#v emotional about this

[scramblema-am]

Didn't want to derail a post so I'm making my own.

I came across a post talking about how we're not gonna get rid of the radfems until we give up "all cis men are evil" because gender essentialism is brain rot. Which is completely and totally true.

AND ALSO

I can't believe I have to fucking say this, but we need to give up "all cis men are evil" because cis men are... also people??? I understand that the people who have hurt women and the LGBTQIA+ community are white straight cis men, but that doesn't make them inherently evil or inhuman. It is dehumanizing to label an entire category of people as evil. I don't care if they have privilege, they still deserve to be treated as human beings. Cuz surprise, ALL PEOPLE should be treated like people and have the right to not be told that they're scum constantly.

And fuck it, hot take: it fucking sucks to be told you're evil for shit you can't change, no matter who you are. It's not ok to call all gays evil, or all black people evil, or all trans people evil, or all women evil. It's NOT OK to call all straight white cis men evil either.

And you know what? If I was called evil all day every day online and out in the real world by people who claim to be "liberal" and "feminist," I might get angry, or at the very least depressed. When you are in a heightened state of emotion, you are vulnerable to manipulation. If some asshole is like "hey I get it, *those people* hates me too, they're all stupid," men, especially young men who are depressed and angry, might follow them into whatever stupid shit they're doing. That's how Andrew Tate has as big a following as he has.

TLDR: Men need to do better, AND communities that push for acceptance and change NEED to drop the "all cis men" are evil thing. Those things aren't mutually exclusive!

We need to treat men like real human people.

Otherwise what the fuck are we even doing here.

[coloursflyaway]

I think it's so interesting that when the Night Nurse goes through Charles' trauma, she does see him being attacked by the other boys, sees him running alone through the night, but she never sees him dying. That only comes later, when she is searching for love.

And there is no fear in that memory, even if there is pain, there is just Edwin and the light he is bringing, metaphorically and physically, into Charles' life, there is smiling and joking and listening to stories. There is Edwin.

So, yeah, I don't think dying was a bad experience for Charles. Not a good one, per se, but one that led to the best thing in his existence.

[soupdreamer]

hey brennan what the fuck

[ofmd-ann]

Hey, do you want to do something weird?

[rondoel]

Looked into my folder and there was so much of them! 😭

[applepie-enthusiast]

Imagine an AU where Sabito suddenly wakes up , he notices his body has grown as if he had been alive since the Final Selection (21) and finds Urokodaki (ouch, please imagine Urokodaki having doubts and even testing that Sabito is not a shapeshifting demon, but when he confirms for real that IT IS Sabito, Urokodaki hugs him and cries, his other adoptive son is back.) and soon, Sabito learns that Giyuu is now the Water Pillar.

To say Giyuu is beyond shocked, him standing frozen as Sabito smiles at him and calls at him,

"Giyuu..."

Oh god, Giyuu missed his voice so much, but this can't be. Sabito seemed like he aged with him as well.

Sabito was dead.

Whatever demon plays this game is just tricking him, this is a cruel trick. Giyuu had learned from Tanjirou about that demon who gave dreams that victims wanted to see.

Except Giyuu is very much awake, and this is daytime.

There is no way that this is a Blood Demon Art.

"I know it's hard to believe, and you might never accept that is all happening, but I just want to say I'm proud of you." Sabito kept that fond look on his face, and finally, Sabito smiles at him gently.

Oh, how Giyuu's heart skipped a beat as he felt so many emotions all at once.

"I'm sorry for dying that time, and for not being able to say goodbye to you. But I'm back, Giyuu. I'm home."

It took a lot from Giyuu to not react and turn his back away, this is no way happening.

Tanjirou was also shocked to see Sabito but is otherwise overjoyed. It was not until Giyuu received a letter from Urokodaki that it is indeed Sabito, that Giyuu finally faced Sabito himself, and Giyuu hugged him tightly, and cried.

It was a silent cry, but his tears never stopped as he hugged Sabito tighter and tighter, as if letting go would equate to losing him the second time.

They reconnect, and Sabito caught up to everything. He even met the other Pillars and Oyakata-sama, suffice to say it took a lot of convincing from the Pillars to believe Sabito's existence.

However, Giyuu visibly changed bit by bit. He is still a tiny bit distant but is slowly opening up to others in general.

Sabito trained more and more with Giyuu, and after quite a time, he was also promoted as a Water Pillar.

While Giyuu was out, with Sabito walking outside, he met Sanemi, who walked up to him.

"Hey, are you for real?"

"What?" Sabito replies, and he observed how Sanemi was weirdly calmer than usual yet carried a certain air towards him at the moment.

"How long will you be here?"

"Pardon?" Sabito was starting to realize Sanemi didn't come here for a friendly chat.

"If you're just going to disappear again—"

Sabito cuts him off, "Our jobs are risky, but that doesn't mean I won't fight to stay alive."

Sanemi replied that he was starting to lose his temper. "You know that's not what I mean. Tomioka—"

Sabito winced, "What about Giyuu? What do you want?"

"First name basis?"

"Yeah, we're childhood friends, for now."

"If you really care about him, don't fuck around and—"

"Listen," Sabito paused, his tone just as threatening. "Whatever Giyuu and I have is none of your business."

[angelnicknelson]

[ly2cheeart]

Heir to a Throne of Nothing

[thatdoodledcrow]

It said [ 🟡 ]

[cyberdragoninfinity]

rin: actively getting annoyed that yugo's just going around giving free hugs to all the bgirls

also rin: immediately bristles and flips out at the mere suggestion that she and yugo are 'going out'

ALSO RIN: IS CONSTANTLY TALKING ABOUT HER BOND WITH YUGO AND ALSO HER UNLOCK SPEECH IS ALL ABOUT HOW SHE WANTS TO CHASE HER DREAMS WITH YUGO

(not to mentioned her one duel win voiceline where she's like "if my closest friend never gives up, neither can i!!)

my aromantic ass: GIRL I KNOW WHAT YOU AAAREEEEEEEEEE!!!

ARO RIN TRUTHISM BEGINS NOW!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! PEACE ON EARTH!!!!!!

[gjdraws]

this boy had a hole in his heart and ray really really had his hands full huh

[elvenbeard]

Just some quick snapshots from last night, because I've missed them a lot + knuckle kisses + looking at each other over the edge of their sunglasses 〒▽〒

[pastafossa]

"You’re who I want." (Michael Kinsella x F!Reader)

Time for Day 3 of the Tuna-Tober prompt challenge! For Day Three, I chose to combine the fluff and angst prompts ("I feel real when I'm with you" and 'Broken'), and I also decided to try my hand at one of Charlie Cox's other characters for once, that being our favorite sad, tragic, sweetheart of a mobster Michael Kinsella! You can see the rest of the prompts I've chosen here if you'd like to know what's coming this month from me. Also, if you'd like notifications when I post a new story, drabble, or chapter, you can follow my sideblog @pastaxandria and set it for notifications! And off we go!

Ship: Michael Kinsella x F!Reader

Wordcount: 2k

Warnings for this fic: mentions of blood, kiss at the end, angst (but with a happy ending obvs)

It was Birdy that called you right as you were getting ready to settle in for the night, the heavy downpour a drumbeat against your windows that you’d hoped would lull you into a peaceful sleep. But that wasn’t in your cards tonight, it seemed. 

“He’s headed yer way. Things… didn’t go well tonight.” 

Not for the first time, you quietly cursed the way the Kinsellas had dragged Michael back into their business as you dug out the first aid kit, setting it beside a change of clothes and a few clean towels to help Michael dry off from the rain when he arrived. You didn’t care what the Kinsellas got up to on their own time, who they sold to and what their family business was. What you cared about was whether Michael had actually wanted this. You knew he'd had different plans when he'd finally gotten out of prison, plans of a quieter, more peaceful life. But he was a loyal man, one who was endlessly devoted to his family, and that loyalty, that devotion was something Amanda was all too happy to take advantage of. 

You had thoughts on her, too, but much like your night's rest, it would also have to wait. 

 “We lost a few o’ ours. He managed ta turn it around at the last second, but… Well, the family argued after. Things were said to him, and…”

Some nights, nights much like these, you wondered just how long Michael had left before he broke beneath the weight of expectation and grim responsibility. It was a burden he shouldered without complaint, even as it became clear he was destined to crumble beneath it. In the two years since you’d met that beautiful, quiet man in a small coffee shop, you’d watched those brittle cracks form, line by line. Over time, as he'd gradually begun to let you in, you’d discovered far deeper fissures that lay buried beneath his fractured armor. Your lack of fear, your absence of judgement over what he’d done in the past, had only pried open that door further until he sought you out with regularity, just as you did him. Time passed, and your orbits revolved closer and closer together, spiraling planets caught inescapably in the pull of each other’s gravity.   

Neither of you had named what this was between you. But if he could find comfort here, safety here, then you’d happily give it. 

 “Just… be gentle with him, dear.” 

Somehow, even the quiet knock at your door sounded exhausted. You hurried out of the kitchen where you’d been filling up the kettle—you’d learned very quickly how important it was to have it ready at all hours when you’d moved to Ireland—and headed down the warm hall to the front door. You unlocked the door and tugged it open, letting in the roaring sound of the pouring rain and a gust of chilled, bitter wind. 

“Oh, Michael,” you whispered. 

He was soaked down to the bone, his dark hair plastered against his skin as he leaned tiredly against the doorframe, his body wracked with shivers from the cold. What was worse: even with the rain, you could still see traces of blood on his shirt and his hands, with more of it leaking steadily from a ragged split on his lip. Fortunately, only the blood on his mouth seemed to belong to him. He tried to throw you a small smile, but it was far too crooked, too brittle to be real, and you had a feeling his eyes weren’t red because of the rain. The moment he realized you didn’t buy the act, that shield fell away, and you were left with just Michael at his most exposed, empty and limp on your doorstep. 

“That bad, eh?” he asked tiredly, trying for dark humor and missing by miles.

“Shit, get in here before you freeze.” You caught his sleeve and tugged him forward until you could shut the door behind him. He didn’t fight you on it physically, for which you were grateful, but he couldn’t seem to resist at least a little verbal stubbornness. 

“I’m gettin’ yer floors all wet,” he said distantly. Without the need to pretend, his tone had gone empty and lifeless, drained of all energy as if he’d used up what little he had left on the walk over. He dropped his head slowly, staring down at the growing puddle of rainwater on the floor, his face twisting through an unreadable expression. “‘M sorry, pet. I shouldn’t have—”

“Floors can be dried, Mikey.” You waved the objection away, locking the door before turning back to Michael where he was still standing shivering in the hall, curled into himself as if he were reluctant to take up any further space, as if he feared he were unwelcome. And something about it, about the way he seemed to barely be holding himself together, just… broke your heart. “Come here.”

He shivered again, even as he shook his head, arms wrapped around himself. You could almost see him changing his mind, a wave of regret rearing up inside him, flashing in the dark of his eyes, eyes still looking too damp for just the rain. “I’ll… I’ll get blood on ya.” “I don’t care.”

He clenched his jaw, still refusing to meet your eye, a sign of just how bad things had gone for him. Some of the blood on his clothes and skin had joined the puddle of rainwater at his feet, the pale tile darkening to a tinted, rusty pink. And that only seemed to make him feel worse, as it seeped into the grooves and lines between each tile, staining it. “No, I-I shoulda stopped ‘a home first, cleaned up. And it’s late, yer clearly dressed for bed. We can talk another time—”

You crossed the distance between you both before he could take a single step towards the front door. He went stiff and rigid, closed off the moment you pulled him into you, but you let him work through it as you wound your arms tightly around him, hooking the fingers of one hand in his belt loops. You had to make it clear you weren’t going anywhere. You used the other hand to stroke gently down his back, heedless of the water and blood that began to dampen your clothes, breathing in the scent of warm whiskey and leather, of gun oil and fresh rain and blood. “Stop worrying about my clothes or the floors, you silly man,” you said softly, setting your chin on his shoulder. His breath hitched at your voice, his arms still locked between you, a barrier you knew he needed help to break down. “I don’t care about those. I care about you, Michael. No matter what happens, that won’t change. I’ll stand here all night with you if I have to.”

He choked out a shaking breath against your hair, and you could feel it the moment he began to break, his arms tentatively unwinding so his hands could find their way around your waist. Almost as if he were still convinced his touch, his need for comfort would be rejected. Something far warmer than rain dripped against your neck. “Why?” he whispered. “I don’t understand. I have nothin’ to give ya. To give anyone. I keep tryin’ to be what everyone needs, but I can’t even do tha’ right. Why do ya keep openin’ the door for a broken man, pet?”

“You might be hurt, but you’re far from broken,” you murmured, turning your head to lay it on his shoulder as his hold gradually tightened around you, his hands fisting in the fabric of your shirt. Another shaky breath rattled out of him, more of his tears rolling down your throat until he finally let his head fall to your neck, accepting what you’d offered. “I open the door because I just need you, exactly as you are. You’re who I want. So you can let go, Mikey. There’s nothing here you need to fix, no one else you need to be.” 

That was all it took, and between one breath and the next, he crumbled in your arms, the entire terrible night, terrible year, terrible life tearing its way out of him in choked, ragged sobs, the sounds of someone who hadn't been able to let go for some time. You held him as tightly as you could, soft, comforting whispers in his ears, your hands running gently down his back and back up through his hair as he let fall every last wall he’d put up between him and the outside world. 

It took time for that cresting wave of emotion to ease, time you spent with your head on his shoulder, with your chest to his, until eventually the shaking of his body began to slow, his breath easing against your throat into something slower and gentler. Only then did you guide him to the bathroom, setting him down on the side of the tub so you could clean him up. He accepted the care in silence, his eyes half closed, his form slumped and exhausted, drained after the emotional release. You knew better than to press before he was ready—and besides, people had demanded enough out of him tonight without you adding to it—so you let the quiet have its place as you bandaged him up, cleaning the blood from his hands and drying him off without so much as a hint of judgment. Whenever his breath grew a little shaky again, you’d lift his hand, pressing a kiss to his knuckles to remind him he was safe.

You left him alone just long enough for him to change, and you were grateful you'd both decided he should keep a few changes of clothes here. It was another unspoken intimacy between you both, this knowledge that your home was a retreat for him just as his home sometimes was for you, even if neither of you had said as much. Once he was changed and he stepped out of the bathroom, dark eyes immediately seeking you out, you tipped your head in a request he follow you before heading towards the bedroom.

He hesitated, and you paused in the doorway, waiting.

It wasn’t every time he came here that you both wound up curled up together. So far, it only seemed to happen on those bad nights, those nights when one of you needed the other’s presence to act as a shield against nightmares, against waves of grief or bloodied hurt. Until now, however, those moments had always taken place on the couch, the two of you dozing off together under the excuse that you’d never intended to fall asleep at all and well, it was late, wasn't it? It was expected. Tonight, however, you just… thought he deserved a bed.

That you and he had never taken this step before hung heavy between you, weighted and intimate as he considered you, his gaze shifting over your shoulder to the open doorway in thought. Neither of you had dared offer access to the other’s bed until now. Hell, you hadn’t even kissed yet, though there’d been… moments when you’d both come close, dancing along that edge, driven by adrenaline or alcohol or just a quiet moment when you both seemed to be drawn into it. But there was no alcohol now, no mistaking the shift in the air. There’d be no going back after this, no more pretending, even if no one had believed either of you before now when you’d both sworn you were simply good friends.

After a long moment… the soft padding of his footsteps began to follow. 

The bed came first, soft sheets and the gradually returning warmth of him, one of your arms draped over his waist as he buried his face in your hair, the two of you twined together so closely that there was no space at all between you. 

Then came his voice, the soft lilt of it soothing you as much as your touch seemed to be soothing him. 

“I don’t know what I’d do without ya,” he murmured, his breath slowly easing down into something like peace, like contentment. He nuzzled at you gently, and you tipped your head up to meet his eyes. The warmth in them stole your breath away, filled with tender light and a devotion so deep you knew you could spend the rest of your life searching for the bottom and never find it. “Every time I think I’ve lost who I am again, yer there to bring me back. I just… I feel real when I’m with ya. I…” 

His eyes searched yours for a moment before he seemed to make a decision. He dipped his head down slowly, giving you every chance to pull away. Instead, you tilted your head back, your hand sliding up to tangle in his damp hair as his lips finally met yours. 

Your first kiss with him was a soft, new thing, fragile as spun strands of glass. His lips still tasted a little of copper and whiskey, skin chapped from the cold night air, but his breath was warm, and his mouth moved against yours with a growing confidence as you leaned into him, using your fingers in his hair to pull him in closer, his beard a pleasant scrape against your skin. His name on your lips was a sigh, a gift to him, one he breathed in as if he wanted to draw it down into the very heart of him. When he finally pulled away, he laid his forehead against yours, his eyes fluttering closed as he just... breathed with you. You reached up to stroke your fingers warmly against his cheek, and he smiled, the corners of his eyes crinkling, though he didn't seem ready to open them just yet. “Wanted ta do that for a while, now,” he admitted. “Since not long after we met, if ’m honest.” “I may or may not have wanted the same thing,” you huffed softly, his smile growing wider. 

“Can I take ya to breakfast tomorrow?”

You made a contented noise as you curled into him, and he wound around you, the two of you getting comfortable for the night. It felt… permanent, as if you two had simply been waiting to find your way here, this place you were both meant for. 

“I’d love that.”

And maybe tomorrow... you'd tell him you loved him, too.

[lunarlivs]

GIRLIES!!!!!!!!!

[angelpuns]

Doing this all in front little Leo would put some negative energy on him as the "You're not wanted" or " these aren't your brother " vibes

O o f e d yep :/ Unfortunately he's gotten very used to compartmentalizing all this stuff lately so he probably will not be bringing it up to anyone anytime soon :)

Though it is gonna be a pretty impactful motivator for him to 'get back to normal' sooner rather than after, even if it could somehow go wrong ;)

[paimonial-rage]

lol yeah ok - how about 12 and 13 instead? - last anon

[Character Analysis Ask Meme]

What is Neuvillette’s love language?

As that he does not have a way with human relationships, Neuvillette shows his feelings best through acts of service and gift-giving. After all, words are difficult and easy to construe. Quality time often leaves him at a loss for the very words he has a difficult time with. And physical touch? That’s simply too intimate for him. So what better way to show how he feels through something concrete? Surely if he gives of his time and resources for the people he cares about, they will understand how high of a regard he holds them. At least, he hopes. 

What is Neuvillette like in a relationship?

As unfamiliar with human emotions as he is, you notice Neuvillette’s feelings for you long before he does. How can you not? You see it clearly—the softness in his eyes whenever they fall upon you, the fondness in his smile, the requests for you to stay if not just a moment longer. You are taken by surprise the day he notices. He approaches you with a troubled, albeit bashful expression. He says that it was brought to his attention that he has feelings for you. Adorable as he is, what else can you do but accept them?

Much to your expectation, there is a hesitance in his step after he begins to court you. He has never been in a relationship before. He doesn’t want to mess it up. So how close is he allowed to walk next to you? Is it proper to offer you his arm? Will you refuse him if he asks you to accompany him to a show? But your presence at his side leaves him light-headed. How many times this has lead to social gaffes and things of the sort? But when you laugh, how can he not chuckle to himself in turn?

With Neuvillette, you will find no bombastic displays of affection. There will not be poetic words of love and adoration. After all, Neuvillette is a simple man and will show his love through simple, yet earnest ways. He will want to spend time with you. He will want to do his best to communicate and be honest with you. He will want to make you happy in any way you see fit. He will do his best for you.

Zhongli's below the cut!

What is Zhongli’s love language?

Anyone close to the Geo Archon knows his penchant for gift-giving. Really, it often catches many by surprise the sheer thoughtfulness and rarity of the gifts he gives. Not only are they often pricey, but also chosen with the receiver specifically in mind. It’s not rare to see people moved to tears upon receiving them, touched by the amount of care he puts into each one. As with gifts, Zhongli is also liberal with the words of affirmation he gives others. He does not hesitate to state a person’s strengths, nor how high of a regard he holds them. With him, there is no room for doubt. 

What is Zhongli like in a relationship?

You don’t exactly know when you both became an item. As wordy as Zhongli is, he never bothered to tell you his feelings plainly. He even rejected you at first, stating he didn’t see you in that way. But then he said he’d try, didn’t he? And from that point, things began to change. How he’d invite you to Miss Yun’s performances, or offered his arm for you to take while he’d walk you home. How he’d tell you the most outrageous stories with a straight face, then laugh with an amused glint in his eye when you took him seriously. Somewhere along the way, the wall he kept began to fall.

Still, it is hard to tell his feelings as he never becomes the most physical with his affections. He does not hug you, nor does he hold your hand when you walk at his side. Sparing the moments when you’re the most endearing, he does not often kiss you of his own accord. Still, there is a level of familiarity and intimacy that he displays with no one else. You’re the only person he’ll let by his side on the days he wants most to be left alone. You’re the one whose opinions matter the most. You’re the only one he’ll tease as mercilessly as he does. You’re special.

With Zhongli, you realize that your relationship with him is not primarily one of romance, but of companionship. He does not simply view you as a friend. No, you’re much more than that. Out of all the things that come and go in his life, you are and will always be the only constant. You are everything to him. Even if you may part ways for a time, the place by his side will always remain yours. A relationship with you is a contract, one that he will always uphold.