#being soft in this world is strength and bravery

[heartss4val]

𝐞𝐝𝐦𝐮𝐧𝐝 𝐩𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐧𝐬𝐢𝐞 𝐡𝐜'𝐬

summary. headcanons of your relationship with edmund pevensie while dating. (gn reader)

— straight up fluff, nothing else. PART 1/?

— Edmund leaves little notes everywhere. In the pages of your books, the pockets of your pants, etc. Usually they just consist of sweet words and reminders to eat and take care of yourself as a much needed endorphin boost. He always makes sure to fill up the entire piece of paper, front and back until there's no space to write any more loving words. — Random "I love you"s throughout the day for no particular reason. — Playful arguments over the most miniscule things, I mean seriously, the two of you bicker like a married couple. Edmund can be quite argumentative, but not in the way you expect. No, usually you quarrel over the correct way to toast a piece of bread, topics such as that. None of it is serious of course, nine times out of ten it turns into a tickle fight that ends with a cuddle session anyway. — Edmund naturally smiles excessively around you. He doesn't really think about it, it just happens. Like this guy literally GLOWS when he sees you, it's not even funny. When you look at him, he smiles. When you rant, he smiles. When you talk about your interests, he smiles. No matter where the two of you are and what you're doing, he's always grinning around you, both of you in your own world. — Even though Edmund is one of the most renowned swordsman in Narnia, that doesn't mean he's immune to the occasional injury. And so, you have to tend to his wounds quite often. Sometimes you end up scolding him if the wound was the result of reckless actions and impulsive behavior, and yes he appreciates the concern, but he just thinks it's cute how your lips form into a pout whenever he comes back with a new injury to tend to. He adores how much you care for him, even if it's just through small actions. — Absolute SUCKER for when you kiss his scars. Edmund used to see his scars as a nuisance, only there to remind him of the treacheries of war and danger. But of course, life has different perspectives for different people. So when you came around, reassuring him that his blemishes were a sign of his bravery and strength from the pain he endured, he felt like he was going to cry. And the second your lips came in contact with a particular scar just shy of his collarbone, he immediately felt comfort and a sense of safety wash over him. Maybe it was the warmth of your lips, or the alleviation of your words, whatever it was, it made him feel like maybe everything was going to be okay. — Kisses on the nape and shoulder. (goes both ways) — Since we're on the topic of kissing, Edmund has a thing for tracing your jawline before or while the two of you are kissing, or just sharing an intimate moment in general. He prefers to rest one hand on the curve of your hip, and the other hand caressing your jaw, no matter what the position is. He also enjoys trailing little pecks from the side of your neck to the corner of your lips before he finally presses his lips against yours. — Chess dates!! Yeah, it doesn't sound like the most romantic activity but, cmon, it's Edmund Pevensie. He'll find a way to make it memorable. And while he loves a fair match, (who doesn't?) sometimes he just so happens to "accidentally" put his king in danger and — oh will you look at that, you won. Yeah, maybe he changed up his moves a little so you would win, but it's all worth it to him. He adores the sight of your eyes lighting up, and how you throw your hands up in triumph and shout in glee. While you're busy celebrating, he gazes at you fondly with an impossibly soft look in his eyes. One of his hands is lying on his cheek, supporting his head, while his other hand still remains on his king. Even though he "lost", his smile is wide as ever because as long as you're happy, he's happy.

— On days when he's not busy with training or just occupied with the responsibilities that come with being one of the kings of Narnia, picnic dates are a must. He cooks up your favorite meals and packs them up in a picnic box along with the traditional red and white checkered blanket, and off you go. It's kind of just a de-stresser for him. Quality time with you and a home cooked meal to go along with it. Sometimes he brings you to brings you to picturesque flower fields, or the patch of green grass directly in front of the river front. No matter where it is, Edmund has his reasons for why he chose those specific locations. They always remind him of you. The two of you watch the sun slowly disappear under the horizon as you both lay on the checkered blanket, with your head resting on his chest and his arm lazily wrapped around your waist, it looks just like a scene straight out of a fairytale.

— On days when he's not busy with training or just occupied with the responsibilities that come with being one of the kings of Narnia, picnic dates are a must. He cooks up your favorite meals and packs them up in a picnic box along with the traditional red and white checkered blanket, and off you go. It's kind of just a de-stresser for him. Quality time with you and a home cooked meal to go along with it. Sometimes he brings you to brings you to picturesque flower fields, or the patch of green grass directly in front of the river front. No matter where it is, Edmund has his reasons for why he chose those specific locations. They always remind him of you. The two of you watch the sun slowly disappear under the horizon as you both lay on the checkered blanket, with your head resting on his chest and his arm lazily wrapped around your waist, it looks just like a scene straight out of a fairytale. — Edmund is always eager to prove his love and devotion to you. He's deeply committed to you, and loves to declare it proudly. Sometimes he writes short poems about you, recounting his favorite moments the two of you shared. He describes the way your hair blows in the wind while the two of you are horseback riding, or how your smile is one of his favorite sights, he writes about anything regarding you. He just pours out his feelings onto a piece of paper. And when the stack of poetry about you piles up too high on his desk, he ties it up neatly in a ribbon and places it on your bedside table for you to wake up to. (CHIVALRY IS NOT DEAD GUYS 🗣️🗣️ ) — Edmund has a thing for kissing your hand. Like not even as a greeting, just in general. He just thinks of it as another way of showing his love and admiration for you. He brushes his lips against your palm and trails kisses up your fingertips, like HELLO??? — All in all, your relationship with Edmund Pevensie is truly one of a kind. ∙ u guys i know i havent posted a proper story since like may, and honestly i have no excuse i was just being lazy af. also my love for edmund has kind of faded but i started writing this months ago and decided i might as well finish it. ∙ so next time i post, it probably won't be edmund pevensie related, OR MAYBE IT WILL!! i still have many ideas (don't unfollow me pls im sorry LMAO) ∙ until next time, (and trust me, there will be a next time.) xx valerie.

#edmund pevensie x reader #edmund pevensie fluff #edmund pevensie fanfiction #edmund pevensie imagine #edmund x reader #narnia #edmund pevensie headcanon #narnia x reader #edmund pevensie x you

[aikaterini-drag]

Into the Heart

Summary: imagine how it would feel to be intimate with Bucky Barnes, to have him so close to you, to have his love, his affection and tenderness. To have a soul-stirring relationship with him that gives you both life 💕

Pairings: Bucky Barnes x reader

Warnings: softness, fluff, established relationship, intimacy.

Feeling close to is like stepping into the calm embrace of a gentle storm, a captivating blend of strength and tenderness.

His presence carries a magnetic allure, drawing you in with an air of mystery that hints at the depths of his experiences. When you're near him, there's an undeniable warmth, a sense of protection that envelops you like a warm cocoon.

As you move closer, you become acutely aware of his rugged exterior, the scars that tell stories of battles fought and won. His touch, firm yet gentle, is a testament to the careful balance he maintains between his past and his present.

When your fingers brush against his, there's a thrilling electricity that dances between you, like a hidden connection waiting to be explored. His eyes, framed by lashes that have witnessed myriad of emotions, hold a world of secrets and pain, yet they speak volumes of his bravery, loyalty and depth of character.

Being close to Bucky is an ever-changing experience. It's the reassuring feeling of his heartbeat against your chest, a steady rhythm that speaks of his unwavering devotion. His laughter, rare but precious, is a melody that fills your heart with joy, a reminder of the moments he holds dear.

In those intimate moments when you're close to him, it's as though the world fades away, leaving only the two of you in a sanctuary of shared emotions. It's an unforgettable mix of strength, vulnerability, and a love that doesn’t fear time and trials, a closeness that lingers in your heart long after you part ways.

#sebastian stan #sebastian stan edit #sebastian stan hot #seb stan #seb stan fluff #sebby baby #bucky barnes #bucky barnes fanfiction #james bucky barnes #bucky barnes smut #james bucky buchanan barnes #james barnes x reader #alpha bucky barnes #beefy bucky #steve x bucky #bucky #bucky fic #bucky x reader #bucky x you #bucky barnes x reader #bucky x female reader #bucky x y/n #bucky fanfic #steve rogers #boyfriend!bucky

[fernthewhimsical]

Hopepunk Primer pt. 2

Philosophy of Hopepunk

I cannot express this better than other people have done before me. So I'll start with an interview Kayti Burt had with several hopepunk authors in 2019.

"What is hopepunk? It depends on who you ask…

Rowland, quoting her essay “One Atom of Justice, One Molecule of Mercy, and the Empire of Unsheathed Knives,” says: “Hopepunk is a subgenre and a philosophy that ‘says kindness and softness don’t equal weakness, and that, in this world of brutal cynicism and nihilism, being kind is a political act. An act of rebellion.’”

To understand hopepunk as a concept it helps to understand what it stands in contrast to. Grimdark is a fantasy subgenre characterized by bleak settings in which humanity is fundamentally cutthroat, and where no individual or community can stop the world’s inevitable decline. Hopepunk, in contrast, believes that the very act of trying has meaning, that fighting for positive change in and of itself has worth—especially if we do it together." [4]

When Alexandra Rowland was asked on Tumblr to expand on the initial statement she made she elaborated:

"Hopepunk says that genuinely and sincerely caring about something, anything, requires bravery and strength. Hopepunk isn’t ever about submission or acceptance: It’s about standing up and fighting for what you believe in. It’s about standing up for other people. It’s about DEMANDING a better, kinder world, and truly believing that we can get there if we care about each other as hard as we possibly can, with every drop of power in our little hearts." [5]

I also love the definition of the Tumblr blog @hopepunk-humanity:

"What is Hopepunk?

Wild laughter from ragged throats

Flowers growing choked from crumbling asphalt

A warm bed after a long, hard journey

Your partner’s hand cupped in your own

Bright graffiti on cracked tunnel walls

The chains falling loose to the stone floor

A glint of silver beneath a century of tarnish

A long rain after a blistering wildfire

Just one more step, and then another

A single candle flame joining the stars against the night

A loved ones voice calling your name after hours lost in an unfamiliar place

A hand taking yours, just when you’d given up on reaching out

Smiling, laughing again, when you thought you’d forgotten how

Knowing, despite everything, that humans are inherently good

It’s not simply blind optimism, or naivety. It’s choice. It’s taking the human race by the hand and saying, “I will love you, because I am you”. It’s facing a world dripping with cynicism and fashionable hopelessness and saying, “no, I will not give in”. It’s putting kindness out into the world, knowing you might not get it back, knowing you may be scorned for it, knowing it might not change anything, but with a certainty that kindness is what the world needs the most.

It is choosing hope" [6]

Hopepunk is choosing hope in a world where they want us to have none. It's choosing humanity when they want us to forget we are human. It's choosing community when they would benefit of us staying individuals. It's choosing action and hope when they want us struck down and paralyzed.

Alexandra Rowland emphasizes to not forget the second part of the word: Punk. In another interview with Kayti Burt for Den of Geek she says: "it’s important to remember that punk is the operative half of the word – punk in the sense of anti-authoritarianism and punching back against oppression." and "The instinct is to make it only about softness and kindness, because those are what we’re most hungry for. We all want to be treated gently. But sometimes the kindest thing you can do for someone is to stand up to a bully on their behalf, and that takes guts and rage." [7]

What is Hopepunk to me?

That spark that is both love and spite that keeps me going. It's seeing the good in humanity, while also acknowledging the harm. It's refusing to lay down and die, refusing the accept the status quo, refusing to believe that this is it. It's believing in a better world. In kindness. In the inherent sense of community in humanity. It's believing in the power of stories. It's seeing kindness and hope as an act of Sacred Rebellion. And spreading that kindness and hope is a Vow that I have taken. It's taken the anger I have against corporations, injustice, bigotry, capitalism, oppression, and letting it fuel the fire within me in a constructive way. It's working to dismantle systems that are oppressive to work towards a more inclusive world. It's pruning the garden of dead weight so new things can grow. Late stage capitalism wants us all to be docile, to work, not to live. So I will shout my small joys from the rooftops. I will create for the sake of creating. I will practice radical acceptance so that I stand strong above the masses of ads that wants me to hate myself. I will choose to see the good so that I can believe change is possible. Hopepunk a fire that says "Rage. Rage against those who deserve it. Stand up for those who do not and show them a better world is possible."

[4] Den of Geek - Are you afraid of the darkness: a hopepunk explainer [5] Alexandra Rowland tumblr post [6] Hopepunk-humanity - what is hopepunk [7] Den of Geek - a hopepunk guide: interview with Alexandra Rowland

Part 1: Intro and history Part 2: Philosophy of Hopepunk Part 3: How to practice hopepunk and further reading Part 4: Extra! Hopepunk and magic

#witchblr #hope #hopepunk #personal #mine #divider by saradika

[misslovasstuff]

''To Sanji...''

summary: Your point of view on how you feel about Sanji. author's note: this is a little series I am starting ''To (character)'', sort of like love letters to characters. No warnings. Also, please support me here and commissions are always open!

I hate the way people make me feel. I despise the prejudice and the motherless rage. But...

''What would you like for dinner, love?''

I hear your sweet little mutterings throughout the day.

''You are mesmerizing, have you ever been told how beautifully your eyes change under sunlight?''

I sense the genuineness of your smile, of your every word.

''Don't fear a thing, I'm here with you.''

I get enlightened with every gentle caress of your hand. I am in awe of the way your anger is never directed at me but is born out of every harm that comes my way. I catch myself surprised whenever you look at me with such a softened gaze. Where have you learned to be so gentle?

''You're not hurt, are you?!''

I admire your bravery and strength, but I completely crumble at how helpless you become when you see me unwell, how you lose your usual collected composure, and how, ever so rarely, I see pure fear in your eyes.

''Look, I made a flower crown! Yup, it's for you, come here...''

Scarce is the way you express your affections that run so deep within you. Like Braille, I am a victim of my blindness, so much so that I need to touch the alleys of your soul to understand the flow of your love.

''Feel this, - he places your hand on his chest, heartbeat evidently fastened. - this is what you do to me.''

My cheeks blush whenever you allow yourself to be romantic. It flusters me to be loved with such intensity. What do you see in me, Sanji?

''Has the heaven created a more beautiful soul than yours? Tell me.''

I hate the way people make me feel, that is true. But you ...

''Wait for me! You're not going to leave me alone, right?''

... I love how happy you are to see me every day. I love your view of the world and the way you talk so enthusiastically about your dream. When you prepare my favorite dessert, keeping me company when others do not even notice my presence, eyes wandering around a room, and brightening up when they meet mine. I love the way you have with words, your respectful demeanor, your need to protect and serve the ones you love...

''I'd set the world on fire if even a thorn cut deep in your skin, my dearest.''

And I hate the way I can't give it all back to you.

''Don't ever risk your life for me like that again, please.''

I hate how I can't give you all that I am. I hate how I feel like I am not-

''You are so much more than enough, love. You're so much more...''

I hate how I crumble in your arms with tears in my eyes that you wipe away. I hate how you have to deal with all my insecurities and the mess that I am.

''I love you the way you are, my precious, my precious winter flower...''

But despite all this, my heart calls your name, Sanji. It desperately needs you to pass another beat and another breath. No matter how much I hated everything, and myself, I could not hate you and the way you make me feel. I could not possibly hate the way you care for me so selflessly, the little lovey-dovey notes you leave for me throughout the day, and the gifts you get me with every chance you get in order to materialize that ethereal feeling of yours as if I did not understand it.

Instead, your love is so strong that I have found pieces of it within me. I stare at my reflection in the mirror and smile like a fool when I remember you complimenting my eyes. I accept my shortcomings and the little details of mine that make me special.

Tell me, how are you willing to love someone so strongly, that they begin to love themselves too?

''Hold my hand forever, okay?''

I'd spend eternities with you, with each day being greeted by your warm smile and going to sleep with your soft pecks on my skin.

I hate the way people make me feel, and I love how your love makes that amount to nothing.

#one piece #sanji #op sanji #one piece sanji #black leg sanji #sanji x y/n #sanji x you #sanji x reader #sanji oneshot #sanji fanfic #sanji appreciation #sanji my beloved #one piece oneshots #one piece x you #one piece x reader #one piece fanfiction #sanji one piece

[fruitysoupy]

100 years later I finally drew all of my AU Links

Say hello to my lads! They're going to be in a comic I've been scripting and planning for about a year now I think? I'm calling it Link and the Links, latl for short!

More info under the cut :]

(please don't tag as LU/Linked Universe!!)

The Plot

The Links find themselves in a mysterious forest that seems somewhat familiar to all of them yet none of them know where they are. Now they have to work together to find their way home. On the way they'll discover a thing or two about each other and grow closer!

The Cast

I could talk about these guys for hours, but to keep it digestible I'll make it short

A bit of info before I get into it - all of them are taken from different points in time after the end of their adventure(s)!

Birdie (Skyward Sword)

18

Roughly 6 hours after defeating Demise

The start of it all. Unbeknownst to himself and the others, the space they find themselves in was created out of his desire to meet the heroes after him. He feels terribly guilty about the curse and very much blames himself for the possible suffering of future heroes. His main goal is to check up on everyone and help where he can!

Grasshopper (Ocarina of Time and Majora's Mask)

10

4 days after leaving Termina

Somewhat disoriented after his journey still, he tags along simply because he thinks Birdie is an idiot who would get lost without him. He doesn't talk a whole lot but he likes listening to other people's stories

Seagull (Wind Waker and Phantom Hourglass)

13

6 months after leaving the domain for the ocean King

He's a real genuine pirate, yarr!! Or so he'd like you to believe. He talks a great deal about his strength and bravery, but really is just afraid and terribly homesick most of the time. He wants to fit in with Tetra's and her crew's toughness so much he might go a little overboard on the act in a way that may or may not end up biting him in the butt.

Choo (Spirit Tracks)

14

6 months after peace returned to new Hyrule

He wouldn't call himself a hero, in fact he'd say it's a miracle he made it out alive. Self-esteem and confidence really aren't his strong suits, he often finds himself dragged along and unable to say no. He is very friendly however, and if you just give him a little space he might even open up to you.

Wolfie (Twilight Princess)

21

4 years after defeating Ganondorf

Left Ordon after intrusive thoughts convinced him he was a danger to his village, now works at Telma's bar as a waiter in exchange for a room. He's responsible well liked, though he's not too fond of himself. He has some complicated feelings about the whole turning into a wolf thing

Apple (A Link to the Past, Oracle of Ages/Seasons and Link's Awakening)

20

Just a few seconds after Koholint disappeared

From one dream right into the next (sorta?) he's understandably disoriented at first. He pushes that aside pretty much immediately though, much more interested in getting to know everyone. He's a kind and soft spoken, weirdly wise sort of guy and near instantly becomes the heart of the team

Wallflower (A Link Between Worlds)

19

4 years after wishing upon the triforce with Zelda

Bitter doesn't even begin to describe this uh.. Pleasant fella. After being bossed around for the better part of his life he doesn't take orders from anybody and is this close to quitting his job as a blacksmith. He hates being stuck here, he hates these strange people, really there's not much he doesn't hate. But that can't be all there is to him...

Puzzle (The Legend of Zelda and Adventure of Link)

18

1,5 years after waking Zelda II

Confused, disoriented, but still happy to help and ready for adventure. Though some of the others don't really like him around he's still just as friendly to everyone. Since he struggles to communicate he tends to stay quiet. He appears to be simple minded on first glance, but he'll prove to be a valuable member of the team.

Sprout (Minish Cap)

23

13 years after defeating Vaati

After his grandfather died he retreated into his house and dedicated himself to improving his blacksmithing skills to live up to his grandfather's name, he was quickly forgotten by his community and faded into obscurity. Now he may be the best blacksmith in Hyrule, so good that even the royal guard hires him, but among the general castletown population he's nothing more than a forest cryptid. He only leaves the house when he has to, carefully avoiding people. Not because they disgust him, he just has a major case of social anxiety!

Squire (Breath of the Wild)

14

3 years pre calamity

This absolute rascal couldn't be happier about his current circumstances. These unknown woods are his playground and all of these weirdos are his friends now! Though everyone's pretty sure he's a knight trainee, he insists that he's just a stable hand for the guard. His chaotic and carefree nature surprisingly doesn't get in the way of things as he's eager to help out wherever he can, seeing the whole journey as an impromptu camping trip.

Some funfacts :]

Most of them are neurodivergent in some way!

Birdie and Seagull have ADHD, Grasshopper and Choo are autistic, Squire gets the combo platter AuDHD and Wolfie has OCD

Additionally, Birdie has auditory processing disorder and dyscalculia, and Squire has dyslexia

A few of them also have speech disorders

Choo stutters and Puzzle has cluttering speech disorder

Apple has a weak voice, so after a while his voice gets tired and gets hoarse

Choo enjoys drawings and cartography, two skills that will be very important!

One of Seagull's hobbies is photography! He takes his pictobox everywhere

Wolfie also does entertainment at the bar from time to time! He sings or does card tricks

Sprout knows HSL (hylian sign language) because his grandfather was deaf

Seagull's piratey way of talking is 100% for show and painfully inconsistent

Wolfie speaks in a thick southern (in universe ordonian) accent but he's trying hard to mask it since he moved to castletown

Wallflower absolutely hates Puzzle

Squire's special interest is horses

Birdie is a bit of a doormat so he has the ideas but Wolfie is the one to actually get them through

A number of them are blood related (has nothing to do with the colours of their names in this post, I had to reuse some because there weren't enough orz)

That's all I have for you today! Thank you so much for reading, I hope you enjoyed! :]

If any of you have any questions about my Links or AU you'd like answered, my inbox is open!

Have a lovely day everyone!

#links meet au #tloz #legend of zelda #tloz fanart #tloz au #legend of zelda au #link #artists on tumblr #not lu #link and the links au #LatL au #my art #triangles #IT IS DONE FINALLY #Apologies for my handwriting also orz I tried #LatL #the lads

[nuctoria]

How would you describe each member of Luigi's harem?

I'm going to note down the members down first so I can follow it along, both good and bad guys will be here instead of just the evil trio and this is based on my opinions. Puppy crushes will be included. We got; Daisy, Peasley, Dreambert, Bowser, King Boo, Antasma, Dimentio (I'm holding back on adding the artefacts that possessed him and give them sentience but you can't tell me they aren't literally sniffing him out through the entire population and hunting him, the Dark Prognosticus did it best) Daisy: we know her, we love her. She is the first love since Luigi got to that world. She learned of Mario through Peach and liked him when he met him but was more attracted to Luigi when they met due to his soft, shy and kind-hearted nature, loving how cute he is but also the amount of surprises he holds. Like how he matches her competitive nature in sports and taught how much more fun it is to plant flowers. And she will never say no to his cooking, she nearly tried to hire him to her kingdom so she could eat and be together with him more but she'd never dare separate him from his brother. If Luigi feels too socially drained she'll either speak for him after he whispers or gives her looks she understands or kidnap him to his place for cuddles and rest.

Peasley: Adores Luigi with all his heart, he feels so lucky to have met him and is always excited when he visits his kingdom to see him. He will boast about him to his people and close connections, letting his name be more known as well as his own heroic deeds. When Luigi does visit, he often asked about any new adventures he's been on or his life in general, smitten by much Luigi appreciates the small things in life and how perceptive he is and it slowly rubs off on him. By now, he knows the most part of Luigi's routine and has things ready for him if he can which Luigi really loves. He loves how he doesn't hide his nervousness and marches on even though he's scared, true bravery in his opinion. Despite how cute he finds it, he still tries to build up Luigi's confidence and be less anxious, trying to slowly help him step out of his comfort zone once in awhile.

Dreambert: he really looks up to both brothers and admires their strength and resilience but he's gotten closer with Luigi due to his calm nature and his basically legendary dream powers that he's only ever read or heard of before. It's stressful and tiring trying to regain and rebuild his kingdom after all these years of being a stone and loosing the Dream Stone to a bunch of coins but Luigi's help and company really calms him down and sets him in a better mood about the whole thing. Exploring the Dream World with Luigi is always so amazing to him and a lovely break from real life problems. When not doing that, they cuddle or nap together in various places and let their dreams merge which helps with Luigi's insomnia. Speaking of which, he is determined to assist Luigi with it so he can sleep normally again after so long, which Eldream and Dr. Snoozemore have joined in as they are interested in how their remedies and techniques would work on the human.

Bowser: ngl, I'm very surprised at how many things I missed between these two but noticed them after the dang movie and this ship skyrocketed. He has proven his power to Bowser plenty of times from saving Mario, battling him in the Dream World, heck Luigi was even about him when he battled O'Chunks for the last time. He has a lot of respect for Luigi and would like to challenge him more to see just what else he's capable of on his own. He also loves how much he cares for his children and tries to spend time with them when he's around, making them treats and keeping them in line when they get too rowdy. Some of his troops also show their own respect to him and try to speak with him when they have free time. He's honestly much happier and more tame when around Luigi but don't feel too safe cause he's still the same Bowser all know and love or fear.

King Boo: I made a whole post of how they are bitter exes and I'm sticking to it. This dude is egotistical, deranged, a ticking time-bomb and he has it all out for Luigi to a more dangerous level each time he's defeated. Not even Bowser got this insane, his schemes are always crazy and over the top but not the way KB does it. After yet another rewatch of LM3 I kinda put myself in Luigi's shoes and was actually terrified for him. Now at the start, KB and Luigi had a good thing going, in all honesty, but the power lust got too much and showed thr signs of insanity more clearly. I think during their relationship, Luigi may still have been afraid of the boos but he warmed up to the kinder ones and brought tons of Boo Candy for them all, those boos now feeling sad that they have to let him be tortured this way from their king but can say nothing about it. Dude needs rehab. But try to catch me not liking this toxic yaoi, cause you won't, the one who does is probably my doppelganger or an identity thief.

Antasma: this is yet another person I've made a post about under your request and have added my own shippy headcanons on. Now, this guy is all about control and careful strategy as we've seen in the game, which got amplified after his betrayal with Bowser. However, now that both stones are gone he starts to gravitate towards Luigi's dream powers who are nearly that of the Dream Stone's and has even impressed the spirit of said stone. This leads to curiosity, wanting to learn more about the plumber himself which made lead to clues on how he even has these crazy powers. Then it turns into fascination and affection. I feel like Antasma is the easiest to rehabilitate, it just needs time and care, which Luigi is capable of. But it can result in a bit of an isolation on his part since Antasma most likely doesn't want most of his enemies surrounding him. While he may turn good, doesn't mean his scary side will change, it will just be used less and in different ways for each person. This can honestly end up being the second less toxic relationship Luigi can have with a villain.

Dimentio: do you guys have any idea what this twink has put me through? Idk what curse he placed on me but ever since I paid attention to him, I've seen far too many evil, murderous, gay jesters from literally every single fandom I know like some portal of hell opened up specifically for evil jesters to come out of. Like, holy shit. Anyways, this guy has a number of crimes under his belt and a special fascination towards Luigi, since unlike the other villains, he actually wants Luigi by his side not for revenge or to drain his power but for the individual himself. At first, he was just another tool to be used, another character to the story, but then he started seeing past that dull perspective of his and realized why both the Dark Prognosticus and the Chaos Heart chose him specifically. He has lived for endless years and his ambitions have made everyone around him dull and the same, but Luigi is an enigma to him, the first interesting person in years and it increased after the defeat. He tried to get close to Mr L who didn't seem interested but he still used his opportunity to at least learn the plumber's hidden side to use it against him. He believes it's not over for the two of them, his perfect world is still waiting to be created by him and dub him its ruler. And what's a king without his queen? I can honestly say that while Luigi may fear him, he's the only villain he actively hates with a passion and won't hesitate to get physical with.

No idea if this is what you wanted but this is what I can provide. This has my own opinions and headcanons on there so take it with a grain of salt. This was honestly fun cause I'm pretty opinionated and I love talking about these freely.

#headcanons #luigi #princess daisy #prince peasley #prince dreambert #antasma #king boo #dimentio #Vana writes

[bradshawsbitch]

winter blues | rhett abbott x gn!reader

my masterlist | my ko-fi

synopsis; rhett had never cared much for christmas. and it seemed that no one really cared for him. except perhaps you.

warnings; gender neutral reader, fluff, no use of y/n, mentions of old norms of raising boys, mentions of belt, ideations of toxic masculinity, repressed emotions, firearm mention (very brief), me once again somewhat waxing poetic about horses, l-bombs, mentions of christmas morning alone, rhett abbott wants love and he wants to be cherished okay

disclaimer; this can be read to be a part of the horsemanship universe, but there is no need to read that to get the ropes of this one.

word count; 2K. short n' sweet.

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There were many things in life that passed by Rhett. Things that he shrugged off, things that he fought for, and things he simply let go. It had been long since he’d given up fighting for recognition or thanks for his actions, when it had dawned on him that those things were expected of him. Rhett was expected to wake up early on Christmas morning to feed the horses and check the cattle, because Perry had Amy. Perry had Amy, and Royal had Cecilia - meanwhile Rhett didn’t have anyone who needed his presence during those early morning hours. No one who cared if he was out in the bitter snow, making sure the animals were safe and fed. 

It had been like this for a few years now. For some reason, Royal had come to the conclusion that Rhett could shoulder more than his older brother could. Rhett was made of something sturdier, he let things go - he shrugged it off. Truth of the matter was that Rhett cared. He cared so much. Royal had noticed it when his son was younger, in the way his son cared so deeply for the animals - he’d cry if Royal had to put any of them down. Rhett would ask questions, he was curious and inquisitive as a youth. Full of life, and full of emotion. As a child Rhett had cried freely, and often - something that Royal could not quite comprehend nor completely accept.

Royal had made it his mission to toughen up his son. Make him ready for the harsh and rugged reality of the world around him, and he had done so with gusto. He’d usually only tell his son to bite the bullet, or shake him slightly if that didn’t work - and only when Rhett was little would he ever use the belt on him to make him understand.

In Royals’ eyes he’d done Rhett a favor. He’d prepared him for taking on the responsibilities of being a man. In Rhett’s eyes, he’d been muted almost - thrown aside and been branded as ‘useless’ unless he proved his worth through strength and stoic bravery. 

Rhett had shouldered the responsibilities his father had deemed him strong enough to bear. He’d protect his brother, he would protect his niece, his father, his mother - anyone, really. He would do it in a heartbeat if he felt it necessary, and he wouldn’t ask for much back.

Furrowed brows almost disappeared beneath the brim of his hat as he stood by his red mare, her soft neigh and snorts of appreciation enough to bring a smile to his face. His father had once threatened to put the mare down if he didn’t stop crying. That was the only time Rhett had told his father to 'fuck off' before vibrating with anger and storming off so he didn't get physical with his father. 

His long fingers smoothed over the neck of the mares thick winter coat, his fingers almost disappearing from view in the soft red. Cayenne turned her head towards Rhett, letting her muzzle rest against his stomach as she exhaled loudly. The sound made Rhett smile, reaching up to scratch softly behind her fluffy ear. 

“I like you too, sweets,” he murmured softly. The mare had almost finished up her breakfast, and the other horses were chewing peacefully in the stalls around them. It was still pitch black out at this early hour, and Rhett had begrudgingly pelted on layers of clothing to keep himself warm as he hauled bales of hay into the barn. Perry was supposed to have done it yesterday, but Rhett was never surprised anymore when it wasn’t done. Just another thing to let go and let pass by. 

Giving his mare a quick brush, with only one temper tantrum from her side, Rhett swiftly made sure the thick blanket under her saddle was comfortable for her before saddling and gently warming the bit of the bridle in his hands before slowly easing it into her mouth. 

“C’mon, Cay, time to make sure the others are doing alright out on the pastures,” Rhett mumbled softly, leading the mare out of the stables and hauling himself into the comfortable seat of the saddle.

Quickly adjusting the reins, and his thick jacket, he gently smacked his lips to make Cayenne set off in a brisk walk to warm her up. An electric lantern hung from her saddle on the one side, and Rhett held another in his hand on the opposite side - raising it every once in a while to see clearer. 

Suddenly, Rhett’s mare came to a halt, her head held high as her ears clipped nervously, before focusing on being pointed straight ahead. A millisecond of fear rushed through Rhett, and his spine straightened subconsciously to ready himself to be bucked off should Cayenne spook. It was cold out, and he knew any old horse could get fresh in the winter cold - but Cayenne even more so. 

“What do you see, girl?” Rhett grumbled out loud, squinting into the distance to try to catch sight of what his mare had already seen. There, in the distance, a soft red light could be seen dancing against the treeline in the darkness of the morning.

Rhett knew his father had let some crazy girl stay on one of the pastures during the summer, but surely it wasn’t this pasture. Rhett couldn’t help the annoyed sigh that tumbled from his lips as he spurred Cayenne on, wondering briefly if he made a mistake in leaving their firearms at home. No, he figured he was a fair enough talker to be able to manage should things get hostile. 

As he neared the figure by the fire, he squinted to try to see any features in the dark. Cayenne let out a welcoming neigh into the silence, which was answered by the buckskin that Rhett had missed. A very familiar buckskin… a smile began to play on his lips as he urged Cayenne to go faster the last bit. 

“Sunshine,” Rhett breathed out, his small smile having turned into a surprised grin. You were sat by a small fire, a tonne of blankets around you and beside you, a thermos laying beside you and a steaming cup held between your hands as the light of the fire danced over your features. You looked beautiful. 

“Hey there cowboy,” you replied, small smile and heavenly voice welcoming him into the warmth. “I’ve checked the cattle for you. Made sure they had enough to eat and drink,” gesturing to the spot beside you, you continued softly “Come. You must be cold. I brought us some breakfast,” the softness of your voice, paired with the look in your eyes had Rhett weak in his knees as he swung his leg over his mares back, to land on the frozen solid ground with a wince. 

“What are you doing out here in the cold, sweetheart?” Rhett murmured as he sat close to you, his jean clad thigh brushing against yours as you draped your thick blanket around his shoulder. As your arm was slung over his back, you stole a chaste kiss from his cold lips, making his already red cheeks even more flushed. 

“Figured you’d be the one to tend the animals today,” you said, a small, sad smile on your lips. It wasn’t pity that swirled in your eyes, but a look of devotion and admiration. A look that took Rhetts’ breath away. 

“And I didn’t want you to be alone on Christmas morning,” you continued, gaze flitting down to the fire you had started some time ago. “I missed you,” your soft whisper almost echoed through the mountains, shaking Rhett to his core.

Every time you confessed any of these feelings towards him, it took everything in him not to let tears seep from his eyes. It was almost overwhelming how freely you shared your love for him, with him. It made him dizzy to think that someone could care as deeply as he cared. 

Rhett inhaled a shaky breath, tilting the hat that was set firmly on his head a little back before burying his face into the warm patch of skin that was exposed at your neck. Tears were burning in his eyes, and he didn’t want you to see him cry.

Cry because you loved him. Cry because you cared enough to meet him out there, when he hadn’t even asked - when he never expected you to. Cry because you were the only one who he felt truly appreciated him as he was. 

“Oh, Rhett… baby,” you murmured, your hand finding the hairs at the nape of his neck, curling your fingers around the soft strands. 

“Merry Christmas, my love… even though I would hate to see you cry, you have to remember that it’s always okay to let go with me. I can carry some of it, too,” you whispered softly in his ear as you sat in a close embrace.

The words made Rhett inhale sharply, before the tears that burned in his eyes slowly rolled down his cheeks. He felt shame burning in the pit of his stomach, and the urge to clear his throat and bottle it up was so strong - but he knew he couldn’t anymore. He couldn’t shrug it off. He needed to let himself feel, and you had time and time again proved that you thought the world of him when he did. 

Some time went by, you holding him as the weight seemed to roll off his shoulders - years of tension suddenly easing out of his body - almost as if it leaked out of his ocean eyes. After a small hiccup, Rhett sat up to gaze into your eyes, a sheepish smile adorning his handsome face. 

“There he is,” you murmured fondly, reaching out to softly swipe away the remainder of the wet tears that lingered on his cheeks. 

“Merry Christmas, sunshine… you have no idea how much all of this means to me,” he confessed, looking at the effort you had made to meet him so early that the sun hadn’t yet managed to permeate the horizon. You smiled softly, reaching over to the weaved basket on your side, pulling out the breakfast you had prepared, along with some pastries you had spent yesterday evening baking for the two of you to enjoy. 

“You mean the world to me, Rhett. It’s as easy as that,” you smiled, offering him a steaming cup of hot cocoa. The two of you sat in silence for a while, before you leant closer to him, relishing in the way you could feel his sturdy chest through all of his clothing. His lips pressed against the top of your head, and you could feel as he inhaled your scent, further relaxing into your embrace. 

Tilting your head up, you softly nudged at his jawline with your nose, a soft noise between a whine and a hum vibrating in your throat. Rhett tilted his face towards you, and his soft smile could barely be seen before his slips connected with yours in a deep kiss - his free hand gently cupping the side of your face before it traveled to rest in your hair and on your neck.

“God, I love you,” Rhett groaned between kisses, his words rolling onto yours as he took your bottom lip between his teeth, pulling softly as a breathy whine left you. His tongue softly caressed your own before he leant his forehead against yours, eyes closed as he continued breathlessly

“I can’t wait until I can have a home with you. I’ll love you so good. Take care of you, I promise… I promise I’ll cherish you every day,” the end of the sentence almost came out pleading, as if he was scared you would disappear if he uttered his vulnerable words.

It only made your heart swell, as tears burned in your eyes now, a happy smile on your face as you rested your hand against his cheek as the light of the fire illuminated and danced over his handsome features. 

“I can’t wait to share my life with you, either. You always take good care of me, Rhett. Always make me feel so safe and loved,” the end of your sentence was accentuated with the soft kiss you pressed to his lips. 

Rhett smiled, and as the two of you sat in silence for a little while longer, waiting for the fire to burn out and pack the Christmas morning breakfast up, he figured this was probably the best Christmas he could ever remember having.

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eek!! hope you liked this little short one! please let me know what you thought?<3

tagging people who might like; @lt-bradshaw @rhettabbotts @rassvetsky @roleycoleyland @theharddeck @sebsxphia @floyd-luvr @mothdruid @hangmanapologist

#rhett abbott x reader #rhett abbott x you #rhett abbott fanfiction #rhett abbott imagine #rhett abbott #my writing #rhett abbott fluff

[astrolovecosmos]

The 10th House and Societal Roles

Aries in the 10th: Family whether intentionally or not molded you to play the role of leader, pioneer, adrenaline junky, warrior, individualist, conqueror, entrepreneur, competitor, or “winner” in society. Was raised to believe society or life is a game with winners and losers. Competitiveness, passion, and assertiveness is encouraged somehow through parents or family. May have experienced a family atmosphere filled with a lot of selfishness, pride, or anger. 

Taurus in the 10th: Family whether intentionally or not molded you to play the role of collector, lover, pragmatist, hard worker, unmovable, sensualist, observer, evaluator, consumer, or artist in society. May have been encouraged to interface with nature somehow either as a conserver, admirer, worker on the land, or hunter. Could have also been steered towards being very focused on materialism. Stubbornness, steadiness, determination, being security-driven, hard work, and keeping the peace or never stirring up too much change was taught. 

Gemini in the 10th: Family whether intentionally or not molded you to play the role of teacher, rival, jack of all trades, storyteller, communicator, messenger, gossiper, trickster, translator or interpreter, social butterfly or socially influential in society. May have been in an environment that encouraged embracing and dealing with change frequently. Could have also come from a family that values community involvement or social status. Communication, curiosity, intelligence, and flexibility were encouraged. 

Cancer in the 10th: Family whether intentionally or not molded you to play the role of protector, caregiver, counselor, healer (emotionally or physically), teacher, hermit or homebody, someone with good judgment - especially judge of character, patriot, family man or woman, or the advice giver. The importance of family was somehow present and intense growing up. Family loyalty and pride, being caring, sensitivity or being reactionary, receptiveness, and adaptability was encouraged through parents or family. There can also be strongly held beliefs about emotional strength by parents or other authority figures. Known to have a focus on being involved in the community but can easily tire of this or need long periods of recharging.

Leo in the 10th: Family whether intentionally or not molded you to play the role of leader, performer, the one in the spotlight, politician, artist, lover, sensualist, dramatic or grand, or hero of society. Things like honor, bravery, passion, generosity, and authority are valued in their family. Materialism may be pushed or valued. Could have come from an environment where self-respect was nurtured or forced. Competitiveness, control, selfishness, and pride can exist in the family unit or past somehow. 

Virgo in the 10th: Family whether intentionally or not molded you to play the role of hard worker, perfectionist, helper, servant, supporter, teacher, critic, healer (especially physically), or craftsman in society. Intelligence, cleverness, or mental quickness was valued when growing up. Being observant or paying attention to details, mindfulness, practicality, structure or planning, productivity, and possibly flexibility but still predictability were encouraged somehow through parents or family. Could have come from a family that lacked in reassurance, affection, or emotional understanding. Practicality or the material world may have been pushed as being more important than the emotional, spiritual, or internal world.

Libra in the 10th: Family whether intentionally or not molded you to play the role of diplomat, mediator, peace-keeper, judge, lover, artist, host, socialite, partner, or negotiator. May come from a family that pushed people pleasing behavior. Intelligence and objectivity may be valued however family may have discouraged individuality or was highly critical of personality and opinions. Family expectations may be high but delivered in a civil, soft, passive aggressive, or optimistic way. Family likely encouraged logic, charm, persuasion, good communication skills, cooperation, easygoingness, and politeness or being socially in tune. Detachment, materialism, fakeness, or shallowness could have existed in their family environment. 

Scorpio in the 10th: Family whether intentionally or not molded you to play the role of investigator/detective, secret keeper, taboo or reclusive knowledge seeker or keeper, seducer, controller or manipulator, someone in or with power, someone isolated or self-sustaining from society, the magician/occultist/spiritualist, emotional or spiritual guide, or transformer - a Phoenix-like reputation. Could have grown up with a lot of pressure, intensity, secrets, manipulation, or hypersensitive family members. Emotional strength, willpower, perception, loyalty, possibly empathy, and passion are valued by family. May have been taught to be distrustful at a young age. 

Sagittarius in the 10th: Family whether intentionally or not molded you to play the role of traveler, stranger or foreigner, daredevil, philosopher, preacher, prophet, teacher, entertainer, rebel, storyteller, con artist, underdog, someone who seems untamed or uncivil, and someone who is always seeking “the truth” in society. Instability or issues surrounding “truth’ vs. “lies” could have existed in the family somehow. Parents could have held strong opinions about religion or beliefs. Independence, movement, impulsiveness or risk taking, adaptability, possibly a temper or selfishness, and abstract or deep thinking was encouraged. There can be a great desire to be seen as the smartest in the room, the wise one, or someone who is highly confident in their society. Parents/family likely put a lot of pressure on being seen as intelligent or keen, brave, not just a survivor but thriver or winner. Family atmosphere could have been restrictive, smothering, controlling, or judgmental to the point that freedom is greatly sought after. 

Capricorn in the 10th: Family whether intentionally or not molded you to play the role of a hard worker or even workaholic - work is maybe their only identity, authority figure, pessimist, nihilist, or realist, pragmatist, traditionalist, someone who controls or disciplines, a provider, protector, survivor, or parental figure in society. May have grown up in a family where somehow they were a scapegoat, the one who took on a lot of blame or burdens for the family, maybe the most responsible one. Ambition, responsibility, dependability, traditions, and self-control were valued in the family. May have grown up in an atmosphere with a lot of control, over protection, or demanding expectations. 

Aquarius in the 10th: Family whether intentionally or not molded you to play the role of social or intellectual leader, rebel, outsider, individualist or eccentric, the friend, a supporter or campaigner, humanitarian, detached observer, inventor, scientist, possibly teacher or someone who guides others likely in an unusual way, trend setter or follower, visionary, or an anarchist in society. Family likely valued a sense of belonging or being part of a community, either individuality or the opposite - total conformity, charisma, intelligence, stubbornness or a strong will, good communication, practicality, and logic. May have grown up in a very chaotic atmosphere or the opposite with a lot of stability and structure. Can have a hard time finding out who they are and especially how they fit into society. 

Pisces in the 10th: Family whether intentionally or not molded you to play the role of helper, artist, lover, visionary, martyr, savior, spiritual leader or follower, healer (with an emphasis on emotional or spiritual), the dreamer, possibly the easily manipulated or used, maybe somehow a “victim of society”, or a highly adaptable and in tune member of society. Emotional sharing, sensitivity, creativity or an active imagination, flexibility, the desire to give or help, caring, manipulation, and maybe escapism was somehow encouraged by parents. Could have been overprotected, lived in an environment with a lot of change or emotional turbulence, and could have been a scapegoat or the one who takes a lot of blame in a family. Parents may have shaped them or pressured them into taking on a lot of emotional labor. 

#10th house #zodiac #astrology #natal chart #aries #taurus #gemini #cancer #leo #virgo #libra #scorpio #sagittarius #capricorn #aquarius #pisces #family #parents #society

[shadowkat678]

Hopepunk: A Thing Of Teeth And Claws

Hope is a thing with feathers, says a famous poem by Emily Dickinson.

But what happens to that small thing of feathers once it's caught? When the horror around it crashes down, and the song is drowned out in pain and anger and apathy at a world that doesn’t seem to be capable of, and doesn’t want, to change?

I’m tired. I’m angry. I'm afraid. I don’t remember the last time those things weren’t true about me. I don’t have control over what is happening to the world, or to the people I care about. I don’t know if I have a future.

I’m tired.

I know it isn’t just me. I’ve seen it. I’ve been in activism spaces for years now, where that same anger is everywhere. The push to want to do something. To enact some sort of meaningful change in a world that seems hellbent on turning people into nothing but variables and numbers towards goals we are not calculated into otherwise. Where those with the best of intentions burn themselves out in their rage because they feel like there’s nothing else left to be driven by. I feel it in me. It’s not unjustified. But it is exhausting.

Once you’ve gone long enough shoveling coal on the fire you’ll run out, and you can’t burn ashes. Something is close to giving.

I’m tired.

Even more than being tired at the state of the world, I’m tired of what it does to me. I’m tired of my inability to have these feelings result in something good. I’m tired of not being able to have control over my life. I’m tired of seeing the people around me being crushed under circumstances far above our ability to affect. I’m not just tired. I’m exhausted.

But Hopepunk. This term came out a few years ago, coined by Alexandria Rowland. They're the author of the Taste of Gold and Iron series, as well as the duology A Conspiracy of Truths and A Choir of Lies, among others. In 2017, they coined the term Hopepunk, positing it as the opposite of Grimdark. In the post original post on the subject Alexandra says,

“Hopepunk says that kindness and softness doesn’t equal weakness, and that in this world of brutal cynicism and nihilism, being kind is a political act. An act of rebellion. Hopepunk says that genuinely and sincerely caring about something, anything, requires bravery and strength. Hopepunk isn’t ever about submission or acceptance: It’s about standing up and fighting for what you believe in. It’s about standing up for other people. It’s about DEMANDING a better, kinder world.”

The ideology of Hopepunk was based on the time of the article’s current political landscape. Protests, civil unrest, and feelings of anger that were (still are, I’d argue) spreading like wildfire. And in a small circle, this caught on. There wasn’t much to go off of, and the ideas that spread from this post didn’t have a uniformity to it as much as other Punk genres of political and literary analysis. There were, and are, a lot of critics believing the term to be yet another line of fluffy optimism and half empty words.

A year later, Alexandria would publish an article on the subject, expanded upon additional reflection, called One Atom of Justice, One Molecule of Mercy, and the Empire of Unsheathed Knives on the blog Optimistic Indie Roleplaying. This is when I first heard of Hopepunk.

Alexandria writes in their opening:

“In July of 2017, I coined the word “Hopepunk,” initially defined very simply in a Tumblr post. I believe the purpose of this article’s commission was to have me write something uplifting. I don’t know if I can. I think it would be (I’m afraid it would be) nice. (…) Nice is an illusion, and so is the suddenness of realizing the lie.”

Alexandria goes on:

“I’m afraid. I’m losing my story, my belief in an atom of justice. I watch it happen, a little more every day, unraveling from my hands—and I’m a professional storyteller. (…) I’m afraid of who I’ll be when the last threads slip out of my fingers. I’m afraid of settling into complacency, of something in me breaking, of retreating into niceness as the last-ditch sanctuary before complete despair.

“Hopepunk says [about human nature], ‘The glass is half full,’” wrote the me who lived in mid-2017. Seems naïve now, doesn’t it? Those are the words of a person cloaked in a story that hasn’t yet been worn threadbare and ragged; a person who thinks they have a sword in their hands, a person who thinks that they as an individual can make a difference, that there is some fundamental goodness in humanity.

What do we do when our hands are empty, when our warm cloaks are gone, when we look around and see how big the world is? When we see how helpless and insignificant we are, how the rest of the world isn’t even particularly cruel or evil, just . . . mediocre? Complacent?

What’s the point?”

And as I read this now, years later in 2023, I feel this sentiment burrowing deeper inside me than ever before. This is what I see in myself. In the people around me. In the world, spinning away into what seems to be never ending disasters and war and pain.

What's the point?

It seems that day by day the hole is dug deeper. The world feels as if it’s ending. But then again, to someone, somewhere, the world has always felt as if it was on the verge of ending, hasn’t it?

I also am a storyteller. I have always believed there is power in it. In how you can create something that becomes real around you. That reflects our own reality in new ways. Things that connect us. Empower us. That’s what art is for me. That’s what it always has been, when the night is long and I need something, anything, to grab onto.

Like Alexandria, I feel my grip on the story around me slipping. The threads are frayed. And I am so tired.

I feel like a child pretending. Hoping that this will make things feel less terrifying when the lights go out and I’m alone in the dark and the day is so impossibly far away. I’m afraid. I'm terrified.

I’m not a hero, and I don’t know if I have the tools to fight monsters like this. These are not problems that can be solved with spells or swords or pretty words. The world around me is burning.

I’m burning.

So, what do we do when we find ourselves here? When hope, the thing of wings and feathers, has been shot down in front of us? When softness is not enough? When nice is just platitudes? What can I do when the world and its problems are so big and I’m so small?

“What is the point?” Alexandra asks. “How do you do it? How do you manage when the task before you is enormous and impossible? (…) How do you go on?”

Hopepunk isn’t just about the Hope part of the word. What is Punk? Not just the music. The ideology. The movement. The message? We all have a thought about what Hope is. What defines Punk?

I listen to the music, and have for a while. I have a lot of friends who are punks. I’d like to think I’m a bit of a punk myself, though I haven’t had the energy or means of connecting with the scene in person. There’s a variety to it. Subgenres of music. Differences in ideas. But let me tell you one thing I’ve noticed about all punks:

They’re goddamn stubborn bastards. And at least for the vast majority, they’re passionate goddamn stubborn bastards.

I’ve been interested in the punk movement for years. Two of my favorite books on the subject of the punk movement are “Please Kill Me: The Uncensored Oral History of Punk” by Legs McNeil and Gillian McCain, and “Punk Rock, An Oral History” by John Robb.

There’s a long running joke in punk circles about a young punk asking an older punk that very question of what punk is. The older punk smiles, strides up to a trash can, and kicks it over before turning around, pointing, and saying “That’s punk”.

The younger punk thinks on this, then sees another trash can before going over and copying the move, turning around after punting the second can and asking, “That’s punk?”

Before the older punk shakes his head and replies, “No! You poser!”

Point of the story? What is punk? Fuck if I or anyone else actually knows! It’s not about following directions, or going down a checklist. Certainly not just copying everyone else before you. But you know it when you feel it.

Recently, Punk has been idealized a lot. People forget that Punk isn’t just about insolent people lashing out against authority and sticking it to the man. It isn’t just about individualism and loud songs.

Despite not knowing exactly WHAT punk is, never having one clear cut uniform answer, we can see it when it's in front of us. There’s a sound to it. A spirit. A vibe. And there are commonalities that run as a throughline.

In the intro to Punk Rock, and Oral History, Henry Rowlins was invited to share some of his thoughts in the volume. He says,

“Everyone had their own version of punk. Everyone decided what punk was for them. There were endless arguments about what we were fighting for, what we should be wearing (…), what we should listen to and how we were going to change the world.

Punk terrified the establishment. Punk made me get onstage and make music. Punk made me change my world. Punk…punk saved my life.”

Punk has long been considered one of the more nihilistic musical genres, having a thriving subsect of Political Punk dedicated to pointing out and raging at the wrongs of the world the artists see around them. Punk is angry. Punk is passionate. Punk is loud, and messy, and sometimes even ugly, and moreover, there’s room for all of it.

But its stereotypical image perhaps isn't one most people would default to when thinking about the mainstream idea of Hope. Hope is supposed to be something soft, isn't it?

Back to the article, Alexandria gives their answer to what they think the point is, and it is one that feels much more connected to the punk part of Hopepunk.

“Sheer, simple, bloody-minded obstinacy. That’s how you count the stars, build the Library of Alexandria, and go to the North Pole. That’s how you hold the story even when it’s unraveling in your hands. You grit your teeth, and bear the pain, and keep going: One star at a time, one brick at a time, one step at a time.

You can do a lot when you decide to be a stubborn motherfucker who refuses to die.(…) Ask it of Hopepunk, then: “What’s the point?”

And the answer is, of course, that the fight itself is the point.

I am not just tired. I am afraid. I am angry. I am furious. The idea of rage is generally thought of as very punk.

But Hope. Let’s go back to hope. Where does hope come in, that fragile thing made of feathers and song? I am not soft. Not really. I feel myself shattering, jagged edges that will cut me if I let them. That will cut others. Even those I want to help. Even those who don’t deserve it. That the anger will bleed out and burn everything around me. How does that fit with hope?

I believe in stories. That we can learn from them. Moreover, in the end, I believe that everything is a story. History is a story. People are stories. The future is a story we simply haven’t seen the ending to yet, and so can still shape the path of. And like stories, all these elements tie together. Stings whose threads make up a tapestry.

I’ve been thinking a lot about stories lately. About certain ones that have heavily impacted my own. About ones I’ve made, either by myself or with others, both real and imaginary. In Alexandria’s first post, they mentioned a certain scene from the Two Towers.

As Frodo falls to his lowest point, burdened by the influence of the One Ring, not knowing if his other friends are even still alive, carrying a burden bigger than any one person should ever have to shoulder, Sam gives his speech.

Sam: “It’s like in the great stories, Mr. Frodo. The ones that really mattered. Full of darkness and danger, they were. And sometimes you didn’t want to know the end. Because how could the end be happy? How could the world go back to the way it was when so much bad had happened?

But in the end, it’s only a passing thing, this shadow. Even darkness must pass. A new day will come. And when the sun shines it will shine out the clearer. Those were the stories that stayed with you. That meant something, even if you were too small to understand why.

But I think, Mr. Frodo, I do understand. I know now. Folk in those stories had lots of chances of turning back, only they didn’t. They kept going. Because they were holding on to something.”

And as he says this, Frodo asks what I find myself asking. What many people ask, I think. What are we holding onto? And the answer: “That there’s some good in this world, Mr. Frodo… and it’s worth fighting for.”

In my anger, in this darkness around us, it can be hard to see anything else. But that has not been all my story is. That said, anger is important. Anger, placed properly, and aimed towards a purpose, can be righteous. It can be a driving motivation towards change. It glows in you...but it can’t be all I have. A fire on its own will eventually burn itself out. What is anger without something the anger is driving you to do in a real, meaningful, way?

“It’s about being kind merely for the sake of kindness, and because you have the means to be, and giving a fuck because the world is (somehow, mysteriously, against all evidence) worth it and we don’t have anywhere else to go anyway.

It’s about digging in your heels and believing that one single atom of justice, one molecule of mercy does exist somewhere in the mindboggling vastness of the universe—believing in that, even if for no other reason than fuck you, buddy; fuck you, fuck you, fuck you. I do what I want and this, this is what I want; this is the world I want to live in:

One where the atom of justice exists, even if I’ve never seen it myself, even if I’ll never see it.

It’s about doing the one little thing you can do, even if it’s useless: planting seeds in the midst of the apocalypse, spitting on a wildfire, bailing out the ocean with a bucket. Individual action is almost always pointless.

Hope and strength comes from our bonds with each other, from the actions we take as a community, holding hands in the dark.

What if hope isn’t just a thing of feathers and wings and song? What if punk isn’t just about anger and insolence and lashing out against the world around you? What if the world, people, and stories aren’t so simple?

I can’t answer what Hope is, what Punk is, or what Hopepunk is as an idea binding these two words together to anyone but me. I do know what my story has been. And I know the stories I’ve been told. The stories I’ve witnessed. The stories I’ve touched.

I’m tired. I’m angry. I can’t not be anymore. I don’t think it’s possible. It’s part of me. Perhaps something even greater would be wrong if they weren’t.

But I also remember the people who’ve come into my life in ways that seem so small in comparison, yet somehow, inexplicably, still changed me to the point I continue to think about them years later. The woman who approached me, sitting outside and crying after being almost fired from my first job and, with no possibility of reconciliation, bought me a sandwich and sat with me while I waited to be picked up. Friends that stayed with me during some of the worst times of my life. Strangers that turned into those friends.

In spite of it all, I’ve also seen so much love.

I have always hated false dichotomies. These truths can coexist, and like the tapestry of stories, wind together into something bigger. The softness of hope does not feel like it can survive the type of anger and force and sometimes nihilism of punk. The good in the world feels like it should be shattered under the darkness.

Maybe it all morphs into something new.

Maybe hope becomes a thing of teeth and claws, bared in defense of life’s small everyday acts of love. Friendship. Community. Of myself, and proof that the world is brighter than my own frustration makes it feel. Of all the things that exist in contrast that make these very injustices sting so very much.

Maybe it doesn’t have to be fragile. Maybe hope can be bloody and messy and stubborn and defiant, even in the face of my fear and exhaustion and pain. Maybe it can make something more balanced. Something stronger, as all these contrasting elements come together and inform each other with new perspectives.

Maybe it can be what saves me.

Near the end of the article, Alexandria says this:

Hopepunk isn’t pristine and spotless. Hopepunk is grubby, because that’s what happens when you fight. It’s hard. It’s filthy, sweaty, backbreaking work that never ends. It isn’t pretty, and it isn’t noble, and it isn’t nice, though I expect the natural inclination (and even my own instinctive inclination) is to make it so—to forget the word “radical” in the phrase “radical kindness,” to forget the “punk” part of “hopepunk,” which is really the operative half of the word. To forget the anger of it and let it soften, because softness is what we’re aching for. We want the world to be better—kinder, more just, more merciful. We still yearn toward noblebright, toward an honest and desperate belief that love conquers all.

But we forget, sometimes, that we have knives too in this empire. That we can unsheathe them, that we can turn our blades to the defense of an atom of justice and a molecule of mercy that might not even exist—except . . . except for where we make them exist, in the hands we hold out to each other, and in the shelter we offer even when we ourselves are exhausted, footsore, and filthy, with the wolves at our doors.

Maybe this doesn’t even have to be big acts. It’s something I’ve grappled with often. The feeling that where I am now is not enough. That what I do cannot change the course of the tale I find myself part of. That I can only be a passive observer as things happen around and to me. That I am so helplessly unable to make any meaningful difference in my own story.

And I want to, so desperately. But maybe those first steps can lead to more. The shelter and small words said earnestly in a time of need is just as much a part of this as life altering choices I want to be able to wield.

I've always dreamed of enacting change. Of being someone who could somehow inspire another person the way the stories of others had inspired and saved me. The books I clutched in my hands when the world was too big, and I was far too small. But it's good to remember that even the imposing might of mountains eventually wears under the passing of water.

I still feel like that child more often than not, and that everything I do in spite of it is just a mask dangerously close to slipping. But just as much as those stories, everyday people did the same in touching me, and shaping me. The right word spoken after tragedy. Encouragement from those who bothered to pay attention to things I did not speak aloud.

Maybe I should also reconsider the worth of myself in being the hand that stretches out to other people. Maybe that kindness is just as much a part of this as my anger and fear.

I’m tired of being only angry. Of being only sharp edges and fire and fear and burning myself to ashes in a way that harms none of the people doing this to us. I’m tired of missing the joy while I can have it based on the actions of a few hollow, spiteful, greedy, and selfish bastards that only care about themselves, damn the rest.

So, I will be a thing of teeth and claws when needed. And I will grow fur to keep those close to me warm. Because despite my anger, and fear, and exhaustion, the world is still, somehow, worth it. People are worth it. I am worth it. My story can impact others, and the story of humanity is not yet fully penned.

I have to believe that. If it is not so, then I have to make it so, even out of pure, stubborn, spiteful obstinance. That people are not evil at base, because I am not, and I am not special in the grand scheme of things.

I am just a person. We are all just people, grasping for things to drive and carry us day to day. And people are both kind and horrible. Messy tapestries of different things tying us together into something unique and terrifying and amazing and horrible and full of wonder and joy and anger and fear and beauty.

All of us, each and every one, desperately trying to keep hold of our stories before someone else twists them out of our hands.

Another common example of Hopepunk is a scene in Terry Pratchett's "The Hogfather", spoken by Death. A scene Alexandria discusses and also references in the name of their own original article. Here, Death explains that humanity must first learn to believe the small lies, such as Hogfathers and tooth fairies, so eventually they can come to believe the big ones.

Justice. Mercy. Duty.

Hope.

As is true of many concepts in Diskworld, when asked by the character Susan "Well we have to believe in that, or else what is the point?", Death answers back, "My point exactly. You need to believe in things that are not true. How else can they become?"

My kindness will be worth it, because it made me and those around me a little happier. Even if it hurts me in the end. I am not naive to the world around me. I am angry. I am tired. I am scared. I am just one person. And maybe in the end it's how Alexandria says:

There are no heroes and no villains. There are just people. That’s Hopepunk: Whether the glass is half full or half empty, what matters is that there’s water in that glass. And that’s something worth defending.

Stand with each other, and never let the person beside you forget that to move forward we need something to hold onto, whether knife or outstretched hand. There is still good in this world. Even if we have to fight to create it ourselves with every step we take.

No story is over until the final word has been penned…and even with all the horrors and uncertainty of the journey, we don’t have to travel through ours alone.

#hopepunk #essay

[growingstories]

Maximizing Maximus

Once upon a time in the grand Roman Empire, there lived a gladiator named Maximus.

He was a man of exceptional strength and skill, winning fight after fight in the grand stadiums that were always filled to the brim with adoring fans. Maximus had worked hard to achieve fame and glory, and he dedicated himself to becoming even stronger with each passing day.

Maximus's hot, muscular physique had captured the hearts of many, and he was adored by the crowds who filled the stadiums. Women swooned over his chiseled features, and men idolized his strength. But despite his growing fame, Maximus remained humble and focused on his training, always striving to improve himself.

It was during one particularly intense battle that Maximus astounded everyone present by winning an impossible fight. The crowd erupted in thunderous applause, and as a reward his valor for, Emperor the decided to grant Maxim aus wish, something he had yearned for since his to rise fame.

Maximus requested the hand in marriage of one of the Emperor's beautiful daughters. The Emperor, impressed by the gladiator's bravery, agreed to his request. Maximus's world turned upside down overnight. He went from being a common fighter to a nobleman, with riches beyond his imagination.

Along with his newfound status came a servant, a handsome blonde Roman man of twenty. The servant tended to Maximus's every need, bringing him delicious food and attending to his every desire.

The gladiator found himself falling in love with this dedicated servant, who would go to great lengths to please him.

As the days went by, Maximus gradually began to lose his discipline. He no longer trained with the same intensity or dedication as before. The servant would bring him lavish meals, and they would indulge in feasts together, growing lazier and fatter with each passing day.

In just three months, Maximus had gained an astonishing 20lbs, his once-toned muscles slowly giving way to softness. The servant did everything possible to make his master comfortable, including feeding him and attending to his every whim.

Week by week, the portions became larger, and Maximus lost sight of his former self. His lover served him not only food but also love and devotion, and Maximus's addiction to both grew stronger. A year passed, and Maximus had gained a staggering 40lbs, his once-dominant physique now significantly overweight.

Year after year went by, and Maximus's growing boredom and laziness continued to feed his desires. Indulging in extravagant feasts, he found solace only in eating and attending parties of the Emperor, where he could feast to his heart's content.

Four years later, Maximus had gained a shocking 100lbs, his body almost unrecognizable from his days as a gladiator. His servant, too, had grown 20lbs heavier, the devotion he showed mirrored in his own increasing weight.

The once-famous gladiator had transformed into a gluttonous nobleman, spending his days lounging in luxury, feasting on delic broughtacies to him by his steadfast servant. The world had forgotten the lean and powerful Maximus, and in his place was an obese man consumed by his own indulgences.

And so, the tale of Maximus, the gladiator turned nobleman, serves as a cautionary reminder that even the most celebrated heroes can succumb to their vices, losing sight of the very things that had made them great.

#fictionalweightgain #maleweightgain #maleweightgainstories #weightgain #weightgainstories

[cow-dyke]

"The Bar"

Hello people of Tumblr!

So I am attempting to write a book about a femme who explores her sexuality as a lesbian while also being religious and dealing with internalized homophobia.

To get more motivation, I wanted to share a little piece of it to see what other people think of it.

I have one scene written out when the femme (Mary) meets a butch (Joan) at a bar for the first time. Keep in mind, this is just a rough draft so ignore anything that may seem poorly written. Enjoy!

I remember her so clearly: she was pretty tall with a masculine physique and  also had this short, black slicked-back hair. Oh, I will never forget that hair. She was looking straight at me and we connected eyes. Yet, being the timid person I was, I quickly broke our silent glance and focused on my drink instead. It's not that I didn’t like her looking at me, I loved every moment of it. But it just felt too good, almost as if I was committing a crime (technically, I was). Despite my broken contact, I could still feel her eyes on me. I wasn’t sure if I should pray for her to come over or stay where she is. Yes, I did love her but that could mean a lifetime in hell for the both of us. I guess a hell with her was more desirable than a heaven by myself.

“Miss?” I heard her say.

I looked up from my glass and felt like I was on fire. But fuck that fire felt so good. God can punish me for my sins but he will never be able to take away the rush that went through me when I got to look at her closer. Is this how Eve felt when she ate the forbidden fruit? I thought to myself. She had these piercing brown eyes that were almost black and a sharp jawline that I swore could kill a man. 

“Yes?” I responded.

“Would you like to dance with me?” 

I knew it was wrong what she was asking me to do. It wasn’t just a dance, it was also the attraction between us as two women and admitting to it. It would be giving in to my pleasure in exchange for my obedience to God. I can do a lot of things for His honor but I think it’s time I do something for my own.

“Yes,” I said with a smile on my face.

She gave her hand out to me and I took it without another thought in the world. Her hand was as soft as cotton. I could have fondled it for days. When we got to the dance floor, she took her other hand and put it on my waist. I inferred that I was supposed to put my hand on her shoulder so I did that. We did a dance like any other couple would by casually swaying to the music. 

“What’s your name?” the woman asked. 

“It’s Maria but most people just call me Mary,” I said.

“Maria…what a pretty name” she asserted. 

I chuckled a little because I felt nervous around her but also flattered. Many men have said that same line to me but when she said it, I felt like the only woman in the world. I didn’t care about any of those men’s comments on my name but for some reason, I was really happy that this woman liked mine.

“What’s your name?” I asked. 

“It’s Joan.” 

Joan. Like Joan of Arc, Patron Saint of France. She definitely emulated her as a crossdresser and having the strength to do it right in front of the public eye, risking everything. Or, maybe everything was already lost. Maybe she had already fallen victim to the risks. That is something that made me so attracted to butches. They had the one thing I didn’t: Bravery. 

#lesbian #femme lesbian #butch lesbian #butch/femme #femme/butch #lgbtqia #lgbtqia books #sapphic #wlw #femme4butch #butch4femme #femme butch #butch femme #ofos lesbian #ofos #writers on tumblr #writers and poets #creative writing #writerscommunity #shay writes

[eaglebow09]

Sato is a Rito OC from my |Revali X OC fancomic| - He is the father of my OC (Anya) and has sadly passed at the time of our comic. - This was just a quick pencil sketch I threw into Photoshop for a rush job shading. Just a doodle pg.  Born into the Rito tribe, Sato had always been destined for greatness. From the earliest days of his youth, it was evident that he possessed a rare gift – an unparalleled skill with the bow. His aim was uncanny, and his speed and bravery were second to none. The village recognized his talents early on, and Sato quickly became the pride of the Rito community.

But it wasn't just his archery prowess that set him apart. Sato was a natural leader, a charismatic force that drew people towards him. His loyalty to his people was unwavering, a blazing fire that fueled his every action. While he had a soft heart, Sato possessed the rare ability to set aside his emotions when it mattered most, whether in the heat of combat or during discussions among his peers.

Through numerous battles and victorious campaigns, Sato earned the respect and admiration of his fellow Rito. His many travels across the vast land of Hyrule had endowed him with a profound understanding of the world, one that had humbled and made him wise. The passion that once drove him into combat had evolved into a deep love for his people and community.

Sato had an innate talent for bringing people together. His experiences and interactions across the land had made him approachable and relatable to all. He treated everyone with respect and kindness, always striving to meet them on their own terms. His magnetic presence drew others towards him, and his words held weight.

As the years passed, Sato transitioned from being the village's fiercest warrior to becoming a skilled diplomat and ambassador for the Rito people. He embarked on journeys to far-off regions, negotiating trade agreements, peace treaties, and other essential matters on behalf of his people. His calm and centered demeanor, a stark contrast to his early days of battle, proved invaluable in these diplomatic endeavors.

Despite the trials and tribulations of his life, Sato maintained a sense of humor that endeared him to those around him. His quick wit and ability to bring levity to any situation made him a beloved figure among the Rito. Tall and imposing, he possessed striking features that many considered handsome. His white and silver feathers seemed to glisten in the sun, earning him the nickname "the ghost."

Though Sato and his beloved Hylian wife, Zyra (an alias name since she had run away and eloped with him. she didn't want to be found) , had perished in a tragedy years ago, their orphaned daughter Anya still strives to keep their spirits alive in her heart striving to become stronger and regain the pride her family lost at the time of her birth. though Satos contributions were great, his decision to follow his heart and wed a hylian broke all norms and traditions of his people. It was this decision that alienated Sato and his new family from Rito Village, but he never looked back. Sato's story was one of courage, leadership, and unwavering dedication to his community and inevidably, his heart. He is still a symbol of strength and inspiration amongst some of the Rito, that despite his decisions still held merit amongst a few. Sato was a  testament to the enduring spirit of the heart in the vast and at times unforgiving land of Hyrule.

Check out more on my deviant profile: same tag EagleBow09 ! ^_^

#comic #fanart #botw #fanfic #botw fanart #breath of the wild #webcomic #art #drawing #draw #illustration #sketch #rito oc #rito original characters #rito village #zelda #legend of zelda #warrior #doodle #rito #revali #canon x oc comic

[colourstreakgryffin]

Prompt: TamaNeji; Tamaki accompanies Nejire to the hospital following the Paranormal Liberation War; en route, Nejire's heart gives out from a combination of overusing her Wave Motion Quirk and her burn injuries from Dabi and Tamaki tries to revive her

Waaaait! It’ll be a angst mix fluff, right? That’s okay? Cause I don’t want Nejire to diiieeee! Sorry, this is bad again!

Can I Save You?- TamaNeji

Tamaki sobbed outloud hysterically, fingers feeling for the unresponsive Nejire’s heartbeat on the soft skin of her neck as his hands quickly ran up to her chest, leaning up in preparation and pushing down to try ignite her heart again with CPR. The poor young woman’s heart suddenly gave out upon the machine’s alert, yet, he needed to make sure the machine wasn’t buggy

All the exhaustion, quirk overuse and the many nasty burns caused Nejire’s senses to shut down after only a few hours of being treated in the hospital after that horrible fight with the villains. Recovery Girl nor Mirio was in the room as everybody, except Tamaki left to speak with All Might at the man’s request. Tamaki couldn’t leave Nejire alone for longer then seconds, somebody needed to stay with her. Protect her, ensure she’ll push on

Tamaki kept working, ignoring his arms beginning to sting in pain. His eyes flooded with tears as his heart cracked apart, not wanting to believe his longtime crush was dead as his head tried just as hard to gaslight himself. He couldn’t bare the idea of Nejire kicking the bucket, he cursed himself and went off at himself! Why couldn’t he have been the one who suffered injuries this bad, she didn’t deserve to be in such pain but he, for sure, did

To Tamaki, Nejire was completely unstoppable and her defeat shattered his world. Her stamina was endless, he had never seen her falter once and her character intrigued his heart. Her bravery, her skill, her good nature, he fell head over heels for her but was far too self-conscious to express it. He stayed in the background as Nejire willingly grew closer to him and his dear childhood best friend, Mirio

Tamaki was completely unaware of the fact Nejire had mutual feelings for him. She is always impressed by his quirk, she had always found the shy guys the best and she always wants to squish his cheeks, she loves kittens and he was just like a kitten to him. A tough, skilled but kind timid little kitten! Nejire’s soul broke into pieces when she felt herself slipping, Tamaki’s calls growing fuzzy

She didn’t want to leave Tamaki yet and her subconscious screamed at her breaking-down mind to keep fighting, stay alive. Don’t across the rainbow bridge yet and like a real life miracle happened, her eyes shot open suddenly and her hand clutched his wrist like she felt unsteady and needed support. She swore she saw death’s doorstep but a flame of heat chased away the cold darkness

The heartbeat monitor fluttered and the line weaved back to a faint state. Her heart’s beating stably again! Tamaki felt a mix of pure relief and joy overwhelm him, his slightly puffy dark eyes glaring at the monitor humming with each beat. His muscles screamed out in exhaustion with how fast and hard he was submitting CPR. He didn’t care for himself, he just needed to keep Nejire alive until Recovery Girl returns

Nejire begun breathing heavily in sync to the pushes as to try keep her heart beating for the two of them, both of her hands holding onto his wrist and eyes gazing up at him. They radiated life, colour and beauty as they always did before. Nejire was getting a hold of herself quickly. Tamaki couldn’t help but croak out his wails, removing his hands from her chest altogether and ignored the sharp pain shooting through his senses, he leant down and pressed his head into the nape of her neck without a second thought

“You’re okay… you’re okay” Tamaki chanted mindlessly, carefully placing his arm over her waist as to not hurt her. Nejire’s face flamed as she ran her hands through his hair slowly, her strength recuperating at a surprisingly fast pace as her heart returned to a usual pace. The CPR worked! It brought her back to the land of the living. It was silent for quite some time as she listened to Tamaki pant, sobs breaking through on occasion, and looked inbetween the hospital roof and Tamaki’s dark purple hair

A small group of people suddenly entered the room moments later. Recovery Girl, Yuyu and Mirio all arrived silently, the two teens’ were thrown back in shock whilst Recovery Girl rushed over to her chair to get to work as the three could sense the relief and love flowing around the atmosphere. Mirio quietly approached Tamaki and gently pulled him off, patting his hair in attempts to ease him as Yuyu grabbed Nejire’s hand, her eyes flooding in happiness. Her best friend is alive, thank the gods above!

Recovery Girl immediately hovers her hands over the first burn of choice to begin heal them and dispose of the pain as fast as she could. Tamaki grips Mirio’s hand a bit tighter, tears overfilling his eyes as he truly couldn’t help himself but let his happiness overwhelm him. He thought she was going to die, his emotions flood out like a mighty waterfall as Mirio smiled besides his best friend, patting his shoulder

Nejire managed to make herself smile rather calmly and lightly whilst Yuyu moves out of the way entirely for Tamaki to take her spot besides Nejire’s laying form, his hand slithered through her shoulder-length bangs to twirl them inbetween his fingers, smooth like silk. So beautiful, her face may be drenched in burns but he could still sense her unbreaking smile and feel silky smooth skin. He could never be disgusted by her, no matter how destroyed she may look, she’ll always be beautiful to him

“You’re so beautiful…” Tamaki whispered shakily, making Nejire jolt slightly in surprise. The girl laughed gently, wincing in pain at the action seconds after. It did hurt but she couldn’t argue with admiring her longtime crush and her longtime crush admiring her. He was worried about her like all of her friends, he missed her and she felt her now sensitive heart ping

“I’m fine, kitten” Nejire chirped cheerfully, leaning her head to the side slightly to press a kiss on Tamaki’s hand when she felt it gently brush over her burned cheek, her eyes basically formed into love hearts as Tamaki locked his to hers, his cheeks flaming rosy red. That gaze, it was full of love

Did she… love him the same way?

I don’t know the artist name but credit, of the art above, goes to him/her/them!

#my hero academia #boku no hero academia #boku no hero #mha fanfiction #mha tamaki #mha nejire #bnha imagines #bnha #bnha tamaki #bnha nejire #suneater #nejire chan #tamaneji #nejitama #big three #angst imagines #fluff imagines #angst to fluff #mha fluff #mha angst #mha imagines #mha #ship power #tamaki x nejire #nejire x tamaki

[halucygeno]

Pacifism in “Hard to Be a God”

[Minor spoilers for the book - discussion of overarching themes with a few minor plot points as examples. There’ll be another warning for MAJOR SPOILERS hidden under “Keep reading”, just before the conclusion.]

(All quotes are from the 1973 translation by Wendayne Ackerman.)

One thing I adore about “Hard to Be a God” is that its protagonist, Anton, is a genuinely nuanced, thought-provoking depiction of a pacifist character.

Some media with this kind of protagonist falls into the trap of implying that the hero has some sort of innate kindness or softness to them. And because they are, individually, “such a compassionate person”, they can do the whole enlightened “forgive and forget, love thy enemy, everyone can be redeemed” shtick. The writer implicitly rewards this “kind nature” by giving the hero overpowered abilities which vindicate their beliefs, and let them continue displaying their kindness (see: Naruto, Steven Universe).

In “Hard to Be a God”, this is inverted. The main reason Anton can resolve fights without bloodshed is because:

A) He was raised by a much more advanced civilisation which imparted onto him their humanistic philosophy. His job literally demands him to be a passive observer who avoids conflict. B) He has access to modern combat techniques and technology (extra-durable chainmail, fast-acting medicine, a helicopter and the ability to generate gold) which give him a significant advantage (both in direct confrontations and in negotiation). C) [speculation] Other Noon Universe novels such as “The Inhabited Island” and “The Waves Extinguish the Wind” suggest that Earth’s scouts are genetically modified, giving them greater strength and survivability (though I’m not sure whether this is the case in “Hard to Be a God”, as it takes place much earlier in the timeline).

Anton’s privilege and power are not implied to be a reward for his goodness; it’s the opposite. The fact that he has privilege and power is what gives him the opportunity to be good. This is explicitly drawn attention to when he says things like:

“Remember that they do not know what they are doing; and that they are almost all free of guilt. And that is why you must have the patience of Job, patience, patience [...]”

The general doctrine of Earth’s scouts is not to judge the locals’ moral depravity, because the latter weren’t brought up in the same favourable social conditions as the former.

But ok, even with the deck stacked so heavily in Anton’s favour, he still struggles to be a pacifist. After spending so much time in a world that he sees as backwards - full of filthy brutes and meek, complicit peasants - he has to repress his contempt for these people. He has to manage his emotions, snapping himself out of anger fits:

"And I almost tore them to pieces, he suddenly realized. If they hadn’t run inside I would have killed them! He remembered the bet he had recently made, how he had taken a dummy clad in a double Soanian suit of armor and split it from head to toe with his sword—cold shivers ran down his back at the thought. They might now be lying here in a pool of their own blood, like stuck pigs, and he would be standing here, sword in hand, not knowing what to do … A fine god you are! You’ve become a beast …”

And here’s another important aspect of this: he is deeply ambivalent about this “no killing” rule. On one hand, he takes it as a moral imperative, and is revolted at the thought that he’d be capable of such savagery. On the other hand, he is angry at his own impotence. He doesn’t see his pacifism as bravery, but as passivity - a cowardly refusal to take decisive action when it is desperately needed.

After all, just being an individual saint is not enough to fix a rotten society. What good is Anton’s pacifism if everyone else is gleefully murdering each other? He can’t be everywhere at once, saving people and resolving conflicts diplomatically.

What Anton really wants is to overthrow Arkanar’s cruel leaders; he often fantasizes about staging a full-blown revolution. It’s only his pragmatism that keeps him in check. He reasons that, with how society is structured there, killing a dictator would just create a power vacuum which competing factions would try to fill by slaughtering each other and whoever else happens to be in the way, Anton included.

But, most importantly, Anton is not rewarded for his pacifism. It doesn’t make him feel good - the opposite, it makes him miserable. Nobody (outside of a very small circle of his closest friends) is “inspired by” or respects his morals. They see them as a weird idiosyncrasy which handicaps him.

[MAJOR SPOILERS FOR THE ENDING FROM HERE ON, WATCH OUT!]

And in the end, after losing Kira, the person closest to him in all of Arkanar, he can no longer restrain himself. He goes on a rampage, and is punished for it - he accomplishes nothing, and his superiors immediately withdraw him from the mission. Back at home, when his old friend, Anka, hears of his exploits, she starts to fear him. The final lines of the novel are heart-breaking:

“'Anka,' he said tenderly. 'Anka, my little friend …' He held his long arms out to her. Timidly she leaned forward, then quickly jumped back a step. On his fingers … But it was not blood, only the stain of strawberries.“

The implication is clear. Anton has been tainted. He has shown to be capable of incredible cruelty and, no matter how justifiably angry he felt at the time, the people he killed are a permanent stain on his conscience. Metaphorically, the blood is still on his hands.

In this assessment, pacifism and goodness are not exceptional qualities (at least by the standards of futuristic space communists). They’re an expected baseline. Losing your self-restraint and killing, even in extreme circumstances, is a failure.

And I mean, it makes sense. If you have the power to avoid causing bloodshed, it seems like a given that you should use it. Nobody is framed as “heroic” for keeping to this basic standard.

To me, this was so refreshing about about “Hard to Be a God”. It ticks off some of the same tropes as other pacifist protagonists (overpowered abilities and exceptional moral purity relative to their environment) but with none of the aggrandisement and hero worship. Instead of being celebrated and vindicated for doing the right thing, Anton’s only rewards are agonising moral dilemmas and the constant fear that his passivity is enabling things to get worse.

The crucial takeaway is this: PACIFISM IS HARD. Helping people in times of crisis is hard. Making society better is hard. You will have to get your hands dirty, make personal sacrifices, compromise yourself. You won’t feel all fine and dandy as you preach your pacifism from a place of comfort and moral superiority. It really takes a bit of a masochistic, martyr mentality to get anywhere with it.

(Side note: This is only loosely related, but another character that embodies this ideal is Dr. Rieux from “The Plague” by Albert Camus. He loses almost everything while working tirelessly to help his patients, but is not celebrated as a hero. He himself doesn’t view his actions as “heroic”, but simply as “common decency”.)

I think more optimistic stories about pacifism are afraid of this idea. They want to encourage kindness by framing it as simple and uncontroversial - not effortless per-se, but not too challenging either. And they also aggrandise it by framing kind individuals as exceptionally wonderful.

And I don’t know, this irks me. Aren’t we setting the bar very low for humanity, if just being a decent person is so praise-worthy? Isn’t it cynical and contradictory to imply that we’ll be rewarded for our “selflessness” with admiration, and our actions will be vindicated by success? Doesn’t it inflate expectations and set people up for disappointment when we portray kindness as easy, flowing naturally from some innate “good nature” within us?

I know, I’m rambling at this point. But that’s kind of why I love sci-fi - it thrives in this ambiguity and existential dread. It doesn’t give me reassuring narratives about heroism, but asks hard questions and trails off with no satisfying conclusion.

God, this book is so good. The Strugatskys are so good.

I really need to finish that Roadside Picnic essay.

(Huge thanks to Wendayne Ackerman and later Olena Bormashenko for translating the book into English, Irena Piotrowska, into Polish, and Simeon Vladimirov, into Bulgarian.)

#Hard to Be a God #Strugatsky brothers #essay #book analysis #Трудно быть богом #Братья Стругацкие

[birgittesilverbae]

really feel like there’s nobody in the world who writes beatrice and lilith like you do. something about how you charter their vulnerability and the slightly graceless tandem of them that just… astounds me every time? somehow you pick up these characters i have spent so long thinking about and you astonish me with them in a way that feels so true and genuine and heartfelt. idk there’s a bravery to how you write them. how lilith wants wants wants and loves in this incalculable starstruck aching pins-and-needles way. how she watches beatrice, knows every inch of her from breath to bones. knows what it feels like to be with her to be in her to be the thing that she comes home to. lilith in dads and in babea is just so fond of beatrice. she knows her from her tanlines, in the dark; she knows her covered in blood and tucked between the pages of a star wars book. she knows how she sorts legos and how she steals lilith’s sunglasses and mary - shannon - whoever’s hoodie. and i think you capture what is so captivating about lilith. what makes her precious to me; that she is profoundly gentle, that she fights so hard for what she believes in but so much of that is beatrice. and i think you always write her with an awareness that lilith needs to learn to believe in herself.

and bea… the way you write her has no equal. you capture her wit and her intelligence, but i think in your hands it’s so REAL. not just a bunch of facts or polysyllabic words, but this feeling of sharpness and depth and quiet strength. it makes me insane it makes me cry the way you write her is beautiful and searing. how she loves lilith like fingers pressing into a bruise. like blushing and touching and tending towards. gravitational and, again, a love that feels so like her - soft and certain and tentative and holding on with everything she has. it’s crying over a mug it’s kissing lilith just inside the convent gates it’s laying in her lap and being utterly bare to her. it’s drowning and it’s “i’d give you my lungs so you could breathe.”

just continually blown away by the attentiveness of your writing, the precision and intention and knowing that all the meaning i find is really there and the love is so palpable in every line. the way you write both of them is revelatory. lilith in nature with her drifting bleeding lost-at-sea liminality. beatrice in tmtl who feels herself being shaped to endure loss, and does. who falls so naturally for ava because she was taught how to love (shown, mirroring bō strikes and shooting between heartbeats).

anyway your writing is a tremendous gift and i hope you know that i think this every day and i reread your writing constantly and i just think you’re a very brilliant person 💖💖

😭💖 i love you i love you i love you

#ask #'anon' #big needed this today especially #to remember #mywn

[aspiring-house-husband]

good evening, sweet night sky anon, pretty puppy, its time for your reward 💕

to learn more about requesting something of your own, follow this link

words earned: 700 | word count: 730

~|~

you beautiful sweet thing... you’ve been so strong for so long, i’m so proud of you. you’ve been navigating this world and doing your best, and that’s all any of us can hope for, right? that’s all i could possibly ask you for. 

but you’ve spent enough time being strong. i think you’re ready to put all that strength aside. you don’t need it anymore, not when you’re with me. 

so come in, sweetheart, sit down. rest your legs, stretch out your back. i’ll get you something to drink- you’re done doing things for yourself, for a while. i’ve got you; i’ll take care of you. you can relax. you can close your eyes and rest your head back, and you can listen to my words. 

you’re so strong, so brave. but you can leave all that strength and bravery by the door. all you need to be now is obedient. you can do that for me, can’t you? 

that’s right, puppy, of course you can. You’re always good for me, so good. 

shh, yes you are, no need to deny it. i’m always right, aren’t I? your master is always right, and pretty little puppies like you would do well to listen. good puppy, well done. 

now, I know how sore your shoulders can get, so im going to give you a little shoulder rub, okay? don’t worry, I remember, I won’t be too harsh. I know your limits. your master is always right. 

breathe deep with me, little love. I’ve got you; you’re safe with me. that’s all you need. now, why don’t you spread those pretty legs? that’s it, that’s my good obedient puppy. I’ve got you.

aww, my gorgeous little puppy, youre dripping, sopping wet. being talked down to like this is all it takes to get you nice and needy? how sweet. go on, pretty puppy, you can rub your cock a little bit. 

no, don’t hold back those pretty moans. well done, that’s it, perfect. Keep going for me, sweetheart, that’s so nice. I know, darling, i know- try not to twitch. you’re so perfect. 

I know, I know, poor thing, i know how it makes you squirm and whimper when i say that. but you are perfect, and you’d do well to remember that. 

ah-ah, don’t make that face at me. look at me, puppy- say it. say that you’re perfect. you’re a perfect, pretty little puppy. 

good. say it again. 

well done. see, now doesn’t that feel better? my pretty little puppy, accepting themself, knowing exactly how pretty they are. why don’t you reward yourself for obeying your master? why don’t you stick some fingers into that pretty wet puppycunt?

oh, isn’t that just the most beautiful thing i’ve ever seen. alright, pup- don’t move, i’ve got you. You know that i’m well strong enough to pick you up and set you down all soft and comfy onto the bed. 

I just can’t resist that pretty wet hole- part of me wants to eat you out like a starving man, but my pretty puppy deserves to be filled the way they want. I promise i’ll go slow, fill you nice and easy. . . fuck, puppy, you’re so warm and tight and- ngh- fuck. 

now. let me hear every sound from those gorgeous lips, let me have every mark you feel the need to bestow upon my skin. don’t hold back, puppy, let yourself give in, let yourself drop. you’re safe, nothing matters but this. 

nothing matters but your master’s cock, thrusting slow at first before slowly speeding up, long strokes deep into your puppycunt, hitting every spot within you. nothing matters but your master’s hands on your hips, holding you like there’s nothing in the world more precious while gripping you so tight that you couldn’t imagine getting away. 

no, no, no squirming. no escaping. you’re at my mercy, puppy, and all this pleasure your dumb little puppy brain cant quite handle- i’ll make sure you do. you were made to suffer on my cock, and that’s what you’ll do. whine and cry all you want; i’ll kiss away your tears. 

and when you fall apart—which i feel by your trembling thighs that you’ll be doing soon—you’ll do that stuffed full of your master’s cock, sobbing and moaning like you’re born to do nothing else. you can do it, darling, there you go. now, don’t you feel better? 

#dumbification #og #story #non monster #tip reward #night sky anon