#some of us choose to never want to marry humans again

[queenoftsage]

I knew about that movement[4B], but didn't give a fuck...

Then I saw your video and I was like... ah... The privilege is privileging... [person was claiming they didn't know about it, while living in SK]

Like, when privileged people speak from a privileged place, it's kind of mind numbing. In a lot of sentences you uttered, you basically invalidated a lot of people. I guess it's how you say, letting people live a life of a 'equality' is just a fantasy.

.... cute... But not cute at all.

Must be so nice to have grown up with a really loving father who showed you nothing be sweetness and such. I hope he was like that with everyone around him and not just you and your brother.

[and out of pure fear, those people he might have hurt 'will NEVER' speak on the fucked up shit your father did. I hope I'm very wrong about that.]

I tried to sit there and listen to your entire shpiel and got nothing but 'pick me' vibes from it because well... You yourself said you were a pick me while not saying you're a pick me. lol. You said you wanted to be a wife and not lose out on the 'marriage age bracket'.

Apparently you've never seen some people who meet each other way after the 'marriage age bracket' thing you kept speaking of. lol.

That's how I know, you invalidated a shit ton of people. Congratulations. *claps ironically*

I still don't agree with you. End of story.

I'm sure the people who follow the '4B movement' are just quiet about it in your country, because they know they'll get privileged people like you, invalidating their stance. It's kind of the same shit that happens with 'Feminism' over there.

I'm sure there are tons of people holding in all the shit they could say about the 'nicest' people ever, just because of pure fear.

Speaking up to bring down monsters is the scariest shit we as humans can try to do, but also the bravest.

[all-with-angel]

—Doomed by the narrative

❥ Why JJK men wouldn't last in a relationship

❥ Gojo, Nanami, Toji, Sukuna

❥ SATORU GOJO

He'd always thought that your relationship was a means to an end. it's not like he doesn't love you, gods no. It's just he had also never thought you two would last as long as you thought it would.

He could never see himself growing old with you. At least, thats what he’d like to say.

In truth, sometimes he’d sit quietly, let himself daydream about a future. The day he’d get wrinkles and he’d kiss yours, cook a smaller breakfast— light and easy, less sugar than when he was younger, before drinking coffee together in the backyard. But he never let himself think about it too much, lest he fool himself into believing it could happen.

There was always this quiet undercurrent, something just beneath the glittering surface of his charm, his teasing smiles, the way he wrapped himself around you like a koala. But Satoru Gojo was the strongest. And the strongest was nothing if not alone.

Maybe you knew that, in some suppressed part of your mind.

He knew it, better than anyone.

Satoru Gojo had a habit of deflecting whenever you’d ask about the future. Something disguised as a joke, something to tease you. But never to answer the question. You’d ask about what plans he had for the two of you, and he’d reply, “Awww~ Thinking that far ahead already? You must love me soo much! Hmmm?~” Right before covering your face in kisses and tickling you, leading you to screech and try to run away— Making you forget what you had asked him in the first place.

He never stopped moving. With the way he flitted from mission to mission, country to country, night after restless night without him beside you. You’d wake up and he was already getting dressed, giving you a quick kiss before going out. 

It wasn’t that he didn’t care about you. If anything, it was the opposite.

He cared so much, so deeply, it scared him. And Gojo wasn’t used to being scared. Power came easy. Strength was a fact. But loving someone? Choosing someone and staying? That was a whole different battlefield.

He tried of course. But it was just once. One time he let himself be comfortable, one time he let his guard down again. That one time made him realize that he’d have to be vulnerable with you–-- And he couldn’t afford that. Not when your life was on the line too.

Satoru Gojo was born with too much power, too many expectations, too many ghosts clinging to his heels. He was a man meant to die young or live long enough to lose everything. And he knew it. He carried it in his bones, in the way he touched you with hands that never lingered quite long enough. He spoke in half-promises. He held you like you were real and fragile and already gone. Like he had already lost you.

To him, you were always temporary. You were a life raft in a sea of blood. Fleeting, necessary, but never permanent. His reason for keeping you around was selfish. For him. To keep him company. Something fun to distract from his inevitable end. He was a weapon, through and through.

Satory Gojo could never be human with you. 

In the end, he really wasn’t.

❥ KENTO NANAMI

He settled for you. It's not like he doesn't love you, don't get me wrong, it's just that he doesn't love you in the way you love him— You were easy to love, handed to him on a silver platter. You practically threw yourself at him when he was just being nice. Polite. 

He pitied you, really. You could've had better standards. Maybe given him a chase for your love. Make him earn it.

Maybe that's why he chose to settle for you, because you were easy. Because it was quick.

Nanami had always felt like his life was sand falling through his fingers, he felt like he needed to actually live it. And quick. He knew his years on this world as a sorcerer wouldn't be long, and he’d be damned if he didn’t take this chance.

A year after the two of you met, he married you.

Marrying you seemed like the obvious choice to him, he wanted to settle down and have a family anyway. He'd support you through your problems, but not because he loved you, not because he deeply cared for you, but because it was his responsibility. That's what you are to him. Someone to protect, someone to take care of. Not someone to love so deeply that it would have him on his knees.

A year into your marriage with Nanami Kento, the cracks started to show. The perfect paradise that he had set up to keep you with him for longer, shattered.

He overworked himself, for you and our future children, he’d mutter before leaving for work. Nanami would be stressed, coming home late and collapsing into bed. You'd offer to give him some relief, some loving after a month or so of a stagnant bedroom, and he brushed you off like another chore. Later, he gave you flowers and an apology. But he never brought up the subject again. Neither did you.

He prioritized work and it became even worse when he had switched careers— One that he didn’t even tell you about. Nanami was secretive about it. And every night where you’d ask him, his answers would be more vague and different than the last.

You accused him of cheating, tears flowing down your face while he stood stoic in the doorway. Then he sighed. Tired. As if this was a chore.

He comforted you, reassured you that his loyalty lies with you. And yet it all sounded rehearsed, fake. A customer service level performance to soothe you into being calmer. This happened again and again and again and again.

At some point, you couldnt take the secrets anymore. The tired and still feeling of the cold band on your finger feeling like an actual chain rather than the grapevines and flowering start of the relationship.

In the end, you divorced him. Nanami tried to take it to marriage therapy, but after getting shut down once, he simply accepted the fact that you could not love a man that never loved you in the first place.

A few months later, you get a letter from his lawyer saying that he had given everything under his name to you. 

❥ TOJI FUSHIGURO

It wasn’t that Toji didn’t care. He just didn’t care enough to change.

It worked for a while. The fire, the thrill. The sex was good- great, even. Violent in its affection, like he didn’t know how to be soft but wanted to try.

The first time you brought it up, it was quiet– mindless. A gentle, “Hey, could you not leave your weapons all over the place?” as you picked up a blade half-hidden under the couch cushions. Toji had smirked and shrugged, like it was endearing. “Part of the décor, baby,” he said with that cocky grin, pressing a kiss to your temple like it would smooth over the issue.

You laughed, then. You actually laughed. But that laugh started getting harder to find.

It wasn’t just the weapons. It was the blood. The bruises. The fact that he’d vanish for three days without so much as a text or a warning, come home with some half-assed excuse and the stench of blood still clinging to him like a second skin. You knew what he was. Who he was. You weren’t naïve. You didn’t walk into this thinking Toji Fushiguro was some nine-to-five kind of guy with a clean conscience.

Still, you thought— hoped, really, that being with you might pull some of that recklessness back. That love, whatever version he had for you, might temper the edge just a little. But Toji wasn’t the type to be tempered. He was a blade through and through. Cold steel, sharp and uncompromising.

“I just worry,” you told him one night, tired, not even mad anymore— just drained. He’d come home limping, one hand pressed against a wound that looked deeper than he let on, and he was already halfway to raiding the fridge like it was any other night.

“I didn’t die, did I?” he clicked his tongue, cracking open a beer. “What’re you nagging for?” Sharp. Irritated. Like your concern was some bug buzzing in his ear.

Toji hated being told things. That was the real issue. Because he didn’t see it as concern. He saw it as control. And he'd be damned if he let himself be controlled. Every reminder to rest. Every note to clean up after himself. Every request to maybe not take jobs that had a 70% chance of disembowelment. 

He took it all the same way— a leash being thrown around his neck. One all too familiar.

He started snapping more after that. Leaving earlier. Coming back later. You’d find yourself alone more often than not, curled up on the couch, the only proof of his existence a trail of blood-streaked bandages in the bathroom and the faint scent of gunpowder in the air.

You asked him once, annoyed, but you realized too late that you were afraid of the answer–- if he even wanted to be in a relationship.

He gave you a look like you'd asked if grass wanted to be green. “I like fucking you. That not enough?”

You loved him. You really did.

But love wasn’t supposed to feel like sitting on a time bomb, praying it wouldn’t go off while you slept. Wasn’t supposed to drain you as you tried to help him, all the while that help was barely doing anything.

“You want someone domestic,” he said, voice low as he lit a cigarette on the balcony, not even looking at you. “Go find some salaryman, yeah? Someone who’ll do chores with you on Sundays.”

“I want you,” you said.He finally looked at you, eyes flat. “No. You want me different.”

❥ SUKUNA RYOUMEN

He does not know how to love. And while he is fully capable to learn, to choose to love you–- He won’t.  Learning how to love would take him years, if not your entire lifespan to do. Even then, it will be the farthest thing from perfect. Obviously, you never expected Sukuna to love you the way you loved him.

Not with softness. Not with kind whispered words. Before you even loved him, you knew he was different.

You tried, anyway. Gods, you tried.

You were patient with his sharp edges, learned how to navigate his moods like one learns the tides— when to speak, when to listen, when to walk away and let him burn himself out. But you’d still flinch when he’d get mad, yell and reach to break something. The wall, the table— never you, though. 

Not yet, some semblance of self preservation whispered to you.

Still, Sukuna was an untamable storm anyway. You’d act ‘wrong’ and suddenly its your fault that his mood turned sour. You had to walk on eggshells around him, that, or you’d have to quite literally scream your heart out. Fights could last days, weeks. 

Your life with him would be a ticking time bomb, an angry, dangerous man always lingering in your home. And you’d be stupidly naive to think that he’d never raise a hand against you.

Sukuna doesn’t do love. He knows how to tear hearts out of chests, not listen to them beat.

Sukuna was not built to cradle anything he could crush. And you, you would be so easy to destroy. Too easy.  A flick of his wrist, a punch, anything he’d put a sliver of effort into and you would die. He’d thought about it. 

How to kill you. 

The few times he thought about it, something uncomfortable always ate at his chest. But every single time, curiosity also nipped at him. Would you crumble just how he thought you would? Would your bones really crack that easily? 

Would your blood stain him too? Eventually?

The answer is yes. It does.

Masterlist

Ive had this in the draft cave for A MONTH. A MONTH I tell you.

[s0s1mple]

hii, yesyes i read your niki fic with arranged marriage trope! but i think they were royals in that? maybe this time normal people? or mafia? whatever you want it to be!

Absolutely! So a modern setting, got it!

Payment - Nishimura Riki

TW: general yandere themes, humans as payment, extortion, financial threats, death threats

Masterlist

Your family was in debt. That wasn’t supposed to happen. Your dad was supposed to take care of your family, was supposed to have given you a secure life, was supposed to have made that business he borrowed money for work.

Your elder sister was a commodity. That wasn’t supposed to happen. Your dad was supposed to fight tooth and nail so your sister didn’t have to belong to some jackass mafia member. Your sister wasn’t supposed to be crying as she packed her things in preparation for the final hand off. Your sister wasn’t supposed to be comforting your dad because really, he wanted to fight for her. But he had to think of you, your mother, and your baby brother. It was the last thing he could do to protect everyone from his mistake, and your sister had even bitten the bullet to help as well.

That was why you all were walking into a restaurant far too nice to be so empty, walking back into the back room, all of you carrying the belongings you hoped your sister would be able to keep. Guards stood like statues at the doorway to the private dining area, only giving a passing glance at your drawn faces before knowing exactly why you were there. In you went to see six people before you.

The head of the mafia branch your family had failed to pay off sat there at the table, a steaming cup of tea before him. Next to him was a much younger male, about your age, with probably the most bored yet predatory gaze you’d ever seen. Guards stood in each corner of the room too, guns at their belts. You felt like a child all over again as you instinctively settled behind your father, using his shoulders and back as a shield. Your sister, though, stood tall and as proud as she could.

You hated the realization you might never see such a brave person in your life again.

Silently, you all set down your boxes. The younger male’s eyes flickered to the wedding veil- your grandmother’s veil- poking out of one of them. He scoffed, eyes flickering up to your sister’s. He was the first to break the silence. “What, you think there’s gonna be some big wedding? This is just a contract. You’re not important.” His tone wasn’t malicious, but it was certainly derogatory.

“Riki.” His father spoke up, voice tired and firm. Riki shot him an icy glare.

“What? You’re the one requiring I have a spouse to take over, aren’t you? Just lift the tradition and I won’t have to have someone I don’t even love hanging off my arm.”

“Don’t be ungrateful.” The notion of the person actively choosing to ruin your family’s lives over money he had coffers full of trying to instill some sort of fucked up moral in his son was laughable. It was bizarre. Riki seemed to think the same, judging by his incredulous laugh. He tapped his nails on the table, sharp eyes turning right back to your sister’s form.

“Don’t look at me like I’m the one hurting you. Both of us are prisoners if I have to marry someone like you.” He said dryly, lips curling in apparent disdain.

You felt anger slam into you. Here was your sister, giving herself up willingly to help save your family from financial annihilation and potential death, and he was acting like this was a worse situation for him. You glared at him over your father’s shoulder, your father having angled his elbow into your stomach to silence the retort you had on your tongue. It was a silent, warning gesture.

This is bad enough, don’t make it worse.

So you stayed quiet, but it was as if Riki sensed your ire. His dark gaze snapped suddenly to yours through his bangs, and you felt like screaming at him and cowering away all at once.

His tapping stopped.

Then his head tilted, following his gaze to more firmly face you. All of a sudden, the rage was flooding out of you and giving way to a sort of dread that clawed at your insides. “Who’re you?” His voice wasn’t disdainful anymore. Just curious. And curious was terrifying.

Your father angled his body to hide you better. “Nobody. Let’s sign the contract.” Your sister nodded, stepping forward to take the seat in front of the two males. She was as elegant as ever, as if she was unbothered by everything. It made your heart clench.

“No. Answer me. Who are you?” Riki’s hand came up in a dismissive gesture, stopping your sister in her tracks. His eyes didn’t leave you.

“My other child. Can we- can we just sign the deal?” You could hear the worry in your father’s voice. You looked away from Riki, hoping it would curb his interest, but you could feel his stare like a brand. There was a long pause only broken by the sound of the chair scraping as it was pulled out. Before your sister could take a seat, though, he spoke up again.

“I want that one.” It was said so casually, with a sort of entitlement that left little else to discussion. The entire room felt like it froze. Your throat went dry and you looked up tentatively. Riki’s lips curled into a half-smile as he got your attention again. You didn’t know how, but that too-genuine looking smile of his was more terrifying than anything you’d ever seen.

“We- No- we already came to an agreement-!” Your mother was the one who spoke up, silent up until now.

“Is the contract signed or not?” Riki challenged, waving the piece of paper about like some sort of trophy. His smile stretched just a little wider, head tilting, like there was something amusing in seeing my family stutter and protest.

“You can’t just-“

“I’m not signing shit if it’s her who signs the contract.” Riki said, palm cradling his jaw. He shot a look utterly devoid of care at your sister. Before, there was a disdain and disgust. All of a sudden, though, it was just apathy. Then his eyes were back on you again, and just as suddenly his gaze was filled with emotions you couldn’t quite place. Intrigue, entitlement, hunger… his brow arched as the silence continued. His father eyed him carefully, judging his expression.

“You made a deal for one of your offspring and didn’t specify who. You want this paid? Do what my son says.” The leader said, tone detached and formal. Your sister was immediately irate.

“No. Deal’s off.” She hissed. She slammed the chair back into place and whipped around to gather us all up to leave. “We’ll find a way to make the money back, dad. We’re not playing their games.”

“This isn’t about money, you know.” Riki drawled suddenly. “This was about finding a convenient way for me to fulfill the requirements to become a proper heir.” It was dismissive. You were just a means to an end. Your face twitched in anger.

“Then find another family-“

“You refuse this and money won’t be the payment anymore. I want you.” Riki slowly stood, a lean and towering figure. He slid the contract forward, smiling that too-pleased smile the instant your gaze landed on him again. “Either sign it or the new payment is blood.”

His father watched, brow arched. Seemingly, this behavior was new to even him. But he didn’t intervene, just quietly taking a sip of his tea. There was a pregnant pause, the air tense. The guards seemed alert now, like their fingers were ready to pull the trigger the instant they were told. You swallowed thickly as your sister and father began pleading for them not to do this, your mother clutching your arm and quietly sobbing.

You made a decision. Trying to be as confident as your sister, you pulled your arm from your mother’s grasp and took an abrupt seat at the table.

“Don’t-!”

You scrawled your name in heavy-handed ink, the pen nib ground into the paper harshly. Then you shoved the paper back at Riki. Riki stared at the paper, then at you, eyes like hot brands as his face shifted from one of intrigued amusement to open glee. Like a child getting the toy they wanted. His eyes crinkled and he slid the paper over to his father. Then he was walking around the table towards you with easy, relaxed steps. Your sister stalked forward to try and act as a shield, but the click of a gun had her stopping in place. You tried to steel yourself as he came to a stop in front of you.

He grabbed the lip of one of the boxes your sister had set on the table. “What’s your favorite cake?” He asked suddenly. You were silent for a long moment, bewildered.

“What?” You finally whispered.

“Your favorite flavor of cake. What is it? I like chocolate, personally.” He hummed. Riki grabbed the same veil he’d been callously disregarding earlier. You wanted to rip it from his hands and place it right back in the ancient cupboard your grandfather had carved for your grandmother where it belonged. He held it up to your face, tilting his head as he observed you. “We’ll need to do some cake tasting for the wedding… I’m thinking a black and white themed event? Keep things elegant.” It was like he was already there, his gaze thoughtful as he ran through preparations. The change in attitude was so abrupt, so out of the blue, as he mumbled about catering in the vague direction of his father.

“What the hell are you talking about? You don’t want a wedding and neither do I! The contract is signed, so let’s just do what it says and ignore each other for the rest of our lives.” You finally speak up, voice hurried and obviously tinged with rage. He just smiles that pleased, borderline happy smile again, laugh lines appearing like they were mocking you.

“You speak!” He cheers softly. “Your voice is so nice…”

“Would you stop acting like that?”

“Like what?” He tilts his head almost innocently, like he can’t hear the sobs of your family behind you. “Like I’m happy for the wedding? Because I am. I’m getting to marry you, aren’t I?”

You splutter, bewildered and incredulous, that creeping dread back in full force. “You don’t even fucking know me!”

“But I will. Besides, you really think I’d ask for you so specifically if there wasn’t a reason?” All of a sudden he was stepping forward, encroaching into your space, staring down at you. You felt like he should be looking at you like a roach, like you were beneath him, but his gaze was eerily warm. “Ever heard of the phrase ‘ichigo, ichie?’” Again, his question felt sudden. Your nose wrinkled.

“No.” You tentatively responded, voice still heated.

“It means a ‘once-in-a-lifetime encounter.’” He hums. Riki reaches down, and you balk as he grabs your hand. His touch his gentle despite his calloused palms and long fingers, far too gentle for the type of person you know he is. Almost like handling fine china. Your palm is pressed to his chest, right over his heart. Personally, you don’t feel anything through the thick fabric of his clothes. Personally, you attribute that to his lack of heart.

“Let go of-“

“Can you feel it? My heart started pounding when I saw you.” His voice is murmured now, reverent in an unnerving way, a tone of voice nobody should ever have for someone they’ve just met. It’s the sort of emotion that you personally feel warrants an immediate trip to the psyche ward. The fact that it’s aimed right at you sends a shiver down your spine. “Everything’s boring these days… but you? You’re not.”

“You’re delusional.”

“You’re pretty.” The simple response has you firmly shoving at his chest to move him away, has a gun clocking, and Riki’s immediate reaction isn’t to reprimand you but to tug you along and pull you right into his arms. His cheek pressed to your hair, he sighs almost dreamily. “You can go, you know. You’re not needed anymore.” For a moment you’re confused until you realize he’s addressing your family. You shove at his stomach this time, but he’s like a boulder. Immovable.

Your family protests, of course. Then they yell and fight as the guards grab them harshly, pulling them from the room, and you call out after them, screaming that you love them. Before you know it, you’re crying into the chest you’re pressed against. Riki coos, fingers clutching at your cheeks as he pulls back to look at you.

“God, you’re even pretty when you cry…”

“Fuck you.” You choke out, glaring blearily at him. He just presses a kiss to your forehead, giggling lightly like you’re joking or playing around. He looks like the happiest man alive all of a sudden, like a mask has slipped away as soon as your family left, and more tears slip down your cheeks as you realize his expression mimics the expression you always dreamed your future lover would have when looking at you.

But this feels perverse. Feels dark. Insidious. Far too interested, far too appraising, far too loving for the situation.

“That comes later, babe. How about we just sort your wedding dress for now, huh?” His fingers pinch lightly at your cheeks. “Ah, I’m just so glad you’re mine. I’ll never let you go, you know. I’d rather rip my heart out.” A small pause, and then he speaks again with a toothy smile.

“Or someone else’s.”

[letters-to-lgbt-kids]

it’s probably wrong to feel this way because feminism but i feel nostalgic for the older generations. women used to be able to marry some dude and be taken care of for life. you just pop out some kids, sit at home and cook and bake and live a simple life without worrying. i’m literally a whole lesbian but I think about that.

Actually, I do not think that your feelings are wrong - but I think you’re being sold a fantasy version of women’s history that never existed. 

You are not a bad person or a bad feminist for craving a simple, carefree life. We live in a unpredictable, hectic, oftentimes scary world. You’re definitely valid in just wanting life to be easier! 

It’s also not anti-feminist for a woman, including lesbian women, to want to have children or to actually enjoy domestic activities like cooking and baking or taking care of the household. Women are human beings - and human beings have so many different life paths and desires and personalities and interests. You don’t need to feel bad for wanting a life that more closely aligns with the traditional picture of the housewife and mother. There are lesbian couples who raise children together, too. There are even lesbian women who choose to platonically co-parent with a gay man because they both want kids, and other unique family constellations like that. Like I said, plenty of different life paths! 

Nothing wrong with any of that. But there IS something wrong with saying that the older generations of women lived carefree lives and with implying that feminism took this away from you. 

Let’s look at that together: 

It seems like you’re underestimating how much work it is to be a full-time primary caretaker. Women who are full-time responsible for taking care of their children and household are not chilling at home like on a holiday. They have a 24/7 job with no breaks, no salary and a ton of responsibilities that they can’t clock out or take a sick day from. Again, this doesn’t mean that motherhood can’t be a a fulfilling and meaningful life path! But, surely without meaning to, you are insulting and belittling the hard work women do by saying that stay-at-home moms live an easy life without any worries. Care work is work. 

You say you’d be taken care of for life. It’s great if that works out! But it’s actually a quite common issue that it doesn’t. What if your husband suddenly leaves you? What if he dies unexpectedly? What if he turns abusive? Think about women in that position: no salary and three kids to feed. You’ll have difficulties finding a job (no qualifications, no job experience, a large gap in your resume and trouble affording childcare). You may not even have a place to stay (your husband owns the house) or your own bank account (your husband handled the finances). 

You didn’t say exactly which generation you’re thinking of but there actually has never been one where all women lived the same life. Let’s look at the picture of the American 1950s housewife here. There are people out there who romanticize that as the „golden age for women“, similarly to what you describe in your message: a time where women didn’t have to worry about finding jobs or going to university or understanding politics and instead found fulfillment in nurturing their kids and husbands and could dedicate all day to cooking and doing crafts. A simpler, less stressful time, more nourishing for the soul than today’s hectic schedule. As nice as that picture may seem: it’s historical fiction. First of all, even back then only part of society could really afford to only have one partner working. It was mostly white middle-class women who lived that traditional housewife life. Other women (for example working-class women, immigrant women, black women and other women of color) were rarely afforded the luxury of staying home. They had jobs, oftentimes very hard and exhausting ones, for example as factory workers, farm laborers or as household help for wealthier families. That „peaceful home life of women“ some people are now nostalgic for was actually often built on the hard work of other women: many families relied on the labor of poorer women to afford that lifestyle. 

Even if you only look at those who were wealthy (and white) enough to actually live that lifestyle: it wasn’t a golden age for women. There was immense pressure on them, actually. Pressure to be sexually attractive and available to your husband at all times (even when you don’t feel like it), pressure to get pregnant and have many kids (even when your body still needs to recover from the last pregnancy), pressure to have a spotless home at all times (even when you’re unwell or pregnant), pressure to suppress any personal desires that do not center around your husband, kids and household responsibilities (hobbies outside the home were often discouraged or outright forbidden), pressure to make all that look effortless and be happy at all times… 

Plus, some of the things sold as nostalgic now are actually awful if you think about it! It sounds like a nice mental break „not having to worry“ about working, pursuing higher education, paying your own rent etc. But what that actually meant was not being (legally or socially) allowed to do those things. There’s a big difference between choosing not to do something and not being allowed to do it. 

You already know this but I feel like it deserves its own point: lesbians in older generations didn’t have easy, carefree lives, either. In fact, they often lived dangerous lives and faced the constant threat of institutionalization or criminal punishment. 

So, that fantasy of carefree women back in the olden days is not real - but your wish for rest and stability is. Please know that I’m not judging you or making fun of you or thinking you’re stupid. Far from that, I think you feel something that’s really relatable. So many of us feel like life is too stressful and too hard. 

Rather than grieving a time that never existed like that, I think some things you can do are: 

Reflect on what you can do (now and in the future) to make your life more closely aligned with what you desire. Do you want to try out more domestic hobbies (like baking)? Can you simplify or slow down some of your daily routines, so modern life feels less overwhelming? Do you want to look more closer into the available options of having kids as a lesbian? 

Use this historical fantasy to learn more about your values and needs. What about it is appealing to you and how can you fight for them in the modern world, as a feminist? If it’s the idea of not being lonely (surrounded by husband and kids), maybe you can look into helping to build or maintain community spaces in your area. Maybe it’s the feeling of being needed, then you could look into volunteering. Maybe you really care about mothers, then you could learn about and advocate for things that make modern life easier for them (like access to healthcare, childcare, education, fair work conditions etc.)

[literaryvein-reblogs]

How do I write mean insults that's in character for a character to say? I'm personally poor at coming up with insults that don't sound generic or would actually cut deep, being mean in general. I want to write a snarky character with a dry sense of humour when it calls for it but don't know how to go about it.

He's also recovering from a superiority and inferiority complex.

As the writer, you know your character best, and what insults would make sense for them to say (also considering the bigger context of the scene). So, I'll just provide you with a compilation of prompts and notes from different sources, and you can choose which ones are most appropriate to incorporate in your story.

Writing Notes: Insults & Dry Humor

A List of "Sophisticated" Insults

Craven - having or showing a complete lack of courage; very cowardly

Fatuous - silly or stupid; complacently or inanely foolish. From Latin infatuate, which once meant "to make foolish," but which now usually means "to inspire with foolish love or admiration."

Insipid - not interesting or exciting; dull or boring

Obstreperous - difficult to control and often noisy

Obtuse - stupid or unintelligent; not able to think clearly or to understand what is obvious or simple

Pusillanimous - weak and afraid of danger. It's been used by such notables as Ralph Waldo Emerson ("It is a pusillanimous desertion of our work to gaze after our neighbours"), and the disgraced Vice-President Spiro Agnew, who called journalists "pusillanimous pussyfooters."

Sanctimonious - pretending to be morally better than other people. It once meant "possessing sanctity; holy, sacred." The genuinely holy aspect faded, and William Shakespeare is credited with first using sanctimonious to mean "hypocritically pious or devout."

Twee - sweet or cute in a way that is silly or sentimental. Just as buddy is believed to be a baby talk alteration of "brother", twee is a baby talk alteration of "sweet". Although twee is still considered a chiefly British term, it's increasingly popular in American English.

Unctuous - revealing or marked by a smug, ingratiating, and false earnestness or spirituality. Unction can mean "anointment" or it can name something used to anoint, such as a soothing or lubricating oil. That idea of oiliness led to unctuous, which can describe the slickness of false sincerity.

Vacuous - having or showing a lack of intelligence or serious thought; lacking meaning, importance, or substance

The insult would also depend on which other character it is directed at. Here is a list of "funny" insults for adults from Reader's Digest:

My days of not taking you seriously have come to a middle.

You are the human equivalent of a participation trophy.

If you were a spice, you’d be flour.

You may have a sparsely attended funeral.

I smell something burning. Are you trying to think again?

You’re like a lighthouse in a desert: bright but not very useful.

Don’t worry—the first 30 years of childhood are always the hardest.

May your life be as pleasant as you are.

You’re as useless as the “ueue” in “queue.”

Your face is just fine. It’s your personality that’s the issue.

...and for your character's significant other:

I like you. People say I have no taste, but I like you.

You continue to meet my expectations.

I’ll never forget the first time we met. But I’ll keep trying.

If genius skips a generation, our kids will be brilliant.

We were happily married for a month. Too bad it’s our 10-year anniversary.

I admire the way you try so hard.

You’re entitled to your incorrect opinion.

Have you tried doing it the way I told you to the first time?

The best part of watching a show with you is when you fall asleep because then I can watch my show.

Don’t call me crazy—you’re the one who married me!

You can always alter these to better suit your character. You can read the full list here, which also includes some insults for kids, best friends, and family.

Tips for Better Humor Writing

Humor writing isn’t all about landing a good joke (except for when it is). In creative writing, the effect is usually a bit more nuanced. Here’s a few writing techniques to get you started:

Subvert expectations. Try to undermine the audience’s expectations or reform them with structural elements.

Save the best for last. Humor is often a release of tension, so the sentence builds that tension, and the pay-off—the punchline—happens most naturally at the end. This is also sometimes referred to as the “rule of three,” where two thoughts act as a build-up to the final humorous closer.

Use contrast. Are your characters in a terrifying situation? Add something light, like a man obsessing about his briefcase instead of the T-Rex looming behind him.

Use good wordplay. Sometimes words themselves are funny, and just as often, their placement in a sentence can make a difference. Some words are just funnier than others, so make a list of those that amuse you the most.

Take advantage of cliché. While clichés are something most writers try to avoid, it’s important to recognize them,so you can use them to your advantage. Humor relies in part on twisting a cliché—transforming or undermining it. You do this by setting up an expectation based on the cliché and then providing a surprise outcome. In humor writing, this process is called reforming.

Use humor as a counterbalance. If you just pile on one terrible thing after another, it starts to become ridiculous, and people won’t buy it. Using humor is a great way to achieve the proper balance between fantasy and real life. Remember, if a roller coaster only did twists and turns the whole time, it wouldn’t be as fun to ride.

Level of Intensity

There are people who shrug off an insult (“That’s just the way she is”) and people who commit murder over an insult (“I’m avenging my honor!”). Plus, of course, everything in between. Which is your character?

To be believable, consider the following:

Personality. How hard does your character take events in general? Does s/he get really excited over good fortune and really depressed over setbacks? Then we’ll find it believable that s/he gets really angry and reacts accordingly.

The second cause of an intense reaction is the nature of the specific fight that you’re creating on the page. Lily Owens lets most of her father’s insults go by (“the art of survival”). But when he starts in about her mother, the topic is too important to Lily to gloss over. Lily’s reaction is intense. She runs away. Another type of character might merely have seethed silently. Still another might have fought T. Ray more intensively, setting fire to the house with him inside.

Finally, the strength of fights is culturally determined. Where public or even private scenes are disapproved of (upper-class London, old-money Boston, “well-behaved” families), arguments may be muted, even when the subject matters a great deal. In other cultures, volatility is not frowned on, and people may feel free to scream at each other in public. In extreme cases, murder may even be considered a duty, as in avenging a sister’s sexual assault.

Where is your story taking place? Are your arguers in tune with local or family culture? Maybe not. You can create interesting effects by portraying the rebels against the local mores: the meek child born into a battling family, the furious feminist in polite 19th-century English society.

On Dry Humor

Dry humor - is all about the subtle irony of the facts being stated plainly; it is the contrast between sentiment and reality that makes the situation funny.

The technique is known for its simple, often matter-of-fact declarations that will make the audience laugh or be perplexed (humor is subjective, after all).

With dry humor, delivery and intention create a sort of comedic cognitive dissonance or contrast. Sometimes it is as simple as using a bit of sarcasm, but it can also be more than that.

Dry humor lives and dies on the back of doing less.

Less facial expressions, less props, less setup—less is often more when it comes to landing the joke. You aren’t using a big, dramatic setup or a grandiose vocabulary to make your point.

Essentially, these jokes are derived from saying the opposite of what is meant or delivering them in a way that purposefully counteracts the supposed meaning of what is being said.

Dry Humor in Writing

The function of dry humor has often been to highlight the absurd.

It is effectively executed in moments where satirization of the circumstances at play require little more than noting the facts aloud.

When writing this sort of humor, quick, cutting accuracy is key to making the jokes land.

Simplicity is king, and an honest statement of the facts will always lead the way to finding the funny.

Sources: 1 2 3 4 5 ⚜ More: References ⚜ Humour ⚜ Laughter & Humour

Hope this helps with your writing!

[arc-misadventures]

BMI Jaune: Willow, Summer, and Kali?

BMI: Jaune II

Juniper: Jaune~!

Jaune: No...

Juniper: What?

Jaune: No. Whatever it is, the answer is: No.

Juniper: But, I never said anything?

Jaune: But, you're going to ask me something, and whatever the ask is about, the answer is: No.

Juniper: ...

Juniper: BMI...

Jaune: AHHHH?! Not this shit again!

Juniper: Your chose for this BMI, are Willow Schnee.

Willow: Hello, Jaune~!

Jaune: Hi...?

Juniper: Kali Belladonna.

Kali: Oh look, it's my favourite human~!

Jaune: Why did you say it like that...?

Juniper: And, lastly we have, Summer Rose.

Summer: Hello, Daddy~!

Jaune: Excuse me, what...?

Juniper: Are you ready to choose who you going to, BMI, Jaune~?

Jaune: The hell are you making me choose between my friend’s mom?!

Juniper: Well, as one woman/mother to another, they told me about their... pitiful sex lives, or lack there of in some cases...

Summer: Juniper?!

Kali: How could you just say that?!

Willow: Considering my ex-husband size or, more accurately the lack there of... Honestly, there isn't much to brag about. There is certainly plenty to complain about however…

Juniper: What? Both of your husbands are dead, so you haven't had much, if any action since they died.

Kalli: Well, that's true...

Summer: It's not like we did it much after I had, Ruby...

Juniper: And, Willow... I'm sorry you had to go through that so often...

Willow: While, I love my children with all my heart, and I wouldn't trade them for the world. I do sometimes find myself wishing I had my son sooner so I didn't have to have... relations as often as I did.

Juniper: See! They have sad sexless lives since they lost their husbands. And, Willow had...

Juniper: She had, Jacques...

Juniper: So, Jaune please, BMI these three woman, and help them ‘fix’ their dry spell?

Jaune: ...

SKW: Please~?

Jaune: ...

Jaune: Haaaa...

Jaune: I would Marry, Summer.

Summer: And, why do you want to do that, Husband Dearest~?

Jaune: 'Husband dearest?"

Jaune: Okay? Okay, I say that because you look like you would be a wonderful housewife to come home to.

Summer: Naww~!

Jaune: Plus you look like the woman/wife who would do the, "Hi honey, welcome home! Would like a bath, dinner, or me?" Type of woman, and I...? Ahem... yeah that...

Summer: Oh; Is that so~?

Jaune: ...

Jaune: I Would, Breed Kali.

Kali: Why?

Jaune: Well... You have large birthing hips... and I want to give those birthing hips a run for their money...

Kali: Oh, I hope feel like we're going to enjoy that~!

Jaune: Hahaha...

Jaune: I would impregnate, Willow.

Willow: Oh, why would you do that?

Jaune: ...

Jaune: I hate you ex-husband with a burning passion. A lot of people think that killing him, or torturing him to death would be the best sort of revenge for what he did. But, I think... taking his woman, and making her mine is a much more tantalizing idea~!

Willow: Y-Yours?

Jaune: I’ll make you my woman! By the time I’m through with you, you’ll fit around me perfectly, no other man will satisfy you, you’ll come begging for more, and I’ll be all to happy to oblige~!

Willow: Y-Y-You promise…?

Jaune: Uhh… Well… T-That is of we… did do it…

Summer: Do you think he could do that?

Kali: Maybe? My daughter did say he’s quite big.

Willow: How big?

Kali: Six when soft, ten when hard, and plenty thick as well~!

Willow: Heavens, say it is so~!

Summer: Are you really that big~?

Jaune: WHAT?! How the hell do you know that?!

Willow: He is~!

Summer: Hmm… Juniper, please be a dear, and leave.

Juniper: Why?

Summer: Because, the sooner you leave, the sooner you’ll have grandchildren~!

Juniper: Good luck, Jaune! Remember to not use a condom!

Jaune: W-W-What?! Wait… hold on!

Kali: Don run, Jaune: The fun is about to begin~!

Willow: Come on, Jaune… it’s time to continue the, Arc bloodline~!

Summer: So what will it be, Jaune; Will you take, Kali, or do you want, Willow, or perhaps me~?

Jaune: Ohhh…?!

Jaune: P-Please be gentle…?

SKW: Fu-fufu~!

Kali: No promises~!

[quietplace26]

Oh I'm so happy because Neuvillette got a 2chance to repair his relationship with Furina!MC~. But the Fontainians are jerks 🤮

Please give us more details about their romantic relationship. I bet Neuvillette want to take revenge on Focalors. He will spoil his mate. And of course protect her too, but I wonder how 🤔

First off, Furina!MC would be so confused as to why Neuvillette's acting all... protective? Loving? And the fact he automatically knew 'MC' was her, but she chalks it up to Soulmate stuff, and just accepts it.

Neuvillette, on the other hand, keeps quiet about the fact he time traveled from the future and knew a lot more than he should in the current timeline

He didn't want to confuse her even more, or heaven forbid hurt her with the knowledge of how he hurt her so heartlessly in an alternative future.

And yeah, after hearing from the Furina!MC from the alternative future, hearing her tales about Focalors, the Archon he once thought was selfless and a hero for her 'good deed' of giving him back his powers and saving Fontaine, well... Neuvillette has plans for Focalors.

And none of them are nice ones.

But until then... he's gonna spoil this Furina!MC, untouched by his coldness and his ignorance, and make sure that future he once lived through before NEVER happens again.

He won't let her name becomes a smudge on his wrist. He won't lose her to that damn Geo Usurper. His name will remain on her wrist where it belongs, and he'll make sure she stays by his side where SHE belongs.

He'll court her, both dragon and human way, marry her, put a ring on her finger, maybe an even have a family...

So, yeah, Furina!MC will be spoiled, she will be happy as she had her soulmate by her side, and he calls her by her TRUE name-

Focalors also might die by Neuvillette's hand, who knows-

Besides that? He's definitely going to change somethings in this timeline. Example being... Carole.

This one instance confuses and makes Furina!MC a little anxious cause this isn't how canon is supposed to go... but more than that, she feels relief as she hugs a trembling Carole after the teary eye, guilty Melusine comes over to her after getting a very stern talking to by Neuvillette for what she almost did.

Also. If Neuvillette EVER catches the humans of Fontaine going down a similar path their alternates did in the other timeline, then Neuvillette would just say they're GUILTY when the prophecy comes around once again. Yes, Furina!MC might be upset, but between her and Fontaine? He'll always choose his soulmate's happiness and safety over some humans.

[erenjaegerwifee]

The Selection

Prologue

Paring: Neteyam x Fem!Tawakmi!Reader

Warnings: none, some flirting.

Word Count: 2.7k

Disclaimer: All my characters are aged-up! If that bothers you feel free to scroll and do not interact with my account or any of my post.

~ This is the first part to my new series! I hope you all like the idea and enjoy reading! Suggestion are welcome I'd love to hear your ideas. in this series I should make you aware I will be including some human things, there will be some pretending when it comes to those things. the technology for instance will be something that is heavily in the series. human songs is also something that will be mentioned throughout, which will include some songs and lyrics (but Y/n is gonna write them so it wouldn't be considered human in this series)

Series M.List | Main M.List

“Neteyam the war is over, it is high time you choose a wife” Neytiri, his mother said to him while they were all having dinner. “Yea son, I know that for a long time it is all we thought about but you should get out there, get to know some people” his father, Jake pipped up. 

“Being married is great I promise, I didn’t think I'd like it this much man seriously” his brother Lo’ak said as he hugged his wife Korra against his side making her giggle. Neteyam smiles at his brother and new sister, they had such a strong relationship ever since they were young, the type of friends you knew one day they would mate and be as one. Neteyam has never had anyone like that, he has had friends and girls he was interested in but this war changed people, took people. He just isn’t really attracted to anyone in his clan right now.  

“I hear you; I know a bond is important to form, but honestly this war has taken so much out of all of us, there isn’t much people left in the clan and no one I can say I really feel for.” Neteyam sighed as he told his family as he passes his hand over the scar, he now has on his chest from getting shot all those years ago. His parents look at him sympathetically, they know what it feels like to be in love, they only want their children to feel the same one day, to feel that happiness. 

“Ok, I attended a meeting with the clan leaders from across the forest, they too have suffered much lose from this war and one of them pitched an idea I thought was interesting, I did not agree beforehand because I wasn’t sure you would agree” Jake sighed and glanced at his wife before continuing, “In the Kekunun clan, they have this tradition where men try through a series of competitions and challenges to win over the woman of their choosing, they pitched that if you were open too it, you can hold one of your own here, and which ever woman you choose will be your mate for life and join their clan with ours, so don’t suffer such a lose alone. You will rule both clans side by side.”  

His family looked at him while he contemplated his options, it was not the worse idea, maybe someone from the other clans might catch his attention. Maybe he might fall in love with someone, “How will we choose which girls will enter?” Neteyam asked his father.  

“Well, you can let the clans decide which girl they think is best fit or you can send someone you know to survey the crowds and choose a girl they think you’ll like, the point of this is to find you a match you are happy with, making the clan bigger is just a bonus” his father said. “We only want you to be happy son” his mother spoke up.  

Neteyam sighed again, “Ok, we will do it, but I want someone to survey the clans” his family waited for him to say who they will send and Neteyam didn’t have to give it much thought, at the end of the day only his family stood with him in the hard times, only his family held his hand throughout all of the injuries and loses, “Lo’ak, I trust his judgement, he’ll find me the right girls.”  

Lo’ak smiled at his brother, over the years they had depended on each other a lot, they grew much closer than their teenage years, they are not only brothers but good friends, they have kept each other safe countless times now, there really is no one Neteyam has more trust in to think of his best interest.  

Lo’ak has been to three clans so far with his wife, all three times he had chosen a woman he thinks his brother might like. He has been to the Tanrangi Clan by the eastern sea, the Olangi Clan that reside in the forest plains of Pandora and the Kekunun Clan that live in the Mountains. Visiting them has been a real experience for Lo’ak he was able to spend time with the people and get to know their customs before he chose a woman.  

It was easier than expected the women he chose just stood out to him, and his wife was much help in decided as well because Lo’ak came to realize, all the other forest clans have heirs that are women. Not a man besides their father was in the family, someone them were only children but some had sisters, none so far had brothers.  

Lo’ak must make one more stop, the furthest clan in the forest, a good three days travel away from the omatikaya clan, it was the Tawkami clan. Rumor has it you reside in one of the forest clans but Lo’ak has yet to see you. He just knows you would be perfect for his brother, but he can’t help but feel a bit selfish about wanting to choose you, yes, he has a wife and he loves her more than anything, he would never do anything to hurt her. But ever since Lo’ak heard the sound of your voice in his teens he’s been crushing hard, almost like a fantasy he knows he has no shot, he knows he doesn’t want it, he just likes you. He had this idea in his head about what you might be like and he always wondered what it would be like to meet you. 

Now Lo’ak is no stalker, he knows what you look like simply from pictures, but what na’vi on Pandora doesn’t know you? You are famous on Pandora, your voice people say was a gift from the great mother herself, they say your body was hand shaped by Eywa from how incredibly beautiful you are. They way your waves fall so lovely down your back, the silky curls bounce with every movement you make.  

Lo’ak has only seen videos and heard recordings but he has never gotten the chance to meet you. Why were you so out of reach to the public, he wasn’t even sure what clan you are from. He definitely thinks you are perfect though, but maybe his opinion on your is biased. Korra understands Lo’ak’s feelings towards you, she’d be lying if she said she didn’t also admire you, the way you moved when you danced in the videos she saw, it was so graceful and full of meaning.  

They talked about it the entire trip, every clan they would look for you and every clan they would be disappointed they didn’t find you; this is their last chance. They fly over the entrance of the Tawkami clan attracting the people below. This clan was beautiful, big space, Lo’ak knows they fought besides them in battle but they didn’t not return in the numbers they gave out. They are highly skilled and in tune with their land. 

Lo’ak jumped off his ikran and walked over to Korra to help her off her ikran. The pair walked hand in hand up to the crowd and greeted all of them. Everyone knows they are omatikaya, they know Lo’ak and who his father way, they also are very much aware of his skills as a warrior and is well respected at the clan.  

The clan’s Olo’eyktan with his three sons came forward, Lo’ak and Korra respectfully greeted them and they returned the gesture. “Lo’ak, son of Toruk Makto, what brings you so far from your clan?” Olo’eyktan spoke up. Tsahìk has joined them shortly after greeting them respectfully. “This is my wife, Korra. We are here to inform the clan that the Omatikaya have decided to hold a competition for the hand of Toruk Makto’s eldest, my brother Neteyam te Suli Tsyeyk’itan, the winner will join clans with ours and we will live as one. I was sent to choose the woman and request her presence to the clan to start the games in one weeks time”  

“Walk with me son” the Olo’eyktan invited Lo’ak, Korra walked alongside them as they spoke, “You are meant to choose clan leading children, right?” the man asked. Lo’ak nodded his head waiting for the man to continue speaking, “I am afraid I only have the one daughter; she is off age and if she is willing to participate in this competition you will have my blessing,”  

The Tsahik of the clan speed up her pace to stand in front of the three, “She has a beautiful connection to Eywa son, she must be taken care off if we allow her to come to your clan. How long will she be staying?” Korra spoke up before Lo’ak did, “the selection will take six months, between those six months some of the women who Neteyam is not interested in will be sent home.”  

Tsahik made eye contact with her husband speaking without words, almost as if Lo’ak read their mind, “Her place at the clan is welcome, she will be treated as one of our own, but we cannot guarantee she will be the one my brother chooses. If she is not, we will ensure her safe passage back. My brother is not only looking for a capable woman, he is looking for a loving wife, I am only here to see which one might be best suited, in the end it will be up to him.” Lo’ak’s eyes dart between them both before letting out a nervous sigh.  

It was never easy to explain to the clan leaders their children may not be Neteyam’s wife but they accepted anyways, many have respect for his brother, many women want to mate him, but not everyone has the same advantage in the games. “Let us introduce you and you can ask her yourself.” 

You sat on in a small clearing humming tunes of songs and sewing on some beads you gathered earlier in the day. You felt at peace in the forest, it was always something you loved to enjoy by yourself, the wind blew softly through your curls that fell over your eyes slights and down to the middle of your back. It was sort of uncommon for Na’vi women to have nags but you always thought they suited your face well, especially with your full curls, “Y/n!” you heard your mother shout. 

You heard turned to the voice before you stood up and ran in the direction of your mother. “Sa’nok? What is it?” you pull a big leaf down to walk in front of it being met with bother your parents, and a man and woman you did not recognize.  

The spark in their eyes when they saw you was something you would never get tired of, they are your fans, your mother brought fans to meet you? Thats a first. You brought your hand up to your forehead to greet them respectfully smiling sweetly, “I see you, y/n” they both said in sync copying your motion making you smile.  

You parents excused themselves mumbling to each other about how they hoped you said yes. You look at them confused before turning to the couple, “May I know your names?” you said sweetly. “I am Lo’ak, son of Toruk Makto, this is my mate, Korra” you smile at them both before silence took over as if they did not know what else to say. “It is nice to meet you both, may I ask why you journeyed so far from your clan?” your eyes dart between them.  

“We have come to choose women from the forest clans for my brother to mate, it is a competition to see who is best suited for him, in return the winning woman will join her clan with the Omatikayan and we will live as one. I know this is short notice but the games start in one week, we have chosen you if you will accept?” Lo’ak said, his grip on his wife’s hand was a bit hard but he was just so nervous on whether you would say yes. You are famous across the moon, everyone and their mother knows about your blessed voice, he just knew he would be doing right by his brother if you accepted. 

“Wow, this is quite a decision, how long will I be staying at your clan?” you bit your lip swinging from side to side as you contemplate, no one has ever asked you to compete for someone else’s hand, people compete for yours. “Six months, if it doesn’t work out between you two and he decides to go in a different direction, though I can’t imagine why, we will grant you safe passage home.” you giggle at him sly comment.  

And you nod your head, “the Omatikaya are 3 days travel away from here as you know, I will not be able to visit my family, it is a big decision to make. I do not want to shut you down but I have no idea what your brother looks like” you tilt your head to the side slightly. Lo’ak sighs assuming you are about to shut him down. “Tell you what, how about you stay for dinner and leave first thing in the morning, I shall give you my answer then” you smile at them.  

You try to ignore the way they both look at each other in a celebratory way and you lead them back to the clan while they ask you questions about how you write your songs and your music, if it is true, you are also a good dancer. Their excitement to talk to you makes you smile, you had secretly always loved the attention that came with being famous, the way people always treated you nicely and how they travel the moon looking for you just to hear you sing.  

After dinner you get tucked away thinking about the situation, your parents have been hounding you about getting a mate for the longest, it is a bit difficult though. You always loved the gifts Eywa blessed you will but men do not want you for a wife, they want you for a lay. You are one of the most beautiful women on the moon according to some, you are something people want to say they have had, like an object. Mates should not treat you like that so you never committed to being anyone’s wife. Maybe Lo’ak’s brother will be different, maybe he will love you for you and not what you have. You knew you had your iPad and you can call your mother whenever you needed but you’ve never really been away from your family before. What if this doesn’t work out, what if you fall in love with him and he doesn’t love you back. No relationship is formed without risk, right? 

The next morning breakfast was served to your guests they made themselves ready to take off to their home clan. They must be relieved to be going home now, they definitely didn’t forget you told them you would have an answer now.  

“So, what’s it gonna be princess? Have you decided whether or not my brother is worth your time?” Lo’ak asked. 

“Well, I’m not sure about that I don’t know him how can I know if he is worth my time?” you giggle at him. “But what is reward without risk? I will be there.” Lo’ak and Korra both smiled at your answer and gave you a hug goodbye. Bidding them safe travels, you watched them fly away.  

“Are you sure about this sis?” your brother Kian asked you, he was your first younger brother, second born in your family. “I am, what is the worst that can happen? I come back here?” you snort making him laugh. “No, I know, I just do not want you to get hurt by this.” you smile at him then glance down to your feet, “We cannot control the things that happen baby brother, we can only control how we react to them.” 

You yanked on his tail and ran away leaving him to chase you in circles around your parents, you will miss them dearly.  

~ I hope you all like it so far! I’m not sure how much chapters I’m writing but as I update I’ll put them here so look it or comment to be tagged!

~ Reblogs, Comments and Likes are always appreciated

Taglist

@rivatar @delusionalwh6re @strongheartneteyam @xylianasblog @nilahsstuff @inlovewithpandora @neteyamsoare @m1tsu-ki @xrollingmyeyesx @goofygremlin123 @quicktosimp @r11k4 @its-jennarose @anonymuslydumb @winterhi09 @teymars @kylimarz @jakesullyfatjuicypeen

[lady-lani-1707]

Hey again, gyns.

I saw a post about some black pill radfems saying that essentially "foids" who choose to be around men are completely to blame and should expect violence. That we shouldn't worry or have empathy for women who choose to be around men.

Let me just stop you there.

Let's not forget that the majority of the world does not have women's rights. That means the women who live there are completely under the thumb of their husbands and other men who own all the wealth and can legally abuse their wives or rape them. In some places, you can even kidnap yourself a wife.

Of course!

Of course, women have to become delusional.

They make excuses for men's awful behaviour. They blindly follow religion and believe there is something after death that's going to make this hell they face all better.

Of course, they repress their emotions and distract themselves into loops of childcare, only hanging out with other mothers who understand that sheer burden. They proceed to brush off as their "job" so they can feel less upset about it.

These women are DYING, rotting from the inside out from the sheer zoochosis of being a sentient intelligent animal forced into a life of dull monotonity and the hellscape that is the household.

All for being born female.

Literally and socially held at chains to their master-husbands who breathe down their necks at all times and never let them do anything without 20 different valid reasons.

Like security, these men hold their daughters, their sisters, their wives, and all the women in their lives are kept under strict watch and scolded like children for breaking social norms or doing anything deemed wrong.

You can be KILLED.

THINK about that ACTUALLY.

KILLED for having a boyfriend or not being a virgin in some muslim countries.

Honour killed, YOUR OWN FAMILY KILLS YOU FOR THE 'SHAME' OF NOT BEING 'PURE'!!

Imagine, the privilege of living in one of the few countries, of which there's only about 14 out of 195 countries. That means less than 1 percent of the world, 0.07% has full womens rights.

But how DARE you blame the women!

Yes, they don't want to change, but that's because they've seen time and time again what happens if you try to change.

How can conceptualise women's rights when you live in a place where women get ACID thrown in your face for divorce?

How can you want women's rights when you have NO CHOICE in marriage?

How can you understand women are people when you are raised on the so called fact that men are closer to God and more superior than you just for being born male?

You can't.

Blame the men who uphold these systems who abuse women and girls.

Who go unpunished, unbeaten, unconfronted.

Never blame the women, when they are coping in the best way they can.

Misogyny is holding women hostage.

Don't you understand that as a group, men fit the exact description of terrorists? They use intentional violence and fear to achieve political or ideological aims to keep women in their place to exploit us.

They bring nothing but danger and stress to most women globally and yet you blame the WOMEN for being sucessptable to brainwashing and having delusional coping methods to ignore the reality they are married and giving birth to future abusers?

We are human too, which means that of course of you raise a little girl telling her she is inferior to her male counterparts she will internalised that all her life.

Blame the men who perpetuate this cycle of female exploitation, not the women who did nothing wrong but be born female.

Don't loose your empathy for other women and girls, don't be like the men.

It's up to us to spread awareness, to help even if they don't want it right now. We have to be there when they need it, we have to have an option for them.

We can save the female class, but only if we never loose empathy and genuinely want the best for one another.

Some women are against us.

But if we win, we all win.

- Lani, your lady

[baphometsss]

Going purely on what is established by canon, I think the most likely scenario is that Solas and Mythal were an owner/pet dynamic. She didn't see the elves as her equals, because she viewed herself as a God. She didn't see Solas as her equal, but as her guard dog who needed a little chin scratch every now and then to keep him from stepping out of line. She was as much a mother to him as woman can be to a pet dog. The fact that her temple is surrounded by statues of him guarding entrances, and that the Dalish use his statues as guardian stones, speaks to this dynamic. The reason that it's described as hard for mortals to understand is that they are both beings who were among the first of their kind, with Mythal being the second after Elgar'nan, and Solas coming much later when their actions provoked a war. We can't 'understand' it because by DATV, the elves are mortal and described as her 'distant children'. In effect, the Evanuris viewed themselves as a totally different species to the elvhen, a sentiment echoed by Abelas towards the Dalish Inquisitor. Solas himself has the same attitude toward modern Thedosians at the beginning of DAI. It's reminiscent of real-world supremacist idealogues, which are founded on the idea that there are correct and incorrect ways to be human.

I strongly suspect that this was one of the major sticking points in their relationship. Solas knew he was just as ancient as the Evanuris, but because he didn't take a body at the same time as them and has less experience of being a person, they will never see him as an equal. This is addressed in his letter to Elgar'nan. Solas refuses to acknowledge this as he doesn't agree with their way of thinking but... in some ways they were right. Not in not seeing him as an equal but in being more experienced at personhood. During the Inquisition, Solas actually learns for the first time what personhood fully entails, because it's only by visiting the other extreme of personhood (mortality) that he's able to marry it to his own identity. He meets Cole and guides him like a parent or older brother in how to live on the earth. He meets Sera and other elves and sees how their culture has changed, for both better and worse. With Varric, he is confronted with the consequences of his actions against the Dwarves during the war. Potentially, he falls in love for the first time, and this, to use his own words, 'changes everything'.

The memory of Ghilan'nain is a parallel to his betrayal by Mythal in the earlier memory. Ghilan'nain says he chose to limit himself by refusing the mantle of godhood, a sentiment that is echoed in his betrayal by Mythal. Solas had respect for Ghilan'nain early on because she was a creative genius and also a 'child of the earth' ie, not among the first of their people, like him. As a manifested wisdom spirit, he'd have been drawn to her experiments and desire to learn. This doesn't mean it was romantic love, not least because we know Ghilan'nain was in love with Andruil, but certainly I think he loved her at some point too. She presented an opportunity to reflect wisdom, which is what brings Solas fulfilment and forms the basis of his relationships.

Yet, just like Mythal, he is betrayed by another friend who valued power over love. He gets it a bit mixed up I think, because in his correspondence he suggests that Ghilan'nain is only with the Evanuris because she loves Andruil. Once again he removes Ghilan'nain's agency by refusing to acknowledge that she wants to be with the Evanuris for her own reasons, something she informs him of in her response. This is an interesting parallel between Solas and Ghilan'nain's relationship with Mythal and Solas's, as it's an example of how Solas doesn't want to accept the agency of those who betray him. The thought that their desires diverge to the point that his friend would choose them over their friendship or doing the right thing by the elves is too painful. Similarly, Mythal married Elgar'nan, ostensibly to keep him in line like Solas believed, but also, I think, because she actually did love him too. They were the first two elves, evenly matched; this would've been a profoundly unique bond. Maybe not a romantic one, but certainly a strong, likely pathological one; they wouldn't have married for no reason. Solas simply didn't understand their love because he was fundamentally different to them in that they wanted to be elves when he was content as a spirit. That core identity difference cannot be underestimated when analysing their relationships.

That said, the idea that someone as narcissistic as Mythal would've lowered herself to romancing her pet dog is laughable. She's literally still so angry about his rebellion in The Veilguard that she's blasted the heads off his statues. How dare he refuse to obey her, his master? How dare he burn her slave brand off his face? Ever heard of narcisisstic rage? Couple that with a few thousands years of being revered as a goddess and you'll have someone with an ego the size of a planet. Even Solas himself was well aware of this in DAI.

Elgar'nan too was a monster, yet Mythal calls him 'flawed, as all great rulers are'... which is just a bit of an understatement, don't you think? There's a refusal from Mythal to acknowledge the full scope of the evils the Evanuris perpetrated, even though she is dead by their hands. You have to convince her to help stop them from destroying the world. Mythal apparently loved Solas, but she also loves the elves, her 'children', and yet she's willing to overlook countless evils perpetrated by her family against them, and allow them to destroy the world they live in. She wasn't a good mother, like Flemeth wasn't a good mother to Morrigan, something that is given a lot of attention in previous games. Mother was a title she took because it gave her power, not because she was so full of love and nurturance that she just had to direct it somewhere. It's why the Benevolence retcon doesn't really work.

My point is, Mythal's understanding of love is deeply skewed. She is protective, true, but she also canonically will not accept being told she is wrong. Thus, her protection is just narcissistic rage once again. How dare you question her judgement that someone is worthy? It is a sin worthy of her wrath.

One of the hardest parts of coming to terms with your parents' shortcomings is accepting that they're not capable of giving you what you need. This is something that I think is echoed in the relationship between Solas and Mythal. Solas is desperate to be her equal and to receive the love he craves, but Mythal is too attached to her own power and desire to rule to change her fundamental attitudes towards Solas and the rest of her children. They will always be below her. She is not willing to sacrifice herself or her power for their sake, something Solas routinely asks her to do and which she refuses.

By the end of DAI, Solas is coming close to that understanding and I think this is the reason he's able to kill Mythal in the post-credits scene. It's also why I hate the framing of Mythal as his main motivation in DATV, because everything we've been told so far is that he's doing this largely due to his guilt over what he did to the world, not for her alone. He is willing to make the sacrifices that leadership requires. In this instance, he even sacrifices Mythal to achieve his goal, because by this point he has accepted that Mythal is part of the problem. Mythal is not willing to let go of the hierarchical structure the Evanuris created when they declared themselves gods, and thus she will not see eye to eye with him when he reduces everything to rubble and forces the survivors to rebuild from nothing.

It's also why I think the question of whether or not Solas would've sacrificed a romanced Inquisitor is neither here nor there, because it's like trying to compare apples and oranges. A romanced Lavellan is basically the antithesis of Mythal in that they're not pleased about being deified. They don't want to force their will on the world; they do it because they responded when someone was in need of help and wound up with a magic hand that gave them divine status. They're a random person who is just trying to do the right thing, and they act from a place of grace and empathy in the face of their enemies. They act with the wellbeing of the innocent in mind, not their own hubris. They respect and love Solas for who he is and they give him the freedom to make his own choices. This is the Inquisitor that Solas falls in love with, and the Inquisitor that tries to stop him with love--and succeeds. Not with their romantic bond alone but by engaging with the truest part of love, which is, ironically, nurturance, by bringing all the necessary parts together--past (Mythal), present (Rook), and future (Lavellan).

Solas wouldn't have killed a romanced Inquisitor because he simply never would've had the chance. A romanced Inquisitor knows him deeply enough to know how to get through to him in the way that matters.

[lsd-astronaut]

Hii! I love ur work sm!

Could I please get Frodo x Fem Human! Reader? Like married and living a domesticated life after returning to the shire?

Tysm <3

I must admit I have been daydreaming about this quite a lot. Also I adore how everyone is requesting me hobbit x human!reader, considering I was ranting to my best friend about the lack of that same kind of fics. It's always hobbits or even elves! So I'm glad so many people share this thought with me :)

How To Live In The Shire After Saving The World (Frodo Baggins x Fem!Human!Reader)

Why is it so difficult to find a gif of Frodo actually happy, this is criminal, I had to use this from when he is about to sail to the West

The Shire, in the northwestern part of Middle Earth, on Central Eriador, was home of a much peculiar kind of people, that being the hobbits. They were not so different from you and me, yet they were shorter, bulkier, preferred being barefoot, and had a penchant for food and comfort. Truly the image of a society that does not welcome change. But, a change did come, and while it was not as great as the one that had befell the world (not that any Shirefolk had even heard about it), it was still a sufficiently big one for these small creatures that it baffled them and utterly messed up their routines.

What is the change, you may ask? Well, it is something very simple, really. A wedding, or rather, the announcement that one had taken place far away to the uncharted (for the Shirefolk) east. This in itself was not what surprised everyone; it is well known that hobbits will disappear for months and come back to The Shire with their betrothed by their hand, as their courting customs dictate. That is why when Frodo Baggins reappeared in The Shire, everyone was extremely curious about which hobbit had captured Old Bilbo's nephew's heart. Imagine their indignance and surprise when they found out that Frodo's sweetheart was... of the race of Men!

A few years had passed since your arrival to what your husband had called his home ever since he was born. The word 'husband' never failed to make you smile whenever you thought it; the awkward and solitary teenage girl growing up in a village in Gondor had never expected she would find anyone who would actively want to be with her and consistently choose to stay. You were not allowed to even insinuate that Frodo was 'tolerating you' or 'putting up with your nonsense.' At first, this insistence from your then-boyfriend had driven you mad, but you couldn't deny it had helped you with your overall self-esteem in the long run. Only like this could you two be in equal terms in your relationship. But, deep inside, you wished you could somehow give this knowledge to your younger self, although if Merry's philosophical conversations fueled by inordinate quantities of Old Toby had any official basis, then that version of you was already inside yourself.

The days in the Shire were uneventful and, although it could have resulted boring over an extended period of time, you found it to be exactly what you needed after the grueling Quest. All of you deserved a rest, and Frodo most of all. It was for this reason, that you had offered to walk to the central market in order to get some ingredients and medicines; Frodo's injuries had flared up once again, and his shoulder was the most affected. Maybe a meal will help, you thought, as you perused the different stalls.

After years married to Frodo, you had become acquainted with almost every inhabitant of the Shire. Although at first discrete but unmistakably hostile towards you, the tensions had softened after a few harsh words of choice from your husband that had all those nosy relatives scattering to the wind. Now, you were invited to many tea parties and birthdays, which you never attended without Frodo by your side, as some sort of cheatsheet to remember everyone's names and their relations with others.

Truly, all Shirefolk had unexpectedly warmed up to you in a very short time, and that was reflected in how fast you completed your errands. Every vendor had easy conversation flowing, and the memory of you struggling those first months to have even one of them to let you buy their products was a far thing in the horizon. The local apothecary even had your usual order ready to go. Thinking about how fast you had crossed out all the items in your mental list, you pondered whether a little walk would be agreeable. A cold breeze made you choose against it and return home.

As you opened the main door, you instinctively ducked your head for an imminent strike that never came; not ever since Frodo had ordered the ceilings to be raised so that incident would not repeat again. When faced by your embarrassment and apologies, he assured you it would be much better for Bag End, as it would create more space for the clutter that had filled the smial for decades. It seemed you would need more time to unlearn that particular innate response, but there was no rush, not here.

Leaving the groceries on the kitchen table, you put your hands on your hips and stretched. Then, you made your way through the labyrinthic corridors of Bag End, although you were just letting your feet carry you. Movement caught your attention from inside the study. Of course, once you looked with more attention, you saw none other than your husband, hunched over the desk and scribbling furiously. With a smile, you decided to enter the room, but Frodo was faster than you and snapped his head to look at you. You were still not sure whether hobbits had heightened hearing, or that was just something Frodo could do, but if you thought about it, he only did it with you...

"I see you're up. Was the bed not good enough for you, Mr. Baggins?" You said with a teasing note in your voice. Frodo did have the decency to look embarrassed, blushing as he scratched the back of his neck and looked away.

"I am fine, darling. I promise." He tried to smile in a reassuring way but years of marriage had given you the insight of knowing every single minimal action and behaviour of your husband. His behaviour now betrayed the injury in his left shoulder on which he was clearly not putting any weight, probably because the pain was still present. You raised an eyebrow and moved your hands to grab him but stopped at the last moment. Frodo silently nodded, defeated, and you busied yourself in unbuttoning the first buttons of his shirt so you could uncover the area of interest.

The wound did not look good, although not as bad as when the eagles had rescued him and Sam from Mount Doom. The infection would have resulted in a sure amputation had Elrond not healed it after the whole ordeal.

"It looks a bit red and sore," you hummed. "Does it hurt when I touch it?" Frodo started to shake his head, but at your glare, he cowered and nodded. "Just a little bit, though. Not as much as before."

"That's to be expected, with the cause of it fell by the hand of your cousin and Éowyn. Lucky for you, I just came from the market with supplies." At this, Frodo snapped his head to look at you with wide blue eyes.

"You went to the market? With this weather?" He fussed, as if he was not the one being taken care of. His hand instinctively went to your belly. "Should you even go outside at all?"

You snorted at his reaction and grabbed his hands in your own, before lowering to his eye level, ignoring his concern at such an 'exhausting' activity. "I am pregnant, Frodo, not invalid." Your husband seemed to disagree, but thought better of it and did not voice his thoughts.

Satisfied, you stood up and walked to the kitchen, followed by him. There, you started with the medication which you applied dutifully on Frodo's wounds, and seemed to give immediate relief if his expression was something to go by. Afterwards, you started cooking dinner for both of you while Frodo sipped his tea on the table, and talked about many things that ranged from the latest book he had read to what troubles Pippin had gotten into with Merry.

"You should eat more." Frodo pointed at your plate once you two were seated, as you carried the spoon to your mouth, making you stop in your tracks. "I keep telling you."

Swallowing, you replied "And I keep telling you we humans do not need to eat as much as hobbits. I like food as much as the next person, but seven meals seem a bit too excessive for me."

"Well, but you're carrying my child. She needs the seven meals." He smiled knowingly. You looked at him with an unimpressed expression.

"Keep teasing, and our daughter will end up not eating anything, like an elf." You tried to hold your laughter, but your husband's fake-offended face was too powerful for you.

"Surely you don't mean that!"

"Try me, Mr. Baggins."

He pouted and walked up to you before kneeling and putting his cheek on your belly, which he always did when he wanted to talked with the unborn child.

"My love, tell Mrs. Baggins here that you will want to eat seven meals like a respectable hobbit. At least for your poor father's sake." As a response to his dramatics, a little kick jerked your midsection, making Frodo smile and look up at you. "She seems to agree with me. Two against one, dear."

Sighing, you pulled Frodo up and gave him a kiss that he returned eagerly. After some moments, you pulled away and put both of your foreheads together, with eyes closed, just basking on the love between you.

"You two are going to be the death of me once she's born," you grumbled, and Frodo laughed brightly.

There we go! I have to say something. Requests may come slower from now on, because I can see the difference in quality between them, so that means I haven't been working the same on every one. But I hope none of you mind that, I just want to give you better content :)

[doeeyedseer]

Some positive things said about elain.

“Elain had always been gentle and sweet—and I had considered it a different sort of strength. A better strength. To look at the hardness of the world and choose, over and over, to love, to be kind. She had been always so full of light."

"I gazed again at that sad, dark house—the place that had been a prison. Elain had said she missed it, and I wondered what she saw when she looked at the cottage. If she beheld not a prison but a shelter—a shelter from a world that had possessed so little good, but she tried to find it anyway, even if it had seemed foolish and useless to me. She had looked at that cottage with hope; I had looked at it with nothing but hatred. And I knew which one of us had been stronger."

"'Elain nodded, smiling up at me, and it was tentative joy—and life that shone in her eyes. A promise of the future, gleaming and sweet. "

"But Elain, the flower-grower, the gentle heart"

"She had come alive here and her joy was infectious. There wasn't a servant or gardener who didn't smile at her, and even the brusque head cook found excuses to bring her plates of cookies an tarts at various points in the day. I marveled at it, actually- that hose years of poverty hadn't stripped away that light from Elain, Perhaps buried it a bit but she was generous loving and kind- a woman I found myself proud to know, to call sister."

“Beautiful—she’d always been the most beautiful of us. Soft and lovely, like a summer dawn.”

“That smile grew, bright enough that it lit up even Azriel’s shadows across the room.”

“Elain quietly washed his face. Combed out his hair and beard. Straightened his clothes. She found flowers—somewhere. She laid them at his head, on his chest. We stared down at him in silence. “I love you,” Elain whispered, voice breaking.”

"The Cauldron seemed to realize what she’d done, too, as his head thumped onto the mossy ground. That Elain … Elain had defended this thief. Elain, who it had gifted with such powers, found her so lovely it had wanted to give her something … It would not harm Elain, even in its hunt to reclaim what had been taken.”

"Nesta was wrong, Cassian realized, to think Elain as loyal and loving as a dog. Elain saw everything Nesta had done and understood. "

"For a moment, I just stared at my sister, the wisdom she'd spoken. Not a whisper of those oracular abilities. Just clear eyes and an open expression. "

"I think she’s kind, and I’ll take kindness over nastiness any day. But I also think we haven’t yet seen all she has to offer.” A corner of his mouth tugged upward. “Don’t forget that gardening often results in something pretty, but it involves getting one’s hands dirty along the way.”

"She loves her garden. Always loved growing things. Even when we were destitute, she managed to tend a little garden in the warmer months. And when - when our fortune returned, she took to tending and planting the most beautiful gardens you’ve ever seen. Even in Prythian. It drove the servants mad, because they were supposed to do the work and ladies were only meant to clip a rose here and there, but Elain would put on a hat and gloves and kneel in the dirt, weeding. She acted like a purebred lady in every regard but that."

"and Elain was so gentle, so sweet …"

“My sister Elain can convince anyone to do anything with a few smiles.”

“Elain, who had been gentle and sweet. Elain, who was to marry a lord’s son who hated faeries …”

“Even wasted away by grief and despair, Elain’s beauty was remarkable. Hers was a face that could bring kings to their knees."

“Nesta met her sister's warm brown eyes. When human, elain had easily been the prettiest of the three of them, and when she'd been turned High Fae, that beauty had been amplified. Nesta couldn't put her finger on what changes had been wrought beyond the pointed ears, but Elain had gone from lovely to devastatingly beautiful. Elain never seemed to realize it.”

“Including Elain, who is more than capable of defending herself against the darkness of the Trove, if she chooses to. Don’t underestimate her.”

“Elain, mourn as she might for the life she would have had with Graysen, had found a place, a role here. Tending to the gardens of Feyre’s veritable palace on the river, helping other residents of Velaris restore their own destroyed gardens—she had purpose, and joy, and friends: those two half-wraiths who worked in Rhysand’s household. But those things had always come easily to her sister. Had always made Elain special."

"I saw the painting in my mind: the lovely fawn, blooming spring vibrant behind her. "

"Lost to whatever fog of memory had crept over him, he was smiling mildly at his beloved Elain, the only one of us who bothered to really speak to him at all."

"There was a slight sparkle in her brown eyes.As if she’d been enjoying herself with them. I put a hand in my chest, leaning against the wood panels of the stair wall. Rhys’s hand covered my own a heartbeat later. “that was what I felt,” he said, “when I saw you smile that night we dined along the Sidra,”

“Some were as lovely as you, Elain,” Rhys said from beside Feyre"

"I smiled at my sister, memorizing her lovely face, and wiped her tears away. "

"My sister was beaming, content- prettier then I'd ever seen her, even in her simple muslin gardening dress. Her cheeks were flushed beneath her large, floppy hat.

"Her face had somehow become more beautiful- infinitely beautiful, and her ears...Elain's ears were now pointed beneath her sodden hair."

"The cauldron purred in Elain's presence as the King of Hybern slumped to his knees, clawing at the knife jutting through his throat. "

"The faelights gilded Elain's unbound hair, making her glow like the sun at dawn. "

"Elain stood at the wall of windows, clad in a lilac gown whose close-fitting bodice showed how well her sister had filled out since those initial days in the Night Court. Gone were the sharp angles, replaced by softness and elegant curves."

"Her sister turned toward her, glowing with health. Elain’s smile was as bright as the setting sun beyond the windows."

"I'll do it," Elain said, taking a deep breath and squaring her shoulders. She didn't wait for either of us before she strode out , graceful as a doe."

"Her mouth tightened, the only sign of anger in her graceful countenance. "

"but something in me eased at that laughter, at the light thay returned to Elain's eyes. A light I wouldn't see dimmed further. "

Bonus:

" I knew they’d both die the moment that power hit them. Anything, I begged the Cauldron. Anything— The king’s hand began to drop. And then halted. A choking noise came out of him. For a moment, I thought the Cauldron had answered my pleas. But as a black blade broke through the king’s throat, spraying blood, I realized someone else had. Elain stepped out of a shadow behind him, and rammed Truth-Teller to the hilt through the back of the king’s neck as she snarled in his ear, “Don’t you touch my sister.”

“Elain was the only one who guessed. She caught me vomiting two mornings in a row. " She nodded toward Azriel. "I think she's got you beat for secret-keeping.".

“I mean, she’s been brave when she had to be, but she’s never been confrontational.”

“But I wonder if everyone has spent so long assuming Elain is sweet and innocent that she felt she had to be that way or else she’d disappoint you all.” He sighed toward the ceiling. “With time and safety, perhaps we’ll see a different side of her emerge.”

[nyxtickled]

I kinda agree with that anon, and I’m a little confused about the marriage? If you guys are open to seeing other people as well that’s totally okay. But marriage seems like a commitment to loving that person. I understand being open to others, and we can’t marry multiple people. So is this your main partner and you guys have people on the side? Sorry if I am not understanding correctly 💚

hi there, i appreciate your approach from a place of curiosity/lack of understanding! i’m happy to explain my POV and that being said i do not expect everyone to agree with me. i’ll preface this by saying these are simply my own personal views on marriage/relationships and they are not “right” or better than anyone else’s. it’s just what works for us!

your statement “marriage seems like a commitment to loving that person” still rings completely true for us! we want to build a life together for the rest of time. we love each other. we care for each other. we’re committed to one another.

the best way for me to describe it is simply that we personally don’t believe that the only way to validate our love and commitment to one another is to restrict our love/intimacy/attraction to only each other.

we both feel that human connection is the most meaningful thing to take from this life. i never want my love for my wife to put her in any kind of box. i don’t want my wife to love me so much that she chooses to never pursue connections with anyone else—i want her to love me so much that she can pursue any connection she wants in this life and still choose to continue loving me, depending on me to be her safe space, her home base, her wife, her person.

i don’t want to be committed to my relationship, i want to be committed to my wife. i want to be committed to my wife’s happiness, joy, and human experience. i don’t need or want to be her only source of those things. if she meets someone and feels a connection to them, i want her to enjoy that. if she feels an attraction to someone, i want her to enjoy that. if someone else wants to love her, i want her to receive that. because it doesn’t mean she loves me any less.

to us, the human capacity for love is not a limited resource. any amount of love we give/receive outside of the love we share with each other has no impact on ours. like, if our love was a river, imagine it coming from an ocean. and if we have other Love Rivers in our lives, they don’t branch off from our personal Love River, they come from the Love Ocean and they each have their own Love River. that’s basically what relationship anarchy is to us.

hope that makes some kind of sense but again, nobody else has to agree. it works for us, it makes us happy, so that’s what we practice. it’s not a requirement for anyone else!

[c0smoshit]

Hi, I'm also a whore for some blonde guys. Mind finishing that Twilight Princess Link x reader one or do one where TP Link or Time Link realizes he wants to marry female reader?

At ur service sweetie ;)

Closer ࣪.⋆ ♡

⋆ ࣪. ℙ𝕒𝕚𝕣𝕚𝕟𝕘 ≫ Twilight/fem!reader

⋆ ࣪. 𝕎𝕒𝕣𝕟𝕚𝕟𝕘𝕤 ≫ smut!, p in v, hickies, sticky stomach ;)

⋆ ࣪. 𝔸/ℕ ≫ I kind of mixed both of your prompts so I didn't have to choose🤧

⋆ ࣪. 𝕎𝕠𝕣𝕕𝕔𝕠𝕦𝕟𝕥 ≫ 1069

⋆ ࣪. part I / part II ࣪.⋆

The warmth of the creasing sun enveloped your arms, trailling further until it met your wrapped and still wobbly legs.

Turning around, your eyes were met with the beautiful sight of your boyfriend resting peacefully by your side. His warm arm held your waist, quite hard despite being asleep, while his breath fanned your neck.

This was supposed to be a peaceful and calm morning, the young hues of the sunlight entering through your window as the air fanned lightly too.

But your mind couldn't help but remember why your legs felt like jelly in the first place, face burning up as you recalled the so pleasant night you had had.

It wasn't fair, it never was.

The fact that he managed to sleep without any visible soreness on his legs or even his neck meanwhile you woke up stumbling around the room made you jealous.

"Link..."

His hair trickled your neck, almost kissing softly your skin.

"Link"

Calloused hands keeping you secured into his bare chest, almost digging deep into your tender stomach.

"Link!"

Heart to heart, your perky nipples rubbed up and down his toned chest, finally letting you move freely on top of him after a tedious and deep skin to skin contact.

Your sweet gasps for air and those cute moans fueled him into moving your hips with his own palms.

He wanted to keep a stedy pace at first, letting you rub yourself into his lap as he rested deep inside. His hand softly caressed your breasts, smiling like the wolf he truly was when he managed to turn your nipples harder under his fingertips.

But the way you chanted some "please"'s or "link"'s into his long ear made the tiny drop of self control he had left pour into his guts, getting lost in a madness of red.

He forced you up and down, up and down your mind started to feel dizzy, getting lost in the inminent wave of pleasure you had neglected yourself to feel before.

"So tight-"

This time it washed over you like a tsunami, faster and harder than before. You didn't know how he found out another new way to make your toes curl but you were too blissed out to care.

"There you go, let it all out sweetheart"

His honeyed words made you squeal even louder, head falling into his shoulder as he let you slow down your movements, still keeping him deep.

His hands rubbed your back, circles you'd never get used to, wanting them to feel them over your goosebumps inside your skin again and again.

Your legs shaked against his own ones, multiplying your horniness once again when you felt how really hard he was underneath you.

Panting and cheeks tinted with a deep crimson colour in front of you, you stared at the stinging sensation on your neck, a huge red bite adorning it.

Too lost in pleasure you didn't even notice.

But before you could make a comment about it, his lips enveloped yours like an animal. Drowning down your short yelp as he suddenly flipped both of you over, pushing you down into the mattress.

His leaking hard-on filled your warmth, noticing how needy he was after you came down from your high.

He started moving again, slowly, god what kind of human lasts that long?!

His hands caged your head, forearms resting right beside your warm body on the mattress. Your hands, on the other side, held tightly his back trying not to slip out of his grasp thanks to his powerful thrusts.

But that question lasted just a few seconds inside your head as he started ramming himself against you like he was in heat. His tongue soaked up your reddened skin, tasting the salty but thin layer of sweat.

He loved licking you, smelling you. God he always went crazy when he smelled your arousal meters away from your home, mouth quickly enveloping your needy cunt as soon as he came back home.

He couldn't deny his animal instincts after all, could he?

"Cmon baby-, cum for me"

He pushed you over and over again against the pillows, the creaking sound of the bed now mixing up with your beautiful moans.

He wanted to last longer, but you had discovered the key to his ( not so hidden ) lock. Your trembling form begging him to cum, watching as your head fell back into the bed, ecstasic.

He adored watching you fall appart, always managing to make him reach his climax prematurely.

"I'm cumming-"

His grunt almost wasn't heard by you but the action that came after them surely did.

His sweaty skin revealed into the pale moonlight, head slightly tilted downwards as he bit his lip, trying to surpress tiny gasps as he stroked himself viciously on top of you.

Your eyes lowered down until they met his toned abdomen, god you wanted to lick off all the mess you had made on top of him. However, your thoughts faded out as thick white ropes enveloped your stomach, a long sigh escaping his lips as he still held your thighs open for him.

He was always so pretty when he came, flushed face and eyes tightly closed. Always letting out the sultriest grunts, peeking out to see how he soaked you with his seed.

You couldn't see his eyes under his dark blonde bangs, but you surely knew he was staring at the piece of art he had painted on top of you.

Your head fell down into the mattress, finally breathing out as you walls spasmed around nothing, trying to calm themselves down.

You giggled as he fell on top of you, noticeably not caring about getting his body dirtier than it actually was when he felt your sticky skin.

His heavy body pressed against your naked form, on a normal day you would've pried him off you but right now you wanted to be as close as possible. He was just so cute, always getting sleepy and clingy right after he climaxed.

And you would always hold him, no matter how deeply you wanted to shower, how sticky and hot you felt.

You wanted to crawl deep inside his skin at this point.

You both rested peacefully, your eyes closed shut as your shaking arms and legs enveloped his middle part. Peace that was disturbed by his own groggy voice.

"I wanna marry you someday"

[letters-to-lgbt-kids]

My dear lgbt+ kids, 

I feel like we are so used to defending ourselves (or our trans siblings in the community) against that transphobic myth about „high regret rates“ that we forget that some regret is actually a natural part of living as a human being. 

Nobody goes through life never regretting anything. You’ll pretty regularly regret things you did or did not do. Everyone does. 

That may sound like some super pessimistic worldview, but really, it’s a good and necessary thing! You can only learn from experiences after having experienced them - and learning includes looking back and thinking „I should’ve done that differently“. 

Look at any big, life-altering decision, like moving to a new place or accepting a job or making a big purchase (like a car) or getting in a relationship or getting married or having a kid or signing up for college… or even just getting a tattoo. People can regret all these things - and lots of people do. It happens all the time and it’s not the end of the world. It’s just part of life. 

Now you may think „hold on, it’s not like everyone hates their job, home, partner and kids“ and you’re right - but regret isn’t an all or nothing thing. 

Let’s take weddings as an example here. Of course someone could regret their wedding in the sense of „I never should’ve married this person at all“ (and people regularly do, that’s why the right to divorce is important) - but there are also plenty of people who are happy with their marriage and still have some regrets about their wedding. It could be „We spent too much money on it“ or „I thought I wanted to invite all my family but looking back, I wish it would’ve just been my closest friends“ or „I wish I would’ve been brave enough to choose the colorful dress I loved over the traditional one my mom liked“. 

Similarly, trans people can have regrets about their coming out or their (social or physical) transition without it being a „I’m actually not trans at all“ situation. People can continuously identify as trans and still have regrets like „I wish I’d gone to a different surgeon“ or „Looking back, it would’ve been easier if I waited to come out until I moved out of my parents house“ or „If I had to do it all over again, I’d give myself more time to explore my options“ or „I wish I could have afforded professional voice training.“

Of course that „I thought I was trans but I’m actually not“ situation can happen too (even though it’s statistically actually much rarer than divorce). The point isn’t to deny that it ever happens - I’m just saying we shouldn’t get so obsessed with having to prove it’s rare that we start to beat ourselves up over those smaller, more common regrets that come with any big life decision. 

Having regrets is part of human life, and trans people are just human beings. 

With all my love, 

Your Tumblr Dad 

[haggishlyhagging]

Waiting is part of the stereotyped role for women—a large part. Waiting to grow, for breasts and hips to fill out, to wear lipstick, perfume, brassieres: waiting to star in the big role—man enticer. Waiting to be asked for a date. Waiting for the phone to ring. Waiting, waiting for the phone to ring. Waiting to be asked to dance. Waiting to be asked to go steady. Waiting to be asked to marry. Always waiting for someone else to act. Passively, miserably waiting.

And if the phone doesn't ring? If no one asks? If you wait, and wait, and wait, and Prince Charming doesn't come riding up? What can you do?

In the fifties, when I was a young woman, there was nothing you could do and still be considered decent. Being able to choose and act on that choice was a privilege reserved for men. That should have told me something. I think it did, but I didn't want—or didn't know how—to deal with it at the time. So I put it away in that deep unconscious filing cabinet reserved for matters which must have frightened me with their too-clear implications of female servitude and subordination. It took me forty-two years of gathering such data unbeknownst to myself before I finally accumulated more than my file could hold and it burst open, forcing me to look.

Waiting is one of the earmarks of subservience. As Milton truly says, "They also serve who only stand and wait." Waiting is a service. The words waitress, lady-in-waiting, waiter are all service titles. Waiting delineates rank. Sergeants don't keep colonels waiting, but generals do. Teachers don't keep principals waiting, but superintendents do. Those in power can make their subordinates wait, can expect them to wait. To keep someone waiting is manipulation, a method of maintaining control; it is a way of announcing and wielding power.

My unconscious servitude to Rick began early in our courtship. I remember sitting on a bench by the service station for several hours while he fixed his car. It was an unspoken assumption in my youth that girls loved to keep boys company during such times, liked to hold things for them, enjoyed watching them clean the points, or change the brake shoes. Having their girl hovering around must have been like having their own private cheerleader. Girls did it because we wanted to be with them more than they wanted to be with us. We were more emotionally dependent upon them, as we had been trained to be. We needed to be around them, and though they liked having us around, they had other interests in their lives. We had been trained to have only one major interest, despite all the other things we might do, and that was them. Not because it is any more natural for us females to be dependent and to base our entire lives upon some male's approval and presence, but because patriarchy socialized us thus. It is great for male egos. It is catastrophic for ours.

But I didn't get a real taste of the despotism of waiting until Rick discovered the computer at the University of Minnesota. The next ten years were one long struggle against the humiliation of being constantly rejected for the computer—Rick's "iron mistress," his "three sexty." Ten years of being completely forgotten for whole days and suddenly remembered apologetically, of my putting the uneaten supper away and going to bed at midnight or one or two A.M., not having heard from Rick since morning when he promised to be home by six.

That he should have thought it natural to keep a human being waiting for six, seven, twelve hours without word made it clear to me again and again how he thought of me, how not completely human I was to him, how much just a part of himself—not a separate or real person to be taken seriously, or about whose esteem he needed to worry. He would never have kept any male friend whose friendship he valued waiting so consistently for years. No peer would have put up with it.

At the time, I thought it was all my fault. If I were more interesting, more sexy, more something, he would want to come home to me. I blamed myself, when the fault lay in Rick's patriarchal world view.

Part of the unwritten definition of wife is: the one who waits.

I tried to tell Rick over those long years how often I felt rejected and figuratively slapped in the face. I couldn't help but believe he secretly enjoyed the idea of my waiting for him, the constant service of wondering and worrying about him in his absence. Surely there was something more behind his making me wait than mere forgetfulness. He was an extremely intelligent man, but I couldn't get him to understand how deeply he wounded me by showing disdain for the hours of my life I wasted in waiting for him and for the hurt and rage and erosion of love for him this brought about in my heart.

And through it all, I must never make him wait for me. I must never reverse the sadomasochistic game. Yet by calling it that, I admit my own collusion in it. Years ago I should have ceased to care unduly when he came or went, should have planned my life as I wanted without consulting his. Should simply not have allowed him to tyrannize and manipulate me. But I knew that the moment I refused to supply this apparently necessary ego support, I would lose him.

And I did. When I became interested in the ERA, he often had to wait for me—to get off the phone, to come home from meetings, to come to bed. I ceased to pay much attention to when he came and went. I no longer cared a great deal when he was hours late or rejoiced overmuch when he was early. My life no longer centered around him, as his had never centered around me. I began to live an independent life, such as only men are entitled to. That's when I overstepped my bounds and it was all over.

And I've thought since, with considerable wryness, how for nineteen years I waited for him, and how he couldn't wait for me for one.

-Sonia Johnson, From Housewife to Heretic