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tonkable-art · 2 years

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They’re soft...

#art #Mad Lake dev #butch4butch #lesbian #butch #lgbt+#butch 4 butch #butch lesbian #lesbians #being soft #so soft #they're soft for each other

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jellybe-gets-creative · 1 year

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Have a little fluff and my favourite boys.

#jellybegetscreative #teru #mob psycho 100 fanart #mob #kageyama shigeo #hanazawa teruki #mp100art #mp100 shigeo #mp100 hanazawa #terumob #soft Bois #being soft #mob psycho 100 #mp100

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loveislovealways · 1 year

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.

Maya - l’m afraid if i walk out that door i don't know when i'll see you again" maya and carina make me cry every damn time, and i've missed THIS .

#carina deluca #maya bishop #stefania spampinato #danielle savre #danielle x stefania #maya x carina #station 19 #marina #loveislove #being soft

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neurosharky · 2 months

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An Open Letter to the ASPD community

Hi,

So I've been asked to comment on a little issue, that I absolutely agree needs adressing, and I thought that an open letter format might be the best way of doing it! It allows for a bit more freedom with wordings, because this is just my personal letter to the community and not me trying to speak for everyone.

I've been one of the first few accounts that started talking about ASPD here on instagram (and was actively involved on twitter and tumblr before that), so I've been part of the community for a pretty long time and have seen it grow and change a lot! We have overall been able to make a pretty substantial amount of people aware of the stigma that we face, have shown them a lot of different examples as to why we developed our condition and continue to broaden the diversity of the ASPD experience.

But just like with any community, we have some internal issues, that yes sometimes we do actually have to adress and then reflect on!

These issues aren't instagram specific and I actually see them less on instagram than in other places like the ASPD subreddits, tiktok and tumblr, but as I have indeed been receiving DMs with this type of stuff ever since I started here, I do want to use my presence on this platform to adress it!

These mentioned DMs usually consist of a stranger telling me, that I cannot have ASPD, because I do not fit their personal idea of what ASPD looks like. They tell me its because I am too soft, because my aesthetic is too cute, because I love stuffed animals, because I care about sharks, because I experience some emotions intensely, because I am in recovery, because I talk positively about my family, or because I struggle with things that "real people with ASPD" would not struggle with.

I'll be entirely honest with you: its tiring and also a little confusing to me, because is this not what we are trying to do on here? To make people with ASPD seem more like humans than monsters? To educate about the symptoms & dangers yes, but to also point out that next to that we are people living our everyday lifes, just like everyone else?

Are we not trying to fight against the stigma painting us as inherently emotionless evil criminals? Are we not trying to bring more awareness to the diversity of how ASPD can present itself in someone? Are we not trying to teach society, that certain traits do not mean we are inherently something and to understand that we are capable of being their friends, partners, neighbours and parents?

I confess myself confused, because I thought we had moved past this ridiculous belief, that everyone with ASPD has as many emotions as a brick and that we only have two destined life paths: gang boss or prison inhabitant. Do you not feel ridiculous when you preach you are a human being capable of living life, just to turn around and tell someone who is doing exactly that, that they can't have ASPD?

Do you not realize that you are judging them based on the same ableist beliefs you have been judged under all your life? Because if you do not realize that, oh boy, do I get you, oh boy do I understand you, because I did not either. I spend such a large amount of my life thinking that I had to be that monster everyone saw in me, that I had no chance at an actually nice life, that I was destined to just rot in prison and be the thing everyone hates. I denied myself my dreams, my emotions, my hobbies, my true beliefs and personality leanings, heck I denied myself certain versions of my future, because I thought that I could not be that. That it was impossible for people with ASPD to be in happy relationships, to study at university, to have a favourite animal that means the world to them, to rekindle their relationship to their family...

And isn't that sad? Isn't it sad how I thought that I had to deny myself happiness, just because that is what societies stigma tried to tell me? I think that it is quite sad actually and I kinda hate that so many people with ASPD still seem to be caught up in that. I mean I haven't shaken it entirely, thats for sure! I still despise showing weakness and having to admit to it! I still have internalized stuff to work trough! But do you know what I'm not doing?

I am not going around telling others that they can't be happy. I am not going around telling others that them being in recovery & living their lifes means they don't have ASPD or that they misrepresent the community. I am not trying to shame them back into their bad habits. I am not trying to make them feel so insecure about their diagnosis, that they fall back into their old patterns. Because I know better now.

I know that people with ASPD can be the cutest softest animal loving people.

I know that they can be in healthy relationships and friendships.

I know that they can have hobbies, a career and a family.

I know that they can feel emotions, some of them really intense, others maybe not so much.

I know that no person with ASPD is the exact same as the other.

I know that they can choose recovery & be sucessfull in it.

And I know that my own dislike for "weakness" and my own discomfort with the sides of myself that I have been taught to despise, are not an excuse to make other people feel bad about themselves & take that dislike/discomfort out on them.

Theres just one question that remains: Do you know that as well and if yes, are you ready to act like it?

~ Liam 🦈

Out of letter end note:

Trying to insist that people with ASPD have to adhere to the descriptions that you connect to them & telling them that they cannot ever change, is discouraging them from recovery.

Telling people with ASPD, that they cannot have emotions, is directly ignoring the DSM criteria point that recognizes aggressive outbursts, as well as ignoring the literal emotional erractic cluster it is in (aka Cluster B).

Claiming that a trauma based condition dictates your interests, what colors & animals you are allowed to like, your personality traits outside of your condition, which aesthetic you have to have on social media and what type of clothes you are allowed to wear is frankly so ridiculous, that I don't even know what to say.

You are not immune to internalized ableism & making people feel unsafe in the community. You do not personally have to like the things they do, but being shitty to them about it, just because its what you internalized is not the way to go.

First posted on my instagram (same @)

#actually aspd #aspd #mental health education #antisocial personality disorder #mental health #antisocial #aspd awareness #aspd feels #aspd thoughts #aspd things #aspd safe #aspd stigma #soft aesthetic #being soft #internalized ableism #reddit #instagram #twitter #tumblr

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letters-unsending · 10 months

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No. 37

////

There’s a new Superhero in town and Hero, now demoted, is trying his best to handle the change.

////

Before the battle, Hero pressed his ‘super’ pin into Superhero’s palm. The insignia was bronze, but the edges were buffed into a brassy shine from years of pressing it as it sat on his chest, reminding himself in metal grooves his duty to his city and fellow heroes.

“Hero, this…” Superhero curled his hand around the pin, considering Hero with a deep breath, “this is incredibly kind, but I do not want to take this from you. You earned this through many years and I have just begun to lead.”

Superhero went to uncurl his grip, but Hero stayed his movement, folding both hands over Superhero’s fingers.

“Do not think of this as a gift, then,” Hero said, “let it be a weight you must bear.”

“I do not-”

“Please, Superhero, this is more a consolation for me than it is for you.” Superhero already had a pin, gold and gleaming on his collar, and Hero swallowed, squeezing Superhero’s hand one last time before stepping back. Behind Superhero, the other heroes began to file into the room. Hero stiffened and started past Superhero.

“Thank you.” Superhero called to Hero’s back.

Hero paused and turned his head, smile brief but gleaming. His next words were lost to the crowd piling in and Superhero watched as the heroes enfolded him into their mass with happy touches and exclamations of reunion.

////

Jealously curled up his spine as ardently as wonder filled his chest and left no room for breath. Hero sunk back into his seat as Superhero gave his final address to the Organization Council and inclined his head, giving thanks to his audience as if he did not deserve their attentions, as if he had not held them hostage with his brilliance.

After a stroke of silence, the room erupted with praise. Hero did not join the clamor. Instead, he stared at the maps and charts behind Superhero, recalling the masterful plan he had proposed. Hero had known of Superhero’s strength and brazen courage—he’d witnessed it with equal parts terror and fascination on the battle field—but to find his mind was just as sharp and ruthless left Hero reeling.

When they first announced Superhero would be taking his place, Hero was furious. Furious that his men would have to follow a fresh-faced upstart that knew nothing of their city. Furious that they all would suffer due to the Organization’s misplaced confidence in a man who only had brute strength and fame to offer.

But that heated fury was only bitterness now, a slow-acting poison that stirred in Hero’s gut with each successful mission Superhero led. Hero smarted each time his heroes turned toward Superhero in admiration and wondered if it hurt more because he admired Superhero just as much.

“Hero.”

Hero blinked and found that the room had emptied. Scattered paper and pens were all that remained of his coworkers. His own notepad laid rumpled and creased in front of him, so full of scrawl he’d penned notes along the margins to keep up with Superhero’s presentation.

“Sorry,” Hero’s chair screeched back as he stood, “I was lost in thought.”

“Did you have any issues with the strategy?” Superhero asked, nervous though he had no right to be.

“No,” Hero stuffed his notes into his bag, “you—it was brilliant. More than brilliant.” He began to round the table, but Superhero stopped him with a hand at his shoulder. He’d seen that hand crack ship hulls, but there was none of that force now, only a tentative curl of fingers, a weight so slight that Hero wished it heavier.

“Hero,” at his name, Hero tensed, “I want us to be allies. You know this city and organization more than I could ever wish to, and I would appreciate your counsel. I do not want to be alone in this.”

Hero clutched his bag to his side and turned toward Superhero in disbelief. “You have thousands in your command. How could you feel alone?”

“Do not confuse my meaning. I care for every person I lead, but I do not need more followers. I need someone to contest me.” He cleared his throat. “I am terrified by the power that has been given to me and you are well acquainted with it. I just need someone to speak to who is not obligated to listen.”

The bitterness, the acid, welled up from Hero’s stomach and onto his tongue. He loathed the sag of Superhero’s shoulder and the openness in his eyes; this emotional underbelly was too soft to strike. At first, Hero had desperately sought for weakness, for error in everything Superhero did, but now that it was offered up before him, he felt no pleasure at the prospect of tearing in. He looked down.

Superhero’s chest held two pins: one tarnished, one glinting gold. Hero sighed and mirrored Superhero’s hand, placing his own on Superhero’s shoulder.

“You’ve taken my position with much more grace and skill. I believed you to be beyond the want of my help.”

The tension in Superhero’s shoulder bled out beneath Hero’s palm. “I would be a fool to deny help where it can be given.”

“Then you are wiser than me,” he patted Superhero’s shoulder before stepping back, retreating from Superhero’s slight smile.

////

Hero staggered into Superhero’s tent on a freshly bound ankle and slumped onto the rug beside Superhero, splaying himself before the fire. Superhero shifted, frowning at the papers crumpled in his lap. The red light from the fireplace brightened the blood splattered across his neck and darkened the furrow in his brow as he turned his cheek away from Hero.

At his expression, Hero collected himself. He tucked one knee in, but as he attempted to pull in his injured leg, his ankle throbbed and he settled it back down with a shaky breath. Bristling, Superhero turned toward him.

“You should still be with the medics.”

“It’s a small break,” Hero pulled a bag of ice from his pack and dropped it over his ankle, “and I’m still superhuman, even if greater powers such as yours exist. I’ve always healed quick.”

“You shouldn’t have been injured,” Superhero sighed, setting his papers aside.

“Better my broken ankle than your pierced liver.” Perhaps lunging off a building to ward off the spear aimed at Superhero was not the wisest course of action, but it had been the quickest. There was no harm done except for the sickening crunch of bone, tendon and his own pride as he crumpled behind Superhero with a groan.

Superhero leaned forward and skimmed his fingers across the Hero’s shin. Between his rolled pant leg and wrapped foot, the skin was purpled and swollen, and throbbed in ticklish pain as Superhero’s hand wrapped gingerly around it. The animal part of him wanted to kick the touch away from his wound, but Superhero’s profile was severe, so he leaned further back on his palms, stomach folding and breath shallowing.

A thin film of ice crackled out from Superhero’s palm, delicate as a fly’s wing. Hero would have laughed at the incredulity of it if not for the gentle retreat of Superhero’s fingers. Why, he’d seen Superhero turn rippling lakes white. He’d seen him render flesh dark and dead, but almost as soon as his touch left, the ice had begun to crack and melt, trickling cooly over his welt-hot skin.

“You are a wonder,” Hero breathed, “truly. I could not even begin to use my power as finely as you have.”

Superhero dropped his hand into his lap, staring at Hero with raised brows. “Do not undermine your power for my sake.”

“I am telling the truth.” Hero replied, spreading out his fingers and calling fire to his skin. It burned a low, deep red but still encased the entirety of hand and the bone of his wrist. “This the smallest fire I can summon. What you did would be like commanding smoke and I have only seen it done by the masters who have taught me.”

Superhero cowed at that, shoulders hunching, “and yet, even a spear can take me unawares.”

“It did not take you. I was there.”

“I did not ask you for your friendship so that you could shield me.” Superhero muttered, staring at the blistering fire and ice melt pooling around Hero’s foot.

“Any hero, friend or not, would do the same. And you, you would do the same for me. I have no doubt.” Hero reached and placed his hand over the twin insignias on Superhero’s chest. Beneath, Superhero’s skin bloomed with feeling and warmth, and he half wondered if Hero had chosen to burn him instead.

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iggydabirdkid · 10 months

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Almost done! This is my 5th drawing for Pride Month!

When The Passenger was still just the demo version I must have played it 100 times over. I just love the whole concept of the game, and anything with Eldritch Horror like themes is just my sort of thing.

So here’s a little something I did for my MC Amara Newman and her love Fiama Brandle.

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I think I could do this forever

You wake up first of course. You always do. You don’t need much sleep, at least that’s what you tell yourself even when you constantly yawn halfway through the day. You open your eyes to the pale ceiling above you only visible thanks to the moonlight coming in through the window opposite the bed. Still dark. Too early. You let out a sigh and slowly sit up, being careful not to wake the sleeping form to your right. She’s facing you and you smile as you look upon her face, so serene when she’s asleep and you quickly slip out without disturbing her. Bare feet hit cold ground and you shiver as you look around for your pair of slippers, finding them finally half-hidden under the bed. You stretch, yawn, and tie your hair half up before you pad from the room.

Your stomach growls at you and so you head into the kitchen to grab something to eat and you spy the clock along the way. Ah. Not too early then. Just up before the sun, which, is not uncommon. If you were at your mom’s you’d probably have gone back to sleep to save yourself from the potential outcome of being asked question you couldn’t, and didn’t want to answer. But here? At Fiama’s? You don’t have to hide anything from her or Bruno. Not anymore. You allow yourself a smile as you open the door to the fridge and bend over to take a gander at its contents. You know for certain that there’s some leftover spaghetti in here, and you’re sure Fiama won’t mind if some of it goes missing…

“Amara?”

The flash of the kitchen light turning on and the tiny voice behind you takes you by surprise and you jump, smacking your head on the fridge and hissing out a quiet curse before pulling back and turning around.

“Kiddo!” you laugh as you rub the back of your head, “Did I wake you?” You ask to which he shakes his head.

“I was already awake. What are you doing?” he asks.

“Getting some food,” you turn back around, grab the bowl of spaghetti, and shut the fridge, “Want some?” you grin as you shake the bowl. You see his eyes light up and you chuckle, “Alright, go sit down and I’ll make you a plate. But be quiet!” you tell him as he scampers off, “We don’t want to wake your mom!”

-----

You sit at the table with only the light from the kitchen to illuminate your night time feast. You watch Bruno stuff his face as you readily enjoy your own meal and the only reason you aren’t actively shoveling it into your mouth as fast as you can was that you promised Fiama you’d try to teach Bruno some manners. Be a respectable role model. Well, as much as you can be anyways. And as you watch Bruno enjoying his meal you think you could just about do this forever, be a part of something like this. It wasn’t something you ever thought you would want but emotions can be fickle (as you have come to find out), and now you can’t see yourself continuing this life any other way.

Bruno must be able to sense you staring because he looks up at you and you wonder if he would be happy with you around for him as he grows. The answer comes to you as transparent visages split left and right of him and as his mouth stretches into a wide, food-filled grin, those to the left of him grin at you also. You shake your head, the images fading and you chuckle.

“Nobody likes see-food,” you tell him and he frowns.

“Sea food?” he questions. You grin and spoon some spaghetti into your mouth before opening and sticking your tongue out.

“See? Food!” He laughs at that, food spraying from his mouth and you have to lean to the side to avoid getting any on yourself. You watch as he claps his hands over his mouth and looks up at you. You swallow your food and snort a laugh but then you realize he’s not looking at you, but past you. You freeze and tense up, your shoulders bunching up to your ears as you slowly turn in your seat to see Fiama standing in the doorway.

“You two enjoying yourselves?” she crosses her arms over her chest and quirks an eyebrow as she looks at Bruno before finally settling her eyes on you.

“We were hungry?” you shrug and give a sheepish smile and she shakes her head as she laughs softly and walks to Bruno’s side.

“C’mon kid, lets get you back to bed. And you,” she turns her head to look at you as Bruno hops down from his seat, “Make sure you get all the spaghetti from the table okay?”

“Yes Ma’am,” you grin as you push your chair back and get to your feet. You lean in to give her a quick kiss on the cheek and then you head back into the kitchen to grab a cloth.

+++++

“Sorry about eating all the spaghetti.” You murmur into Fiama’s hair as you lay together in bed a while later. The sun is up now, its light bathing the room in a soft golden glow. She laughs and snuggles up closer to you. You half sit up to wrap your arms around her and pull her close into your chest.

“That just means you’ll have to help me make more,” she replies and you smile as you lean back and look out the window.

“I’ll be happy to.” You give her a brief squeeze and feel her grab one of your wrists and gently wrap her fingers around your skin.

“I know you would baby.”

You both lapse in a comfortable silence and the warmth of the encroaching day threatens to lull you back to sleep. But a thought is stuck in your head, one that’s been there for a while but stirred more into awareness since you woke up this morning.

“Fiama?” You’re uncharacteristically hesitant and you know she hears it as she tilts her head to look up at you with a slight crease in her brow.

“Amara?”

“I was thinking…” You trail off a little, unsure of how exactly to word what you’re thinking, “I feel like I could do this forever. Being here with you and Bruno, being a part of this small family and I… I want to make it more official. As much as we can do and I know I’m not great with words or feelings but this here? Here and now? It feels good. It feels safe.”

You see her eyes water and for a moment your stomach drops and you think you’ve said something wrong before her mouth splits into a grin and her grip on your arms tightens.

“Amara Newman,” you hear the waver in her voice as she wipes the tears from her eyes, “I would love nothing more.”

“Good.”

You’re smiling now as well as you bend slightly to kiss her on the forehead before you wrap your arms tighter around her and lean back against the headboard.

“Good.”

#i just love this game so much #just an eldritch being #being soft #Amara Newman #Fiama Brandle #tp fiama #The Passenger #the passenger game

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bea-lele-carmen · 2 months

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#softness #tenderness #brave #together #being soft #soft #bravery

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orange-sunshines · 1 year

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thinking bout bakugo shopping by himself, that angry resting glare ever so comfy on his face, straight up flipping people off if they stare too long, only for all of that to immediately fall when he opens his phone and sees a text from kiri. a small, teeny tiny smile and soft eyes replace the scowl, but only until he pockets the phone. then he’s back to his angry bullshit only this time with warmth in his chest

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softquietsteadylove · 1 year

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ready for some touchy (not spicy) fluff with Thena and Gilgamesh in a bathtub?

"This is nice."

It was nice. It was really nice--particularly, nice and warm.

Thena was practically purring as she rested against Gil's chest, curled up on him in the heated bath provided for them by Olga. Thena was officially the regent's war advisor, after all, and with that title came certain perks. Certainly Eternals weren't prone to taking bribes, but Thena was not about to say no to a nice hot bath.

She still had not quite adapted to the frigid temperatures of Kievan-Rus.

Gil danced his fingers along her arm as he held her. He was not quite sitting, not quite lying down, Thena on her side, not quite in his lap, not quite lying on top of him. "How do you feel?"

"Good," Thena sighed, letting the soft sound rise up to the ceiling with the steam of the hot water.

"Are you sleeping better?"

"A little." She was sleeping in her own room more, certainly. Although she still ended up in his room - in his bed - more nights than not. It was the damned cold. "I wonder if I'll ever get used to this place."

"You will," Gil promised, pressing a kiss to her temple as he did. Some might have called it an empty promise, but he had full faith in his Goddess of War to adapt and overcome. "In the meantime, we have the baths here. I'll make hot soup for you for every meal and you can crawl into bed with me as often as you like."

Thena let out a low, roiling laugh that vibrated through Gil's bones. "You spoil me."

"Mm," he pursed his lips, moving from tapping along her arm to swirling her hair around in the water, "I think of it as taking care of you."

"I need caring for, now do I?"

"Everyone needs caring for, Sweetheart," he sighed as one of her hands emerged from the water to lightly massage his shoulder. "And even if you didn't."

Thena smiled to herself as Gil shifted them, reclining even more with her and wrapping his arms around her waist.

"I'd do it anyway," he resolved with a kiss to the top of her head. He let out a groan as he stretched out his legs, although Thena curled up even more against him in contrast.

"And what am I to do for your care?" she asked back with a playful tone lightening her cadence.

Gil rubbed her back. "This is pretty good for me, I think."

Thena pulled her head--going to the trouble of it just to look at him. Her eyes were hazy and soft, with no trace of the deadly sharpness her Cosmic Energy demanded. "Is this truly sufficient for you?"

Gil smiled at her. Thena often fretted about what she could offer him in terms of this relationship of theirs. She might argue that he was always doing things for her, large and small, consciously and without a thought to it at all.

But Gil argued that they simply spoke different languages.

True, he lived to care for Thena: her protection, her well being, her happiness--top priority for him. And for him, he best expressed that with the things he could do for her. It was knowing her as well as he did, making foods that she liked, holding her when she was cold, sticking close to her when she was ill at ease. It came naturally to him, doing all these little things.

Thena's language was quiet, but just as expressive.

Thena had her own ways of loving, from her watchful protection, to her silent support that could speak far louder than anyone or anything. She did little things for him, from reorganising his precious spices to making sure his meals were always attended and appreciated. But more than that, Thena's words came in the form of her hand in his, her hand on his shoulder or holding a shield between him and an enemy. Her love was her company, allowing herself to be close with him in a way she would never with another soul.

Different methods--different languages, but they were fluent in each other completely. It was an understanding that could only come with being as close as they were, for as long as they had. Gil liked to think that their souls were like two flower buds, borne from the same stem. And when Thena bloomed, so did he.

"Gil."

He laughed as she pinched the plumpness over his hip in a way that really only tickled.

"You're thinking too loud," she whispered, settling her head under his chin again.

"Sorry, Solnyshkuh."

Thena peeked up at him again, intrigue and possibly some adoration plain to see on her face. "Picking up their endearments already?"

Gil gazed upon her freely, running his hand over the back of her head, trailing over her hair from where it was dry to where it dipped into the water. "I've heard people calling their loved ones that. It refers to the sun--my sunshine, I think."

"So sentimental."

It almost sounded like an admonishment. But her arms wrapped around him until she was giving him a hug only the water could witness.