#I'm actually not certain but

[poorly-drawn-mdzs]

I know those eyes.

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[egophiliac]

I DID IT I GOT MY PINK HAYATE now I am never doing that again!

(at least until they give me, like, a frilly unicorn Kamui or something)

[thottybrucewayne]

I think what I want to get into with the "Anyone can do harm." thing that I keep beating yall over the head with is that literally anyone, anyone at all can do harm it's not "in your DNA" to be an abuser or written in the stars that you'll be a predator. Whatever image you have of an abuser in your head, drop it and replace it with your favorite person in the world and you'll probably be closer to the truth than you realize. It's easy to address harm when it's coming from someone you already hate. I see it happen all the time. Someone you couldn't stand for no real reason does something heinous then all of a sudden here comes the avalanche of "I always knew they were a fucked up individual." No, you didn't. There is no possible way you could have known, you just already didn't fuck with them before they started doing something you could use to justify your hatred of them. I'm guilty of it too! I'm petty, mean, vindictive, and yes! I'm way quicker to believe something bad about someone I hate versus someone I love because I'm human. Still, y all gotta learn to move past that initial "Well, they were always nice to me!" gut feeling and understand that nobody truly knows anyone and anyone can be capable of anything. Even victims. Even you.

[taxinealkaloids]

girls will literally turn their parents’ corpses into meat puppets to prevent the House of their birthright from being annexed by other powers 

[wilteddreamsofbaldursgate]

Overindulgent father Astarion who tells his children they’re allergic to any kind of jewellery that isn’t made of the highest grade Dwarven crafted gold. 

It’s not even because Astarion might have a certain aversion to silver, no, he just raises his children to have standards, thank you very much. 

And it doesn’t end with shiny things, oh no… 

The Ancunín brood is known to be dressed in perfectly woven cotton, silk and soft leather clothes, no matter the occasion.

They’re seen playing with expensive toys, reading artfully illustrated books that certainly belong behind thick glass, not in children’s sticky hands. 

There’s even talk that one of the children is not as naturally inclined to music as his parents claim him to be, surely his lyre must be enchanted—the instrument certainly looks extravagant enough! 

And then there’s always this air of effortless haughtiness surrounding the Ancunín children whenever their nannies and servants are parading them through town as if they were perfect little dolls; objects to show off the wealth their parents acquired in quite the mysterious ways. 

So, it’s no secret that Astarion and Tav are pampering their children—some might say they’re even spoiling them rotten. 

And maybe they are, especially Astarion.

But he doesn’t see why he should raise them any other way, nor does he want to.  

When it comes to his children, Astarion has his own standards, and as long as Tav agrees with him nothing really matters. 

Because, these people, they don’t know anything about the Ancuníns. 

They don’t know that it’s not unusual for Astarion to wash out dirt and mud and strawberry stains from comically small finery, leaving behind only the memories of a day spent playing in the garden, chasing after ducks, picking flowers, lazing in the sun…

That any holes and tears the children’s clothes might suffer are quickly mended, making them look as good as new in no time. 

Nor do they know that Astarion doesn’t mind fashioning a brand new dress to match that of a favourite doll, either. Or to embroider a pretty vest with the likeness of that stray cat the children seem to adore, although their father would rather they don’t touch the mangy animal. 

No, those people know nothing at all...

“Not tired!” Astarion’s youngest cries; the vehement denial of her father’s earlier accusation is cut short by a telltale yawn.

The room still smells of fragrant lavender oil and peaches even when the bath water has already grown tepid, just one or two degrees above what Astarion would consider too cold to be enjoyable. 

Amused, he raises an eyebrow at the protesting toddler before he lifts her out of the copper bathtub with little effort. 

By now, he knows every step of this game.

“Tut-tut, my dear child, what did mama and I say?” Astarion kneels, quickly wrapping a soft towel around the child to keep her warm. “We only tell lies outside of this house.”

Unfazed by her father’s gentle scolding, the girl crosses her arms that haven’t yet lost their puppy fat across her chest, reminding Astarion a little too much of a very displeased Tav. 

Suppressing a sigh, he leans back to consider the pouting child, wondering what could possibly be upsetting her this time—the list is growing longer by the day, after all. 

“What’s the matter, dear?” Astarion asks gently, hoping it’s something easily fixable as it’s growing rather late. 

“Want apple!”

Decades ago, Astarion might’ve rolled his eyes—he knows exactly which stupid apple the child wants, it’s been haunting him all day—but once he started to treat his children’s problems as if they were his own, his life has grown somewhat easier. 

“Why, let’s get an apple on our way to bed, then. Would that be alright, Your Highness?” 

The girl promptly nods her head, allowing Astarion to pat her hair dry before dressing her in a clean night dress. 

She rests her cheek against her father’s shoulder as he carries her first to the kitchen to grab a fragrant apple and a knife, then to her bedroom where they settle on the cosy window seat, just like they do every night.

Soft moonlight is pouring through the windows; the child giggles at the way the knife’s blade is catching the silver light as Astarion peels and cuts the apple into even pieces.

“Here you go,” he finally says, giving the slice of apple one last examining look before surrendering it to the impatient little hands reaching for it. “A sweet treat for my little sweet. Doesn’t it taste so much better when we don’t eat it off the floor, darling?” And when it’s not crawling with ants…

The appeased toddler nibbles at the juicy fruit as Astarion carefully combs through her still-damp curls. 

Her hair’s getting long, he notices, knowing that taking care of it will become more time-consuming each day. 

Once, Astarion would’ve thought this task tedious, brushing out hair that’s not his own, oiling and braiding it for no other reason than knowing his children enjoy him doing it. 

But that’s why he loves doing it in the first place, he supposes.

Astarion can tell by his toddler’s heartbeat that sleep is about to claim her. 

The half-eaten slice of apple is still clutched in her little fist as he cradles the child to his chest, slowly rising from the window seat to put her to bed. 

He’s just about to lay the child down that the fruit drops to the floor, his daughter’s tiny hand clutching at his shirt instead.

“Thank you, papa,” she mumbles, more asleep than awake.

Astarion pauses.

He breathes in the clean, yet unique scent of the little girl that is forever engraved in his brain, the same way he knows under which exact constellation she was born. When she took her first steps, what her first word was. Soon, he will have to memorise her favourite colour, and what she likes to eat when dirty apples won’t be that appealing anymore. 

By now, Astarion knows this game by heart, knows that with every year that passes, he has something new to learn about his children.

And sometimes he wonders what it’s like to grow up with clean bed sheets and full bellies. Sleep filled with naught but warmth and happy memories. Ever open doors and tears that are dried by tender kisses. Living in a house where mistakes and anger are welcomed, safe. 

He wonders what it’s like for his children to know that their father’s love comes without conditions. Not now and not ever. 

Sitting down on the bed, Astarion holds his youngest a little closer to his chest, unwilling to let go of her, yet. 

He’s often accused of spoiling his children when most people can only just grasp the very surface of his love for them, the bare minimum of what he feels for his one and only, precious family. 

These baseless accusations are as unimportant to Astarion as the people voicing them.

He’s raising his children to have standards, wants them to take their father’s love for granted, to accept nothing less but pure devotion.

It’s the only way Astarion knows how to love them, the only way that comes most naturally to him. 

Astarion looks down at his little girl, now fast asleep, a gentle smile tugging at her lips. 

After all these years—all these children—he’s still in awe watching them sleep in his arms as if no harm in the world could ever befall them.

And it won’t—not if Astarion can help it. 

“No, thank you, my heart,” he whispers, pressing a kiss against the crown of the toddler’s head. 

When it comes to his children, Astarion holds himself to the highest standard.

[trans-androgyne]

Radical feminism cannot ever be trans-inclusive.

Why do I keep saying this? Because I have increasingly been seeing transmasc and transfem folks weaponize radical feminist ideas against each other and I am tired of it.

(TL;DR at the end, I know this is lengthy.)

So, what is radical feminism and how does it differ from other kinds of feminism? It’s the idea that patriarchy is the primary root oppression from which all other oppression spawns. It holds that the two primary classes are men/males and women/females, and that men are responsible for creating and maintaining all oppression, with women playing a more passive, secondary role. We're off to a bad start already; this is an inherently racist framework that absolves privileged women of their role in creating and upholding oppression, as the idea is that if women ran the world oppression would not exist. Intersectional feminism, on the other hand, understands the way many forms of oppression are rooted in racism, and that all systems of oppression are interconnected without having one singular root.

The way it functions and its prescribed remedies rely on the idea of a sisterhood--all women/females are connected with each other against men/males. The common belief is that males as the more powerful* class will always try to oppress women unless women band together against them and intervene. Men are framed as the enemy to be fought, not potential allies to be recruited into feminism.

Many of us have an idea of traditional cis radical feminism and how that leads to TERFism. But how does it function in the trans community? For radical feminism to work, a "sister" class oppressed by misogyny and an enemy class causing it must be identified. Radfem trans women will say that their identity as women means they experience the worst misogyny--trans men and mascs just get the weaker "misdirected" version, and in fact have a motive to uphold misogyny due to their identification with manhood*. Trans men are the enemy class that oppresses trans women. Radfem trans men will say that people afab are the real class that experiences the worst misogyny due to their ability to give birth*--while trans women and fems as people amab* are more aligned with cis men due to having received male privilege and been "socialized male" in addition to not having the same reproductive capabilities*. Trans women are the enemy class that oppresses trans men.

Both of these notions rely on painting groups of trans people as having access to patriarchal power they do not. They downplay the way misogyny functions in the lives of the perceived patriarchal class of trans people. It inherently ignores the real experiences of trans people and paints some of them as an enemy class; it cannot ever be truly inclusive of all trans people. Intersectional transfeminism would take into account the way misogyny functions in the oppression of all trans people, and analyze the material conditions of trans folks to reveal that no group of them is granted access to patriarchal power and cis male privilege. It means banding together as a unified trans community and understanding where our experiences are shared, as well as accounting for the way other systems of oppression critically shape the lives of trans people of color, disabled trans people, intersex trans people, and other groups.

*There are a lot of assumptions present in this analysis like the assumed agabs and reproductive abilities of trans men and women; these are not my beliefs but the oversimplifications espoused by the radfems I'm describing.

TL;DR: Radical feminism requires identifying one class as the patriarchal oppressors and the other as the oppressed victims. In the "trans-inclusive" version, this means downplaying the experiences with misogyny of either trans men and mascs or trans women and fems. It identifies either transmisogyny or "afabmisogyny" as the real root of all oppression, ignoring the voices and experiences of the most marginalized trans people. Truly inclusive transfeminism would unite all trans people against the patriarchy instead of falsely implicating us in it.

[reksink]

Beloved Residents of Dirtmouth (And Quirrel 👍)

[dittobooty]

Thinking a lot about how in One Piece there's a continuing theme of self sacrifice that often doesn't meet its end (I won't say always because there are some characters who have eaten shit for a cause). But I just think about how easy it would be to just accept their sacrifice but the narrative won't allow that. Robin, Zoro, Sanji, Jinbe, they've all tried to give their life for the sake of others but they can't because they really don't have to. I think about Robin's "I want to live" regularly. It's so easy to die for someone but it's so much harder to live for them. And living for them gives back so much more than dying for them does. Dying is just a moment but living lets you have more moments and more time to show how much you care and lets you do so much for others. I feel like a lot of other shonen show dying as one of the bravest things you can do but One Piece is so different because it shows you that living is actually the bravest thing.

[yourhighness6]

I feel like people who dislike Zuko miss how important his character is, especially to IRL abuse victims. The journey from scared, angry, isolated and abused to confident, calm, loved and accepted while being handled almost perfectly in the context of his abuse is so underrated even while being hailed as one of the best redemption arcs of all time.

[novantinuum]

somewhere up above the stars the wreckage of a Universe floats past

an AU ancient lonely god Steven I have. his moniker is Astra and I am obsessed with him right now.

[astralhope]

Yuma screaming at talking with Astral, but you see what his friends see

[egophiliac]

just thinking about hair and faces

[gummi-ships]

Kingdom Hearts Union χ - Dwarf Woodlands

[bacchuschucklefuck]

pygmalion and galatea for aroace people

you should tell your friends what I look like, riz gukgak.

[xenonsdoodles]

Felix countered with Thoron at close range yesterday and I almost died in real life. BEAM

[likearolloftape]