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Idea: more fantasy heroines who don't look down on female-coded work

Sword-swinging mercenaries who admire the hell out of their sister-in-law’s delicate, painstaking embroidery. Mages who find their experience with running a household helps them organize and control their magic. Desperate rebels who know they are absolutely dependent on the women who cook and mend and care for the wounded.

I am so bored of heroines who sneer at ‘womanly’ things and complain of the uselessness of embroidery. Your average medieval kingdom wouldn’t last a week without people doing women’s work.

Summary of Danganronpa
  • DR1: Tell em' Naegi
  • SDR2: No Komaeda, Hope is not an instrument
  • DRAE: *leans into the mic* goodbye u little shits
  • DR3Future: dear boy
  • DR3Despair: they live and die by the meme
  • DR3Hope: Being Munakata is suffering
  • DR2.5: Fucking fuckers with talent, go fucking kill urselves
  • DR0: MatsudakunmatsudakunmatsudakunmATSUDAKUNMATSUDAKUN
  • DRKillerKiller: GET OUT OF THE LOCKER, HIJIRIHARA-KUN
  • DRTogami: all my friends are dead
  • DRKirigiri: Onee-sama
  • DRIF: Junko no-
  • NDRV3: why the fuck u lyin'
  • DR School mode/island mode: meet my harem, everybody
Day One: Homesickness

Thought I’d start off @vldangstweek with something that turns from angsty to fluffy, just because, based on the rest of this weeks prompts, it’s gonna get waaayyyy angstier (knowing me, anyway). Everything will be tagged with vldangstweek and any of my usual angst tags (angst, langst, klangst, etc)

Let my children go home, they’re stressed and tired (under a cut for length).


“Come on Lance, one more time! You need to defeat this gladiator before I can allow anyone to go to dinner!” Allura shouted down from the observation deck.

The quiet groans of his teammates filled his head and Lance winced, stepping back to stand his ground against the bot attacking him. His vision wavered over his helmet and his fingers trembled against his bayard, unable to form it because of the close range combat style. He grunted, rolling as the bot dove for him, sweeping it’s legs out from under it and sending it to the ground. Briefly, he heard Hunk’s cheer of encouragement in his comms, and then the bot was back up again, charging at him.

Lance sighed, side stepping the bot and pressing his shaking hands to his head, trying to stop the swimming feeling in his brain, the burn at the back of his throat and eyes, the tightness in his chest. He took a hit, hard, and fell backwards onto his ass, teeth clacking together.

“Dude, seriously, we’re starving!” Pidge called out. “You need to beat this!”

Lance took a shaky breath, shooting a glare at the deck. “You want me to beat it? Fine. I’ll beat it.”

Before the bot could get any closer, Lance whipped out his bayard, transforming it in the process and ignoring Allura’s shouts of this being a hand to hand fight. Within seconds, the bot was in a smoking heap on the floor and Lance was shaking, sweat curling down his forehead. Allura stormed out of the observation deck and onto the main floor, eyebrows furrowed. “That was not the assignment, Lance. You’ll have to do it again.”

“No.”

“Excuse me?”

Lance ripped off his helmet and chucked it to the ground. When he looked up, Allura took a step back at the ferocity in his face, the tears in his eyes. “I said, no. I’m not doing this bull shit anymore. They’re not either,” he snapped, pointing towards the deck. “You don’t get to treat us this way, we’re the only reason you’re not dead or still in those stupid pods. You called us family, Allura.”

His voice broke and his lip quivered as he stumbled back, shaking his head. “You don’t get to treat family like this. Not when we’re doing all of this for you.”

He swallowed and spun on his heel, storming from the room. Allura hesitated, glancing back at the deck only to find the rest of the paladins and Coran standing behind her. She studied the group, noted the lines on their faces and the bags under their eyes, and frowned. “Do you all agree with him?”

They remained silent for a moment, glancing at each other. Hunk spoke up first, his voice gentle. “Yeah. I do, at least.”

“Me too,” Pidge piped up, staring at the floor and fiddling with her bayard.

Keith nodded silently, rubbing a hand up and down one arm and looking off to the side. Hunk huffed. “Allura, we…I would say we’re homesick, but I don’t know if that covers all of us.”

“We’re Earth sick,” Keith offered. “And Lance…”

Shiro spoke for the first time. “Lance has the most family to miss out of the five of us.”

“And honestly?” Hunk muttered. “You yelling all the time, you pushing him, and us, all the time? No breaks, no relaxation time at all? I’m amazed he didn’t snap before this.”

Allura swallowed. “I’m…”

“It’s okay,” Hunk promised. “We understand, you want to stop the Galra, stop Zarkon.”

“But you have to remember that we’re all volunteering to do this,” Pidge said, fidgeting from foot to foot. “There’s nothing keeping anyone here other than empathy. Don’t give Lance a reason to stop caring, or he will leave.”

Allura bit her lip and glanced over her shoulder. “I should go-”

“No,” Keith said firmly, stepping forwards and resting a hand on Allura’s arm. “We got this. You two go get dinner.”

She and Coran studied the paladins for a moment before nodding in agreement and leaving the training deck.

Keep reading

1. You look at a map of a city you’ve never been to.
You see patterns and street names and they tell you nothing. The map remains dead, the city unknown.
2. You go to the city you’ve never been to.
It becomes a city you know.
3. You look at a map of a city you’ve been to, but have left behind. As you look at the map, you remember.
You are looking at nostalgia. You walk through street names and remember the taste of cake in the café whose name you forgot, but you remember its yellow walls and comfy chairs. A square is no longer four lines on a map, but an open space with people and statues and laughter and a fountain in the center. The monotonous, two-dimensional blue that indicates an ocean turns into postcard memories, so many shades of blue and green and the smell of salt and fish. The famous building with the famous name that everyone knows is now a personal experience, it is yours and yours alone in a way that will never make it anyone else’s. A billion feet have walked these (now familiar) paths and two of them were yours. You can trace the steps you have taken and you remember feelings and colours and strangers who offered you a smile. There is the hostel you slept in, there is the river you crossed so many times, there is the corner where you listened to the most amazing street musician. You fondly whisper street names that you had trouble pronouncing when you first spoke them, clumsily. You connect dots, and they turn to images in your head.
The map is alive, the city an old friend.
4. The map you look at is always the same; the perception is different. It is you who has changed.
—  p.s. // every time i look at a map I have a feeling that is hard to put into words
3

Alright, HERE we go! Awhile ago I had an idea for a MP100/Voltron crossover, and after mentioning it to @x-i-l-verify​ and loooots of brainstorming later, we have…*gestures vaguely* this. These are more or less screenshot redraws just to kind of get across who is who. :) More info, reasonings and musings under the cut, because well…it got long…

Keep reading

Have another of my founders headcanons

In relation to this post

OKAY, SO. LET’S HAVE A TALK ABOUT HELGA HUFFLEPUFF. BECAUSE. I HAVE SO MANY THINGS TO SAY.

Here’s the thing; in my head, Helga Hufflepuff has always been a soldier. Yes, she’s kind and fair, but she also knows when a good hex or a punch in the face is the only solution. This does not happen often. She’s friendly and accepting and patient. But when someone threatens her friends, or her family, or her students, that someone better be prepared to have her wand aimed at them. Or better yet, a sword. Use what you know and all that, and while she’s great with her hexes and curses and even some charms used in a way her old mentor would definitely not have approved of, there’s just something incredibly satisfying in meeting someone sword to sword. She and Godric spars every now and then, though it’s clear he’s more of a dueler than a soldier. But Helga. Helga joined the war when she was 15, and she never regretted it. It was grueling, and it was painful, and she watched so many of her companions fall. But she joined for a reason – to protect (her family, her little nephews and nieces and all the children of her village) and to, one day, try and change the world enough that war wouldn’t be necessary. She fought for years, rising in rank as fewer and fewer of her friends were left, and she refused to give up. This was for the children. This was for the future.

When she was 23, she became general. And at 24, the war finally ended. And then she had to find something else to do.

She went back to her village, to the little houses and fields and her family. And for a while she was content, but not for long. She wanted to do something, because that was the reason she joined the war in the first place. For change. She wanted peace, and quiet, and a place to call home. But when she had it, she realized she only knew how to fight. And she was not going to accept that.

She went to find her old mentor, an aging wizard who kept forgetting his wand in odd places but who also knew a lot of spells and had more magical books than she had seen anywhere else in her life (later, when she met Rowena Ravenclaw and saw her collection, she would stare at it for ten minutes and then just go “nope” and walk out of the room). She asked him to teach her as much as he could. What he’d taught her before she left for the army was useful, but if she was gonna change the world she needed more.

He listened to her, listened to her reasons and her dreams and then he sat her down with a cup of tea and started talking about magical theory. Most of her went over her head. She listened anyway.  And she kept coming back. And when she realized how many children he’d helped out through the years (her among them), she asked him about that. He started spouting even more magical theory. And she kept listening. And when it was over and he said he couldn’t teach her anymore, she knew more about accidental magic and magical cores than she thought possible. And she was satisfied, because this was what she needed to know. Something that could help. Something that could change a life, or two, or a hundred, if you only had the people to teach it to. This was for the children. This was for the future.

And then she met two wizards and a witch, constantly bickering and joking and everything in between. And the wanted to start a magic school. Of course she went with them. It was the purpose she had been looking for. It was a way to do what she’d always dreamt of.

They started planning how to do it, and moved into Godric’s family castle up in Scotland. As they decided to split the students into four groups, Helga started to get irritated. She had spent half her life fighting a war, she knew that you couldn’t always get the brave or the smart or the cunning. You had to use the resources that were available. Anyone could become a good soldier (or student, she supposed) if they were trained properly. 

She was a general, and she’d take anyone who wanted to learn. She was a soldier, and she’d take anyone who would work hard, because that’s all you need to change the world. She was a 15 year old girl who joined the army, and she remembered what it was like when people judged you for your bravery, for your intelligence, for your strength. She was a 26 year old veteran, and she would punch anyone who said you couldn’t learn because of something as stupid as who you are. In the face. They’d deserve it, for implying that her students weren’t good enough.


@egdramaqueen I said it “needs a bit of polishing” which apparently means I sit here and write another 700 words into it in less than an hour, so here it is. I finished it.

This set of panels in particular is pretty important to me, because it was stuff like this that kept me from realizing I was aroace for so long, so this was a little difficult for me to write.

When Jughead says “If…I would willingly kiss a girl it’ll be you” I have often seen it taken as a sort of very romantic line, like “I’m ready for you when you aren’t interested in Archie anymore”. However, this is a very common aromantic sentiment. Back when I didn’t know aromanticism was an option, I would mentally figure out which of my friends and acquaintances I would be willing to date, or kiss, because I figured I would have to end up with one of them, and because I thought that’s how crushes worked.

This also plays into amatonormativity, “the assumption that a central, exclusive, amorous relationship is normal for humans, in that it is a universally shared goal, and that such a relationship is normative, in the sense that it should be aimed at in preference to other relationship types”** Once I realized I was aro, I still clung to this internal list of which friends I would be willing to date, because of the whole idea that a relationship is the goal. I didn’t want my friends to end up sad and lonely, and I still sort of assumed I would have to marry someone in the end. Romance is pushed as something more important than friendship, and this is unhealthy for everyone, not just people like me! We shouldn’t base our self-worth on our relationship status, and friendship isn’t “below” a romantic relationship.

So when Jughead tells Betty she would be his first choice if he was interested, this reads, to me, as a misplaced display of friendship. He is telling Betty that he cares about her, that he considers her to be one of his best friends, one of his most important friends, but he doesn’t know how to express that. This is something I had to examine about myself recently, because I realized I was treating romance like a step above friendship, so I thought the only way I could display how much my friends meant to me was to be willing to join them in the “next level” of a relationship. Because friendship isn’t enough.

This, to me, feels a little sad. It’s reassuring to Betty! And a good comic!

It is also so, SO aromantic it hurts.


**I wanted to link to an article on amatonormativity but I didn’t find one that explained it well enough, so if that definition doesn’t make sense drop an ask my way and I’ll go more in-depth!

anonymous asked:

a concept: Alec finding out how much he really loves leaving little kisses along Magnus's neck and shoulders and chest, everywhere really, just soft damp kisses over and over again that can either lead to more than that, his mouth trailing down over Magnus's abs to his navel and lower. But kisses that can also be fast sweet pecks over his neck that make Magnus giggle and ruffle his hair but still tilt his head so Alec can keep kissing him while smiling, like there's nothing he'd rather do. -K.

with all of the lamps off and the room filled with flickering candle light, mingling with moonlight from the window, they were sitting there in bed and it was all he could think about. it was all he could even consider when magnus is looking at him like that, those brown eyes so molten, catching flickering light.

with their shirts off and their hands wandering, alec started at his jaw, warm breath catching on his skin before he parted his lips against that sharpness. but he didn’t stop there, trailing dampness down the column of his neck, feeling the thud of his heart underneath his lips. as he got lower magnus made a low noise in his chest, as pursed lips gave way to teeth.

before long magnus was leaning back against the pillows, pulling alec on top of him and alec settled into it easily, straddling him and watching the way his skin caught all that warm light in the dips and curves of his muscles. it left alec breathless, but what got him worse was magnus’s hands pressing into his hips, strong fingers sinking into his ass, thumbs pressed against his hip bones. that touch gave way to what he really wanted, which was pressing those kisses everywhere he could get them.

he kissed across his pecs, and then down, spilling over his sternum, soft damp warmth parted and dragging over all of magnus’s warm skin. and with every kiss alec could feel him, feel his fingers tense, hear all of the breathy noises he was making. when alec’s teeth or his tongue got involved it would heady hums of approval or quiet huffed laughter. but when it was just his lips, soft and barely parted, magnus breathed out soft sighs, his muscles going tight and relaxing under the press of his mouth.

there was nothing quite like having all of the power of magnus’s body underneath him. it was the softest and most tender thing to press his mouth all over magnus’s skin and feel his fingertips sparking, watch him unfold and start to melt. after he’d kissed every inch of magnus’s torso, he moved back up to cup his face, dragging a thumb under his chin, through his goatee. he stared at magnus, soaking up that look in his eyes that was even more volcanic.

then alec kissed him on the mouth, and swallowed all of his hungry energy.

things you said through your teeth

more ladynoir for the soul /o/

somewhat NSFW take heed :’D

“Mmmmnffff…”

Of all the noises Ladybug had expected while going over Chat’s back for damage, the half-hiss, half-moan had not been one of them.

She froze, hands stilling where she’d been running them down his back, from his shoulders to his hips, taking her time as he sprawled across her lap. “Sorry, did that hurt?”

His cat ears pricked, the muscles under hands flexing for a second, and then relaxing with a stuttered almost-sigh. “N-no?”

Ladybug squinted at the back of her partner’s head. That didn’t sound like a lie…

Cautiously, she began to move her hands again, paying extra attention to his reactions this time — the rhythm of his breathing and how the firm, warm flesh felt under her hands and the luxurious curve of his spine and—

And it was possible, just possible, that she got a little distracted.

Anytime her dorky partner wanted to stop being hot as hell would be a good time for her. Really.

Keep reading

watson, at the start of the noble bachelor: in a few weeks i’m getting married

holmes, at the end: thank goodness we never have to worry about ridiculous things like getting married and having wives who might leave us

me:

Originally posted by nikulaus

Maybe it was because it was cold and his body was super close to mine. Maybe it was because he looked really nice in a leather jacket. Maybe it was because his eyes looked impossibly blue in a photo I took of him. It could’ve been because of the time he helped me undo my braids. Or maybe because of the times where I made him laugh. Oh, or maybe that one time, when he came off stage, and just came directly over to me with a smile no one gets to see very often on his face. Or the times when we lock eyes and everything around us just blurs into the background (those are my favorite.)
I don’t know what it is exactly that makes my body crave his eyes on me at all times. Or how long I’ve actually been into him long before every nerve ending in my body fires in rapid succession when his shoulder bumps into mine.
I don’t know how to explain my feelings for him…I don’t think I even want to.
—  WHAT CAN’T BE SENT THROUGH A TEXT // k.m.

CS Neighbors au where Emma is a nurse and Killian is her definitely-faking-it hypochondriac neighbor who uses illnesses and injuries as an excuse to talk to her.

***

Killian knocks on her door wearing nothing but pajama pants.

“I’m dying.”

“Hello to you, too, Killian.”

“Yes, right, hello.”

“What’s it this time?”

“Breast cancer.”

“Uh huh. If you think you have cancer, you should go to a hospital.”

“I don’t like hospitals. Please would you just check for me? There’s a lump.”

“Ugh, fine.”

“Right here. Yeah. There! Do you feel it?”

“… That is your pectoralis minor. It’s a muscle.”

“Oh. You’re quite sure?”

“Literally everyone has them. I’m sure. You’ve got the same thing on the other side.”

“Bloody hell, wouldn’t you know it.”

“See? Your ‘breasts’ are fine. Is there anything else I can help you with?”

“… Don’t suppose you’d have a bandaid for this paper cut on my finger, would you?”

***

(*coughs* All is good and well until he comes to her door claiming “lovesickness.”)