding?”

Later, at the victory party, you were still ignoring him, not that it was stopping him.

Rafe had been glued to your side all night, trailing after you like a fucking golden retriever, hands always on you—guiding you through the crowd, resting on your waist, fingers slipping under the hem of your jacket just because he could.

And you—you were trying so fucking hard to stay mad. To hold onto your annoyance, to remind yourself that you didn’t ask him to knock a guy out in front of thousands of people just because he ran his mouth.

But he was making it impossible. Especially now, when he slid up behind you, arms sneaking around your waist, voice warm against your ear. “Still mad at me, girlfriend?”

You stiffened, but he just laughed, squeezing your sides before you could pull away. “Thought you’d be a little more appreciative. Y’know, considering I defended your honor.”

You turned in his arms, narrowing your eyes. “We are not together.”

His hands slid lower, settling on your hips, fingers pressing just enough to make you shiver. “Mhm. Keep telling yourself that.”

Fuck, he was so fine, disgustingly fine. The kind of fine that made you want to throw something at him just so you wouldn’t have to deal with the fact that your body loved being near his.

You scowled.

Rafe just smiled. “Y’look real pretty tonight, by the way.”

You rolled your eyes so hard you damn near saw your past life. “Shut up.”

Rafe just grinned, fingers flexing against your hips like he had any fucking right. You smacked his hands, stepping back, but he just reeled you back in like a fish caught on his line.

“You are so annoying,” you hissed, trying to peel his hands off you like they were stuck with super glue. “Let me go.”

“Nah,” Rafe said, cocky as ever, grip tightening just to piss you off. “I kinda like it here.”

You made an indignant noise, smacking his chest this time, but that only made him chuckle. You wanted to scream, maybe—kiss him a little, which was exactly why you needed to stay the fuck away.

Some girl passing by stopped, looking between you two with a dreamy little smile. “Oh my God, you guys are so cute together.”

Rafe beamed, like he’d just won a fucking award. “Right?”

“No,” you snapped, shoving at his arms. “Don’t encourage him.”

The girl just giggled and walked off, and you were left fuming while Rafe watched, amused.

“You’re still enjoying this way too much,” you accused, crossing your arms.

“‘Cause it’s fun, princess,” he teased, hands still resting on your waist, like they fucking belonged there. “Y’get all riled up. It’s cute.”

Your throat hurt in a way that had you wanting to actually fight God.

“I’m about to get real uncute if you don’t back up.”

Rafe smirked, ducking his head like he had a secret to tell. “You sure?” His voice was low, sweet like he thought he could charm you.

You shoved at his chest hard, and he finally let go, but not without laughing to himself like this whole thing was so fucking funny.

“Go bother someone else, Rafe.”

“But you’re my favorite,” he shot back way too fast, and you hated that your stomach flipped like a damn pancake.

Your jaw dropped. You smacked his arm so fast he actually flinched.

“Don’t start,” you warned, but Rafe lived to start shit.

“Not my fault you like it,” he muttered, just loud enough for you to hear.

Your eyes narrowed into dangerous little slits. “I don’t like it.”

Rafe just raised an eyebrow, unconvinced. “Mhm.”

You scowled, about to curse him out properly, but before you could, his fingers brushed your waist again—light, teasing, just enough to make your breath hitch. 

You slapped his hand away so fast it echoed.

“Stop.”

Rafe grinned, like your suffering was his favorite form of entertainment.

“What? ‘S not my fault you’re so touchable.”

You gasped, actually gasped, because what the fuck kind of line—

“If you don’t stop this shit—”

“What?” He leaned in, voice low, too close, like he wanted you to feel the words. “You gonna hit me? Y’know I like it rough.”

You nearly malfunctioned, body glitching, brain buffering, eyes blinking at him like he had lost his goddamn mind.

“Don’t—” You inhaled so sharply your lungs burned. “Don’t ever say that shit to me again.”

Before you could even form a proper death threat, his hand curled around your wrist, just enough to stop you. To still you.

Jesus Christ, his hands were warm.

Big and solid and warm, even in this freezing-ass party house, even with the cheap beer and half-melted ice lining the countertops. His fingers pressed lightly into the inside of your wrist, just above where your pulse was doing its best impression of a goddamn hockey buzzer.

His other hand found your waist again.

Your breath hitched and you hated that he noticed.

“Knew you liked me, princess.”

“You’re delusional,” you snapped, jerking your hand back, but he just tsked, his grip firm but easy, he knew you weren’t actually trying.

He pulled you closer. Just an inch, enough to make you feel him.

His voice dropped lower. “Y’know,” he murmured, lips just brushing your ear, “You sure let me touch you a lot.”

Your spine snapped straight.

“I don’t,” you gritted out.

His fingers flexed on your waist. “No?”

“No.”

“Then stop me.”

Oh, you wanted to, you should have.

But you hesitated for just a second too long, because he was too close. Too solid. Too much of everything you swore you didn’t want, but now, right now, standing in the middle of a party where nothing else existed but him—

You didn’t move.

And Rafe knew it.

His smirk turned slow, lazy, and then—oh, you bastard—he tipped his chin down, catching your gaze with his like he dared you to look away.

You couldn’t.

Your pulse was a war drum against your ribs, your breath caught somewhere between a gasp and a growl, because he was going to do it.

He was going to—

His lips came down against yours, no hesitation. No teasing. He’d been waiting for this, he knew you had, too.

You didn’t have time to process before his tongue swept past your lips, and—fuck—your knees almost buckled.

Because Rafe Cameron kissed like he did everything else.

His fingers tightened on your waist, pulling you flush against him, this wasn’t enough. His other hand cradled the side of your face, tilting your head up so he could kiss you deeper, pressing and taking like he already knew you’d let him. He knew exactly where to touch, how to hold you so you wouldn’t dare pull away.

Then— oh —his tongue swiped against your bottom lip, slow, before slipping past, deepening the kiss like he was starving for it.

Your whole body reacted.

It shot straight down your spine, pooling low in your stomach, Rafe wasn’t giving you a second to think—his lips moved against yours in that filthy rhythm, his tongue teasing, stroking against yours, coaxing a sound from your throat that you hadn’t meant to make.

That did something to him.

His hands tightened, one splaying across the small of your back, pressing you flush against him, the other sliding up to your neck, angling your head just how he wanted—deeper, messier.

And, God help you, you let him.

Because fuck, he kissed so good.

Rafe groaned into your mouth, the sound needy. His teeth scraped lightly against your bottom lip, biting just enough to make you gasp, and he took advantage—kissing you deeper, he wanted that little sound, he’d do whatever it took to pull more from you.

His fingers sliding down—tracing the curve of your ribs, teasing the edge of your top like he was thinking about pulling it off right here.

Then he changed the rhythm, slowing down, torturously. His tongue tangled with yours in a slow tease; he wanted to make you feel every second of it, he knew exactly what he was doing to you.

He kissed like he was made for it.

Rafe tilted his head, lips dragging along your jaw, down to your neck, where he bit, hard enough to make your breath hitch.

“Knew you'd let me.”

Your chest heaved, your whole body felt wrecked, and he hadn’t even really touched you yet. You should have slapped him, pushed him away.

Instead, you wanted more.

So you rose onto your tiptoes, pressing your chest against his, searching for friction—and shit, Rafe felt it. His entire body shuddered, his breath stuttering as he realized—no bra. Just you, warm, your nipples pebbled from the cold, pressing right against his chest through your flimsy top.

Rafe groaned into your mouth—wrecked. His grip on your waist nearly dropped for the shock.

Your hands slid up, nails scraping hard against the back of his neck, tangling in his hair, tugging—and fuck, that sent him feral.

He swallowed your gasp, mouth slanting over yours, tongue slipping inside—hot and wet. His tongue teased, then took, deep and demanding, like he owned you.

He pulled back just enough to spit—hot and slick—right into your tongue, eyes burning as he murmured, “Take it.”

And you did, you fucking did.

Because you were gone—ruined—nothing but the overwhelming need to feel him everywhere.

Rafe groaned, like he couldn’t believe you just let him do that, then devoured you again, tongue licking into your mouth like he wanted to live there.

His hands wandered, slipping under your top, tracing up your bare sides, thumbs barely brushing the underside of your tits—so close but not enough, teasing just to drive himself insane.

“Fuck,” he breathed against your lips, voice ragged. His forehead pressed against yours, hands still gripping you tight,. “Gonna be the fuckin' death of me.”

And God help you, you wanted to finish the job in the middle of this hallway.

His forehead was still pressed to yours, his breaths coming hot against your spit-slick lips.

You were so close, your chests heaving together, and just to be a brat, you rolled your hips just a little.

Rafe let out a guttural groan, his hands flying down to grab your ass, yanking you against him so hard you swore you felt his pulse everywhere.

“Jesus fuckin' Christ,” he groaned, mouth dropping open against your throat.

His forehead pressed to your shoulder, his entire body shuddering as his thumbs finally, finally swiped over your nipples, dragging over the soft, sensitive skin.

“You tryin' to make me lose my shit?”

“Maybe.”

Rafe moved, backing you up until your spine hit the wall, one knee pushing between your legs, parting them like he had every fucking right. 

His tongue was relentless, fucking into your mouth in deep, filthy strokes, like he wanted you to choke on it, wanted you messy. His spit dribbled from the corner of your lips as you kissed him back just as desperately.

Your nails dug into his broad shoulders, hard enough to leave marks, and fuck, Rafe loved it. He groaned into your mouth, hips grinding against yours, chasing the friction like a man starved.

“Y'like teasing me, huh?” he panted, dragging his mouth down your jaw, nipping at your pulse, sucking hard enough to leave a mark. His voice was strained. "Makin' me wanna fuck you stupid?”

You whimpered.

That was all he needed.

His hands yanked your hips closer, grinding you against his thigh, right there, and fuck, you felt everything—felt how hard he was, how badly he wanted you.

You wanted him just as bad.

“Rafe—” you gasped, head tilting back against the wall, body burning.

He grinned against your throat, smug and dark. “There’s my girl.”

You whined, nails scraping against the back of his neck, and Rafe swore.

“Gonna fuckin' kill me,” he growled, his teeth nipping at your collarbone, his hands now fully cupping your tits, squeezing like he needed to feel every inch of you.

Your hips rocked against him, your body completely shameless, seeking out every bit of friction you could get. The slick between your thighs was unbearable, and his thigh between your legs was making it so much worse.

“Fuck, Rafe,” you groaned, and that did it. That fucking did it.

His hand snapped to your jaw, forcing your head back so he could drown you in another filthy kiss. His tongue pushed into your mouth, dominating, possessive, his spit mixing with yours until it was dripping down your chin.

He loved it—loved you like this, breathless, wrecked, nails digging into his back, chest pressing flush against his like you were trying to fuse your body to his.

Rafe wasn’t even thinking anymore, his hips rutted against yours, his hands gripping your ass like he wanted to leave bruises, like he needed you to feel him tomorrow.

He broke the kiss, just enough to look at you, and fuck, he’d never seen anything hotter—lips swollen, spit everywhere, your breath all shaky and uneven.

“Look at you,” he rasped, his forehead pressing against yours, his fingers slipping lower, teasing. “So fuckin’ pretty.”

His thigh flexed between your legs, and you gasped, body jolting, the friction was too good, too much, and Rafe fucking felt it. His smirk was nothing short of wicked as he did it again, pressing you harder against the wall, grinding his leg up into you.

“That feel good, baby?” 

You could barely get the word out. “Y-Yeah.”

“Yeah?” He kissed you again, this time slower, his tongue licking into your mouth in long, lazy strokes, he had all the time in the world to ruin you. One of his hands slid up, fingers wrapping around your throat—not squeezing, just resting there, holding you in place.

Your pulse hammered against his palm. Rafe felt it. He fucking loved it.

“So fucking needy,” he murmured, his thumb tracing over your jaw, his other hand still gripping your waist, still rocking you against his thigh. His knee nudged up higher, pressing right where you needed him most, and your fingers tightened in his shirt.

“Rafe—”

He grinned against your lips. “That’s it, baby.”

Your brain was dead, but somewhere in the mess of it all, one clear thought hit you—

Of course he was the type of guy to talk you through it.

Of course, Rafe fucking Cameron would be the kind of guy who couldn’t just let you fall apart on your own. No, he had to be right there, dragging you through it, forcing you to hear every filthy, possessive word dripping from his lips.

The pressure between your legs was building, tight in your tummy, and you didn’t care that you were still in a fucking hallway, that anyone could walk by. You were too lost in him.

Rafe must’ve seen it on your face because his smirk faded. His fingers tightened just a little around your throat, his thigh flexing again, and fuck—

You whimpered, your hips rolling against him, chasing more, more, more.

Rafe groaned, his forehead pressing to yours, his lips brushing yours as he panted.

“God, fuckin' love you like this,” he muttered.

Just to wreck you further, he tilted your chin up, forcing your gaze to meet his, his blue eyes dark.

“You’re shakin',” His tone was smug, satisfied, “You gonna cum for me, princess?” His voice was pure sin. “Just like this?”

You gasped, pleasure sparking like electricity through your veins, and Rafe smirked—because he already knew the answer.

His grip on your throat tightened, not enough to hurt, just enough to make your breath hitch, to make you dizzy with it.

“Fuck, you’re close, aren’t ya?” he murmured, voice rough, teasing, eating up the way you moaned against his mouth. “So fuckin' desperate for me you’re about to come like this—rubbin' yourself on my thigh like a needy little thing.”

You should’ve been embarrassed, should’ve cared that you were still standing in a fucking hallway, grinding against him like you’d lost every ounce of dignity.

“Tell me, princess,” he growled, his thigh flexing between your legs, making you bite your lip. “Did that motherfucker ever make y'feel like this?”

You didn’t regist the words at first, but then you realized Rafe wasn’t just asking—he needed to hear it. 

Your breath hitched, nails digging into his shoulders. “No,” you gasped, shaking your head. “Never—fuck—never like this.”

That was all he needed.

His grip tightened, his hands sliding down to grab your ass, dragging you against him harder, rougher, making you moan into his mouth. 

“Didn’t fuckin' think so,” he muttered, his teeth grazing your jaw, “That’s my pretty girl,” he coaxed, his lips still dragging down your throat.

Your body tensed, thights closing around his.You gasped, back arching against the wall, fingers pulling at his shirt.

Your breath came in desperate, uneven gasps.

He couldn’t just let you have it.

No, Rafe fucking Cameron had to drag it out—had to make sure you felt every last second of it, had to talk you through it like he got off on watching you break.

“That’s it, baby,” he rasped, his grip on your hips bruising as he forced you to keep moving against him, his thigh flexing up to meet you with every devastating grind. “Don’t fucking stop now.”

You whimpered, your entire body on the verge of collapse, pleasure building so deep that it almost hurt.

His fingers slipped under your jaw, tilting your face up, forcing you to look at him, to see the way his blue eyes were blown with want.

“That’s it,” he murmured as a wrecked sound ripped from your throat, your body arching against his, because fuck, fuck, fuck—you were still right there.

Your breath hitched, your legs trembled, your mind blanking.

“Oh, fuck—” he groaned, feeling you shake apart in his hands, eating gup every twitch, every little gasp. His lips pressing against your cheek, murmuring filthy, wrecked praises against your skin.

“That’s my girl,” he muttered, his voice thick with pride,  “Look at you.”

Your body was still buzzing, your breath coming in uneven gasps, your legs shaking where they were wrapped around Rafe’s waist. His forehead still pressed against yours when your phone rang.

The shrill sound cut through the post orgasm haze in your brain like a bucket of freezing water to the face, bringing you to the absolute insanity of what had just happened.

Oh, fuck.

Rafe groaned, annoyed, pressing his lips to yours again, not ready to let you go. “Ignore it,” he muttered, “They’ll call back.”

But then you saw the name on the screen.

Kie.

Your stomach dropped.

“Shit,” you whispered, your hands immediately shoving at Rafe’s shoulders, wiggling out of his grip. He hesitated for half a second before letting you down, his brows furrowing at how suddenly you pulled away.

Your legs barely worked, body was still tingling from the way he had just ruined you, but you forced yourself to stumble back, pressing the phone to your ear.

“Kie?”

“Thank God,” her voice came rushed, stressed. “It’s—fuck, it’s Liv. She got rookied.”

Rookied.

You knew what that meant. Some asshole upperclassmen had put her through some fucked-up hazing bullshit, and now she was probably wasted, crying, or worse.

“I’m coming,” you said instantly, already running a hand through your hair, trying to make yourself look less like you’d just been getting wrecked in a hallway.

Rafe was watching you.

You could feel his eyes on you, his body still so close, his hands still flexing at his sides like he wanted to grab you, pull you back in.

But you couldn’t think about that.

Holy shit.

Your childhood friend, your brother’s best friend, the guy you had a crush on when you were twelve.

You had just grinded on Rafe Cameron like a desperate whore and fucking came on his thigh in the middle of a goddamn hallway.

You felt your face go hot, embarrassment sinking in like a slow-moving poison, drowning out the last bit of euphoria still clinging to your skin.

Rafe stepped closer, his brows drawing together, picking up on your demeanor.

“You okay?” His voice was still rough, breathless.

You swallowed hard, shoving your phone into your pocket. “I—I have to go.”

His frown deepened. “What? Now?”

You nodded, your hands shaking as you avoided his eyes, you couldn’t look at him.

“I have to take Liv home,” you rushed out, already stepping away, trying to put distance between you and the biggest mistake of your life.

Rafe’s jaw clenched. “Need help?”

His voice was genuine, and for some reason, that made your stomach twist even more.

“No,” you said shaking your head. “I—I got it.”

His eyes searched yours, you knew exactly what he was looking for—regret.

You didn’t say another word. You just turned and walked away, ignoring the way your legs still trembled, ignoring the way your lips still tingled from his kiss, ignoring the way your heart slammed against your ribs because holy shit, what the fuck did you just do?

[welcometololaland]

apologies in advance for the extremely long rant but i woke up this morning with such mixed emotions. on the one hand, i feel so much satisfaction for the way these characters had their stories told. on the other, there is sadness that there's no more of that story to tell (at least, in canon. long live fanfiction!)

and i was thinking mostly about episode one and The First Meeting and That Honky Tonk Scene and how much tk and carlos have grown since that point. and even though canonically speaking, carlos was serious about tk from the very start, how could either of them possibly have known what their lives would become from that very first dance?

tk in the rain was lost and deeply hurt. he was guarded and pissed off about the world and distant and covering up the festering wound of loneliness with a prickly exterior and casual sex. but i think it's obvious that deep down, he craved acceptance and love and BELONGING and affection. this is the same man who proposed to save a relationship! he's always been an incurable romantic in my eyes. one thing i always ruminate on when it comes to tk is his passion for caring, and how that contrasts a little with the occasionally caustic attitude he has in season 1. i think in fic we often cast carlos in that caretaker role (which he is), but i think tk (through his career, his dedication to jonah, accompanying his dad (and later) tommy to their medical appointments, his love for random animals) also has a deep need to care for others and be cared for. i see tk in the pilot as someone who has all these aching, unrelenting and unfulfilled needs, who has decided that the world has shown him he isn't worthy of them. it's someone who has recently been on the precipice of giving up. it's someone who is so tired of being let down that he's decided the best thing to do is to simply stop caring. and he has NO IDEA how much his life is going to change, how committed his future husband is going to be, and how much meaning his life is going to have, both in a caretaker sense, as well as being cared for.

carlos also carries so much pain in the pilot, but i think the interesting thing about how carlos' story is told is that it's not obvious from that episode (whether by design or simply...that rafael silva was criminally under-utilised in season 1). slowly, through the seasons, we begin to unpack carlos' complicated feelings towards his upbringing and his father, his deep respect for, and loyalty to, his parents, his need to exceed everyones' expectations (highly relatable content). i think it eventually becomes obvious that carlos has so many ideas of the person HE NEEDS TO BE in a relationship, but so many times, he finds himself completely out of his depth (the loft purchase, the secret marriage) because tk never represents the picture-perfect love story that carlos perhaps envisaged but actually something tangible, real, messy and yet perfect in its own way that not only fulfils him but CHALLENGES him and leads him to this extraordinary personal growth. carlos, to me, represents the picture of what a supportive and loving relationship can represent - not only happiness and fulfilment and deep affection for someone else, but finding a new way to love yourself. i bet if carlos had a crystal ball in the pilot, he wouldn't have characterised all the challenges that he and tk will eventually face as the idealistic relationship, and maybe would be uncomfortable with the mistakes that both of them make in that journey, but i don't think carlos in the rain could ever have imagined how deeply fulfilled he will feel with the life he ends up having.

i know this isn't perfectly expressed but im in my feelings and this is my blog and you get my stupid word vomit. tarlos are the epitome to me of the greatest power of love - the love you CHOOSE, the love you commit to, and the love that irrevocably changes you.

did i use a twilight reference for the last line? you can't prove it.

x

[psychemochanight]

I need a fanfic where fanon!Dick is the perception his brothers have of him, and Dick simply accepts those ideas of him, without trying to prove otherwise.

Tim admires Dick, yes, but he thinks he'd set a computer on fire if he tried to turn it on.

Dick, being the one who helped with almost the entire Watchtower system, who hacks into different Intelligence Services whenever he feels like it, and steals files from the catcomputer whenever he needs something and doesn't want to ask for it, without anyone knowing (not even Tim).

Jason, admitting that Dick is very socially intelligent, but horrible at other types of intelligence, especially math and literature.

Dick, who was a top student who graduated from high school early in advanced classes and only doesn't pursue further college degrees because he is too bored to go to class, plus, he won every math competition he entered and was considered a genius by Bruce, Alfred, and his teachers. (And he read all the books in the mansion since he was little, but he is more fond of classic literature than modern literature).

Damian, thinking Dick is too soft, that he works on hugs and doesn't know how to set boundaries because of how kind he is.

Dick, who can be even more brutal than Bruce when required, who actually prefers his personal space most of the time (he does like physical contact, but not as much as everyone thinks), and that he has not only hurt people because of how strong his words are when he is angry, but he has gotten into fist fights with people to defend his own boundaries.

(He's still the one who knows Dick best tho, yes, he is too nice for his own good sometimes, but he's not stupid either).

And Duke is sure Dick can't cook to save his life because he always sees him eating cereal or just simple food.

Dick knows how to cook perfectly, he just likes simple food more and cereal is mostly because it is his comfort food and his need for sugar to keep going.

Not to mention everyone thinks he's a playboy, heartbreaker and all that.

No, (actually Tim had more partners than him, lol), and Dick is quite a demisexual, romantic person, who feels sick whenever something ends in a one night stand, because he feels that those things should be done with someone he loves. Plus, he really doesn't even like people complimenting him on his looks; even though everyone thinks he enjoys the attention, which is why his brothers send him thirst trap type videos made by his fans (both Nightwing and Dick Grayson's).

Girls actually believe some of these things too, but not to the extent that boys do.

It can also play on the fact that other people rather think that Dick has anger issues and is completely violent, or thinking that he was Bruce's nightmare when he was a child.

Extra points if it has a mention that he's the one who's actually addicted to coffee and insomniac, lmao.

[tennco]

part of me wants to look more into this supposed decline of touhou, it's fascinating. but here's what i got now.

1.there are overall less touhou fanworks being made

this is mostly measured by doujin circles that apply to conventions. which, while a big part of it, is not the whole sum, specially since nowadays more people may opt to share their work digitally. also fails to account that conventions had considerably less overall attendance post-pandemic and it's still too soon to tell if that has normalized again.

2.touhou and doujin are more commercial than before (got nothing myself but i'd be inclined to agree, sure. then again things like merchandise have been around for a long while)

3.less quality than before (not really i already went over this)

ok but to be fair there was a dip in popularity somewhere post-UFO right. which is one of the games people like to point out as the downfall, along with anything else ranging from MoF to HSiFS because who gives a shit anyways. but that's a little bit misleading, it's not that there was a dip after UFO, it's more likely there was a peak with UFO. and i did no research on this next point to be fair, other than ZUN's account who largely alleged to it around the time of UM, but like i implied earlier with digital mediums being so prevalent there is the possibility that the decrease in doujin circles on conventions could be the result of a shift in the general landscape and not an observation endemic to touhou.

alright so what about the community. well i'm gonna leave out the bigoted takes (which have significant overlap with the rest i wonder why) because they deserve nothing more than shut the fuck up. everything else is all over the place, these are some of the sentiments i've seen over the years.

cries about secondaries and whatever the fuck a "tourist" is supposed to be. "oh they don't play the games", and if they do it's "oh they don't read the print works" this is just stupid i got nothing else to say about it.

"porn is good" but also "porn is bad and everyone is a gooner" this is also stupid.

"everyone just agrees or justifies everything ZUN does, there's no criticism" sometimes, and that should change. it doesn't signify anything though.

"there's politics now" lol

"touhou should've stayed niche" it's still niche but i know right? it's like this used to be my little corner and now there's all these people i don't know playing with my toys in ways i don't like. come the fuck on man.

and i think that's the thing. it's not about the statistics or the quality or the content or whatever else. either these people have completely shut themselves off on their own volition due to this perception that others are "corrupting" this thing they love (i wasn't kidding about the overlap up there btw), or they don't accept they are just bored with the series and continue to linger for some reason, and instead of moving on to something else they just start looking for ways to justify their disdain because there's no way it's just me it's gotta be ZUN's fault or the fans or this or that. but above all this is nothing new, we've been doing this for almost twenty years, touhou's been dying for twenty years apparently come on.

anyways sorry for the rant. that's my message, if a piece of media is genuinely not making you happy anymore there's no reason to keep engaging with it, no one's forcing you to stay i promise. let go. this should be obvious.

[some-girl-i-guess-1]

MANOR ERA CYN HCS YIPPEE

- was the last to be found and rescued by tessa, first being J followed by n and v shortly after

- voice/speech patterns were always funky in the way they are now but her limbs were mostly fine pre-solver, though they did lock up a bit

- her serial member started with ‘n’ so she gave herself the name cyn to differentiate herself from N

- it’s also why they’re siblings - their serial numbers are only two numbers apart!

- she’s the youngest of the group, but not like a toddler - id say she’s around 14 years old. for reference, n and v are 15, and j n tessa are 16 (Tess is 2 months older)

- very smart for her age, knows how to read people’s thoughts and emotions rly well - good at picking up small social cues

- despite this though she has a hard time comforting people at first. it’s not because she has low empathy, she just doesn’t know how to help. no matter how much she wants to help, she’s ultimately powerless

- got her solver about 2 years in, when james carelessly threw a bottle over/behind head and at her face, the life-or-death situation causing it to awaken. James didn’t notice, but tessa did.

- much like uzi there were brief flashes of the symbol on her eye a few weeks before it happened, but she didn’t really think anything of it until the incident

- cyn and Tess quickly told the others abt the solver, but with their lack of knowledge they didn’t really find anything out n just assumed cyn was magic

- slowly, she began to learn and master the solver’s power - using it to protect her family and make their lives easier, but despite this she still felt like she wasn’t doing enough with it. she couldn’t just protect them, no - she could reach higher, she could free them all!

- Tessa and J wouldn’t have to worry about a stupid, forced marriage getting between them, her big brother and V wouldn’t have to worry about dying for simple mistakes, and none of them would ever have to worry about mr and ms elliot ever again.

- slowly though the side effects of the solver would begin to take their toll on her. cyn valiantly refused the urge to kill and consume with everything she had to the point where it started consuming parts of cyn’s own body to stave off that gnawing hunger, causing her motor skills to get worse and her joints to lock up

- this forced cyn to rely even more heavily on the solver, which caused her to grow even hungrier - all of this taking a mental toll on cyn’s mind and sanity.

- by the time of the gala, she’s hanging on by a thread - consuming the other workers in the manor and food from the kitchen to keep herself somewhat stable, but at this point she’s long gone. her desire to protect and save her family has been twisted into a sick plan to make them all ‘just like her’, turning n v and j into disassemblers - and fusing herself with tessa’s body in a freakish macabre display, where albeit painfully, she’s still Alive. She would never discard her big sister Tessa, after all!

- cyn was not possessed by an entity, nor is she inherently malicious. rather, the pressure she put on herself and the eldritch power that wormed itself into her very soul caused her to lose any semblance of sanity, now being fueled by nothing but the sick desire to consume *everything*, with her family right by her side.

- she is the ultimate foil to uzi - as while cyn had nobody who truly understood the weight of the solver, and actively hid and pushed back against that side of herself until it swallowed her whole, uzi had multiple people (khan, n, and v) who were knowledgeable enough to help her through it all, and instead of hiding herself from the world, she chose to be herself and be free.

- cyn was but a child wanting to save their family. quite a classic story - a young child being given supernatural powers they don’t comprehend, and learns to become a hero. but it all went wrong, and now there is nothing left of her. nothing, but the solver of the absolute fabric, the void, and the exponential end.

[boringsickness]

Bernard feeling jealous but completely unable to express it because he's being raised in a house of neglect. He's so used to speak and not being heard that at some point he simply stopped.

Cue the cult, his relationship with Tim and his jealousy.

It's not often and he's definitely not jealous of Steph or any other Tim's exes or close friends.

It happens sometimes though, when people make a comment too much about Tim and Kon or they joke way more than necessary about sex with his exes.

But Bernard says nothing. Never.

He just gets this vagant look in his eyes and his nails slowly start to cut his palms because of his hands being closed into tight fists. And if the fists are too obvious ("too much a cry for attention" as his father would say) he'd cover his hands and drag his nails on his thighs. Red marks all over his skin, the scratching of something on fabric loud but still not enough to let them stop talking.

And if the sound or the scratching was heard or seen, he could always smile it off and go out of his way to step aside. To leave the comments behind and find something to eat or drink, to dampen down this stupid feeling and the bile fighting its way up his throat.

Thank god, Tim is observant and thank god some of his brothers are not cruel.

Because Tim always takes him from the wrist, letting his hands relax slowly and pulling his wounded palms to his lips. Soft mouth kissing away the hurt, eyes searching for something into Bernard's until Bernard can nod backs. Body not rigid anymore.

Surprisingly, when he's around, Jason is a good help too. Nudging his shoulder hard enough to startle him but not so much to completely bodyslam him. Just the necessary to let Bernard think about something that wasn't his boyfriend being seen with someone else better. He never said anything to Jason, Jason definitely didn't either, but he offered a shy smile. A silent thank you.

What was even funnier, in an ironic way, was Bruce patting his shoulder as to say 'theyre idiots, good luck. Ik you can handle it' and Kon in all his glory laughing and shaking his head if he was present.

"they don't know what they're talking about. No one will ever look at someone with as much love as Tim has for you and you for him. You were made for each other. Two halves of the same deranged freak."

And weirdly enough, it helped. They all did in their methods.

Especially Tim's way of kissing him harder when alone, of tracing his body with fingers and tongue and lips and whispering nonsense on his skin.

Bernard always told him that he didn't need to, it was okay. It was funny. Ah ah, they were just jokes.

But Tim never bought it, when it happened, and he always gave him a bit more attention. A bit more of himself completely bare and vulnerable and real, making Bernard fall even more in love.

Of course, Bernard made sure to do so too. To shower him in as much love and care.

They were complicated and silly and freaks and a tad ridiculous but they worked. Now Bernard only needed to speak freely about his jealousy without leaving visible traces on his body. (But Tim was as much as a mess as him so it was mostly okay. They'd work at it, like always. They had time. All their lives, specifically)

[rafesweetie]

track viii. DEATH BY A THOUSAND CUTS! (feat. jj maybank and reader)

“ flashbacks waking me up, i get drunk but it’s not enough “

it’s a small town, you’re bound to run into jj. in fact, it happens a lot. it still hurts the same every time you make eye contact.

he broke up with you before he went to south america, claiming that he’s putting you through too much with his stupid adventures. he didn’t want you to have an emotional attachment to him, just in case something happened. a breakup couldn’t fix your feelings for him though, he was silly to think they’d just… disappear. you felt lonely without him, you missed him.

you had a nightmare one night — you’d had them a lot recently, actually. but this one was different. it started with the chandelier flickering in a dark prison cell, with no one around. beer bottles are scattered around you, empty ones. you’re the only person who could’ve drank them. you look around, then see him — jj. he’s staring at you through the bars, looking at your hands. only then do you glance down. small paper cuts. they’ve barely broken skin, but they sting. only then do sheets of paper appear floating beside you, personified, the paper that must’ve cut you. you look back at jj.

“jj? what’s happening?” you ask him.

he glances back up to your face. “you’ll be alright, it’s just a thousand cuts.”

you wake up in tears.

unfortunately, as mentioned earlier, you’re lonely. so the only person to call for comfort is jj, the only person who you ever truly felt comfortable with.

he answers, and you’re surprised you haven’t been blocked this whole time. “y/n?” he asks your name sleepily and confused, because you’ve woken him up. “what’s up?”

“nightmare,” you answer with a sniffle.

he tries to wake himself more. “what was it about?” you’re also surprised he’s instantly here for you.

“um, you,” you answer honestly. “well — mostly me, you were just… there, i dunno. and there were sheets of paper who were alive and cutting me, and you said i’d be alright— i’m sorry i woke you, it sounds dumb now that i’m saying it out loud.”

“yeah, uh — it kind of does,” he admits.

“… i miss you,” you say softly, out of nowhere.

there’s silence on the other end. “that why you called me? is this nightmare a lie?”

“don’t be mean. i don’t think i could make up personified paper, anyway,” you say softly.

“…shit,” he sighs, and you can tell he’s thinking. “i miss you too, okay? obviously i do.”

“so can we get back together?”

a breathless, sleepy chuckle from the other end. “straight to the point, huh? i don’t know, mama, what if we get back together, and i end up dying? would rather you say ‘my ex died’ than ‘my boyfriend died.’”

“you won’t die, thought you were done with the gold anyway, you found it,”

“m’just saying,”

“so you’ll be alright. jj, i’m dying over here, okay? i can’t pretend i’m okay, i’m not okay without you,”

you not being ‘okay’ gets him, because of course he still cares way too much about you. “i’ll come over tomorrow, to talk, okay?”

you know you’ll end up with your legs spread as you scream and confess how much you missed him, but you play along anyway. “okay, please do,”

“see you then,” then he hangs up.

you sleep peacefully for the rest of the night, knowing that you’ll be alright, the morning will come and he’ll be your baby again.

[eisforeidolon]

https://x.com/krishay89/status/1888278016314212490?s=46 would live you smart thoughts on this

At this point, Rob and Rich are catering to the only audience still engaging with them - mostly desperate hellers who will take validation from anywhere they can get it. You know, the people who, if someone walked up to them on the street and said their boyfriend's sister's cousin's dogwalker's aunt's son's preschool teacher's ex-boss took a trip to the SPN set once and saw super secret scripts where D/C was made canon in a porta potty? They'd believe it. So two people who were each actually on the show for more episodes than you can count on one hand? Total experts bravely telling The Real Truth about the show with their deep understanding that obvs trumps that of the leads!!!

In reality, Rob and Rich are forgettably minor character actors desperately trying to milk every single possible drop out of their connection to SPN and its very active (and spend-happy) fandom to supplement their income. Except from everything I've heard, in a painfully lazy way - because they made it clear from the start of the podcast they didn't actually think much of SPN as a show and weren't really paying attention in their 'watch' while trying to be funny. So they lost most of their potential audience right out of the gate and don't really have anything insightful to say about a story they can barely bother to pay attention to.

In short, they want attention, but don't have the relevance or want to do the work to earn it. But hey, what gets you more quick, cheap attention than pandering? Especially to a group who loudly make it clear over and over they're desperate enough to pay to hear their ship is totes for real a thing and will go on for days on end about your podcast if you cater to them? Not only that, but it probably takes a five second search on tumblr for each episode to find some bad fanon to parrot out! So much easier than actually watching the stupid show these gullible idiots will pay to hear them to talk about, lol.

[astertimberwolf]

We're all survivors of one too many bad things happening to us. I've healed from a lot, but CPTSD still makes me feel like I'm the lonelist of all, at times... Mostly because of trust issues. It becomes so hard to trust again and so easy to become a hermit or social recluse who never wants to leave their safe space or interact with other people ever again- out of fear of being abused, hurt, let down, disappointed, etc. all over- for the umpteenth time.

I think the thing that stings the most is- knowing, deep down, that the likelihood of you finding love... AKA someone who understands you wholly, respects you, cherishes you, supports you and wants to know- and love every single part of you... Is close to none. At least for me it is- or feels that way. When people look at me, they only see my mental health issues, my quirks, my defects, my vulnerabilities- or worse yet: my past mistakes. They're not able to see that there's a complex, emotionally deep, sensitive, empathetic, caring conscious being underneath all this.

Yes, I'm autistic and have ADHD. Yes, I suffer from Complex PTSD, which can lead to unfounded anxiety or depressive bouts from time to time- and hinder my ability to socialize and connect to others... But I've got a lot of love to give as well, a past- complete with a stupid number of experiences, both good and bad... a story to tell- a personality, which, while quirky, doesn't make me repulsive or hard to be around. I've also got lots of hobbies and interests as well... In short, I'm not just another "walking, talking problem" or "NPC you can interact with". I'm a person that can add color to your life. All you have to do is take some time to get to know me. If you're not a bad person, then I don't bite at all and won't retreat into myself to safeguard my wellbeing.

Life is so short, yet so many people have been traumatized or are socially maladapted to a stupid degree because they grew up on toxic social media... Wouldn't it be amazing if it became easier to form bonds and deeper connections with people? If we learnt to communicate and respect each other more? Live in harmony despite being very different? Share laughs, good memories and find company in one-another?

I don't know if this pain is just a consequence of having CPTSD- or if it's a whole slew of generations that depended on the internet for everything and, now, don't know how to form meaningful friendships / relationships with one-another.

If we want to change things for the better, we have to start putting more time, effort and points into empathy and mutual understanding. I have... But so many people I have come across have not, and it's deeply saddening and disheartening that nobody takes the time to develop their emotional intelligence or maturity any more... I want a better world and better people...

...a better future. I'm fighting for all that, tooth and nail. But will people join my plea and fight? Can we turn this around...? Be it through investing more time in platforms where you actually have a semblance of seeing a person in front of you like VRChat- or even creating new places where people can gather and help one another?

I don't know anymore. I'm rambling at this point. But I think these are real problems that everyone is just looking away from or denying the existence of by pretending everything is fine... It really is not. Can we make this year, a year where humanity starts slowly turning around and becomes a truly social, communal species again- instead of this individualistic, narcissistic, consumeristic / capitalistic nonsense? I know the former sounds political, but it really isn't. Look at how the most popular social media platforms are designed to enrage us, manipulate us, degrade our attention, ability to function- and click on stupid ragebait and misinformation. All for the sake of targeted adverts, engagement... And at the end of the day, money. It's always about that and not people's wellbeing. Is there a way to stop this and start over? :(

believe me, it hurts like hell to face the fact no one is coming to save you.. but fighting to save yourself can give you a connection to yourself that no one else can give you. it's a feeling that honestly can't be put into words. but it's so worth sticking around for.

and this doesn't mean you have to fight alone. there will be people in your life who can help tend your wounds. give you a safe space to rest. teach you how to strengthen the parts of yourself that are injured. or simply be with you in between battles, doing all the wonderful things that make life worth living, together.

i don't know if that made sense. i just want anyone else going through it to know there is another side to the hopelessness and desperation you're feeling. maybe it won't feel like mine is. but i do hope it's just as rewarding for you. you deserve that much, and so much more.

whatever you're facing now does not have to be the end of you. keep going. i promise you're worth it.

[ariadne-mouse]

In honor of our new extremely flirtatious and available paladin-bard Braius Doomseed, in good fun here are some possible very serious ship names for him with, well, everyone, with my personal very serious faves in bold:

Braius + Dorian: Stormseed, Doomstorm, Brorian, Doriaus

Braius + Laudna: Braudna, Loomseed, Skinny Cow, Black Ooze Inc, Doom & Dread

Braius + Imogen: Imogus, Brimogen, save a horse ride a minotaur, Doomult

Braius + Ashton: Greydoom, Doommoore, Brashton, Just Don't Me

Braius + Fearne: Bearne, Fraius, Callowseed, Doomway, Callowdoom

Braius + Orym: big doom little moon, Brorym, Seedseed

Braius + Chetney: Chetius, Brockopea, Doom Pea, Pock o' Seed, Chaius, Bretney (it's bretney betch)

Braius + Essek: Bressek, Doomshadow, Shadowseed

Braius + Teven: Doomklask, hero worship, Braiueven (sorry), Traius, HR Violation

Braius + Ludinus (look, he's here and being on a mission to defeat him does not preclude hotness): Brudinus, Da'Doom, Luaius (sorry)

Braius + Veth (she's not here but she would if she could be and I have to respect that): Breth, Doomatto, Vethseed, Doomveth, Broomvatto, seagull at the buffet table

Please pipe up in the tags/comments with your favorites and additions to this heavy-hitting discussion.

[gophergal]

Guilt tripping people does nothing but cause vulnerable folks to spiral and make folks who dont live with moral OCD feel negatively toward your cause

[egophiliac]

CROWLEY SSR THOUGHTS

there is zero basis for this, but I can't get this thought of my head

I don't know why I decided to draw it this way

[bodysnatch3r]

copy/pasting my last reply to @darethshirl because i feel like it captures what i'm trying to get at, as someone who has criticisms towards veilguard but also thinks the ideas it presents and the additions it brings to the lore and the overall story are worth exploring:

in a way, it reminds me of the discourse that exploded following star wars: the last jedi's release, how people claimed it had destroyed the franchise, it had gleefully ignored the lore, it had made nonsensical choices and insulted its audience. does the last jedi have flaws? yes. of course. its writing is at its weakest when it fumbles with giving finn a meaningful arc. but i also, personally, think it was one of the best modern star wars movies, and still is. i think it asks interesting questions about legacy and what star wars even is, and when it released if you even dared express this opinion on the wider internet people were ready to nuke you from orbit. and these people won, in the end! i saw the rise of skywalker exactly once, realised it had walked back everything interesting the last jedi had to say, and never engaged with it again. i feel like the same is happening with veilguard: the predominant narrative on the internet being that it has destroyed the franchise, the implication it is more stupid or less complex than its predecessors, the unwillingness to interact with it or give it the same grace that inquisition and the other games get after a decade of percolating in the fandom consciousness. r/dragonage is mostly negative; r/solasmancers is mostly negative; twitter/bluesky hounded john epler into deactivating his account for a day; every youtube that posts about it is inundated with right wing grifters and critics alike (not the same thing, i know!); even the dedicated veilguard subreddit is mostly people either criticising the game or apologising for liking it in the first place. i'm not saying criticism should stop: ongoing, constructive conversations like this one are how fandoms stay alive. but when the dominant discourse is constant criticism, when the general implication is that whoever likes veilguard is stupid or a corporate shill or up bioware's ass… it's hard.

and a brief addendum: my aim is not to tone police or tell folks they should not criticise veilguard or should not voice their disappointment. there are things in veilguard that have disappointed me too. i wanted solas' modern-day rebellion. i wanted more on the evanuris and the world before the veil so we could truly understand the depth of the moral dilemma at the heart of the veil. i think the game is poorer without these things. i've said often that veilguard's flaws are due to the writers correctly employing the rule that the best way to write about social issues is through characters and then sometimes forgetting the social issues at all. i still mourn the reactivity that we lost and the carryover from previous games; i recognise bioware has been plagued by mismanagement longer than i've been an adult.

these games will never be perfect. but when i write, when i make my own art and my own stories, it is so much healthier for me to do so in an environment where the relationship between artist/creative and art enjoyer is not endlessly antagonistic. why create at all, if people's first point of order is to assume the worst faith possible behind your own art?

FUCK ME. art really is subjective.

[californiaquail]

anyone else feeling fundamentally incapable of adjusting to society. also just discovered there's a 30 tag limit which i can't believe i've never hit before

[mantisgodsdomain]

In Plato's theory of epistemology, anamnesis (/ˌænæmˈniːsɪs/; Ancient Greek: ἀνάμνησις) refers to the recollection of innate knowledge acquired before birth. The concept posits the claim that learning involves the act of rediscovering knowledge from within oneself.

In other news, we are continuing to post our Febuwhump fic to AO3, finally. This one isn't even Leif's Request spoilers.