#they're so iMPORTANT

[sanctum-vii]

light

[boorrger]

the love in her eyes 🥹🫠

[ziegenkind094]

yohana my beloved

[jonasiegenthaler]

njd@nyr | 11.03.24

[thecrenellations]

“Mother, if you really have no wish to know what he wrote in there, then I will. I’ll do it myself.”

“No. We will read it together. If we have to bear another painful truth, it will be easier for us to share that burden together.”

Liyang and Jingrui, Nirvana in Fire ep. 51 (hey, I love them)

(more NiF screenshot drawings)

[allergic--to--people]

"in all timelines, in all possibilities, only you." no! w r o n g!!

It's "in all timelines, in all possibilities, only you can show me this."

Only Jayce could show him the inherent beauty of life, of imperfections and human suffering. Viktor has struggled to accept his suffering for all his life, but Jayce is the one, the only one, who can show him that there is no humanity without anguish. In every universe, Jayce teaches Viktor of love and sorrow intertwined, and the beauty of it all.

[fru1tt0ast]

I know I've kissed you before, but I didn't do it right

Can I try again, try again, try again?

[ladysnows]

META   + sara's relationship with duty and how that ties into cregan?

i'm the most asdfghjkl excited to gab about these two and more importantly how that fits into sara's own personal views of what true duty means. to do that i'll have to first unpack the importance of their relationship itself... cregan does go through a lot at a fairly young age he not only loses his brother but also becomes lord of winterfell fairly young and has to wrest that status from his own uncle. then lo and behold he gets married, loses his wife to child birth, and has to take care of not only winterfell but a newborn son. starks, more than most families, place a very deep value upon familial bonds - particularly the one between siblings. we also know that starks have a tendency to treat bastards better than most, what we hear of them is how much ( even in little accounts ) cregan truly loved his sister. when he believed jace could have sullied sara he flew into a rage and nearly killed him.

there is somewhat of an age gap between them but not necessarily a substantial one. that would factor in to him trusting her to take care of winterfell when he isn't there, his time is split between the wall and the care of his people back home, where his son also is. he needed someone he could trust to not only keep the north safe alongside him but rickon, his heir. he puts a lot of open trust in his sister and it never seems to factor in that she is a bastard.

sara is afforded the same respect and love by cregan he would give to anyone in his family. all the same choices as well.

so that's unpacked. them. because that is vital to duty. it is her privilege to serve for her brother. it's quite literally the beating heart of who sara is. and that duty exists because he's never treated her any less. in fact it's rarely spoken of that she is even a bastard except briefly.

the origin of duty for sara also begins with knowing her own family history. she believes the legends, she believes in the night's watch, and takes sending men to the wall as seriously as cregan or any other person. she also views the north as the most important part of westeros for what they sacrifice and the oaths they keep to the continued safety of the kingdom.

[coleramse]

can you tell josh not to be sad? tell him that one really good friend is more than enough and that most people don’t get that.

a softer world, the originals. 

[grapehyasynth]

I really feel tremendous grief for friendships that kind of petered away in the face of life's currents. There are people with whom I formed deep, unique, vibrant, life-changing connections, and then we had to go our separate ways and it was too hard to maintain long-distance. There wasn't a fight, it just sort of faded. And I feel like I have more friendships like this than friendships that have endured, so maybe I just have to get used to it. But if grief is all the love we have left over - well, I never did get to finish loving them. I love them, and I miss them, and I probably always will.

[sixth-light]

I have had these thoughts bubbling away in my head for like...eighteen months or so now (it will become very obvious why shortly) but the discussion in this post has pushed me to write them down: I think societally we HUGELY underestimate how motherhood for primary caregivers, particularly first-time motherhood, can be a source of vulnerability to radicalisation.

There is obviously huge cultural variance here, but for a lot of cis women becoming primary caregiver to an infant in a capitalist Western society represents a time of immense vulnerability because in general you are:

Incredibly sleep-deprived (which has well-documented knock-on effects for your judgement, mental health, etc)

If you gave birth, recovering from a significant challenge to your physical health (even in the best-case scenario)

Isolated from your previous networks and communities of people in full-time work

Completely separated from the context of your prior career goals and achievements

Under huge amounts of stress to learn how to care for an infant (don't get me started on breastfeeding)

And on top of this, you are also be experiencing a huge amount of messaging about how all this is natural, wonderful, something you're meant to do, something you should love doing, and something that you must do for the welfare of their child. It's a huge amount of pressure and life change even when everything goes right and there's very little cultural space to express negative feelings about it.

Any group of people who offer community, support, and affirmation to cis women in this situation are going to have a really good shot at radicalising them into some very weird and dangerous headspaces and in fact we see this happen all the time - think antivaxxers and TERFs. It flies under the radar because of the hazy positive glow that associates with motherhood and babies and also because we don't take the radicalisation of women seriously I guess because they rarely shoot anybody, but...yeah. It is such a vulnerable time!

[redsray]

i do love the idea of the wayne kids giving bernard shovel talks about taking care of tim and all that but also give me batfam who are just as protective of bernard as they are of each other.

give me bernard, attending his first wayne gala as tim's significant other. having a suit custom tailored and funded by bruce even if bernard insists it's not necessary because he already has one. arriving at the gala anxious because of course he is, it's a goddamn socialite event, but being protected from every side by the wayne kids even when tim is dragged away.

Socialite: Oh, and who might you be?

Bernard: Oh, um, hi. I'm Bernard Dowd, nice to meet you.

Socialite: Dowd? I've never heard of your family before. Who...?

Bernard: I'm not here with my family, miss, I'm here with my boyfriend.

Socialite: ... Boyfriend?

Bernard: Yeah, I'm here with Tim.

Socialite, frowning: Tim... as in Drake-Wayne? He has a boyfriend?

Dick, coming up next to Bernard: He sure does! Bernard here is practically one of ours now, aren't you? He matters to Timmy, so he matters to us.

Bernard: Dick—

Dick: C'mon, let's get you back to Timmy. Farewell, Mrs!

Bernard: I could've handled that.

Dick: All the rules that apply to my siblings during galas apply to you too. I'm sure you could've, but you shouldn't have to. I've got your back too, now, yeah?

Bernard: ... Yeah. Thanks, Dick.

Jason, coming up to Bernard at the bar: Not to freak you out, kid, but there's a guy starin' at ya from the other side of the bar. Y'know him or should I encourage him to look away?

Bernard, startled: Huh? (looks around) Oh. No, I don't know him. Why... is he looking at me like that, actually?

Jason, scowling: 'S just how the slimy fuckers at these events are. Can't keep their eyes off anything that's small, young or pretty. Disgusting. I'll deal with him— where's your annoying other half gone, inferior blondie?

Bernard: Tim? He got pulled away for quote; 'something important' by some lady. He said he'll meet me here after he's done, so I've been waiting.

Jason: Huh. If I see him I'll point him yer way. Hey, don't be 'fraid to ask any of us questions or for help if ya need it. We know the best how daunting this shit can be.

Bernard, genuinely touched: ... Thanks, Jason.

Jason: Yeah, yeah. Don't tell Timmers I said that, though, he'll call me a loser.

Bernard, laughing: I won't.

Bernard, being talked to by several people at once and a bit overwhelmed by the attention: Uh— I'm—

Damian, stepping between him and the socialites: Dowd. I require your assistance.

Bernard: Um— hi, Damian— with what?

Damian: You will see when we get there. Follow me, Drake's more tolerable half.

Bernard: Okay... so what do you need from me?

Damian: Nothing. You seemed to dislike the attention from all of the nosy adults over there. It was the most efficient way of extracting you from the situation.

Bernard: Oh. Thanks, Damian.

Damian: Tt, don't thank me yet, Dowd. I am still criticising your choice in romantic partners.

Bernard: Didn't you threaten me with a katana to not dampen Tim's mood in any way shape or form?

Damian: Slander. I said quote 'if you make Drake more annoying by breaking his heart I'm going to maim you.' I don't see how you got the message you did from that.

Bernard, grinning: Sure, Damian. Sure.

[flowersandfashion]

hot twink is tied up and penetrated

A Collection of Homoerotic Paintings of Saint Sebastian

Carlo Saraceni, c. 1610 /// Nicolas Régnier, c. 1620 /// Guido Reni, c. 1625 /// Nicolas Régnier, c. 1625 /// Louis Finson, c. 1613 /// François-Guillaume Ménageot, c. 1760 /// Guido Reni, c. 1615 /// Nicolas Régnier, c. 1620

[verkomy]

BIRTHDAY BOYS

[ancient-romes]

a fic i wrote at 5 am about being an alien parasite jesus allegory whose father doesn’t call enough. something we can all relate to.

(also on ao3 if you prefer to read there)

Your name is Junior.

When you get older, you’ll be told this isn’t really a name. They’ll give you real names. Real names with real meanings to them.

The Sangheili call you Jaen ‘Kelossai. A name that was destined for you. It’s meaning chosen by the gods themselves. The soul who lights the prophecy of the sword. It’s a rough translation.

The humans call you Lavernius Tucker Jr. It’s meaning doesn’t work the same way. Not a thief and a tormenter, nor a soft cloth in the spring. But instead it holds the weight of your father. A meaning just as heavy as one chosen by gods.

You just go by Junior.

You are the child of a failed prophecy. The savior of a dead religion. This makes a lot of people want you dead. You’re used to that, though. People have wanted you dead since you were born.

It makes a lot of other people want to use you. You’re used to that, too. You get paraded around for one political reason or another. One day you’ll learn what these all mean. One day you’ll make an amazing ambassador. Or so they tell you. Today you just want to outside and play.

You’re too alien, the humans say. You want to play with the other kids but you are larger than them. You have too many teeth. They’re just jealous, your father says. You don’t know if that’s true.

There are kids your size you can play with. But your father spends all the time he can with humans. And you do too.

You’re too human, the Sangheili say. They never should have let your father stay around. Never should have let him get his fingerprints on you. But they were in there from the beginning. Baked into your DNA.

And though the old gods may be dead, no one can deny that he is the sword bearer. It may just be an ancient relic. But ancient relics hold importance.

Many want to kill him for it. He doesn’t deserve something as important as that, they say. He’s human. Others respect him for it, but even they hold their breath for the day he dies. To scavenge it from his corpse.

That key was your birthright. You can use it, but it’s not yours. It holds no connection to you. It should have.

One day you’ll learn that you were supposed to kill him. To rip from his stomach and feast on his flesh. To take the key to your birthright by force.

You’re glad this didn’t happen. You don’t know if he knows. You hope he never finds out.

You’ve never met your other father. The one who’s genetic material makes up your own. He died before you were born. It makes you a little sad. But not very.

One day you’ll learn how he died. You’ll know what he did to make you. You’ll want to find his grave and spit on it. Today you hold your true father’s hand as you tell him about your schooling.

You need to go on a mission. You need to be paraded around again. It’s hot, but you have fun in the sand. They bring you home before your father; negotiations are getting more tense, and he needs to stay, and you need to leave. You need to be protected. Why doesn’t he need to be protected?

As you go, you tell him you love him. He laughs and ruffles your nonexistent hair.

You don’t hear from him for months. You ask why no one has gone to help him. No one tells you the answer.

You know the answer.

…

It’s almost a year before you hear from him. About him. He’s a fugitive now. You thought he was dead. From the way they speak, you wonder if that might have been better.

He’s stealing technology. Betraying the UNSC. Betraying the Sangheili. Betraying you. That’s what they tell you.

You don’t know if you feel betrayed.

You follow the news. Closely. Closer than any of the other kids your age. But you’re bigger than them. You have more teeth. And you wonder if you should even be with them. Your father was the one who wanted you to go to this school, wasn’t he?

News comes.

He’s not a fugitive anymore. He’s a war hero, now.

They tell you you should be proud.

You don’t know if you feel proud.

He contacts you. You feel his warmth. You missed him. He says he misses you. He tells you about his journeys. You tell him about your team. He tells you about his friends. You don’t tell him about your lack.

He’s going to come see you soon. You’re excited. You missed him.

You tell him you love him. He tells you he loves you, too.

He never comes.

…

It’s another year until you get news.

He’s a war hero again.

You thought he was dead.

You feel. Proud.

You’re supposed to feel proud, right?

You’re a great ambassador now, they tell you. You’ll tell him that, when he calls again.

You’ll wait for him to visit.

He’ll come, this time.

You’ll look at the key that was your birthright.

He’ll tell you he loves you.

You’ll think about tearing him apart with your teeth.

You’ll tell him you love him, too.