#now for the tags
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Go back to how things were
#half art#project sekai#mizuki akiyama#now for the tags#prsk spoilers#pjsk spoilers#spoilers#project sekai spoilers#mizu5 spoilers#slice of life fans be like what happens in the next episode. bro nothing#God i wish that were me
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Top 10 Ways to say I Love You (Heartwarming)
10. "My six eyes tell me you're Suguru Geto...but my soul knows otherwise!"
9. "This isn't small potatoes."
8. "You used corruption, believing in me? How beautiful."
7. "No matter how many times I have to repeat all this, I'll protect you."
6. "Your head was a chainsaw, yet I couldn't deny that your warmth was human, that of someone alive."
5. "Thank you for being a victim of my shallow emotions."
4. "NO! I'M ABSOLUTELY GOING WITH YOU! I CARE ABOUT FALIN TOO."
3. "Now then...Words intended for him would sound much better in the tones of your voice, don't you think?"
"...yes."
2. "Your lover drives a stake into your chest. Then another, then another, then another. Do I miss your heart because I can't bear to see it go?"
"You fool...if I continue to regress, will I ever get to meet you again?"
#If you know all 10 of these quotes I love you#Memes#Meme#Shitpost#Shitposting#Try and guess all of these before looking at the tags#Okay got it?#Alright#Now for the tags#Satosugu#Jjk#Jujutsu Kaisen#Shake#Akeshu#Persona 5#Soukoku#Bsd#Bungou stray dogs#Madohomu#Pmmm#Asaden#Csm#Chainsaw Man#Ivantill#Alien Stage#Alnst#Farcille#Dungeon meshi#Delicious in dungeon#Zelink
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Love Should Be Simple, It Should Be Kind
(also on ao3)
wc: 2,869, Steddie Tags: Post Season 4, Post-Canon, Friends to Lovers, Love Confessions, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Steve Harrington's Dad Is an Asshole, Fluff, Happy Ending (Full tags are on ao3, but there's no content warning).
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He has to break the news eventually. Steve knows this. As he looks at the plane of Eddie's bare back, flexing whenever he shifts, as it moves to accommodate him bending over to taste the pasta sauce at the stove.
Last night, Steve got off shift from Family Video, broke some minor traffic laws, and had dinner with the Munson's at their home. The excitement of not having to go home to a stale conversation over hastily put together food or a night in which he argues with his dad so fervently, that all he can do is go to his room and lock the door, food forgotten.
They do this every Friday night. And it always brings a flooding warmth to his chest.
But, this'll probably be the last time that they're going to have a late lunch, the day after an amazing dinner. Because Steve had to ruin it. Because he always ruins things. Because he had to run his mouth the morning before. And he ran away, like his dad told him not to.
Eddie turns away from the stove. His hair is pulled up. And his eyes are glowing, somehow, in the low amber light of the living space. They shine like fresh tree sap. And he has the softest smile adorning his features, forcing his smile lines by his nose to wrinkle deeper, his dimples making a faint appearance. He closes his eyes and tosses his head from side to side and chuckles. "Man," he drawls, "wasn't that movie last night amazing?" His head falls back. Features still relaxed. The line of his throat stretched, his Adam's apple ever present.
Truth be told, Steve doesn't remember the movie. Doesn't even know the title.
He was too worked up. He was afraid of what would happen if he was sent to his house.
"The way those special effects looked. Could'a told me it was real, and I'd believe—" Eddie now looks down from the ceiling. His eyes are open. Wide and bulging. Mouth forming a soft scowl. Whatever happiness, giddiness, relaxation, whatever—it's now missing. As he drinks in however Steve looks; he must taste like some cheap wine with the way Eddie's continuing to sour just at the sight. "What's wrong?" Eddie innocently asks, "Did you not like the movie?"
Steve shakes his head and sighs through his nose. Caught. He's been caught. "No," he murmurs, "it's not that." He rubs a hand over his eyebrows and leaves it there as his eyes catch on the worn tablecloth at the dining table. It has holes in places where Eddie probably picked at it. Pen stains from burst ink cartridges. A few tough crusted spots. Little scrapes in the fabric that tell Steve, People eat here. "It's not that," he whispers at the table.
He doesn't see it, but can hear Eddie pad towards the vacant dining chair just across, and plop down. As if the food doesn't even matter. As if he isn't actively cooking. As if he has all the time in the world and all the care in the world and all the sympathy in the world to listen to Steve. To listen to his...problems. All the things wrong with him. All his—
A hand settles on his free one. Eddie's fingers rubbing at veins and warm skin. "Stevie," he gently croons, "what's going on?" Those fingers are dancing over his skin they flip over the backside of his hand and they settle at the edge of his palm where it meets wrist. Steve thinks it's lovely. The way Eddie just dishes out love like it's free. Or like it's easy growing in some paradisal garden. Or like it's something infinite. Like, maybe, Steve is infinite.
He laughs. Steve laughs at that thought. At the hand on his. At Eddie's soft words. At his careful demeanor. At his failed life outside of Hawkins. At the tablecloth that shows what family should be—tastefully messy and worn from time. At his dad's silence. At himself, for asking yesterday morning, when his dad was angry and vengeful, "Did you ever love me?"
And he giggles at the absurdity. That somebody like his dad could love somebody like him. For all his failures and all his misfortunes and all his burdens—the hospital bills and spilled blood and scream-himself-hoarse nightmares. And laughs, again, at his dad's silence to the question.
Steve laughs until there are tears down his face. His hand falls away and his head is tipped back, hair brushing the top of his chair. He looks back at Eddie. And Eddie looks back, like Steve is some wild thing, like some devious thing, like some science experiment that came to life and doesn't know how to live.
He laughs even when his lip quivers and his chest tightens. And stops, finally, when the next sound is no longer jovial, but sad and pained. A sob that dug itself from miles of collateral damage in Steve's chest, rose through his throat like vomit procured from too many vodka shots, and burst open from his mouth as a hideous monster, even uglier than any of those that he's fought the last few years.
"Did you know that my dad doesn't love me?" he asks, reedy and weak. Wet and tinny. Childlike and lonely. "He doesn't love me," he says, as if he can conjure the will for his dad to speak. For the words—I love you—to fall from his mouth.
"Steve," Eddie breathes out.
"He never did. Said that I—Said that I wasn't his son," he spits. Sniffles between words. And almost becomes drunk from the sentiment of what he's admitting. "He—He wants me gone."
Eddie stands from his chair, drags it behind him, and sits impossibly closer. He places both his hands on Steve's shoulders and ducks down to look him in the eyes. And without another moment's thought, he tucks Steve into his bare chest. One arm slung over his bouncing shoulders and the other wrapped securely around his head. Protecting him, it feels like. Shielding him from the worst discovery of his life.
They don't move much at all. Just Eddie shifting his hips every now and then to accommodate the way Steve's body continues to slump downwards. And Steve's whole torso jerking with how hard he sobs. Right into bare skin, over Eddie's heart; and he isn't pulled away, isn't repositioned to make Eddie more comfortable, he just lets Steve do his thing; his heart performing an act of Kintsugi.
Because the softness of his palms meets the grittiness of Steve's hair. His cheek cushions on his skull and he doesn't complain when Steve jostles too much. He squeezes with all his might, keeping them both in the small space Eddie has created.
Because, "I love you," Eddie whispers. "It's not the same, but I love you. I love you, Steve. I love you," he continues to mutter.
At the quietest part of Steve's crying, when he whimpers and hiccups and can't move from the exhaustion, Eddie just whispers, "Be with me. Stay here."
"I can't." He pulls away, sitting up with the same amount of effort to lift a car with his bare hands. "I can't just be somebody else's burden. That wouldn't be fair to either of you."
And Eddie sighs. He takes Steve in. His bloodshot, half-lidded, glistening eyes. The splotchy skin of his cheeks. Moistened and bitten lips. His ruffled hair and slouch to his shoulders. How he picks at the skin around his thumbnails. Small. Defeated. Resigned.
Steve goes to say something when the silence stretches far too thin, but is immediately close-mouthed as soon as palms cool down his cheeks. Eddie's fingers are calloused. And thin. They barely rest. Moving to trace over an eyebrow, under an eye, the eyelid, forehead, smoothing wrinkles, hesitantly pushing in at the corners of Steve's mouth.
They lock eyes.
"Can I tell you something?" Eddie suddenly asks. Steve just hums. And Eddie takes a swift, courageous breath. "When we were in high school together, I used to spend a lot of my time just gazing at you. Not watching. Not glaring. Gazing.
"I'd see the way you shifted on your feet. Your little hand shakes when you were nervous, as if you were trying to get rid of the energy. I'd take in how tired you sometimes seemed—and I'd go to your locker and slip you a note with a little bit of cash for some coffee—"
"That was you?" Steve squawks.
Eddie chuckles. "Let me finish," he whispers. And is met with the smallest of Steve smiles, his little endearing one—not his confident or his bitchy or his won one over smile, just him being him. He sighs.
"I would overhear you talk about your dad. Sometimes to other people. Sometimes to just yourself, and I always could tell those were the toughest days. You know? You just seemed so...so sad. Restless." Eddie rubs his thumbs under Steve's eyes. "And your eyes wouldn't be as bright. I could always tell something was off. But you just went on.
"You went on believing that you were bullshit, when Nancy told you. You went on believing that you couldn't be anything more than your old self, even when you weren't the one reigning in school. You went on without your friends, graduating by the skin of your teeth, face bashed in sometimes, defeated and tired other times.
"Even when you worked at the mall. And then at Family Video. I was jealous of you, sure. But I was also worried for you. You seemed, and I know this whole thing I'm saying sounds really rude, but you seemed lifeless. Just drifting. Unbelieving that anything could stick, and if it did, not for long.
"But I—God, I just looked at you and thought, Who wouldn't love him? Because I did. I still do. And your father is just too horse shit to see what he's missing out on." He drags his hands downwards, resting them on either side of Steve's neck. "I think about if I ever got to love you, how I'd do it."
Eddie's gaze is set on Steve's. His eyes soft, thoughtful, enriching. His voice is gentle, "Like I would wake up next to you in the morning and swipe away the hair in your eyes. I'd count your moles and kiss my favorite one. I'd peck between your eyebrows and gently wake you." His fingers dot the places he mentions. Pressing long term between Steve's eyebrows.
He continues after a breath, "I would go into our kitchen and make you a cup of coffee. Teaspoon of milk, teaspoon of sugar, the way you like it. Butter some toast, fry up a piece of turkey bacon, and scramble eggs with cheese. Because you don't like French toast or pancakes for breakfast, too sweet. I'd bring you your food at the dining table. Pour you a cup of pulpless orange juice. Sit next to you and hold your free hand. I would kiss the back of it and you'd tell me something like, 'Ew, Eds. Your lips are greasy,' but your eyes would be fond.
"Send you off for work. Help cart around the party. Welcome you back home. Turn on a sports game, because you get excited and you get loud and you look younger and you become so vibrant. And I'm not gonna make fun of you for that, because you don't make fun of me when I go crazy over a new album or a new idea for one of my campaigns or when I explain all my nerdy shit to you."
"It's not shit," Steve interjects. Voice soft and enamored. So far away from what it had been just moments ago, hoarse and agitated and incredibly depressing.
Eddie just smiles and continues, "I'd wash your hair for you in the shower. Get on my knees and scrub at your skin like I was praying at an altar. Which—I know I haven't done in a while, but—I'd figure it out for you. And I would comb your hair and whisper soft things and kiss your shoulders. I'd guide you to bed after we have spaghetti for dinner. Blow you or something, I don't know. Sex isn't, like, something we need to do for me to love you.
"And afterwards, I'd clean you up again. Kiss your forehead. And tuck you under my arm. Because you're the kind of guy that wraps everybody else up, but you deserve to be wrapped every once in a while. Every night, if you'd like. Then, we'd wake up the next morning and do it all over again." Eddie sighs, rubs his thumbs in little circles over the part of Steve where his neck meets his shoulder. "I'd never get tired of that. Because I'm already halfway in love with you. And I never think about doing otherwise." He clears his throat.
"My point is, I'd love you. And also, you don't need love from shitty people. Especially when they don't make the effort to show you or even say it. I would happily do it anyway. There are so many people who'd love you better than what he could ever offer."
After all that, Steve is speechless. Can only sit and stare at Eddie. Feel his ever fidgety fingers against his skin. Hear his tiny puffs of breath, neither anxious nor frustrated. All he can do is look, take-in, digest.
But he knows how he feels.
He's been on some dangerous precept. Fall in love with Eddie, which he feels as though he's already jumped over ledge and started doing otherwise. Or fall back and let Eddie love him, however fleeting it may be. Because there's not an option where Steve is without some amount of love, in any form, when it comes to Eddie.
Him and his brash attitude. Thousands of stories. Hundreds of tiny quirks.
Like when Eddie sits on the couch and listens to any song, his fingers tapping out the bass line over his stomach. Or when he hones in on the guitar and is able to map in air where the chords would sit, as if the neck is right there in his other grip, strung across his body. There's the ting he does when writing a campaign idea; pencil resting on his chin, the eraser end running agist the jut of his lower lip. Tugging his hair over his face to hid how compliments wash over him. When he hears a slow song, something more acoustic or soft, he stands in place and just sways his hips—whereas in the car, when it's a metal tape, he's got one hand braced on the ceiling and one on the dashboard, head banging with the jump of the wind.
Eddie's offerings. Making meals. Playing certain songs. Humming when Steve has a nightmare, either over the phone or right under his ear. He acts begrudged by it, but he takes Dustin to the arcade when he asks, or Lucas to basketball practice, even Robin when she wants to go to the bookstore. Maybe it was the near death experience, but he acts first on a lot of his feelings. Apologizes more frequently, when he's done something especially dickish.
And how his love is branded from Wayne, Steve always notices. Because, though Wayne is a quiet and gentle man, he still gives what he can. Offers a space on the couch when Steve wants to join in on the football game he's watching. He hands out the beers, uncapped before he sits down. Serves guests and his nephew first, before himself. And his almost unnoticeable little thing, wrapping an arm around one of their necks, and dropping a chaste dry kiss to the top of their heads.
Steve had asked about it. Eddie just answered, "It's his way of making sure we're there."
And as Eddie hands over a plate of spaghetti, sprinkled with the amount of parmesan that Steve likes, and a cold glass of ice water—Steve finally realizes.
"Oh, you love me,' he whispers.
Eddie's head darts up from where it was looking down at his plate. And his gaze softens when it meets Steve's. "Yeah, Stevie. I love you a lot." Dimpled smile.
"And—And you want me to stay here?" Eddie nods in response. "Oh," Steve mutters. "Wow."
Steve appreciates that Eddie doesn't say anything in return. Just sets his fork down and offers out one of his hands, palm up. The other resting on the table.
He dances one of his hands over the tablecloth and gently places it in Eddie's.
Squeezes.
"I love you, too." He squeezes once more. "I'll find better words to say it."
"Not needed," Eddie murmurs, "stay here, though?"
And what is Steve to do, but nod? He'll have a hell of a time to pack up his bedroom, but at least where he's going, the meals are homemade and the lights are warm, and there's enough love to feel full. To feel, for the first time, like he doesn't have to beg for it.
#stranger things#steddie#fanfiction#steve harrington#eddie munson#now for the tags#post season 4#post canon#friends to lovers#love confessions#angst and hurt/comfort#fluff
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Manscaping: Obi-Wan Kenobi's Guide To Wrecking Your Own Home
rating: explicit
word count: 15k
relationships (yes, all of these): cody/obi-wan, jango fett/obi-wan, fox/obi-wan, rex/obi-wan, kix/obi-wan, fox/quinlan vos, fox/quinlan vos/obi-wan
main tags: omegaverse, modern au, casual sex, bottom obi-wan kenobi, slutty and messy obi-wan kenobi
summary:
Obi-Wan Kenobi was once described as a lawnmower, and not because gardening was his hobby. No, it's something more to do with plowing through an entire family and beginning with the oldest brother.
Or:
Five times Obi-Wan fucked a Fett and one time he didn't.
#this one goes out to that one rexobi uni au anon in my inbox#here u go buddy#we didn't mean for this to get this long but here we are#now for the tags#my writing#codywan#jangobi#rexobi#foxobi#kix x obi-wan#quinfox#quinobi#quinobifox
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do you all see my vision here
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I've been seeing a lot of knight posts recently. pretty great
#i really do agree we need a kneeling knight emoji i'd use the FUCK out of that#can i tag this 'chivalry' or perhaps 'arthuriana'#shann talks shit#chivalry#arthuriana#maybe even#paladin#edit: thanks to the people reblogging this i now know of knightposting#knightposting#second edit: listen I didn’t hv an oc in mind when I compiled this but I just remembered that I do hv a knight oc#morghen coded#compilation post
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I want to step away from the art-vs-artist side of the Gaiman issue for a bit, and talk about, well, the rest of it. Because those emotions you're feeling would be the same without the art; the art just adds another layer.
Source: I worked with a guy who turned out to be heavily involved in an international, multi-state sex-slavery/trafficking ring.
He was really nice.
Yeah.
It hits like a dumptruck of shit. You don't feel stable in your world anymore. How could someone you interacted with, liked, also be a truly horrible person? How could your judgement be that bad? How can real people, not stylized cartoon bogeymen, be actually doing this shit?
You have to sit with the fact that you couldn't, or probably couldn't, have known. You should have no guilt as part of this horror — but guilt is almost certainly part of that mess you're feeling, because our brains do this associative thing, and somehow "I liked [the version of] the guy [that I knew]", or his creations, becomes "I made a horrible mistake and should feel guilty."
You didn't, loves, you didn't.
We're human, and we can only go by the information we have. And the information we have is only the smallest glimpse into someone else's life.
I didn't work closely with the guy I knew at work, but we chatted. He wasn't just nice; he was one of the only people outside my tiny department who seemed genuinely nice in a workplace that was rapidly becoming incredibly toxic. He loaned me a bike trainer. Occasionally he'd see me at the bus stop and give me a lift home.
Yup. I was a young woman in my twenties and rode in this guy's car. More than once.
When I tell this story that part usually makes people gasp. "You must feel so scared about what could have happened to you!" "You're so lucky nothing happened!"
No, that's not how it worked. I was never in danger. This guy targeted Korean women with little-to-no English who were coerced and powerless. A white, fluent, US citizen coworker wasn't a potential victim. I got to be a person, not prey.
Y'know that little warning bell that goes off, when you're around someone who might be a danger to you? That animal sense that says "Something is off here, watch out"?
Yeah, that doesn't ping if the preferred prey isn't around.
That's what rattled me the most about this. I liked to think of myself as willing to stand up for people with less power than me. I worked with Japanese exchange students in college and put myself bodily between them and creeps, and I sure as hell got that little alarm when some asian-schoolgirl fetishist schmoozed on them. But we were all there.
I had to learn that the alarm won't go off when the hunter isn't hunting. That it's not the solid indicator I might've thought it was. That sometimes this is what the privilege of not being prey does; it completely masks your ability to detect the horrors that are going on.
A lot of people point out that 'people like that' have amazing charisma and ability to lie and manipulate, and that's true. Anyone who's gotten away with this shit for decades is going to be way smoother than the pathetic little hangers-on I dealt with in university. But it's not just that. I seriously, deeply believe that he saw me as a person, and he did not extend personhood to his victims. We didn't have a fake coworker relationship. We had a real one. And just like I don't know the ins-and-outs of most of my coworkers lives, I had no idea that what he did on his down time was perpetrate horrors.
I know this is getting off the topic, but it's so very important. Especially as a message to cis guys: please understand that you won't recognize a creep the way you might think you will. If you're not the preferred prey, the hind-brain alarm won't go off. You have to listen to victims, not your gut feeling that the person seems perfectly nice and normal. It doesn't mean there's never a false accusation, but face the fact that it's usually real, and you don't have enough information to say otherwise.
So, yeah. It fucking sucks. Writing about this twists my insides into tense knots, and it was almost a decade ago. I was never in danger. No one I knew was hurt!
Just countless, powerless women, horrifically abused by someone who was nice to me.
You don't trust your own judgement quite the same way, after. And as utterly shitty as it is, as twisted up and unstead-in-the-world as I felt the day I found out — I don't actually think that's a bad thing.
I think we all need to question our own judgement. It makes us better people.
I don't see villains around every corner just because I knew one, once. But I do own the fact that I can't know, really know, about anyone except those closest to me. They have their own full lives. They'll go from the pinnacles of kindness to the depths of depravity — and I won't know.
It's not a failing. It's just being human. Something to remember before you slap labels on people, before you condemn them or idolize them. Think about how much you can't know, and how flawed our judgement always is.
Grieve for victims, and the feeling of betrayal. But maybe let yourself off the hook, and be a bit slower to skewer others on it.
#listen to old auntie Shades#serious#fuck I don't know how to tag this#I should probably read-more this but I'm not sure where#and now I need to go take a walk for my stupid mental health#you never stop processing#you do it over and over and over and over#and hope it gets a bit easier each time#Someone might get upset by using prey#but 'preferred prey' is an important concept from the predator's view#it doesn't mean the people are inherently prey#you feel me?#it's the best word I can find for the concept#neil gaiman#adjacent
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jinx and isha visit a walmart
#arcane#league of legends#art tag#real ones know ive used this meme before. in a league setting too#and now u do not shhhh#ANYWAYS! what more can i say#i love isha. i love isha and jinx maybe perhaps maybe the season kinda ended with 2 episodes of act 2 i mean what#haha what#i hope... idk what i can hope i was like in despair the week i finished act 2 HAHAHA#:( love them sm#jinx#jinx arcane#lol#jinx league of legends#isha#isha arcane#isha fanart#lol fanart#arcane fanart#jinx and isha#arcane isha#arcane jinx#DAMN WHAT MORE CAN I ADD#stupids
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my favorite genre of fictional character is like "i am terrifying to almost everyone, i'm very good at killing, i can endure anything, i've become exceptionally good at playing into my reputation, and if you try to give me positive social interaction i will react with confusion and cower in a corner like an abused animal. and i may try to shoot you. but there is also a chance i may imprint on you like a feral dog receiving its first loving touch! good luck."
#big tough characters who are confused and disarmed by affection my beloved#who are hypercompetent and know exactly what to do in everything except Positive Human Interaction#who follow you around cautiously for scraps#and are continually waiting for the moment you turn around and kick them out again#who are prepared to sleep on the cold hard floor and dont know what to do with themselves when given a bed#totally mystified#boba fett#legacy of the force#din djarin#frank castle#maul#erik lehnsherr#arla fett#wolverine#logan howlett#mine#and now i can add the#murderbot#tag
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#and so milgram was born#milgram#meme#Jackalope#hope no one has done this already#this post broke containment. if you're here for tma this is about a music project called milgram where prisoners in a panopticon sing song#about their crimes . anyway . the warden is a talking jackalope .#which was edited into this post. so uh. he is on your blog now#i thought it was very obvious that this was an edited icon and display name but apparently some people think Twitter op was a milgram fan#I'm sorry to disappoint#this was supposed to be a 3 note post for niche jp music project fans#if you're reading my tags look at my Cosplays
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messy eater
#hb the neck next#i would add more tongue stuff but i got lazy in the end huuu#tw blood#my art#𓆩♱𓆪#<- tag for vamp sona now ig
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bad youtube clickbait thumbnail that reads "I think I just had a therapy session with a DEMON???"
#gravity falls#gf nevermind all that#the book of bill#bill cipher#dipper pines#theres a tag now so im not gonna link all the context in the post anymore#i have no confidence this one is even funny i just wanted to draw them#we talk about this all the time but its endlessly funny that stump made a billford au and both of us have been like.#so mabel and dipper right? how are mabel and dipper how are they handling the situations. just fine it seems
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Hello Deadpool and Wolverine fandom
I'd like to bring this golden post back in light of the Honda Odyssey scene
#Deadpool#Deadpool 3#deadpool and wolverine#Deadpool x Wolverine#Poolverine#Honda Odyssey#I love how that's just a tag exclusively for this movie now#IriTheYapper💬
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the funniest meltdown ive ever had was in college when i got so overstimulated that i could Not speak, including over text. one of my friends was trying to talk me through it but i was solely using emojis because they were easier than trying to come up with words so he started using primarily emojis as well just to make things feel balanced. this was not the Most effective strategy... until. he tried to ask me "you okay?" but the way he chose to do that was by sending "👉🏼👌🏼❓" and i was so shocked by suddenly being asked if i was dtf that i was like WHAT???? WHAT DID YOU JUST SAY TO ME?????????? and thus was verbal again
#yeehaw#1k#5k#10k#posts that got cursed. blasted. im making these tag updates after... 19 hours?#also i have been told it should say speech loss bc nonverbal specifically refers to the permanent state. did not know that!#unfortunately i fear it is so far past containment that even if i edited it now it would do very little. but noted for future reference#edit 2: nvm enough ppl have come to rb it from me directly that i changed the wording a bit. hopefully this makes sense#also. in case anyone is curious. though i doubt anyone who is commenting these things will check the original tags#1) my friend did not do this on purpose in any way. it was not intended to distract me or to hit on me. im a lesbian hes a gay man. cmon now#he felt very bad about it afterwards. i thought it was hilarious but it was very embarrassed and apologetic#2) “why didn't he use 🫵🏼?” didn't exist yet. “why didn't he use 🆗?” dunno! we'd been using a lot of hand emojis. 👌🏼 is an ok sign#like it makes sense. it was just a silly mixup. also No i did not invent 👉🏼👌🏼 as a gesture meaning sex. do you live under a rock#3) nonspeaking episodes are a recurring thing in my life and have been since i was born. this is not a quirky one-time thing#it is a pervasive issue that is very frustrating to both myself and the people i am trying to communicate with. in which trying to speak is#extremely distressing and causes very genuine anguish. this post is not me making light of it it's just a funny thing that happened once#it's no different than if i post about a funny thing that happened in conjunction w a physical disability. it's just me talking abt my life#i don't mind character tags tho. those can be entertaining. i don't know what any of you are talking about#Except the ppl who have said this is pego/ryu or wang/xian. those people i understand and respect#if you use it as a writing prompt that's fine but send it to me. i want to see it#aaaand i think that's it. everyday im tempted to turn off rbs on it. it hasn't even been a week
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The world exists in such a baffling state of simultaneous sex-aversion and sex-hegemony. Every social platform on the internet is trying to banish sex workers to the shadow realm but I can't post a tweet without at least two bots replying P U S S Y I N B I O. People are self-censoring sex to seggs and $3× but every other ad you see is still filled with half-naked women. Rightwingers want queer people arrested for so much as existing in the same postal code as a child and are also drumming up a moral panic about how teenage boys aren't getting laid enough. I feel like I'm losing my mind.
#it's bad if you want i have sex it's also bad if you DON'T want to have sex#god forbid if you're a woman in a heterosexual marriage and aren't in the mood#that's 'withholding sex' and you're clearly abusive scum who should be divorced and left without any of your shared assets.#but if you DO have sex now you're a degenerate freak plotting for the downfall of western society#i don't know what to say i'm just so tired#politics#culture#queerphobia#lgbtqia#misogyny#<it's not the exclusive source but let's be honest sooo much of this is integral to the patriarchy#patriarchy needs access to an underclass they can treat like sex objects but they also don't want them to have any human rights#so sexuality is both obligatory and stigmatized#purity culture#i'm really struggling with tagging this because most of the appropiate tags would- in a beautiful twist of irony- get me booted off tumblr
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