I…don’t have much of a following but I’m really hoping it’s enough for someone to be kind and spread this fundraiser. My family and are moving, not really by choice, in the next few weeks(must be out 12/1) and while I am grateful I had the ability to get loan coverage to make this happen…I am drowning. I can pay this off or feed my kids. We are doing our best but I would appreciate even just a share so we can get this paid down and make sure the kids get what they need.
I’ve never fundraised for myself before and it is embarrassing but necessary. Thank you for your kindness.
We are a family of 7 who could use some community support. Despite working … Eliyana Torres needs your support for Donate to Keep a Family o
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the best fanfiction you've ever read was written by a woman in her 40s before she made dinner for her kids. it was written by a teenager after school when they should've been studying for a history test. and a barista came up with the idea while they cleaned the espresso machine and busser fact-checked it on their break and the post-doc edited between writing grant proposals and the nurse apologized for typos in the notes after a long shift and behind every drabble and one-shot and multi-chapter fic there is a person with a wonderful and interesting and chaotic life and it is such a privilege that we get to be apart of it because they decided to do this thing we all share, for fun.
ive been talking to Amy all day about the knight and im OBSESSED with the idea she had about you, being highborn, being your husband's guide through the political and social aspects of the court.
one day you block him from the front door.
"You are forbidden from going to the capital."
the knight reaches to stroke your cheek. "It's only a day's journey, lamb. I will be back within a week."
"I am not allowing you to leave to see the king's court dressed like that!" you point to his cloak and garments. your husband furrows his brow hard, inspecting himself. "They are stained and ripped!"
"My appearance doesn't matter, my performance is battle does." Clothing wont fix his face or scars.
"Nonsense." Clothing has always been important to you; half of the gowns you wear are made by your own hand, the fabric supplied by your father. There's been a pile of things set aside for your hubsand, but he refuses to stay still enough for you to measure. "I am coming with. There are clothes I have half sewn for you that I can finish. The rest we will buy when we arrive."
"We will be late to the council meeting-"
"And then you can blame your wife."
usually your husband rides a horse to the capital, but you have forced him into the carriage with you.
"You look regal in a high collar," you say and you work a hem. "Why are you even being summoned?"
The knight adjusts uncomfortably, looking out the window to avoid your focused expression.
"They wish to move troops back into the north in case of uprising," he whispers, voice low. "It's a terrible idea. Forcing already exhausted men to march hundreds of miles before the cold season ends is just going to lead to illness, infighting, and death."
"They don't listen to you when you tell them these things?"
"Rarely."
"Well, then make them listen. Why have a commander if they insist on ignoring him? You have earned their respect."
at the capital, you stand up for him in ways he didnt know he needed. Another member of the council greets him coldly, biting his name out with an overly polite statement that might be a jab-
"Forgive me for interrupting, sir, but you must not have heard," you say, hand coming to rest on your husbands chest, your mdoest ring glittering on your finger. "My husband has been titled as Lord of The Ironhills because of his actions as Commander of The Royal Legion."
The man blinks slowly, one eye slower than the other. "I am very aware, miss."
"Oh, forgive me! You didn't use either title, so I assumed you did not know better," you laugh. The joyous air you keep has this deeper, more pointed undertone. Many of the spots he overhears in the capital have this rhythm to them, but he never has the ability to bit back in the same way. "And you may refer to me as lady."
The man is clearly unhappy, but he turns back to your husband. "Forgive me, my lord."
and the knight realizes that his position here may grant him more power that he thought.
So ok look. The point is not the flared leg by itself. These cannot be yoga pants. These are, and you have to understand this if you are too young to have worn them, BLUE JEANS. And this was the last years before all jeans were 70% spandex.
They were denim, and they weren't bell bottoms. They hung loose from the knee in a way that would make a wizard envious. We all walked around like we were wearing hakama. And they dragged on the ground. That was important. Ragged cuffs. If your jeans weren't so long that they had ratty cuffs, they were embarrassingly short.
And the thing about denim is that it's a twill weave and it's cotton. So not only does it hold a lot of water, it wicks. Walking around in these suckers on a wet day could get you wet to the knees even if you never stepped in a puddle.
Then you'd go inside and take off your shoes and try to avoid letting your freezing, wet, filthy pant legs touch your skin.
The visceral memory of that time is something that never leaves you. Everyone's jeans were many inches higher in the back than the front because you kept stepping on the hem and ripping it off. Your lower legs were so very cold. Every new pair of jeans literally enveloped your entire foot, they were so so long re: leg-to-waist ratio. Walking on a rainy day was a legitimate workout. You have no idea.
truly so humbled by a man who kills and kills and knows ruthlessness and cruelty like it’s his own only to go home to his wife and hold her heart in the palms of his hands with utmost tenderness
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in conversation about white people who go to Japan and expect their knowledge of anime to culturally carry them, I was once posed with “it’s like if there was a Japanese guy who was obsessed with spongebob and came over here and thought he could get by just communicating in spongebob quotes.” This is a false equivalence because if such a man existed we would crown him king. We’d love him. Americans would fucking love that. sometimes I get sad that this isn’t a real guy I can invite to a party.
Fandom is weird now. It’s becoming less trusting and friendly, and the Orwellian surveillance issues that are currently running rampant in the USA and UK have bled over into fandom spaces.
I’d read the articles that young people have no privacy and have become so accustomed to it that they enact on themselves. Abstractly I knew this and had accepted it, but it’s only now that I’m seeing it become a major issues.
Obviously part of the problem is I need to become a trusted member of my new fandom. But fandom in general is becoming far more hostile to privacy than even just 5 years ago.
I’ve had to leave 3 servers that want to do age verification. And this is new. Not even 5 years ago when I started zines ppl just turning 18-20 were far more receptive to the ideas espoused by us older folks about not being surveilled. But now it almost feels like they *want* to be surveilled.
They’ve become so used to it from tiktok and their government that they crave it. I’d write a dystopia about it but unfortunately what even is there to say that hasn’t already been said?
If you’re 18-22 now and you’re reading this and willing to listen without immediately calling me suspicious: this is not normal. Age verification will not keep you safe and will not keep minors safe either. It will only lead to the normalization of further surveillance and erosion of your privacy.
I know it can be an unwieldy text especially if you’re not used to reading academic sources, but go read The Panopticon. Watch V for Vendetta or read the comic, read 1984. Watch The Lives of Others and understand the ways this modern era is not so different from the Stasi in the film.
Please.
I don’t want to see a rerun of the surveillance state anymore.
Contrary to popular belief I do not think he is a natural when it comes to babies. He holds his hands out to take the baby and you’re like “Uhhh no Katsu umm….cradle your arms a bit more so his head is supported.”
And he’s got the frustrated eyebrows and pouty lips but he’s like “Like this?” as he adjusts his arms. And then you place baby boy in his arms and softly readjust him so he’s holding him properly.
And he looks so stiff and uncomfortable like he’s holding his breath while he looks down at baby boy in his arms. He’s so tense you can start to see the veins in his arms get a little tense. You chuckle like “Hey baby, look at me? Take a deep breath and relax. You’re not gonna break him. You’re his father. You can do this.”
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as a writer you will have a specific deck of vocab words you like using a lot and when you read other peoples' work you will see a very clear spread of different vocab words on their end. this is why you need to read, to collect other writers' words like it's a card game
itachi's dick is purely for your pleasure. when he's fucking you he's completely enamored with what you look like falling apart underneath him and he doesn't even come for hours. watching and listening to you fall apart over and over again because of him is far more satisfying to him than an orgasm
Love love love characters that present themselves as emotionally open social butterflies but the more you see of them the more obvious it is that they’re the most closed off fuckers in the story. Sure, they want to help you with your personal problems and messy emotions, but if you turn that shit back on them, they’ll shut down or deflect every time. Why are you sticking your nose in their business anyway? It’s not like it matters. They’re not a person, they’re just a role being played. They’re the guy who fixes things and saves people. Please ignore the man behind the mask, he’s fine. Everything’s fine.
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content ⋆ hurt / comfort. set after thriller bark. — WC : 1k
Warm candlelight flickers in the worn, spooky castle ship as you tend to one of Zoro’s wounds. The heavy weight of his gaze finds yours in another stolen glance, leaving you both with burning cheeks.
Bink's Brew begins to play again behind you following a toast to the newest crew member, Brook. It must’ve been their fifth one by now and at this rate, they show no sign of stopping. You just hope the man laying before you can rest properly after today’s twisted turn of events.
As soon as the initial cheers die down and melt into a barrage of off-key singing, you let your curiosity take over.
“So are you gonna tell me what happened?” Your fingers fold the cloth in delicate ways over the injury he sustained, an air of gentleness surrounding every intricate motion.
“I already told you guys,” Zoro rasps out, trying not to move around too much as he stares up at the ceiling. He refuses to meet your gaze now, jaw set tight. “Nothing happened.”
“Alright, alright.” You sigh, defeated.
Despite knowing that something terrible happened to him to leave him in such a state, his stubbornness would always win over your curiosity. Frustration bubbles up in your chest like a fire you can’t control but you try to swallow it down anyway to focus on the task at hand.
The music playing drowns out the room but it doesn’t wash away the silence that’s rising like the tides between you and Zoro. Both of you standing on opposing sides of the walls you’ve fortified around your hearts, waiting and hoping for the other to make their first move.
So, it throws you off when he speaks up again.
“You have gentle hands.” Zoro murmurs, drowsy from the pain and the few sips of sake he stole earlier. His attention is set on the dexterity of your fingers but even then, a warmth floods to your cheeks.
“Maybe.” You finish rebandaging the wound, smoothing over the ties with a soothing motion. “They’re a little shaky though. We should probably leave it to Chopper next time.”
It’s your attempt to lighten the conversation, trying to melt back into the teasing banter that easily flows past both your lips whenever you’re in the same vicinity for too long.
He doesn’t laugh but the ghost of a grin tickles the corner of his lip.
You sit back beside him with a small smile of your own. The party’s still in full swing and you can hear the rest of the crew joining in the merriment once again.
“Eh, let him have his fun.” You turn to look back at Zoro. “I trust you.”
A crack splits down the defenses of your heart, tugging at its strings and threatening to unravel everything you’ve tried so hard to keep within.
“You do?” It doesn’t surprise you that he does, but it’s surprising that he said it.
Maybe he stole more sake than you thought.
“Yeah.” His eyes narrow slightly. “Why wouldn't I?”
The answer sits on the tip of your tongue, the words ‘nothing happened’ ring in your head over and over again and beg to come out. You know he’s not telling the full story and it doesn’t sit right with you. But at the same time, you hate to push.
“You tell me.”
He knows what you’re referring to.
“It's not my story to tell.”
But you’re as lost as ever.
“How is that possible?” You wonder aloud before you can stop yourself. “It literally happened to you.”
“It happened to someone else first.”
“What did?”
“Nothing.”
“Oh my god, Zoro.” You groan, trying to reel in your frustration but the stubborn oaf won’t cave. You can’t tell whether you want to laugh or cry so you let out a heavy sigh, respecting his wishes. “Okay then, nothing happened.”
It's tense for a moment. You wonder if you should excuse yourself and flee with your tail tucked between your legs while you have some pride left.
A dark thought clouds over your head — maybe you weren’t as close as you thought.
But then Zoro's calloused hand finds yours, bandaged fingers hesitantly reaching out before weaving them with your own and freeing you from the shackles of your impending spiral.
A surprisingly gentle act from the swordsman who mostly deals in swift slashes.
You meet his gaze and find an unguarded expression, one that tells you more without ever saying any words.
All you can find is pain swirling around in his steely eyes, but not just from his physical wounds. The agony that darkens his gaze makes it clear he isn’t in a position to tell you the details, no matter how much he might want to.
Another tug at your heartstrings softens your expression, guilt surfacing for pushing him when he’s in no condition to fight.
“Try to get some rest.” You squeeze his hand in understanding and he returns the favor, relief pouring from his expression and settling in his exhausted bones.
“It’s so damn noisy.” He shuts his eyes with furrowed brows.
“Emphasis on try. I have a feeling they’ll be celebrating all night.” Your other hand reaches out to smooth over the bunched up skin between his eyebrows, dragging out the motion until it begins to fade away. He tenses at the touch but welcomes it all the same. When you speak again, your voice is nothing more than a whisper only meant for him. “I’ll stay here.”
“Good.” The swordsman’s shoulders slump, a surrender he will never voice. The tension from earlier smoothes out like a wave lazily lapping at the shoreline.
A calmness settles over you two before your heart gives an unexpected lurch at the way his face softens with slumber yet his hand remains tightly wound in yours like he could never dream of letting go.
