#Vulnerability

[troublegoblin]

love when characters who have spent their whole lives believing they are annoying, useless, and a burden are told (and shown) that loving them is like breathing and that they are not required to be anything but alive for this love. for normal and not personal reasons at all.

[lizardho]

I’ve been thinking a lot lately about some of the people I interact with. I have a coworker who I am pretty sure is a MAGA type, and she is also a lovely woman who is dreadfully overworked and so good at connecting to patients when they call. I can see the conflict on her face when she talks to me, a gigantic tranny dork who speaks Spanish and affirms the LGBT community, but can also talk to her about her cows and knows about guns and stuff. I can see the fear in the eyes of my former Young Men’s leader when he misgenders me and realizes that I’m not an ideology but a person he has known for a long time. I can see the way my extended family stop and stutter over political discussions when they realize they are talking about me. And I don’t know why but lately it’s just made me think about my neighbor as a kid.

When we moved to Arizona, we moved next door to a lovely retired couple - John and Lucy. John was a veteran of WWII, he had an M.D. and a Ph.D. in radiology, and he LOVED us to pieces. His wife, Lucy, was a sharp and gifted woman - well spoken, very observant, and VERY clever. I just know that she used that cleverness as a mom to great effect, because with my and my siblings she always managed to find a way to send us home with candy and treats for a week despite my dad’s protests. We loved them, growing up, and even though they have long-since passed away I love them still, and I love what I learned from them.

John was, as stated, a WWII veteran. He was enlisted as a rifleman, and later as a front line medic, starting at Point Du Hoc and moving inwards to France and towards the Rhine. He let me do a report on him in 6th grade where he shared war stories with me he had kept to himself his whole life - he said it was out of respect for his friends who didn’t get to come home and tell their stories.

He said he told me because he knew I could respect the memories of his friends.

He showed me his collection of medals, and which he’d kept hidden away in a sock in his attic because he’d feel an immense grief any time he saw them. He had wanted to be a doctor his whole life, prior to being drafted he was studying medicine and had taken the Hippocratic oath to Do No Harm. He saw his medals as a reminder that he had Done Harm.

After telling me his stories he was able to convince himself that while he had Done Harm, it was only because his only other alternative was, to him, cowardice. He chose to be brave even if it meant acting against his Oath because he felt that if he didn’t do it someone else would have to go in his place and he would be responsible for the harm that befell them. I don’t think that’s true, but for him it was and that was something no being on earth could have ever dissuaded him from believing.

He shared wild stories - melee combat on the beach, clearing artillery bunkers, receiving a Purple Heart for being injured in hand-to-hand combat with a Wehrmacht rifleman he said he felt pity for because they were the same age and he had to imagine the man he was fighting had been drafted just like him.

He shared how he was awarded a Silver Star for charging a machine gun nest, but shared that he was most proud of not killing anyone in the process. He threw a grenade with the pin still in it and when the machine gunners jumped to avoid being blown up they were killed by someone else so he didn’t have to do it. He took the machine gun and shot the other machine gun in that French field to pieces so he didn’t have to kill the people operating it. He said they were giving out Silver Stars like candy but I knew he was being modest.

He told me about being redesignated as a medic, about how he crawled for about 500 yards on his belly to rescue an injured tank driver, then threw him over his back and crawled the same 500 yards back (1000 yards total) to treat his injuries. He said he met the man in an Army hospital in England after his spine was broken by a high explosive panzer shell was fired through a hollowed out French farmhouse and landed about 20 feet away from him.

He told me about all the people he helped and saved as a medic, he told me about his work in radiology and research after the war. He showed me a hallway that was quite literally wallpapered with academic honors he’d earned as a researcher. He told me about how his first Fourth of July back was a horror show for him because fireworks and German artillery make very similar sounds. He told me about how he woke up in a cold sweat well over half a century later hearing the screams of German artillery men being burned alive with flamethrowers, or hearing his own voice apologizing to the young German soldier he stabbed in the heart at Point Du Hoc.

He told me that when he was asked to present at a medical conference in Germany 25 years after the war ended that he was so scared he couldn’t step off the plane, and that his wife had to hold his hand and lead/pull him with her. He said he was not scared because he was worried about being triggered, but because he knew that someone somewhere outside of that plane had the course of their life irreparably altered by his military service. That to someone out there he was the cause of immense suffering and harm. That some unwitting waiter could be the son of the Nazi Officer he stabbed in the heart with a 12-inch hunting knife. That some woman asking questions in the audience would be the daughter or widow of a man he sent to judgement with a .30-06. He was scared that they would hate him.

He knew what the Nazi’s had done, he knew better than anyone I’d ever met. He’d watched the documentaries, he’s seen the PoWs returning from camps, he’d seen the civilians massacred and tortured by their regime, but he also knew that among the monsters were people like him - idealistic 20-somethings who only wanted to make the world better and were ripped away from that life by the Nazi war machine. And he spent his whole life mourning the loss of innocence and peace that was forced on so many people by such a corrupt power.

To be honest I don’t know if I could do that, but he could. He told me he could still feel the dead and lost with him, both when he slept and when he woke. He told me he thought he’d go to his grave never having told a word of this to anyone. That the stories of him and his friends and allies would disappear silently with him and those like him. That he had wanted that until he realized that he didn’t have to sell out to share the stories - that he could give the stories away for free to someone who would love the people in them, and not just the content of them. He didn’t want his stories to be used as Patriotic Pornography by some TV network or magazine. He wanted the people he knew to be respected, he wanted their memories to be honored and loved, and he entrusted me, a 12-year-old “boy” to do that.

He told me for years afterwards that after telling me these stories that he slept better than he ever had. That by sharing the stories with someone who could hear Him over the din of victory and glory and honor and revisionistic history. Someone who could see the man in the story and not just see the plot of a battle being won. He wanted to be human, and he wanted the people he saw die to be human too - everyone, not just the people on his side. He wanted someone to see and to know the anguish of having to look someone in the eye as heartblood muddies the ground beneath them and hope that they understand that this was not an act of love or hatred but an act of desperation. To hope that you had just taken out One Of The Bad Ones instead of a medical student or a poet who had been drafted. He wanted me to see how hard he had worked since then to build a world without scarcity, to build a world of peace. He wanted me to know SO badly that the cost of violence, any violence, even necessary violence, is always ALWAYS paid by both parties involved.

I think about the rise of the new right wing - the new Nazi movement’s traction in politics, and I feel sad and scared - the world that Johnathan J Yobaggy, my neighbor, my friend, and my hero, worked SO hard to build is being done away with by people who do not understand the cost of the path they are entering. I can see brief moments of recognition in the eyes of some of the people I mentioned - The former young men’s president who immediately regrets misgendering me and hen he makes eye contact with me and sees Me staring back at him and not a faceless “ideology.” I can hear it in the voice of my uncle who quietly comes up to me to apologize for some homophobic comment he made absentmindedly. I can see it in the eyes of racists and sexists being interviewed on TV when they realize that they didn’t vote for a concept, they voted for a real thing. And honestly, I have mixed emotions about it. Because while I understand frustration with the status quo, the importance of basic human needs like affordable good and rent, and I know the fear that comes with feeling powerless, I also can’t help but grieve the endless wheel of history bringing us back to this God Damned Fucking Place again. I hope we can avoid this fate, not just for our sake but for the sake of everyone who has ever tried to make the world safer. For everyone who has ever tried to make up for human nature, for everyone who has ever placed themselves on the offering plate to protect others from the cruelty they know lies just under the surface of mankind’s tenuous grip on progress. I want SO badly for there to be a solution to this, for the people who idolize the Nazi party and the impact of fascism to see that the price of this path is paid in more than just blood but in soul. That they’re allowing themselves to be devoured too. I want for the centrists and the fence sitters and the idealists who want to “change it from the inside” to see how dangerous our politics have become. I want them to see that they’re losing the things that make them great in exchange for a security blanket that’s now become far far far too small to ever work for them again.

Safety found in the past is already gone, and safety found in the future is only as real as a daydream. That any ideology that promises that by “joining us now we’ll make things rough so we can make things safe in a decade” is a promise made by those who will not have to fight the battles they send you to.

I don’t know if America was ever really great, but as long as John was alive it felt great to me. There is no ideology that can replace a neighbor. No tax plan that can replace a friend. No grocery bill that can replace community and connection. No amount of budget cuts that can replace kindness. No amount of suffering from people I hate that will ever make more love. I don’t know how to make America great, but I know how to make my America great and it is not by selling out integrity and compassion and community and fucking humanity to make eggs and gas cheaper. It is by seeing and hearing the people around me. I’m not Mormon anymore, but I still know the value of mourning with those that mourn and comforting those that stand in need of comfort. I’m not Christian anymore but I still have Eyes That Can See and Ears That Can Hear. I want to make this all stop but I can’t stop the collective power of tens of millions of people so instead I listen to my MAGA coworker tell me about how sick her kid was last week. I make jokes with my Young Men’s leader. I hug my uncle. I let them see me fully, as a human and not an ideology. As a woman and not the concept of gender. As a whole person and not someone who can be easily summarized or boiled down into something short and quippy. And I let them know I can see them fully too, and I can see all their humanity as easily as they can see mine. I just have to hope that this works - that enough people can See and Hear the people in their lives who matter to them to bring them out of their personal world of forms and into the real world.

I am probably, honestly, just spiraling a little bit. I took my ADHD meds today and in addition to helping me focus they make me a little anxious so I doubt things are as bad right now as they seem. But just in case there’s any truth to the way things seem to be going, remember, and I mean this seriously: Be kinder to each other, be gayer, and read more Terry Pratchett.

And for the love of god day hello to your neighbor.

[thoughtsthatstayedwithme]

[leonardospoetry]

Feeling too much can hurt sometimes, but one day you grow and realize that your heart was never really broken. It was just wide open.

[feral-ballad]

Savannah Brown, from Closer Baby Closer; “Retroactive jealousy”

[Text ID: “Someday I’ll care for something / without wanting to close a door behind it.”]

[vintage-tigre]

Photo portrait by Helmut Newton, 1987

[nyancrimew]

NEW FROM ME: so i guess i hacked samsung?!

a short bug bounty write up on how i randomly stumbled onto samsung cloud infrastructure

(not an april fools bit)

[miamaimania]

"Hal Vacuum" by Photographer Hal: Intimacy in Transparency

[pratchettquotes]

There should be a word for the microscopic spark of hope that you dare not entertain in case the mere act of acknowledging it will cause it to vanish, like trying to look at a photon.

Terry Pratchett, Mort

[fuckyeahgoodomens]

From An evening with David Tennant at St. Peter’s Church :), 13.3.2025 (audio by serdarim0 on twitter <3)

Q: How do you then find that vulnerability?

David: Well, the great thing about those characters is that, you know, in a world of humans, they are the two supernatural creatures, and yet they are much more human than any of the humans. So they are... they are... they are the sort of... they are quite humble, they're quite open. They're sort of the audience's way into this extraordinary mad world. So they are very vulnerable, actually. And I think they need each other so much and they're so reliant on each other. So, you know, I think that I get Crowley. I think I get who he is. I think there's something very understandable about him and his need for his friend and his inability to express that. That's very Scottish Presbyterian.

[aventurineswife]

Can I request Argentine, Sunday, Aventurine (our beautiful man), Dr Ratio, and JingYuan meeting their newborn? Unless you’ve done that already? If you have how about their baby’s first steps? I love Hsr as dads🥺

“Aren't they lovely? Made from love...”

Tags: Aventurine x Reader, Sunday x Reader, Jing Yuan x Reader, Argenti x Reader, Ratio x Reader, Parental Love, Newborn, Tender Moments, Character Growth, Protective Parents, Family, Emotional Journey, Vulnerability.

Warnings: Light mentions of exhaustion and emotional vulnerability, Heavy emotional themes around parenting and legacy.

A/N: I love HSR men as a dads too ☹️🥺💖 ugh... They make me sick 😔💔

The sterile scent of the hospital filled the air, but to Argenti, it was all a blur. He stood, frozen at the threshold of the hospital room, gazing at the bundle in your arms. His heart swelled, and his breath caught in his chest.

“Is this... truly our child?” His voice trembled, barely above a whisper, as his gaze lingered on the tiny face that was so delicately nestled within the blankets.

You nodded softly, your tired eyes filled with warmth as you carefully rocked the baby in your arms. The light from the window highlighted the soft glow of the room, casting gentle shadows over the peaceful scene.

Argenti stepped closer, his armor clinking quietly with each measured step, as if the weight of the moment demanded reverence. When he reached your side, his hand gently brushed against your arm. He couldn’t tear his eyes away from the baby, whose small, perfect features were barely visible beneath the blanket. His heart swelled with a strange, unfamiliar emotion—a tenderness so deep it almost frightened him.

The baby stirred slightly, a soft whimper breaking the silence.

Argenti’s breath hitched, and without thinking, he reached down, his fingers brushing against the baby’s tiny hand. He froze as the baby grasped his finger in a reflexive hold, a bond formed in an instant. His chest tightened with a profound sense of responsibility, but it was more than that—this was a moment that transcended duty, that spoke to a higher purpose.

“This is our legacy,” Argenti murmured, his green eyes shimmering with something beyond pride. “A new beginning... a new creation of Beauty.”

His voice faltered, the weight of his idealism tempered by the joy of this quiet moment. It was his deepest honor, his most sacred path. He wasn’t just a knight of Beauty now—he was a parent.

You smiled, and without another word, you gently placed the baby in his arms. The warmth of the newborn’s fragile body against his chest made his heart leap. Argenti’s breath was steady but strained as he held them—he was no longer just a knight. He was their protector.

“Welcome,” he whispered softly, his voice a quiet vow. “To a world of beauty, my child.”

The room was still, the gentle hum of hospital machinery in the background as Sunday stood at the threshold, his eyes fixed on the small figure in your arms. His wings fluttered behind him in subtle movements, reflecting a deep sense of awe.

His usual reflective demeanor was replaced with something tender, something uncertain, as he crossed the room slowly. His steps were quiet, measured, as if he were entering a sacred space, a new reality that was no longer just his own.

“Is it... truly happening?” he murmured, his voice barely audible, almost as if he feared disturbing the fragile beauty before him. His gaze fixed on the baby, their tiny face framed by soft blankets. The baby’s peaceful sleep seemed to mirror the calm he had once sought for himself, the tranquility he dreamed could exist in the world.

You smiled, looking up at him with exhaustion, but your eyes sparkled with the joy of the moment. “They’re ours, Sunday. Our child.”

His gaze softened, the golden halo behind his head glowing faintly as he approached you. There was an ethereal stillness in the air, almost as if the very world was holding its breath. As he reached you, his hands hovered hesitantly over the baby, his fingers shaking just slightly. It was rare to see him unsure, but this was no ordinary moment. This was the culmination of a dream, of an idealism he had once longed to protect.

With great care, you placed the baby in his arms. Sunday’s breath caught in his throat. His heart pounded in his chest, but it was a strange, unfamiliar rhythm. The baby shifted slightly, letting out a small sigh as they rested against him.

The tenderness he felt overwhelmed him, and for a fleeting moment, he felt the weight of his past fade. This moment, with the baby in his arms, felt like a redemption—a chance to embrace a future untainted by doubt.

“They’re so small,” Sunday whispered, his voice trembling with a mixture of awe and vulnerability. “So pure...”

His wings fluttered again, this time with a subtle warmth, and he leaned down to press a soft kiss to the baby’s forehead. His usual philosophical distance melted away in the face of such innocence. In their smallness, he found a quiet hope—a vision for the world he had long sought to create.

“I promise to protect you,” he whispered, his voice barely above a murmur, filled with a devotion he had never allowed himself to feel so openly before. “You will never be alone.”

Aventurine leaned against the doorframe of the hospital room, the usual confident smile still on his face, but his eyes... his eyes were soft. His usual bravado faded as he took in the sight of you holding the tiny newborn in your arms. His heart skipped a beat, and he couldn’t help but chuckle softly to himself.

“This feels like a game I wasn’t prepared for,” he said, his voice laced with a playful lightness, though there was something else beneath it—something more vulnerable. He stepped into the room, his usual confident stride faltering slightly as he crossed toward you.

You looked up, exhaustion evident in your expression, but there was an unmistakable joy that made the hospital room feel warmer than it should have. “It’s real, Aventurine. Our baby.”

Aventurine’s smile wavered, and for a moment, he seemed lost in thought. His eyes lingered on the baby, who had barely begun to stir, their tiny fingers curling in a peaceful sleep. There was something about their quiet form that unsettled him, yet at the same time, it soothed him in a way he couldn’t quite explain.

“Well, this is a gamble I’m willing to take,” he said with his usual smirk, but his voice was softer, more vulnerable than you’d ever heard. “Not sure how much I’ve got to offer, but for them...” His hand, adorned with rings and bracelets, reached out hesitantly. He paused just before touching the baby’s tiny hand, his expression shifting for a brief moment, like he was uncertain about the stakes of this particular game.

“Would you like to hold them?” you asked softly, your voice inviting him into the moment.

Aventurine’s gaze flickered to you, a mixture of admiration and fear in his eyes. He took a deep breath, then stepped forward, allowing you to carefully place the baby in his arms. His usual air of indifference disappeared the moment the baby rested against him, their warmth radiating through him in ways he hadn’t expected.

“Never thought I’d find myself like this,” Aventurine admitted quietly, his voice almost a whisper, as if he were speaking to the child and not to you. He adjusted his hold carefully, his usual calculated movements softer now. “But I’m not one to back down from a challenge, especially one like this.”

He smiled again, the carefree facade returning, though now it seemed tinged with something deeper—something more sincere. “You’re a high-stakes gamble, my little one, and I plan to win.”

He looked down at the baby, his sharp, calculating mind shifting toward this new, unpredictable chapter of his life, and for once, the gamble didn’t feel so daunting.

In that moment, he understood something he’d never truly grasped before—there was no strategy in the world that could prepare him for this. And for the first time in a long while, Aventurine found himself willing to bet on something truly precious.

The sterile hum of the hospital room was a sharp contrast to the storm of thoughts swirling in Ratio’s mind. He stood by the door, his usual confident stride stilled for the first time in years. The hospital room before him seemed alien, the soft glow of the lights and the warmth of the blankets a world away from his usual studies and experiments. Yet, there you were, cradling the tiny bundle in your arms, and everything else seemed to fade into the background.

“Is this... really our creation?” Ratio’s voice was lower than usual, a rare vulnerability showing beneath his usual sharp tone. His intense eyes were fixed on the baby, and despite his vast intellect, he seemed almost... uncertain.

You smiled softly, exhaustion in your expression, but your eyes sparkled with pride. “Yes, Veritas. This is our child.”

Ratio approached slowly, his mind still whirring with the logical implications of what had just occurred, yet his heart—unexpectedly—began to race. The baby stirred gently in your arms, their tiny hand curling around a corner of the blanket.

He knelt beside you, the brilliant mind now focusing solely on the life before him. His fingers twitched, hesitant at first, before they reached out and brushed against the baby's tiny, delicate hand. The baby’s tiny fingers grasped his in response, and Dr. Ratio froze, his breath catching in his chest.

“This... this is our legacy,” he whispered, the words feeling foreign on his lips but true nonetheless. “Our chance to eradicate ignorance.” His voice held a note of something deeper—an unspoken vow.

You carefully placed the baby in his arms, the weight of their small form bringing a strange sense of peace that Ratio hadn’t known he was capable of feeling. The warmth of the newborn’s body settled against his chest, and for a moment, all the grand theories and academic pursuits seemed distant. This was a different kind of knowledge—one of pure love and responsibility.

“Welcome to the universe, little one,” he murmured softly, his usual air of self-assurance softening. “I’ll ensure you have the tools to understand it, all of it.” His voice was firm, but there was a newfound tenderness there that even he couldn’t deny.

The room felt unusually still as Jing Yuan stood at the door, his eyes fixed on the small form you held in your arms. His usually calm and collected demeanor seemed to waver, and for the first time in a long while, a quiet uncertainty flickered across his face. The light of the hospital room reflected in his hair, making him appear even more ethereal, as if the moment was beyond his reach.

“Are they really... ours?” His voice, usually so commanding, was now tinged with awe, almost reverence. His gaze was soft, tracing every tiny feature of the baby nestled in your arms.

You looked up, your exhaustion fading in the presence of this tender moment. “Yes, Jing Yuan. This is our child.”

Jing Yuan’s gaze softened as he stepped closer, the usual air of composure replaced by something far more profound. He stood by your side, his large frame somehow looking smaller in the presence of such innocence. You carefully placed the baby in his arms, and for a moment, Jing Yuan seemed to freeze, as though unsure of how to hold this tiny life.

The baby shifted slightly, their soft breath a quiet reminder of the fragility of life. Jing Yuan’s hands, strong and capable from centuries of leadership, trembled ever so slightly as he adjusted his grip. His heart pounded in his chest, not with the rush of battle, but with something gentler, more protective.

“They’re so small,” he whispered, his voice almost breaking. The weight of the moment seemed heavier than any military battle he had ever faced.

He looked down at the baby, his eyes reflecting the love and wisdom he had accumulated over centuries. He leaned down, pressing a gentle kiss to the baby’s forehead, and for once, the world seemed still.

“I will protect you, little one,” he vowed quietly, the soft flutter of his capes the only sound in the room. “You will know peace, just as we do.” His fingers gently stroked their tiny hand, and in that instant, Jing Yuan knew that the battle for this child’s future would be his most important yet.

[urfriendlywriter]

What is emotional vulnerability? And can how can your characters show it?

(these are from my POV of what I have learnt and researched. differences in opinion are appreciated because no definition and depiction is set in stone | Credits must be given when reposted elsewhere / @urfriendlywriter ! I hope this helps all of you :D)

Tackling this with three topics:

What's vulnerability?

Actions related to vulnerability. (Actions/words that depict a person is feeling vulnerable + some dialogue prompts)

How to build trust between two people?

Vulnerability:

Emotional vulnerability is the ability to be open to and express one's feelings, even when facing the risk of rejection, criticism, or shame. Vulnerability means acknowledging your difficult emotions. Accepting overwhelming feelings, being able to express them with tender care towards yourself and others.

I'd consider myself a very openly communicative person. If I love you--as a friend, family or something else, I'll make sure you know the depth of it, the meaning behind my words, my look and my touch. I encourage vulnerability in all my relationships and it has positively reflected in their own personal growth as well. Being open, being real, being you, with all the ache, the scars, the hurt, and even the small ball of light within yourself amidst is all---that's vulnerability. And as we,

We gen z, we shelter ourselves to protect ourselves from hurt. But... if we get hurt, is it really our fault? No. If somebody hurts you intentionally, it doesn't translate to what you deserve or must go through. But if I don't get hurt... how will I learn to cope with it? Express it? Communicate through it? Learn from it? And.. importantly, how will I..

Learn how to heal myself again. Learn how to love myself far better. Learn how I want to be and what relationships I want to attract?

So, me, personally, I put myself out there. Like an open book. To read, to feel, to see--including the hurt and the parts I'm working on. Of course, i don't fully lodge it down a person's throat in one go, but u get what i mean. It is slow building of trust and can be used to your advantage as well. (lol that sounds toxic)

Harsh Truths?

Some people will use it against you, but should it hurt you if u were real to yourself? No.

Not all people u open up to may be emotionally mature. And that's okay. Move on.

It is not the end of the world if someone who saw all parts of you turned against you. It simply wasn't your person. It was neither of your faults.

Paint a character afraid to be vulnerable:

Hesitancy to open up, to speak up for themselves.

Blinking back tears, and telling themselves they'd be okay regardless.

"Atleast I don't have it worse."

"And.. If.. I tell you.. You won't look at me differently? Like.. I'm--I'm not worthy?"

doesn't ask for help. doesn't accept help easily.

doesn't think they're worthy to be seen. or to be loved. to be accepted or to even be heard.

"what i say won't make much of a difference anyway" A & "No, i want to hear it. how little, silly, stupid, serious, deep, it may be. I want to hear it. Please."

being numb to pain that they think it's normal to internalize it all.

and one day it erupts all out. into tears and rage. or raw unfiltered pain that bleeds onto everyone who loves them, hurting them too.

they freeze, momentarily surprised when they're asked for their honest opinion

or when they've to blink back tears when someone notices something and helps them without them even asking

detached during intimacy or hyperventilating after or during it

pulling away and pushing the other person away when they truly need them the most

Paint a character confident in themselves and are openly communicative:

you will not second guess what they feel about u, because u can see it in their faces or they'll openly say it

they encourage honest and deep conversations

the look of love is always there in their gaze

they love openly. they have so much love to give.

they'll hear u out no matter the time of the day and will provide a safe space for u

"I'm always here for u" in a soft, quiet voice, a gentle smile and a warm hug

"It's okay to feel that way. Hell u should feel that way. If u wanna talk about it.. here I am."

they're their own safe spaces and they can dive into their emotions, whenever and wherever needed.

they won't let u feel alone in ur misery. they'll shoulder the burden with u, but won't internalize it as their own. (i fear this is very important)

always knows the cause of why they said what they said / how they behaved or reacted

can analyze even u with one glance.

"how are you?" As a gentle caress of words & "I've-I've.. never been asked that.. not with such sincerity.." shyness of the one opening up.

^ "So, here I am.. I've got all the time of the day. Care to tell me?"

They aren't afraid of rejection. But they'll not put up with bullshit.

Building trust between two people:

Building trust is intimate. If done right. Between friends, family, lovers or anyone it may be. It's delicate, it's comforting quietness at some times and hearty loudness at some other. It's being understood, being seen, being able to communicate freely and respectfully.

Vulnerability is present where trust is.

asking help for small things without shying away from it

physical closeness. after moments of honesty or heavy emotions.

prioritizing each other

admiring every little thing they do

lots of "thank you"s being said that shows appreciation loud and clear

nervous glances, shaky hands and fluttering heartbeats as they may be help u zip up ur dress.

forehead kisses, followed up with, "I see you.. Let me help u cleanse away the day's stress."

celebrating even the smallest of their success

asking consent in every small thing!!

^ "i-i why are u asking for that? yes, of course." A & "Love.. I should always ask, even for such a thing as that." B

Being slow but steady with each other

"U don't want to do that? no rush." Immediately backing off A with a smile & B trying to understand how they aren't mad yet "A-are u sure?"

^ "We're in no rush.. We'll go at you pace. But consider my emotions too down the line, hmm?"

Lots of "And how does that make you feel?"

arguments feel less like the ones they saw growing up. and now it's more intimate, thoughtful, full of understanding and closeness. both sides are heard, understood, appreciated and both sides change.

Author's (@urfriendlywriter aka Ziya) note:

As someone who had to learn myself, I'm hoping such a love finds me and all of us too! I've read gentle love in a lot of books. Gentle, patient, communicative, uplifting but I'm yet to find a book that's full of these. So if u have any recommendations, let me know.

Thank u for reading so far! I hope this helps u write amazing, emotionally available characters.

[moonssnail]

A comic about vulnerability and yearning! Except it’s not the nice good kind

[nighttime-thoughts]

Missing you come in waves. Tonight I'm drowning.

[realbreed]

Things you can do to normalize wanting to get pregnant (and potentially doing so):

- tell yourself in the mirror that you want to have unprotected sex

- tell yourself that it's okay to get pregnant

- when you masturbate, practice saying things out loud like "cum inside me," or "please make me pregnant."

- make plans to get knocked up. Figure out timelines and schedules

- start to prepare in advance. Browse baby supplies at thrift stores and digital marketplaces

- look at media of pregnant people and tell yourself outloud that you want to be like that

- normalize conversations about getting knocked up

- have sex with people who haven't had vasectomies. Check STI status, but let them cum inside you

- stop taking birth control. First try to have sex when you know you're not ovulating. Start having closer and closer to your fertile window

- when you have sex, practice not letting the person with the cock pull out right way. Keep them in longer and longer. Practice having sex that might end up impregnating you

- challenge the "fantasy" element of getting impregnated. Decide that you really want it