#this is not the same as each person having their own space

[scarletemeterio]

Wanting for More (Ekko x gn!reader)

Warnings: None

Genre: Fluff

Fandom: Arcane

Summary: Ekko sees you asleep and covers you with a blanket

Word count: 767

•••

You both had lost track of time, that was obvious. You two had been working on something in Ekko's workplace for a few hours, and a while ago you decided to take a break and lie down for a bit.

He'd been really concentrated in his work, but he suddenly realized he hadn't heard you in a while, so he decided to take a look at you, only to find out you'd fallen asleep. He couldn't help but smile at the sight of you, looking so peaceful and dreamy. This wasn't the first time Ekko got lost in his thoughts while staring at you, it was quite common actually, or it had been lately at least.

There was something more than just friendship between you two, you both knew that. But neither of you had the courage to do something about it, and both of you were scared, too. It seemed easier to not act on your feelings and just enjoy the relationship you already had, but the wanting for more was starting to be unbearable for him. He wanted you to be his, as much as he wanted to be yours.

No one understood him like you did, and no one supported him and trusted him like you did. You two had known each other for years now, since you were one of the first ones to join the Firelights, and from that day his life was never the same again. Ekko was genuinely happy when you were around, he saw hope in you, maybe even a future together. When you two were together, he wasn't the Firelights' leader, he was just Ekko, he could relax around you. In a world like yours, having someone like that was a privilege.

He got out of his thoughts when he realized you were curled up into a ball, clearly cold. He quickly got up and looked for a blanket, and when he found it he covered you with it. He got down to your level, next to the bed, and put a strand of hair behind your ear, putting it away from your face and leaving his hand on your shoulder. He smiled again, feeling grateful for having you in his life and being able to share these little moments.

You got a bit startled by his touch and slowly opened your eyes, seeing Ekko at eye level with you.

"Hey," you said in almost a whisper, and he replied with a shy smile. "How long have I been asleep?"

"I have no idea, I just found you a couple minutes ago", he replied, while caressing your shoulder a bit.

You still felt sleepy, but you could see how tired he was, his eyes could never lie, and definitely not to you.

"You should get some sleep, Ekko", you told him. "Here, I'll move so you can fit in here." You did as you said, leaving space for him to hop on the bed and lie down next to you. This wasn't uncommon between the two of you, but lately the tension in these moments had become obvious, even if you tried to ignore it. Still, you were so tired you didn't really care right now, you just wanted to go back to sleep.

"I should keep working."

"Just shut up and come here, working can wait." He was a very self-demanding person, but he knew you were right, so he took off his shoes and did as you said.

You ended up being face to face, and you could feel your heart beating really fast, like it was gonna explode. You closed your eyes and you rested your head on his shoulder. "Thank you for the blanket", you murmured, loud enough for him to hear.

"Anytime", he answered, wrapping his arm around you.

You closed your eyes and enjoyed his warmth and his touch, wishing you could stay like this forever. It didn't take long for you to fall asleep again, and he could tell from the way you were breathing. He gave you a little kiss on the forehead, savouring every second with you in his arms.

"You mean the world to me", he whispered. He imagined sleeping like this every night and couldn't help but smile. He knew life was hard and that the world was dangerous, but he also knew he couldn't live in fear and put a stop to his own life just to help and save others. He knew he had to tell you how he felt, and find a bit of hope with you amongst all the chaos that surrounded you.

•••

okay so this is my first arcane post. i haven't written in a while so i'm a bit rusty and english is not my first language, but i hope you enjoy this!

requests are officially open for arcane characters, you can check my rules in my profile!

[blaire-apricity]

Hello I just wanted to say your a wonderful writer and I really like your fics and I just wanted to request for all the boys if you could some headcanons on how they'd react to a widow reader/MC like it'd interesting to think about a reader that actually was previously in love deeply with someone else and they got married to this person but due to some tragic circumstances this person ended up dying you can choose the cause of death whether it be an accident or sickness or something else entirely like how do you think they'd react to knowing that the reader loved someone else before them ? Like what if the reader is still in grief over there dead partner like they want to start a new relationship but they feel guilty how would they comfort them and such ?

Love Beyond Loss

ʟᴀᴅs ʙᴏʏs x ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ

ᯓ❅ ┆ synopsis┆ : How would the LADS boys react to you still in grief over your previous partner?

ᯓ❅ ┆ tags┆ : head canons, slight angst, comfort & possible OOC

──────────────── ˗ˏˋ ❅｡˚ ☁︎ ˚｡⋆｡˚☽ ˎˊ˗ ────────────────

𝐗𝐚𝐯𝐢𝐞𝐫

Xavier didn’t mind that you’d loved someone before him; what mattered to him was that you were with him now.

What did trouble him, however, was seeing you still consumed by grief for your previous partner.

Each time he caught you gazing off with that same half-lidded, guilty look, his heart ached.

He longed to lift your spirits, to see you smile fully again, radiating like the stars he admired.

During your breakdowns or moments of doubt about your relationship, he was always there, steady and present.

“I’m here for you,” he’d remind you softly, pulling you into his arms. His face would nuzzle into your hair as he breathed in your familiar scent, offering you the comfort you needed.

. . ────────────── ❅ ⁺.

𝐙𝐚𝐲𝐧𝐞

Being a widow didn’t bother Zayne; your past love was a part of you, and that only deepened his understanding of you.

As a doctor, he’d seen the weight of grief many times and knew how overwhelming the process could be.

He never forced physical closeness, respecting your boundaries unless you sought it or he sensed you desperately needed it.

Despite wanting to hold you close, he understood the importance of giving you space to process your emotions.

“Take your time,” he’d murmur gently, his voice soothing as his hand stroked the side of your head with quiet affection.

Zayne never rushed your healing; instead, he patiently offered the time and space you needed to move forward.

. . ────────────── ❅ ⁺.

𝐑𝐚𝐟𝐚𝐲𝐞𝐥

It was selfish of him, but Rafayel couldn’t help feeling a pang of sadness knowing someone else had held your heart before him.

He had waited years—decades—for you, and though he wanted your love entirely, he knew better than to let those feelings cloud his actions.

At first, he struggled with seeing you lost in thought, your gaze far away in a place he couldn’t reach. But when he saw your grief—the tears streaming down your face—it shattered him.

His own selfish desires seemed trivial compared to your pain; he just wanted to ease the sorrow that weighed so heavily on you.

Though you were slowly moving forward, he knew it wasn’t easy. He admired your strength and vowed to support you through it all.

“I’m never leaving you,” he reassured you in a quiet, steady voice. “You’ll always have me.” His words carried the weight of someone who deeply understood the pain of loss.

. . ────────────── ❅ ⁺.

𝐒𝐲𝐥𝐮𝐬

Despite his arrogance, Sylus was surprisingly perceptive and emotionally attuned—especially when it came to you.

You couldn’t hide anything from him: the faint strain in your voice, the forced curve of your smile. He saw through it all, and that’s why you finally opened up to him.

Loving him felt natural, but guilt lingered, knowing a part of your heart still mourned your previous partner’s absence.

Before you even said a word, Sylus already seemed to sense your turmoil. When you poured out your feelings, his response was a soft, knowing chuckle.

“Why are you worried? You’re here with me now, aren’t you?” His words felt dismissive at first, but you soon realized it wasn’t indifference—it was certainty.

Sylus was unwavering in his commitment. He didn’t shy away from your grief or try to compete with your past. He was willing to wait, to love you fully and fiercely, no matter how long it took.

In his own way, he made sure you knew: you had his support, his patience, and his heart.

──────────────── ˗ˏˋ ❅｡˚ ☁︎ ˚｡⋆｡˚☽ ˎˊ˗ ────────────────

╰｡ Author's Note: This took me a while to fulfill- Aaaahhh. I've been spending time with my friends during my free time that I couldn't find much time (and motivation) to write. ( ⸝⸝´꒳`⸝⸝) Also thank you for the compliment! I also found out that you've taken a hiatus, I hope everything goes well over there! (૭ ｡•̀ ᵕ •́｡ )૭

To anyone that's interested, here's the link to mentioning list. ٩(ˊᗜˋ*)و ♡

╰｡ Tagging: . ݁˖ . ݁ @slitheringwaves . ݁˖ . ݁ @clairestella

[drmaddict]

Black Sheeps Together

Summary: (Y/n) and Aegon have always been the black sheeps of the family. But they have each other.

Word Count: 827

Author's note: just fluff, no plot, nothing, just comfort for the author of having someone to be fucked up together with

They both sat silently at the table, looking listless into space.

They had endured the usual expressions of disappointment from there families.

Aegon reached for his wine cup with stubborn eyes. She twisted her wedding ring on her finger and looked at the flickering candle in front of her.

She was too volatile for her family. She was interested in too many things at the same time and now had a wide-ranging but sporadic knowledge. He was only interested in things that were not valuable at court.

No one saw any talent in them. Not even their mothers.

Rhaenyra and Alicent had been furious when they found out about them.

Sir Arryk had found them both. Intertwined and loving each other. They were the black sheep of the family. Always had been. It bound them together. It united them. It created an understanding and it created a home. They knew that the other understood. They knew they could find a safe place in each other.

Their mothers only saw the shame they almost brought upon the house. Back when they were children of ten and seven and ten and five, they decided they would marry. That Aegon would not follow his mother's plan and marry Haelena. Back then, when they found their way to each other in the night and consummated a marriage, that had not yet existed. Back then, when they saw their hope in each other.

The world now only saw (Y/n)'s inability to give Aegon a son after her womb was broken following the birth of her first child, her daughter.

They both sat in the hall and ate with the others. Even though Aegon drank more than he ate and (Y/n) dwelled more on her thoughts than dwelling in reality.

Only his hand managed to bring her back to the here and now.

Her eyes rested on his violet irises, which looked at her, exhausted and sad.

She smiled sadly. He squeezed her hand. He leaned towards her.

"I would rather sleep in a latrine of flea bottom, than listen to even one more eulogy to Lucerya and Aemond."

She smirked. She quickly pressed her lips together to suppress her grin. "They're almost as pleasant to endure as the fish from that yellow tavern.", she smirked.

Aegon chuckled. "Mother really thought you were pregnant again."

"She'd think the sun was rising in the west, too, if it meant she could still hope for an heir of yours."

Aegon grinned. "And they say we're naïve."

She brought his hand to her lips and pressed a soft kiss to it. "So we are... Just not when it comes to matters of the marriage bed.", she smirked.

Aegon bit his lip, but then shook his head with a grin. "Is Jaehaera already in bed?", he asked.

"I want to check on her when this boring play here is over. I don't think she'll be ready for bed by then. You know that if you try to force her into it, she won't sleep at all."

Aegon kissed her forehead. "I can read something to her.", he murmured.

She closed her eyes. Savouring the feel of his lips. "She loves your stories."

He smiled. But his eyes became cloudy again. "Sometimes I wish she could stay like this forever."

"Defiant and smart-aleck?"

That did make him smile. "Safe and uninteresting for the rest of this table... And defiant and smart-aleck... Only she can drive Aemond to despair with a single word."

She giggled. "She just knows that the poison is in the dose. She could drive a maester with a necklace of pure gold to despair, if she asks 'why' often enough."

Aegon smirked.

Later that evening, after their daughter slept ,after being promised an outing with Sunfyre and Aegon in the morning, they lay in their bed, enjoying the silence without any comments on their person.

"Do you think she'll be better?", murmured Aegon into her hair.

She turned her face towards him and nudged his nose with her own. "What do you mean?"

"Jaehaera... Do you think they'll like her more than us? Do you think she... will be better than us?" His eyes were closed, but the small crease between his eyebrows betrayed his sadness.

She put her arms around his body and pulled herself close to him. "I don't know if they'll see how wonderful she is. We can only hope."

"Hmm." he grumbled and snuggled more into his wife's embrace. "Do you think we'll ever do anything right?"

She left the question unanswered for a while. Aegon was beginning to think she'd fallen asleep when she mumbled her answer. "We could try something that no one in this family has ever done before."

"And what would that be?"

"We could just try to be good parents."

Aegon sighed with a grin. "We can try." He kissed her on the forehead, realizing, that their marriage was the best decision they'd both ever made.

[novlr]

I’m just starting out with writing, and I really want my characters to feel different from each other. How do I make sure they have their own unique voices so my readers can tell them apart?

Experiment with character dialect

Dialect refers to the language people use when they speak: their accent, their slang, their regional or generational vernacular. When we think of “dialect”, we often think of things like “y’all” or “yer man” or “innit” — clichéd indications of place. You can definitely use these in your story, but also challenge yourself to go deeper.

Dialect can be a result of generational trends — you’ll notice that today’s teenagers don’t talk the same way their parents or grandparents do! Words fade in and out of fashion all the time. They can also be tied to a particular industry or subculture. When developing each character’s unique voice, consider what kind of slang or specialised language they might incorporate into the way they speak. 

Vary your characters’ syntax

Syntax has to do with the way we structure our sentences. Some characters will use only short, compact sentences, while others will ramble for miles. Some will always use grammatically correct language, while others will speak in fragments. 

A useful exercise is to write a conversation between two characters who use very different syntax in the way they talk. You can take their different approaches to the comical extreme until you get a sense of their different voices, and then dial it back and incorporate their individual syntaxes with more subtlety.  

Consider your characters’ word choices

There are very few true synonyms in the English language; each word has its own distinct connotation and tone. For example, one character might describe themselves as loquacious, while another describes them as a motormouth. Or, they might describe an authority figure as derisive, while the other character says they’re mean. 

The words a character lands on in any given situation can communicate a lot about how they see the world and themselves. 

Put your characters in moments of conflict

Conflict, tension, and suspense reveal who your characters really are. One character might become loud and aggressive, while another shuts down and speaks only in quiet monosyllables. Sometimes, a character’s voice contrasts the words they’re saying (you can communicate this through dialogue and action tags); for example, if a character says, “I’m not afraid!” in a strained, rattling voice, that belies their fear. 

As an exercise, try writing an argument between two of your characters and explore how the tension changes the way they speak. Then, you can incorporate this into your story.

Don’t neglect body language

On that note, a big part of a character’s distinct voice is the way they behave when they talk. You can convey this through action tags (“She hugged herself tight as she spoke”) or through descriptions surrounding the dialogue. 

Look at how your character holds themself — do they sprawl, taking command of the space, or do they try to make themself disappear? Do they only half-listen to the person talking to them, or do they make them feel like they’re the centre of the world? The way you communicate body language to the reader will inform the way they hear that character’s voice.

Read your work out loud

When you’ve finished the first draft of a story, it’s always a good idea to read your work out loud. This helps you catch any misused words, typos (the age of autocorrect is notorious for this), or inauthentic speech. You don’t have to let anyone hear you while you do this — it’s simply a tool for you as the writer to get a better sense of how your words come across on the page.

When you read, listen to each character’s dialogue and check to make sure it sounds true to that particular character. If you can’t tell the character voices apart, you may need to create a little more distinction through your revision process, using the tools we looked at above. 

Listen to character voices in the wild

A great way to develop your ear for character voices and get inspired along the way is to listen to the way real people talk. Go to a public park, a café, or a marketplace and stealthily absorb the language people use to express themselves. See if you can get a sense of what they’re thinking and feeling underneath their words. Then, you can incorporate elements of these experiences into your characters. 

Remember — human beings are unfathomably complex. Each is the epicentre of their own little universe, with all its dangers and joys. To create characters that readers will follow to the end, ensure that each one has a voice that’s unique and alive. 

[umlewis]

From the Racetrack To Space: IWC Schaffhausen and the Polaris Program Give Lewis Hamilton Astronaut Flight Training

Schaffhausen/Qatar, 26th November 2024: In a compelling new short movie produced by IWC Schaffhausen, Mercedes-AMG Petronas Formula One Team driver Lewis Hamilton embarks on a flight training for astronauts. The same training was used to prepare the crews of the Inspiration 4 and Polaris Dawn commercial human spaceflight missions. During the training day, the seven-time Formula 1 world champion and IWC brand ambassador was accompanied by students from Dibia DREAM, a non-profit organisation fostering STEM education. Their presence is also a reminder of Lewis Hamilton's own incredible career journey spanning more than three decades and sends an inspiring message: you can be anything you want in life – a pilot on the racetrack, in the air or even in space.

One of the most successful racing drivers of all time, Lewis Hamilton is a multifaceted personality whose interests and ambitions extend far beyond his sport. The seven-time Formula 1 world champion is deeply fascinated by space and human space exploration. He has visited renowned space training facilities and repeatedly expressed his desire to take part in a space mission in the future if it serves a purpose and contributes to the betterment of all humanity. IWC Schaffhausen now teamed up with the Polaris Program and its Philanthropy Director and instructor pilot, John "Slick" Baum, to offer Lewis Hamilton an opportunity to experience the flight training that is part of the organization's programme of preparing astronauts for space. The Polaris Program, which is supported by IWC, recently completed the first of three human spaceflight missions. During their five days in orbit, the Polaris Dawn crew wrote history by successfully performing the first commercial spacewalk.

FLIGHT TRAINING IS ESSENTIAL FOR ASTRONAUTS

Fighter jet training has been at the heart of human spaceflight since the beginning. All early astronauts were fighter jet pilots, and experience in piloting a jet was an essential requirement for going to space. Flight training was also a key pillar in the preparation of the Inspiration 4 and Polaris Dawn crews for their missions. While the g-loads experienced in a jet or a rocket cannot be directly compared, as they affect the body in different ways, jet training still offers compelling benefits for astronauts. Most importantly, it allows the crew members to familiarise themselves with operating in a high-risk and high-consequence environment, similar to what they would experience during launch. While they are pressed down into their seats by several times their own body weight, they have to communicate with each other, go through extensive technical checklists, and monitor critical flight parameters – all while being mentally aware of their surroundings and prepared to act in case something unexpected should happen.

A COMPLETE SEQUENCE OF TRAINING MANOEUVRES

Lewis Hamilton's space training kicked off with an extensive briefing and inspection of the L-39 Albatros jet. John "Slick" Baum gave Hamilton a detailed overview of the manoeuvres they would fly and how they simulate different situations an astronaut experiences during a spaceflight. During their subsequent discovery flight lasting almost one hour, Hamilton and his instructor performed a series of manoeuvres. They practiced accelerations and decelerations to experience lateral g-forces, simulating the ascent of a rocket. They also practiced higher g-loads by banking or pitching the aircraft hard. A highlight was flying a parabola figure for a zero-g demonstration, during which Hamilton briefly experienced the feeling of weightlessness. A racing glove, which eventually began to float freely in the cockpit, was used as a zero-g indicator. In flight, the F1 pilot pulled a maximum of 7.5 g, which is more than astronauts typically experience on ascent. Hamilton wore a dedicated race suit featuring a "space mission" patch with his car number 44. He will wear the same suit during this weekend's race at the Lusail International Circuit in Qatar.

DIBIA DREAM STUDENTS SEND A POWERFUL MESSAGE

The training was also attended by a group of students from Dibia DREAM. This nonprofit organisation sparks social change through STEM education and recreational activities for underserved youth and has impacted the lives of 40,000 students across 32 states and twelve countries. The students spent the entire day engaging in a variety of activities related to space exploration. They also got a chance to meet with Hamilton and ask him questions prior to take-off. Their presence served as a powerful reminder of Hamilton's incredible journey, from his humble beginnings in karting at the age of eight to becoming one of the most acclaimed drivers in the history of motorsport. As the students cheered alongside the runway, they sent an uplifting message to youths around the world: you can be anything you want in life – whether it is a racing driver, a pilot, or even an astronaut.

[wm-mor]

EXACTLY THIS!! MINI RANT BELOW:

my thoughts began with these look alike competitions, everyone is just doing them and not putting any real thought into them.

not that the goal is to get ur person to show up, but no one is planning them with the care and time that they were able to plan timothee’s with. they just want to put themselves into that space, but where they are, which doesn’t always work.

but then it made me think of today’s trends and how i feel like the same thing happens with pintrest and people i see sometimes these days aren’t thinking of their own outfits. they’re seeing the blueprint and copying it brick by brick.

i see all the time on tiktok one of those “so ****** girls what are we doing/wearing/being this year” and it’s so sad but so concerning to think that you have to exist as something specific to be satisfied. how about we just go with the flow?

genuinely though, i’m concerned for the future of fashion and the thought process of these next generations. like i said, i will see an outfit on pintrest end up copied and pasted onto people on ig, and i never treated that app as a blueprint but as my muse.

as an example, as we all know maroon/red and cheetah print are really in right now but that doesn’t mean we should all go out and adhere to its charm. i just went on pintrest and this was the first thing i saw 😭

THERES NO PROBLEM WITH BEING ON TREND BUT i want you to imagine a world or even this outfit with other color/style combos. In a world of red and cheetah print, you might be a purple and tiger print and that’s okay ‼️

if we all thought things out more and made them more unique, we wouldn’t fall out of our trends so quickly. we’re limiting ourselves as a society trying to keep up with each other esp when that’s not feasbale!!

what happened to originality??⋆.ೃ࿔*:･🍬💕

social media is so helpful and is overall a positive thing in my opinion, but if we're not self aware i think that it can get to a point where u find urself parakeeting memes and stuff u see on social media and it starts to BECOME you.

and i think its so disheartening to see people band wagon on the next biggest trend and look to social media to find out who they are and what their personality is and how they should be. when it gets to that point ur like a copy and paste of everyone else and originality gets lost in the process.

it’s okay to like trends and participate in them, but let them be things that reflect who you already are, not who you think you should be. thats all ✍🏽🎀

[the-oblivious-writer]

A Tragic Attraction

Sam Carpenter x Reader

Drabble

Summary: Some bodies have more to say after death than most have to say during life but you and Sam aren’t most people.

Warning(s): Talks of dead people (reader’s a pathologist and Sam’s a trauma nurse), no dialogue, and no pronouns

Notes: In short, you and Sam match the other’s freak

The shadows of the pathology lab felt familiar, almost comforting. Fluorescent lights flickered overhead, casting a clinical glow across stainless steel surfaces where scientific precision met something deeper—something more primal. Your fingers traced the edge of a tissue sample, understanding its secrets the way others might read a lover's diary.

Sam would understand. She always understood.

The bodies that passed through your hands were more than just cases. They were narratives interrupted, stories with jagged edges that didn't quite resolve. You recognized the marks of violence not with horror, but with a clinical curiosity that sometimes unsettled even yourself. Each examination was a careful deconstruction, mapping trauma with the same meticulous attention you applied to your relationship with Sam.

Trauma nurse. Those words held a peculiar resonance. Sam didn't flinch at human fragility—she restored, repaired, reconstructed. Her hands moved with a practiced grace that suggested she understood brokenness intimately. Not just professionally. Personally.

You'd catch her sometimes, staring into middle distance, her expression revealing something beneath the surface. A darkness that mirrored your own, though neither of you had ever directly acknowledged it.

Connection wasn't always about sharing everything. Sometimes it was about understanding the unspoken—the careful choreography of revealing just enough while protecting the most vulnerable parts of oneself.

Your world was one of careful measurements: tissue samples, wound trajectories, the precise mathematics of human vulnerability. Sam's world was similar—bodies on the edge, restoration as an art form. You both understood that healing and harm existed on a spectrum far more nuanced than most could comprehend.

When you looked at each other, there was recognition. Not just of love, but of something deeper. A shared understanding that some darkness could be contained, studied, perhaps even transformed.

Not everyone could live with this kind of intimacy. Not everyone would understand that your love wasn't about conventional tenderness, but about a profound mutual comprehension of human complexity.

The night continued, holding space for all the stories left unspoken.

[genderqueerdykes]

genuine question about some identities

why do you think theres so much hate for people who are afab/amab and are also trans women/men, those who are cistrans and multigender people?

ive noticed that when you tell certain queer people you'd think wouldn't be exclusionist that your gender is funky and you're trans bc of it, they begin to use your assigned sex and your biology against you because "you can't be a trans woman if you have a uterus, ur just feminine".

its the same argument as conservatives make it. why is there so much hate?

ppl don't acknowledge my individual genders but instead see how they work alongside each other. ppl don't see me as a trans woman when my gender is woman but will acknowledge me as a trans man because of my sex traits.

these are some very important questions to ask, i appreciate you for sending this ask

i honestly think more people are becoming indoctrinated into transmedicalist and gender critical thinking without realizing it, and it's becoming dangerous. people want to inherently label an afab transfem and/or an amab transmasc as liars, people who are spitting in the faces of others, and shouldn't be a part of our community. other people make assumptions about others' experiences based on their own and don't understand that there is an entire world outside of their perspective, and that world is full of experiences they have no hope of understanding, but can simply accept.

i've gotten a lot of questions about whether afab trans women and amab trans men can exist, it's definitely a hot button issue right now, and i agree with you. if you ask me, afab trans women and amab trans men deserve to have a platform to speak from. if someone genuinely believes their identity is trans no matter what their AGAB is- who the hell am i to stop them? it's important for afab trans women and amab trans men to not speak over their other siblings and try to speak for what it's like to be intersex or an amab trans woman/afab trans man. but that doesn't mean that these people can't exist- they deserve the right to talk about their experience, because it exists alongside the experiences of amab trans women and afab trans men. they're not fighting with each other, they're unique experiences that belong under the same umbrella.

at the end of the day, someone standing there being an afab trans woman, an amab trans man, or a cistrans person is not hurting anyone. the identity itself will hurt no one. ignorance about what other trans people experience is dangerous, and so is speaking over others, but these identities in and of themselves are not harming anyone. it is very possible to go "i don't understand how that works, but if that is how they identify, then i will respect that."

between people becoming indoctrinated into radical feminism and people who are proudly adopting gender critical politics, there is a schism in our communities that don't need to be there. people think they need to "weed out the fakes" in order for us to be accepted by cishet society, which is just not how any of this works. we can't cast aside the queers who are "too weird" or "not really queer" in order to try to make the rest of the community look legitimate

this community has always been here for people whose identities don't line up with the cisheteronormative binary. it doesn't matter what someone's AGAB is- i mean, isn't that the point of the trans community? are we not the "i don't give a shit about your AGAB, i want to know who you really are" community? it's become honestly scary to see how focused the queer community has become on AGAB. people are utterly obsessed with trying to figure out the AGABs of strangers in order to deny them access to queer spaces or kick them out of spaces they rightfully belong in

and it bothers me deeply that people police the identities of multigender people beyond belief. it's like having 1 trans identity is okay but if you dare to have more than one, you're not really queer or whatever. cistrans people, multigender people who are cis, trans wo/men who consider both their manhood and womanhood trans no matter what their AGAB is, transfemmasc/transmascfem people... these identities belong and yet people proudly and gladly wake up every day to do conservatives' jobs for them.

whenever you police another queer person's identity, no matter what your intention is, good, bad or something else- you are doing conservatives' jobs for them. you are not preserving our community. you are not keeping identities sacred or safe or whatever the hell. you're gladly sucking up to our oppressors and spreading their propaganda. it's disturbing how people don't realize this

thank you for taking the time to send this ask, i agree with you 100%. this behavior has gotten out of control and it's time for people to wake the fuck up and realize they've been indoctrinated into transmedicalism, radical feminism, and being gender critical. this isn't the "right" way to behave. it's antithetical to the very foundations of the queer community.

[youronlinedadsblog]

TW:- Stalking,rape

On an ordinary day, as you geared up for the usual work routine, the doorbell's ring jolted you from the everyday humdrum. Intrigued, you opened a package to find a set of unsettling pictures of you. They weren't just any photos - they were snapshots of your own home, from your bedroom to the living room and even the bathroom. It was like someone had been snooping around your life without you knowing. Someone had been stalking you.

Mixed in with these creepy photos was a letter that gave off some seriously creepy vibes. It spoke of someone watching you closely, almost like a silent companion in your personal space. The words painted a picture of a mysterious figure who seemed to know a bit too much about your private moments. He's seen you rubbing your cunt to disgusting rape porn. He knows how much of a pathetic slut you are

A shiver ran down your spine as you read the letter, a mixture of fear and an unexpected thrill coursing through you. A puzzling sensation of arousal washes over you, leaving you perplexed by its unexpected presence.

Your entire workday was a series of fantasies, each moment consumed by vivid thoughts of what he might do to you. After leaving the workplace, you headed homeward, yet a constant fear lingered, worrying that unseen eyes might be keeping watch on your every move.Entering a state of submission, a mix of fear and a hint of arousal washes over you. These scenarios have been the stuff of fantasies, but reality hits unexpectedly. You grasp the situation, realizing there's no recourse but to embrace the unfolding events. You put on the sluttiest outfit you own.Fear gripped you as you stood there, anxiously anticipating the arrival of your stalker.

Your mind is abuzz with conflicting thoughts: fear and panic on the one hand, and excitement and anticipation on the other.

After waiting a long time, the sound of footsteps coming from your back startled you. As the footsteps get louder, your body begins to quiver with anticipation. The door swung open, and before you can react, a man clad in black entered. As you turned around to run, he caught your arms and dragged you onto the floor. You try to scream, but he covers your mouth with his hand, rendering you helpless.

As he unzips his pants and takes out his dick, the only thing on your mind is, "I'm going to be fucked by a stranger. I'm going to be raped."

You were terrified of what might happen. However, at the same time, the idea of being taken advantage of in this manner was exciting. The thought of giving up control and submitting to his will, becoming a helpless slut for him to use as he pleases, made you wet. You were conflicted, yet you didn't care. You didn't have a choice anymore.

His cock slid into your dripping cunt. As he pounded you hard, your body writhed uncontrollably, the pleasure building up as his cock rubbed against your sweet spot. His grunts and moans were a sign of his approaching orgasm. As his cum flooded your womb, you came, too, squirting all over his cock.

Your first time having sex was with a man you don't know. He had violated you and impregnated you without your permission. Yet, it was the most enjoyable fuck of your life.

"You're a great fuck, and you're going to make a wonderful mother. I've always wanted a child."

Those were his parting words, leaving you dumbfounded. You couldn't believe what had just happened, but it was the truth. You'd just had your first fuck and had been impregnated by a man you didn't know.

It had been a strange experience. You'd felt violated, but also, in a strange way, fulfilled. It was like something you'd been missing your whole life had suddenly been filled.

[samodivaa]

prolonging of desire

Bodyguard!Bucky x Reader: He is your life since childhood—but he can't protect you from his own desires anymore. He wants to tell you that he is quitting, but your boyfriend has ended things with you. Bucky can't bear to shatter your heart on the same day your ex does(requested)

Warnings: slight angst, hurt/comfort, sexual tension, masturbation (m), down bad, but why not

Your soft laugh, utterly feminine sound that galvanizes all of his senses. Your sweet, sinful energy which shimmers from you―some primitive male instincts warns him of your innocence��like a bloom on a vine, fragrant and dainty. He scowles―don’t pinch it off. His heart knows no peace, because everything is wrong with developing feelings for you. But there is a charm about the forbidden that makes it unspeakably desirable. You are forbidden. He needs to leave this house today.

Bucky wants to finally quit his job as your bodyguard, but he can’t bring himself to do it. In some twisted way, he almost enjoys protecting you, even though you’re not that little girl he used to know anymore. It is inappropriate to work like this and way out of the bounds of professionalism, he is teetering on the edge of sanity―but he has decided to tell you today that he is leaving.

A loud, persistent knocking sound echoes through his room. He grips his armrests, one white-knuckled hand, when he hears the turning of the handle, the door creaking open, and you stepping into his room. You stand for some time in the doorway as though hesitating, then you step softly into the room, brightly lighted up at that moment by the setting sun. With a rapid glance you scan everything in the room, trying as far as possible to notice and remember its arrangement, because this is your first time being here. But there is nothing special in the room. The furniture, all very old, consists of a sofa, an oval table in front of the sofa.

   “I’m here” You say, leaning back against the wall right next to the door, wrapping your arms around your chest, speaking carefully, as though to avoid slurring. You watch him fill his glass, then he empties it and pauses. The man steals a look at you from under his brows and he looks at you attentively, deliberately, then he looks down at his cup. This is so fucked up. You are visible in distress and he is fantasizing about fucking you in his own room―on his own bed. It’s not his fault since the only person who makes his cock rock hard is you. When your eyes meet his gaze as you are standing there staring at each other, time stops. He is sitting on the chair, his suit jacket lay carelessly open, white button-up beneath, no tie. Those eyes are piercing yours, and you can swear at this moment he senses the real you. The one without the attitude, without the facade. Bucky’s eyes are so intense you want to look away…or never look away. He is gazing mysteriously at you, blue eyes flickering with worry. Bucky knows you well, he knows that behind those eyes there is a girl trapped within her pain―a girl feeling all the emotions of anger and sadness.   “You’ve got that look.” Bucky notes at last, but in a curiously quiet voice. 

   “What look?”   “That look that says you’re about to tell me something you don’t want to.” Your legs feel suddenly weak, a cold shiver runs down your spine, and your heart seems to stand still for a moment, then suddenly begins throbbing as though it is set free. He always notices. Your eyes narrow slightly as you process his statement. Bucky gets up and he is keenly aware of every movement, every breath he takes as he nears you and it is then that you have become aware of him invading your personal space. You tilt your head, face pensive, with a shadow of a smile ghosting your mouth:   "I don’t feel like talking to you at all today.”

His chuckle is soft, humorless. His toothy grin and eyes send a shiver down your spine, and the foul stench of alcohol on his breath only adds to your unease. He never drinks while working.

“You wouldn’t have come if that was true,” he murmurs, voice dropping a fraction lower. “What happened?” Bucky is not used to crowds, he avoids society of every sort. But now all at once he feels a desire to be with you. Something new seems to be taking place within him lately and it frightens him, with it he feels a sort of thirst for your company. You look repeatedly at his face, because he is staring persistently at you, obviously anxious to enter into conversation for some reason which you don’t know.   “Tell me what’s bothering you, kotyonok.” 

He chuckles and takes a step towards you, bending his head close to yours so you get another whiff of the alcohol clinging to him. Then he plants his forearm on the wall above your head and his hand by the side of your face, caging you in. You swallow the lump in your throat. Eye contact. You peek up at his features, at the crooked grin, at the color in his eyes you’d use to paint a million pictures. His eyes flicker to your lips for just a second, and your pulse drops into a vat of gasoline. Holding eye contact with him feels like a deadly game. Like Russian roulette—the kind of eyes that see straight into a person’s soul, stripping past layers of elaborate lies to reach the truths underneath. His beautiful features offer themselves to your gaze as you trail through them, annoyed at how attractive he is. You feel stuffy, there is not enough air to breathe as your eyes stare at his lips for a few moments. He is tall enough that he has to dip his chin to meet your gaze. You can’t move or think under that stare. A cold sweat spreads through you as you stare at the single hickey on his neck. Oh. Reality is crushing. Embarrassment courses through you and you swallow the lump in your throat, hesitating a second while you decide what to say: 

   “He broke up with me” You say with a trembling, timid tone, but with the air of absolute truth of your words. You continue to stay still in your place, looking at him with a strange, bewildered expression, as though you are trying to collect your thoughts, and can’t. It goes silent for a moment, his eyebrows rise  “What? Why?” and then his imploring tone becomes a cold, hard fact. He sounds so serious, that it actually makes you believe him. He wants to care about your relationship, but he doesn't. He never did. He desired for a long time to have his reasons for liking your boyfriend, but there was not even one. You never had a problem with talking, but with Bucky’s full attention on you, you find anything you want to say caught in your throat and you search for your voice, as it seems to lose itself in this close proximity. Your mind swirls with a dozen different responses, but the one that comes out is not the one you’ve intended to say at all:

   “I’ve wasted 2 years of my life for nothing,”  the words slip past your lips without thought and you press them together, his gaze inadvertently drops to your mouth   “J-just tell me why you called me here. You've never let me into your room before.”

   “Nothing important, don’t worry about it,” He is clearly drunk, but speaks fluently and boldly, only occasionally losing the thread of his sentences and drawing his words. But Bucky is always cool and calculated, from how he moves to how his gaze settles on you, though something so alive plays in his eyes—the urge to kiss is so strong it itches beneath his skin.

   “It was always the same anyways,”  you whisper, hesitating a second  “He was always distant and so selfish–” you chew on your lip, not knowing what compels you to explain such details to him.   “Nonsense,”  he cuts in  “You always said that he is the love of your life” he hisses, speaking through his teeth, looking over at you from beneath his dark lashes with an eye full of derision, and you can’t help but note the way he hasn’t taken his eyes off you in you don’t even know how long.   “I don't know why I loved him, I feel so pathetic.” your voice wobbles at the end.

He doesn’t look away from your face, but you glance at him before you look away. Your eyes are full of fire, burning with the desire to cry, as he stares directly into your soul as you try to calm yourself, take hold of things. Your stomach lurches—your heart pounds, your chest hurts from deep, rags breaths as you desperately gulp air, trying to remain composed. Your eyes are already burning with unshed tears but you try to force yourself to smile at him. Shock—pure shock flashes across his features at whatever he sees on your face, he is intrigued by the smile upon your face, and the sadness within your eyes.   “Oh, kotyonok,” A Russian accent and sadness touches his voice, the heavy, empathetic look in his eyes tighten your stomach like the click of a trigger, silent tears spill over your cheeks and you curse yourself for crying in front of him, but you don’t stop them, boiling hot then instantly freezing on your face, and what is the point in wiping them off when a broken heart bleeds tears— “Come here, share with me your tears.”  he says gently as he puts his arms around you which makes you loved when you're don’t feel so lovable. Protectiveness washes over him as you press your face into his chest. Bucky’s voice is a place you want to take shelter in forever, a place that makes you feel safe and soft while his bear hugs are impossible to resist. You have forgotten that the sweetest joys are found in the simplest acts of care. It is true, human touch is vital for everyone. Without it, you wither. And it is good preventive medicine—the perfect medicine for a broken heart. God, he wants to kill your ex boyfriend. His bitterness grows more and more intense, and if he happened to meet your ex, he would have murdered him. Do you think that your bottom has been sweet to him—affliction, tears and affliction, and he finds them today, tastes them, hates them. It’s his job to look after you, to make sure that you are alright. But It is the most vulnerable you have been since you turned eighteen 2 years ago and it chips away at something inside him. He realizes that he can’t protect you from everything, especially from others hurting your pure soul. Part of him wants to push you away and leave once and for all, and another part wants him to hug you forever. As his. Except he can’t. You are off-limits. Sure, he is a lonely fuckboy. Sure, he is attracted to you, but that doesn't mean he should act on it. It hurts to let go, but he has to. Not today, but when you feel better. You pull away from the hug to look up at his face, leaving only inches between you. You flash him a momentary glance from a pair of searching eyes, then drop your gaze humbly to the ground. When you finally speaks, it is to say with a telltale quaver in your subdued voice:

  “Thank you, Bucky…for everything. When I am with you I feel…” Bucky’s eyes focus on what you wear, a white dress and an oversize navy-blue jacket. A small fish-shaped silver brooch graced the collar of your jacket. The dress is simple in design, with no decorations of any kind, yet on you, he swears it is the world’s most expensive dress. Your body is suddenly tense, because you catch his eyes looking you up and down, causing your teeth to sink into your upper lip. Your eyes flash upward at the super soldier, and he stares at what he sees in them. His eyes are wide and strangely beautiful, but haunting in such a delicate face.   “Feel?” Bucky’s voice, sonorous and needy, and there is something genuine and simple in the very sound of it. In the expression of his face, which is contemptuously composed, in spite of his desire to appear stoic, his composure starts to finally crack. Your eyes narrow until they have faint darkish glitter, he sees it. You possess curiously thoughtful and attentive eyes, eyes that are very pretty and very nice, he likes how you stare at his soulless orbits, too exercised to show emotions sometimes. Bucky is staring back—his delicate arc of his lids, blinking so innocently, awaiting for your answer. You swallow hard, forcing yourself to look away from the sharp line of his jaw and the stray strand of hair brushing against his forehead.   “Safe.” you mutter, with a malignant smile as if anticipating the triumph of your decision of a word.

   “Safe.” he echoes, with an odd smile, sinking heart and a nervous tremor. Did he really expect more? Has he gone mad?   “Safe,” you go on after a brief pause. “Like no matter what happens, I know you’ll be there.” He sees you press your hands against your chest, lips are parched and your breathing comes in nervous broken gasps—Bucky clenches his teeth, closes his eyes and, but a minute later his face suddenly changes and with a certain assumed slyness and affectation, he glances at you, laughs and says:

   “I’ll always be here, but you already know that, don’t you?” Again it becomes suddenly plain and perceptible to him that he has just told a fearful lie, that he would never now be able to speak freely of everything to you. Bucky is a man of intelligence, but to act sensibly, intelligence is not enough—he has fallen in love with you and his love is spreading like a plague. The silence stretches, but your silence will not protect you. You’re so close to him that you can feel the heat radiating off his body, and you swear he leans in just the slightest bit. Your breath catches, but he stops himself, his jaw clenching as though he’s physically restraining himself.

You study him judiciously and then ask with quiet assurance, “You know, you’ve got that look,”

   “What look?” he asks, voice wavering a little with emotion, brow wrinkling with distaste. And he winks with his left eye, and laughs noiselessly—are you mocking him?

   “That look that says you’re about to tell me something you really don’t want to. Or do something you shouldn't.” At last you murmur, first subdued but gradually louder and more confident, reaching the man who you are facing. You are continually fretted by the thought as your face grows gloomy with uneasiness at his silence. The heart's desire is to learn the intentions of Bucky Barnes, he is a riddle wrapped in a mystery inside an enigma. You don’t blame yourself, you want to know the truth right now, you are too impatient to live a life that you never had the chance to experience, too unacquainted with both pain and love. 

   “You mocking me now, kotyonok?” he asks slowly, as though ransacking his memory, while at the same instant he is racking every nerve, almost swooning with anxiety to conjecture as quickly as possible where the trap lies and not to overlook anything.   "Maybe or maybe I’m just curious. What look do you think I’ve got now, Bucky?" Something peculiar betrays itself in the very intonation of your voice. Suddenly, you reach out, feminine hand taking his flesh one. Your grip is strong and powerful and makes Bucky feel curiously small. You are smiling and he flushes up with a look of fiery scornfulness in his eyes, you can rip his soul, hypnotize his brain—fuck, fuck, fuck. Your touch is more intoxicating than any kind and combination of alcohol. You are both silent. The silence lasts a whole long minute. His eyes are riveted on you as if waiting for you to say something, you don't let him go. His mind has gone jagged at the sensation, a riot of confusion. It has been terror, worry—in all of that clamor—desire, a wish that lingers still, the hope that he can kiss you without any consequences, but he doesn't say or do anything. Bucky likes your unique smell, and it turns on all five of his senses, wanting to see you naked, touch you while naked, hear you as you moan while he makes love, taste your skin, and feel your naked body as you seduces him with the trailing of hungry fingers. This situation is putting Bucky’s acting skills to the test and he plays the role exceptionally well enough—he says nothing, just lets your fingertips touch his own, along the edge of the human-shaped emptiness that has been left inside him.   "You’ve got that look...like you’re trying to figure me out."

   "I already have you figured out." Scorn seeps into your voice, words drawn out and sharp. He frowns as he is thinking about how to answer, the numbness wears him off, trying to place the feeling inside of him. And the truth is that he would rather dig his own heart out, with a knife, than admit that he daydreams about you.

    “Stop playing games,”  he comments, his voice raspy at the back of his throat, but still rich with sarcasm. There seems to be a spark of lust in Bucky’s ocean eyes at your blatant accusation. Now he is openly antagonizing and radiating insolence. There. It is barely a flicker, but the surprise is visible purely because he has been watching for it.  “You are not in the right state of mind, don’t even realize what you’re saying.”

   “I’m not the little girl you think I am anymore.” you respond in a mature, quiet voice.   “You should get some rest,” his voice drops, nearly to a whisper, ocean of delicate blues lock into your eyes before pulling his hand back from your grip. Finally, Bucky steps back, putting just enough space between you to remind himself of the boundaries he can’t cross, because vanity is a weakness indeed. But pride—where there is a real superiority of mind, pride will always be under good regulation. “You’ve had a really rough day.” he says abruptly, his voice firmer now, like he’s forcing the moment to end before it spirals out of control. He steps back to his armchair, slumping onto it, his broad shoulders tense, and runs a hand through his hair.  “I need you to leave, kotyonok.” Bucky says firmly, as he says these words he keeps his eyes on one spot on the carpet. 

   “Goodnight, Bucky,” You say, with a cold, careless smile which he doesn’t even see. You close the door behind you, leaving his room. You can’t shake the feeling that tonight, something unspoken passed between you—something that’s always been there. And as much as you try to push it away, you can’t ignore the truth: the way Bucky looks at you is somehow different.

On the other side of the door, Bucky unconsciously takes a long pull from his cup, letting the burn of vodka wash over him, but it doesn’t soothe the ache in his chest. He swallows hard as he sets the glass down on the table with a soft clink. His nervous shudder passes into a fever that makes him feel shivering, in spite of the heat he feels cold. With a kind of effort he begins almost unconsciously, from some inner craving, to stare at all the objects before him, as though looking for something to distract his attention, but he doesn't succeed. He sits as though lost in thought, and a strange, humiliated, half senseless smile strays on his lips—why is he still hard? Why is he so horny, so turned on by the thought of you touching him, by the thought of you making him cum? He is addicted to his own fantasies as he slowly rubs over the hard lump between his legs. He finally accepts the reality of his sinfulness before dipping in and pulling his cock free, stroking the length of it from the bottom to the tip. A tremulous smile curves his lips.  "Fuck, other men look at you and I want to rip their eyes out every time." He wraps the flesh hand around his thick length which causes him to let out a breathy mewl—his eyes squeeze shut, because he is sensitive, even the slight touch from his own fingers is overwhelming. He groans as he starts to slowly pump himself and he can only imagine how you are here, fluttering your lashes innocently as your hand sneaks its way down between your bodies, your hand enveloping his. That unexpected thought makes him almost sob out pleasurably, because his imagination is a wonderful thing, it allows for all manner of undiscoverable sins—he whines as he unexpectedly orgasms, but he can’t help it, he’s shooting thick white ropes of cum, shooting across his stomach, across his uniform. He tries to name which of the deadly seven sins apply in his situation and he decides to append an eighth, fucking regret.

[jennycalendar]

“ngl i thought you were the weak one of this friend group but your whole life just went to complete shit around you and somehow you’re still acting the same so if you want to be weak you can be around me” au

This is not even au for Jaheira and Khalid this is just them lmao

THIS IS JUST THEM!!!! ended up writing it as literally just them bc it. It is just them.

It is not a walk-it-off sort of injury. Khalid’s arm is barely attached to his body. Their cleric is a good distance away, and the state of their party after this battle is dire enough that his injury simply is not highest-priority right now. Jaheira, who was paired with him for his first mission, who was therefore responsible for protecting him as he found his bearings, is trying very hard not to let guilt and shame take her over, because neither are constructive emotions, nor will they calm him when she removes his helmet.

He has not moved. He is slumped against a tree. She lifts the helmet to check his breathing, expecting to see the pain and fear of a green Harper realizing how truly serious their foes are, and instead he meets her eyes with gentle concern. Raises a hand to her face, which is hardly the sort of thing that—that is, they have not known each other for very long, and—

“You look,” he coughs, speckling her front with blood, “w-worried.”

Jaheira says, slightly hysterically, “Your arm is nearly severed.”

“Oh, that,” says Khalid dismissively. He pulls a face. “I’ll walk it off.”

“You’ll walk it off?”

“Got worse at home,” says Khalid, and smiles like he thinks this is funny. Jaheira is struck with the urge to beat him to death before realizing that this is possibly counterintuitive, and also possibly not at all what she wants, long-term. What she wants from him is less familiar and much more frightening. “Petra, she’s—taking care of Wyn. Yes?” When Jaheira tries to bring her healing magic to her fingertips, he says, gently reproving, “You’re, you’re out of magic. Wait.”

“I cannot.”

“Wait.”

How is he so calm? He is delicate, nervous, shy and unsure in absolutely all situations they have been in up until now. He defers to her and to other senior Harpers with a sort of quiet relief, as though the concept of taking charge himself is not something he is at all comfortable with. She has been preparing herself for the arduous task of either forcing him to toughen up or illuminating to him that this is not the life for him, and yet—yet even in those moments of contemplation, turning over strategies to reach him and make him realize the importance of bravery, all of her thoughtful theories felt hollow. There always felt like there was something she was missing. She thinks that she is seeing it now.

Khalid squeezes her shoulder with his good hand. He says, calmly, “I’m fine,” in the thin, thready voice of a dying man. How is he so calm?

Jaheira has known him for two weeks. The thought that flits through her mind is more terrifying than the blood soaking into the grass: I just found you. I cannot lose you now.

Petra sprints over, white-faced, healing potions clinking together in her bag. Jaheira allows herself to be pushed aside. She is thinking about the space in her own satchel that she usually reserves for her own complicated alchemical concoctions, and what it might do to instead save a healing potion or two for Khalid. Just in case. 

Petra straightens. Khalid is sitting up, both arms attached. Jaheira wants to throw herself at him, which is not an emotion she has ever experienced about another person before, and the fear holds her still. She curls her fingers around her satchel and waits, mouth drawn tight.

Khalid picks up his dented helmet from the ground, examining it ruefully. He looks back up at Jaheira and the corners of his mouth soften. “Saer,” he says. “I’m fine. No need to worry.”

Petra scoffs. “As if Jaheira’d worry over you!” she says, a laugh in her voice. “Or anyone! We know that face well enough, little Harper; that’s the face she makes when she’s too mad to even speak. You’d do well not to charge in ahead like that next time. She can take care of herself.”

Like a lightning strike, Jaheira realizes what she had not caught in the heat of battle: he had taken that blow for her. She can think of a thousand cutting reprimands that a senior Harper would bark in this moment, but a lost little girl from Tethyr, never once protected, can only shut her mouth and stare hungrily at him with a thousand things she will someday figure out how to say.

[nebulousjoy]

You know, I genuinely don't like the "Sonic vs Shadow" rivalry the series has implemented these days. Idk, it just feels so....out of character for them both?

I understand that, after SA2, Shadow 05 was the first time Shadow has interacted with Sonic more heavily and it's also the same game where they went in the new (terrible) character direction for him, so...of course they're gonna have a vitriolic dynamic. But again, it just doesn't make sense.

I've never liked the new direction they took with Shadow, his original depiction (however barebones it was since SA2 was Shadow's debut game) and what we saw of him in Heroes (which is muddled because of his amnesia) is still my overall favorite version of him. I personally feel like the TRUE Shadow honestly wouldn't care about being Sonic's rival. He wouldn't care about competing with him.

Because, why would he? Who is Sonic to him exactly? Someone who at first got in his way, but then after he remembered Maria's wish, someone who he became the ally of? That's about it. I don't see Shadow as the type to care about other people's opinions, and that also goes for Sonic. In both ways.

For the record: I also don't like the more recent character depiction they've done with Sonic, Colors and onwards - how he was written in basically all of the main games prior to Colors is my favorite version. That Sonic is my modern Sonic. But I digress - we all (should) know that Sonic doesn't care about others' opinions. He does what he wants, whenever he wants to do it. He can be playful if he's in the mood, but I don't see any genuine reason why he would care to have a rivalry with Shadow.

Would he make jests at Shadow, maybe have an attitude at times? Of course, we've seen him be like that with Tails and Knuckles. But, wanting to actively compete with Shadow? Picking fights with him to prove he's superior / to "dampen" Shadow's ego? I feel like the TRUE Sonic, outside of moments where he could believe competing with Shadow would be fun and would want to do so because of that, wouldn't give a damn either. These guys should be able to vibe in the same space without always getting into a bickering session.

Yeah, I can see Sonic being salty over how GUN gave him a huge headache because of Shadow's antics, but I don't see Sonic as the type to hold grudges (excluding against Eggman because...he's Eggman). Especially not towards someone who ends up doing the overall right thing in the end (e.g. Shadow choosing to help them save Earth at the end of SA2) out of non-selfish reasons. No, Sonic shouldn't start liking Eggman because he sometimes chooses to help him & his friends reach a common goal, the doctor's just trying to save his own ass first & foremost.

Sonic and Shadow's animosity towards one another made perfect sense in SA2 because they were literal enemies. But now? Why??IMO, it feels like they've hammed up this "rivalry" between these characters purely for the sake of fanservice & nostalgia pandering. The whole "Remember how they fought in SA2? Remember the Faker cutscene?? Look at them call each other a faker, isn't that a classic???" nonsense.

And while fanservice & nostalgia pandering aren't inherently bad things....they are when the characters get flanderized or written OOCly to make them work.

[remainingeden]

Jokingly said I wanted a househusband and my dad said "you'd get bored of that pretty quick"

Of course I said "yeah maybe" to preserve the peace because I live with my family

But no, actually. I wouldn't. Do men get tired of having a domestic partner at home? Apparently not since so many ducking laws are being made to try and push women "back in the kitchen", but I guess it does get tiring having to be nice to your live in maid (heavy sarcasm)

So no, I would not get tired of having a domestic partner who takes comfort and joy in creating a comforting, clean space for us to make our home. I would not get tired of having someone who enjoys making us delicious meals and making sure I have a safe space to collapse and find comfort after a long, exhausting work day. I would not get tired of having someone to dote upon in return for all of the care I'm not at home to watch them show me.

If I really love someone, I don't get tired of them

[ruporas]

in a mood (ID in alt)

[carnivalcarriondiscarded]

more laughingstock pleaseee? 💙 💚

Yes Yes Yes i have this very small soft scribble to offer <3

[stagefoureddiediaz]

Something something about the cursed mummy working at a rodeo and the connection to lassos and wrangling bulls and foreshadowing. Something something about buck wearing a moustache when he dresses up as billy boils which connects things to Eddie.

How rodeos are connected to Texas in the general psyche. The idea that Eddie needs to go and wrangle with his bull in the next episode - Helena.

That she has been constantly trying to Buck him off but he needs to hold on in order to break the curse she has been on his life - the play on Buck being a massive support to Eddie - that gives him the strength to stay on and win the fight and pen the bull.

That he needs to break free of that curse in order to transform into his true self and how the werewolf is a representation of that happening and also a foreshadowing for the shaving off of the stache