#i love these events so so much

[egophiliac]

bring your son to work day

[enthyrea]

watched nimona today i love cringefail riz ahmed

[captainkirkk]

I want to see characters being taken care of in an explicit and worshipful way. Home-cooked meals. Hair brushed and braided by gentle hands. Little gifts just because.

I want to read about characters who are not used to kindness being bombarded by acts of service. This trope works romantically and platonically. Give me found family and acts of service - all the ways a character is wrapped up in wordless, explicit care after years of cruelty and having no idea how to handle. I need it.

[aalghul]

once again thinking about jason as duke’s robin. he’s ~4 years younger than jason, and that puts him at 8-12 during Jason’s time as robin. that’s prime time to get attached to your local kid vigilante before your own life goes downhill.

and if we try to keep duke’s meeting with bruce in zero year + duke’s age (so he can remember the meeting and hold that conversation with bruce), he has to be around 8. if he starts following batman through the news at that time because of the mess that just happened, the robin he sees is probably jason. I’ve literally connected the dots

[suntails]

toot toot!

[thatmooncake]

Day trip misadventures with Sun and Moon featuring @crabsnpersimmons <3

[microwave-core]

what do you mean the green rain has arrived???

[artist-rat]

I feel your breath upon my neck / a soft caress as cold as death

[altschmerzes]

gen fic appreciation post. i love you gen fic. i love you serious, plot-heavy gen fic. i love you funny, lighthearted gen fic. i love you angsty whump and h/c gen fic. i love you emotionally complex and intimate gen fic. i love you super long chaptered gen fic. i love you oneshot gen fic. i love you strictly canon adherent gen fic. i love you alternate universe gen fic. i love you crossover gen fic. i love you gen fic about queer identity and relationships. i love you found family gen fic. i love you gen fic.

(edited to add: by ‘gen fic’ this post is NOT referring to rating. it is referring to fic that is not about and does not prominently feature romance, regardless of rating.)

[abel-draws]

My faves should meet

[caelanglang]

i'd like him to take all my money pls

[breakbleheavens]

Nothing was more surprising than what you did with this tour. I have done a lot of tours. There's never been on that felt like this, and that's all because of you. You made it feel like we were like, floating on air, instead of doing a three-and-a-half-hour show multiple nights every single weekend for like a million shows. I love you so much. Thank you, thank you, thank you, thank you, thank you. 

Taylor Swift attends the premiere of the "Taylor Swift: The Eras Tour" concert film in Los Angeles, California on October 11, 2023. 

[caspervi]

Nothing like drawing starchaser while hearing Phoebe Bridgers the entire time

[b4kuch1n]

polymer broadcast signal hijack

[comradekatara]

katara’s role as the show’s narrator is so underrated because no one really seems to understand just how deeply katara is impacted by the nature of stories, with regards to their craft, their promulgation, and their cultural significance, so they don’t truly register the sheer metatextual brilliance of having her be the resident storyteller of the narrative itself.

the first thing atla establishes about katara is that she is someone who is fueled by dreams and fantasies, and believes in a return to a world where “all four nations lived together in harmony” (which is obviously an illusory ideal, as there was always geopolitical strife even if it wasn’t as overt as the devastating imperialist project they are now subject to), described to her by kanna’s stories about the old days.

katara is someone who indulges in fantasies of adventure and heroism, projecting these ideals onto both herself and others. she is an idealist in the truest, purest sense of the word, and what is an idealist if not someone who tells themselves stories about a more beautiful world to survive?

it’s no coincidence that the episode where katara successfully scares everyone with a very compellingly narrated campfire story is the same episode that she must contend with her heritage, the ominous lacunae in her stories, the pitfalls of her own naive idealization. it’s also not a coincidence that the story she tells was first told to her by her mother.

katara grew up hearing stories passed down to her from kanna and kya, and those stories gave her hope and brought her the possibility of happiness in a bleak, cruel world where she was ultimately alone. there used to be people like her, said the stories, and they were brave, and they fought til their final breaths to hold onto their culture, their love for their people, their humanity.

well that’s who i’m going to be, says katara. someone who fights, someone who cannot be knocked down (because there is no one else left to take her place), someone who will never cease to have faith in the capacity of others for good, for truth, and for justice.

stories are her heritage, they are her culture, they are how she defines herself and how she understands the world around her. stories are how she copes, how she survives; they are all she has left to cling to. and sometimes they are reductive, and sometimes they are outright false, but that’s okay too. she grows, she adjusts her narratives, she learns to leave room for more grey in her neat tapestries of black and white. stories can define a tragic past, but they can also pave the way for a better future. she keeps telling stories.

[saradika]

— beneath the mask

din djarin x f!reader

rated t - 1.3k

tags: medieval!au, light angst, anxiety, arranged marriage, soulmate au, reader has a mother & father

prompt: "I wanted it to be you, I wanted it to be you so badly” from the writing challenge hosted by the amazing and lovely @moonlight-prose 💖

when a mysterious stranger wins your hand at the tournament, you can't help but wonder about his intentions

With each step down the aisle, your legs threaten to give out.

A clicking of your teeth as you tremble, before you're gritting your jaw, biting your anxiety back. You have a reputation to uphold, even if you're only the daughter of a lord from a lesser house.

You're still a lady.

And this marriage would ensure a home for you. Protection. More than, if this man is what he says he is.

But a part of you desperately wishes that it was someone else at the end of the aisle.

You'd searched for a long time. For the glimpses that flash in your dreams at night. Knowing that he was out there - the one you had begun to think of as yours.

Your soulmate.

Never managing to meet the same eyes that reflect back at you in the darkness, just before you wake. Not once in the hundreds, thousands of people you’ve looked at, throughout your years.

And when none were found, you slowly gave up. Knowing the world was too large and you were too small, too poor, to seek them out.

Eventually agreeing to the match that your mother and father arranged.

If you could not have him, then you did not want anyone.

And now - the figure that waits for you stands tall.

Encased in gleaming armor, showing none of the nerves that wrack you. Making you wonder if you should have protested. Taken the path of the unwed, even if there was hardship in your future.

The stranger had won your favor, in the tournament. That is how the story will be told, passed on by your father.

Looking back, you remember very little from it. Knowing deep down that the winner would be the one to have your hand, whether you liked it or not. So much of it had turned to haze, as you had sat frozen there.

All but too nervous to watch, as weapons clashed, shields splintering.

Men you had known and grown up with falling beneath the sword of the mysterious man, clad in silver armor.

A Mandalorian, it was rumored.

Something from stories, you didn't know they still existed. An ancient clan of knights and warriors, honoring weapons and myths over sworn deities. Never revealing their faces to outsiders, and sometimes even to their own.

He had never killed any of them, and there was some comfort in that.

But that didn't mean he did not wound.

That he wasn't vicious, ferocious on the battlefield. Driven by an unseen force. Unrelenting, even when blood was drawn - splattering a bright crimson against his armor.

Showing just how he came to earn his station. The leader of his tribe, from the whispers you heard. Traveling far - slipping into the last few open brackets in the tournament, just as the first morning was starting.

Ripping through them all, in the days that followed.

You were given as the prize, in the end.

Even before the day ends, you would belong to him - ferried off to a new life tomorrow.

And this is what also slows your feet.

Wondering why such a man would come for you.

At the end of the aisle, you halt. The clergymany is speaking, but it's all white noise. Your own eyes wide and face solemn as you stare at your betrothed - your features reflected back at you in the tinted glass of his visor.

Acutely aware that you haven't seen his face. Not knowing what your husband was to look like.

Was he younger than you? Or older... older than your father?

Was his face kind, or was it as sharp as his movements? Was it all snarling teeth, beneath?

Were his eyes blue, or green, or just maybe... brown? Like his?

You don't know. You think not. Leaving you to wonder how you will bear it - to spend each day staring into their eyes while dreaming of anothers.

It's only when a voice raises that you're snapped from your thoughts. Realizing that the ceremony is waiting for you.

Managing, with a stammer, to repeat the words. To pledge yourself - your life and love - to this stranger.

The words repeated after, a low voice layering with metal. The shaking of your hands is still visible when they reach out to meet his, the tips of yours resting against wide, steady palms.

Covered in gloves but solid, like the rest of him.

Only the peek of tanned skin visible when he peels the glove from his hand. A small comfort coming in the warmth of his hand, as you slip the ring on his finger, settling it just above a scarred knuckle.

The careful brush of his fingers - a calming stroke against your skin, when he slips a matching one on yours.

Gentle, after everything.

Not him.

But perhaps, not a monster.

The celebrations swirl past you. There's music you don't remember. A meal that sits heavy in your stomach, from the meager amounts you managed to swallow.

A smile plastered on - assuring your excitement to family and friends - all while you worry about the hours to come.

Will he be as gentle as he was during the ceremony?

Or will it be more like the battlefield?

These thoughts linger, as the hours pass. Until the sun dips below the horizon, until the stars blanket the sky.

And then, you're alone.

Waiting in the finest room prepared for him in the guest wing. The pretty, ivory gown stripped from you, replaced with something thin and fine and silver - hand-sewn and intended to please him.

Pacing, until you hear the heavy steps approaching - as he returns from a meeting with your father, your dowry and your life handed over.

Leaving you frozen in place, as the door opens. Where he lingers, filling the space.

A different man than before, you think.

There had not been a slope to his shoulders, the way he moves as if afraid to frighten you.

His voice is different too - soft now, coaxing.

"I wish our meeting had been under more pleasant circumstances." Your husband tells you, as the door slowly shuts behind him.

Trapping you, now. The iron latch heavy, as it locks into place.

"But I could not bear to stand by." He continues, that hard edge creeping into his voice again, "You must understand."

"I don't." You manage - your brow pinched, shifting the smallest step backwards as he moves forward.

He goes still, at your retreat.

"Do you not, ner kar’ta?" His head tilts, "Do you not know why I have come?"

The shake of your head is small. Not understanding the name he calls you, his intentions.

He hesitates then, for a second. Before his hands are reaching - grasping the edge of his helmet. Slipping it from his head, as his head dips.

His hair is dark, beneath. Messy and curling, greying at the temples, down to the scruff that lines his jaw beneath plush lips and the curve of his nose.

And his eyes. That pretty shade of brown, the dark fan of his eyelashes.

You know them. Though you've never seen them, yourself.

For a moment, you can't breathe. Frozen for an entirely new reason - starting back at the eyes that you've seen so often.

"It's you," You manage. The words are no more than a soft gasp.

He lets you touch him, then. Fingertips tracing his jaw, those eyes slipping shut when your fingers brush the nape of his neck. Somehow knowing how the curls would feel against your fingers, already knowing each detail of his face.

Hidden deep down, revealed bit by bit in your sleep.

Only now, do you see all of him.

And only now, do you lean in. Your head tipping towards him, just as his forehead presses against yours. And it's now that you understand the warmth of his touch - the way it seems to soak into your skin. A lost piece of you, now becoming complete.

You hadn’t been able to find him - so he had found you, instead.

Unable to help the smile, as the dark pit in your stomach blooms into spring.

I wanted it to be you, you think - as your heart finally starts to beat again. I wanted it to be you so badly.

There's a hitch in his breath, with your touch. Fingers that stretch out and then curl, until you're taking them yourself, slipping yours between them.

"Now do you know?" Your husband murmurs, in the voice that you know as well as his eyes.

And you do - the answer coming easily, as you nod, "Because you're mine."

"Yes," He smiles.

"Yours."

i cant stop writing soft!soulmate din 💖 thank you for reading!!

ner kar’ta - my heart