#my mother is so mean to me

[poorly-drawn-mdzs]

No time to play. You are being sent away.

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[kiivg]

.please please please please please pl.

[milktea-grn]

mom im tired

[oldmanffucker]

Hey so wanna hear something devastating.

The costumer just causally dropped that the ring around Izzy’s cravat is his mother’s.

“He’s very sentimental, like he carries his mother’s ring around his scarf.” (X)

I’m on my friends porch in tears rn. Are you kidding me. Ms. Taylor was talking about Izzy’s drag look and just dropped that fact as if that wouldn’t rewire my entire brain chemistry.

[findingoblivion]

There’s a $500 laptop at the phone store across the street that would let me stream and start making money and building my community again, but realistically I can’t afford to spend that much money in one month, that’s more than my rent.

I know this isn’t the best cause or most important thing ever but I’ve had the same shit laptop that barely functions for 5 years now, and it’s probably going to die soon anyways, in which case I will be completely fucked as I am disabled and can’t make it to most in person jobs, I mostly work from home when I’m employed. Plus you know, there’s that whole thing where my entire life is online and all of my relationships are long distance.

So yeah, if you have a few spare bucks I’d really appreciate it if you could throw some my way. I can also do writing commissions for you for any fandom and premise if that’s something you’re interested in.

My PayPal is aelathehuntresshf@gmail.com

If you’d prefer to make a payment through wise or interac e transfer if you’re in Canada please DM me for those details. I can also share my AO3 and some other writing examples if you’d like.

Reblogs are also greatly appreciated!

0/500

[itscherryterry-again]

yea

[chayaqpid]

A lot of the g/t narratives and dynamics I see revolve around the giant, in some way or another, dehumanizing the tiny: the giant sees their smaller counterpart as inferior, fragile, or even as a plaything. And that is really cool to explore as well but… what if we flip the script? What if we subvert that trope a bit? 

What if the tiny isn't able to see the giant as a “person”. 

Think about it! How easy it is to see someone who is so much bigger than you, who is so much more powerful, who is capable of so many things, how easy it is to see that person as something other. As something better than yourself. And how much that can be hurtful for both the giant and the tiny, since it entails that the tiny fails to recognize their friend or lover as an equal, as someone with feelings, desires, and vulnerabilities. 

In this dynamic, not only we have a tiny with some pretty messed up self-esteem issues (to say the least), but we also have a giant that wishes to also be loved and respected by the tiny. Who doesn’t want to be seen as an object. They don't feel seen by what they truly are. 

And it’s funny because, in the beginning, all of the tiny's awe and admiration might seem or even feel like love, but in reality it is not — or, depending on the point of view, it’s at the very least an extremely messed up interpretation of love. This type of "loving" can feel isolating, because it denies the giant of their personhood (is that a word?) and instead, they are placed on a pedestal so high that real emotional connection and intimacy becomes impossible.

It kinda feels like the reverse uno card to the “dehumanization” trope.

Or, if you really think about it, maybe it’s the tiny who is dehumanizing their own self for the sake of seeing the giant partner as this impossible, holier-than-thou, being. This concept adds another layer to the problem: someone who thinks so little of themselves next to someone else may not even realize the way they’re hurting the other. After all, they're far too insignificant for that, right? It’s as if, by elevating the giant to god-like status, the tiny avoids confronting their own ability to hurt or influence someone else, in this case, the giant. They outright ignore the ways in which their actions, their perceptions, and their emotional distance might be hurting their giant friend/partner. 

All this “reverence” comes off as a form of objectification, not exactly in a sexual manner (although it definitely can be), but in the sense that when someone looks at me, I become an object for them, while they remain a subject. 

I love this concept so much — I know it's not exclusive to g/t but it can definitely be enhanced by it. Just... that moment when we realize that others do not see us the same way we see ourselves.

Imagine all of the anguish that comes from this gap between the way the giant sees themselves and the way the tiny sees the giant.  They’re trapped by the other’s gaze, forever seen as something they are not.

[faeriefully]

what do you MEAN American public schools don’t teach what a verb’s aspect is??? what do you MEAN they expect all students to take foreign language classes without teaching them the foundations of their own language?!?!? what do you MEAN you want to address literacy without providing a deep education of descriptive grammar usage they already subconsciously use!?!?!?!? WHAT DO YOU MEAN!???

[savorycannoli]

Can I talk about sugar for a second? Like all of the berzatto children are tragic and doomed by the narrative in their own right, but nat’s story means so such to me idk if I can even fully talk about it all. We see her relationship with her mom is strained at best, it seems like she’s the least favorite child, maybe BECAUSE of her existence as a woman.

And then we find out that her lifelong nickname is based off of a childhood mistake, her being overeager to help her family literally turned into a lifelong reminder of her fuck up. Is there anything more tragic?? A child wanting love but getting scorn?? And then it makes the flashback scene where she tries to add raisins in season 1 all the more upsetting because why did she add them?

“That’s how mom makes it.” she’s the only one that still follows their mom’s recipe. The reason? Could be anything. But I have no doubt in my mind if she DIDN’T add the raisins if Donna had been around she would’ve been ridiculed even more.

I have such a soft spot in my heart for girls and their complex relationships with their moms and motherhood, and it makes her scene with cicero in the car that much more impactful. When cicero says he would let his kids make more mistakes and not been as careful, i almost started crying. Nat has a nickname from her mistakes and it seems like in her mom’s eyes she’s nothing but mistakes. And then her uncle tells her that she’ll be a good mother and that it’s okay for kids to make mistakes, great, even.

I’m so happy nat is in a place where she’s happy and supported. She has a husband who deeply understands her family and doesn’t judge her for it, even making an effort to try and include Donna. I was kind of meh about pete before season 2, but it solidified for me that he’s so so good for nat and a great character. He is so excited to be a dad, he’s patient and kind with her and her family, and he doesn’t call her sugar.

She’s nat. And she’s allowed to make mistakes.

[wizkhaleesii]

The love was there

It didnt change anything. it didnt save anyone. there were just too many forces against it.

But it still matters that the love was there

[sableeira]

there is something about magic systems that borrow from a specific craft that makes them so special. Maybe it’s because they feel more tangible and it’s very easy to get swept away by the passion for the craft that is clearly written on every page.

Whether it’s the art based magic system in Witch Hat Atelier. Or the translation based magic system in Babel. Or the alchemy/chemistry based magic system in Fullmetal Alchemist.

The relation to a specific craft makes the characters passion for their magic feel so personal and relatable. Because there is magic in art, in translation, in chemistry and any other craft that people partake in. The magic system becomes a love letter towards creation and everyone who creates and there is nothing world building wise that could be more charming.

[rosurie]

school LIs <3

[shalomniscient]

i just woke up, it’s 7am and i’m having thoughts about jingliu…

if there was one person on the luofu who knew jingliu the longest, it was you. not the high cloud quintet or the cloud knights, you. the daughter of jingliu’s master, and the stubborn sword champion’s personal healer. she entered your life as a gangly, hungry girl who could barely hold a sword in both hands—and now, she’s the greatest warrior the luofu has ever seen.

but more importantly, now, she’s your wife.

it seemed almost like an inevitability, that you’d fall for her. for all that she was your mother’s disciple, you didn’t see her much as children. jingliu would always be training, and you would always be studying. it was only after she became a member of the cloud knights, and you a member of the alchemy commission, that things would really start to blossom—like a lotus flower, bright and pure.

you were the only healer jingliu really trusted and even allowed to heal her. the warrior had a stubborn streak several miles wide, but perhaps it was the echo of your mother in you that had her obediently heeling to your treatments—a fact that always awed her fellow cloud knights, who teased her relentlessly about it. “whipped,” they’d say. jingliu would only grumble and grudgingly thank you, before leaving the clinic and decidedly and publicly putting every one of her squadmates on their asses during a sparring match.

but nonetheless, it is no one but jingliu who comforts you when teng xiao arrives at your door, a set of armor folded neatly in his arms, and a grim, apologetic look on his face. that night it is jingliu who sits by your side, letting you weep into her shoulder as she awkwardly and clumsily attempts to console you. grief burns through you like a wildfire, but jingliu is there, her presence soothing and cool like moonlight. you both fall asleep tangled in each other’s arms, finding that, if nothing else, there is comfort in shared loss.

the next morning, you ask her about it as you both still hold each other close. jingliu’s mouth opens and closes, struggling to choose the right words. “i swore to her that i’d protect you,” she answers. it makes you smile, just a little, even if grief still twists sharply in your heart.

“you’re protecting me by cuddling me?” you tease her, and her pale cheeks flush.

“that’s— i believed you might have needed—“ she stammers, and you cut her off by pressing closer against her cool body.

“i’m just teasing,” you whisper against her skin, arms tightening around her muscular form. as if to ground yourself, as if to assure yourself that she’s really here. “i appreciate it, jingliu. thank you.”

at your words, the warrior relaxes. her voice is barely higher than yours when she replies, tinged with a hint of tenderness. “of course.”

jingliu is different, after that. you guess that it’s because you are all she has left—much the same in how she is all you have left. there is a gentle awkwardness to her now, like someone who has never known how to be soft trying to learn for the first time. she sits patiently as she lets you fuss over her wounds, knowing that you need this, that you need to know she’s alright. she only looks away when you get a little too close, when she can feel the warmth of your breath on her skin, and she hopes you don’t notice (you do).

she comes to the house whenever she can, which feels just a little emptier without your mother’s commanding presence. she stands shoulder to shoulder next to you at the counter making dumplings, her rough, battle-scarred hands dwarfing your own more delicate ones—but she wraps the dumplings with finesse all the same. you eat them together, quietly, but the silence is comfortable. you know each other enough that words are unnecessary. these nights you can only ever fall asleep in her arms—and she can only ever fall asleep in yours. neither of you question it, but what is there to question anyway?

jingliu ends up being many of your firsts—including your first kiss. it happens on one of those nights, tangled in each other’s arms, with nothing but a sliver of moonlight to illuminate jingliu’s pale face. you feel her pulse jump under your touch, as your thumb traces the ridge of her cheekbones and your lips press gently against hers. kissing her is nothing grand, no fireworks or butterflies—just the quiet sense of finally coming home.

jingliu is your first time, too. her hands trail down your body with reverence, lips pressing kisses like prayers against your skin. she brings you to the edge of heaven with her fingers and her mouth until you lie boneless on the sheets. she kisses you while your essence is still smeared across her lips, and you eagerly return the favor.

jingliu is your first and only love. it’s the soft, quiet kind, more of a respite than a whirlwind in and of itself. a shelter where both of you can return to, when the world becomes too much. you’re there for each other at the lowest lows and the highest highs—jingliu attends the ceremony as you’re sworn in as the cauldron master of the alchemy commission, eyes trained only on you as you accept the honor. and you attend jingliu’s ascenscion ceremony for the title of sword champion, standing at the forefront of the crowd, a proud smile on your face. to jingliu, that is her true victory.

and yet, even as the sword champion, there are still things she fears—like telling you she loves you. it takes a grand amount of coaxing from her new friends—a blacksmith, a high elder, and a pilot, respectively—before she works up the courage. she whispers it against your neck one moonlit night, intertwined with you in the sheets. her voice trembles ever so slightly, her breath fanning unevenly against your skin, and she tenses when you laugh softly. but the tension bleeds out of her immediately when you say it back, and she slumps against you, as if the weight of the world had been lifted off her shoulders.

(baiheng and yingxing later force her to buy them drinks, and she does so, grudgingly. after all, they were right when they said there was no way you’d say anything other than ‘i love you too’. dan feng only attends for the free alcohol, but he is happy for her nonetheless.)

your marriage is a quiet affair—or as quiet as it can get, with baiheng and yingxing together on the guestlist. but it is perfect, to you and jingliu. the rings were crafted by yingxing, inlaid with stones baiheng discovered along the trailblaze. neither of you actually wear them on your fingers due to your jobs, but none other than dan feng gifts the both of you corded red rope to loop the rings through and wear as a necklace. it becomes your greatest treasure, even centuries down the line.

the next few months of your life are calm and routine—until jingliu returns home one day with a teenager, of all things. the boy has long, shaggy, white hair, and curious golden eyes. He reminds you of a cat.

“this is jing yuan,” jingliu introduces to you. “my disciple.”

the boy greets you politely, before jingliu sends him off to an empty room in your home for him to claim as his own. once the boy is out of sight, you turn to jingliu, quirking a brow.

“disciple?”

she nods. “yes. i believe he has potential.”

you only hum at her answer, stepping forward to fix her collar. she lets you fuss, as you always have, and then presses her lips against yours gently, her hands on your waist. “trust me,” she whispers, and you do.

jing yuan fits into your life more easily than you expected. a sharp-witted young man, quick with a blade but even quicker with his words. it isn’t long before you grow fond of him as well—in an almost parental sort of way. before you realise, you start fussing over him the way you fuss over jingliu. it seems you’re not the only one susceptible to jing yuan’s charm, since the newly formed high cloud quintet adore him just as much—baiheng, especially, is delighted to have another little brother figure besides yingxing. jingliu is no exception; the pride in her gaze as she watches jing yuan train is visible to anyone.

nowadays, your home feels fuller. it is no longer just you and hingliu making dumplings—another pair of hands, sometimes even another three appear to help. the dinner table is full more often than not, and there always seems to be more plates in the sink. sometimes you find purple fur on the floor, or the occasional jade-like scale in between your couch cushions. but joy, you learn, is fleeting. nnd no one ever notices it is here until it is gone, ripped from your hands before you can even blink.

jingliu is your first and only love. she is also your first and only heartbreak.

everything you’ve built with jingliu over the course of centuries crumbles in a matter of days. the battle against shuhu is vicious. you can barely even keep up against the constant stream of injured that flood the alchemy commission. you and your colleagues down energising pill after energising pill to stay on your feet and support the xianzhou forces. tet the news from the frontline would nonetheless bring you to your knees.

baiheng, dead. yingxing, cursed. dan feng, imprisoned. and worst of all—

jingliu, mara-struck.

the ten lords commission keep her under strict watch in a holding cell. you barely have the time to visit, what with the number of patients that demand your attention. jing yuan is the one who visits her, by his authority as the new arbiter general. he speaks to you when he can, updates you on her condition—but you’ve treated enough cases to know when something is bad, even if jing yuan tries to assuage you with purposefully vague wording.

she barely recognises you when you approach her. her beautiful ruby eyes are covered by a ragged, black cloth. thick, metal bindings encircle her wrists and restrain her arms behind her back. you call her name, quietly, gently, trying your hardest to stifle the tremble in your voice. sometimes, there is a flicker of recognition. most of the time, there is nothing.

you return to an empty house. it’s so, so cold, and your bed is far too big. you hold tightly to your ring, praying that jingliu be spared this fate. but the aeon does not listen.

because no more than a few months later, jingliu breaks free from her confinement, and rampages across the luofu. smoke chokes the air as ice and frigid wind sweeps across the epicenter that is jingliu. but instead of running away, you run towards her. the ice seems to part and melt before you as you run. you need to see her.

instead, all you witness is the majesty of the lightning lord, as he strikes down your beloved.

nothing remains of jingliu. they find no body, not even any remnants of armor or personal effects. after that, they strike her name from every record for her dishonor. all her achievements, her victories—erased. as if she never existed. you are forced to resign as cauldron master in shame, with your apprentice dan shu taking your place.

you feel… nothing. only a pervasive, parasitic emptiness spreading through your entire being. you spend your days in a bed in a guest room—you can’t bring yourself to set foot in the room you once shared with her. the kitchen lies deserted. you barely feel hunger or thirst, or any sort of sensation. and yet, you keep living. your cells respire and your lungs draw breath, and your heart still thumps in your chest—even as your soul rots and decays.

the only thing—or person, rather—that stirs you now somewhat is jing yuan. he has lost everyone too, this general who will always be that curious-eyed boy to you. you do your best to pick yourself up; if not for yourself, then for him.

(but jing yuan knows. he sees it in your eyes, the truth of the matter. the guilt that gnaws at you, that compels you to keep fussing over him.

you think that caring for him will help you atone for the way you failed jingliu. he wants to tell you that his master would’ve never thought such a thing. but he doesn’t, and lets you mother him all the same.

he needs this too.)

jing yuan appoints you as his personal healer, even as his advisors protest. they question your ability—after all, how could a good healer not even mend the one she loved most?

that moment is the first and last time you ever see jing yuan angry. it fades as quickly as it comes, however, and you are appointed as his personal healer nonetheless. you remain by his side for the next few centuries, watching as he grows more and more into the role of the general. the pain of your loss doesn’t heal—not fully, at least, but it scabs over.

still, you can’t help the ache in your chest when jing yuan approaches you one day, a young boy at his heels.

“this is my disciple, yanqing,” he introduces. the boy has flaxen hair, and expressive amber eyes. there’s a fire in them, a determination that you remember seeing in a pair of ruby ones. he greets you, politely and a little shyly.

it’s a painfully familiar scene, and the best you can manage is a wordless smile.

yanqing becomes another target of your fussing soon enough. he squirms when you check him over for injuries, insisting that he’s fine. the boy is incorrigibly stubborn. but in the end, he is still a boy. his enthusiasm, unmarred by grief and loss, brings a liveliness to your monotone life. you can’t help but sneak a few more extra strales into his pockets for swords when jing yuan isn’t looking.

(but he knows. jing yuan always knows.)

you are not happy, not truly, not without her, never without her, but for now you are content. the boys in your life give you reason enough to keep going.

yet your life turns upside down once more when the stellaron bursts on the luofu. jing yuan keeps you away from the whirlwind of conflict, assigning an elite squad of his knights to guard your house. it makes you curious, but the answer reveals itself to you only a few days after the crisis is resolved.

there, standing amidst the unconscious bodies of the cloud knights supposed to guard you, is none other than the ghost of your beloved.

she’s as beautiful as the day you lost her.

[babybells123]

(ASOS, Sansa II)

(ASOS, Jon XII)

[space-sheep08]

Actually so tired that people mainly focus on the bdsm when they talk about La Pianiste when we literally have this dynamic right here. Like, that's insane.

What if you were a little girl in her 40's who couldn't grow up because of your mother-wife who made you sleep in her bed and forced you to repress every sexual desires and thoughts of becoming your own person just to keep you close to her ? What if you fought back and yearned for dangerous things out of her reach ? But also, what if you let her because it's all you've ever known and been taught to want ?

[blue-rose-soul]

AU where Lucifer went down to New Orleans sometime between 1900 and 1910, right in the middle of Mardi Gras. Charlie was about 100ish at this time, and while Lucifer and Lilith were still together, there was a growing emotional distance between them that had been going on for a few decades at this point. Lucifer's just trying to have some fun and forget his worries for a little while, and he does. And he meets a nice lady. A very nice Creole woman who makes a mean pot of jambalaya with a kick right out of hell. They hit it off and spend the majority of the celebration together.

They get drunk. Very drunk. Lucifer doesn't remember most of that night. The woman, Nicaise, is pregnant.

By some quirk of genetics, the child comes out indistinguishable from a normal human, if significantly paler than his dark-skinned mother. Growing up, Nicaise always tells her son that his daddy was an angel, but all the boy sees is that his father abandoned him and his mother in a world that doesn't look kindly on black women or single mothers. He watches his mother struggle, he watches her suffer, and he grows up resenting and hating the men who make her life hell. Especially his father.