#still getting a handle on how to draw them

[epickiya722]

I know what these last few chapters have taught me about BNHA...

Blocking people is useful! 😐

[jellyfishsthings]

please please please do some kind of biker boy with his helmet on. like maybe he shows up at your house and takes you on a ride and then while you’re both still jacked up on adrenaline he takes you for a different kind of ride ???

omg I love that... I kind lost myself in that one I will admit that, this brought me out of hibernation

WARNINGS: smut obviously, riding with many twists, it's really filthy tbh, I need a biker!bf now, fem!reader, no use of y/n or she/her but reader is described as feminine, keeping helmets and biker gear on, taking pictures... um I think that's it

The birds were chirping all around you, the peaceful scenery disturbed by grutal moans and high-pitched gasps.

Let's backtrack shall we?

It was supposed to be a peaceful day, one to celebrate your anniversary. He came over somewhere after six o'clock, the sun was closing to its descent. He was wearing his riding leathers, a fit black jacket that hugged his muscled arm and back, showing off his broad shoulders that I so loved to scratch and bite. He looked absolutely beautiful, as the visor of his helmet was drawn up and he removed one of his gloves to send a quick text. Soon enough I exited the house and approached him while zipping up my own jacket, similar to his, total black except for the thin red lines that highlighted my figure and the padded places. It was a beautiful piece, one he had given me a few days after he purchased the bike, claiming that “As much as I love my bike, I love my girl more.” Just as I drew close enough he grabbed my helmet before positioning it over my head and securing it in place.

Only God knew for how long we round along the sea and into the forest, a magnificent picture that for many reasons would stay in my mind untainted. My hands rested around his waist as the wind whipped around us. When he slowed down, I realized I wanted more, it was too soon. Yes arguably the view was amazing and yes it must have been tiring for him. But, I wanted more. All that speed, and all this adrenaline had a weird reaction to me. My mind calmed, it got scarily quiet as it was free to drift everywhere and nowhere at the same time, since I knew that he was in control, that he would keep me safe should anything happen. He turned to my drawing up his visor and his eyes looked back at me full of mischief and mirth. Somehow he grabbed my thighs and positioned me on his lap. That was when I noticed that he was hard.

His hands flew everywhere as he tried to get rid of my pants, lowering them to the ground before he freed himself from his own confidences.

My world... he was everything.

He tore my panties before slowly aligning my hips with his before drawing me down. Our helmets clashed together, our sound muffled from them. He grabbed my ass and he started bouncing me, giving me the message to set my own pace. Too quickly, quicker that I would like to admit we both clashed down. Everything was a haze of greedy hands, skin that stinged from the force of our thrusts and foggy visors. He had removed his jacket, and he was just in black tank top as his arms flexed with his movements and the muscles in his back popped underneath my hands. The leather of the seat was stained with our releases.

He removed himself from me, and he stood as he turned me around. He opened my jacket and opened up my shirt, leaving me in just my bra and the jacket.

“Grab the handles” his voice was soft and lethal. “Ride the bike. Ride it the way you would ride me.”

My skin heated as I did as he said. The leather underneath me was already coated made a minimum friction against me and I straddled the bike better before circling my hips. My clit dragged against the fabric and my breath stuttered. My back arched and I continued my misdoings. It was filthy and apparently utterly sexy, because he couldn't keep his eyes off of me. His hand was pumping his cock in time with my movements. It wasn't enough and I whined his name. He chuckled darkly and snapped a picture before he positioned himself behind me. One of his arms reached forward to one of the mirrors before moving it so that he could see my face, or what was visible of my face. He grabbed my hips and ground them down, pressing my flushed against the seat before moving me back and forth. It was too much. The pressure was driving me crazy and within minutes I was gone. When I opened my eyes again, I was laying sprawled, my legs dangling from each side, as the cold air blew in my most sensitive area. He was on top of me, his eyes impossibly dark as he repositioned himself inside of me and he grabbed the handles, using them to stabilize himself before he started rocking my world.

His thrusts were deep and hard, we were both panting as the bike rocked forwards and he slammed the brakes to stop us from falling down. This had to be the most crazy thing we had ever done. We could get caught at any minute but I could find myself caring about that as he drew out of me one orgasm after the other we were both spent, when we finally calmed down.

“Well that happened” he whispered “Never you would be such a freak.”

I laughed as I slammed his visor in place. “You are the freak, you took pictures.”

“That I did. And what beautiful pictures they are. They shall keep me good company when I am alone.”

words: I have no idea

[wp-blaze]

Why You Should Give Up!

Stuck trying to change the world? This post says focus on yourself instead. Inner peace is the real win. Prioritize what brings you calm, ditch negativity, and set goals. Let go of the past and chase what matters. This “ruthless focus” is freedom to be you. Fight for your dreams and find fulfillment.

[heauxvibez]

Act Right

warning: implied smut (18+)

"I thought I told you to check that attitude at the door," Roman's gaze grew more intense as he watched her small frame move gracefully down the aisle. The lines on his face deepened into a frown, highlighting his frustration at the audacity of the dark-skinned woman. He leaned over the shopping cart, his arms crossed over the handle as he slowly pushed it through the familiar aisles of their local Krogers. His posture was relaxed but on the inside, his irritation was simmering.

"I thought I told you to leave me the hell alone," She shot back, turning her head sharply to look at him over her shoulder. Her side-eye was so intense that she could feel the strain in her eyeballs. The stubborn woman crossed her arms tightly over her chest, rolling her eyes with extreme annoyance and pouting like a child who wasn't getting her way.

They had been roaming the grocery store, bickering over the smallest things. Their arguments ranged from things such as her thinking Roman was glancing another woman's way to trivial matters like deciding which seasoning to use for tonight's dinner. Every aisle seemed to bring a new disagreement, turning their shopping trip into a battlefield.

Roman had managed to keep his cool, but Bryden was unleashing the worst of herself. She fired off provocative comments, some of which Roman brushed off, while others brought what was simmering in him to a boil.

But these outbursts just didn't happen all of a sudden. It had been building up over the past few days.

On Monday, she treated him as invisible, walking past him without a glance. Despite his unavoidable 6'3" build, she seemed to effortlessly overlook him.

Tuesday saw Bryden in a frenzy, slamming and shoving everything in her path. Pots and pans crashed onto the kitchen counter, cabinet doors slammed shut, and even Roman, over 200 pounds, was pushed aside a few times.

By Wednesday, her eye rolls had become a habit. It seemed her eyes were doing acrobatics, rolling so far back that Roman wondered how she could still see straight. Every utterance from him, whether a chuckle, smirk or even a cough, was met with shady looks and comments from her.

Thursday had arrived, and with it came Bryden's relentless barrage of snappy remarks aimed at the WWE star. Curses, teeth-sucking, groans — she pulled out all the stops, showing out completely. Roman was teetering on the edge of his patience.

As he drummed his thumbs lightly against the grocery basket handle, Roman shook his head, forcing a fake smile onto his handsome face amongst strangers while Bryden continued to let snide remarks slip from her lips.

"Bryden Renee Wilson," Roman warned, his face flushing a dark shade of crimson that barely appeared on his tanned skin, his grip on the basket handle turning his knuckles pale.

When Roman resorted to using her full name, Bryden knew he meant business. She noticed the seriousness in his tone, but her own anger overshadowed any effect it might have had.

Roman was use to Bryden's unpredictable mood swings. Usually, he remained calm, using his soothing voice and words to ease her mind. His mastery of language often made it hard for her to hold onto her anger. But this time, his smooth talk fell flat. There was no getting through to her.

In a moment of frustration, Roman abandoned the basket without a thought. He reached out and pulled her body against his towering frame. The sound of her gasping filled the aisle, but not enough to draw the attention of nearby shoppers, but even if it did, Roman paid them no mind. His focus was solely on her, she had finally pushed him to his limit.

"Now, you listen to me. I'm tired of your shit," his voice reverberated through the shelves, his usually warm chocolate brown eyes now darkened with anger. His grip on her body lacked its usual gentleness, now replaced with a grip that left her trembling.

"I've been patient with you for too long, but your attitude is getting out of hand," he continued, echoing against the colorful backdrop of exotic spices and foreign delicacies shelved behind her. Her mean mug softened as she realized how upset she'd made him; Roman wasn't playing games.

His gaze lingered on her, brows knitting together in a puzzled frown as he tried to figure out what could have provoked her behavior.

Her heart was racing, her bottom lip trembling as she fell victim to his penetrating gaze.

Roman's lower body pressed against her abdomen, the bustling aisle around them fading into the background. His growing arousal was clear amongst the fragrant aromas and bustling shoppers, but it didn’t deter him from trying to get his message across.

Bryden swallowed any, if not all, whimpers that tried to escape. She was melting in the moment, the warmth of his body pressed against hers, his bulge growing against her stomach, she was ready to submit to him without question. She had missed this—missed him. His constant travel for work had left her starved for affection, feeling untouched and deprived. Even when he was home, his focus remained on his work, leaving little time for her. The only time she truly got his attention was when she acted out, her rebellious behavior was a desperate plea for the intimacy she craved so bad.

His jaw clenched as he spoke again, his words full of authority, "The disrespectful shit you've been saying and doing is unacceptable. I'm not finna tolerate it any longer. Act right, or I'll make sure you do, understand?"

As his hand tightened its grip on her bottom, each word emphasized with a squeeze, Bryden couldn't help but moan in discomfort. She pushed against his chest, turning her head away and shaking it 'no', her tight coils brushing against his chest and the shelves as she did so.

He cursed silently at her stubbornness, his body burning with fiery tendrils of irritation. With an exhale, he loosened his grip on her bottom, his hand withdrawing before delivering a sharp smack.

Her startled yelp cut through the air, the surprise and pain evident in the small, whimpering sound that followed. His rough hand moved to massage the tender spot, his touch now sought to soothe the sting he had caused.

"Keep trying me, Bryden. You better find you somethin' safe to do, sweetheart," he warned affectionately. She shivered as he placed a tender kiss on her temple, the softness of his lips and the rough texture of his beard sent delicate cascades of goosebumps across her skin. Each bristle brushed lightly against her, the same way they did to her thighs when his head was between them. She inwardly moaned at the thought.

He pushed a small curl from her pretty face before gently nudging her away, causing her to sway slightly on her feet.

His face formed a small, satisfied smirk, his eyes smoldering as he observed his girlfriend's response. Her flushed cheeks betrayed her anger, the sharpness of her expression giving way to a softening of her features. He couldn't help but notice the change in her body language—how her full bottom lip found its way between her teeth, a telltale sign of her horniness. Her legs were crossed, one thick thigh resting atop the other as if trying to keep her juices from dripping.

He walked back to the basket as if nothing had happened, pushing it through the aisle with his usual calm demeanor and a soft whistle. She stood rooted to the spot, still processing the interaction. As he continued walking, he noticed the absence of her footsteps behind him. He paused and glanced back, with a raise of his brow his eyes locked onto her, silently urging her to catch up.

"Come on, baby," he called softly, his voice gentle but still holding command. Without hesitation, she followed him, continuing their grocery run. The noise of the store faded as they walked side by side, picking up items from the shelves.

Usually, she'd murmur a few things under her breath if she was still irritated, but this time, she remained silent. For once, Bryden held her tongue. It was music to Roman's ears.

During their moment, when Roman was searching for her soul through her eyes, he truly understood why she was so frustrated—she always behaved like this when he returned from road trips, acting out like a spoiled brat. Maybe not to this degree, but she still displayed these behaviors nonetheless.

Her sulkiness and defiance were clear signs of sexual frustration. The way she became calm and quiet after giving her a bit of tough love confirmed his suspicion. Despite this, he knew it was unacceptable, and she needed to learn there were consequences for disrespecting him.

Oh, he was definitely going to discipline her once they got home. His mind raced with thoughts of how he would handle her, ensuring she understood the boundaries and the repercussions of crossing them. Maybe have her pick a popsicle stick from their punishment jar.

He was going to make sure she received some act right tonight..

---------------------

Whew, it's been a minute. Hope ya'll enjoyed!

Tags: @harmshake @southerngirl41 @spritelucozade @empressdede @alichesmi

@msbigredmachine @theninthwonder @blacst4r @sassginamillls @wrestlingprincess80

@headoftheetable @trashbin-nie @tshepisho @mzv11 @venusesworld @sheyaish @saintmagx

[blubushie]

biggest pet peeve in sniper art?

Oh boy. A few of these actually. (I'm assuming you mean Sniper TF2 and not general snipers in art...)

Under the cut cuz it's long.

His rifle drawn improperly. The anatomy is very simple and if necessarily, just reference instead of butchering it—even if you're doing realistic art, he uses a Remington 700, and there's more than enough reference photos online for the most popular sporting rifle ever sold. I've seen people draw it like a handgun. On a similar note–

Him shouldering his rifle incorrectly. Or just handling it incorrectly in general. Rifle slots in just above the armpit—when your stretch your dominant arm forward while leaning in and bracing your muscles, it forms a pocket at the shoulder just above your armpit between the head of your humerus and your pectoral muscle. This creates a firm pocket that the butt of a rifle will slot into. If it's not in this pocket, you're gonna have a bad time.

Using the wrong arm to support the rifle vs handle the trigger. I've seen horrors. While Sniper is implied to be ambidextrous, he shoots right-handed. This means the rifle slots on his RIGHT shoulder, and his RIGHT trigger finger is on the trigger. His LEFT HAND is used to support the weight of the rifle at the forestock. On a similar note–

Ambidextrous Sniper is cool and I love seeing left-handed Sniper when it's done properly. Downside—his right eye is his dominant eye, so unless his right hand is injured in a way that he can't pull a trigger with that hand, he would not be shooting left-handed.

Speaking of dominant eyes—you look down the scope with your dominant eye. The eye NOT looking down the scope is called your off-eye. YOU DO NOT CLOSE YOUR OFF-EYE WHEN SHOOTING. OFF-EYE STAYS OPEN. Firstly it's for safety, because if your off-eye is closed you can't see what's happening in your immediate vicinity. Two, it's for performance. You can't change targets as easily with your off-eye closed. Any sniper worth his salt, especially a professional, is keeping his off-eye open. This is hunting 101 and something Sniper, former outback hunter of dangerous game, would know and practise religiously.

Speaking of scopes—eye relief. You do not put your face right up to the scope. There should be 10cm or about 4 inches between your face and the scope. Otherwise when you fire you're going to get a black eye when the recoil makes the scope hit you in the face. You'll take your eye out, kid.

People who draw him with his comics hair and call that a mullet. Almost none of you know what a mullet it. A little tuft of hair at the nape of the neck isn't a mullet! Those who give him an actual mullet when you say that shit, I love you

People who draw his scars incorrectly. They make them look fresh—with the sutures still present. Sutures aren't permanent and are removed after a week to a few weeks, depending on healing and how deep the wound is. Once SCARRED he wouldn't have horizontal lines through the scars. He'd just have long scars and dotted scars alongside where the sutures used to be. And looking at my own scars, in most places you can't see the dotting from the sutures since the holes heal easy and don't often scar.

Skinny twiggy Sniper that looks like he's about to drop dead of malnutrition. Have you not read the comics? Do you not know what lean, functional muscle looks like? Fuck's sake.

Ok reckon that's all of them for now.

[amourtoken]

Hiiiiii

As promised, here's some hard ass dom Noah thoughts <3

*NSFW below the cut, MDNI*

cw: pre established consent, hair pulling, mean dom Noah, oral (m receiving), throat fucking, dacryphilia, slapping, spit, safewords (unused, dw), spanking, edging, pet names, choking, belly bulge, overstimming

♡ let me start off by saying I think he's a softie 90% of the time when yall aren't fucking but there's that quiet mean streak he has that's reserved for specific times yk

♡ he's had the worst fucking day and needs to take it out on something. You're the unfortunate something.

"Need you. Don't ask, just follow my fucking directions, okay?"

♡ he's dragging you by a handful of your hair to sit you between his legs, you two have a safeword for times like this but you've never had to use it. Noah typically knows his limits. (Just bc he knows them doesn't mean he won't tiptoe at the edge of them)

♡ can't help himself, you're just so soft and pretty and looking up at him w the biggest puppy eyes :((( you're even cuter to him when he's measuring his fat cock against your face and you're pressing messy kisses up and down the length of it. So trained for him.

"open."

♡ still cute to him even when he's holding your jaw in his large hand and leaning over you to spit in your mouth. He loves the way you get teary eyed when he drags his fingers through the mess on your tongue and gags you on them when he fucks them down your throat. If you can't take his fingers how do you expect to take his dick? He's nice enough to at least attempt to warm you up.

♡ he's a hair puller and a fucking head pusher in these times, both hands buried in your soft locks while he drags you up and down his cock, throbbing at the sight of big tears rolling down your cheeks from how harshly he's fucking your throat. He'll hold you down on his dick until you can't breathe and start to squirm then he'll pull out of your throat before you start to panic too hard.

♡ 100% paints your face with his cum and smears it around with the tip. Thinks you're pretty even when you're messy (even more so tbh) he's also gonna drag his fingers through the mess on your face and make you lick it off to clean up.

"It'd be a shame to waste any, wouldn't it puppy?"

♡ still fucking hard after he cums cause he's insane and needs you so unbelievably bad. He's nearly dragging you off the floor to throw you over the edge of the couch, admiring your body while you're bent over and your back is arched so well for him. He'd run his hands over your thighs and grab a handful of your ass before slapping it hard enough to leave a pretty intense handprint. He loves the way your voice sounds, spanking you just draws out the pretty whines and yelps, how could he not?

♡ he buries a hand in your hair and pulls back to arch your back even further before thrusting in, he doesn't give you much time to adjust. His brain is too fucking foggy right now to go through the usual prep, he just needs to feel you. His free hand is squeezing your hip hard enough to bruise while dragging you to meet his thrusts. He loves the way your ass bounces against his hips every thrust, you're so soft compared to him. He could do anything to you and you'd let him.

"So- fucking tight for me- you know who's pussy this is, puppy-"

"Takin' this fuckin' cock so good- fuck-"

"So messy...all for me, right? Say it."

"Tell me how good this dick makes you feel, no one else can fuck you this good, hm?"

"Keep making those sounds, baby- fuckkk-"

"Gonna cum? Gonna fuckin' cum on my cock baby? Not till I say so. Beg me for it."

"You can handle another, stop whining."

"So sweet of you to let me take all that stress out on this sweet little pussy- feel so fuckin' good for me.."

♡ you can feel him hitting your cervix every thrust and your body jolts harshly against him, the hand in your hair is making your eyes water it's pulling so hard to keep you in place. His other hand has moved from your hips to dip between your legs, rubbing fast messy circles on your clit until your legs are shaking so bad you couldn't possibly hold yourself up without Noah's help. Every time you're just about to cum though he pulls his fingers away and laughs at the pathetic sounds you make.

"What? Want something? Use your words, puppy."

"wanna cum? Feels so good when you squeeze around me like that- you can hold out for a little longer."

"Keep begging for it, I'll think about it."

♡ at this point you're in full blown tears while he's fucking you against the arm of the couch, you've been so close so many times and he's so fucking mean for taking it from you. He pulls you by your hair up so your back meets his chest and continues bullying your pussy, the hand in your hair fitting against your throat and squeezing just right to make your vision blurry and head feel foggy. There's a little bulge just below your navel in this position from Noah fucking into you so deep.

♡ after tormenting you to his liking, his hand returns to your clit and quickly tosses you over the edge. You're nearly convulsing in his hold and tears and still running down your face as he continues playing with your pussy. He doesn't stop even when you're squirming and whimpering, begging for a break cause you're overstimulated and can't take anymore. He'll stop when he's finished, there's nothing you can do to throw him off course now.

"What? You wanted this so bad now you're begging me to stop? Too late now."

"You can cum again, stop crying."

"Awe, what? Too much? Just a few more, then I'll think about stopping."

♡ he pulls you through 3 more orgasms, it felt like an electric current was rippling through your body as he buried himself as deep as he could and filled you with his cum on the last. The hand on your throat squeezed a little tighter to hold you in place. Black spots flooded your vision and you flopped over the couch arm as he pulled out, a mess of slick and cum nearly pouring down your legs. Poor thing, you were spent. Noah was panting behind you, holding himself up with his arms on either side of your body.

♡ he almost felt bad for putting you through this but if you really wanted to stop, you would've said so. You're so good to him, and this run in has made him forget entirely about the shitty day he's had prior.

♡ you're so spent you can't drag yourself off the couch, but Noah is more than happy to pick you up and bring you to bed. Once he sets you down, he can't help but admire the mess he's made of you. Surely you wouldn't mind if he drug you to the edge and buried his face between your legs, right?

[lucysarah-c]

Following your answer on homosexuality in AoT, how would sexism in AoT be handled on both sides of the spectrum, female and male, on Paradis and in Marley?

Hi, dear! How are you?

Ah, that's such a good question. You know, I did a post about it a LONG time ago, but it’s a topic I touch on a lot in my fics and here from time to time.

I'll set the context of my reply with three ideas. First, sexism or misogyny ALWAYS exists. It exists in our society like oxygen does. In many countries, it’s not the same sexism as in the 1800s, but it still exists. Second, the Scouts PER SE are the "wokes" of their time; they don't have the same views, lives, and beliefs as regular people inside the walls. So I always think that the Scouts are a bit of an "exception" from the rest of Paradis.

Third, and I state this because my blog is Levi-centered, Levi is ALREADY a person, and in particular, a man, with a very different and unique upbringing. I DO believe that Levi has a more "modern" or "woke" view on "women," "women's rights," and "house chores" than the rest of the men. I'll simply say this: a man who saw his mother being treated like garbage because she worked as a prostitute, a man who had to raise himself, and a man who RAISED a girl out of pure heart. I hardly think he judges women on how they dress, who they sleep with, or thinks that "a man shouldn't cook or clean/take care of the kids." So Levi is kind of an exception for me. This doesn't mean he doesn't have internalized misogyny or "micro-sexism" (which I'll talk about later).

Overall, despite both societies allowing "women" in the military, I don't think their views on women or men's roles are much different. I believe there are a few clear examples of this in the manga. If my memory serves me correctly (and take this with a grain of salt because I know that Isayama gave multiple interviews, and a lot of them were edited), he said on one occasion that the Scouts were different because usually, everybody helps with all the chores, like cooking, cleaning, etc., because they work more united and as a family than the rest of the military divisions. Second, he said in one interview right after the manga ended that when he draws "military boards or higher ranks," he always keeps in mind not to add women because they aren't allowed.

Other scenes that quickly come to mind that make me think that Paradis (and I'll speak mostly of Paradis because we don't see much of Marley as a society) is a very sexist society with traditional views:

Most of the time, when we are shown military members from the Garrison OR the MPs, they are mostly men.

Which women are shown that are "recalled" from the Garrison? Riko and Anka… What role does Anka have? Being a secretary for Pixis, more or less, a very stereotypical role for a woman.

A very memorable woman from the MPs is Hitch, and there's a scene where it's clearly said that "there's only one way a woman like Hitch can get into the MPs," basically stating that she made sexual favors to get into that position.

Not a single scene from the military board or higher-up positions shows a single woman.

All the mothers of the characters shown in the story are "housewives" or "stay-at-home moms," which is absolutely fine if a woman decides to dedicate her time to her family as long as it’s a decision she made and not because she didn’t have "other options." Even Eren's mother, Carla, is shown to work as a waitress before she became a mother and a housewife.

All this makes me conclude that probably women inside the military never reach far, either because they aren't allowed (men are preferred over them, offered better positions, promoted first) or because once they get married, they are expected to become stay-at-home wives. I can clearly imagine people thinking that if you get promoted as a woman, it's because you're sleeping with your boss, or if you haven't gotten married and had kids at a certain age, "you're wasting your time" or "a woman's role is to be a mom; they only feel fulfilled like that."

This creates a power dynamic: women are expected to be wives; therefore, men are expected to be the main providers. And this is something I can see men, particularly Levi, being affected by. In my fic, I wrote once that Levi gets very offended when the reader invites or pays for him because she comes from a wealthy family. For Levi, as internalized misogyny, HIS role as a man is to provide. What kind of man is he if he's not paying? Especially for the Scouts' men, it's said that the Scouts have the lowest salaries in the military. If they can't provide, their chances of getting married are probably low. Even today, a lot of men get sensitive or offended if their wives make more money than them. Or men get irrationally jealous and butthurt if their women are more successful than them.

Another way men might get the sour end is in terms of emotional availability. While women's harsh reality is known, men's struggles often aren't. For example (one from Marley), Reiner's mother suffers a lot of social prejudice because she had a kid out of wedlock, and her only "salvation" is that Reiner becomes a warrior. Even today, men struggle with being emotionally available and having more feelings than just "lust and anger." I can totally see men all over the AoT world having to be these "very tough" guys who are only allowed to be "human" when they are alone with "their girl/wife." This happened a lot after WWI; men were sent back home with horrible memories of war and society expected them to just "toughen up and be men." Go, work, and provide for your family; and if you're suffering from everything you lived, then learn to be a man.

It's like I can literally imagine Erwin perhaps complaining that he's having a hard time, and Zackly or any other dude would be like, "You know what you need? A wife; she will take care of the rest."

"I don't have time to dedicate."

"Doesn't matter, a good wife always understands."

"… my salary isn't that good."

"Oh well, you know it's never too late for you to change divisions and settle down." pat on the back lmao end of the advice, and Erwin has the same emotional stress as before.

Overall, I think their views are probably as traditional as they were only a couple of years ago. This is completely ignorable for the sake of fanfiction and having fun; not every piece you write has to send a message or be political. But if you ask me how I think canon AoT characters are, I believe a good part of them, if not most, would be very traditional.

Hope this helps! I tried to cover everything I could remember while being as concise as possible. Thank you so much for your question!

Lots of love!

[wp-blaze]

Printerval

Your One-Stop Shop for Fashion, Home, Kids, Pets, and More In the bustling world of online shopping, finding a platform that offers a diverse range of products while maintaining quality and affordability can be a challenge. That’s where Printerval steps in, a hidden gem in the e-commerce landscape that caters to your every need, from […]

[hwere]

like violets | SydCarmy | T | 1.5k words.

Summary: There’s two flights of stairs between her new place and Carmen’s car, so of course Sydney takes her sweet time moving the lighter boxes first, allowing Carmen to put his solid wall of muscles to good use.

Sydney sits in silence in Carmen’s car. He offered to help her move out of her dad’s house and she agreed to. Things haven’t been good between them lately, due to Carmen’s erratic, obsessive and self-destructive behavior and all of the endless problems regarding the restaurant, but he offered with his pleading blue eyes and she said yes. She said yes because she needed the help and didn’t want to bother her dad.

So far, the only words exchanged between them have been “hey,” “yo,” “wait, there’s more boxes inside,” and “let me type in the address.” So, Sydney sits in silence in Carmen’s car, paying attention to the passing world outside the passenger window, feeling and seeing through her peripheral vision his gaze ever so often drifting in her direction, his mouth opening to say something, only for him to click it shut, his eyes back to the road ahead.

It’s awkward, but it’s fine. Awkward is better than arguing for the umpteenth time about the restaurant. It’s fine. They don’t have to talk. It’s not like they have anything to talk about besides the restaurant. They aren’t friends. Just partners. Partners, what a funny word.

Fortunately, it doesn’t take long for them to reach what’s going to be her new home. It’s a bit distant from the restaurant, but that’s another thing that is fine. She is, once again, out of her childhood bedroom, no roommate and the rent is payable. She’s an adult, she can absolutely manage whatever life throws her way. Having to wake up an hour earlier than usual to be able to get to the restaurant and work alongside her maniac of a partner? A piece of cake.

There’s two flights of stairs between her new place and Carmen’s car, so of course Sydney takes her sweet time moving the lighter boxes first, allowing Carmen to put his solid wall of muscles to good use. It also doesn’t take long for her plan to backfire.

She’s in the middle of the second flight of stairs when Carmen walks out of her place without his coat. Over the top of a heavier box, Sydney notices his too tight white tee clinging to his chest due to sweat. The sight makes her lose balance momentarily and Carmen, ever the attentive, notices and rushes to help her.

“Yo, lemme take this one,” he’s trying to pry the box out of her hands, but Sydney clings to it, using the box as a protective barrier between them.

“No, I can handle it. It’s fine,” she shakes her head, tightening her grip. “I think there’s only two or three more left. You, uhh, you can take care of those.” Carmen stares at her for a second too long before nodding and backing into the railing, giving her space to pass.

Sydney drops the box on the side of the others, heaving a sigh. She fills two glasses of water and sits on the floor, waiting for Carmen to finish bringing her stuff inside. There ended up being four more boxes left, but nothing that he couldn’t handle. He sits down beside her when it’s done and she pushes one glass in his direction.

“Thanks.” Carmen downs the glass in two big gulps and Sydney allows herself to watch his Adam’s apple bobbing in his throat, the sweat running down the side of his face. When he’s done, she averts her gaze to the boxes.

“Thanks again for offering to help me out.” Sydney says, still staring at the boxes.

“Oh. It’s nothing, really. The least I could do.”

Then, they’re sitting in silence again. She couldn’t say for how long they sat there, shoulders almost touching, in absolute silence. Carmen’s the one to cave in first.

“Syd.”

“What?”

“I’m sorry.” That makes her look at him and she’s expecting to see him drawing circles in his chest, another meaningless apology to a perpetually buried conversation, but he isn’t. He doesn’t. “Talk to me, please.”

“Why?” Sydney crosses her arms over her chest.

“Why? ‘cause that’s what we do. We’re partners,” he says matter of factly.

She chuckles humorlessly, “Actually, we don’t, Carmy, and that’s the problem.”

“Well, I’m asking you right now to, Syd. So, can you please talk to me?”

Sydney doesn’t know if it’s due to the change in scenario—not being in the confines of the restaurant—or due to Carmen’s earnest eyes, but she gives in to her months-long tiredness.

“Why, Carmy? I’m sorry, but—there’s no point in wasting my breath talking when I already know you’re not gonna listen to me,” she doesn’t hide anything, doesn’t hold back any punch. “Honestly? I am… tired. Tired of the arguing, tired of you doing whatever the fuck you want and then rubbing in my face that you’re doing it for me, that you’re ‘giving me what I want.’ I’m tired of you behaving like a piece of shit with everyone in the kitchen, tired of your apologies, of the back and forth… So why even bother?”

Carmen stays silent for a minute, digesting her words; eyes on her all the while. “I’m trying, Syd.”

“Oh, I know. That’s another problem,” a rueful chuckle. “I need you to stop trying, Carmy, and to start listening,” she uncrosses her arms, pointing a finger to his chest. “That day that I came back? I came back for my last check. You offered me that,” she motions to the open window, meaning the restaurant, “and I agreed ‘cause I trusted you. I’ve been trusting you since my very first day there, hence applying for the sous position in the first place. But it was the same thing with the loan, with you running the menu by whoever, with every decision regarding the renovation… and even after all that, I kept trusting you. I still do. We were supposed to be doing this, all of this, together.

“You’re not alone, Carm. And I’m tired of waiting for you to realize this; that you can trust us—me. You don’t have to carry the restaurant on your back all by yourself. I’m right here, giving just as much blood, sweat and tears as you. I don’t need you to assume what I want; I need you to listen to me. ‘cause when you self-destruct, you’re not only hurting or making yourself miserable. You take everybody else with you, and that includes me.”

Only when she’s done, does she realize how many different and conflicting emotions she had been bottling up inside of her. She feels her body grow warmer with embarrassment due to her rant, but she can’t take it back now and even if she could, she wouldn’t. More than anything else, she was tired of keeping everything to herself, of burying conversations with a fist to her chest.

“I trust you, Syd. I trust you more than I trust myself.”

“You’ve got a funny way of showing it, man,” she snorts.

“I’m serious, Syd,” he runs a hand down his face. “I trust you and I didn’t lie when I said that I couldn’t and didn’t even want to do this without you. I’m just… I’m just trying to make it all work, y’know? I fucked up during F&F, things haven’t been great since the opening and you said you wanted a star—”

“Fuck the star, Carmy,” she interrupts him, saying with so much force that both of them are taken aback. “Not… literally. Yeah, I do want one of those bullshit stars, but above all else, I want the restaurant to be different from all of the other places we’ve been at, remember?”

So much has happened between her first month at The Beef and now, that their conversation at the alley feels like it happened a lifetime ago. It may as well have been.

“I’m gonna do better, Syd,” Carmen nods, circling his fist on his chest, looking at Sydney in the same way he always does; she still doesn’t know what to make of it—and by it she means her feelings regarding her partner that have nothing to do with their professional partnership.

“Heard, Chef.” She mimics his action, offering him her first smile of the day.

For both theirs and everybody else’s sake? She hopes so.

“It’s getting late. I’m gonna let you—” he motions to the boxes a few feet away from them. “Yeah.” They get up on their feets at the same time.

Sydney bends down to grab their empty glasses from the floor.

“I know I already said that, but thanks again.”

Then, they’re awkwardly standing there for a few seconds, with Sydney holding their empty glasses in hand and Carmen pinching his bottom lip between two fingers, watching her through his eyelashes, nodding his head like one of those bobbing head toys that people put in their car’s dashboard. Carmen abruptly stops nodding his head, drops his hand and straightens his back, hooking a thumb over his shoulder.

“See you tomorrow?”

“See you tomorrow.”

His body is halfway out the door when he stops and turns around.

“Yo, congrats on moving out. That’s huge, Chef,” he says smirking.

“Dude, shut the fuck up.”

Carmen finally leaves, laughing.

Sydney doesn’t know what awaits them tomorrow and the days after, but she hopes for the best; hopes that her rant doesn’t go in vain and that Carmen keeps this one promise. On top of everything she has already been doing, that’s all she can do, honestly.

[kingofthering]

if you write for them 9. things you said when i was crying for beznaia

Mandalika 2023, Sunday Night.

His left hand playing with the bedroom access card, Pecco uses his right hand to refresh his text thread with Bezz, very aware that this is not how things work and he’s not going to have an answer appearing to him like this.

It’s not unusual for Bezz to forget about the existence of his phone but given his current condition, Pecco couldn’t help but worry. He hadn’t managed to catch up with Bezz after the race but he knew the heat and the distance must have taken a toll on his collarbone.

Pecco looks at the slim piece of plastic that Bezz had placed in the back pocket of his jeans on Friday night after they shared an elevator ride after dinner, the words “I know the view in my room is better than yours, you should come check it out before we leave” liberated in the air between them like Bezz was simply talking about the weather before he disappeared from the elevator, getting out on his floor.

People always tell Pecco that he needs to learn how to turn his brain off, stop thinking so much, go for his instincts, don’t overthink so much. That’s what Pecco does as he pockets his phone and heads out of his bedroom to knock on another door two floors down.

“Bezz, it’s me,” Pecco tries when he hasn’t received an answer after rasping his knuckles against the door a bunch of times.

Any other person, any other time, Pecco would have taken that as a sign to leave.

Trust your instincts.

Pecco swipes the plastic card against the magnetic reader above the handle. The LED at the top of it goes green, mechanism of the lock making sounds that appear stupidly loud in the otherwise silent hall.

Pecco calls for Bezz as he walks in but he only needs to take two steps in the room to find him sitting at the top of his bed, left hand holding his right arm against his chest, his head bent down over himself. 

“Pecco?” Bezz lifts his head and that’s when Pecco realizes that he’s crying, the red of his eyes an harsh contrast to how pale Bezz’s skin looks.

The short distance between them gets eaten up fastly and once he’s in front of Bezz, Pecco’s hands immediately want to reach out before he sees Bezz wincing in pain, his eyes blinking away a couple of new tears. 

Pecco settles for a hand on Bezz’s nape that has Bezz slipping his eyes closed for a second.

“Hey, I’m here, it’s okay,” Pecco says quietly, his thumb drawing circles against Bezz’s skin while his brain tries to take in the situation.

“How did you get in?” Bezz asks after wiping his face with the palm of his hand.

“You gave me your key, remember?”

“Oh, right. Sorry. Did you try to reach me? I left my phone in my pants and I haven’t had the force to get it.”

Pecco winces. It’s been a long time since he has seen Bezz like this, years, even. He was there when Bezz injured himself at the ranch and he kept a brave face in front of everyone —they all do whenever they need to— but Pecco knows you can’t always win against pain.

“Nothing to apologize for,” Pecco says easily, now not the day to guilt trip Bezz because he made Pecco worry. Maybe later, when Bezz is back on his feet and the injury is far enough for them to be able to laugh about it. Not now. Now— “Marco, when’s the last time you took pain meds? Do you have some with you or do you need me to call someone?”

“Flavio gave me something after the race but I think it’s starting to wear off. He gave me another pill for tonight, it should be in my jacket.”

Pecco checks the watch on his wrist and does the quick math to figure out how long it’s been since the race ended. Then, he turns around, looks for bright yellow in the mess that is Bezz’s bedroom and find his jacket on the floor next to the foot of the bed.

He grabs a water bottle from the mini bar, opens it for Bezz, and takes the pill out from the foil paper before presenting both objects to Bezz who still grimaces as he uses his left hand to take the medication.

“Good,” Pecco says, his hand catching the water bottle again, capping it and setting it on the nearby bedside table. “Have you eaten?”

Bezz shrugs and immediately regrets the gesture, painful wince distorting his face and making Pecco wince in sympathy with him. “I had dinner with the team. Wasn’t very hungry, though.”

Pecco frowns. He’s more surprised by the admission than the fact itself. “Okay,” he nods carefully, thinking about the next step here. 

There is a small part of him that wants to call for someone else, someone more competent than him that will for sure know how to make sure that Bezz is fine. And then there is the part of him that knows that’s not what Bezz wants and the part of him that wants to do this for him, all on his own.

Pecco picks up the bedroom phone from the bedside table.

“Hello, I’m in room 307. Would it be possible to get a bag of ice, please?”

Pecco feels a tug on his t-shirt and when he looks down, he finds Bezz’s fingers fiddling with the hem of his shirt. Pecco smiles, puts his free hand on Bezz’s forearm. 

“You have food options, right? What about sandwiches? Okay, yes, I’ll have the chicken one please. And a side of fries. Thank you.”

Bezz frowns at him and Pecco rubs his thumb against Bezz’s skin. It’s not the most nutritive of food and it's not a piadina but it’s something Bezz can easily munch on now and something he can eat cold later if his appetite comes back.

“You’ve won from the 5th row and you’ve taken the lead of the championship back, you should be out celebrating,” Bezz says once Pecco has hung up and pocketed his phone again after texting the handful of people that were expecting him to go out. 

Bezz’s head is still leaning against the headboard and he looks so pale, Pecco wishes he could put some colors back into his skin.

As things stand, Pecco lifts his hand to Bezz’s face, pushes some curls away from his forehead and uses his thumb to wipes away some leftover tears. “It’s okay, I’d rather be here.”

Was Pecco in the mood to release some tension after how intense and mentally draining this weekend in Mandalika had been? Yes. Could he party without Bezz if Bezz wasn’t available? Sure. Did he want to when he knew Bezz was in this condition? Absolutely not.

Pecco remembers the days after Barcelona, how Bezz had called for Pecco’s physio when Pecco woke up in excruciating pain, unable to get out of bed. He thinks about Bezz bringing him stuff so he wouldn’t have to move and continuously offering Pecco his arm or his shoulder when his crutch wasn’t there.

Bezz had said “It’s okay, Pecchino, you’ll repay me later” with his usual laugh showing all of his teeth and Pecco had smiled back, some heat pooling on his cheeks and at the pit of his stomach.

“Oh,” Bezz muses. “Okay.” Pecco lifts his thumb to smooth the creased lines between Bezz’s brows. In answer, he gets tugged to the bed after Bezz’s hand has grabbed on his belt loops and Pecco stumbles a little, catching himself on Bezz’s thigh, avoiding his chest and the arm he’s still cradling there. “If we find the good position, I might be able to give you a decent celebratory BJ.”

Pecco feels very hot and then very cold, the sensations sobering even if he hasn't had a drop of alcohol. A stupid noise escapes his mouth. “If you injure yourself more because of sex, I’ll kill you.”

What Bezz does with other people is the last thing Pecco wants to think about right now. The concept of Bezz thinking an orgasm or two are the only reasons Pecco came tonight? Definitely makes Pecco feel a little sick.

“I only came for the view, remember?” He tries, conscious that his joke is going to fall flat the moment the words leave his mouth.

Pecco can hear the fingers on his waist fall back down on the mattress right before there is a knock on the door.

Follow your instincts.

Pecco leans down to press a kiss to Bezz’s forehead before turning around to get the door.

[small-z24]

Shadows of Fate 4

Summary:

Y/n, Cassian's shy and quiet sister, prefers to keep to the shadows. Unbeknownst to her, she is Azriel's mate. His shadows are inexplicably drawn to her, and as they grow closer, a slow-burn romance ensues. Cassian, ever protective of his sister, watches over her as the bond between Y/n and Azriel deepens.

Word Count: 803

Warnings: None

Chapter 4: The Protective Brother

The days passed in a tranquil routine, with Y/n continuing her self-defense lessons with Azriel. Cassian, though still wary, began to ease his constant vigilance, trusting Azriel more with each passing day. However, the protective brotherly instincts never fully faded.

One evening, Y/n was in the common room, sketching the flowers she had seen in the garden earlier. She found peace in drawing, her mind relaxing as her hand moved over the paper. Azriel was beside her, reading a book, his presence a comforting constant.

Cassian entered the room, his eyes narrowing slightly as he saw them together. "Y/n," he called, drawing her attention away from her sketch. "Can we talk for a moment?"

Y/n looked up, her heart sinking a little. "Of course, Cass." She glanced at Azriel, who gave her a reassuring nod.

Cassian led her out to a balcony overlooking Velaris. The night was calm, the stars twinkling above like scattered diamonds. He leaned on the railing, taking a deep breath before speaking.

"I need to ask you something," he began, his voice serious. "Do you really believe Azriel is the one for you?"

Y/n's eyes softened. "I do, Cassian. I’ve never felt this way about anyone before. He understands me, and he makes me feel safe."

Cassian turned to face her, his expression conflicted. "I just worry about you. I’ve seen how harsh the world can be, and I don’t want you to get hurt."

"I know you’re just looking out for me," Y/n said, placing a hand on his arm. "And I appreciate it. But Azriel is different. He’s patient and kind, and he respects me."

Cassian sighed, running a hand through his hair. "I see how much he cares about you. I just... it’s hard for me to let go."

"You don’t have to let go," Y/n reassured him. "Just trust that I know what I’m doing."

Cassian nodded slowly, a small smile tugging at his lips. "Alright. I trust you, Y/n. Just promise me you’ll be careful."

"I promise," she said, giving him a hug. "Thank you, Cass."

They stood there for a moment, the silence between them filled with unspoken understanding. Finally, Cassian pulled back, his expression lighter. "Go back to Azriel. I’ll be here if you need me."

Y/n smiled, giving him one last squeeze before returning to the common room. Azriel looked up as she entered, his eyes filled with concern.

"Everything alright?" he asked softly.

"Yes," she replied, sitting beside him again. "Cassian just needed to talk. He’s trying to trust us."

Azriel nodded, a look of determination crossing his face. "I’ll prove to him that his trust is well-placed."

A few days later, a sense of unease settled over the House of Wind. Y/n felt it in the air, a tension that seemed to affect everyone around her. She couldn’t quite place it, but it gnawed at her, making her restless.

She found herself wandering through the halls, seeking out Azriel. She found him in the war room, deep in conversation with Rhysand and Cassian. As she approached, the conversation hushed, and the three males turned to look at her.

"Y/n," Rhysand greeted, his tone warm but guarded. "What brings you here?"

"I just... felt like something was wrong," she admitted, her eyes flicking to Azriel. "Is everything alright?"

Azriel stepped forward, placing a reassuring hand on her shoulder. "We’re just discussing some security concerns. Nothing for you to worry about."

Y/n wasn’t convinced, but she nodded, trusting Azriel’s judgment. "If you say so."

Rhysand gave her a gentle smile. "We’re handling it, Y/n. But thank you for your concern."

She nodded again, squeezing Azriel’s hand before turning to leave. As she walked away, she couldn’t shake the feeling that something big was looming on the horizon.

That night, Y/n couldn’t sleep. She tossed and turned, her mind racing with worry. Finally, she got up and made her way to the balcony, hoping the cool night air would calm her.

She wasn’t surprised to find Azriel already there, his shadows dancing around him like restless spirits. He turned as she approached, his eyes softening.

"Couldn’t sleep?" he asked.

"No," she admitted, leaning against the railing beside him. "I can’t shake this feeling that something bad is going to happen."

Azriel wrapped an arm around her, pulling her close. "I understand. But whatever happens, we’ll face it together."

Y/n looked up at him, her heart swelling with love. "Promise?"

"Promise," he said, pressing a kiss to her forehead.

They stood there in silence, the night wrapping around them like a protective cloak. In that moment, Y/n felt a glimmer of hope, a belief that no matter what came their way, their bond would see them through.

Author's Note: Thank you for reading! I hope you enjoyed this chapter of Y/n and Azriel's story. Feel free to leave comments and let me know your thoughts!

[twinsarekeepers]

do you genuinely think people who draw/write book annabeth are racist?

This could be a disingenuous ask but okay, I’ll bite and answer honestly.

First of all, “book” Annabeth can be black. That is how I see her and have seen her even before the show casting was announced. A lot of people reading the books now see Annabeth as Leah. Everyone has a different interpretation of Annabeth’s physical characteristics in the books and to try and say “book” Annabeth is synonymous with “white” Annabeth is wrong.

(And no you cannot use the book description or official art as an excuse. Rick is awful with consistent physical descriptions. Multiple characters have changed hair color and eye color throughout the series. The official art has literally been changed twice. The recent book had no physical descriptions of the characters and was literally dedicated to Walker, Leah, and Aryan. Rick has also said that when writing the characters now, he sees those three kids as them. This is not me defending Rick, because he’s still a coward that plays both sides of this, but if you want to say the book character is white then that is simply wrong now. She, at the very least, is ambiguous enough for everyone to choose what she looks like. There is no definitive “book” Annabeth now.)

“Book” Annabeth and “TV” Annabeth are the same character. There are no significant personality or backstory changes between the book and the show character that can justify separating the two of them like that. The only reason people are separating them is because they want to hold onto to the white version of the character. (I know there’s going to be stupid people with no media literacy who don’t know how adaptations work in my mentions “explaining” the differences, but no. The show has done a very good job at taking the character on the page and finding ways that are suitable for the screen to depict the same characteristics).

Before y’all say that people do this with TV Percy and book Percy too: it did not start that way. “Book” and “TV” Annabeth began when the show was in production, before anyone could even see how the show would handle Annabeth’s character. When some of us pointed that out, people started trying to separate “book” Percy and “TV” Percy. It was literally a tactic to hide their racist intentions. (And again, there are not enough differences between the book and tv show character to justify this separation, especially when this started happening BEFORE the show even released to the public).

So that’s a little context to how this separation even started. I know what y’all are going to say. “But just because it started as racist, doesn’t mean it’s racist now!” And to that I say, sure, but that’s not the case here.

White Annabeth fanart has been consistently used to hate on Leah, a real girl. We all know how much Leah has been getting harassed and bullied for her role as Annabeth and when her casting was announced, people used fanart to discredit her. Artists who continued to draw white Annabeth refused to monitor their comments and they were filled with people hating on Leah’s casting. Not only that, but artists who started drawing Annabeth as black would get hateful messages and comments as well. Accounts were going as far to take fanart of Leah’s Annabeth and whitewashing it (and then putting it in the leahisourannabeth tag). This is still happening today. You can find comments under fanart of Walker and Leah’s percabeth saying “I prefer the originals” or “the originals are better”. That’s very obviously racism.

For this reason, we started saying to stop drawing and writing white Annabeth. It’s being used in a direct and tangible way to harass a real young girl. If enough people in the fandom refuse to engage with white Annabeth then the hate will significantly decrease. There are the obvious excuses to this: “people will be racist no matter what so what’s the point of even trying?” That’s not true. Racists are cowards, especially people who harass children. They are emboldened only by others. If they see people continuing to support the separation between the book and show characters, and drawing white Annabeth fanart, they’re going to DO racist things like get Leah’s account banned on tiktok.

And this is where the active racism occurs. People know that this harassment is happening and that the fanart that they produce is going to be used to harass Leah. Instead of deciding that they’ll do their part to lessen that harassment, no matter how small that is, they decide that engaging with white Annabeth fanart is more important. They can say that they condemn what’s happening to Leah and that it’s not their responsibility what people do with their fanart, but that still makes the action racist.

Y’all say that you condemn what’s happening to Leah, but then when given the tools to help lessen it, you refuse to do it. All because you want to hold on to a white version of a character. You spend more time defending that choice than going into your own mentions and deleting any and every comment that may become hostile to the kids, especially Leah. That is racism.

[fallout-lou-begas]

What do you think is the key to making a noun title work. Your latest BG3 posts got me thinking about how a major point of bemusement for me is the oddly boring Word Combinations in that game, like Dark Urge, Rite of Thorns, which all seem to have a certain triple-A quality baked into them. Take that in contrast to something like Fallout, with names like Dead Money, Honest Hearts, which ooze with flavor. What would you say is the key factor to making a word combination of that type work?

This is a phenomenal question tbh. I think it comes down to context, vibes, and phonetics. High fantasy jargon is always more susceptible to flopping, I think, because it's already a genre with so MUCH jargon and it will always by nature of the genre be coming off with an air of importance. "Rite of Thorns" alone makes me think of like six different very generic and forgettable novels with more or less the same exact cover -- similarly, are writers all still naming their fantasy novels "A Noun of Word and Other Word?". Basically, when you say something like "Dark Urge," it very much draws attention to itself.

The benefit of words like Dead Money and Honest Hearts is that they are actual real life expressions already. "Dark Urge" is technically already a real life expression ("I had a dark urge to kill him then and there") but turning it into a capitalized proper noun is the tricky thing. I actually think the better point of comparison is "old world blues," which is not just the title of a DLC but the in-universe name of a melancholic longing for the pre-war world, used in the same way that people use the words "nostalgia" or "sonder" currently.

I think that ultimately my answer on what makes a "good" combination of words for a proper, titled concept is "it depends, but it's always going to be much more difficult in fantasy because fantasy is comprised of an absolute mountain of proper, titled concepts, and people's mileage varies." Strangely, I think Fromsoft games handle this well, because the storytelling is so, so, so minimal otherwise that loose affiliations of proper, titled concepts is basically all you get.

[gavinom123]

Dead Plate doodles! Everyone go play it

[captainhysunstuff]

A reactionary comic about rereading a fic that I recently recommended that was way darker than I remembered, lol. I still love it for how they pretty much drive each other crazy, but that word choice and the consent issues... *cringes* At least there are valid warnings beforehand, and the first fic was pretty PG. Sorry. *laughs sheepishly*

[spookythesillyfella]

" Losing battle of loss "

[thelof9]

two jellyfish princesses at the beach 🏖✨

[snailune]

wiki how do I stop spiraling about my life once every 2 weeks I'm getting sick of it