#the people who love me want me to have a good life. suffering is not a badge of honour we all have to wear. if I'm lucky I'm LUCKY

[from-the-owls-nest]

Well... It's your life. and your personality. so nobody gets to tell you or to decide how they want you to be. They can share how they see you, how they've experienced you, and you get to decide if that still fits, or maybe later again, or if that's a Past You thing, or if you just don't know yet. Transformations and Changes and not knowing are human. And people who love you will love you however you are and want you to be happy over keeping any image they built up of you intact and forcing you into it. *cough* my parents

Also: who someone is has so many different parts. things they like, things they're good at, things they do a lot, things they want to do, traits, memories. There's not one thing that defines all of you. And if something changes or goes missing - sometimes things are just behind a cloud, or like hibernating, and come back when there's space for them, like that or in a different form.

And the other thing... Well. Uh. I don't know what future you will think. I don't know what future me will think. And if I don't know - I try to keep the options open until I maybe will know.

I sorta... this will sound silly. I have an agreement with myself that I'll try to make the best choice with the information I have in a moment, so I dont get to be mad at myself later because I was trying my best. And in retrospect that I try to not make choices future me has to clean up or impacts them badly, especially permanently. Like - it's unfair to future me to give up if good things can still happen, if there's options left to try, and a path to continue on and see if it can get better. I think it'd be more unfair to potential future me and the experiences future me could make if things go well, to destroy them with me ahead of time, before I've tried everything to change and better things, than it is to keep going through the rough times and to keep them around until then or until the criteria have changed.

We'll often also hear to think of others and what you'd do to them and to keep living for others, and - that can be a good reason, but it shouldn't be that guilt trip thing, or make it less of your choice. In the end you gotta decide what feels right to you and what you want. Nobody should make you do something you genuinely fully don't want. Just... remember that you aren't alone, and that there's people who love you and would support you in figuring things out and finding out who you wanna be and what you want life to be like, okay?

(OOC: anyone reading - even if you genuinely feel like theres no hope left, please reach out to a safe person and see if things change with a bit of distance or new options can appear - if it could have been a passing cloud or a storm that will end in time, or something that can be fixed by time or help. uh. before you make choices that cant be taken back and may lead to a lot of suffering. Thanks. And Tumblr please dont get mad at me.)

Love love love characters that present themselves as emotionally open social butterflies but the more you see of them the more obvious it is that they’re the most closed off fuckers in the story. Sure, they want to help you with your personal problems and messy emotions, but if you turn that shit back on them, they’ll shut down or deflect every time. Why are you sticking your nose in their business anyway? It’s not like it matters. They’re not a person, they’re just a role being played. They’re the guy who fixes things and saves people. Please ignore the man behind the mask, he’s fine. Everything’s fine.

[cheeseatlantic]

our inspo for today is the lovely @bunnybeaches i HIGHLY recommend checking out their content, very good.

BUNNY LOVE 3/6

𝐎𝐧𝐞 𝐁𝐞𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐞𝐬 𝐅𝐨𝐮𝐫

Simon Riley is not a man who enjoys surprises.

He likes things his way—structured, predictable, and without unnecessary chaos. It’s why his life before you made perfect sense. Wake up, train, work, come home to a quiet house where the only creature in it was Riley, the German Shepherd he trusted more than most people.

And then you came along. A whirlwind of warmth and softness, all sunshine and sweetness. You turned his silent, orderly life into something loud and colorful—and despite all his grumbling, all his deadpan looks, you somehow made him love every second of it.

But now? Now, you were pushing your luck.

“Just imagine it, Si!” You’re bouncing beside him on the couch, eyes alight with excitement as you scroll through your phone. “A little bunny hopping around! It would be so cute! And—oh! Oh my god, it would be so fitting because you call me Bunny!”

Simon’s blank stare is a fortress of indifference. “No.”

You deflate, but only for a second before you’re shoving your phone in his face, showing him a picture of the tiniest, fluffiest rabbit he’s ever seen. “Look! Just look at this face! You’re telling me you wouldn’t love them?”

His eye twitches. “I barely tolerate the one animal we have now.”

At the mention of his name, Riley, who has been lounging by the fireplace, lifts his head, ears twitching. He watches the two of you with mild interest before sighing heavily and resting his head back down.

You scoff. “Oh please, you love that dog.”

Simon shrugs, which is his way of saying yeah, obviously, but he still grumbles, “Don’t need more animals.”

“But Simon!” You drag out his name in that whiny, dramatic way that you know annoys the hell out of him. “They’re tiny! They won’t take up much space! And they’re soft and cute and—”

“No.”

You pout. “Why not?”

Simon deadpans. “Because I don’t want the house overrun by furballs.”

You narrow your eyes. “Overrun? I’m asking for one.”

“One turns into two. Two turns into five. Next thing I know, I’m living in a bloody petting zoo.”

You gasp, hand over your chest. “How dare you?”

Simon sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose, the picture of suffering. “We’re not getting a rabbit.”

(i forgot where i pit my divider so fuck you)

Six months later.

Simon Riley, certified hardass, cold-blooded soldier, grumpiest bastard alive… is currently sitting on the couch with a tiny brown rabbit asleep on his chest.

On the floor beside him? Riley, their German Shepherd, is curled protectively around another rabbit—a fluffy gray one—while the third, a tiny white one, is nestled in your arms as you beam at the sight before you.

Simon sighs through his nose, staring at the ceiling like he’s contemplating every decision that led to this moment.

“Not a word, Big Bunny.” he mutters.

You grin, rubbing your cheek against the bunny in your arms. “Oh, I wouldn’t dare.”

He scowls but doesn’t move. Not when the brown rabbit shifts slightly against his chest. Not when Riley lets out a deep, contented sigh, his tail thumping softly against the floor. Not when he realizes that, somehow, despite all his protests, he loves these damn rabbits.

And worst of all?

You knew he would.

and boots and cafs and boots and cats and bootd and cats and boots and cats rate my rap for a smooch

[ashen-char]

the altar is her hips 🔞

ship: anora mikheeva (anora) x fem reader

summary: it's finals week but ani convinces you into taking a sexy break with her.

word count: 2700+

notes: i had a strong urge to name this one "this is me swallowing (my pride)" but false god fit better than back to december lmfaooo. student fem reader suggested here, service top reader and ani loving to tell her what to do suggested here <3 thank youuu

You barely register the sound of heels on the linoleum, steadily clicking their way towards you. The library is packed, after all. With exam week coming up, there's more people here than there have been all semester. Everyone who had been pushing back their coursework is now suddenly cramming it in. You hate studying when it's too quiet anyways, you can't focus that way. Your eyes are glued to the textbook in front of you, words blurring together as you try to make sense of the impossibly dense material. The only thing keeping you going is the half-empty energy drink beside you, the chocolates you had instead of a proper dinner, and the distant promise of sleep - whenever that might happen.

Then, a familiar presence slides into the chair next to you. She must have come to visit straight from work, because it's damn near 5am. Ani's chewing some gum, snapping it between her teeth.

"Wow," Anora drawls, propping her chin on one hand as she surveys the mess of notes, highlighters, and sheer academic despair spread out across the table. "This is tragic. When's the last time you slept, baby?"

"Fuck. I don't know. I don't even think I got proper rest yesterday," you admit. You were tossing and turning all night, the only sleep you got being fitful at best. "I was reciting case study names in my head so I don't forget any. With AI bullshit, the uni's cracked down on making all exams closed-book."

"I can tell. Even your eyebags have eyebags." Ani, amused by her own joke, blows a bubble and it snaps. You roll your eyes, but that makes her smile, reaching over and running her thumb across your cheek. "Don't worry, they're designer. My baby's got Prada eyebags, for damn sure."

You hum in acknowledgement. "Yeah, thanks." Barely listening, unfortunately, even though you want to give your girlfriend all your attention. It's for both of you. All your efforts, your good grades, will culminate in a better life for the both of you. That's what you tell yourself when you have to blow off date night for a deadline anyhow.

Ani shifts closer, pulling out her bag. "I could put some BB cream on you at least," she offers.

You turn a page. The paragraphs are blurring together and while you swear you've read this before, it also looks brand new at the same time. You sigh, rubbing your temples, willing the information to stick. When you reach something you didn't remember from your lectures, you jot it down on your lined paper, highlighting the key words. "It’s exam week. I don’t have time to be cute."

"Good thing I’m cute enough for both of us, then." She grins, stretching her legs out so her foot nudges yours under the table. She’s wearing ripped jeans and a cropped hoodie that definitely isn’t hers - it’s probably yours, stolen at some point and now claimed as her own.

"Whisper at least, babe. If you're insistent on talking in the library." You gesture to all the other stressed-out students, your peers in suffering. While various courses have their exams spread out so there are no clashes, the energy of finals is potent in the air.

"Boring." You glance at her, but she’s already plucking one of your highlighters off the table, twirling it between her fingers like she’s contemplating doing something devious with it.

"How long have you been at this?" Anora asks. She picks up the stack of papers from your other classes, flipping absently through your notes and you watch in case she highlights something. "Because I’m gonna guess… too long."

"Since this morning. And all day yesterday."

Anora whistles. "You know, there are laws against self-torture."

You huff a tired laugh. "Not in Professor Raye's class."

She leans back in her chair, crossing her arms. "OK, here’s the deal. You take a break. Like, a real fuckin' break. No ‘just one more chapter.’ No ‘let me just finish this section.’ You step away from this table, right now, and I will personally reward you with something better than whatever caffeine-fueled nightmare you’re living," Anora says, poking your metal tumblr that was once filled with iced coffee - probably melted and watered down now.

You narrow your eyes at her. "And what exactly is this reward?"

She smirks, tapping a manicured finger against the table. "Guess you’ll have to find out."

You exhale slowly, staring down at your textbook like it might physically pull you back in if you look too long. But then Anora nudges your chair with her foot again, insistent, and there’s something warm in the way she’s watching you - amused, fond of you, but also knowing. Like she’s seen a hundred people burn themselves out and decided you won’t be one of them.

You sigh, shutting the book. "Fine. Five minutes. But then I'm continuing this in my dorm. And I have to check this book out."

"Ten minutes."

"Seven."

"Nine."

"Eight and a half."

"Deal."

She grins like she’s just won something. It reminds you of the time Anora took you to Coney Island because you said you'd never been. That night was magical, and you two had so much fun taking turns winning each other prizes. That proud-of-herself gleam in her eyes as she presented you with a stuffed tiger. Anora stands and holds out her hand to you, the butterfly charms glued onto her pretty nails seeming to glitter under the cold library lights.

Snapping your textbook shut, you take Ani's hand when she holds hers out for you, with her standing up in a shot and grabbing her purse. "That's my girl," she purrs. "Grab your jacket, sugar. We're going somewhere that'll make you forget all about... whatever boring ass shit you were studying."

When she pulls you up, she doesn’t let go. She leads you out of the quiet, fluorescent-lit library and into the bustling campus streets. The cold air is sharp, but Ani seems unperturbed, skipping slightly as she walks. Her heels click against the pavement, drawing the occasional glance from passing strangers.

"You really think you can make me relax in eight minutes?" you ask, curious about her plan. You'll give her the benefit of not taking travel time into your little deal though.

"Oh, you'll love it. Promise, babe."

xx

Luckily, the location she had in mind was apparently your dorm room. Ani lies back on your bed with its cheap sheets, her long dark hair splayed out around her. The tinsel in it really makes her shine, if the body glitter isn't enough. When she's unbuttoning her jeans, you tease her, "if making me fuck you was the break you had in mind, remember you've still only got eight minutes."

"Eight and a half," she reminds. "Don't rush this. And get your shirt off."

She's wearing a lacy black bra and a matching thong that leaves little to the imagination, her pale skin glowing in the dim light of your room. She looks up at you with hooded brown eyes, biting her plump lower lip as she beckons you closer.

"Get that pretty face between my legs," Ani orders, her breath hitching with anticipation. "And don't you dare stop until I tell you to. Think of it like studying for that exam - except instead of boring old notes, you've got a girl in your bed. Lucky you."

You like when she tells you what to do. How to kiss her, fuck her, lick her. It's a dizzying push-pull of control, where you're the one bringing her to ecstasy but she's the one commanding you to get her there.

"C'mere, baby," she purrs, voice dripping with desperate desire. Her accent slips out when she's not thinking about it, too focused on getting you where she wants you. "I want your mouth on me. Now."

"Yes, ma'am."

Anora spreads her legs, revealing the damp spot clear on her panties. The sight makes your mouth go dry, your heart pounding in your chest. You've seen Ani dance, have felt her body pressed against yours, but this is different. This feels more intimate, more vulnerable. The time limit you've set on this also adds to the thrill.

"Start by kissing up my thighs," Ani instructs, her voice breathy. "Nice and slow. I want to feel those lips of yours."

You obediently lower your head, pressing soft kisses along the inside of her thigh. You can smell her arousal, musky and intoxicating, as you work your way up. Ani shivers beneath your touch, her fingers tangling in your messy hair.

"I like when you tease me, baby."

"Mmm," you hum against her skin. "I know."

"Fuck, just like that," she gasps, guiding you higher with her hands. "Don't stop, baby. Keep going until you reach-" A little gasp when your tongue flits out for just a moment. Tasting the sweat on her skin from hours under HQ's bright lights, from working hard.

You continue your ascent, kissing and licking every inch of her soft, creamy skin. When you reach the apex of her thighs, you hook your fingers into the waistband of her panties and tug them down slowly, revealing her glistening folds. Ani lifts her hips to help you remove them completely, leaving her bare before you.

"Look at me," she commands, tilting your chin up with her fingers. "I want to see your face when you taste me for the first time. I want to watch you lose yourself in my pussy."

"Position me then." You'll lose yourself in between her thighs over and over if it means Ani's directing you. "You guide where I go."

Her eyes darken. You know she loves the control, it's what she appreciates about dancing at the club and getting suckers falling for her movements. Her grip tightens on your hair, guiding you downwards until your face is mere inches from her glistening folds. The scent of her arousal fills your nostrils, sweet and musky. It's almost overwhelming, in the best way possible.

"Start by kissing up and down the lips," Ani instructs, voice breathless. "Get them nice and wet with your mouth first. Show me how much you worship this cunt."

You lock eyes with her, your breath catching in your throat as you lean in close. Your first lick is tentative, a soft swipe along her slit to test her flavor. Ani tastes sweet and tangy, her arousal coating your tongue. It's intoxicating, and you find yourself wanting more.

Trailing open-mouthed kisses along her lower lips, you relish the silky smooth skin and the taste of her excitement. Knowing that it's all yours. You made her like this. You can feel Ani squirming beneath you, her grip on your hair tightening.

"That's it, baby. Just like that," she encourages, her hips rocking subtly against your face. "Now, focus on the clit. Suck on it, flick it with your tongue. 'til you feel it throb."

You do as you're told, capturing her clit between your lips and suckling gently. You flick the sensitive bud with the tip of your tongue, feeling it swell and stiffen from the stimulation.

"Ah fuck!" Ani gasps, her head falling back against your pillows. "Don't stop, nngh - just like that. Your tongue feels so fucking good." She's almost ranting mindlessly now, sounding so out of it as you keep going.

You can feel her growing more and more aroused by the second, her juices coating your chin and dripping onto the bedsheets below. You don't mind though. You'll buy a spare set some other time, after exam week has come and gone. The taste of her is intoxicating, and you know you could spend hours worshipping her like this.

"Mmm, you're a natural at eating pussy, ain't ya?" Ani giggles as her thighs clench around your head, trying to sit up to look at you know. "I knew you were hiding some skills under that nerdy exterior."

"My favourite meal."

"Oh fuck," Ani whimpers, her head falling back against the pillow as you start to eat her out in earnest. "Don't you dare fucking stop, babygirl. Put that tongue to work, baby. Bury it in my cunt. Show me how badly you want to please me."

You feel a rush of pride at her words, determined to impress her even more. You drag your tongue back down to her entrance, pushing past the lips to thrust your tongue inside, fucking her with the slick muscle.

Everything starts to become a blur. It could have taken hours, maybe minutes. You delve in deeper, your tongue plunging into her hot, tight center. Ani's walls clench around you, like her cunt is trying to pull you in even further, eager for more. Desperate. Aching. You lap at her greedily, savouring her taste and scent, relishing in the way she writhes beneath your touch. You squeeze your own thighs together, your own center throbbing in response.

You relentlessly thrust your tongue in and out, curling it to hit that spongy spot you know drives her wild. Ani is writhing underneath you, fisting the sheets and writhing against your probing, relentless tongue.

"I can't believe how good you're making me feel," Ani confesses, "No one's ever worshipped my pussy like this before. Like they actually gave a fuck about making me, oh God, making me cum."

You glance up at her, seeing tears glistening in her brown eyes. You slow down your movements, gentling your licks as you take in her expression. "Hey, hey... don't cry," you murmur, pressing a tender kiss to her clit. Slowing it down. Letting her acclimate to it all. "I'm here. I'm right here. And I'm not going anywhere."

"You really mean that?" Ani asks, her voice choked with emotion. "Because, fuck, I mean... no one's ever said they loved me like this before. Like I'm a real person, not just-not just a warm hole to fuck or something."

You feel a lump form in your throat and you blink back your own tears. "I mean it," you promise her fervently. "I love you, Ani. I love every fucking part of you, from your fierce spirit to your broken places to this perfect, greedy little cunt."

Their words seem to be what Ani needs to hear to reach that delicious, mind-ruining peak. She comes undone with a sharp cry, her orgasm crashing over her like a tidal wave. Her pussy spasms and clenches around your tongue, gushing her release into your eager mouth. She tastes hot and wet, a little sweetness to it. You lap it up greedily, humming in satisfaction as you work her through her high.

As her tremors subside, Ani goes limp on the bed, her chest heaving with exertion. "Holy shit," she whispers, a dazed look on her face. "That was-I can't even..."

You crawl up her body and gather her into your arms, holding her close. Ani buries her face in the crook of your neck, breathing in the scent of your skin. You stroke her hair soothingly, letting her come down from her intense orgasm.

"Thank you," Ani murmurs, pressing a kiss to your jaw. "Thank you for seeing me. For not just wanting to fuck me and then throw me away. I'm not used to feeling so - I dunno, shit - appreciated? Worth something?"

You tilt her chin up and press your lips to hers in a deep, tender kiss. 

"You're worth everything," you tell her. You'll tell her over and over again until she believes it.

Ani kisses you back just as passionately, her tongue sliding against yours. Tasting her own cum in your mouth and all over your face. It's filthy and yet still so romantic. When you finally break apart, you see her cheeks are streaked with tears.

"I love you too, you know," Ani declares, a fierce look in her eyes. "You're stuck with me now. Hope you know that."

And it's true for your sex, but especially true as you build your lives together. So you repeat, "you guide where I go."

Anora shoves your shoulder for that, but you can tell she loves it. Eventually, she goes limp against the sheets, panting and flushed. She looks down at you with glazed eyes and a lazy grin. "Not bad for a study break, huh?" she giggles breathlessly. "We make a good fuckin' team."

Looking at the clock, you're not surprised to see you've gone madly overtime. Her pussy just does that to you. Burrowing in Anora's sweat-slicked chest, you groan. You're too exhausted to study now. "I'm gonna fucking fail this exam."

[gatorbites-imagines]

Can I request some boba fett cockwarming (sith) male reader?👉🏻👈🏻

Boba Fett x Sith Tusken male reader

Headcanons

Why is the reader a tusken raider? I don’t know, I just really love them. This takes place back when Boba was still a bounty hunter, so younger spicier Boba. I really want to write more about tusken raiders, please ask me about tusken raiders. Reader doesn’t work for palpatine, but became a sith on his own, kinda.

Did y’all know a good chunk of tusken raiders aren’t actually the species, but humans or near-humans who joined their tribes? So, what the reader is, is up to y’all, he’s just got the bits needed for fun. I may have done more lore than smut, but yeah, star wars brings it out in me.

You had always been part of the sand tribes of Tatooine, born into it and raised their way. The peaceful life, or as peaceful as it could be, ended when the one with the flaming sword slaughtered them all.

You had not even passed your coming of age at the time, forced to watch as your clan members, mother and father were killed like womp rats.

There had always been a power inside you, one that the clan elders told you connected you to the stars and the sand, which would one day allow you to become the clan’s storyteller and lorekeeper, maybe you could even become the next tribe leader if the stars and suns smiled upon you.

This power kept you hidden from the glowing one, hidden under the bodies of your clan and loved ones. You had never thought of what your clan did as evil, it was needed to survive, and the settlers didn’t deserve the sand’s gifts. But it was enough to doom you all.

There you laid for hours, days even, listening to the power of the stars and sands telling you to wait, be cautious, or you too would die. This time let you surround yourself with the pain and suffering you felt, having lost everything.

The Tusken people were not peacekeepers like jedi, and knew that one needed to kill to survive. This meant there was nothing keeping you cautious of the dark side, allowing you to embrace it and pack it inside yourself.

No other tribe dared let you join them, your connection to the universe was too powerful. Their own storytellers and lorekeepers shook before you, letting out shaky guttural requests for you to leave them be, and take the eternal darkness you carried with you.

You were not evil, but you were not kind. You stayed by yourself for a long time. You found a cave underground where you could meditate, train as the stars taught you. Here you discovered a glowing orange stone, one that sang when you held it, and screamed when your darkness turned it red.

Yet it still purred like a loth-cat when you placed it inside your specially made garderffi stick, which also worked as a spear when you wielded the stones power.

You truly only left your self-isolation when you felt the universe shift. The light that had existed was snuffed out with a pained shriek as darkness filled the void left behind.

A hidden light settled on Tatooine, but he could not hide from you. Your darkness covered the planet in your own blanket, shielding it from outsiders who wished to look inside, it kept you but also these new lights hidden.

He called himself Ben, but you knew it was a lie. His vocal cords could not pronounce your true name, instead he simply called you Abyss, which was close enough to some part of your name that you accepted it.

You were not friends perse, but you two would sometimes wander the sands together, and you would lead him to places with water, and black melons, where he would not mess with the planet and her resources.

Bounty hunters were common on the planet. Tatooine was hutt owned, meaning all kinds of evil came through her ports. Spreading their evil like disease. Something your energy struck back at like an evil spear when the opportunity presented itself.

Boba Fett was like the mandalorians your past storyteller spoke of, except his armor made him noticeable in the force, as Ben called it. his mission was to find your light companion, and with nothing to do you decided to confront him.

He must have believed you were like any other Tusken, wielding only a gaderffi stick and maybe a rifle. But he stood no chance against the vacuum of darkness you possessed. You didn’t kill him, there was no need too, plus, his cursing and spitting was entertaining.

In the end Boba forgot all about his bounty, instead focusing on you since you proved to be a lot more interesting. How funny that fighting could be seen as flirting in both your cultures, as something hotter brewed between you as he shot at you, and you flicked it away with a small motion.

You had never left Tatooine and her embrace, but you ended up leaving with Boba. Something developed between you, and you decided why not see the galaxy. Of course, the colonizers were horrified to see the bounty hunter leave with you behind him, but no one dared say anything.

Ben gave you a small farewell in the mind bond you two had developed to be able to speak together, before you both closed it off, not wanting him to be found through it.

You ended up meeting Vader, who made your darkness grow from a pit to a black hole, as he was the burning one who took everything from you. Even in his new form there was no hiding it, and only Vaders slavemaster kept the battle from happening.

The old corpse admired your strength and ability to hide, nihilus reborn, he sang. Whoever that was. You had no interest in his ideas and plans, instead you left with Boba. A deal was settled between you and Vader, he left you alone, and you left him alone.

At some point during your travels with Boba your clothing had to be changed up. You wore your robes and bandages for as long as possible, since it was who you were. But it became a bit of a problem on different planets.

In the end, Boba got you something more flowy but it covered just as much. apparently, Sidious had sent it. It had a strange mask as well with red detailing, with another note about this Nihilus. You didn’t care. You kept wearing your goggles, though you put away the mouthpiece for now.

It allowed for a lot more touch between you and Boba, and the bounty hunter could get quite physical. It wasn’t common in your culture, so in the beginning you would growl and push him away with your dark powers. But over time you got used to it, even allowing his hands to linger on your thighs.

The first time he tried to slide his hands under your robes had you knocking him unconscious though, nailing him in the helmet with your gaderffii stick.

Courting took a long time for your people, at least in your tribe. And involved a lot of sparring and fighting alongside each other, which you two did plenty. Getting intimate was strange too, as it was mostly for breeding in your tribe, but Boba made quick work of showing just how good it felt.

For the most part you only allowed Boba to move your robes and layers enough to expose your cock, and luckily that was all he needed most of the time.

Kisses wasn’t really a thing in your culture, instead you two would press your foreheads together which was a display in the Mandalorian culture instead. It got especially intimate when Boba would ride you and press his forehead against yours.

Seeing all his exposed skin could be very erotic and blasphemous to you, but it had the power inside you striking out and grasping at him like a starving krayt dragon clamping onto a bantha.

Boba was able to teach you how to fly a ship as well. He claimed it was so you could be the getaway when bounties went back, but you had a feeling it was so he could act out his fantasies of cockwarming you.

The first time you allowed him to expose you kickstarted his hunger, something he had suppressed for a long time because it made you uncomfortable to think about.

He was always on you somehow, be it when you would steer the ship or when you meditated. Having his mouth on you was such a culture shock that you spilled the moment his lips wrapped around you.

The mind link you two had started developing also taught you that the act of warming you and pleasing you assisted in calming his mind as well. It made the intimacy between you stronger, deeper.

Boba never got to see your face, at least for a very long time (think after he joined the tribe in the Boba Fett series), but he did succeed in pushing your robes up more and more, so he could grope as your pecs and muscles.

The force was also a great help, as the dark side was fueled by darker wants and urges. So, you may have used it once or twice to keep him in place and supply him with air, so he didn’t need to breathe. Boba loved it though.

On the matters of sithlords, you never claimed you were one, but you got called one anyways. How that pans out with the resistance and the fall of the empire is for later though.

[iiheartarc]

MY TAKE ON THE CAITVI DISCOURSE

total wordcount: 1591

I will say that I've briefly commented on their dynamic in the past, but it was worded really badly so I feel like I need to defend my writing skills a little bit as well with this, but that's just a sidenote. 💀

I think what a lot of people are missing when people do criticise CaitVi is that they aren't necessarily hating on the ship, it's what writing choices have done to it.

I'm not even going to even say I'm a CaitVi hater, I'm not (S1 CaitVi my beloved, you deserved better), but I do think the choices that writers made this season heavily effected how audiences portrayed the ship, even including myself.

Idk I hope this insight might give some people more perspective on why CaitVi became so hated in this season, people rlly need to start looking at both sides and not taking criticism as a personal attack. It really could've been avoided too if the writers had added more time or extended the series onto a third season, but that's another issue on its own.

1. Caitlyn hits Vi

I really don't get why people are so quick to defend Caitlyn on this one, especially considering the amount of hate Vi got when she hit Powder. Are both inexcusable? Yes. But I do think that the situation is a little different when it's a fifteen year old child who had just witnessed the death of her entire family and a twenty something year old woman who took out her anger and grief on the woman she loved because she blocked her shot.

I do think that people also do ignore the immense amount of trauma that Caitlyn suffered at the hand of Jinx, but unlike when Vi 'abandoned' Powder, (again, that's a whole other conversation, we know she was not abandoned), Vi was not that direct source of anguish to Caitlyn the way Powder was to Vi. (Pls lmk if you want me to expand further on this)

Again, not excusing Vi hitting Powder, I'm pointing out the differences.

It's then also incredibly tone deaf when Caitlyn hits her on two more occasions with the same gun, the third time being played off as a joke. It really doesn't come off well, especially when Vi had been a victim of police-brutality even before the abuse she faced at the hands of the enforcers in Stillwater.

And then, even after all this, it's never addressed. It's brushed over, like Vi's entire trauma in the show, the most we get is Caitlyn brushing her hand over Vi's abdomen in the cell scene. Again, can be taken as an apology, but I think that for some very specific things (like hitting your romantic partner), verbal apologies do need to be made in order to communicate healthily and somewhat build a healthier relationship.

I don't really want to talk about the abusive implications of this, because I don't think I'm someone who can talk about it with a full understanding because that's something I've fortunately never been through, but the blatant disregard and shunning of abuse survivors when they pull up the red flags raised because of this is disgusting. In real life, or if it had even been someone else in the show, if the ship had been a heterosexual relationship, people would call Caitlyn an abuser and would be outraged that Vi had been paired with her in the end. But I digress.

1. The cell sex scene

Initially I hadn't been too bothered about this when I had first watched the episode, but when you really think about it, it shouldn't have happened. Hell, they could've had sex in Caitlyn's office and half of the criticism wouldn't have happened, the ship wouldn't be so hated and the fandom wouldn't be half as divided as it is now (from what I've seen).

First and foremost, the cell.

All I can say is wtf. It was such a poor choice it's actually unfathomable to me now. I don't know why the writers thought that it'd be a good idea for Caitlyn and Vi to have their first time in a jail cell, not only the one Jinx had been locked in, but the one Vi had herself been locked in for what we can assume to be hours. The place of her abuse should not be somewhere where the writers could possibly think would be a suitable for a victim to have such an intimate moment with her partner.

Then there's the fact that Vi had looked to have had some sort of breakdown, we see she's sh and there are literal crates in the wall from where she punched it as well as her knuckles bleeding. As soon as she sees Caitlyn, there's a parallel to when they first met, to when Vi is quite literally caged. She's clearly not in the right state of mind, and so when the scene eventually happens it inevitably comes off as wrong because Vi is incredibly emotionally vulnerable in that moment.

"But Vi initiated it!" That still doesn't make it okay. I do think that this also came with an issue of timing, but then again, as I mentioned earlier, it literally could've been in the office as they argued and it would've been recieved so much better then the cell scene was. Vi wasn't breaking down, she wasn't locked in a reminder of the abuse she faced and her sister hadn't just ran off to do goodness knows what (in Vi's POV, us as the audience know exactly what she's about to do). They could've even have it fade to black and cut to the next scene tangled in bed doing whatever they would've been doing in the cell, Vi would assumably have had time to calm down, would be having sex in a warm and safe environment, and guess what? The audience would've been even happier.

Sure there would've been criticism, but Vi could literally save a thousand babies and adopt them all and still face hate, because a lot of the hate is being directed to Vi too because of the situation with Jinx. That, again, is a whole other situation.

3. "Dirt Under Your Nails"

Again, for the love of god, there can be so many takeaways from this sentence but do not be surprised that people didn't like it. I didn't, it made me cringe horribly.

And before people throw 'media literacy is dead', this whole post (practically essay), is analysing a piece of media that I love. To be literate, you can draw different interpretations and conclusions and that's exactly what I'm doing. It's like saying literacy is dead if two people were to disagree on what the meaning of Macbeth's quote 'I am in blood' meant.

I digress.

I think the main issue here is the class difference between Vi and Cait. Caitlyn is from the aristocracy, a direct heir to a position of power in Piltover, while Vi is lower class, effected indefinitely by growing up in poverty. Even though she grew up as Vander's kid, they were still 'scraping for scraps'. The wealth margin between the two is almost immeasurable, and with the difference in money comes a difference in experiences, as we - the audiences - know.

It especially comes off wrong considering the class tensions and political themes heavily focussed on within the first season. The conflict between Piltover and Zaun, the abuse of power and exploitation of Zaunites by both topside and the chembarons, the prevalence of police brutality on the streets of the Undercity. Again, Vi is someone who is directly effected by this, while Caitlyn came into this blissfully naïve. She did learn yes, and in s1 she was so determined to help, but when then this progress reverts into her calling zaunites 'animals' and using the grey as a weapon, it again makes Vi's words feel uncomfortable.

Again, I think this was a massive timing issue, I would've love to see Caitlyn succumb fully to a villain arc. It would've been so interesting to delve into.

I think Vi has always had the image of herself that she'll always be viewed as less by Piltover, that she herself views herself as less. She says it herself to Vander in s1 ep2 while they're on the bridge, "I grew up knowing I'm less than them." So when she then says as her final words in the show, "I'm the dirt under your nails" obviously, that's going to come across as tacky.

People are free to think of romantic connotations for this, I won't stop you, but when you think about how the show was so focussed on class tensions, police brutality, oppression and exploitation, it doesn't come off right. Idk, that's what got me so interested with the show in the first place, the way these themes were explored so deeply but subtly in a way that didn't feel forced, so Vi's words really rubbed me the wrong way.

Conclusion

So I hope everyone that read somewhat gets where I'm coming from, this was my attempt to try and explain what I think needed to be, badly. Again, you can like the ship, I'm not saying I don't, but it also needs to be acknowledged that there is so many things that could've been worked on properly, done properly or addressed properly, and ignoring criticism won't help these issues to be fixed in the future.

Feel free to ask any questions and thanks for reading this long ass rant :)

[genderqueerdykes]

As a straight guy who's a tad bit of an outsider to all the discourse, specifically lesboys and gay girls Ive seen many people use the argument that they don't understand something as reason to not respect it

If I don't understand something does it not make sense to not jump people over it until I understand it through research and actually talking with the person?

I used to be pretty transphobic and ableist for example, (which I'm not excusing here, I'm bringing it up as an example) until I talked with people. Both learning about people outside of what you hate for them and also learning about that specific part of them does great things.

Maybe I have a more simplified and un-knowledgeable view of everything because I'm not deep into it and just living my own life tho. I don't want to come off as dismissive by saying people need to go outside instead of discoursing but some people need to talk to people!

thank you so much for sending this ask you are awesome! you are exactly what we love to see in the wrold!

agreed. i can talk to people i don't 100% agree with because i'm really just curious as to how they think. i talk to conservatives and queerphobes i run into in person because ultimately they're a person and it's easiest to change someone's mind when you don't instantly attack them and make them feel threatened by your presence. simply put. i had a friend group of 4 cishet men, 3 of which who were conservatives. all 4 those cishet men accepted me as trans and gay (at the time, i wasn't out as bi). they said it was super easy to see me as a guy. it wasn't hard. i changed their minds just by being their friends

honest to god it sucks that people have such thin skin that they're concerned they have to pathologically avoid all strangers no matter what like.i talk to my therapist who i've been working with for 3 years every monday. i talk to my doctors, the other patients, whoever talks to me first, or looks like they need to help. i talk to homeless people on the curb or outside of a store. i talk to people asking for change.

i use public services a lot. i get rides to my appointments from strangers most days out of the week. i talk to people who have crosses in their cars and they're playing christian music. i had a pleasant conversation about how it's never obvious that public assistance programs are there and there needs to be people helping them get into them because if the help is there people shouldn't have to suffer. and then this person revealed they were a republican. they enjoyed talking to me and said they hoped to see me again. it gave me a lot to think about, because i assumed someone that conservative could never be kind to me as long as i don't get too deep into conversations that would cause tension because it's not worth it when you're just going to an appointment. you're not there to debate so you don't and it goes fine.

i have drivers thank me for the conversation all the time. ive had drivers shake my hand. these were people who would guarantee disagree with a lot of my politics or think differently if they found out i was trans but sometimes i just keep things to myself because i don't cause unnecessary drama. you never have to disclose whether or not you are cis or trans. you don't have to turn things into transphobia that aren't. there's just no nuance.

you can silently disagree. silently disagreeing involves going. okay wow i don't like that. and learning how to approach it in a way that, in the future, you can say it out loud without reacting emotionally in a way that temporarily clouds judgment. people just react before they think and it sucks. people are so easily hurt. it's not good. it's not okay that people are terrified of talking to someone who has a handful of problematic behaviors.

I don't want to come off as dismissive by saying people need to go outside instead of discoursing but some people need to talk to people! go outside. you'll see most people have a lot. you'll see that almost everyone has shit behaviors they have to learn because we're all programmed by this society in one way or another. you'll see that everyone out there has a completely unique opinion. meet people outside of your tiny bubble.

you can't profile strangers and then assume you know what they'll say next. it's stupid. don't charge into the situation hostile, flinging insults, misgendering people, attacking them for their identity, attacking them for using a word you don't like and so on. be kind. correct people kindly. treat them like a fellow person. im not scared of cishet men. ive had so many who have been so kind to me.

its just dumb to pathologically avoid people who are good to you because you hate their gender. that's not okay. that's profiling people over gender. stop it

[epickiya722]

I love Bakugou with all my heart. He's one of my favourite characters. But it's always kind of hard to interact with a lot of his stans because of how overly protective they are of him, to the point where they mischaracterize or slander other characters when they dont do something in favour of bakugou. They act like hes a baby at times. Ofc not all of them are like that, butbits always the vocal ones that stand out and theyre many.

Unpopular opinion but I also dislike the "bakugou is a damsel in distress" thing they say, mainly the dk//bks. Cause that title should be given to no one, they're all bamfs.

The release of 431 basically had half the bakugou fandom burying Midoriya alive and even saying things like how Bakugou should start hating on Midoriya. Or that bakugou should have died so that Midoriya can live a life of suffering. Acting like Horikoshi did Bakugou a disservice when imo Bakugou had the kindest, most well written character development given to him.

To be completely blunt, in all my years of being in this fandom I've never encountered such a rabid group of people who will literally shit their pants because other characters or the author (in the final chapter) weren't kissing their ass for more than 2 minutes.

I do feel you on that, Anon.

I said it before, Bakugou is my guy, my boom boom boy. I like him as I do many other characters in the series. He has a good storyline, he is a great character on his own.

And that what infuriates me about some other Bakugou fans.

He is already such a good character, so why is there a need, a must, an urge to bash and mischaracterize other characters just to put him down?

Part of what I'm going to say is my bias because you all know Midoriya is my favorite tied with Miruko, but the other part of me is someone coming from a Bakugou fan standpoint. And you know what, feel free to be mad at me, but I just can't anymore!

The fandom over the past year or so has done nothing but disappoint me. Truly and at this point, I feel like I have to let out everything.

A lot of the reactions I saw towards Midoriya in the epilogue was absolue bullshit.

"He should give Bakugou back the suit!"

"How dare he turn down Bakugou!"

Bakugou was not the only fucking person who put in on helping with that suit and he damn sure wasn't the only person who saw Midoriya as the hero he is. Midoriya does not owe Bakugou any, let alone be an EMPLOYEE at his agency.

Like, damn, can he actually get used to some Pro Hero work in before he makes such decisions?

And I'll be honest, him not working at agency actually gave me joy. I actually like that idea. It reminds me of Miruko.

Him being a solo type hero allows Midoriya to be flexible with his routine. I guess they forgot he is a teacher. They must not have realized that Midoriya can and will fight by Bakugou's side in the field. Who said they needed a fucking agency to do all of that?

In fact, them being separated and not working at the same place would allow them to be more happy to see each since it's like "I didn't get to see you all day! I've been waiting to lay my eyes on you, I was counting the seconds till we meet again". I like that scenario, can we jump on that?

Like, what if Midoriya said no because he felt like Bakugou had done enough for him? Huh? How would he know Bakugou would want him at the agency and why even spring that on him being so cryptic about it in front of Kirishima? Sorry but Bakugou went about it the wrong way.

Midoriya can be oblivious but he's also not a mind reader. And sometimes, Bakugou is not that transparent, let alone someone who is right all the time himself.

I feel like that a lot of the fandom just wanted Bakugou to tie Midoriya down. Want him to own Midoriya like he's some fucking pet.

I thought they were supposed to be equals, but clearly I was lied to!

Like, when I say I was so disappointed in some fellow BakuDeku shippers, I was probably beyond disappointment. I couldn't follow anymore of some of the blogs because of the things they were saying.

I know Bakugou's hair is golden, but he is not some golden child. He is not some fragile little baby that some of the fandom treats him as such while also thinking he's so perfect.

They're doing exactly what lead to his terrible behavior in the first place, now that I'm thinking about it! Oh, I thought we were supposed to learn from that, HELLO?!

He is not perfect. That's what makes him a great character. A character with flaws makes for an entertaining one, but in this case, not for Bakugou! How I cannot believe!

That's why I also enjoy Midoriya. He has flaws, but the bad thing is how most of the fandom amped them up to 100 to make him seem more terrible.

I really hate how some of those same Bakugou and BakuDeku shippers reduce Midoriya into someone who can't do everything right, or he was like vindictive in the epilogue.

Like, some of you was so quick to say that the epilogue was so out of character, so why even go along with the notion that "Midoriya doesn't care about Bakugou, he betrayed Bakugou"?

Easy, because you don't care about Midoriya which is absurd to me given that if you're a Bakugou fan, Midoriya is the last character you should be hating on. Bakugou would hate you for hating Midoriya.

(Getting flashbacks to that one post about how the OP was mad at Midoriya for making Bakugou cry because he didn't tell him about OFA... in season one... WHAT?!)

I'm jumping on that unpopular opinion with you because my gosh. "I hate it when Midoriya is the damsel in Tddk fics and Bakugou is the bad guy".

I see why, but then why turn around and treat Bakugou like he's a damsel? To give more Midoriya stress? I'm all for angst, but I do feel like some people just want Midoriya to suffer like "see how you didn't appreciate Bakugou enough" and out of some hate agenda.

Listen, I know the pair are like the "don't separate at all costs" type, but again, it should be equal.

Yes, they care deeply about each other. But they're still their own separate characters.

Flaws Horikoshi's writing may have, but it damn sure ain't that flawed to not make sense of some of these characters.

I'm sorry (not really), but I feel like that some truly don't get Midoriya at all and don't want to take the time out to understand him. An injustice really to being a BakuDeku shipper. You won't see the harmony within that ship.

[multiheadcanons]

THE MERCS AS SONG LYRICS BUT I WROTE THE SONGS THE LYRICS COME FROM AND THERES NO CONTEXT AT ALL BECAUSE THESE SONGS AREN’T ANYWHERE FOR YOU TO HEAR THE CONTEXT (MAYBE ONE DAY)

scout: “i’m teeny but you still look up to me so stay squeaky” i don’t know why when i go through my files that this line always stands out to me when i read it. something about it is cheeky; it’s a smart-ass, corny ass comeback to something i personally have heard most of my life. and i think scout would say “stay squeaky” as a warning too. keep your shit clean, because scout will know if it’s not. he’ll go out of his way to find out what dirt there is on you.

soldier: “and i won’t ask you to wait for me/i’ll be free all year, i guarantee” soldier is a man who moves to the militaristic beat of his own drum. he doesn’t really think he’s too far ahead, or behind, his peers. and he doesn’t need his hand held if he finds out he is either. he is content with himself. he is content even when he’s dead. and he’s always available. so nobody should be worried about him either. he can handle himself. damn. i miss you rick. you were a good man.

pyro: “you may not be the sun but baby, you are my star!” pyro is not my personal absolute favorite character (i think we all know who that is) but that doesn’t stop pyro from being one of my FAVORITE characters to write about! pyro is fascinating because i can essentially say pyro is whatever i want them to be, and as long as i’m hitting a few key points of what we do know about pyro i am well within the confines of canon. pyro is my star. they’ve grown to mean so much to me. but i’ve also never really seen a characterization of pyro that i have really liked and enjoyed; and i’m still not sure if i even like my characterization of pyro! but dammit, this pyro is my pyro. there are many others like them, but this one is mine. pyro is like an s-tier self insert.

demo: “when i get involved, it’s getting worse than intended” this whole verse that this line very specifically is in is soooo funny to me, personally. it’s explosive, it’s vicious, it’s humorous! it’s a lightning strike of so many sentences coming at you. and it’s demo the man. very particularly this line, because to me, if demo is in on something it’s about to go so far out of left field nobody will be able to stop it. he’s learned he is a man who can hear gossip, and shouldn’t get himself involved in it. doesn’t stop him from stepping in sometimes! sometimes you just need a little oomph!

heavy: “i find the bright to be a fickle kind” anyone here a legends of avantris fan? i initially wrote this while watching icebound in my car in the middle of a winter’s night, freezing my ass off because i didn’t want to turn my car on and disturb my neighbors. and i looked up, and the sky was crystal clear; and the moon was directly above me. so i wrote a love song to the winter moon, while listening to a bunch of dnd characters suffer in an icy wasteland. there’s something about big quiet men from already bitterly cold regions that i do think they have an emotional connection to the moon. to its fickle nature in appearance. and i think heavy thinks a lot about what the people who surround him say about him. something about the men he’s grown close with. they bode ill omens. he can’t shake the feeling.

engineer: “communion wine, do you think it’ll save you?” that man knows what he’s doing at all times. he has sacrificed many morals to get where he is now. and he knows there is no coming back. as nice as he may be. he’s an eternal ticking time bomb. it just depends on what’s going to blow up in his face first and take him from this realm of existence. and he knows he’s not seeing the pearly gates. he enjoys what he does far too much.

medic: “the keys lie somewhere between marrow and bone” i didn’t realize i actually wrote this song about the doctor until i went back through and read it. i actually innately understand the doctor because i am him frfr. i was genuinely going batshit insane when i wrote that, overcome and consumed by an obsession i could not and still can not let go of, and watching a lot of saw. and the only way i could let it go is when i get what i need. but it’s lodged so deep, i will have to break myself to get to it. the doctor is willing to break others to get it.

sniper: “i know what i am in.” snipes isn’t dumb. snipes is keenly aware of every decision he’s made that has gotten him to this point. the issue he finds with it is he doesn’t know where else he would go from here. he wouldn’t know what other decisions to make in the past to change what he became today. all he’s done is remain as truthful to himself as he could be; and he’s really banking on that being enough to get him by.

spy: “it sorts the foes from confidants.” spy is discerning, a purposeful and professional metaphorical button pusher. and it’s his dickish nature that is one of his best litmus tests to discern who he can trust and who he can’t. and if you’re not with spy, you are indeed against him. and he treats you accordingly.

[rynnthefangirl]

I loved the list you made about the things that Stan and Ford can and should or can't and should not be accountable but like there are somethings I don't get and I hope you could help me see things from your perspective. Like, the majority of people agrees that Ford has the right to hold a grudge at Stan for him breaking his machine since he did not apologize to Ford and time is not an apology. Ford also thought that Stan would be fine on his own and that was the reason he never checked on him. Also, Bill is a master manipulator, so Ford believing in him is more about Bill being good at manipulating people than Ford's ego.

I also think you forget to add some things, like, Ford didn't explained to Stan the situation that he was in, he just shoved the Journal 1 on him and ordered him to hide it without even saying if he would contact him to come back or not. He also brought up their childhood dream while doing that and later said to Stan that did nothing worthwhile with his life until that moment. And he also burned and branded Stan. While Stan called Ford selfish for not using his grant money to help their family and later tried to burn Journal 1 out of spite. He also messed up with Ford's infinity sided dice, which put him and Dipper in danger.

Thanks for the ask!

Regarding Ford not checking on Stan, I think you are correct that he figured Stan would be fine… but I also think that Ford believed this at least in part because he doesn’t want contend with his mixed feelings about his brother. He just wants to feel justifiably angry, so that he can forget about Stan and focus on himself and his future. Knowing that Stan was suffering would force him to confront how he does still love and miss his brother (but his aim is getting better), which would burden him and put him in a position of having to choose whether to make a sacrifice (whether it be time, money, emotional effort, part of his career goals) for Stan’s sake. Which he doesn’t want to do. Ford isn’t a bad guy, and he does love his brother… but he is really good at believing things just because he wants to believe them. I don’t think this is a reasonable view of reality though. Stan was kicked out at 18, with no money to his name, no friends, no family, no home. Ford should have considered the possibility that Stan may be suffering and need him. I certainly don’t blame him for being upset with Stan about the project or even necessarily for holding a grudge about it (especially given how terribly Stan handled that confrontation), but we know Ford cares for his brother despite that, and he doesn’t really show it when he chooses to never check on him for 10 years.

As for Bill and Ford, well I think it’s both Bill’s manipulation AND Ford’s ego. Like yes Bill was a good manipulator, but it worked because there was something for him to target. Ford was so desperate to believe he was special and important, which goes back to Ford being really good at believing things that aren’t actually reasonable just because he wants them to be true. I’ll link a more in depth post that I made that is kinda on this same topic, if you are interested :)

Then for the other points you bring up, you are right that both of them did a lot to escalate that situation into a fight. I will admit I am extremely lenient towards Ford in this situation because he was in the middle of a mental breakdown. I mean he’s been essentially tortured for days on end, I don’t blame him for being a bit thoughtless. I think the onus was on Stan to see that and realize he needs to be the bigger person in that moment. As for the infinity sided dice though, gotta disagree about that being on Stan… who puts an incredibly dangerous object like that in a cheap plastic case in a little sack? 😂 but to be fair, that dumb choice was more just for plot purposes so the episode can happen.

Here’s a link to the post I mentioned:

And thanks again for the ask, I love the Stan twins and talking about their relationship!

[thetireddoktor]

Shamura's Origin's

Below the cut is Shamura's beginnings, what they had before their crown and some events that lead after the crown

The Beginning, the Weavers

Shamura was once part of an ancient and revered village of weavers known as the Fate Weavers, a society dedicated to maintaining the Webs of Fate—a sacred relic passed down through generations. Through their craftsmanship, the Fate Weavers wove constellations and stars into delicate strands of webbing, reading them much like tarot cards to divine the paths of mortals and gods alike.

Shamura was the child of Naru, one of the most esteemed Fate Weavers, whose wisdom and mastery made them a guiding figure in the village. From a young age, Shamura was taught the delicate art of weaving fate, learning to trace the threads with patient hands and a keen mind. As Naru’s child, their path seemed clear: tend to the web, preserve the relic, continue the legacy.

The Old God

All was well—until their relic was noticed by an old god. A being who wanted the web for themselves.

The old god threatened Naru and Shamura, demanding that she and her people serve under them, worship them, and use the Webs of Fate in their name.

Naru? She wasn’t having it.

(Note: This is before Shamura chose to go by they/them.)

"Oh, you listen to me, you overgrown dust collector. You do not get to come into my domain, speak of my child like he’s yours to take, and expect me to nod along like some meek little thing. I don’t care if you’re older than time itself, I don’t care what power you think you hold—I will personally unravel you, thread by thread, if you so much as look at him again."

"Now, be a dear and get the hell out of my village before I decide you’d look better woven into my web."

She had chosen poorly.

The old god left

The Loss

The weavers thought they were safe, they thought they were free for the time being. But they were wrong, the Old God returned with a vengeance. Their cultists tore Shamura's home, life, and family apart.

Father? Dead. Brothers and sisters? Gone. Their mother? …She foresaw this fate, so she did the only thing she could.

She set fire to the Web of Fate and sent Shamura away—to protect them. When Shamura returned, everything was gone. Ash, rubble, death. Their mother’s charred corpse, still entangled in the remains of the web, because she had chosen to die with it.

Then, they found the crown.

Perhaps it was fate. Perhaps it was the price of their suffering. But with the weight of their loss, the rage of war in their heart, they could see it. They could wield it.

They were named the Bishop of Peace.

Peace. Funny. They didn’t feel at peace. They felt hollow. Angry. Empty. And like any true teenager drowning in unchecked emotions, they let it fester. At first, building their cult was good, structured, steady. But over time, their mind warped under the weight of that festering anger, hate, and despair.

They began to whisper to their followers:

“Peace is fleeting. Hold onto it while you can… because one day, something will come to take it all from you. By the time they had their own temple, they resumed their fate weaving, just as their mother had taught them—only this time, they alone controlled the web.

As years passed, they bided their time, wove fates, and kept peace, just long enough to be useful. Once they had amassed a sizeable following (turns out, people love worshiping the concept of peace... who knew?), they began poisoning the well. They whispered darker thoughts into their followers' minds. They elevated the most ruthless among them into disciples—Focalor, Vephar, Hauras.

And while their growing army followed blindly, Shamura set their disciples to hunt.

Find the old god. The one who ruined everything.

Once they were found?

No one would stop their warpath.

Below, a sermon they would preach to their followers:

Shamura stood before the gathered faithful, draped in the heavy silence of their temple. Their gaze swept over the men and women alike who knelt before them reverently, their devotion unwavering. Fools. They inhaled deeply, exhaled slow. The weight of loss clung to them, as constant as the breath in their lungs. As constant as the memory of ash. When they spoke, their voice was calm… too calm. Beneath it, something seethed.

"Peace…" They let the word settle in the air, curling like thread between fingers. "Peace is precious, is it not? It is the warmth of the sun on weary shoulders. The feeling of home at your back. The certainty that when you wake, the world will still be yours." They tilted their head slightly, red eyes flickering in the torchlight. They let the thought hang in the air, let the people kneeling before them imagine that world, warm, safe, eternal. Let them hold onto it.

And then they shattered it.

"But peace is also fleeting."

Inhaling deeply, Shamura's many arms curled inward, fingers brushing together, tracing the shape of something no longer there. Something that had never been real, slowly they paced back and forth… One side to the other as they find their words. "I was born into peace. My mother taught me to weave it with my hands, to stitch it into the Webs of Fate, to follow the careful patterns laid by those who came before. My people believed in peace, in the balance of destiny, in the quiet hum of threads stretching across the stars. We believed it was something we could protect."

A slow, bitter smile curled at their lips. "But belief does not make something true." Their voice darkened, their fingers tightening. "One day, peace was taken."

The words were blunt. Cold. Final. Undeniable.

"I watched my home burn. I smelled the smoke rising from our sacred threads, felt the heat licking at my skin as the old god's hounds ripped through everything we had built." A pause. A breath. Their voice did not waver. "My father fell I watched from safety as he was torn apart. My brothers and sisters, gone, their threads cut before their time. And my mother…" They let the silence stretch. Let the weight of it settle over the temple like a veil of mourning "My mother did not run. She did not beg, she did not kneel, she did not let that wretched god lay claim to what was ours."

A flicker of something burned behind their gaze, something too bright, too sharp, too deep to ever be put out. "Instead, she set fire to it herself." They lifted a hand, a single finger tracing the air as if following the path of a flame. "The Webs of Fate, the work of generations, the threads that held the weight of gods and mortals alike—she burned them. She turned them to ash so that no unworthy hands could ever grasp them. She chose to die with them, rather than let him take what was never his to hold." Their jaw clenched, mandibles twitching as they swallowed back the pain. Or perhaps, the rage. "When I returned, there was nothing left. Only ruins. Only the bones of those I loved. Only my mother’s body, charred and crumbling beneath the weight of what she had given up."

Silence. Deep, aching silence.

"And in the ashes," they whispered, voice barely above breath, "I found a single thread unburnt." Their many arms flexed, fingers curling as if feeling it between them once more. "A thread that held a Crown. I should have felt peace. I should have felt purpose. I should have taken it as a sign that fate still had a place for me, that there was something left to be saved." They exhaled, slow, steady, a hand rising to gently touch the crown upon their head, its eye gazing endlessly into nothing. "But I did not." Slowly, their hand lowered, their gaze staring past their followers, at something unseen, even to them. "I felt hollow. I felt angry. I felt empty." They straightened, their many arms folding behind their back, their many eyes back on their devoted. Their voice, when it came next, was steady... too steady. "And so I tell you this: Do not mistake peace for something permanent." They let the words settle, their gaze sweeping across their followers. "It will not last. It will never last. Peace is a thread too easily severed, too easily burned. You may hold it in your hands, cherish it, weave it into your life, but one day, something will come to take it from you." Their voice did not rise, did not break. "And when that day comes," they murmured, "you will have only two choices: Let it slip through your fingers… or set fire to it yourself." A long silence. And then, a final whisper, spoken like a truth already woven into fate: "I have made my choice."

[tyrantisterror]

Wife Goals: Harley Quinn

Welcome back, fuckers. It's February, I'm in a bad way, let's talk about the unstable fictional women that I pine for, because fuck you that's why. Last time on this prolonged emotional breakdown, I talked about Ryoko Hakubi, the ancient demon space pirate from the Tenchi Muyo franchise. Today, I'll talk about someone I think we all knew would come up sooner or later - I have a whole shrine to her for fuck's sake.

Funny story - I didn't actually watch Batman: The Animated Series as a kid, despite being a child of the 90's. It, Power Rangers, and Gargoyles were the big 90's shows I just sorta bailed on (and I guess TMNT? I think of that more as an 80's show, personally, but I've seen some people lump it into 90's nostalgia too, so...). I just wasn't much of a superhero fan when I was a kid - superheroes were buff athletic masculine guys, like the bullies that picked on me, and they beat up weird-looking dudes who were obsessed with, like, monsters and spiders and shit, which I related to a lot more, so it just wasn't my scene as a kid. I had Godzilla for my hero-worship anyway, and it's hard to compete with Godzilla for my heart.

I did watch Batman Beyond, though, because it came on after Digimon and what else would I do with my Saturday morning?

Anyway, I don't think I actually saw much if any at all of BTAS until my teens. Pop culture being what it was, I was still loosely aware of Batman and his gallery of rogues, so I knew of Harley Quinn by that point, but I didn't have any particular fondness for the character yet, and even after watching some episodes she wouldn't become important to me until, like, after college.

And to understand why you kind of have to understand what was going on with Harley Quinn at the time. So, ok, Harley debuted in Batman the Animated Series, an exceptionally well-done adaptation of Batman that is specifically noted for taking the superhero comic world's devotion to maintaining a status quo super seriously. And by that I mean that essays have been written on the sort of Calivinist nature of morality in Batman the Animated Series, where if a character is a supervillain, then nothing they do, no matter how well-intentioned, will EVER allow them to break free of being evil. Poison Ivy wants to leave villainy behind and be a mother? Well, because she is Inherently Villainous, she can't help doing it in a way that involves mind control and gene splicing and crimes against humanity. Mr. Freeze wants to save his wife? Well, there's no way he can ever progress that goal without harming people with a freeze ray, and also every evil scheme he concocts to reach that end - a noble goal, mind you - will be foiled, leaving his wife still frozen on the brink of death. If you are a villain in BTAS, you will always, always, ALWAYS be a villain, no matter how hard you try to redeem yourself. The status quo MUST be maintained, no matter how tragic your situation is.

Which adds a meta-textual layer of bleakness to the already incredibly bleak life of Harley Quinn. Harley is a psychologist who fell in love with her patient, and said patient happened to be the Joker, i.e. one of the most notorious supervillains of all time. She turns herself into a supervillain to impress him, throws her career in the toilet in the process, and ends up being used as a disposable tool and punching bag by said villain over and over again. Harley suffers horrendous abuse from the Joker, commits horrible crimes to gain his favor, suffers terribly when she's caught by Batman, and basically repeats this cycle over and over and over and over again.

Because the status quo must be maintained, no matter how bleak your situation is.

It should be noted that, in the (intentional or not) Calvinist nature of the show, Harley's misery is clearly intended to be a direct result of her flaws. In Batman the Animated Series, pre-villain Harley is explicitly stated not to be a good psychologist to begin with - she was not smart enough to earn her degree honestly and slept with her teachers to raise her grades. Never ethical or talented, it's kind of treated as though her situation is her own fault for not growing as a person like she should have in the first place, which, uh... I don't think that element aged well at all, honestly.

But, luckily, Harley proved popular enough that the Batman the Animated Series take on her didn't remain the ONLY take for very long.

In fact, Harley's popularity grew so big over time that by the 2000's she got her own solo series, which came with a big problem to solve: how does Harley Quinn, a character who revolves around the Joker, who in turn revolves around Batman, work as a character without the two characters she was designed to orbit around? She's a moon, not a star, how can that work?

Well, Harley had to change, and that meant the status quo had to change.

Harley breaks up with the Joker and tries to, well, not go legit necessarily, but be a more low-profile kind of supervillain so Batman stops punching her in the face so much. More mischief and misdemeanors and less murder and manslaughter, and when she does kill someone it's, like, a serial killer or assassin, so basically fine. Because her relationship with the Joker is, like, the PICTURE of an abusive relationship, Harley becomes this picaresque figure, escaping from her chains to run free and rampant, and inviting us along for the ride.

And with that independence as a guiding theme, Harley got retooled a bit. She's always been a cheerful goofball, so it's not really out of character for her to help people now and then, albeit in a chaotic, mayhem-filled way. And hey, she has a degree in psychology - what if we just ignored the original intent and presented her as legitimately good at it? That brings a new sort of pathos to Harley Quinn, if she was a genuinely talented and dedicated person who stumbled once and paid severely for it - and it makes us invested in her quest to find some way to pull herself together after falling so hard.

And... that's kind of sympathetic, isn't it? It's hard to screw up worse than Harley Quinn did, it's hard to ruin your life more than she did, and yet here she is, still trying to pull it together in spite of that. She lives in a town so dark and depressing it has "Goth" in its name. Her ex-boyfriend is a killer clown who is infamous in-universe and out as one of the most cruel and monstrous villains of all time. Her resume consists of "psychiatrist who slept with her patient" and "moll for the most notorious serial killer alive." In many continuities she has permanently dyed her skin chalk white. You simply cannot fuck up worse than Harley Quinn has.

And yet she keeps trying. There's something heroic about that.

Harley has been beaten and abused by the man she gave up everything to be with, and yet she keeps trying. She is hated by most of the world because of her villainous past, and yet she keeps trying. She can never, EVER go back to the life she had, to the career she went to college for, to the stable, normal life she at one point wanted, and yet she KEEPS TRYING. She lives in the world of superhero comic books, where any significant change to the status quo is (almost) ALWAYS undone, where character development is considered a mistake that has to be unwritten, where redemption is impossible because once the narrative decides you're a villain that's what you will (almost) ALWAYS be...

And yet. She keeps. TRYING.

In a world that is determined to treat her as a punching bag, Harley finds a reason to smile, to hope that life will get better, to laugh and try and find love and happiness and joy. And her hope was so strong and so infectious that it changed the status quo. Harley being the Joker's punching bag hench-girlfriend used to be all she could aspire to be, but now? That's just her origin story, and she's become so much more than that.

She's a mess of Red Flags, an absolute fuckup of a human being, a terrible person, but goddammit, she is TRYING to be better, she is trying to make herself a good person, she is trying to make the world smile, and through all the shit thrown her way, she still believes in love and happiness. I don't just like Harley Quinn or crush on her the way I do with other fictional characters - I'm inspired by her. I strive to have some fraction of her resolve, her determination, her steadfast will to survive and thrive. Because if she can make it, if she can laugh so loud that the immutable law that is Comic Book Status Quo will bend for her, then dammit, any of us can do it.

...

Plus she's a hot lady in clown makeup who wears leather jackets and skin-tight acrobatic tights, I mean c'mon now almost everyone's down for that on some level

[astertimberwolf]

We're all survivors of one too many bad things happening to us. I've healed from a lot, but CPTSD still makes me feel like I'm the lonelist of all, at times... Mostly because of trust issues. It becomes so hard to trust again and so easy to become a hermit or social recluse who never wants to leave their safe space or interact with other people ever again- out of fear of being abused, hurt, let down, disappointed, etc. all over- for the umpteenth time.

I think the thing that stings the most is- knowing, deep down, that the likelihood of you finding love... AKA someone who understands you wholly, respects you, cherishes you, supports you and wants to know- and love every single part of you... Is close to none. At least for me it is- or feels that way. When people look at me, they only see my mental health issues, my quirks, my defects, my vulnerabilities- or worse yet: my past mistakes. They're not able to see that there's a complex, emotionally deep, sensitive, empathetic, caring conscious being underneath all this.

Yes, I'm autistic and have ADHD. Yes, I suffer from Complex PTSD, which can lead to unfounded anxiety or depressive bouts from time to time- and hinder my ability to socialize and connect to others... But I've got a lot of love to give as well, a past- complete with a stupid number of experiences, both good and bad... a story to tell- a personality, which, while quirky, doesn't make me repulsive or hard to be around. I've also got lots of hobbies and interests as well... In short, I'm not just another "walking, talking problem" or "NPC you can interact with". I'm a person that can add color to your life. All you have to do is take some time to get to know me. If you're not a bad person, then I don't bite at all and won't retreat into myself to safeguard my wellbeing.

Life is so short, yet so many people have been traumatized or are socially maladapted to a stupid degree because they grew up on toxic social media... Wouldn't it be amazing if it became easier to form bonds and deeper connections with people? If we learnt to communicate and respect each other more? Live in harmony despite being very different? Share laughs, good memories and find company in one-another?

I don't know if this pain is just a consequence of having CPTSD- or if it's a whole slew of generations that depended on the internet for everything and, now, don't know how to form meaningful friendships / relationships with one-another.

If we want to change things for the better, we have to start putting more time, effort and points into empathy and mutual understanding. I have... But so many people I have come across have not, and it's deeply saddening and disheartening that nobody takes the time to develop their emotional intelligence or maturity any more... I want a better world and better people...

...a better future. I'm fighting for all that, tooth and nail. But will people join my plea and fight? Can we turn this around...? Be it through investing more time in platforms where you actually have a semblance of seeing a person in front of you like VRChat- or even creating new places where people can gather and help one another?

I don't know anymore. I'm rambling at this point. But I think these are real problems that everyone is just looking away from or denying the existence of by pretending everything is fine... It really is not. Can we make this year, a year where humanity starts slowly turning around and becomes a truly social, communal species again- instead of this individualistic, narcissistic, consumeristic / capitalistic nonsense? I know the former sounds political, but it really isn't. Look at how the most popular social media platforms are designed to enrage us, manipulate us, degrade our attention, ability to function- and click on stupid ragebait and misinformation. All for the sake of targeted adverts, engagement... And at the end of the day, money. It's always about that and not people's wellbeing. Is there a way to stop this and start over? :(

believe me, it hurts like hell to face the fact no one is coming to save you.. but fighting to save yourself can give you a connection to yourself that no one else can give you. it's a feeling that honestly can't be put into words. but it's so worth sticking around for.

and this doesn't mean you have to fight alone. there will be people in your life who can help tend your wounds. give you a safe space to rest. teach you how to strengthen the parts of yourself that are injured. or simply be with you in between battles, doing all the wonderful things that make life worth living, together.

i don't know if that made sense. i just want anyone else going through it to know there is another side to the hopelessness and desperation you're feeling. maybe it won't feel like mine is. but i do hope it's just as rewarding for you. you deserve that much, and so much more.

whatever you're facing now does not have to be the end of you. keep going. i promise you're worth it.

[inkskinned]

at some point it's just like. do they even fucking like the thing they're asking AI to make? "oh we'll just use AI for all the scripts" "we'll just use AI for art" "no worries AI can write this book" "oh, AI could easily design this"

like... it's so clear they've never stood in the middle of an art museum and felt like crying, looking at a piece that somehow cuts into your marrow even though the artist and you are separated by space and time. they've never looked at a poem - once, twice, three times - just because the words feel like a fired gun, something too-close, clanging behind your eyes. they've never gotten to the end of the movie and had to arrive, blinking, back into their body, laughing a little because they were holding their breath without realizing.

"oh AI can mimic style" "AI can mimic emotion" "AI can mimic you and your job is almost gone, kid."

... how do i explain to you - you can make AI that does a perfect job of imitating me. you could disseminate it through the entire world and make so much money, using my works and my ideas and my everything.

and i'd still keep writing.

i don't know there's a word for it. in high school, we become aware that the way we feel about our artform is a cliche - it's like breathing. over and over, artists all feel the same thing. "i write because i need to" and "my music is how i speak" and "i make art because it's either that or i stop existing." it is such a common experience, the violence and immediacy we mean behind it is like breathing to me - comes out like a useless understatement. it's a cliche because we all feel it, not because the experience isn't actually persistent. so many of us have this ... fluttering urgency behind our ribs.

i'm not doing it for the money. for a star on the ground in some city i've never visited. i am doing it because when i was seven i started taking notebooks with me on walks. i am doing it because in second grade i wrote a poem and stood up in front of my whole class to read it out while i shook with nerves. i am doing it because i spent high school scribbling all my feelings down. i am doing it for the 16 year old me and the 18 year old me and the today-me, how we can never put the pen down. you can take me down to a subatomic layer, eviscerate me - and never find the source of it; it is of me. when i was 19 i named this blog inkskinned because i was dramatic and lonely and it felt like the only thing that was actually permanently-true about me was that this is what is inside of me, that the words come up over everything, coat everything, bloom their little twilight arias into every nook and corner and alley

"we're gonna replace you". that is okay. you think that i am writing to fill a space. that someone said JOB OPENING: Writer Needed, and i wrote to answer. you think one raindrop replaces another, and i think they're both just falling. you think art has a place, that is simply arrives on walls when it is needed, that is only ever on demand, perfect, easily requested. you see "audience spending" and "marketability" and "multi-line merch opportunity"

and i see a kid drowning. i am writing to make her a boat. i am writing because what used to be a river raft has long become a fully-rigged ship. i am writing because you can fucking rip this out of my cold dead clammy hands and i will still come back as a ghost and i will still be penning poems about it.

it isn't even love. the word we use the most i think is "passion". devotion, obsession, necessity. my favorite little fact about the magic of artists - "abracadabra" means i create as i speak. we make because it sluices out of us. because we look down and our hands are somehow already busy. because it was the first thing we knew and it is our backbone and heartbreak and everything. because we have given up well-paying jobs and a "real life" and the approval of our parents. we create because - the cliche again. it's like breathing. we create because we must.

you create because you're greedy.

[ccbatman]

actually so evil how much of hal's internal world gets obliterated with the rewriting of his relationships with jessica and martin.

[dbphantom]

Hate having adhd went to go work on my fallout modpack, got distracted while going to disable the steam overlay, ended up in the points shop, went to go edit my profile, decided to change my pfp, found a buried folder I forgot existed, found some old Veneer art I forgot existed, spent 45 minutes looking at all the old photos, STILL HAVE NOT TOGGLED ONE SIMPLE OPTION THAT SHOULD'VE TAKEN 30 SECONDS AT MOST

[varian212]

I came across your comment by accident, honestly. Over time, I’ve made it a habit not to follow too closely what’s being said online about the books I love; I know I’ll find opinions that will make me write way too much.

But that was my mistake, for checking the A Little Life tag. Foolish me, hoping someone had made some fan art or an interesting post. Instead, I stumbled upon what you wrote.

The following lines are not just for you but for everyone who shares your perspective. So take a seat, and don’t hesitate to respond with the same level of engagement that I’ve put into this.

I think you’re so absurd in your post, it’s almost worrying.

A Little Life is not just a book about homosexuals, Jude is not just a homosexual, and the story is not just about sexuality. It’s a book about people’s lives, with both good and bad stuff happening. And don't come here an say that there weren't any good moments, that'll only show me how your brain is fixed on one thing (hating the book) and it's blinded by everything else.

And welcome to Earth, where Hanya doesn’t need to make gay men suffer, that already happens. I invite you in Rusia for a weekend,do you know what would happen to you if,as a man,you'll walk on the streets wearing girly clothes or makeup? And I don't mean you'll get cat called; that's literally the best case scenario.

But your post only shows how privileged you are, how protected you are from what happens in this world. Turn on the TV, read articles, watch the news – do you think Hanya invented these kinds of monsters, these kinds of traumas? I assure you, no, she just wrote about them.

And what a strange thing, to bring up sexuality so much. Especially when a good part of Jude’s traumas happened when he was a child, then a teenager.

But your first concern is not "What the hell, how can she write about this kind of stuff happening to a child?" but "What the hell, this author has a fetish for gay people." As if, for you, it’s more important that Jude is gay than that he is human .

There are so many books like this but where the main characters are women and no one says anything. Guess we are already used to know about them getting raped,assaulted, beaten. Turns out it can happen to everybody.

Your empathy for gay people seems superficial, like the kind that’s only displayed on social media; never vocal in real life.

And you know what's even worse? Your audacity.

Let me tell you a little story : By chance, I am a volunteer for an organization called Save the Children.

Last week, a little girl was brought in, and I had to take care of her. Do you know what the problem was? Two soldiers entered her family house, destroyed everything, and raped her mother in front of her and her two younger brothers.

After her mother lost consciousness, they did the same to the little girl. And they did it so violently that she lost the ability to walk for the rest of her life. A few punches to the left side of her skull resulted in damage to the motor cortex, combined with strangulation, which led to hypoxic brain injuries. That’s all it takes.

I’m not saying this to shock you—I just want you to know that this is just one child out of millions of similar cases. Real life children,real life people.

Will anyone speak up about this? Probably not. Will the military court do anything about those soldiers? In the worst case, they’ll give them a few days off, and then they’ll go right back to doing the same thing.

Again, Hanya Yanagihara (cuz yeah,if you leave a hate comment,have the decency to write her name correctly) didn't invent shit. Those evil people are literally alive and well among us.

Now imagine I go to this child, look at her, and say, "You've been abused too much. What you've been through sounds dreamlike. It sounds like trauma porn, if I’m being honest."

Please read this paragraph again.

Do you see how it sounds? Do you realize how ignorant you are about everything that’s happening? How much comfort you have in your life?

Do you care so much about a woman who wrote about gay people? Why don’t I see you being just as vocal about men who have written about lesbians, white people writing about black people, healthy people writing about those with disabilities?

Why aren’t you just as disturbed by criminals writing about being victims?

Those things happen in real life too,and yet you are more concerned about a book.

Maybe this post will be read up to this point, and maybe it will wake up some of you privileged, upper-class white people commenting on your iPhone 16 Pro Max.

We don’t choose how we are born or what education we can afford up to a certain age, but at some point, it becomes our responsibility to educate ourselves.

Do you know what I do when I hate a book, an idea, or a movie? I learn absolutely everything about it. I get my information from five different sources to make sure it's reliable. I try to reason, to find opinions that contradict mine, as well as those that agree with me. In short, I become so familiar with every detail of what I'm trying to criticize that my arguments are as valid and verifiable as possible. That's what I call effort worth noticing.

If you're gonna be a heater at least pretend to be a smart one.

i could never read a little life, cus its a reminder that just like bi men in gay porn, women are infesting the whole niche of writing about gay male main characters and overrunning actual gay male writer who would love to write about actual gay male character and they also always use those gay male characters to punch down or project their own self. A little life is literally just a het woman writing about a gay man and putting him thru everything to the point it becomes just torture porn and for some even unbelievable to the point of being dreamlike. That writer (hana yanagihari) literally only writes about gay men who were raped in their childhood and suffered their whole life after, she literally wrote the same shit 3 times!!! 3!!!!! She is obsessed with having gay men suffer.

This is always a dead giveaway to me that someone doesn’t conceptualize gay men as actual people so their writing exposes them by showing how they use gay men as archetypes or plot devices to send a message or push an idea which sends me back to the heyes code cus thats their unknown undercover bible.

Like at its core there is no empathy towards gay men.