#like we KNOW but it HURTS

[inkskinned]

what is with men being mad any time a woman raises her voice where did that even come from. someone posted a video of a small electrical explosion, and the top comment was of course the woman screams. the second comment is women try not to scream challenge, level impossible. i had to go back and watch the video again. there is, somewhat fainty, a little gasp emitted off-camera, more of a yelp than a scream. it is mostly lost in the crack of the explosion. afterwards, you hear her voice, shaken, say, are you okay?

i am helping one of my friends train her voice pitch lower, because she wants to be taken seriously at work. she and i do each other's nails and talk about gender roles; and how - due to our appearance - neither of us have ever been able to be "hysterical" in public. we both appear young and sweet and feminine. she is cisgender, and cannot use her natural voice in her profession because people keep saying she appears to be "vapid". we both try to figure out if our purposeful voice lowering is technically sexist. is it promoting something when you are a victim to it?

a storm almost sends a pole through a car window. in the dashcam, you can hear the woman passenger say her partner's name twice, crying out in alarm. she sounds terrified. in the comments, she is lambasted for her lack of calm. how is that even fucking helping?

in high school, i taught myself to have a lower voice. i had been recorded when i was genuinely (and righteously) upset; and i hated how my voice sounded on the phone speakers when it was played back. i was defending my mom, and my voice cracked with emotion. it meant i was no longer winning the argument: i was just shrieking about it.

girls meet each other after a long summer and let out a little joyful scream. this usually stops around 12-14, because people will not tolerate this display of affection (as it has the effect of being passingly annoying). something about the fact that little girls can't ever even be annoying. we are trained to examine each part of our lives (even joy) for anything that could make us upsetting and disgusting. they act like teenage girls are breaking into houses and shrieking you awake at 3 in the morning. speaking as a public school educator: trust me, it's not that bad, you can just roll your eyes and move on. it does not compare to the ways boys end up being annoying: slurs in graffiti, purposefully mocking your body, following you after you said no. you know, just boy things.

there's another video of a man who is not allowed to yell in the house, so he snaps his fingers when he's excited about soccer. the comments are full of angry men, talking about how their brother is unfairly caged. let him express himself and this is terrible to do to someone. eventually the couple has to address it in a second video: they are married with a newborn baby. he was trying not to wake the infant up. there is no comment on the fact women are not allowed to yell indoors. or the fact that it could have been really alarming or triggering for his wife. sometimes i wonder if straight men even like women, if they even enjoy being in relationships with them.

for the longest time, i hated roller coasters because it always felt inappropriate and uncomfortable for me to scream. one of my friends called me on it, said it was unusual i'm so unwilling. i had to go to my therapist about it. i don't like to scream because i was not raised in a safe situation, and raising my voice would have brought unsafe attention towards me. even when i am supposed to scream, it feels shameful, guilty. i was not treated kindly, so i lack a basic form of self-protection. this is not a natural response. it is not good that in a situation of high adrenaline - i shut up about it.

something very bad is happening, i think. in between all the beauty standards and the stuff i've already discussed - this one feels new and cruel in a way i can't quite express. yes, it's scary and silencing. but there's something about how direct it is - that so many men agree with the sentiment that women should never yell, even in an emergency - it feels different.

is the word shriek gendered automatically? how about shrill or screech? in self defense class, one of the first things they tell you is to yell, as loud and as shrilly as you can. they say it will feel rude. most women will not do this. you need to practice overcoming the social pressure and just scream.

most women do not cry out, even when it's bad. we do not report it. we walk faster. we do not make a scene. what would be the point of doing anything else? no matter what we do, we don't get taken seriously. it is a joke to them. an instagram caption punchline. we have to present ourselves as silent, beautiful, captivating - "valuable."

a woman is outside watching her kids when someone throws a firecracker at them. she screams and runs towards her children. in the comments, grown men flock together in the thousands: god. women are so annoying.

[glorious-spoon]

i know we all laugh (mostly fondly) about the paper-thin plots in porn that only exist to make the sex happen, but i was reading some old stargate fic over the weekend, and i really think we're sleeping on the paper-thin hurt/comfort plot that only exists to force the characters to FEEL THINGS.

like, is this scenario realistic? no. does it make any rational sense? no. does it provide a built-in excuse for a character to collapse, bloody and disoriented, into the arms of his beloved/friend/partner? obviously, that's the whole point of this exercise.

i love it. it's my favorite thing in the world.

[hinamie]

i don't normally participate in these redraw challenges but it's megumi so i'll make an exception

[touyaspeach]

Also toshinori being turned away in the color illustration is a huge flag

[poorly-drawn-mdzs]

Heh...Literally nothing personal, kid.

[First] Prev <–-> Next

[ducktracy]

there are a lot of evil people in the world and a lot of darkness in the world and so it’s very important for me to stress that now more than ever is the time to spread kindness and compassion. combat the evil by not only not partaking in it, but actively refuting it. destroy the notion that being compassionate or generous or kind to someone is uncool or embarrassing or even scary. be the change you want to see. start a chain reaction. positivity only breeds more positivity. do an act of kindness for someone so that that person who is too afraid to do it themselves can see you, realize that they’re not alone, and perhaps sheepishly follow your example. and then the next person who is too afraid but sees that person can do the same. when bad news comes out about bad people or horrible atrocities in the world it’s such an easy impulse to despair, and obviously it’s important to feel what you need to feel. grieve. be angry. be sorrowful. be empathetic. but dust off your pants and get up and be a part of a chain reaction that, no matter how small the scale, and spread compassion and love and care. all the reasons why you might not—“it’s hard! it’s scary! people will make fun of me! it’s useless because there’s too much evil!” are all grade A arguments as to why you should. you have no idea how many people you could inspire to do the same. even if it doesn’t get you anyway far, you can at least say you have the nobility of trying. please choose love and please choose life. you are worth loving and you are worth inspiring others to love

[corpsentry]

pick your battles

[starry-bi-sky]

Unpleasant Revelations - DPxDC Ficlet Idea for the Stillborn Au

"Have you met my youngest, Damian, Mr. Masters?"

Its only from twenty years of long, hard experience and practice that Vlad doesn't increase the room temperature from 'borderline uncomfortably cool' to 'unbearably hot' the moment Bruce Wayne pulls his youngest and "only" biological son out in front of him.

He puts only in quotations because twelve year old Damian Wayne looks scarily, uncannily like one Daniel Brown. Jack and Maddie's foster son, second victim of their foolishness, and only other halfa in existence. Second only to him.

It's nauseating how similar they look. From the scowl and terrible glare on the young boy's face, to his brown skin -- which was only a few shades lighter than Daniel's, the shape of his nose, and even the strange winged edge of his eyebrow. Something that Vlad has long since come to find endearing on the child he considered a son of his own. The only difference was that Damian had dark, sharp green eyes.

Daniel's eyes were blue. The same glacier shade as his father's, who stood behind Damian with a proud, oafish smile on his visage.

It was infuriating how similar they look. Vlad might not have rapidly swung the room temperature from one extreme to the other, but he can't stop himself from letting the fury burning within his core from slipping out and raising the temperature up a few degrees.

Because it really only meant one thing.

Damian Wayne and Daniel Brown were related.

Damian Wayne and Daniel Brown were brothers.

Standing in front of him, it was clear as day. He can already picture a phantom image of Daniel standing beside Damian, the same scowl written on his face, the same glare carved into his eyes. The only difference being the dark, exhausted circles beneath them that seemed to be permanently painted onto his skin. The only thing missing being the permanent loneliness and vigilance permeating his being like a scar.

This, if revealed, would be enough to ruin Bruce Wayne's reputation. Or, at the very least, darken it quite a bit. The great philanthropist Bruce Wayne with another secret blood child? One related to his youngest? One that had been put into foster care? Seemingly thrown away?

It would be a firestorm.

One that Vlad is not keen on starting.

It would ruin Bruce Wayne's reputation, yes. But it would hurt Daniel in the process -- the harassment he would face alone might just be enough to break that fragile child completely. That was just not something he could allow. Or, even worse, bring him into his biological father's care and custody -- something Vlad was even less willing to allow.

It's not out of kindness to Wayne that Vlad will keep mum about this.

His grip on his champagne flute tightens, just a bit. He's still aware enough of the world around him to not let it shatter in his hands. His plastered, pleasant smile tightens around the corners, and he forces his focus to slide from Damian to Wayne.

"The resemblance is uncanny, Mister Wayne." He says, slanting his smile to the side slyly. Although he's not talking about the resemblance between Wayne and his son. Rage simmers beneath his skin, burning coal and embers in the core of his chest, nestled between his lungs, as he meets the man's eyes.

Wayne swaggles his head proudly, his ditzy smile widening as he squeezes his son's shoulder affectionately. Bastard, Vlad wants to spit.

He breathes in through his nose, and exhales out through his mouth. The champagne in his hand cools, and stops its unusual bubbling.

The Damian boy scoffs under his breath, his mouth still coiled upward into a scowl. With the revelation of his blood relation to Daniel evident, Vlad's not sure if he should find it endearing or not.

He is not Daniel, so he decides that it's just simply irritating. He decides to ignore it.

"And you said he was your only biological son?" He asks, voice lilting and head tilting. He knows its a suspicious question at worst, insulting at best. But considering Wayne's past proclivities, he can hardly call it an unexpected question.

Damian puffs in great offense, face twisting angrily. It reminds him of Daniel when Vlad insisted that he was wrong about something or other, and for a moment his heart swells, fond.

But this is not his child, and so the feeling quickly crashes and burns, simmering back into rage. This was not Daniel -- this was his replacement. A replacement that Wayne was free to keep.

Wayne chuckles, idiotically, as if he'd said some funny joke. Vlad's other hand, the one gripping his cane -- something he's required ever since he was dispatched from the hospital all those lonely years ago -- tightens instead. He grinds his teeth -- him and Jack Fenton would get along like a house on fire, he hates it.

"I can understand why you'd ask that, Mister Masters," Wayne says, squeezing Damian's shoulder again, "but yes, Damian is my only biological son. Although that doesn't mean I don't love my other children any less."

Bastard.

For all his posturing and flouncing about caring for his city and his children, Vlad never would have thought the Prince of Gotham capable of abandoning one of them.

But, well.

They all have their dark secrets.

And what one man throws away, another man picks up. If Bruce Wayne didn't want the treasure child that was Daniel Brown, then Vlad Masters was more than happy to take him instead.

"I see."

[lazylittledragon]

ok i swear i'm not going to talk about my breakup forever but the thing that just keeps bothering me:

i know that not getting what you need in a relationship is a COMPLETELY valid reason to end it but also. i feel like having a very vulnerable moment where i opened up about my struggles with intimacy and being relieved that i didn't have to keep doing things i wasn't comfortable with, then being dumped a YEAR later because of my lack of intimacy. is something i should be allowed to be very hurt by???

[meagancandraw]

Petition to give Sun a hug because oof

[sisterdragonwithfeathers]

Deeply concerned by the number of people (especially women) who genuinely believe that women and men have the same capacity for physical strength

and who think you’re being sexist if you point out that they don’t

ma’am the only one equating physical strength with innate value here is you

it’s concerning that you think strength has anything to do with value

and if the men in your life ever stop being decent you are setting yourself up to be in so much more danger

[lotus-pear]

regret

[puppetmaster13u]

Prompt 321

You know Content Warning? Lethal Company but youtube videoing? 

Danny does that- just well, with the Zone. It’s not like it can be mapped out, what with people moving their Lairs and more lairs and islands constantly manifesting. And well, there’s so many things out here, and it’s not like he can be an astronaut.

So, he decided to make exploration logs for the Zone instead, alongside his friends and a doppelganger or two holding equipment. It’s great, and people can donate whenever he live streams so he’s getting income too. 

He just erm, maybe should have double checked it was uploaded to just his dimension…

[inthehouseoffinwe]

Finarfin Fades.

No one expects it, no one’s faded in Valinor since Miriel. The War of Wrath is won and he comes back, waving off the courtiers, well wishers, and congratulators with his usual grace, and walks into the palace of Tirion. To rooms abandoned since their owners left so long ago. Winding deeper and deeper his feet take him to what was once Finwë’s favourite garden.

He’s so tired.

He’s fulfilled his promise to Fëanaro and Nolofinwë, to avenge them. To make the agony of their final moments - agony Finarfin felt, falling to the floor screaming as fire and darkness consumed his spirit - count for something. Now Morgoth is finally gone, but he’s not the only one.

His brothers, larger than life, larger than death, are gone. With them his sons. Niece. Nephews. Grandchildren. His daughter is never to return. He Saw little Nelyo’s death in his dreams and is sure hopes for the child’s own sake that Makalaurë will be close behind.

Little remains. Even less on these golden shores.

So Finarfin sits on a bench long overgrown with vines and weeds, and watches the sun filter through the thicket, wishing the ghosts he sees in his father’s garden would flesh out.

He sits. He waits.

And by the time anyone finds him, it’s too late.

…at least he’s smiling again.

[poorly-drawn-mdzs]

Laios's three Boy Best Friends. And yes, they hate him.

[fanficlibrary82]

Literal Hurt/Comfort

AN: I saw this post and had to write it or I'd go insane, so have my first attempt at writing the Merc with a Mouth; Soft Boyfriend Edition

Word Count: 912

CW: Mild language, night terror, hurt/comfort, this is a Worst!Wolverine x Deadpool, Rogue is the way she is in the movies

He was too late. Logan had finally managed to out drink his healing factor and stumbled back to the X-Mansion, only to find it littered with the bodies of his friends, his family. He walked the entire campus, trying, hoping to find a single living soul, but as the faces of Charles, Ororo, Hank, Scott, and Jean were found among the carnage, his flicker of hope began to fade. It wasn’t until he half heartedly pushed the door to Rogue’s room opened that his heart lept into his throat. He heard blood pumping, faintly, but it was there. Without a second thought he began to tear the room apart, looking for the girl, and he finally found her curled under the bed.

“Kid,” he slurred, tugging her out from under the bed and cradling her head in his lap. She was covered in blood, her body riddled with bullet wounds that oozed slowly, but she was alive. “K-kid, hey, ‘s gonna be alright, okay? You…you’re gonna be fine, we’ll get you to the city and-”

“You…left…us…” She rasped, eyes slowly finding his.

“I…I tried, kid, as soon as I heard the Professor, I-”

She took a gasping breath, the rattle in her voice an all too familiar sound to Logan. “You…you promised th-that you’d…take c-care of m…” 

Logan felt her body fall limp in his arms, but he didn’t let go, he couldn’t let her go. He pulled Rogue up against his chest, letting his forehead fall to hers. Her still-warm skin pulled a broken sob from his throat. He held her until her body grew stiff and cold. And that’s when the rage set in. He laid Rogue on top of the bed and made it a few steps into the hallway before his claws slid smoothly out of his knuckles. 

Logan let out an animalistic roar, foreign to even his own ears. He slashed everything in his path, from doors to portraits to tables, until he found himself in the Professor’s office. He stalked around the room, breath coming in short, heavy huffs that caused his chest to ache. He paused in front of a portrait of the first graduating class, their smiles wide, completely oblivious to the fate that awaits them. He snarls, slashing his claws through the canvas. If the humans think we’re just violent killers, then I’ll show them just how violent we can be.

Wade shot straight up as Logan screamed in his sleep and smacked him in the face. “Me H. Christ, Peanut, don’t scare me like that!” He gripped Logan’s arm and shook him roughly. Logan continued to cry out in his sleep, his arms beginning to flail wildly, as if fighting. Wade sat up on his knees, gently nudging Mary Puppins off of the bed. “Hey, big guy, watch that arm, you might hit-mother FUCKER!”

With a roar that was definitely more animal than man, Logan was sitting straight up, arms out, claws extended. He took a few heaving breaths as he whipped his head around the room in a panic. His eyes landed on his claws, knuckle deep into soft flesh and his expression fell. “N-no!”

Wade looks between the claws in his chest and the haunted expression on Logan's face before gently placing his hand over his unwilling attackers’. “You know, if you wanted to get inside me, all y'had to do was ask nice,” Wade teases.

Logan yanks his hand away from Wade's touch, retracting his claws and instantly covering the wounds with his hands. “No no no, fuck, no! Not again!” He exclaims.

Wade falls back against the bed and Logan follows, burying his face against the scarred skin. The older mutant’s shoulders shake and Wade tenses.

“Hey, hey, hey! Logan!” Wade pushes himself up onto his elbows and grabs at the other man’s shoulder. “Honey Badger, wake up, wake up, it's me!”

“I'm so fuckin’ sorry, I'm so sorry, god dammit,” Logan mutters, and Wade is hit with the awful realization that the Wolverine was lying across his chest and sobbing.

“Lo-James, look at me,” Wade manages to get his hands on either side of Logan's face and roughly yanks him up to meet his eye. “It's me, it's Wade, I'm okay, Peanut, look, look.” He slowly moves his hand over Logan's, gently guiding him to feel the skin that's already healed over. Logan's frantic gaze falls to Wade's chest and he smooths his hand across the surface, almost in a trance. “You're…you're not…?”

Wade shakes his head, gently rubbing his thumb across Logan's cheek. “Gonna take a lot more than that to kill me, Wolvie. You were in the Odyssey,” he replies with a soft chuckle.

Logan slowly comes out of his trance-like state, watery eyes finally meeting Wade's with clarity. “Wilson?”

Wade nods, relief flooding through his body when Logan looks at him rather than through him. “Hey, big guy, had me going for a minute there,” he nervously laughs.

“You're not…I didn't hurt you,” Logan breathes out shakily.

“Well…you didn't kill me,” Wade corrects, making Logan crack a smile. “Hurts like a bitch and a half, but at least I had you in me.”

Logan rolls his eyes and lets his head drop to Wade's chest. For a long while, the only sound is their combined breathing, so Wade dares to curl his fingers through Logan’s hair. When he hears no protest, Wade settles in, gently hugging him closer. “Don't worry, Lo. You're safe here.”

AN: Hey, I hope y'all liked it!!! Like I said, the idea came from the lovely @catgrandpa and the divider I used was made by @sweetmelodygraphics