#but i've been thinking about this a lot

[thesweetnessofspring]

Gregor truly has such great parents. They've taught him how to be responsible, curious, intelligent, respectful, kind, caring, and selfless. It's what's made him the warrior in all of the prophecies, more than being a rager. Gregor doesn't really want to be a rager, except for when it comes to defending himself and others. Gregor's family is poor and don't have much, and so Gregor is giving to his sisters so that they will have enough to eat. He's constantly remembering things that his parents have told him before, whether that's practical information or how to behave. And he listens to them, remembering advice they'd given him before, and when he does, things get better. And as they are both alive, sick but alive, he is secure in knowing that he has two adults who love him in his corner.

Which makes Pearlpelt's backstory all the more tragic. He's the great white rat and as such as the potential to lead the rats, to bring peace. But he suffered at the hands of his father. He was taught violence when his father killed his littermates. He was encouraged to gorge on his mother's milk without those littermates to share with, teaching him selfishness and lacking regulation. He watched his mother and father fight to the death, reinforcing the danger of the world and leaving him without the love or guidance of his mother, who so clearly adored and loved him. Ripred and the other rats who acted as Pearlpelt's guardians were given a pup who had already been greatly scarred by his early years, lacking in regulation and attachment. It's no wonder they couldn't figure out how to handle him. And he doesn't know how to handle himself, reducing himself to sucking and biting on his tail to attempt to curb his own mounting anguish.

Gregor, warrior and rager, could have ended up as Pearlpelt did--lacking in control and unsure of who truly loves him--without his parents. And Pearlpelt, the Bane, could have ended up like Gregor--compassionate and seeking peace over violence--had his parents been more like Gregor's.

[lionheartedmusings]

honestly idk why the ccs still even use twitter? like i swear, just... leave. delete the app, find other places to read what the community has to say. idk, i totally understand being sensitive to backlash especially when it's undeserved, but my guys, my gals, my friends... leave. stop engaging with what's awful to you. please, i beg.

[kavehvision]

Almost every contestant in the Inter-Darshan Championship got what they wanted from the competition, though they didn't win.

-Tighnari drummed up interest in his lecture -Cyno got the limited edition TCG card (though he obviously paid for it, but that was his own choice, Kaveh was willing to let him have it for free even after hearing that it was worth 1 million Mora) -Faruzan attracted a student -Layla I'm not entirely sure, I don't think she had a solid goal going into it other than to not make a fool of herself since she was nominated, but since she was being complimented by her peers and they took her out for a meal, and she did her best not to let them down, I'd say her own goals were well resolved too. -Wanderer (Hat Guy lol) was only there to keep an eye on things per Nahida's request, and step in if he had to. I guess if anything, he got tricked into going to school now, so good for him.

Kaveh is the only one who didn't exactly get what he wanted, seemingly, though he was the actual winner of it. He broke the diadem so he never wore it, and he donated all the wealth he would have won (though he did get 1 million Mora out of it, but certainly not enough to move out of Alhaitham's house).

I think rather than winning and wearing the diadem for his late father, he wanted closure on a period of his life that causes him immense guilt and grief, represented by wearing that diadem, because he had expressed the desire for it as a child, and he believed that this was the reason that his father ended up dying later. The money I believe was very much secondary to this. Like he wanted it, but that closure was something I think meant more to him.

And he did get that, though it wasn't related to him winning. At the same time, though, the fact that it was Kaveh who won was what brought Sachin's consciousness forth. If it had been any of the others, he wouldn't have made an appearance, because that only would've happened if he liked the contestant, and Kaveh's idealism was what won Sachin over. So after hearing the truth from Sachin, and then later being told (by the Traveler or Alhaitham) that his father had met Sachin after the Championship of 20 years ago and had been the real reason for his father's gloominess and later accident, I believe Kaveh got that closure that he desired.

Like I don't think it totally got rid of that lifelong guilt he's felt, but it's a strong step toward healing for him. So although Kaveh didn't get literally what he wanted from the Inter-Darshan Championship, I think he symbolically did (and also did get 1 mil Mora out of it, too lol)

[illusioncanthurtme--art]

Physically? I am sitting in my bedroom. Mentally? Spiritually? I AM DEAD ON THE FLOOR!!!!! THESE TWO HAVE KILLED ME!!!!

(Another drawing! This was originally attempt #1 at drawing stan, and then fiddleford just showed up. Kinda feels like them five minutes after the above acting like nothing happened though, so it works sdjkgkjfshj)

[pigeon-princess]

“There is something at work in my soul, which I do not understand.”

I've had this vision in my mind for ages so I finally decided to take a stab at drawing a cover for one of my favourite novels⚡

[bi-writes]

the new baby you take care of is the cutest baby you've ever met. (a lil dubcon, baby trapping, 18+)

he has a big head with a tuff of little blond waves, and he has the brightest brown eyes in the entire world. he smiles at every face you make at him, and he takes a bottle like a champ and will nap for hours as long as you're quiet.

his father has a strict schedule set for him. when you met that big man for the very first time, you were speechless. your teeth had clacked together with how fast you tried to close your gawking mouth, but it was impossible not to with how much he towered over you, nearly touching the top of the doorway.

he is methodical, down to every minute. tacked onto the fridge, he had shown you his son's current schedule, which he emphasized with a dead glare must be followed to a T.

two feedings in the morning followed by a nap. another feeding. a longer nap. another feeding. another nap. all separated in increments of 45 minutes, with instructions on how to use the bottle warmer and how to measure the formula.

his son does not cry. his father had told you, if he cries, y'r doin' somethin' wrong. and he was right. the baby only cried when he was hungry, and he would fall into a dead sleep as soon as you gave him a bottle.

it's odd, to take care of someone else's baby. especially this man's. there's no woman in the house, as far as you can tell. the whole house is decorated very minimally, cozy and in shades of warm greens and cool blues and browns. there are no heeled boots by the door or pretty fur coats, and whenever you pass by his bedroom, only one side of his bed ever looks lived-in. there are no pictures on the walls, no makeup in the bathroom drawers, and no pads or tampons under the sink.

just a big, unfeeling man and his big, adorable baby.

but you think that your actions to get this big, unfeeling man to like you are starting to have the wrong kind of implications.

it starts with dinner. you start to make it, using the ingredients from his fridge to make stews and buttery mashed potatoes and roasted veggies. the image of you stirring a pot with his baby on your hip has not left him, and whenever you don't have some kind of meal cooking when he gets home, you answer to someone curt, annoyed, and cold, even to the touch.

then it's the decorating. you thought his couch was a little bare, so now there's a few throw blankets laying across the back of it. there's a vase of pretty tulips on the coffee table. you're growing herbs on the windowsill, little pots of thyme and rosemary and basil. you leave house shoes by the door now, and even when you're not there, he sees those fuzzy pink slippers in the foyer, and he can't help the way he chubs up just seeing them when you're not around.

you start to bring some extra changes of clothes. after the baby spit up on you more than once in a day, you bring a duffel bag with you once a week with extra changes of clothes. he snarls when he sees your clothes in one of his drawers; pretty black panties and matching bras, all laid out under your lounge wear right next to his fucking socks.

the toothbrush next to his in the bathroom. the multi-colored chapsticks in the drawers. tampons and pads organized in the cabinet, your moisturizer next to his shaving cream. he smacks his fist against the wall when he sees the finished package of your birth control in the trash because wot the fuck are y'doing taking those things when y'know i want another--

he can see you in the baby monitor. swaying in the dark of his son's room, the baby's head on your chest as you rock him softly. you're singing a little, a gentle hum to soothe him enough that his eyes start closing. he groans a little when he sees your eyes shut as you kiss his son on the forehead, cooing at him as you pat his little back and tell him to have sweet dreams.

you're making brownies when he comes home that night. his son is seated in his high chair, clapping his hands, and you're smiling at him and cooing in that baby voice you do as you take the warm brownies out of the oven. when you see him emerge from the darkness of his living room, you smile at him, taking off the oven mitts.

"hi, simon," you say softly, and his pupils dilate when you slip a hand over his son's head to soothe him. "i made some dessert, hope that's okay. thought you might wanna try my new recipe."

simon comes into the kitchen as you take his baby out of his high chair. you hoist him up against your hip, and when simon comes closer, you giggle as tilts his head to the side and stares down at you both. you tilt your head back a little, blinking up at him, and the flutter of your lashes is enough to have him rock hard in his cargos as his hands curl into frustrated fists at his sides.

"i'm gonna put him down for bed, it's a little late," you tell him. you hoist his son up a little higher on your hip, picking up his little chubby arm and waving up at simon. "say goodnight, daddy."

simon grins under his mask at the soft lilt of your voice. you try not to squeak when one of his big hands slides around your waist to hold you at your back, and he bends down to kiss his son's forehead through his mask.

"goodnight, my boy."

you try not to linger on the idea that he may have grabbed your ass as you walked away. no, his arms are just so long, they grazed you while you passed by him.

the baby always goes down nice and easy. one bottle later, with a full stomach, he's rubbing his little eyes and fussing in your arms as he tries to fall asleep. he's a mover, simon's little one--always grasping around with his arms and flopping onto his side in the bed. oftentimes, after a nap, he's facing the opposite direction and on the other end of the crib when you come to get him.

so you shouldn't be surprised when as he's falling asleep, his little grubby hands reach for you and pull.

your eyes widen when you hear the pop of buttons. you look down, gasping, when you see his son has grabbed onto the front of your blouse and pulled the first few buttons out. they clatter onto the floor in a mess, and you're not able to see where they go with it so dark in his room.

"oh, god!"

you try to be gentle as you set the baby down in his crib. he immediately sticks his thumb in his mouth with his head lolling to the side, and you try to pick up anything you step on as you hurry out of the room, trying to hold your shirt together.

it's useless. you're standing there in the hallway, hastily shutting the baby's room closed, tits out at eight in the evening.

"tha' why he so good ta ya, mama?"

your eyes bug out of your head when you see simon there. he's standing at the end of the hallway, arms crossed over his chest, and his eyes are focused on your poor open blouse. the bra you're wearing leaves nothing to the imagination--just mesh with underwire, and when simon comes closer, there's virtually nothing separating you when he reaches up with that gloved hand and cups one breast, thumb smoothing over your nipple before he tugs on it gently.

"wha--simon--"

"thinks y'r his mum, pretty tits out like tha'," simon hisses. "'f ya wanted it so bad, why didn't ya just say?"

"simon--"

he tsks, using both hands this time to grip your blouse by the edges and tug it down your arms. it falls around your elbows, and he takes the straps of your bra with it, until it's pooled around your waist and your tits fall free.

"fuckin' hell," he breathes, and your lips part gently as he hikes up his mask and spits on your nipples before sucking them into his mouth. "mmmph..."

you arch your back as he rips the rest of the buttons off with one smooth tug. your blouse falls, and your bra follows it, until you're in nothing but your skirt, backing up into the darkness of his bedroom as he kicks the door shut. you scramble to get him back on top of you when your knees hit the edge of the bed, and you're laying down--grabbing around his shoulders as you try to guide his mouth back to your breasts where he can suckle on them with that filthy mouth of his.

"knew it--" he rasps. "fuck, i knew it--"

your eyes squeeze shut when he ruts his hips against yours. your panties are ruined, slick wet and digging uncomfortably into your folds, but the scratch of simon's jeans have your back bowing at a hard angle, your fingers sliding between your bodies as you reach for his zipper. you gasp when you feel him under your hand, straining against denim, the girth of him tying your stomach in hard knots as you think about what it'll take to get you open enough for him to slip in.

"keepin' me fat," simon murmurs. "holdin' my baby like tha', wot did ya think was goin' ta happen, eh?"

"h-huh?"

"'m gonna make you fat, too, swee'eart," he says, smoothing his hand over your tummy. "saw those little pills in y'r bag. it won't take today, but we'll try again tomorrow, yeah?"

you're drooling as he fucks you. your hips are hiked up, your skirt flipped up as his thighs smack against your ass. you're not privy to the way the fat of you shakes every time he's buried to the hilt, but simon appreciates it, tongue out as he watches you push back against him to try and get yourself filled quicker. he traces your spine with his fingers, leaning over you as he watches your fingers dig into his dark sheets and grip for dear life as he gives it to you fast and deep. it's a mess of wet between you, and you know the bed underneath you will be soaked by the time he's done with you, but you can't think about that when the very thing you've been wanting since the day you met him is so close, so within reach.

you haven't taken a single one of those pills since the first week you met that fat, beautiful baby. maybe simon didn't take too close a look at the dated little pills in your bag and in the bin, the little calendar you used to mark rotting away in a forgotten pocket, gathering dust.

when simon comes, your mouth is filled with saliva, and you gurgle between barely-lucid giggles as your hips sink into the mattress. he's saying something, but you don't hear it. instead you reach down with your fingers and stuff them inside, trying to gather as much of his cum and keep it. when simon tries to cum in your mouth later, you nearly bite his dick off.

how dare he try and waste it?

[i-am-a-fish]

I'm very sorry to ask something like this, I've really been struggling with this question, and I wanted to ask the combined wisdom of the people on this site

I would like to know why you keep going, and what drives you to keep living. I know there are a lot of reasons to stay alive and enjoy life, I can think of a few that personally resonate with me, but I really want to know what your reasons are

You do not have to comment on this if that's too big of an ask, and I'm very sorry for asking something like this, I really need someone's help, I feel like I don't have much purpose

Also if I may ask, please don't post any suicidal ideation in the comments of this post, I really can't handle something like that right now

[katsinspats]

Tragic: Guy you based your entire villain backstory on doesn't even remember you

[brontesauruses]

"People as things, that's where it starts."

Carpe Jugulum (Discworld #23) - Terry Pratchett

Going Postal (Discworld #32) - Terry Pratchett

[syndullahera]

STAR WARS: EPISODE V - THE EMPIRE STRIKES BACK (1980) -dir. Irvin Kershner

[jakeperalta]

* e.g. in interviews/social media saying things like "I played this scene as x character being in love with y character" making it canon that x loves y, or "I view x as bisexual" even if they aren't bi within the show itself, or just general statements on backstory/details that aren't included within the show

[stargatebarbie]

If you feel comfortable please tell me about your middle name in the tags too! I'm nosey and don't know what to do with my own middle name lmao

[springbon-t-art]

"…Yes! You see? What a thrill! What a rush!

That was YOU!

The button described you!..."

ৎ˚₊✩‧₊〽️💬🎙️🖥️🕒🪣✨ ₊✩‧₊˚౨

PLEASE DO NOT STEAL

[you-makestedehappy]

𝒾𝓉'𝓈 𝓃𝑜𝓉 𝒶𝒷𝑜𝓊𝓉 𝑔𝓁𝑜𝓇𝓎. 𝒾𝓉'𝓈 𝒶𝒷𝑜𝓊𝓉 𝒷𝑒𝓁𝑜𝓃𝑔𝒾𝓃𝑔 𝓉𝑜 𝓈𝑜𝓂𝑒𝓉𝒽𝒾𝓃𝑔.

[lazylittledragon]

i'm in one of those phases where i really wish i believed in manifesting and spellcasting and things like that bc you know when you want something so bad you're literally praying for the universe to let it happen

[littlekhada]