˚✧₊⁎ for selfshippers with misophonia!!
🌱 your f/o would NEVER purposefully make a trigger sound around you, or treat your condition like a joke.
🌱 your f/o would learn which sounds trigger you and be extra mindful of the noise they make around you. they wouldn’t click their pen, they would blow their nose to avoid sniffling, etc.
🌱 your f/o wouldn’t mind if you had to wear noise cancelling headphones when you go out and/or eat together. if that’s what you need to be comfortable, they will always accommodate you.
🌱 your f/o knows that if you’re distressed and lash out because of a trigger sound, it’s not a reflection of who you are as a person. they understand that your thoughts and urges in those moments are beyond your control.
🌱 your f/o would help you to leave a place if you were experiencing sensory overload. they would take you home and give you the space, comfort and quiet you need in order to return to a state of calm.
🌱 your f/o will always stand up for you, communicate with you and respect you. when the world is harsh and loud, they will always be your safe space.
pro.ship dni
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idk why I keep seeing people say who they're gonna "pick" in AC Shadows. They are BOTH protagonists. It's not like Odyssey or Valhalla. It's like Syndicate.
Also,
here's a quote directly from Ubisoft:
"Naoe and Yasuke’s disparate personalities also lead them to have different relationships and rapports with other characters, and they don’t always feel the same way about people, nor do people always feel the same way about them. Romantically, they will also attract and be attracted to different types of people. Through the pair, players will get to experience a multitude of relationships."
Also, Naoe is only 17 when the game starts!
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not to be ungrateful but how does every single one of my judai/asuka arts have a reblog thats like "uwu theyre best friends" "umm theyre like siblings to me" or some other shoehorned way of the reblogger letting me and everyone else know its Not Like That and they would never like it. this isnt just one person btw its multiple
i wouldn't be pressed if it was one time but Every Time......come on... i am a lesbian and i am drawing m/f (well its dykes to me but whatever let's not get into that) do you have to no hetero me on my art or like imply its not romantic. cuz it is. i am implying it to be at least somewhat romantic. don't be a coward
idk what it is beyond "ew het icky" but its like.. i don't know...are you thirteen ... average ygo gx fan so so scared of being mistaken as someone who enjoys occasional m/f they have to make it known ON MY ART
^ real
but it really is like lol. why do you think im so shy and take months to share anything :''') why do you think i have "dont be weird about my ships please i am a lesbian" on my art blog description aaaghhhh. its not a huge issue i upload art regardless and i dont think anyone does it to be Mean but its still kinda rude and tiring being a repeated thing
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Jay/Lonnie, mentions of child abuse and technically-underage sex, wildly unfinished.
+
“You’ve got wicked scars on your back,” Lonnie says softly, tracing her fingers over the raised white lines that stand out even now, years later, on Jay’s back. “I don’t want to be rude, but can I ask about them?”
It’s probably a lie. Lonnie has never once worried about being rude, and that’s one of the things Jay likes about her. He pushes up into her touch.
The feeling of her hands (bare) on his back (also bare, and so exposed) sends weird sparks through his skin, into his bones, and it’s not unpleasant, but it’s definitely weird. An adjustment, physically and mentally, to accept touch that isn’t meant to hurt.
“Yeah?” he says carefully, forcing his voice to stay light, casual. “I mean, you can ask. No promises that I’ll answer.”
Lonnie takes her cue to press harder, stroking her fingers up and down the ridges, scratching gently with her nails at the most raised and pitted areas. “What happened? I can guess at some of them, but this one’s not like anything I’ve seen before.”
Jay shivers. “Electrical cord.” he says. It’s not worth the effort to make himself sound bothered by it. “It’s deep in places ‘cause the plug cut through.”
Lonnie makes a sharp noise. “Through your skin?”
“Yeah. Can you keep touching it?”
Her hands start moving again. Yeah. That’s the stuff. Being touched by a friend is fucking incredible.
Lonnie’s fingers catch on one of the deep, twisted scars right at Jay’s hip. “This one can’t be from a plug,” she says, emphasizing the can’t with that particular auradonian inflection that Jay can’t quite manage to copy. “It’s crazy deep, and unless they plugged it into your skin, I don’t see how that could happen.”
Jay rolls his hip up into the touch. He’s got a lot of scars, and the memories of the ones on his back that he can’t see every day the memories sort of fade together.
“Mm.” he hums, thinking. Weird and deep probably means something different here. All the other isle kids have scars like his, or worse. “Dunno which one you mean.”
Lonnie scratches her nails over the spot. “It’s right here. Sort of like a twisted hole, like a chunk of skin went missing, maybe? They didn’t shove an electrical plug into your back, did they?” she asks, voice lilting up on ele-trical and back with that accent again. Jay shouldn’t be annoyed, but it’s a hit to his professional pride that he still can’t imitate it right. He’s supposed to be this charming guy, the one who can get anywhere and find anything, but he can’t get a handle on the stupid auradonian upper-class inflections, and every time Lonnie emphasized a word differently than he expects, it sticks out in his brain like a fresh, shiny nail on an old building. He’s the people guy, able to blend in anywhere, to steal anything, but he can’t steal his way into fitting in, and it’s a growing irritation every time he can’t get it right.
Right. Scars. Hip. Deep.
“No,” Jay says thoughtfully, wracking his brain for what the scar actually is. “Who d’you think “they” is anyway?”
Lonnie shrugs audibly. She makes a soft little humming sound in her throat when she does it, one she might not even be aware of. “Somebody. I don’t know. Your dad?”
“Nope.” Jay says. He’s pretty sure of that, at least. His dad’s scars are the main ones on his back, but he never hit below the belt, and her fingers are pressing lower on his hip than where the waistband of his pants usually sit.
“Some other kid?” Lonnie prompts, running her other hand up and over the curve of Jay’s spine. “It seems crazy that someone would just do something like that to you. Did you have like, a cool fight with someone over a weapon, or something?”
Oh.
Right.
“Technically,” Jay says slowly, the memory burning with unexpected clarity now that he’s found it. “Yeah. It was a fight. When I burn bridges I burn them hard. We were fighting the pirates over— something stupid, now that I’m thinking about it. One of them sunk a hook in my hip. Left it there when he pushed me overboard. My body tried to heal around it, so it left the crazy scar.”
Lonnie tips her head, considering this information. “The pirates?” she says softly, pressing her fingers deep-deep-deep, into the sharp divot in Jay’s skin, like she’s not even thinking about it anymore, just following the feeling. “I didn’t think they were the sadistic sort. But I guess I didn’t think you were the sort of person who’d eat a girl out for an hour, so I guess that’s on me for judging people by their appearances.”
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