#this is fantasy

[agoraphobicbore]

I love incels

Manipulation and mistreatment against incels below you have been warned

I love the way they think I love the way they quantify human worth based on superficial value I love the way so many of them want sweet young Christian girls I love their hate I love their desire for what they hate I love the violent obsession I love how they ooze insecurity

It would be beyond easy to be someone they idealize, someone they compare every other female to, someone who transcends their Madonna whore complex by only being their Madonna

Tell them sweet lies, brush up on my bible knowledge a bit, its not hard at all to change ones appearance to be... Traditional. And with a certain upbringing maybe I was already being prepped to care for a person like this, to respect and not question their every whim. So easy to be their perfect doll, to be the exception to their rule, to be the first and only one they've ever gotten to hold close <3

Then I leave, ruining not just their self esteem but their view on humanity and from there maybe their life, watching from a distance as they post on their little forums and accounts spraling and foaming with vitriol for me, the one who proved them right, the first last and only one they let in

I'm not doing very well with my transharmless transition today, can you tell? I'd never really do that I just think about it all the time...

[httpsthorns]

i want you to live in fear of my adoration. not knowing what i'll do next, or how far i'm willing to go. will i get rid of those pesky dates? destroy every relationship you get into? maybe it'll be false accusations made online that cause your loved ones to abandon you? or will losing your job be the last straw? until you're utterly isolated and at my mercy. after all, i'd do anything to have you for myself. i love you enough to ruin you.

[tessarionbestgirl]

I talk about it how Baela should be a tomboy and how they didn't they got the least the minimum right with her. And I will try to explain me better analysing her dress code.

Because Baela is supposed to be a tomboy. And warrior-princess type of character. But from the longest run on S1 and S2 she was seeing more in outfits like this:

Very lady-in-waiting like, and they are feminine despite being more modest and demure, which doesn't make sense for her character.

In S2 they tried to better themselves by putting some more elements to it. But they look like awful or lazy re used designs.

She is a dragon rider, why give her a crossbow instead of a sword? Giver a armory or parts of it.

They did gave for Rhanys

This would be more fitting to her:

Even if her plot is not that much development. Her characterization would be much better if she dress even some leather armor similar to this:

[whump-in-the-closet]

Give us the silly!! (Finn whump) :D

Take your time ofc

you wish is my command >:)

(this happens some time before the current plotline, maybe three years or so)

cw: flogging, partial nudity (non sexual), elf whumpee, mentioned arson

Finn sees the wooden post and panic sets in. He’s dragged, cursing and yanking at his chains, to the centre of the excited crowd.

The chains don’t break. Metal cuts into his wrists as they’re fastened above his head to the wood.

The sheer mass of people makes his head spin. He’s vaguely aware of the fact they’re angry.

They’re furious.

He didn’t think the governor’s house was that important to the villagers. How was he supposed to know? It had made a gorgeous fire.

All rose flames and sparking explosions, blooming into a garden of red and blue. He regrets nothing.

Sunlight catches on the dirt, turning it to the colour of gold.

Finn licks cracked lips, craning his neck to catch a glimpse of flicked leather and shimmering heat.

Faces blur together, but he’s pretty sure the soot-streaked human is the governor. He does his best to smile. “I think I did your village a service and I should be paid for my efforts.”

The soot-streaked face contorts. “You’ll be paid alright.” A hand connects with Finn’s face, and he’s caught between splintered wood and the human’s open palm.

Ears ringing, he presses his forehead into the post and finds it brings more despair than it does comfort.

Everything seems to bleed away except the sweat-stained post.

Reality becomes nothing more than the chains holding him up and the twisting weight on his shoulders and the stinging in his eyes.

More real than all of this and far worse is the snapping of a whip. It cracks behind him, ripping the air apart.

As there’s not much left of his shirt–it's tattered and ashen– they don’t bother to rip it away. And they’ve already taken his jacket– they better give it back when this is over—

The first blow takes his breath away. An armoured punch wouldn’t have stolen it better. His forehead slams into the wood–

–the second blow cuts him across his shoulder– he sees red. Flames spiralling, burning into dark-sea ash–

He bites back a scream.

The third one crosses over the second and the scream surfaces. Blood trickles down his arms, but it's not from the whips, it's from the chains he’s twisting against.

He’s still standing and he’s not entirely sure how. His knees are water. Somehow, he manages to draw in a bruised breath that leaves his head pounding. “Is this the best you can do?”

Leather-pain curls around his ankle and he’s yanked to the bloodied dust. But the chains don’t relent. Something snaps in one shoulder and his arm goes limp.

“Not by a long shot.” The whip is handed to another guard. “My arm is tired. Have a go.”

Finn is screaming again.

Is it the fifth blow? The tenth? He’s lost count.

The black dots in his vision are throbbing. Pulsing to a heartbeat that’s not his own. Or it could be– he’s not entirely sure his heart can beat that fast.

His screaming fades to hoarse whimpers, buried in the wooden post and tasting of iron. The black dots morph into spores, spiking behind his eyes. And when a blow slashes down on his dislocated shoulder, his eyes roll back until the whites show completely.

Limp against the post, unconsciousness is a mercy.

But the beating continues.

When they’re through and the crowd leaves, no one bothers to take the elf down and what remains is left hanging. The ground is stained crimson and no amount of scrubbing will wash it out of the dust.

[spyskater]

Stop equating high fantasy with historical fiction 2k23!

[becausesheletsme]

Nap time

for Sleepyheads

Via Pinterest

CONSENT IS NOT OPTIONAL. TRUST IS ESSENTIAL. SAFETY IS CRITICAL. CONSENT IS NOT OPTIONAL.

[drsilverfish]

Can you imagine if The Winchesters is a post-death dreamscape, in which Dean works through all his shit, all his trauma, and then, at the end, driving in Baby towards a sinking sun on the Axis Mundi , there, on the road, is a figure in a trench-coat, and Dean stops the Impala and he climbs out, and he says, "Cas?" a bit uncertainly, and Cas says, "Hello Dean," and then Dean just flies across the remaining distance on his bow-legs, grabs the lapels of that freaking trench and kisses him, and says, "You really suck at goodbyes, you know that," and Cas just laughs, and they walk off into the sunset together?