#like it's not like i'm like ew no

[inkskinned]

the tradwife movement is the same as it has always been - back in the kitchen, back to breeding - it just has better branding.

when i was younger, i hated pink. i was not like other girls. this is now something i'm embarrassed of - this was not me being a "girl's girl."

but it was expressing something many of us felt at the time: i literally wasn't what girlhood was supposed to be. this is a hard thing to explain, but you know when you're not performing girlhood correctly. it isn't as easy as "i liked x when girls liked y" - because there were other girls that liked x, too - but i never figured out exactly the correct way to like x, or to be interested in y.

now there is the divine feminine. this is the same rhetoric it has always been: women are biologically driven to like pink and ribbons and submitting to our husbands.

the problem is that the patriarchy found a better PR team. because yes, actually, i want every woman to have the choice to be a homemaker. i also want her taken seriously for her legitimate home-making labor. i want her to be recognized as also having a job, just unpaid. i want men to have this opportunity, too.

but it is no longer "i made this choice and I love it." instead it is a sixteen-paragraph rant about how selfish it is that my generation isn't having kids. instead it's long videos about how if you feed your children processed foods, you're going to kill them. instead it is "this is what womanhood is supposed to be. i feel bad for any other choices you're making."

the shame spiral is just prettier. it is large houses devoid of personality. it is the implication: if you don't have this, you aren't happy. the solid, everlasting assurance: women are actually supposed to be submitting. this is the default. this is the natural state of things. all other attempts inflict suffering.

but you can no longer say i'm not like other girls. you can no longer reject this image completely. you cannot find it revolting, even if you know that the underbelly is toxic and festering. sure, it is the same repackaged patriarchy. but the internet does not have shades of grey. you should support and reward other women! your disgust is actually internalized misogyny. not because you are seeing a vision of yourself the way they're trying to train you to be. not because you feel her ghost pass within an inch of your earlobe. not because your father will eventually ask you - why can't you be like her?

because they figured out how to make it beautiful: women will sell other women on this idea, and we will find the singular loophole in feminism. sure, she's shaming you in most of her videos. sure, she implies that a different life is obscene. but she just wants you to be happy! you'd be happier if you were listening!

and the whole time you're sitting there thinking: i'd actually just be happier if i had that kind of money.

[halfdeadwallfly]

i don't really think i experience sexual attraction i just kinda wanna eat people's fingers if i think they're hot

[eriyu]

oops!!!!!!!! accidentally caught the script up to msq!!!!

i honestly did not think this was going to be possible with the amount of time left after i finished 6.0, but here we are!!!!!!!

the entire msq, at your fingertips!!!!!!!!!

please know that i will NOT be doing dawntrail's MSQ immediately after it drops though. i want to enjoy playing through for the first time without making it into a job. i hope to get to it before TOO too long, though 💖

[tarmac-rat]

"I can't believe CDPR made one of the romance options a COP" River is a cop for literally two thirds of a mission that is dedicated to uncovering the depths of police corruption in Night City, gets immediately booted from the force BECAUSE he tried to stand up to said police corruption, spends the rest of the game pursuing detective work outside the law, and in the base game mentions he's going to start work as a private eye so he doesn't have to return to the force in order to keep protecting people.

The only instance where the "River is a Cop" joke is funny is using it in the context of Johnny being pissy about it, which should probably tell you how low hanging that particular fruit probably is.

[sceletaflores]

thinking about needy art...just so desperate for you :((( always so horny and riled up :((( he needs you so bad he can't help it :(((

we love you girl!!!!!! pls don't die!!!!!!!!

-🧶

anon i was literally just thinking about this omfg we're so connected it's crazy (this lowkey wandered into a bit of puppy!art territory, @fawnnpaws your influence is too great <333)

and you're SO right!!! in my mind this is so married art coded. that man literally worships the ground you walk on, there's nothing he wouldn't do for his WIFE. the woman with HIS last name. the woman that wears HIS ring on your finger. you're his whole world.

you're cooking dinner when the front door creaks open, the sound of art dropping his keys and bag clear from where you're stood at the stove.

he's always a keyed up, horny monster after practice, so you're not surprised when two strong arms wrap around your waist from behind. art clings to you like a second skin, pressing his chest to your back and hooking his chin over your shoulder, a sweet "hey baby," muttered into your hair.

you hum, not looking away from the pasta coming to a boil in front of you. "have a good practice?"

art nods, burying his nose in your hair and inhaling your familiar scent. "missed you," he says, voice going all light and airy. it makes you smile, stirring the pasta calmly as art starts grinding against your ass in small circles. you wonder if he even knows he's doing it or if he's more gone than you first thought.

"i did so good today, you'd be so proud of me," he rambles, brushing his lips over your neck as he speaks. his arms tighten around your waist, pulling you impossibly closer.

"yeah? hope you worked up an appetite, it's almost ready." your tone is overly casual, like you're not soaking your panties at the feel of art's thick cock through the thin fabric of your sweats. but it's all part of the game, ignoring him only works him up more.

"i could eat," he pants against your skin, a pointed roll of his hips pushes you closer to the stove. "god, i couldn't stop thinking about you." he groans, finally done pretending that it's dinner he cares about. he trails wet kisses down your neck, his hands slipping up under your shirt to paw at the lacy cups of your bralette.

the pot's water snaps and pops in warning, threatening the bare expanse of your stomach. you push art's hands down but he's not deterred, dropping them to knead at the meat of your hips.

"let's go to bed," he suggests into the crook of your neck, his breathing starting to get a little faster as he grinds against you with a purpose.

it's tempting, but you're not done cooking yet, and you know this won't take long.

"no," you say dismissively, turning the heat down to let the sauce pan on another burner slow to a simmer.

art whines, nuzzling deeper into your neck. his hand slides around, slipping between your legs to rub your cunt through your bottoms. "please?"

you sigh contently at his touch, letting your head drop to his shoulder. you let yourself get lost in him for a few seconds before you push his hand away again and cast your gaze back to the food, "no."

"the couch?" he tries, "it's just right there, in the living room. i can eat you out, i'll make you feel so good."

you bite your lip, stifling a smile at his needy begging. you bob your head side to side lightly, a considering noise passing through your lips before you deny him for the third time, "no."

art swallows, his breath getting shallow. "right here, i could eat you out right here," he rambles, his hips speeding up. you can feel the wetness of his pre-come leaking through his own shorts to seep into yours. "i could fuck you right here, against the counter."

you hum noncommittally, adding more dried oregano. it's quiet, just the sound of art's ragged breathing and the hiss of the boiling water. art takes it upon himself to fill the silence.

"i could," he takes a shuddering breath, "we don't have to fuck, i could just eat you out. i could sit by your feet, you don't have to do anything. i can...i could, i could use your leg."

you almost give in, his sweet voice begging you to let him get his mouth on you too much. you don't have to see his face to know he's gone red and flush, embarrassed but too worked up to stop.

"you want me to abandon dinner because, why? you can't keep your dick down? i'm busy, art."

art’s breath hitches, his hands trembling as they grip your hips. "i’m sorry," he breathes out, though you know he’s anything but. the apology only makes him grind harder, chasing any scrap of attention you might throw his way. “please,” he whimpers, his voice cracking. “i just— i need it so bad. please, baby.”

you click your tongue in disapproval, shaking your head as you turn back to the stove, stirring the sauce with a slow, deliberate motion. “you’re such a mess, art. can’t even wait until dinner’s done before you start acting like a desperate slut, can you?”

art shudders behind you, his grip tightening on your waist as his hips jerk involuntarily. “i’m sorry,” he gasps out for the second time. “i just—fuck, i can’t help it. please, let me—”

"no, if you want to come in here and hump my leg like a desperate puppy, than that's how you're going to come."

art’s whimper is pitiful, his hips stuttering against you, driven by nothing but raw desire. he’s practically drooling, his breath hot and uneven against your neck as he desperately grinds himself against your thigh.

“please, please,” he chants, the word a broken prayer on his lips, but you don’t miss the way he shudders under your cruel tone, his body trembling with anticipation.

“god, you’re pathetic,” you say through a condescending laugh, “you can’t even control yourself for a second, can you? always so eager to make a mess. i should make you clean it up with your tongue.”

art comes in his boxers with a broken whine. the timer goes off a couple seconds later.

[butmakeitgayblog]

Nikki Vee in It's What's Inside

[solarisfortuneia]

— 𝐟𝐢𝐯𝐞 𝐦𝐨𝐫𝐞 𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐮𝐭𝐞𝐬.

and the smell of camphor dancing in the wind.

✦ info: he didn't know he'd lose you so soon. (come back, please. even if it is just for five more minutes.)

✦ featuring: alhaitham.

✦ warnings: angst, character death (reader), heartache, 1.2k words, somewhat proof-read.

✦ notes: i cried so goddamn hard writing this. why is my first work after hiatus pain. why did i pick up the angst wip. but!! i'm writing again, so that's good. (more notes at the end.)

he didn’t know that it was your last day together. 

he didn’t know that the smile you gave him that afternoon, your eyes sparkling like sunlight upon the serene waves of the ocean, would be the last he’d ever see. that the playful light in your gaze would fade so very soon, slipping through his fingers like sand.

he didn’t know that last night would be the last time he held you close while you drifted off to sleep. he didn’t know that today would be the last time he’d wake up with you.

he didn’t think he’d lose you like this. 

he didn’t think he wouldn’t be able to save you from that blow. 

“please, please,”  he begs, both to you and to whatever force that is just barely holding you together. “just stay with me for five more minutes, please. until i can get you somewhere.” 

the rain soaks him to the bone, clothes and hair sticking to his skin. your lips stay motionless, eyes shut.

“wake up, please,”  he bargains. “you can have all the five minutes of extra sleep you want later, i promise. just—”  his vision blurs, and something shines on the ground before it is gone, swallowed by damp earth, lost amidst drops of falling rain. 

desperately, he tears off parts of his traveling cloak to staunch the bleeding. deep inside, he knows it is futile. he knows your wound is too great. he knows what lies ahead. but he cannot help but press the cloths to your wound and pray. 

please, please tell me it’ll be okay. 

please stay with me, beloved. i’ll read you all the books in the world. i’ll sleep in with you everyday, even if we end up whiling away our time. 

please. stay. stay with me. i can’t lose you yet.  

“— just wake up, beloved.” 

by some miracle, your eye flutters. just a bit. just enough to set hope ablaze, just enough for the grip on his heart to loosen a tiny bit. he buries his face in your shoulder, resting his head against your neck, uncaring of the blood that stains his clothes. your blood. on his clothes. his hands. everywhere. 

no. no. this can’t be happening.

he feels you strain beneath him, your unwounded arm gently, weakly brushing his back. he jolts upright, eyes trained on your face. you send a frail smile his way. he clasps your face softly as you nuzzle into his palm.

“alhaitham—” 

his full name. archons, how long has it been since you called him that?  

“— take good care of yourself, okay?” you tell him, chest heaving, your fingertips touching a tear on his cheeks. “i love you. so much.” 

those are the last words he hears fall from your lips. he presses a kiss to your forehead, to your eyelids, and to your cheeks and to your lips, over and over and over until he feels your breath slow, hoping they’ll say what he knows he cannot manage to choke out.

i love you. 

he stays there next to you for who knows how long, holding you until the rain slows and a faint rainbow smiles in the sky.

until he can’t smell camphor anymore.

—

every person has their curiosities. 

they’re just the little traits that set them apart from others, the things that make them tick just a little bit differently, the things that make them, them.

for instance, someone may be obsessed with collecting tiny furniture, while another eats the crusts off their sandwich before actually consuming it. someone may have an affinity for the most niche aspects of linguistics, while another can accurately predict the next raindrop that slides down a window pane.

after all, no two people are exactly alike, are they?

alhaitham knows he’s got his fair share of these curiosities himself. his aversion to soup and all things that resemble it, to name one. and with you, he’d noticed two things. 

number one: the scent of camphor that seems to linger on every inch of your person. 

he’d caught whiff of it almost immediately the first time you met. you were but one of his juniors in the akademiya, filled with bright-eyed curiosity and anxiety to match. you had tripped over a stair and bumped into his table in the library, bringing the mountain of books in your arms crashing down.

and with subsequent coincidental meetings, he learnt that the subtle scent of camphor dancing in the air meant you weren’t far away. 

you were, unfortunately, one of the poor souls who seemed to be cursed with constantly recurring minor illnesses, and almost always walked about with a stuffy nose. and so, you always carried a small disc of camphor in a handkerchief, as well as in your pocket.

you swore up and down, left, right and center that sniffing the vapors helped make breathing easier.

‘it’s my grandmother’s remedy, alhaitham! camphor always works wonders. well, that and eucalyptus oil.”

alhaitham may not know the validity of your claim or the legitimacy of the cure, but he knew to never, ever question a grandmother’s remedy. that, and he’d much rather refrain from starting a back-and-forth about something so small.

and number two: your neverending pleas of different variations of ‘just five more minutes!’ 

“five more minutes, ‘haitham. please.” you’d whine grumpily when he woke you up to start your day. “let me sleep in for five more minutes.” 

“five more minutes, habibi,” you’d ask when he put down the story you’d requested he read out to you before bedtime. “read me the part where she finds the music box?”

“five more minutes, baby,” is what you’d tell him when he asks how much longer you’d take getting ready. “you can’t rush perfection!”

those five more minutes were never five minutes long. 

but he’d always, always indulged you and those pleading eyes of yours. as stoic as he appeared to be, you lived in his heart. of course he could never deny you anything under the sun.

—

alhaitham remembers that silly little song you sang over and over, the one you’d learnt from a kid in the bazaar. he’d taken you to see one of nilou’s performances, and, friendly soul that you were, you’d struck up a conversation with some of the eager audience members before the play. 

“oh, how i wish i was a bird flying free,

i’d see the world, every mountain and every sea!

oh, how i wish i was a cloud in the sky,

wouldn’t you like to wave to me as i pass by?”

you’d hum that rhyme on every idle afternoon.

loss is inevitable. he knows that, with how logical and rational and straightforward he is. he’d lost his parents, but he was far too young to remember. he’d lost his grandmother, but she passed in her sleep of old age, serene and wise.

but you? he didn’t think you’d leave him this soon. a singular wish sits in his soul, making its home in his bones. 

a wish that you’d come back, somehow. 

he wishes you gave him five more minutes, just as he always did.  but he knows that you could’ve given him five more hours, five more days, five more years and five more decades and it would still not be enough time spent with you. 

a blue feathered bird comes to perch on his shoulder, interrupting his musings just as he raises his face to the sky. he sees the heart shaped cloud that floats idly above sumeru city.

 he thinks of the rhyme again, and something in him tells him to wave. and so he does. a scent so familiar lingers, faintly brushing his nose in the wind that picks up.

“alhaitham, it's time to go.”  kaveh calls his name softly.

 alhaitham doesn't move. “five more minutes,”  he says, echoing your favorite phrase. “i smell camphor in the breeze.” 

✦ extra notes: my alhaitham characterization for this fic stems from how i believe that when alhaitham is attached, he's attached. so i focused more on that, and less of all that rationality and whatnot. this one loves deeply, yk?

that camphor thing is a real grandma remedy in our household (my mom would tie some in a hanky and put some under my pillow and still to this day reminds me to do it when i'm sick) which is what originally sparked the idea for this

when i'd initially started this wip, i didn't expect it go this way. usually i write with my brain, but i think i wrote this one with my fingers working faster than i can think hsjhsj so sorry if it's kinda out of place lmao but yk what? i'm happy with it still even though i feel like it doesn't have my usual quality.

thanks for reading.

[camellcat]

"cordelia could you please drive me home?" "of course" OF COURSE she replies to buffy, softly, without hesitation. even if she goes right back to harping on about the world ending, of course she'll help buffy. head in my fucking hands

[aleespace-art]

Experimental drawing I did to test out different art styles

((TUMBLR WHAT DID YOU DO TO THE QUALITY??))

[cringeworms]

I'm writing an analysis of gender performativity in The Silence of the Lambs for my gender and sexuality class and in the course of my research I have encountered so many bad takes!! I can't not say anything so I've come to Tumblr to rant.

The most common criticism I see is that the ending of "Hannibal" discredits, undoes, or diminishes Clarice's feminism, autonomy, or power, or that it ruins the message of SOTL. That indicates a complete misunderstanding of Clarice and the point of the books! The point of "Hannibal" is to show that it does not matter how amazing, powerful, or how much of a feminist you are: if you are a woman in a career, especially a federal career, the system is designed to put you down and keep you quiet. I think there is nothing more she could have done and nothing she could have done differently to prevent her disgrace. When the system is set up to put men in power and keep them in power, your talent and integrity do not matter if they decide they don't want/need you anymore. There is nothing she can do to prevent the label of "female officer" from haunting her credibility. Even Crawford, who respects her and fights for her, sees her with the caveat of "woman." The one man who does not consider her gender any sort of detriment or a reason to treat her differently is Hannibal Lecter. They have genuine mutual respect. When she chose to be with him, she chose respect, love, and comfort over a life of fighting to be recognized, respected, or listened to. Just as much as it is respectable for women to fight for their right to be recognized in their careers, we must also recognize that that fight should not need to exist in the first place. So, why should there be any shame about choosing not to fight that fight anymore? She spent years in an uphill battle, and she probably never would have escaped it (to no fault of her own!). The ending of "Hannibal" is Clarice raising a middle finger to the system, the FBI, misogyny, and the patriarchy by recognizing that she deserves unconditional love and respect and that the system she fought so hard for was, in fact, completely undeserving of her talent or presence. Her decision is powerful and empowered!

"She was brainwashed!" she literally wasn't. Hannibal tried that (I believe because he was so unfamiliar with the idea of love or family that he didn't know how to understand Clarice outside of the lens of Mischa) but he was unsuccessful. If she was able to resist his efforts of brainwashing while in an altered state she certainly had the strength of mind to make her own decisions. Her decision was not impulsive. Also, I think it serves as a testament to her influence and power over him. She gained control of the situation and he didn't resist that. Ultimately, Clarice chose to spend the rest of her life with the one man who ever truly saw her as more than just a woman, who admired her intellect, and who respected her enough to challenge her. That is not weak, submissive, or misogynistic. Quite the opposite. She chose to leave behind the life she put years of effort into building (because she knew it would be fruitless) in favor of being finally honored and appreciated. That takes courage! She knew her worth, and she knew the FBI didn't deserve her.

Also, anyone who paid any attention to the books saw the romantic tension throughout the story. It didn't come out of nowhere. She really just needed an opportunity or an excuse to be with him, and she was finally presented with it.

I think reading the ending to "Hannibal" as anything other than empowering is a mischaracterization of both Clarice and Hannibal and shows a lack of understanding of the message of the books. I think it reflects a shallow understanding of not only the books, but of how feminism operates IRL (especially during the 80s/90s).

I also must give the disclaimer that I do not think these books are epitomes of feminism or representation. The transmisogyny, racism, queerphobia, etc., are obviously inexcusable. Just because I interpret their message as a story of caution about how misogyny operates, and how it is respectable to choose a path that does not work within that system, does not mean I agree with everything presented in them or any of their harmful rhetorics or stereotypes. I have a STRONG love/hate relationship with these stories and I don't ever mean to undersell the "hate" part of that lol.

[hem0phixx]

pre-transition tord lives on my mind 24/7 i have so many hcs for him

[weaverlings]

the way capitalism fucks up people's conception of art is so.

like actually very few works are ""competing"" with each other; people will engage w/ one or the other or both however they WANT to, it's not really a fight to see??? who can get the biggest sales numbers??? make the most money??? idk

[yoinkschief]

I wasn't lying when I said I was gonna do it

[galactaknightyaoi]

It's my OCs' first birthday today, yippie!! They're enjoying their birthday with some tiny company and a horribly baked cake. But it's the thought that counts!

These are Pai, Aurelio, and Lizzie. They are a couple and run a diner together in the low suburbs of Halcandra. Their shop also serves as a safe space and shelter for other Star Borns just like them.

They also tend to take in the more little ones of their kind, soon after they've first formed. They look after them and teach them stuff, before letting them go to live independently. But they're always welcome back in their house! Be it for shelter, or a nice cup of coffee.

More about them under the cut. Be warned it gets kinda long.

Pai's ability is Cook. When he was little, he used to use his ability to make food to share with his whole neighborhood as a way of uniting everyone.

Since then he's been steadily building towards a goal, to open his very own Diner. He wanted to create a space for his community to thrive in, though he was severely disadvantaged in such a large city.

He's not one to give up and he always looks on the positive side of things. He tends to spoil the kids they look after with treats, and has a hard time saying no, so he often takes on more than he can handle.

He is the one that looks after the well-being of the kids, and generally, things that require a bit more... Tact. He looks after them when they're sick or injured, which is how he ends up meeting future GSA founders Arthur, Erebus, and Anansi.

Aurelio grew up in a scrapyard with 6 others of their kind, being kept there as guard dogs for the paranoid old man who owned the place. They were encouraged to fight each other for fun, which is how they got the scar across their face.

When they got too big and troublesome, most of them were kicked out of their home and left to fend for themselves.

Aurelio's Spear ability eventually landed them a job as a Knight for Halcandra's elites, where they worked alongside a few of their friends. Their job was to guard the meeting room and defend their assignment from threats.

A few years into this job, they and other soldiers were given a mission. A pair of dragons were nesting at the bottom of the Haldera Volcano, they had to get them out. Dragons are calm if not provoked, so relocation shouldn't be difficult...

As it turns out, the dragons were a mated pair. A male and a female, and they were viciously protecting their egg clutch.

In the battle against the dragons, Aurelio was injured and burned by fire, but their natural fire immunity allowed them to be one of the few survivors. Nevertheless, the Knights were successful in their mission and managed to drive the dragons out.

The 4 eggs that weren't crushed during the battle were passed off to the Ancients for research. They became the Guardian Angel Landia later on.

She was forced to retire from Knighthood at age 31. Due to the lasting effects of their injuries, Aurelio is the one who spends most of the time with the children. For better and for worse.

Because of their childhood, they have very skewed ideas of how to treat children. She'll often put them in dangerous situations unintentionally since she has no frame of reference to tell her that taking kids out to the Gator Pond isn't a very good idea.

Aurelio teaches the rougher life lessons. They've been through quite a bit, so they want the kids to learn how to defend themselves, and to be careful and not have others take advantage of them.

She does most of the disciplining and the one that gives timeouts and other such punishments. She is of the opinion that sometimes rough love is necessary to set someone straight. She's calm and loving, but a bit stuck in the old way of doing things.

Lizzie, real name Angeliz, is a 2-time college dropout who grew up upper class despite her species' disadvantage. She never had many friends growing up, since other kids didn't really like her, and resigned herself to being what her parents wanted her to be.

She tried to study medicine but quit after 2 years. Not wanting to further disappoint her parents, she went into law. Which she also hated but tried to commit to finishing despite how miserable it made her.

Meeting Pai and Aurelio helped her get through the year, but after Aurelio was injured, she quit law and started living with them. She helped Pai balance his business with taking care of Aurelio and eventually used some of the money she still had left to give Pai's Diner the little push forward it needed.

Despite the many etiquette classes she took as a child, Lizzie completely lacks social skills. She's a total disaster, especially when talking to someone she likes. Once she gets comfortable, her true personality starts to shine through.

She's a huge slob and kind of vulgar despite her cute appearance. She's easily angered and does not like to be teased, which makes putting up with bratty kids more difficult for her.

She tends to treat kids as little adults instead, which causes her to not be very mindful of their sensitivities. Even when in a good mood, trying to do her best, she always ends up saying the wrong thing and makes everything worse.

She handles the business aspect of their Diner, crunching numbers and reading over legal documents. She's really smart and knowledgeable, so she's the one who tends to teach kids reading, writing, and math.

Her ability is Bubble. She never used to like it, it was silly and useless to her, so she kept it hidden for years. After meeting her partners and becoming happy, she's started blowing bubbles more frequently. The kids love them.

[p0rk-guts]

Starsnout and Pencils⁉️

[front-facing-pokemon]