#and it's one of the reasons i was ashamed to address the pain i have

[uncanny-tranny]

I'm still thinking about how ashamed I was (and am) with being open about my pain because I am so young. It's so hard to feel worthy of having your pain taken seriously when the people around you insist that young bodies are always in pristine, untouched condition and that you must earn your pain through aging. Never is it considered that young people aren't lying or being a hypochondriac for expressing their pain.

Young people can be in life-altering pain. Young people can have debilitating pain. It doesn't matter what age it happens because pain doesn't discriminate. Complaining about pain and doing things to prevent needless pain aren't something you have to "earn" through aging.

If you want young people to be in less or lesser pain, then encourage them to do whatever they can to minimize it. Don't downplay what they're experiencing. Not everything is a lie, not every experience that is different than yours is exaggeration or deceit.

#disability #ableism #ableism tw #this is one of the big reasons i was ashamed of admitting when i am in pain #and it's one of the reasons i was ashamed to address the pain i have #and i'm angry about that actually! nobody should fear being labeled as essentially having munchausen syndrome because... #...'young people NEVER have pain or disabilities and you're a liar!' #i really do want to start addressing my pain because i know it's not normal but holy shit batman it can suck sometimes #i honestly like talking to my dad about this because he also has a lot of pain (moreso than i do now) but he actually TRIES to listen... #putting this in the disability tag but i still don't feel right about labeling my own pain as such... #...but i know so many people with disabling pain who would relate... #...maybe it's internalized ableism on my part or maybe i just want to be respectful of people with worse pain #this is me really just reflecting on m the fact that i haven't ever had an amazing body in a lot of ways (though i am lucky still) #i'm still thinking about having an emergency cane to help me get up when my pain is bad but idk if it's worth the investment #so if anybody reading this has suggestions (esp. for those with back pain)... please hook me up i will platonically love you forever

[sillysowa]

Since requests are open, maybe both Miles variants have a s/o and they’re pretty far in the relationship but he starts to get concerned. While he’s introduced them to his family and the s/o frequently spends long hours/spends the night at his house, he’s never been over to his s/o’s place or even heard of their family… It isn’t until Miles comes back from their respective duties (Prowler!Miles coming back from a job, and Spider!Miles doing patrols) when they see a familiar car parked under a park bridge; their s/o’s car… Turns out their s/o used to have an abusive family and has been homeless from before the pair started dating, and was ashamed to admit it.

( also since i’ve seen this idea going around in other users’ requests. if your rendition of Prowler!Miles is the type to give his s/o spending money, maybe he asks what his s/o has been doing and finds majority the money he’s gifted to the s/o hidden in a secret compartment of their seat. The s/o not barely spending the money for, rather obvious reasons since they’re homeless.)

Of course! Here you are Anon!

CARRY ME OUT

PAIRING: MILES MORALES X FEM!READER, MILES G. MORALES X FEM!READER

GENRE: ANGST, FLUFF

WORD COUNT: 1.9K COMBINED

WARNINGS: READERS FAMILY SITUATION IS POOR BUT NOT DESCRIPTIVE, MOSTLY GENDER NEUTRAL DESPITE SOME FEMININE TERMS USED BY PROWLER MILES

AUTHORS NOTE: I DON’T SPEAK ANY SPANISH SO ALL OF MILES G MORALES’S SPANISH IS FROM GOOGLE TRANSLATE, I APOLOGIZE IF ITS INACCURATE OR OBVIOUS

SYNOPSIS: MILES FINDS YOU AT YOUR WORST, BUT HE REMINDS YOU THAT HES ALWAYS THERE FOR YOU, NO MATTER WHAT

—

Miles Morales:

Miles had seen a lot of things that day, and he hadn’t been quite ready to go home yet. The wind whistled past him as he web slung through the ambience of New York. It was a chilly summer night, slightly cold but still humid, and the sunset was beautiful. Miles felt a sense of serenity wash over him, relaxing his pained muscles that were overworked the entire day saving the city. He leaves the bustling streets, swinging to a far off secluded area with less streetlight, less life, and more privacy. Miles just wanted to be able to cool off and relax somewhere far away from others, his backpack full of spray paint clanging around with every movement. He hums to himself, landing down on a bridge. He checks his left and right, praying to not be noticed in this moment of privacy as he pulls himself over the railing and walks under the bridge like a spider. Miles is completely taken aback when he notices a familiar vehicle parked under the bridge, and his heart drops.

Your car? Why was your car all the way out here? Did you live in this neighborhood? Miles suddenly came to the realization that he had no clue where you live, you had never talked about it and he had never asked. He drops down gently, bringing himself down by a web and trying to be as quiet as possible. He walks over to your car and peeks inside—instantly his heart sinks at the sight of a bunched up blanket and who he assumes is you under it. Without doing much thinking, he taps the glass window, concern etched on his features. Your head pops up out of the blankets and you look terrified until you realize it’s Miles, confusion and embarrassment painting your face, there’s a muffled,

“Miles?” Before you open the car door. He stands there, looking down at you with a look that makes you feel guilty for some reason,

“Y/N, baby, are you okay? What are you doing out here?” He asks all worried and upset. You don’t address it, you just sigh and lay back down,

“Just…come in and lock the door.”

Miles does as you ask, dropping his backpack outside and climbing in. His awkward growing height making his entry a little messy, and he catches one glimpse at you before he looks straight ahead. He’s been in your car before, but never like this. He’s cautious when he places his hand on your covered calf, gently rubbing the material despite how nervous he feels,

“Do you…wanna talk about it?” He whispers gently, glancing back at you. You’re on your side facing forward and seemingly zoned out. There’s a trash bag at the bottom of your car, suitcases in the back, and most of your essentials scattered around. Miles feels worry deep inside him over the conditions you’re in—worried that you’re not doing well and that he hurt you by never asking.

“It’s…complicated…but i’m living here right now—in my car.” You sigh, “My parents didn’t want me back at the house so…I left.” You feel ashamed admitting it all to Miles who has a loving family and secure home, but he doesn’t judge you—he sympathizes.

“I’m so sorry. I never knew that they were treating you like this…I-I’m sorry I never asked—“

“Don’t be, Miles…I never wanted you to know and have to worry about me.” You cut him off. Miles feels you tug at his heartstrings like a puppeteer from just the disheartened tone in your voice alone. You sound so broken and hurt, and in the low lighting he can see the slight shine of your teary eyes.

“Y/N…” He calls your name in that sweet sweet voice that you love. That voice that’s genuine and innocent, loving and kind—everything that your parents failed to be. You find yourself crying—warm, wet tears slipping down your cheeks,

“Miles…” You sob, sitting up and reaching for him. Miles instantly takes you into his arms, holding you tight with worry all over his face. He feels your body tremble and shake with each sob, the feeling of your fragile hands desperately clinging to the back of his jacket breaks his heart in two and he smooths his hands over your skin gently, like his mother does to him. He tries to give you that parental love that he’s used to—telling you it’s going to be okay and holding you as gently yet as close and tightly as possible—showing you how much he loves you.

Eventually, you calm down—you’re crying subsiding into sniffles. Miles holds you, leaning back and settling into the seat, holding you close.

“You’re safe with me Y/N, I’ve got you, always.” Miles comforts you. He holds you and gently rocks you to sleep. He one handedly texts his mom,

‘Hey Mom, I’m not coming home tonight but I’m okay—Y/N is homeless and she really needs me. I’ll see you in the morning.’

He doesn’t even wait to see her response, silencing his phone and pulling his hood up. He pulls your blankets up close and smiles softly when he feels you tuck your face into the crook of his neck, your wet eyelashes against his skin. Miles is prepared to do everything in his power to help you through this, even if it’s as simple as helping you sleep at night.

—

Miles G. Morales:

Miles knows about your situation—not because you told him but because he watches you often. Not in a creepy way, (at least that’s what he tells himself) but in a protective way. Especially after the first time he followed you home.

He leapt on the rooftops, absolutely silent with the kind of agility only a vigilante has. He saw you walking into your apartment complex and watched carefully to see just which floor was yours—that was when he heard it. He felt like throwing up by the end of the night, doing everything in his power to stay outside and not burst into your room. He clung to the outside of your window the whole night, watching over you in your sleep.

—

Miles came outside your apartment one night and waited patiently for you to go to bed, but you never did. Instead, he saw you from flights down get into your car with multiple bags, sniffling and driving off. Without a second thought he followed you. Time passed and you never once went home. Miles deducted that you just have left home and would never be returning, and he couldn’t blame you.

After one day, he decided he had to do something. He knew it wasn’t his business and that you might feel embarrassed of him seeing you like this but he couldn’t stand by and watch this happen to you. It wasn’t unusual for Miles to give you money—he’d but you snacks from the vending machines at school everyday, give you fancy gifts like it’s your birthday every week and even send you hundred of dollars for no good reason with just an

‘I love you’ Attached as the message. However, you clearly hadn’t touched a penny. You spent nothing at school when he saw you and nothing after school when he followed you.

Tonight you parked under the bridge again, your inside lights on. He skillfully snuck around the area, remaining far away but using his mask to get a closer look at you. His heart shattered and he groaned. Miles saw that you were sobbing—he couldn’t take it. He raced towards your car, slowing down the moment he neared so as to not scare you. He removed his mask and shrugged his jacket on, zipping it up and coming up to your drivers side door. He taps his knuckles on the glass, looking at you with pinched eyebrows.

You jump and freeze. The last thing you were expecting tonight was your boyfriend at your window. You turned away from him, quickly wiping your tears and rolling your window down.

“Hi, Miles.” You say with the best smile you can muster, your voice betraying you with its broken sound. Miles doesn’t react or say anything, just reaches his hand in, unlocks the door, and opens it. He takes your hands and pulls you gently out of the car,

“Ven aquí, mi vida. Let’s get out of here.” He whispers, kissing you on your forehead. You sigh, watching Miles crouch down in front of your with his hands behind his back,

“Miles I’m not-“

“Trust me.” He says leaving no room for arguing. His tone is gentle and caring despite his seriousness—he doesn’t want to be like your parents. You get on his back and Miles stands up with no struggle, walking with your weight as though you’re not even there,

“Why haven’t you touched any of the money i’ve given you, chiquita?” He asks softly. You hold onto him tightly, squishing your cheek against him,

“Because.” You say, staying silent after. Miles continues walking with you, waiting for you to keep talking. You sigh,

“Because I don’t want to Miles…I feel ashamed. It feels like charity—“

“It’s not charity, baby. I give you money and I give you nice things because I love you. I’m worried. Why have you been sleeping here night after night?” He asks, holding you tightly.

You grow quiet, huffing. Miles walks you to a secluded strangely rural looking spot, laying down in the grass with you. You lay with your head on his chest, squeezing at the fabric of his jacket. The night is cold, and Miles is warm. You finally speak,

“I’m homeless.” You confess. It’s nothing Miles didn’t already know, but hearing you confirm it breaks him. He holds you close, shrugging his jacket around you and doing his best to warm you as he looks up at the stars with you under his arms—he feels a sense of responsibility over you in that moment. Miles wants nothing more than to be the person you lean on to help you through this—or through anything for that matter. He feels your hands grip onto his shirt hard, the fabric feeling tight on his skin. Your body shakes and your start sniffling, causing Miles to shift and face you,

“Oh, mi dulce niña, don’t cry, te tengo bebé.” He murmurs, kissing you softly with his hands on your cheeks. Miles looks as though he could cry as he rubs his thumbs over your cheeks, collecting every tear that drops with his thumbprints,

“Miles I-I didn’t know what to do. I’ve been so scared and so alone…” You sob, melting into his touch. Miles closes his eyes as he fights back tears, kissing you all over and soothing you with his affectionate touches,

“You don’t need to worry, mi vida. Let me be your home,” He whispers, holding eye contact with you despite how the look in your eyes shatters his heart, “I will always love you, always support you, and I will never, ever, abandon you.” Miles promises, kissing you tenderly and sweetly. You feel warm with Miles—he keeps you safe and protected and you genuinely trust him with your life. With Miles, you’ve felt a love so genuine it could heal years of pain and suffering…even his hold says, ‘I’ll never let you go.’

He vows to always be your home, and promises he will never let you hurt like this ever again.

—

@ohxx @luxxtuxx @fatenpara

#across the spiderverse #miles morales #earth 42 prowler #prowler miles #miles morales fluff #miles morales angst #miles morales comfort #miles morales x reader #spiderman #miles x reader #spiderverse x reader #miles morales fanfiction #silly’s fics

[thedrarrylibrarian]

Several people have been kind enough to let me publish their thoughts on fandom, community, and queerness to celebrate Pride in the Library. Today's piece comes from @tackytigerfic.

Thank you so much to my lovely friend thedrarrylibrarian for opening up this discussion. The thing I would like to talk about today is the way fandom led me to examine my identity and helped me navigate the shift between shame and peace. My journey to acknowledging and exploring my queerness has not always been a joyful one.

I came to the realisation quite late in life. I was in my late 30s before I realised that what I felt about my body was not just a thing that all other people go through. I had lived for my entire lifetime, for as long as I can remember, not just wishing but knowing that my body was meant to be different to how it is. It sounds silly, but it had never occurred to me to question those feelings, or to see myself as queer or trans or non-binary (I'm still not entirely sure how I would term it—I use genderqueer for myself, though nothing feels quite right and I suspect never will). I did spend a year as a child trying to "pass" as a boy (cropping my hair, wearing clothes from the boy's section in the shops, and so on), and as a teen and young adult I was part of a group of queer friends, many of whom were gender non-conforming, so I learned early on that I don't believe that there is any right or wrong way to look like, act like, or be a woman or man. But for some reason, it never occurred to me that the "should have been" feeling was something that I could interrogate, and maybe even do something about. I have moved around a lot throughout my life, and in a way my gender identity feels like that; part of my heart is always somewhere else, and I don't think I'll ever feel entirely at home anywhere.

Before joining fandom, I had never had a candid discussion with anyone about gender identity. I had trans friends who all transitioned medically, but my experience didn't feel like theirs. My body was just something I had to get on with. It was bearable. It didn't feel right, but I was used to feeling not quite right in lots of ways (I was a very emotional child who has grown into a melodramatic adult, what can I say!). It was only through meeting and speaking to all my candid, open, generous trans and non-binary fandom friends that I realised that perhaps my gender identity was something to be addressed. Initially it caused me a lot of grief. I had heard of queer joy and gender euphoria, but my realisation and acknowledgement brought a lot of pain. I felt stupid and ashamed—not of my queerness, not at all! But of the fact that I hadn't realised. I felt like I had cheated myself of my youth. Intellectually I knew that there is no age limit to coming out, but for me it felt like an impossible step to take. I raged at myself. I cried bitter tears at shows like Heartstopper, imagining what my life might have been like had I had that sort of representation as a young person. The first time I changed my pronouns in my tumblr bio, I had to log off and cry. It all felt huge, unmanageable.

Fandom friends got me through. They listened to my sadness, never undermined me, gently guided me through, shared their own experiences so readily and with so much candour and generosity that it gave me hope. Being so immersed in an online space where people's identities are respected and embraced has given me the courage to really look at myself, to know and understand how I feel about my body (and my brain, and my spirit, and whatever else makes a person themself!).

Before I joined fandom, no one had ever asked me my pronouns. Now I have that conversation with people in my offline life too. It's still nerve-wracking for me, but it's getting easier. I have forgiven myself for not understanding myself for so long. I have compassion for my younger self now, instead of anger. And I am very much at peace with my body and identity for the first time in my life, which feels so magical and affirming and, yes, joyous. I got there in the end! That's something to celebrate. And that is thanks to every single one of the people who were there at my side on the journey, the journey that this fandom set me on. And I am very, very glad for that

Thank you, Tacky, for joining me in the Library. I appreciate the reminder that there is no timeline on figuring yourself out, no one way that you have to feel about it. Thank you for joining me for Pride in the Library.

If you want more @tackytigerfic be sure to check out their work on AO3! I reread one of my favorites from them, Silverpoint. I think it's a such an excellent characterization of Harry and Draco, both so in love they can't stand it, and both unable to communicate about it.

🏳️‍🌈 Lots of Love and Happy Pride! 🏳️‍🌈

#pride in the library #pride in the library 2023 #lots of love and happy pride #friends of the library #tackytigerfic #thank you for joining me! #pride 2023 #fandom community

[codenamesazanka]

Since it's obvious that deku is going to save shigaraki and it's very unlikely that Shigaraki's going to die: what are your hopes for the ending? the main theories I have seen are imprisoned (which? Doesn't seem that likely) or being adopted by all might and becoming a pro hero (which seems more likely? But I'd rather have the hero system not survive the manga)

Well, that's sort of two separate things: my hopes for the ending vs what will probably happen. 

What I hope for is Shigaraki and the League pulling a karma houdini and running off into the sunset, never to get caught or serve time or pay for their crimes. That’s not to say they don't change - they stop being Villains out to destroy society, they're genuinely remorseful for the damage they've done, they make it up with self-assigned community service (vigilantism) for the rest of their lives. They run an orphanage that takes in the abandoned, the abused, the abnormal, and raise hundreds of children to be healthy, happy adults. Something like that. 

I hope for this, because the series has not convinced me that much of anything has changed or will change so that what the League went through won't happen again, that the various failures of Hero Society will be corrected, that Heroes are doing anything substantial to prevent new Villains. A few Heroes here and there have finally approached a Villain and acknowledged that they're human and they have been wronged in some way - but they have not addressed at all the root causes. 

The manga seems to believe that if only these Villains had been lucky enough to meet the one person who could've convinced them to endure the abuses, to not lash out, things would've been fine. If only Enji had gone to meet Touya and apologize - never mind the Hero ranking system that contributed to Enji’s toxic mindset, or the existence of the Himura clan who enabled a quirk marriage because they hated heteromorphs so much they would rather inbreed. If only Toga had met Ochako when she was younger - then she could've braved through quirk counseling and her parents emotionally abusing her. If only heteromorphs could've focused on good memories and be shining model minorities instead of being resentful - that’ll get those bigots who commit hate crimes against children to feel ashamed!

At the rate this is going, Deku vs Shigaraki will probably be something like this: If only there was a Deku-like person who was on the streets that day that Tenko was walking - then Tenko wouldn't have become justifiably resentful of the hundreds of other people who did ignore an injured five-year-old. If only he had a Deku-like friend who had magically appeared in the yard that night - then Tenko could've swallowed down his tears and smiled away the pain of his father’s abuse and family’s neglect.

If only a Deku-like Hero could’ve saved Tenko instead of All For One, then everything would’ve turned out okay - because it was AFO who entirely manufactured and introduced to Tenko the foreign, dangerous element of anger. It’s not as if being an orphan with a scary face (Jin), being known as the kid who killed his family/associated with having done something bad despite it being an accident (Gentle), having a strong quirk that people might fear (Toga), the possibility of being placed again in an dysfunctional/abusive home (Touya), the possibility of experiencing bullying because of all these things that make him stick out (Spinner, La Brava), and just having a lifelong tendency to empathize with and gravitate towards outcasts might just give him reasons to get frustrated and lash out at injustice still, even after his trauma was properly handled.

(Perhaps it’ll turn out that AFO gave Tenko the Decay quirk. How evil! We can thus blame everything on AFO and not have to examine the fact that, hey, regardless of how the quirk manifested, it exists and will affect the user’s life largely due to public perceptions of them and their quirk and whether they manage to behave in a way acceptable and in line with how people think someone with such a quirk should behave.) 

It's true that sometimes, all it takes is the influence of one person, of a single act of kindness to change things. A single Hero to reach out and save someone in need. But is that not already the status quo in the story? We've got hundreds of Heroes patrolling the streets, ready to save someone; hundreds more students about to join them. We got one super-superman who spent 40 years pushing himself to his limits trying to be everywhere. All these individuals, all these acts of rescues, and still people had fallen through the cracks - which was also where the kindness stops.

What the story suggests is that Heroes should also reach through the cracks and help the fallen. That's a good start! Know what would be better? Fixing the cracks. Especially when those cracks aren't things Heroes can actually do anything about because it’s domestic violence behind closed doors, it’s gradual dehumanization through public and cultural institutions, it’s bigots beating children with shovels using no quirks and the excuse of generations-long communal superstition, it’s a system officially labeling people as Villain/Enemy like they're cartoony evil comic book antagonists to defeat instead of real people. 

You might say, it’s obvious those things will be fixed! After the war. It’ll be dealt with! By a single panel in the epilogue. Yeah, fair enough. That’s also just bad writing. The conflict should be resolved within the story, the promise of change should be seen, not just vaguely told to us. I can't trust it. 

What the League went through - discrimination, abuse, quirk counseling, marginalization, lack of social support, etc. - was injustice. If the new system that arises after this war - the one that will be led by Deku and his generation - does nothing or barely anything about these things, I cannot trust that the League going into this new system will be given true justice that take into account the crimes committed by them, but also the crimes committed by the people around them towards them and the failures created by the very structure of society. 

I’m being very hard on the Heroes, I know, I’m expecting a lot out of them beyond just ‘saving hearts’. But canonically, Heroes are government-funded civil servants, and the Hero System is an important branch of the governance of this society. The responsibility - to all people - is theirs. If they cannot do this, then Heroes as they are should not exist; something different has to be implemented. 

Shigaraki started this war against the world because it rejected him and his friends, it denied them a future where they could flourish as themselves. If the world changes, then he has a place to be. If the world does not change, then having him take a place in it is just forcing him to conform and keep enduring the same old injustices. 

(But with a Hero friend this time. 🙂 Who shows him how cool Heroes are and teaches him to support the system again. 🙂 Who’s No. 1 in the rankings because competition and popularity has been kept… but it’s gentler or something now. 🙂 And who visits him in Tartarus 2.0, which is largely the same, complete with guns pointed at Shigaraki, just in case he ever uses his quirk because with that power he’s still too dangerous to take chances... but which is no longer staffed by wardens who call their charges ‘beasts in human skin’. 🙂) 

The current trajectory of the story does not inspire me that things will change much. Kids wanna graduate from UA - so we gotta keep those Hero Schools! Business class students are filming everything for post-war propaganda! Gotta show how amazing and necessary Heroes are and continue their celebrity status! Wasn’t All Might so cool when he got into a mecha suit to beat up AFO and the whole world prayed for him? Gotta cement Heroism and belief in their righteousness into the collective consciousness and the dreams of humanity!

So I really want Shigaraki and the League to get to just run off and sentence themselves to what they think is appropriate penance. And if that’s sipping piña coladas on a beach somewhere, that’s what it is.

I apologize if I sounded harsh, anon! It’s not directed at you. My rant is just some of my frustrations with how the story has been progressing, and how either of those theories you’ve seen - imprisonment (likely in Tartarus 2.0) or being assimilated into the (same flawed) system - are lacking, in my opinion. My hopes for the ending are neither of those.

But my hopes are different from what I think is likely to happen. I actually think the opposite of what you think, anon: Imprisonment is more likely. I cannot see people in-universe and out (readers) accepting Shigaraki Tomura being adopted by All Might and becoming a Pro-Hero - it feels unrealistic for the civilian masses of a world that’s canonically wary of Shouto for being related to Dabi, a system that blames Aoyama for being a scared kid and request him to take responsibility for the cowardice of his parents, a moral lesson that says how heteromorphs react to brutal discrimination determines whether they should be listened to or not (and whether their children will be reasonably targeted in revenge); and too at odds with the sensibilities of most readers who are generally much less sympathetic towards the Villains than you and I am (and probably do want to keep the flashy Hero System. But make it ‘nicer’). 

I’ve been browsing through Japanese message boards and the general theories I’ve seen actually include the possibility of death for Shigaraki - but it’ll be suicide, as penance for his crimes; or some convenient manner of dying that won’t dirty up Deku’s hands. Deku can offer him salvation for his heart and soul, but cannot forgive him and let him go unpunished. Shigaraki committed too much damage, too big a crime, and is too dangerous a person to be left alive. If he does survive, he should be imprisoned in Tartarus 2.0 for the rest of his life, and he can correctly show his remorse and rehabilitation by obediently following that sentence.

For a story that wants Shigaraki to be saved, to befriend Deku, to lose his anger and resentment and find hope in the future enough to assimilate back into a continuing Hero Society, I think the logical end result would be Shigaraki serving life sentence in Tartarus 2.0. maybe getting parole for good behavior when he’s 50 and not as sprightly enough to be as deadly a threat. 

Mostly, though, I try not to predict the ending, beyond a small vague hope of Ultimate Karma Houdini I keep at the very back of my mind. Save myself from any disappointment! I remain in the present and accept chapters as they come.

#ask #asked #answered #anon #anonymous #Thanks for the ask! #sorry if I'm depressing #nalslastworkingbraincell #Shigaraki Tomura

[buckyownsmylife]

if I had my way - Jake Gyllenhaal smut

The one where you want to end it all

Warnings: smut, cheating on a third partner, mentions of pregnancy, betrayal of trust, daddy kink

A/N: Thank you so much @wakingbeauty​ for helping me come up with the idea for this finale. The Do it Series is officially over, my darlings!

Y/N’s P.O.V.

Another few weeks went by without any news from Jake. I probably shouldn’t have cared, but after our last encounter, everything felt slightly out of place.

I was worried. Even though I hadn’t gotten pregnant, the fact that a part of me didn’t hate the idea of having his child terrified me. I hadn’t let Tom touch me in a while, and I knew he had some idea of what had happened when he wasn’t home.

I had to end it. Not just for me, but for him as well. It was the right thing to do, but it wouldn’t feel right if I kept seeing Jake too.

So I decided to end everything. With the both of them. And I was going to start with the culprit of this situation: Jake himself, even though he wasn’t picking up my calls.

Driving to Jake’s house was a nerve-wrecking experience. I didn’t know what to expect, as I had never been there uninvited.

Nothing could have prepared me for what he said once he opened the door to find me there, though.

“I don’t want to hear it.” It was like he already knew what I was coming to say, and had anticipated my every move.

Sighing, I let myself in and threw my bag on a nearby sofa, rubbing my eyes in desperation. “You only want me because I’m Tom’s,” I voiced the thought that had been ever-present in my brain since this entire thing started.

Much to my surprise, he had his response ready. “That’s not true,” he argued. “It’s never been like this with anyone else, you know I’m not wrong.”

And I did. At least from my side, I could positively say I had never experienced anything like the pleasure that I felt when I was with Jake.

But that was just sex, right? It couldn’t be real.

“Don’t run away from me,” he asked in a quiet voice, and that’s when I realized that for every step he was taking in my direction, I was taking another one away from him.

“Are you gonna leave him too?” I nodded, avoiding his eyes because for some reason, I felt ashamed. “What if I told you the real reason why he let me fuck you?”

That caught my attention. Confused, I allowed him to approach me, cell phone in his hand, as he opened his messages app into a thread between him and Tom.

My heart began to pound against my chest, even before I knew the content of these messages exchanged between the two men I loved.

My eyes took it all in while my head struggled to believe what I was reading. “He let you fuck me for a role?”

Jake nodded, his eyes glistening with something I couldn’t comprehend. “You see it now?” He asked, hands reaching out for me. “I’m the one who deserves you.”

Jake’s P.O.V.

She was everything I’d ever wanted. I just needed to let her know that. “Come here, baby.” It was the first time I addressed her as such, and I could see that she took notice of it with the way a shiver ran down her spine.

“Let’s get you out of that dress.” I didn’t wait to see if this was something that she wanted - I knew it was what she needed, the comfort only my body could bring her after finding out of such a betrayal from her former lover.

“Oh, I missed this,” I whispered as I lowered her onto my hard cock, smiling at the way she bit on her lower lip at the slight pain of being split open without much preparation.

Regardless, she was dripping. “Fuck, daddy,” she cried out when she couldn’t keep it in anymore. “You’re splitting my pussy.”

Changing our positions on the couch, I took advantage of the leverage I had to drill into her while she thrashed underneath me.

It was so easy, to get her right where I wanted her. If only Tom knew…

“I can make you my wife,” I offered her in the throes of pleasure. “Yours is the only pussy I’d ever settle down with.”

“It’s up to you to leave him for me,” I informed her - as if she didn’t already know, grabbing onto her thigh to pull it up so I could go deeper inside of her. “Fuck yes.”

The new angle was perfect, making her milk me with even more fervor, so I had to slip a hand between our bodies to rub her little nub. “I want to make your pussy the shape of my cock.”

The moan that left her at my words had a growl escaping my chest. “Don’t tempt me.” I nibbled on her jaw as we reached our releases together, and as I laid there panting, only one thought captured my mind:

“You know I’ve violated you completely.” I caressed her cheek as I spoke the words that haunted me. “I only need you to admit that I own your heart too.”

#my fics #jake gyllenhaal smut #jake gyllenhaal #smut #jake gyllenhaal reader #jake gyllenhaal x reader #jake gyllenhaal reader insert #jake gyllenhaal reader inserts #jake gyllenhaal fanfic #jake gyllenhaal fanfiction

[karatekels]

TIGmas Day #5 - The Steadfast Tin Soldier

Today's story is for @pinkspidxr, one of my OG readers who I love very much! It's Christmas, it's fluffy, and it's Twig! I hope I do a decent job of getting baby Terry right!

TW: loss of virginity, oral sex (female receiving, very slight male receiving), teasing, graphic sex, Twig *kind of* talking to ghosts (or at least taking their advice)

---

The Steadfast Tin Soldier

---

Terry’s POV:

It never snowed in California.

Still, he couldn’t deny that he’d been hoping for a bit of a miracle as he returned stateside, just before Christmas.

Not that the holidays held many fond memories for him, but he was craving something familiar, bright, American.

He doesn’t want to go home.

A cab finally agrees to take him – the first few drivers cursing at him, calling him a bastard, a rapist, a child murderer, and worse – his heart icing over with the emotionless steel he’d cultivated over the course of its training. It would be useful for something back home, at least.

They ask him for an address and he blurts out yours without thinking – it’s the only one that comes to mind. He’s not even sure if you still live there.

Regardless, he settles in for the long ride, thinking back to the last time he’d seen you…

---

“What the fuck were you thinking, Terrence?!” you hiss at him, fire blazing in your eyes. His lanky frame caves in on itself as you take him to task. He’d been expecting this.

“It’s just something I have to do,” he lies through his teeth, too ashamed to tell you the real reason.

There are a lot of things he’s too ashamed to tell you.

But he needs to get out from under his father’s overbearing expectations and his mother’s coddling; he needs to. Better to jump in the deep end and learn to swim rather than slowly drown.

He knows he’s a coward. And he knows you deserve far better than that.

“What does that even mean, Terry?” you ask, tears filling your eyes. He hates to see you cry. “You have to lie about your age for them to even take you!”

He isn’t too worried about that; he may be built like a beanpole, but he’s sure his height will help him to slip through the cracks.

“They’ll let me serve,” he says with a confidence he doesn’t completely feel. “I’ll be back before you know it!”

“You’re a terrible liar, Terry Silver,” you spit at him, your voice shaking. “How can you do this to me?”

Now, that was interesting. Thoughts of you begging him to stay with you have his heart stuttering in his chest. You were the only thing worth sticking around for; if you kicked up enough of a fuss, threw yourself at his feet and begged for mercy… he supposed he could be persuaded.

“This has nothing to do with you, Y/N,” he insists firmly, inwardly cringing as you recoil as though he’d slapped you. But he can’t help but goad you; too afraid to express his real feelings for you, he settles for eliciting any emotions out of you, by any means necessary, the same way a boy pulled on a girl’s pigtails.

“Maybe that’s the problem, Terry. I thought we were best friends! We’ve always told each other everything, and now you’ve gone off and enlisted without so much as telling me first?”

And oh, how he wishes he could say he’s told you everything…

“I don’t need your permission,” he huffs instead, watching your face crumple for a moment before your temper overwhelms you once more.

“Fine, then I don’t need you. Go on and live out your little soldier fantasy, Terry, but don’t expect me to wait around to see whether you come back in one piece, if you come back at all.”

You slammed the door in his face then, and he listened to your sobs until he could bring himself to get off your porch, his footsteps heavy.

---

“Alright buddy, we’re here,” the cabbie announces, bringing him out of his thoughts. Guilt, pain, and self-loathing all rattle around in the empty hollow that was his chest, as they always did when he reminisced about you. He tosses the driver more than his fare, eyes focused on the soft light emanating from what was hopefully still your bedroom window. Stepping out of the taxi, he throws his pack over a broad shoulder, vaguely aware of the cab’s tires screeching their departure.

The worn soles of his combat boots don’t make a sound as he walks up the path to your front door, eyes scanning every window for a hint of motion as his adrenaline spikes. He clenches a fist tightly and takes a breath, trying to relax and deprogram himself from the instincts he’d been forced to develop; it would do him no good to be paranoid during your reunion.

He’s pictured this moment a thousand different times, a hundred different ways, starting from the moment he left the country. He can’t let himself ruin it now.

He forces his feet forward again, up the steps and onto the porch, a worn welcome mat greeting him just before the door. He sets down his pack, his feet precisely in the centre of the mat, and knocks firmly.

There is some vague shuffling around from the other side of the door that he can hear, and he briefly considers that even if you do still live here and didn’t still hate his guts, you may not be here alone. A wave of jealousy, hot and vicious, washes over him until he’s seeing red, and he braces himself for a fight against whoever opens the door.

A curtain flutters off to the side, the person flitting away before he gets a good look at them, but then the door opens and you stand before him, a worn housecoat wrapped tightly around your slender frame, and his anger dissipates, his gaze softening. You look different, the years of early adulthood firmly settled into your features, but he finds that you just look right.

You inhale deeply, your face flickering a dozen different emotions until you finally bring yourself to break the silence.

“Terry.”

---

Reader’s POV:

At first, you think you’re seeing a ghost – your very own Jacob Marley haunting you into learning some profound life lesson. Never leave anything unsaid, or Don’t let pride blind you.

Terry Silver, decked out in military fatigues and probably thirty pounds worth of muscle, delivered to your doorstep on Christmas Eve.

Your throat constricts, overwhelmed by the joy-relief-guilt-anger-pain-sadness of seeing him again.

“Terry,” you croak, finding it difficult to breathe, and then you’re throwing yourself at him, jumping up to wrap your arms around his neck. His hair is so long now, tied back in a ponytail that stands in stark contrast to the traditional, clean-cut hairstyle you’d grown accustomed to during your decade of friendship. He braces himself to take your weight, his arms taking an extra moment to slowly wrap around you, returning the hug.

“Y/N,” you hear him breathe your name into your hair as he sets you on your feet, though he keeps you in an embrace. You’re not sure how long you stay like that, but eventually you force yourself to release him, looking up into his pretty blue eyes. His features are harder now then they were before he’d left, but he seemed healthy and whole physically from what you’ve been able to tell.

“When did you get back?” you half-ask, half-demand, despite knowing you’re in no position to have a say in his life. No, he’d made that perfectly clear the last time you’d spoken…

“I landed a couple hours ago.”

You blink. “What are you doing here?!”

“I didn’t know where else to go.”

You swallow heavily. You knew that Terry didn’t have a good relationship with his parents, but to not want to see them after years of being in a War… as someone who’d lost their own parents as a teenager, it was hard for you to imagine not needing to throw yourself at them after going to hell and back.

“Well, come in then,” you invite him awkwardly, stepping to the side to allow him through the door into your small home. It wasn’t much, but you’d made do with the small sum you’d had left over from your parents’ inheritance after settling their medical bills coupled with your small but survivable salary. Terry lifts his rucksack, throwing it over a broad shoulder and stepping into your home, placing it by the door and bending to remove his boots. You look down at your own slippered feet, debating changing out of your pyjamas but decide against it.

“Can I get you something to drink?” you offer, trying to push past your own discomfort to play hostess. “I don’t know what your liquor of preference is, but I should have something you like.”

“You drink now?” he asks, surprised, and you give him a wry grin.

“We’re adults now, Terry; my tastes have changed.”

You’d been just shy of seventeen when he’d left, and had always been something of a goody two shoes; underage drinking hadn’t been your style before he’d left.

But then he had left, and on the one-year anniversary of his departure, having heard nothing from him, that had changed…

---

“Will you please stop moping around, Y/N? This is a party!” your friend pouts, trying to pull you up from the table in the corner where you’re sat with a drink for company. You’re not sure what your tolerance for alcohol is but this is your third Harvey Wallbanger, the orange juice helping the vodka go down easy, and you’re now in a comfortably numb, floaty space.

“I’m not moping,” you deny with a scowl. “You know I’m not a party person, and you dragged me here anyway.”

“I dragged you here because there’s someone I’d like you to meet,” Roberta insists, wrapping an arm around your shoulders and bending down to talk in your ear. “He is very cute, very single and very interested.”

“That makes one of us,” you joke, lightly elbowing her in the side. Roberta sighs, sitting on the edge of the table to stare you down.

“Y/N, it’s been a year since Terry left. I know that you miss him, and that you’re hurt, but you told him yourself that you wouldn’t wait around for him.”

“I’m not waiting around for him,” you snap, grumbling at the insinuation. “I just don’t want to be with anyone right now.”

“But Y/N, don’t you think –”

“No!” you interrupt angrily, standing up from the table. “I don’t want to get to know someone else, anyone else. I just want to be alone.”

You gulp down the rest of your drink, grabbing your bag and leaving the party without another word, crying to yourself the whole walk home.

---

That night was your first time getting drunk, and you’d turned to the bottle on many occasions over the past few years when your grief and loneliness got to be too much. It’s not something you’re particularly proud of, but it is something that you’ve managed to get under control. No one was worth grieving over like that, not even Terry Silver.

Turning back to him, you catch him looking at you with a confused, slightly frustrated expression before he meets your eye.

“Any tea?” he asks hesitantly and you nod in response, busying yourself with the kettle. You grab two teacups, part of a set gifted to you by him from a birthday during your school days, and set them of a tray along with milk and sugar, bringing them over to the coffee table in front of him.

“How long have you had the ponytail?” you ask casually, trying to make conversation as you head back into the kitchen to fill the teapot and bring it over. Terry takes a long time to respond, and when you turn back to him you see that he’s tense on the couch, his jaw clenched.

“Almost a year now,” he finally answers in a hoarse voice through gritted teeth. You busy yourself fixing his tea, hoping he still takes it the same way; Terry had never been good with speaking his emotions before the war, and you doubt that his time in Vietnam cured him of that habit.

“I grew it out in honour of a friend,” he continues, not looking at you as he accepts the proffered cup, and you bite your lip as an expression of absolute anguish crosses his features. You don’t know what to say to him, or what not to say…

“I don’t know how to do this, Terry,” you confess to him, frustrated by the discomfort you feel. Speaking with him had been easier than breathing for so long, and the difficulty it’s giving now makes your heart ache. He looks up at you blankly.

“Do what?”

“I don’t know, talk to you. It used to be so easy, and now I’m not sure what to focus on and what to avoid. I’m sorry,” you apologize with a grimace, feeling terribly awkward. He had come here, come to you, immediately after coming home, and you imagine he now regrets his decision after seeing how horribly you’re handling his return.

His large hand comes down on your shoulder, squeezing it gently, the way he used to comfort you when you were anxious or stressed, and you take a deep breath, looking up at him gratefully.

“Hey hey, it’s okay. I’m not exactly sure how to do this myself. You’re doing fine,” he coos, his thumb stroking your shoulder. You can’t remember the last time you’ve felt as relaxed as you do now, under his soothing touch. You climb onto the couch beside him, still tucked under his arm.

“Thanks. Is there anything you want to talk about?” you ask, hoping to avoid anymore sensitive topics.

“Did you ever think about me?” he asks immediately, and you turn to the side to face him so quickly his arm slips off your shoulders.

“What?” you ask in disbelief. He cocks his head to the side and gives you a calculating look, like he’s trying to read your mind.

“While I was gone. Did you ever think about me, or miss me or anything?”

He seems genuine, but it’s such a ridiculous, inane question that it sparks your short temper.

“What kind of question is that?!” you hiss, glaring at him. He opens his mouth to respond, but you cut him off, shoving him away from you, trying to ignore how muscled his chest feels under your fingers.

“Of course I missed you, you dolt!” you shriek, angry tears filling your eyes. “Of course I thought about you, every fucking day, from the moment you told me you were leaving! How can you even ask me that, Terry?!”

You can’t catch your breath through your sobs, as much as you want to continue yelling at him; you always ended up crying this way when you cried for Terry, and everything you’d lost when he’d left you alone.

Terry slides off the couch onto his knees, carelessly shoving away the coffee table to make space for him as he kneels in front of you, looking distressed as he watches you wrap your arms around yourself tightly like you were trying to squeeze yourself shut, trapping your pain inside of you.

“Sweetheart, shhh,” Terry pleas, trying to replace your hands with his own as he moves to console you. You fight to get your breathless under control, your sobs eventually quieting to stuttering whimpers.

“I’m sorry, Y/N,” he murmurs, running his hands up and down your arms soothingly. “I didn’t think I was leaving you alone. I thought your other friends –”

“If you think that any number of friends could fill in the void you left in my life, you overgrown giraffe, then you’re an even bigger idiot that I thought,” you interrupt him with a huff, your arms now crossed defensively across your chest as you scowl down at him.

He takes your change in mood as a good sign, and continues.

“I thought everyone else would take care of you; if I hadn’t believed that, I never would have left,” he speaks firmly, his gaze locked with yours, and you believe him.

“I thought about you all the time,” he confesses, tucking a lock of your hair behind your ear; it feels like such a natural gesture coming from him. “I wrote dozens of letters to you, but I never sent them because I was scared that you hated me, and I didn’t want to upset you more than I already had.”

His blue eyes are piercing as they look up at you unblinkingly, and you feel overwhelmed by the conviction that you hear in his voice.

“I went to war to become less of a coward, Y/N,” he admits, looking at the ground with his brow furrowed. “I wanted so badly to become someone that you deserved. But I failed. I’m still a coward, and even if I wasn’t I know I’m too late.”

You can see the tension in his shoulders as he sits in silence, his words lingering in the air between you.

“Too late for what?” you ask in a whisper, unable to bring yourself to speak any louder.

“I know I’ve probably missed my chance to be with you, but –”

“I’m not with anybody, Terrance,” you inform him curtly, your heart pounding so hard you worry it’s going to burst from your chest. Terry wanted to be with you?

He finally brings himself to look back up at you, his eyes flickering as he tries to determine your honesty. You decide to reassure him.

“I’m not with anyone. I’ve never been with anyone,” you admit, sincerely hoping that he felt the same way as you did and that this confession wasn’t going to blow up in your face.

“I promised myself I wasn’t waiting around for you, I said I wouldn’t and I meant it, but no one made me feel anything close to what you did. Nobody could get through to me.”

Terry’s face lights up with hope and euphoria, and it seems to take the last few years of pain and suffering away from his features. He climbs back onto the couch next to you, giving you the same slightly-shy smile he’d always given you. He looks like the Terry you remember, the Terry you love.

The Terry that casually broke your heart one day, leaving you without a second thought to spend years worrying about his safety. As much as you adore him, you can’t let yourself forget that reality.

“I wanted it to be you. I still want it to be you, Terry, but how can I know if I can trust you? You left me,” you accuse, moving off of the couch to the armchair next to it. He hurt you, and you can’t let yourself be swept away by his presence the way you normally did. Terry’s eyes are sad as he watches you move away from him, but he grants you the space.

“I’m so sorry, Y/N,” he murmurs brokenly, his eyes trained on the carpet by your feet. “I’ll never forgive myself for it, as long as I live. I’ll do whatever it takes to get your trust back. Please just give me a chance,” he begs, getting down on his knees before you once again. You’re not proud of the thrill that runs through you at his supplication, something in your belly clenching with desire.

“Ask me anything, sweetheart, and I’ll answer, no matter how hard it is. I promise, I’ll tell you the truth about everything.”

You curl your legs up onto the couch and away from him, wrapping your arms around them as you look down at him. What questions could you possibly ask that could repair the damage done to your friendship?

“Did you have to kill people?” you ask in a hoarse whisper, feeling guilty as the question appears to cause him physical pain.

“Yes.”

“A lot of people?”

“Yes.”

You can’t blame him for his short responses. And, at least he’s being honest.

“Did they at least… I don’t know, deserve it?” you ask, though you’re not sure how you could possibly determine whether or not anyone deserved to die.

“Some. Most of them didn’t.” Terry’s eyes are shut tightly, like his body is trying to block out the question, or maybe the memories that it evokes.

Alright, you’d tortured him enough with this line of questioning. Reaching down, you lay one hand on his arm, and he opens his eyes to look at you, his expression gaunt.

“How are you, Terry? Physically, you don’t seem to have any lasting damage, but…” you trail off, biting your lip. He gives you a sad smile.

“I’m doing the best I can; I’m sure it’ll get better with time,” he assures, almost nonchalantly shrugging off his trauma. “Physically I’m fine, just still a bit malnourished.”

“Malnourished? You look like you’ve doubled in size since I saw you last, at least!” you tease, hoping he’s not offended. Fortunately, he cracks a smile that becomes an outright smug grin, and bats his eyelashes up at you.

“At least,” he echoes your words, sitting up straight. “Wanna see for yourself?” he leers, his hands moving to the hem of his shirt. You squeak, blushing furiously, though you’re burning with curiosity and something decidedly less innocent.

“Knock it off, Terry!” you warn him with a giggle, burying your face in your knees. He chuckles softly at your reaction, the sound sending shivers up and down your spine. Eventually, you peer over the tops of your knees down at him, unsure if you really want to know the answer to your next question.

“You’re very different from the shy boy that would blush when he so much as accidentally brushed up against me,” you point out with a raised eyebrow, hoping you’re playing it casual. “Have you been with anyone?”

There is a prolonged silence, and you brace yourself for the worst.

“Almost, but no,” he admits, his hand going to the end of his ponytail and giving it a tug absent-mindedly.

“What does that mean?” you ask, feeling unsettled by his reaction to the question.

“Some of the guys in the unit got on me about being a virgin, tried to get me to give it up to a hooker,” he admits, a blush blooming across his fair skin. Your Terry was still buried somewhere inside this new, bulky frame.

“Why didn’t you?” you ask. While you’re glad that he didn’t, you know that Terry has historically been susceptible to peer pressure, especially by older men.

“Johnny,” he breathed, the name escaping from his lips with absolute reverence. He looks up at you, devotion shining in his eyes as he speaks of this other man. “Captain John Kreese. I owe him my life; I owe him everything.”

“What’d he do?” you ask, glad that Terry may have found a male role model worth looking up to.

“I… I had told him about you,” he admits, looking sheepish. “He caught me writing letters to you, told me to burn them if I wasn’t going to man up and send them to you so that no one would find out and give me a hard time. He had a girl back home, Betsy, they were going to get married…”

“And he died? How awful,” you reply, your heart going out to the couple.

“No,” Terry said tonelessly. “She did. Car accident.”

“Oh, Terry…” you murmur, your hand coming down to stroke his arm comfortingly. Terry leans against your chair and into the gesture.

“But we didn’t find out until after this. When he found the guys trying to push me into a brothel, he told them to leave off and they did. Everyone listened to John. And then he told me that it was worth waiting for the right girl, so I did.”

Your heart skips a few beats at the explanation, and Terry uses your silence to stand up on his knees, gently pulling your feet down in front of you so that you aren’t hiding behind them. You’re nearly at the same height now, and he leans forward to stare deeply into your eyes.

“I wanted it to be you too, Y/N. I always have.”

He slowly closes the distance between you, giving you plenty of time to refuse or move away, his eyes locked onto your face as though he was afraid that if he closed his eyes, if he so much as blinked, you would disappear. One large hand comes up, his knuckles lightly brushing the side of your face, and you let out a content sigh.

The kiss is chaste and sweet but still sends your heart thrumming, your lips trying to chase after him when he finally lets you up for air. He takes your cheek in hand once more, his gaze not leaving yours as he reaches down to your hand, interlacing your fingers with his own.

“I love you, Y/N, and I’ll do anything and everything to be with you. I’ve waited this long, and I’m happy to keep waiting until I’ve earned your trust back.”

“Terry Silver, I’ve spent years worrying that I’d never see you again. Even before that, I didn’t think I’d ever get to be with you. I love you, and I’m not letting you go. We’ve both waited long enough.”

Terry’s smile grows with your words, framed by his adorable dimples, making a pleased noise in the back of his throat as you wrap your arms around his neck, sliding yourself closer to him. Impatiently, you tug his head towards yours once more, kissing him deeply, every brush of his lips against yours making your heart sing. You feel him gasp into your mouth as your tongue traces his lower lip teasingly, his hands moving to your hips and squeezing them firmly. He lifts you out of the chair and to your feet, further emphasizing how strong he’s become in the past few years, and you reluctantly break apart, the difference in height frustrating you. You can think of one way to mitigate the issue…

“Do you remember the way to my bedroom?” you ask coyly, looking up at him from beneath your lashes. He gives you a slightly wicked grin in response before sweeping you off your feet and into his arms, carrying you bridal style to your bedroom door and kicking it open. Apparently not wanting to be too presumptuous, he sits on the edge of the bed with you in his lap, and resumes his task of kissing you breathless.

It’s everything you’d been imagining since you were twelve years old, and more. So, so much more…

Being wrapped in his strong arms like this makes you feel the same bone-deep sense of comfort and safety that Terry always made you feel, but tenfold. He could keep you in his lap like this forever and you’d consider yourself more than grateful, but you also desperately need to touch-see-taste-feel more of him.

You squirm, getting him to loosen his grip, and when he does you throw a leg across him, straddling him and pressing yourself against his chest. His grip tightens in response, his hands low on your hips. Gathering your courage, you trail your hands down his chest to the hem of his shirt, your fingers disappearing beneath the fabric. As you explore the contours of his abs he hisses into your mouth, sliding back on the bed and taking you with him. You push him to lay down, hands pushing his shirt up as your eyes greedily drink in his chiseled abs.

“Like what you see, Dollface?” Terry leers up at you, giving you a wink. You huff in response, sitting back on his thighs and crossing your arms as you turn your head to the side. This gives him the element of surprise as he grabs you by the waist, flipping you onto your back on the mattress and leaning over you.

“Don’t be shy, sweetheart. I like what I see; I have from the minute I first laid eyes on you,” he murmurs, eyes warm with affection and underlying desire. He pulls his shirt off over his head, muscles on full display, and while you’ve been in love with Terry for the better part of a decade, when you were both scrawny kids, you can’t deny that the way he looks now, and the confidence it’s given him, has your body humming with need. You look back to his face with hooded eyes, reaching up to pull him down to kiss him, teasing his tongue with your own. Eventually, he sits up, looking down at you in a way that has you squirming. His eyes could be so intimidating sometimes, and now the rest of him matched.

Idly, he toys with the belt of your housecoat, the fabric tied in a bow at your waist.

“You’re wrapped up like a present for me,” he teases in a low voice, making you blush. “It’s not quite Christmas yet, but maybe I can unwrap mine early?”

You giggle, turning to bury your head into your pillow to hide your face. “You’re an idiot, Terry Silver,” you inform him, your voice muffled, but your gasp comes through loud and clear as he takes advantage of your position and starts kissing your neck. “Terry!” you moan, feeling dizzy as his lips and tongue claim every inch of sensitive skin they can find. Terry lets out a growl against the front of your throat at the sound of you moaning his name.

“Do I get to open my present or not, sweetheart?” he murmurs against your skin, pulling back to look at you with his stunning, glittering eyes.

“Yes!” you groan in exasperation, throwing an arm over your eyes. You feel him slowly pulling at the frayed ends of the strip of fabric, and shyly peek out from under your arm, wanting to witness this. The knot comes loose, and you feel his hands shake slightly as he pushes the robe to either side of you, revealing thin dark blue pyjama pants and a baby blue tank top. He licks his lips, and as you follow his gaze you see that your nipples are hard and very prominent through the lightweight fabric.

“Please,” you cry out in need when he makes no move to, well, ravish you.

“Terry, please! You don’t have to treat me like I’m made of glass. I want you, I need you, please touch me!”

He hums in approval at the sound of you begging, his thumbs rubbing your hip bones in small circles, savouring the soft skin visible between the hem of your shirt and your waistband.

“I know you’re not made of glass, beautiful. I just want to savour you, take you in just like this before I worship you the way I’ve been dreaming of.”

He lowers his head to taste your again, his lips exploring your now-exposed shoulders and collarbone, and you clutch his head to you, pulling him closer still. He lets out a sinful chuckle, a far departure from the shy, self-conscious boy you were used to, and the vibrations of his lips make you arch up against him with a needy whine.

Lips never faltering, he blindly snatches up your wrists, pinning them again the mattress to either side of your head. He slowly explores every inch of bare skin, his hot, wet tongue following the featherlight touches of his fingertips as he traces patterns from the sensitive underside of your wrists up your arms to your breastbone, sliding down your body to lay kisses on your stomach where your shirt has ridden up, his tongue swirling around your bellybutton and making you shriek.

“God, I love the sounds you make for me,” Terry groans, laying kisses straight up the middle of your chest over your clothes, intentionally avoiding your breasts. The devious smirk he gives you afterwards lets you know that he knows exactly how much he’s tormenting you.

“Will you let me up so that I can have a turn?” you ask grumpily, fed up with the teasing. Or, at least, how one-sided it was.

“No,” he says mockingly, clearly enjoying antagonizing you. “But I will reward your patience…”

Terry’s POV:

Ponytail’s lewd advice over the years came to the forefront of his mind the moment he laid you out on your bed, and Terry decides he’ll borrow more than just a hairstyle from the older man. He can practically see Ponytail in the corner of his eye, leering at the pair of you as Terry put his lessons to practice. Based on the way you were responding, it was apparent that the guy hadn’t been all talk, at least before…

He latches onto your breast, his saliva darkening the fabric of your top, focusing on you instead of dwelling on the past. Your whispered pleas come even faster now, as his other hand slides up your body to tease your other nipple, the sensation nearly overwhelming him. He can’t believe he’s finally here, finally doing this, and with you of all people.

He hadn’t lied to you before; it really had always been you in his mind, in his heart, in his soul…

He forces himself to continue to go slow, carefully keeping his erection from brushing up against you. He’s already so close, and he hasn’t even gotten you out of your clothes yet. He’s waited long enough for this, and so have you; he needs it to be perfect.

He slips his hands beneath the hem of your shirt once more, pausing in his ministrations to look you in the eye.

“Can I unwrap the rest of my present, doll?” he leers, burning the way you blush into his memory forever. You bite your lip, staring up at him with wide, needy eyes, and you’ve never looked more beautiful. You nod wordlessly, and sit up as he pulls your pyjamas over your head, tossing the top to the side.

He stands corrected, taking in your bare breasts, the curve of your waist, the way your blush continues down your neck to the top of your chest. You’ve never looked more beautiful than right now.

Your breath comes hard and fast under the weight of his stare, nearly panting with desire.

Take it slow, Twig. Make her beg you for it. Ponytail’s voice echoes in his head, and he lunges forward, pinning you back against the mattress, claiming your lips again as he brings his fingers up to play with your nipples, only pausing in his attack to knead and squeeze your breasts, cataloguing your responses to his every action as you writhe underneath him, whining into his mouth.

“Terry, you’re driving me crazy!” you manage to tell him between kisses, your chest now covered with love bites that give him a primal sense of satisfaction and ownership.

“Good,” he coos, finding it easy to be dominant in this arena. Watching you come apart for him has given him such a heady sense of control, he thinks he could happily do it forever.

Maybe he will.

Your hand, which had formerly been obediently laying down by your side, runs across his thigh to his cock, squeezing it experimentally over his pants, and his restraint all but disappears as his hips reflexively buck into your palm. You bat your eyelashes at him with mock innocence, and he snarls, reaching down and yanking your pants and underwear down your legs in one quick motion, making you yelp and press your thighs tightly together. Oh, now you were shy?

Reining himself back in before he forces your knees apart, he slows down once more, running his hands from your ankles to the tops of your thighs, relishing the feeling of your soft skin and the way that your muscles jump beneath his fingers.

“You’re so damn pretty,” he whispers, his awe carrying over into his tone. “My dream girl…”

He buries his face between your breasts, switching between them to ensure they both receive equal treatment from his lips and tongue. It isn’t long before you relax the lower half of your body, your legs moving to either side of him to wrap around his waist as your arms mirror the movement, locking themselves around his neck as you cling to him, trying to pull him closer. Terry thinks he’d happily let you pull him closer until he disappeared inside of you; his cock twitches at the thought.

“What is it, love?” he teases, though his tongue tingles around the pet name. “What do you need?”

You give him a glare, though its effect is weakened by the fact that you are practically vibrating in his arms.

“Stop teasing me, you big dumb jerk!” you complain, even as you roll your hips up against him. He bites the inside of his cheek to distract himself from the burning hot arousal that jolts through his body at the sensation of your soaking centre rubbing against him, even through his clothes.

“Well, that was just plain hurtful,” he says with false sadness. “Maybe I’ll just go…” he trails off, peeling you off him and keep his eyes on the sheets as he makes to move off the bed. You launch yourself at him, taking him by surprise as you knock him back onto the bed, straddling him with a pout.

This time, he knows that you feel his cock twitch against you.

“You’re not going anywhere, Terry Silver,” you say imperiously, even as you bend down to kiss his chest, your tongue boldly and thoroughly exploring his torso. He hisses, and feels you smirk against his skin. “I just got you back, and you’re not going anywhere, especially not before you finish what you started.”

He nimbly rolls you onto your back, hooking one leg around his hip, his hand stroking the inner thigh of your other leg and making your breathing come heavier once again.

“Is that what you want, Y/N?” he asks, cracking a wicked grin. “For me to help you finish?”

Instead of telling him off, or stubbornly refusing to say anything, you look up at him demurely.

“Yes,” you tell him bluntly, staring up at him unflinchingly. “Make me come, Terry, make me yours!”

He growls and slides down your body again, forcing your knees apart – not that they need any forcing. He takes in the sight of your wet, pink pussy, and it briefly makes his brain short-circuit.

“Christ,” he breathes out, before throwing caution to the wind and burying his face between your legs, eating you out like you’re his last meal on earth. You literally mewl as he latches onto your clit, tongue swirling around the sensitive bud, your grip on his head stinging deliciously as you tug at his locks. You try to grind yourself against his face, but he holds your hips down firmly; all of the pleasure you felt tonight would be because of him.

His tongue probes your entrance next, your walls tight but inviting, and he brings a hand up to assist, one of his fingers continuing to tease your clit. He hears you moan his name, and he moans yours right back, the vibrations adding to your pleasure until your soft inner thighs are quaking.

“Terry!” you cry out, your thighs clenching around his head, but he is relentless in his pursuit, knowing that you’re close. “Oh God, Terry!”

“That’s it, my sweet girl,” he purrs approvingly, stretching you out with a finger joining his tongue. “Come for me, Y/N, let me taste how much you want me.”

He dives back in, adding a second finger, his thumb rubbing your clit in circles that you mirror with your hips. Secretly, he writes his name on your centre with his tongue, claiming you as his, and with one final swipe at your clit you’re coming apart for him, screaming his name in ecstasy as your thighs tighten their grip even further, the pressure a testament to how hard you’re coming.

“Fuck!” you groan between stuttering, whiny breaths. “Fuck…”

He patiently waits for you to catch your breath, content to be trapped between your legs, laying kisses all over your inner thighs and breathing you in. Eventually, your legs collapse bonelessly to either side of him, releasing him, and he crawls up your body, his cock aching from being pressed against the seam of his pants. Still slightly dazed, you look up at him with a shy smile that makes his heart skip a beat. Still so innocent, even after all that…

“Does this mean it’s finally my turn?” you ask, brazenly reaching for his belt. Kneeling next to your head, he allows you to remove his belt, pulling his zipper down and tugging his pants down to reveal his tented trousers. You let out a whimper of desire, though he also detects a note of anxiety. You have nothing to worry about, sweet thing; he’ll never let anything bad happen to you.

Not on his watch.

You gather your nerve, pulling his underwear down to free his cock, and he swiftly divests himself of the clothing kicking them off and to the floor, his erection bobbing with the movement. Your eyes follow it as though hypnotized, and he finds himself staring at you with a downright hungry expression. Mine, a possessive voice growls in his mind as he watches you stare, awestruck at his member.

Slowly, like you were scared of scaring it away, you move your head towards it, your tongue peeking out from between your swollen, pouty lips to lick the precum off of his tip.

He nearly blows his load then and there.

Instead, he climbs on top of you, spreading your legs to either side of him.

“Ter-ry!” you whine, pouting up at him. “I thought it was my turn!”

He bends down, silencing your complaints with a kiss until you’re laying pliant against the sheets.

“I won’t last long if you do that now, love,” he admits, trying not to be embarrassed or ashamed. “The first time I come, I want it to be inside you.”

Your expression softens at his words, and you pull him down for another sweet kiss. He reaches between your bodies, getting his fingers slick with your juices and stroking himself, his eyes rolling back in his head at the sensation. You break apart, but his forehead stays rested on yours as he lines himself up with your entrance.

“I’ll be gentle, I’ll go slow,” he vows, the promise as much to himself as it is to you. He would have control; he would not hurt you.

“I trust you, Terry,” you tell him earnestly, and the words mean more to him than he can possibly express.

“I love you, Y/N,” he breathes, slowly sliding himself inside of you until he feels himself come up to your hymen. You tense up slightly at the intrusion, or perhaps at what’s to come, but you nod at him to continue, responding to the question reflected in his eyes.

“Don’t draw it out – just do it quick, and then it’s over,” you ask quietly, shutting your eyes tightly. That won’t do.

“Look at me, sweetheart,” he requests, and your eyes flutter open. He doesn’t hesitate, thrusting himself past your barrier and fully into you, watching the pain cross your features with a perverse sense of satisfaction before he immediately moves to soothe, stilling his hips as he peppers your face with kisses, cooing sweet nothing and words of encouragement and running his hands comfortably up and down your body.

The distraction is appreciated; it gives him something to focus on other than how incredible your cunt feels wrapped around his throbbing member.

“Just relax, Y/N,” he coaxes, feeling you tighten around him when he says your name. He wants to spend eternity figuring out all the ways to make your body respond to him…

You nod up at him, your body’s grip on him loosening just enough for him to pull out slightly before smoothly thrusting back inside, hearing your breath escape you with a moan. He stills again, not wanting to push his luck, but you have other plans, rocking your hips up towards him, your legs tightening their grip around his waist.

“Don’t stop,” you beg him quietly. “I can handle it, I promise.”

“I’m not hurting you?” he asks doubtfully, taking in the tears at the corners of your eyes.

“I like it,” you admit to him bashfully, and he can tell by your embarrassment that you mean it. He groans at this confession, feeling his self-control slipping away, and he lets it, deciding to just be in the moment with you. Burying his face in your neck, he slides his hands around to your butt, kneading the plump flesh as he holds you up, his hips setting a slow pace, savouring the delicious friction of moving inside you. You let out a wanton moan of approval, breathless pleas escaping your lips as you run your fingers through his hair.

Your cries are music to his ears, his own need for release growing with every thrust, every noise you make spurring him on.

“Terry,” you whimper his name, trying to meet his hips thrust-for-thrust, eventually settling for just hanging on, begging for more as he chases his orgasm, rutting against you and making your toes curl. “Come for me – Let go for me, love!” you moan in his ear, and he finally does, feeling your pussy tighten around him and milk him of every drop.

It isn’t until after he’s caught his breath that he realizes his still whispering your name like a mantra. Forcing himself to pull out of you, no matter how much he wants to stay buried in your tight heat, he rolls onto his back, pulling you on top of him and securely wrapping you both in the blankets. You nestle into him, fitting quite naturally against his side just as he always knew you would.

“You’ll stay?” you ask hopefully in a tired voice. It was now well after midnight, and you had already been dressed for bed when he’d shown up.

“If you’ll have me.”

“Always, Terry.”

He kisses the top of your head, wrapping his arms around you protectively. He can’t remember the last time he felt tired, relaxed enough to sleep deeply for any length of time, but he senses it won’t be a problem tonight.

“Merry Christmas, Y/N,” he murmurs, recalling your fondness for the holiday as children. Maybe that was why he’d been so attached to it, despite having few personal memories about it himself.

“Merry Christmas, Terry,” you reply sleepily, kissing the pectoral that you’re using as a pillow as you drift off.

He’ll count this as a Christmas miracle.

---

Just look at this cute little fucker in his little bucket hat, thinking about his own girl back home 💕

#Thomas Ian Griffith #Terry Silver #Terry Silver x Reader #Cobra Kai #TIGmas #12 Days of TIGmas #Smut #kk3 #karate kid #the karate kid 3 #twig #twig!terry silver #fluff #Nick Marini

[protect-daniel-james]

WIP asks: what is your oldest? What is the one you will probably never finish?

Omg, do unfinished chaptered fics count?

AO3 tells me the oldest non-finished chaptered fic is Silent Freeway, an Alex Turner/Miles Kane fic from ancient times. I am kinda ashamed of it now, because ultimately it was too much for me to write about - I chose the light topics of mental health and psychosis with my poor English skills, and obviously it was a pain in the ass to write in the end. I wasn't brave enough to go back and read it but I can imagine the shit I wrote back in 2016 in English. It was too much drama for the sake of drama, no characterisation, no reasonable behavior... I will definitely never finish that one. I'm not that much into Milex, and the whole story seems childish today.

Fun fact - it has over 11 000 words making up 11 chapters. Yes, 11 chapters. Which means about 1 000 words per chapter (I was so proud of it back then, lmao). Good old days. Nowaydays I write a 11 000 word fic about Inzaghi brothers fucking.

WIP which I might actually finish one day is definitely Let's fade together, let's fade forever. No football. Historical Figures RPF combining two of my favorite fruity couples from late 18th century, Alex Hamilton/John Laurens and Frederick II/Hans Hermann von Katte. As the tag says, I imagine Heaven as a waiting room. A waiting room where Laurens and von Katte meet and talk and wait for their loved ones. I think it was a nice lil' idea, a fic that became known as "sad gays in heaven". Yeah, it is still rather naive and silly looking back, but I am still quite proud of that one. It's literally missing one chapter.

My problem is I get too excited about a new thing, and I am able to produce quite quickly a new fic when I am excited. A planned out multichaptered fic even. But then, the excitement fades - either because I find a more interesting new thing, or because the response is non-existent, and I see that something I was excited about and cared about isn't really interesting "to the outside". Now don't get me wrong, I'm not one to count kudos and comments because I know that the ships and themes I write about are very niche (I am well aware that if I write a Pedri/Gavi fic, it would get to 200-300 kudos, if I write a Grizione fic, it would be around 50, but if I write about Unai Emery, there will be like 5) - but even with this awareness, if a fic I truly was excited about doesn't really get a response, I just don't feel motivated to prioritise it, work on the next chapter, or write something about the pairing again (unless it's Unai and Football, because those fics I take as a form of experience, exploration, and almost academic work so I don't care if y'all aren't reading those; they are for me to explore the unexplored. although it's nice when people read and comment on them, and want to discuss its topics, obviously).

When it comes to unpublished WIPs, I don't really have many of those because I tend to start my WIPs when excited and then I usually work quickly (unless it's literally a 10 000+ words fic like the yacht fic or like the Inzaghicest one might be). One that I promised to do was a Henderson/Stevie G in Saudi Arabia engaging in bad, sleazy, desperate sex because they have no clue what they are doing there, but I haven't really started to work on that.

I started working on a Mourinho/Abramovich fic (with a flavour of Abramovich/Sheva).

"Mr. Abramovich - " José made a significant pause, spread out his hands over the edge of the desk that separated him from the addressed man. "I know you like him. Is easy to see." For a moment not a single muscle in Abramovich's face moved. Then, his eyebrows rose up, and he tilted his head, smiling; not just smiling but amused at such a simple yet daring statement. "Is it?" he asked, although José wasn't completely sure about the wording. It might have been just a simple, bemused repetition of the word he himself used to describe his reading of the situation - easy.

I think it's now the oldest actual draft that I have, but it's only 2 months old lmao. As I said, I finish my fics pretty quickly (after all, I usually write directly in AO3 - believe me, I did regret it a few times), and the one month due date on drafts works miracles.

#thank you! #myfics

[return-of-a-space-cowboy]

I promise we'll be back in each others arms pt4

Tw: animal death

As the crowd's cheer died down, mutters of scrutiny could be heard.

"If he were the holier-than-thou person he was making himself out to be, he would have forfeited," one of the guards behind you remarked.

"How dare you!" You screamed as you thrashed around in their grip.

"Calm down, dove. You wouldn't want to hurt yourself, would you?" Dio scolded you as he turned back towards the throne you were being held to.

"Don't you tell me to calm down! You forced Jonathan to take another man's life!" You

You hissed at Dio, who was quite amused by your reaction. He leaned himself closer, only inches away from your face.

"You're a monster!" You sneered as you continued to thrash. You were enraged by what he'd done. You wanted to break free so you could punch him, kick him, and any way of inflicting pain on him flooded your mind.

He grabbed your face with a near-crushing grip and laughed.

"You know I've never seen you so feisty before. It's quite something, maybe even a little arousing," Dio said with a sadistic smile.

"I'd never love a disgusting excuse of a human like you!" you replied in disgust as you tried to kick him, only for Dio to catch it.

"Remember, my dove, Jonathan's life is on the line. All I have to do is give the order, and my guards will execute him," he scolded you before his grip on your leg tightened painfully.

"Or I could just break that pretty little leg of yours right now," he continued as his grip on your leg grew tighter. Bruises were sure to form on your skin from the pressure.

A pained whimper escaped your throat, causing Dio to laugh as he let go of you.

"I wouldn't actually do that to you… not unless you give me a very good reason to," Dio snickered.

The crowd roared once more, and it filled you with dread. You knew that it was going to happen all over again. You wanted to disappear. This was torture, to witness your lover forced to fight to the death. Not only could you do nothing to save him but you, but you were also being tormented by the man who caused all of this.

🏛🏛🏛

For hours it happened, and you had to watch every moment of it. Every injury, every strike, and every kill. You were sobbing at this point as you sat on Dio's lap. He wiped your tears away with his thumb.

"If it's too much for you, then we can leave. I can make you forget all about him once we get into bed," he spoke in a sultry tone as he bit your earlobe, causing you to scream.

"No! Never!" You protested at his lewd suggestion.

You were sure Jonathan was looking back at the podium to try and catch a glimpse of you, but you were somewhat comforted that he couldn't see you from his angle. You were ashamed to be here. Forced to sit in Dio's lap and bend to his whim, and you, we're sure that if Jonathan could, Dio would have very well have flaunted all the horrible things he did to you.

"You'll wish you'd agreed," he snickered as he got up from his throne. He grabbed your wrist before walking to the edge of the podium with you in tow.

"I must admit you've done quite well, Jonathan," Dio addressed Jonathan.

"You've only got one challenge left," he continued. The sound of metal ringing echoed through the colosseum as a pair of gates opened two lions emerged. You felt your stomach twist as you watched them stalk Jonathan. He held his sword towards them, and one roared in response before charging toward him.

Jonathan dodged before attempting a swing at the creature but missed. Then the other pounced, and he only just managed to avoid its sharp claws before managing to stab it through its ribcage. It let out a pained cry that broke your heart. No creature deserved to die in such a way. You could only hope its death would be swift so it would not suffer long.

A hiss escaped Dio's clenched jaw. Surely Jonathan must be at his limit. There's no way he should have survived through so many rounds. Dio was lost in thought, trying to wrap his mind around how Jonathan was still alive, only to be pulled out of his thoughts by your screams of horror. He instantly looked for Jonathan, who had been tackled by the second lion. The lion was biting into his arm and clawing at his chest.

"Dio, please make it stop. Let him live! I beg of you. Please let him live," you screamed as your bound hands pulled at his toga.

"No, this was the deal you made with me, besides it's much too late for him" Dio chuckled at your desperate pleas as he watched Jonathan struggle to free himself.

Finally, Jonathan was going to die, something he'd been waiting over a decade to finally happen.

"Jonathan!" You screamed at the top of your lungs. It felt like your throat was being torn from the inside as you screamed out his name. The thought of his death terrified you now more than ever, now that you were seeing it happening right in front of you. If he died, you wouldn't be able to go on. He was your love, your life, your everything.

#yandere jjba #yandere jojo's bizarre adventure #yandere x reader #yandere dio #romain au #gladiator au

[vermillion71401]

MY REVIEW ON PSYCHO PASS PROVIDENCE- part 2

SOME ISSUES (and THOUGHTS) THAT I NEED TO ADDRESS:

I still don’t get the reason why Prof. Saiga and Prof. Stronskaya made the paper. What are they aiming with that? Did I miss something? And conflict coefficient is too much like crime coefficient. This is personal reason, but honestly conflict coefficient is much more reasonable than Sybil. At least, they don’t judge based on how cloudy people are.

I like Saiga and Kougami relationship, and for once we get to see Kougami use Keigo.

No hate, but idk some people debate over Kougami calling Frederica by her name. Akane also called her like that too, except she always use -san, like she did with Shion-san. Kougami also address Shion with her name and nothing happen. He’s just comfortable with both of them, I think. (idk how close they were, need novel)

Why Azusawa never appear on this movie? I thought since we don’t know anything about him in PP3 we somehow have explanation in PPP, with Shindou especially. Well, I despise PP3 anyway, pls don’t ask me why. I appreciate PP staff work tho.

Sugo is cute, loyal hound to his inspector. He’d make quick call, inform anything suspicious to Akane.

I find it funny Kougami act childish in this scenes:

He clearly keep his distance from Akane and div 1 after he and Akane’s convo late night call, even Saiga asked him. He only dare to look at her face again after their body almost exploded with c4, meanwhile Akane from the first time act as if nothing happen. Nice writing, I guess.

Until PPP, I think so many characters have died. And their death is almost have no meaning nor progress to the story (yet with Saiga’s case). PP is dystopian anime, I get it, the story is dark and tragic, I get it, but why they shown so many death after s1? No, it’s not meaningless, it’s actually create situation or drama (for ex Sugo killed Aoyanagi), but not with audience. They don’t make us fully feel related or attachment to the character, but suddenly they’re gone. (like entire div 3 on PP2.) This is just personal opinion, but Saiga’s death is kind of ashamed, they shouldn’t just kill him as a mere bait for Peacebreaker, it’s too bad. There’s so much potential to his character in the future instalment if they ever make one  :’(

Akane running away to fallen Saiga is kinda throw me off. Why not help Kougami or Frederica first? This is out of character. The old Akane would never.

I like that Akane bursts in front of Kougami in elevator scene. When it’s just the two of them, she actually lower her wall because in my case, I never want to cry in public or in front of strangers. Well, she cried near the fountain holo before though, but you get the point.

Kougami sympathy to Akira.

Akira is precious, that’s it. Everyone who watch it already know why.

Just for a brief second, I can see Akane’s eyes shaking when she heard Kougami’s tone on the call. She must be aware he’s in pain.

The scene where Tonami had possessed Akira, Akane could have done so much more or at least TRY something. Where’s the badass Akane we always adore?

Akane always have puppy eyes for one man and one man only. Guess who?

Those puppy eyes can kill me.

Also, I find this script is irrelevant. In the hospital, first Akane relief that Kougami is unhurt, then suddenly he said ‘my mistake’? Why is he suddenly apologize, lmao.

Sybil is a bitch. After Yabuki and Shindo’s tasks done, they told Shindo to just die. Sigh.

I HATE that Tonami has low CC. In s1, we only learn that people with low CC can’t even commit crimes except being asymptomatic, and suddenly this new villain who basically terrorist has clear hue just because he feel sympathy to low life and wants fairness for them (cmiiw). He kill people for God’s sake! This shows inconsistence of writing and will create plot hole in the future. And for Akane’s case, I tolerate it probably because Kasei isn’t actually human.

Akane is so strong, she has been shot twice by Tonami, yet she can speak clearly, even sit. Meanwhile we can find waver in Kougami’s voice on that call (he only get one bullet on his thigh.)

I find this interesting.

Akane is NOT aware that Tonami is about to shoot her. If she knows, would she see Kougami’s sin differently? But after much thought, I think it’s still wouldn’t change a thing, because she wants to arrest Tonami. But dude, Kougami shoots because he can’t lose her, if he shoots his leg or hand or whatever, anything could happen and Akane would’ve been died. If I were him, I’ll shoot his head also without hesitation. I wonder if she understand that she’s at stake.

Who transfer Sugino to SAD? Akane?

Imagine Kougami’s feeling when he can’t do anything to stop Akane. Wow.

Akane’s decision to do that is actually admirable, she honour Shindo and Akira’s death.

This is the end of my chattering. I hope I’m not seen for being a pathetic shipper. I love psycho pass as anime.

#psycho pass #mypsychopassthought #shinkane #kouaka #kougami shinya #akane tsunemori #ginoza nobuchika #ppp #psycho pass providence

[xeroscribed]

So, uhhhh...

I broke

Just like that, huh (definitely not typing rn to try and hold myself together 🙃)

I

Hmm

Fuck

Yeah, there have been signs, and [I really should smoke more] it finally came to a head.

"You're making yourself upset?"

"If I'm hearing wrong, I must be senile/I should go and get my hearing checked."

"Oh, so I'm the reason your life is so bad, am I?"

Etc.

Etc.

Sigh

Well [breathes], I understand my tension, my stress, my inactivity

No, it is not all her.

No, I did not tell her this

I'm kinda just finally realising it

This voice I've been fighting, that's been slowly creeping it's way back into the drivers seat with me lacking awareness of how significant the impact

For a few nights running, early this week, I struggled to sleep. Jerking awake as I dozed off at the sudden incomprehensible rage I heard quietly blaring in the back of my mind, as if in real time.

And I've no idea what words were said, or when. Something like a disembodied voice. An echo of a memory of a moment lived so many times over they've blended to one passage of indistinguishable vitriol hurled over decades with reckless abandon. No words to be placed but the undeniable cadence of the maternal howl. [Gone the wonder of why I excel at recognising voices].

.

The agonising pleading with the girl in the mirror, only increasing; I know that you're in there, so why won't you listen?

The constant convincing still so unconvincing

.

The frustration at the name in the bubble of notification. The constant exhaustion. The tension. The waning of patience.

There, you see...

I'm feeling okay.

Breathing somewhat steadily

Declining heart rate.

I'm straight.

So there was a moment. And-

A less evolved version of me would think my ma did it on purpose to force interaction or just to be petty.

Because after days on end of getting it right, she somehow gets it wrong. And gets me. In a gesture way off.

But...

I'm above that line of thinking and it helps me not

Fuck it.

Either way, interaction was had. A question asked. A tone misperceived. A flame thrown back. Which, at this moment - too hot to handle. But I do. Unsteady-like until I catch myself and...

I calmly highlight, yet again, this problem I'm having [we're having, but i digress]

See

Ffs

It's so frustrating

Yes, this is gaslighting.

But being gaslit by a person who doesn't actually understand that they're doing it.

Who is so trauma bound that they would swear blind if anyone were doing the harm it is you.

For being tense like you are. For avoidance. For snapping sometimes. For addressing the issue.

Here. I have to lead with understanding first. I have to moderate her emotions and redirect her to the topic at hand and manage her way of thinking and reiterate my point and do it all calm, don't dare raise your voice and-

Fuck

I have been thinking and writing in this stupid lyrical manner. This sing-song nursery rhyme bullshit.

Last night, for some reason, recollections of past traumas. Of hygiene. Of solitude. Of lessons in abandon.

Things I am still ashamed of.

But wish to speak on. Because there are so many of us. Hidden. Getting by

Getting on. Battling our demons.

Some, like me, still living with them. At least... that's what she thinks. I don't share the opinion.

I said I broke. It was... incredibly emotional and vulnerable and-

You can't show your pain because it's seen as a tool to make them feel guilty and feel like the fool so they flip it back on you without a care what you've said coz it's easier to claim they'd be better of dead than to take a step back and to listen instead.

I heard you I heard you. Then exaggerates context. Exaggerates impact. Inflates the intent and warps it to suit their ego.

.

This is the matter at hand. This is the plainness of speech. This is the intent.

Do not take to heart the things you think that I meant.

Do not ruminate on your past wounds or fears of your failure [the ones I'm beginning to share].

Do not put on me all the harm of past aggressors. Of the attitudes I've shed. Of the fallacies in your head.

.

"Well, I can't help it, can I!?"

I ask you, who can?

If not you than who?

Not seeking apology. Don't want you to feel bad.

Just asking you to see me as I truly am.

See the work I've put in. See the intention within. See the years of the patience and commitment that's been repairing this ship, drawing us closer, trying to establish something vaguely familial.

.

Yet you see me. Villain. Who hates. And spits sin. Who lies and denies you your right to feeling.

.

Here am I sharing this ache in my chest, this knot in my gut, and this pit in my head.

"It's always about what I'm doing to you!".

I've had an ear worm lately: "I need you, too". Still don't know what it means. Don't think I'm meant to. Not ready yet.

.

You ever notice when one has just formed?

"You're upsetting yourself/You're getting yourself upset."

Because everything is always repeated. They want you convinced.

That's the moment I realised the futility of going further. I'd said what I'd said. Clarified. Reiterated. Took my time. Found my patience.

I stopped. Composed myself. Said goodnight.

Again: Please remember the words that I've said. Please do not focus on what you think I meant.

A final attempt to beg. To plead. That she'll hear me this time.

Coz its taking it's toll. On my soul.

Oh yeah, that's the revelation.

See

That voice is winning. My energy waning. My faith fading. My hope withered.

And instead of knowing I'm good and great, I'm trying repetition hoping the thought integrates.

Like it had before.

But I'm battling two voices.

Both equal in strength.

One cultivated by me, with unending resistance.

The other, nurtured and festered inside. The one I seek to hide.

I

Had manage to quell it, pushed it to the side.

I was golden. Confident. I'd finally found pride.

And now both the knowing and the fearing have taken up residence. Battling it out for the number one spot.

And as I look out, I see the crowd forming.

The faces of friends. Some clear as day. Some so distant.

Some I can hear. Some I just get a glimpse of. But what carries through; words of love and peer wisdom.

That's one side. With the sun. With the me fueled by loving.

.

The other. Barren. Cept for one figure.

One I try not to witness til she toes the line to the sunny side. A gift yet a rarity.

Typically, she resides in the shady seats but stays squinting. The most notable impression of the twisted expression.

Some days are more dreary. And I can't see her clearly. But her voice steady travels on the wind and whips through me.

.

I watch these two battle it out - the crowd cheering.

But that voice doesn't shout. It whispers so clearly.

And the wounded looks through you: I know you can hear me.

.

Those supporters, so loving, well their chants are drowned out. And the two are left standing in a haze of pure doubt.

Neither sure. Both uncertain. Of which one will win.

Sometimes I think it's a matter of time.

Eventually the clock runs out and the stands will be missing their most loyal voyeur.

All that will remain will be sunshine and well wishes.

But its not really so dire. I suppose.

I recognise now what has it's hand round my throat.

May I not amplify it.

May I stand by the sunny side and know that clouds pass and find my place in the rain.

Let it wash over and all that malarkey.

So much has been said. So much I will probably read again and find lacking sense.

But you cannot tame a beast you have not named and I've named it. I know it. And I'm bound to defeat it.

So fuck it.

In the meantime, keep it going.

Find peace. Things will improve. It's just trauma. Not you.

You're better for knowing.

#mine #writing #free verse #poetry #original writing #there are so many things i could tag this with #but i wrote it all out and now im exhausted #another time #xeroscribed #if i find another typo omfgggg

[thoughtfullyrainynightmare]

Can you please tell me why you love Fuegoleon so much? I saw some people hating on him for the most stupid reasons and I need someone who knows and loves him truly to tell again why he's great. Sorry to bother you, but you're one of the best Fue fans and BC fans in general I know <3

Oh I come prepared~ I have my "Vermillion thoughts masterlist" which is Fue centric, but does dabble in all the Fire Vermillion siblings, because their sibling relationships are in the central part of their narrative.

No worries, you're not bothering me ^^ I'm always happy to defend my man❤️‍🔥(I need to do something irl so apologies that this'll be short-ish, but I have a lot of posts to reblog about him!)

Fuegoleon is someone who is responsible, he is tenacious, studious, intelligent, kind, compassionate, firm, understanding, secure and proud (positive) man, who will address misconduct if need be. He's someone, who despite of being understanding, won't take slander and wouldn't condone everything. Because there is a difference between understanding where something comes from, and condoning it.

"Being weak isn't something to be ashamed of. Staying weak is".

He's someone who might understand that, as you are now, is a result of your past, all the things that have made you weak, for example, but it doesn't mean that you should stay that way. He's someone who believes that people can be better, but the change has to start from the person themselves. And that's one of the things that I love about his character.

He doesn't put others down for his own glory, but instead tries to build other people up. Because he knows that the only way to be truly strong is to grow together. A person who can't be proud of other people, has no reason to be proud of themselves.

He is someone who wants to do good. And he is good. He has a strict sense of moral code, and tries to do the best for the greater good, which is why he is putting up with William being pardoned after the treason and Will dismembering him. Because it's for the good of the kingdom for him to put his own, personal pain, to the side. And if you think about the level of sheer betrayal and hurt inflicted onto him in that, I think it speaks more than volumes about him as a character, and as a person.

He is loyal to himself, his knights, and the system. But there must've been a great inner dilemma rising as a result of the betrayal. However, he didn't let that put him down, but he's rising above it. He's being stronger and better than ever before.

My absolute Fuegoleon Vermillion song is "Stronger" by The Score

A lot of the thoughts as to why I think that he is especially strong because of how the system failed him can be found on my post about "Thoughts on Fuegoleon Vermillion" but in short, if the very country that you serve, the country you want to lead some day, is willing to look the other way after one of its servants (captains, because as a knight, in his mind, you're a servant of the people), stabs you in the back, it takes great strength to not fall into anger, bitterness and vengeful thoughts as a result of it. He is someone who is a victim, but he chooses not to be a victim. In a sense.

He is a private, modest, poised mad, who believes that private matters are to be kept private, which is seen in his attire as well since there isn't a lot of skin on display. He's not a boastful person, despite being a fire mage. And though he might be a bit too serious for his own good, which is why we get only a few small smiles here and there from him, he cares immensely about other people. He doesn't discriminate, which is why he accepted Asta as his rival from the very beginning.

I just think that there is so much to love in him. If you understand him, then you'd be able to at least appreciate him. (I'm not saying that if you understand him, you'll love him, because everyone has their preferences, and are drawn to different kinds of characters for various reasons, but at least you'll be able to appreciate him. I'm convinced about that.)

Ps. Also... DOASHGDYADSAD "best Fue and BC fans"?! You flatter me anon! 😭🥹❤️‍🔥

#anon flamelets #fuegoleon vermillion #black clover #gdshgdasfd #I'm so flattered!

[madcatdaderpydrawer-blog]

So at what point exactly does Sun realize just how messed up Moon still is from everything that went down while infected? I know it's after he himself has mentally healed, but what exactly was the breaking point? The birthday party? Moon getting shot? Or was it more of a slow realization deal where he just keeps finding out new depths to Moon's attempt at self-punishment? ...And how aware is the DJ about how Moon has been treating himself in the meantime?

The specific day it really hit him was just a few days after the party, though it was definitely more of a gradual thing. He’d been so preoccupied with getting his anxiety under control and his own awful mental health and trauma related to physical injury that while he noticed his brother was acting weird he generally tried to ignore it. He didn’t feel ready to address anything moon related for a long time, as even looking at him made his anxiety spike.

A couple days after the birthday party, which was like around two and half or three months after the infection was over, he was talking to moon while they worked and brought up the birthday. Moon completely broke down and started sobbing, which caught Sun off guard. Given the fact that moon had literally spent his entire birthday ignored, such a pointed action that he was almost certain that it was a purposeful dig against him, sun bringing the party back up just made him feel like he was rubbing salt in the wound- no matter how justified he felt it was given the trouble he’d caused. In between his sobs he told sun that he understand that he hates him and he doesn’t have to rub it in. He apologized again for how badly he hurt sun in the past months and excused himself to the naptime room to compose himself.

It was at this time that Sun finally realized what had happened. He was horrified by his actions. How could he forget to celebrate with his own twin brother?? He didn’t even acknowledge it was his birthday! No one did! No wonder he was so quiet the past days, he spent his whole birthday basically being shunned! He also began to think back at moons other behavior as well and realized that moon was coping far worse then he had noticed and was spiraling hard.

DJ was very worried about moon, as from what the minis had been telling him he didn’t seem like he was handling things well. It was clear he was suppressing a lot of emotions, and he knew that it wasn’t going to end well if he kept it up. That it was only a matter of time before it blew up in his face. He couldn’t be much of a help though. He can’t leave the arcade, and after being uninfected moon stopped visiting the DJ. When infected he would go to the arcade when he was stressed or wanted to do something to appease his boredom, and unfortunately his version of stress relief was wiring himself up to the entrance of the various tunnels and jumping off to see how close to the ground he could fall before catching himself with the wire. The goal being to catch himself as last minute as he possibly could without hitting the ground. Reasoning with him was pointless and DJ worried about prohibiting him from doing such activities in the arcade. While infected moon couldn’t do anything to him physically cause of the size difference, and he wouldn’t dare damage the minis because he respects him, DJ was worried that if he kicked him out of the arcade he’d find other dangerous hobbies to fulfill his craving for pain. He’d rather he do something dangerous where he could be supervised and caught by the DJ if needed.

Despite never directly hurting DJ, moon still avoided him as he felt ashamed of his actions and how much he stressed DJ out with his dangerous behavior. He didn’t feel he deserved to burden the spider anymore then he already had, and there wasn’t much DJ could do about it being stuck in the arcade and unable to check on him himself.

#fnaf moon #moondrop #daycare attendant #fnaf sun #sundrop #sunrise #fnaf security breach au #redemption au #post infection #fnaf djmm #fnaf mini music man

[onwhatcaptain]

Predictions for Star Trek Strange New Worlds S2 E5 "Charades"

Ahead are my predictions for the upcoming Star Trek SNW episode "Charades." Possible spoilers below the line since I am making specific guesses.

We've been told that the episode is a comedy, so I worry a bit. Mainly because when the SNW writers get their hands on a comedy concept, character integrity can go out the window. This is just my current take on SNW, it may change. But the showrunners have said that they want to see more comedy and that the story takes precedence over what's been written before them. When it comes to how they write for Spock, it can be hit or miss. In my opinion, it's usually a miss, because they prefer to focus on Spock's comedic angles and this relegates his actual characterization and identity struggles to an afterthought. And it's not that playing it safe is the answer, either. Last week's E4 played it safe, which I'll get to in another review, and found itself weaker for it for a few reasons, even though I liked it in general.

What makes me have low hopes is that the Star Trek writers implied that a bowl cut is a genetic trait in the trailers so far. I think that saying removing Spock's Vulcan DNA makes him change his hair, or be prone to eating bacon and forgetting how to be a Vulcan is a bit stupid. Yeah, maybe his digestive system normally can't eat bacon so he could now, but his Vulcan behaviors and beliefs are not biological. Vulcans are the way they are because of a set of philosophical choices and cultural norms. The only thing missing should be his telepathy and ability to control emotions/shielding. That's kind of the point of Spock's struggle with his identity. A fanfiction writer would absolutely recognize that, which makes me wonder if the writers don't, or are willing to disrespect the character integrity for comedy, and in my personal opinion, both are bad choices.

Vulcans are vegetarian on principle (they even used to eat meat) and may have consequently evolved to have a digestive system that rejects meat. Many humans are like this, too. My younger sibling is a vegetarian. If they woke up tomorrow as a carnivorous alien, they would still not want to eat bacon, unless their identity was changed too. And then they wouldn't be my younger sibling, they'd simply be a carnivorous alien that looks like my sibling. It stands to reason, therefore, that having your DNA changed wouldn't make you a meat eater.

That's sort of WHY Spock has a dual identity and rejects one constantly—because it's not genetic, there's norms that pressure him. It's what makes scenes like TOS' "The Naked Time" so valuable ("When I feel friendship for you, I'm ashamed.") That's cultural conditioning. It's not genetic. It's so central to Spock as a character that when he dies, he reaffirms he feels friendship, because it's been hard for him to get to that point. To say this is genetic is cheapening it. So I hope they'll address this adequately and not just chalk everything about his identity to his biology, because that's weak character concept. So if you're going to do this, I ask that you give us an actual reason for Spock to eat bacon and say "fuck." Just don't tell us he's like this because they removed his "DNA." Michael Burnham had a whole thing about how she was raised Vulcan as a human, and was alienated by her peers. And Sybok is an emotional Vulcan.

Anyways, what is charades? It's a game where you act out a phrase without speaking. I assume there will be a sort of tongue in cheek attempt at trying to fix Spock (superficially) and make him seem more Vulcan in time, along with them actually putting fake ears on the man. Actually, they'll probably have Chapel give him the temporary genetic change like they did in the very first ever episode of SNW (the one that made him scream in pain- is this why he's screaming in the trailer or is my boy just having a bad time?)

Anyways, if it were like a bit of My Fair Lady (or Pygmalion) that would be kind of fun. Or perhaps a Comedy of Errors type beat. What I hope they do not mean is for Charades to be a meta reference to Star Trek mimicking its own tropes. Eventually it becomes self referential and that can be tired.

We know he's relatively recently engaged to T'Pring, so maybe this is his engagement party or the Vulcan equivalent. Vulcans have a lot of traditions rooted in their past. I expect we'll see a bit of push and pull between Spock's feelings towards T'Pring and Chapel. I expect T'Pring will demonstrate she cares for him and this may somehow draw him away from Chapel, since we know that doesn't last. Amok Time doesn't tell us much about their history, so it would make sense if T'Pring's family is exerting intense Vulcan norms on him, and she defends Spock for who he is. I think we deserve to see that from T'Pring and we deserve that kind of demonstration of Spock's identity struggle.

I kind of get the sense Captain Pike is mostly going to stand around being in hot Captain dad mode because he's wearing the green shirt. Calling it. He seems more like he's actually playing host to the Vulcan get together, even though he's ship Captain. Maybe Pike'll cover for Spock while he is eating bacon and saying fuck.

Spock's mom is going to be hot. This is not a prediction. It's a fact.

I think by the end Spock is going to be comprehending his feelings a bit more and getting clarity because he lacks the ability to simply bury them as a human. And maybe this somehow sets the stage for his emotional maturity and the person he'll become by the time Kirk is Captain.

I really think the Chapel tension resolves here. After all, there are no real stakes. We know the ending. We know there's nothing in the way to threaten that. Star Trek's storytelling is constrained by itself. So the stakes are going to be just the "will they won't they" between Spock and Chapel, which I personally don't like anyway. I would think a reasonable resolution is for Spock to realize that all the deep emotions he's feeling are those of platonic love. It would make sense to say that he didn't really understand the difference between romantic and platonic love because Chapel has very strong feelings and he's never had close friends or romantic love before. His engagement to T'Pring is not born of love. I could see Spock outright saying to Chapel something like "I now know that I care deeply for you. And know I know that I do have a lot of feelings for you: as a friend." It would do them both justice and give Chapel the ability to grow as a character outside of the romance tension.

Ultimately I think Chapel might get sidelined for Spock to get development time with Jim Kirk and Uhura. Ten episodes gives them so little time to show us relationships. And that's not the fault of Chapel's character. I believe she needs more substance still. She's a vast improvement from her 60's counterpart but I think she's still not particularly well written. I assume she pursues her two month archaeological project on Vulcan and gets with her canon partner, Roger Korby. I think she'll take that up by the end of the season and we'll hear more about it by the end of episode 8.

Strange New Worlds often spends more time telling us it is Star Trek than being Star Trek and I think ultimately this episode will be like that. The show falls victim to itself on occasion. I do like SNW and I love Star Trek, but I suppose I'm a bit of a cynic. If they were a bit more brave and a little less reliant on pandering to the mainstream and the endless belief that the modern audience needs love life drama in the form of people who behave just like 21st century people, they'd be better for it.

It would also be quite meaningful if the crew were to decide that they prefer Spock how he really is as a person. Let's see.

As for the literal plot resolution, I'm curious about how this'll happen. The plot concept is kind of weird to begin with. Aliens removed his DNA? Maybe they send Chapel and Ortegas (an experienced pilot and has some tension with her also) to go again and try replicating the conditions under which the change to Spock happened or try to contact the aliens. After all, why did they remove the DNA in the first place? Maybe they just talk to the aliens and they're like, "Oh, my bad, we thought he was upset by being Vulcan. It was causing him pain. We'll put it back." And then they restore him, shields and all, and he's the most Vulcan he's ever been. Maybe they just find a contrived cure. It really could go any way.

Okay, that's all for this week.

#star trek #snw #st: snw #strange new worlds #star trek strange new worlds #erica ortegas #spock #t'pring #amok time #amanda grayson #ethan peck #captain pike #vulcans

[theroundbartable]

Seriously, we could be so much more dramatic about periods.

"It may not be the full moon, but it's definitely time for bloodshed."

"Time to clean the battlefield."

Alternatively: "time for a cleansing ritual"

When someone asks: "you got a stomach ache?"

"yeah, that's my reoccuring internal bleeding acting up."

"It's been a rough couple of days. My insides kept me awake with their agony. The day passed in a blurr, as my body tried desperately to restore it's needed power. The exhaustion kept me bed ridden and restless."

"I need blood!!!!" (Very effective when you got anemia and like..... Take medicine to regulate your iron intake. Very recommendable. I got this vitamin juice. By the brand Amecke. It's just juice, but it's designed to help with anemia. The stuff actually looks like blood. Makes you seem like a Vampire.)

The read more under the cut is more like an explanation of this post, cause I know some people may not understand my intentions.

You may skip this part. But if you want to judge me on this post, please read my statement first:

Why would I turn period problems into a joke?

Actually, that's not what this is.

I'm making the topic publically useable in an environment where you feel like your period is a shameful topic and are too scared to address it directly.

Plus, it's fun and makes you look like a badass.

I got three brothers and the term "disgusting" has been used for periods in this household before, while we were younger.

My mom and I are the only ones with periods in this house, my mom never talked about this and I only learned about what it was, when my neighbour friend got them long before I did. (Late bloomer). So I often felt ashamed to have em. (I mean there is a reason nobody wanted to talk about it, right?) Or proud to have em late. Or scared that maybe the fact that I got em late was a sign for some kind of sickness that i also didn't want to question, because i thought I was being dramatic ( i was).

I wasn't very educated on it, as I wasn't on most things. We first discussed the topic in school, when I was 14. I don't really get why they started discussing it, after 90% had them already. Being prepared feels different.

Anyways, I didn't feel comfortable talking about it.

I was too ashamed to even buy period products in the store and had to ask my mom for them when she drove me to violin practice, cause i didn't want my brothers to hear.

Until one day my siblings and I kind of got on the topic for some reason. they started it I think. More as a roundabout way of mentioning that people had it. (I think it was about girls skipping swim class) And like in the, let's not mention there are people in this room who have them and who we could ask stuff.

And I think we started talking about belly pains. And eventually I said something like:

If you really think about this, periods happen, when one of your inner organs is shedding it's skin, so it could be considered internal bleeding. I'm literally experiencing being skinned from the inside. So it makes sense that it hurts.

For some reason that made the topic more interesting to them. More approachable. And less to be shamed for. And ultimately, more respected.

I'm not saying it's actually as serious as being skinned alive. But I feel like comparisons like these really hammer home how important it is to take periods seriously. To talk about them at all!

You wouldn't go to a soldier with actual internal bleeding and tell em to just "keep it in". You'd tell them to rest, get a friggin doctor if you're not sure how seriously they're hurt.

Maybe this is a bit of a gory way to talk about it. Not everyone is good about talking about stuff like that.

I just want to say, it can make it easier.

As someone who felt ashamed and scared of every natural change their body and mind ever went through, sometimes it's easier to use your preferred language to show how you feel.

Use metaphors you're comfortable with.

For me it's vampire and witch comparisons. It's gory language.

If you don't need this, that's fine. If you think it's too dramatic, also good.

But if you think it's fun and/or helpful, you're welcome :)

#personal #periods #period language #becoming comfortable with yourself #delete later

[demonsfate]

altho the tags are a “noncanon” game, and thus, matters little to the main plot. i still wanted to talk about unknown (jun) having the same mark as jin, albeit on the opposite arm, and what this could’ve meant.

in both games, she has this mark. it can be considered the mark of the devil, however - interestingly noted, kazumi nor kazuya does not have this mark (unless they have it on their buttcheeks and we just can't see) so, why is it that jin was the only one to get "branded"? and then, apparently, jun would've, too, had she been possessed? even tho... what's also interesting, it was never stated in either games that jun was infected by the devil gene. which it could still be argued she isn't, given that has possesses no wings nor horns. it could be that she's just possessed by some other evil spirit that isn't the devil gene - similar to jinpachi. BUT. why would she have jin's exact mark? huh. interesing. let's look into the origins of unknown's character.

originally, unknown was NOT intended to be jun. i believe, iirc, tag was originally supposed to be canon to the series. and when it was during development, unknown was originally going to jun's younger sister. here's some concept arts when she was still jun's younger sister, and not just jun.

note that she's in a school uniform in the second one. and both she still has the mark, although, this time it's on the same arm jin has his. (jin is branded on his left, unknown is marked on her right in game) however, in the second one, she also has it bandaged up. this could be that she's ashamed of it (unlikely has she still has bright golden eyes) or she was newly marked - as in the opening of tekken 3, jin seems to be in pain after being "marked," - so originally, it seemed like getting brand really was similar to a cow being branded.

but even after they changed unknown to be jun, and completely scrapped the idea of jun having a sister. they still kept the mark. actually, why would sis have the same mark, anyway? like this is a very intentional detail they keep. also - she has golden eyes. which whilst, for some fucking reason, devil jin's tend to be pure white in game, he's almost always has golden eyes in the render.

before i start theorizing why only the kazamas tend to get this special marking - i also wanna address the elephant in the room, which was that... weird wolf spirit in the first tag.

the one that always hovers over her, and seems to be actually in control. originally, it appeared this wolf was the reason unknown/jun is "possessed" and "evil." so, what exactly IS it? it's certainly unlike anything the devil gene has ever presented. although, DJ in his first appearance via TK3 was very animalistic imo. like a cornered animal, all he did was attack the ones right on him, then attacked heihachi - but clearly without any actual cruel intentions, as he just flew away when he realized he was safe, and no longer being harmed. (unlike the DJ we see in future games, who takes enjoyment in harming and killing people, and doesn't seem to rely on survival instincts) so i wonder if the kazamas' "devils" were intended to be animalistic to begin with? or am i just rambling nonsense? however, even though the wolf remains in the first tag, he is completely omitted in the second tag, and unknown fights on her own.

but still makes me wonder what precisely the wolf was supposed to be. because i theorized it could be a devil spirit, with the idea that the kazamas' devils were animalistic. buut... that's not exactly how the devil gene works, either. (but - the devil gene is also notorious to go thru several retcons - so this could've been a new idea with it)

anyway, i feel like i may be derailing a bit. back to the original point of the post: why do the kazamas share this marking? even if it's noncanon, what came across the writers' minds to keep giving them the same marking, and why doesn't anyone else possessed by an evil spirit (jinpachi) or infected with a devil (kazuya and kazumi) have it?

harada once confirmed that the reason why devil jin has angel wings instead of regular devil wings (like devil kazuya) is because of the purity of the kazama blood. he's like a "fallen angel" i feel that kazama blood and evil spirits just don't seem to match well. so what if the marking is a direct result of a devil trying to take over a kazama, and the kazama blood trying to reject it? for some reason, it creates this marking as a result. or, because kazamas are hard to take over, what if the devils brand them as a way to mock them? though, i don't see why it'll be the same one every time. so i think it must have something to do with the former, that for some reason, whenever a kazama is possessed - this marking shows up. either as a result of the kazamas rejecting the evilness, or whatever.

i don't really know why it could be. just that it always seems to occur with a kazama. jin, jun, and jun's once planned sister. meanwhile, we don't see it on any other character. i feel this post might've gotten nowhere. but i just wanted to talk about this.

#✏️ - ᴛʜᴇ ʜᴏsᴛ ᴡɪᴛʜ ᴛʜᴇ ᴍᴏsᴛ // (ooc)

[honest2goodness]

Not All Counselors Are Good For You

I’ve been the client to several counselors and the intern to several more. I have sat on the couch, hugged the pillow, and been asked, “How does that make you feel?” I have also been the person to guide the sessions – to listen carefully, dig into someone's psyche, and ask "Where would you like to go from here?” 

More interestingly, I have observed what counselors are like behind the scenes. Spoiler alert, they are human and flawed – works in progress like everyone else… some more so than others. 

The honest to goodness truth: There are many hoops a counselor must jump through to be licensed, but in reality, being healed themselves isn’t one of them. 

One of many reasons people are attracted to the field of counseling is that they once needed it. For a counselor, having life experience – of struggle and pain – is a powerful tool: it provides a deeper level of understanding. However, if a counselor has not healed from their experiences, their ability to facilitate someone else’s healing is weakened. 

When you go to the doctor, you expect them to at the very least not be intoxicated, right? Well, basically, unhealthy counselors are like intoxicated doctors who will vomit as soon as they see your blood. Once, I had a counselor say to me, “Oh, don’t cry, you’re going to make me cry.” 

If a counselor hasn’t looked within themselves – taken stock of their cuts, bruises, scars, and broken bones – they might squirm in their seat when you tell them something you’re ashamed of, argue with you about your beliefs because they feel the need to defend their own, be unable to listen when you are pouring your heart out, and scold you like you’re their child.  

Naturally, counselors have blind spots when assessing their own mental health. It seems there are always new things to learn, grow from, and adapt to; we and our worlds are ever changing. “Healing” never truly ends. Nonetheless, some professionals are more self-aware, honest, and motivated to work on themselves – to pick up a mirror and see what's hidden. While they may be scared of what they'll find, they are strong enough to keep going.

Seeking services from a licensed professional is like choosing to eat something FDA approved: in theory, it assures a certain level of quality; in practice, many without substance – without nutritional value – are licensed. 

If you are a client, or will ever be a client, I want you to know: (1) not all counselors are healthy, (2) not all healthy counselors can offer what you specifically need, (3) there are some counselors that simply aren’t a fit for your personality, meaning it’s okay for you not to like a counselor regardless of their relevant knowledge and expertise, and lastly, (4) it's possible to outgrow your counselor… for a myriad of reasons. 

Like working out at the gym, therapy is difficult, and if you're doing it right, there will be days your mind and heart are sore. Over time, you should see growth in yourself – change in the way you feel, think, and behave. 

If your wounds aren't being addressed, if you feel you haven't been gaining new skills, or if you aren't learning anything, talk to your counselor about it. If they respond negatively, consider trying a different counselor. Ultimately, you are responsible for your mental health, and counseling costs too much money for it not to be helping.

I highly believe in the value of therapy, which is why I've decided to talk about it honestly. If you have any questions about counseling, feel free to contact me! 

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