#its just terrible to see that regardless whether or not he did do it

[starwikia]

suicide cw

look i have been in this area before mentally. it sucks and i wouldn’t wish this on anyone. but, and this is going to sound callous, but i don’t feel any sympathy for james somerton. even if i hope he’s like. not dead. But thats all the amount of goodwill im willing to give him. The more i think about this really, the more angry i am. 

ngl this entire situation is another example of how white people weaponize their mental illness to avoid consequences. Im seeing it in real time.

this man has a continuous habit of using self-harm as a get-out-of-jail-for-free card. in both of his apologies, he has worded his supposed attempts in ways that were clearly meant to guilt people who displayed his plagiarism and overall horrendous history of racism and misogyny. i say supposed because, while i’m not saying those are lies and this would he such a fucked up thing to lie about that i don’t want to think he has, unfortunately, it’s been proven again and again that his word can’t be trusted, as he’s known to lie to try get out of consequences. Hes a proven liar. him lying about this is actually the best case scenario, because no one should go through this entire situation, wouldnt wish this on anyone, but you can only do this so often before people stop sympathizing with you. is this callous? Yeah, but like. I’m actually fucking angry he cant straight up take no as an answer. that this is how he reacts realizing he cant be one of the Cool Kidz™️ on youtube anymore. he acts like he DESERVES a career, like its not a privilege hes lost due to his own actions.

He lied about apologizing and forgiving people, he lied about giving the money to hbomberguy to give to ppl he ripped off (yknow, instead of doing it himself), he lied about the jessie gender situation and rewrote the narrative to make it so he isnt the bad guy, and hes the victim all along actually!

you can’t tell me that supposed last message of his isn’t meant to be a 13 reasons why esq attempt to deflect the blame “look i’m going to kill myself and it’s all YOUR PEOPLES FAULT for not letting me achieve my DREAM of being filmmaker IN PEACE!!! I just wanted Nick’s (the guy who I have thrown under the bus again and again) portfolio up!! Im just being a good friend dont you all FEEL BAD” he refuses to take ANY ACCOUNTABILITY of any of his actions and he IS STILL trying to shove the blame over to other people again.

it’s also pretty ironic people are like “uhhh well hbomber’s fans harassed him!!!” like hbomber outright told people NOT to HARASS JAMES!!! ALSO acting as if james doesn’t have a very real documented history of STRAIGHT UP sending his fans to harass and threaten smaller creators, more notably women, trans, and bipoc creators. especially after he’s stolen typically very personal anecdotes so he could profit from them. so why can he do it but the second people are like “hey this guys an actual piece of shit.” and he can’t handle it suddenly people are trying to white knight his shit? like no he doesn’t get that. he doesn’t get that at all just because he couldn’t handle the consequences of his actions. 

what? were supposed to stay quiet about a man profiting off of other minorities because he wanted to be the spokesman for all gay people? people tried to solve this on a smaller, more private scales for YEARS and he kept doing it. it was clear that the giant public video was the ONLY way to get people to notice. HE WOULDVE GOTTEN AWAY WITH STEALING 87 FUCKING THOUSANDS WORTH OF DOLLARS. HE CANT HANDLE THE FACT HE CANT GET AWAY WITH IT. 

am i supposed to feel bad for the guy who basically threatened a trans woman with the police? i don’t care what anyone says, it’s so fucking obvious that he threatened jessie by implying he was getting the police involved in their conflict. what am i supposed to act like that didn’t happen? are we supposed to pretend like he didn’t glorify nazi’s and outright said that gay people made up a good chunk of the nazis? That he didnt say america joined ww2 bc they were jealous of the NAZIS. WHAT WOULD POSSESS YOU TO FUCKING SAY THAT. but then? He gives women (not even women most of the time, he misgenders nonbinary ppl constantly) shit for writing mlm. are we supposed to act like he doesn’t straight-up sees himself superior and better than people of color and steals their works to put himself on a pedestal? Are we supposed to act like he didnt spit on our elders by saying “only the boring gays survived aids” like man! Fuck you! He BLANTANTLY MAKES UP HISTORY TO PUT HIMSELF ON A PEDESTAL!! HE ACTIVELY TRIED TO REWRITE LGBT HISTORY TO SUIT HIS FUCKED UP NARRATIVES!

yes this sucks ! no one deserves this but no one should be making him a martyr. Thats what he fucking WANTS! He wants to be immortalized as a victim!! (again, supposedly, it was reported hes alive but its not confirmed).

The shit he got isnt near the amount of fucking callous behavior hes done again and again. Again, to drill this point, EVEN IF HE DIDNT CALL THE POLICE HE THREATENED A TRANS WOMAN INTO THINKING HE DID!!! The fact he tried to use a head injury to justify years of the outright ghoulish shit fucking astounds me. Why the fuck did anyone in his life thought it was a good idea to let him TRY to come back. in the end, he had options. he didn’t need to try to make a comeback. HE DIDNT NEED TO FUCKING LIE OR IGNORE THE SHIT HE WAS CALLED OUT ON the reality is, he wanted to come back thinking he could shove it under the rug, was told that no dude, you’re not allowed to be a youtuber anymore. you’re done. you need to move on and went full nuclear. it’s not on anyone’s hands but his own. HES BEEN DOING THIS TO HIMSELF!! But nah man we cant call his shit out bc hell may or may not kill himself. Fuck the other minorities who have the same issues but worse and sometimes BECAUSE of him. This is going to SUCKKKK so bad when other ppl, specifically white gays, are going to weaponize this shit to get away with their stuff.

#warning: do not read this post if you want me to be nice to james somerton. i am extremely mean in this post. #before anyone accuses me of shit i legit never contacted him myself or anyone involved. i am someone who witnessed this behavior repeatedly #again. i hope hes alive and well. the fact is him lying about this WOULD BE THE IDEAL SITUATION. BC NO ONE SHOULD GO THROUGH THAT. but. #he HAS to forever be the victim in his eyes. attempting doesnt automatically mean youre free of sin. #its just terrible to see that regardless whether or not he did do it #its very clear his attempts to run away from his consequences are working on some people #we need to acknowledge that if your shitty ex friend can weaponize a threat to kill themselves #so can this internet person after being called out for horrendous shit #like what was the alterative? what were people supposed to fucking do? be nice about it? #yeah as if poc and trans women arent historically given shit for being 'too mean' about wanting justice. #this isnt just the plagiarism this is the fact a white dude has been parading himself as THE speaker for the gays(tm) but has been using hi #gayness to shield himself from his misogyny racism transphobia and antisemitism #its very clear regardless this means that ppl r going to side with him and then give him benefit of doubt #if you cant handle the heat stay out of the fucking kitchen dude. this is the consequences of your fucking actions. #hes a disgusting person who cant handle being told no so hes going to drag everyone down with him #like. idk this entire situation is frustrating to me. #its also frustrating ppl trying to be moral abt it like 'see! i knew this was bad all along!' no you didnt. shut it. #for the record im like mainly talking abt twit watching those spineless uwu cutesy ppl basically saying hes done noting wrong #oh and also alt righters who are clearly weaponinizing this where u know they wouldnt give a shit if a right ytber did this. #james somerton #idk might delete this later its just. ugh...

[k8lynjoy]

I'm so tired of people telling those of us who are upset about the LA atla remake that we are "being too dramatic" or are just "finding things to be upset about". We are allowed to be upset that something that we love so dearly has been butchered, AGAIN. If you liked it, then that's your personal opinion, but don't sit here and tell those of us who didn't that we're the problem.

I personally think the CGI, costumes, and sets all look terrible. None of it is immersive. Sure, it LOOKS like atla, but it doesn't FEEL like atla. The heart of the og is gone, and people are allowed to be upset about this. They've altered characters to the point that they aren't the character anymore (looking at you Aang and Katara), which is a huge upset for me personally because Katara is one of my favorite characters ever. So watching her be turned into someone meek and docile is more than a slap to the face. Not to mention them removing her as the narrator as if Bryke themselves didn't state that Katara is the person the story is being told through. And before you start telling me that Aang is the same. No, he isn't. Major parts of his development through season 1 (him coming to terms with the fact that he's the avatar and embracing that role, and him also accepting the fact that he RAN AWAY and how he is never going to do that again, which is also pivotal to his character later on) are completely removed. And don't even get me started on what they did to Kataang. Regardless of whether you ship them or not, those 2 are deeply connected to one another from the start, and their relationship is a big part of the show, so to see that butchered is heartbreaking for me.

This isn't just about them "making some changes" or it not being a 1:1 adaptation. I'm fine with adaptations that aren't 1:1. What I'm upset about is that the changes they are making are VITAL changes to characters and dynamics between characters. They're rushing through the plot and condensing the story (and I will scream if I hear one more person say that it's because they couldn't fit it all in with their runtime. The runtime is an HOUR LONGER than the og, so yes, they did have the time). The changes they are making make it evident that they do not understand the og show, and if you don't feel like that, fine, once again, that's YOUR opinion, just as this is MY opinion. So stop telling us we have no right to be upset and that we just want to hate everything. That's not true. What is true is that we are expressing valid complaints about another bad adaptation of something dear to us.

Edit: If you also come at people who are upset bc they were expecting a faithful adaptation and didn't get it bc "its not supposed to be the cartoon," you're missing the whole point. An adaptation is ADAPTING SOMETHING from one medium to the other, not rewriting it. "Yall expected it to be just like the cartoon." No, I expected a FAITHFUL ADAPTATION and was met with poorly written fanfiction.

#atla #avatar the last airbender #natla #netflix avatar #katara #aang #kataang #never made a post before but it had to be said bc it was starting to make me mad #atla is my favorite show of all time #stop trying to dictate how i feel about the remake #there is no live action in ba sing se #anti natla #anti LA atla

[dani474]

Tell us your theory on why he says that PLEASE. I don’t think it’s true they have to fix things 😭

So, this post points out a huge flaw in Wei Wuxian's response and its discrepancy to what we know of their relationship in canon. The Golden Core transfer is one of MANY things they need to discuss to get past their estranged, brittle, slightly obsessive relationship.

When we take a close look at why Jiang Cheng is so angry and so hurt here, it's not just about his family or any debt Wei Wuxian might have had to his parents. Ultimately, it's about Wei Wuxian's promise to remain by Jiang Cheng's side. He lost his parents and their entire sect, then he lost his own core trying to protect Wei Wuxian (who doesn't know!) then his "martial brother/brother/best friend/whatever" not only goes missing for three months but returns with new powers and new issues he won't share with anyone. Not even Yanli.

Jiang Cheng wanted to protect Wei Wuxian but was unable to due to larger political circumstances and the fact that he didn't know about the transfer. He didn't know why Wei Wuxian was using demonic cultivation! He warns Wei Wuxian again and again that there are larger risks of his cultivation, and he turned out to be right. Trouble found Wei Wuxian even when he ran off and hid peacefully! And he never knew why.

To Jiang Cheng, Wei Wuxian asking to leave the sect -- regardless of whether or not it was to protect them from further scrutiny by the other sects -- is him asking to leave Jiang Cheng's side. To break their promise without any explanation. He already lost so much and all he can see here is losing another person he loves.

I want to drive that point in, really.

Any insecurity Jiang Cheng feels over Wei Wuxian's capabilities is often outweighed by his sense of responsibility towards rebuilding his sect and attempting to protect what remains of the family he had before the attack on Lotus Pier.

He didn't want to tell Wei Wuxian about why he lost his golden core for the same exact reason that Wei Wuxian kept the surgery a secret. They didn't want to hurt each other with the knowledge of such a great sacrifice. A sacrifice no one would have ever asked of either of them, no matter what was "owed." The Transfer was experimental and pretty much something no cultivator would even attempt. That's what made this choice so risky and so hard to account for.

Neither had any real way to weight the risks and consequences of this situation, and by never talking about it even during a tearful argument, we got canon events. (I've seen people talk about how Wei Wuxian's circumstances meant he had very little else to choose but survival, but this is true for Jiang Cheng too.)

And really. They both tried so hard to survive. And yet, when faced with terrible choices, they chose to protect each other. Putting their cultivation on the line to save each other's lives is not something anyone would normally do. Duty could have been a factor, but in my opinion, it wouldn't have taken Wei Wuxian that far. It wasn't even a factor in Jiang Cheng's.

And I think this is why people feel so put off by Wei Wuxian claiming it was done out of duty to the Yunmeng Jiang family. But it doesn't start with him. Their entire confrontation starts out with Jiang Cheng questioning what the sect meant to Wei Wuxian, if everything they gave him (everything they were to him) was worth nothing. This is almost entirely a projection of what Jiang Cheng asks when he cries. What he really feels is hidden in questions about martial duty.

"Why did you not tell me?"

For all his words, it was less about their sect and so much more about Jiang Cheng feeling like he was worth nothing to Wei Wuxian.

We know this. But Wei Wuxian doesn't.

I didn't notice it immediately, but Wei Wuxian's whole thing is deflection. It's about telling small truths and laughing things off or forcing himself to forget entirely. By the end of their confrontation, he does it again by asking Jiang Cheng to let it stay in the past, now that it's out there, but this does nothing to reduce the tension. It just deflects it again.

I think Wei Wuxian's response to Jiang Cheng's questions was to focus on what he thought was most important. Duty, debt to the Yunmeng Jiang. It was a deflection from what was really wrong. He didn't want to address his own complicated feeling, much less try to untangle whether Jiang Cheng hates him or loves him, so he doesn't.

Whatever broke between them wasn't about duty of any kind. It was about sacrifice, and the pain of carrying its burden alone. It was about loving someone enough to do something so drastic and never being able to say it.

Jiang Cheng hearing that the transfer was out of duty hurts him deeply, because he doesn't know that Wei Wuxian loves him. But Wei Wuxian doesn't know that's what Jiang Cheng is looking for. He hears the first part of their confrontation and responds to that.

Not, "Why did you never tell me?" But 'Did the Yunmeng Jiang mean nothing to you?'

Those are two different questions.

Wei Wuxian is trying to tell Jiang Cheng that it did mean something. That Lotus Pier's destruction, the Jiang parents and Yanli's deaths mattered to him. He's trying to release Jiang Cheng's burden without realizing that, by saying it had nothing to do with him, he's saying that Jiang Cheng didn't matter enough.

This is not how Wei Wuxian feels, we know this. But, again, Jiang Cheng doesn't.

They're talking right past each other, and because of all their other issues, they not only don't realize it, but might never be able to truly address it. They're so used to keeping their feelings hidden from each other that they can't even see how much they, as individuals, matter to each other.

TL;DR.

Both of them love each other and couldn't say it because of their complicated. Well, everything. Instead, their misconceptions cause them both to focus on the wrong things at the wrong time. By asking about what the Yunmeng Jiang meant to Wei Wuxian, it hides what Jiang Cheng really wants to know: if it was done out of love and protectiveness as his sacrifice had been. By focusing on this deflection, Wei Wuxian hides his own feelings by placing duty to the Jiang sect in highest importance. He gives the answer that he thinks Jiang Cheng wants to hear.

So, no, I don't think Wei Wuxian wasn't telling the truth (or at least not the full truth) either.

In the end, this is not what either of them actually wanted from the confrontation and does very little to address their actual emotional issues. All it really does is open the door for something to change in the future.

#asks #mdzs #wei wuixan #jiang cheng #golden core reveal #meta #my post #mine.txt

[qqueenofhades]

The thing that confuses me about the "don't vote" left (not the "I don't want to vote", I'm talking explicitly the "don't vote" left. I don't agree with the "I don't want to vote" left either but I can understand their logic) is they lose me at the final step of the logic. I've tried to connect the logic here, even if I don't agree with a political position I do try to understand where people are coming from (empathy for someones situation is not the same as cosigning it), but I just can't connect the dots here in a way that isn't deeply cruel. Does United States politics prioritize the lives of those in the US (and often white) over those in the Global South? Yes, it's a fucking atrocity. We should continue to make noise about it, cus Biden has used less drones and that shows progress, even if it's not enough. The part where I lose the plot is where the conclusion to this injustice is to let even more people die? Cus that's kinda how I see the idea of not voting: I can pick between shit and more shit, and at the end of the day, I'm picking whoever allows the most people to make it to the next day. Given Trumps stance on everything but specifically climate change, I feel like Biden is pretty significant harm reduction.

I don't think both things can't be true: that every life lost is a travesty we should not forget AND the more people we can save is worth fighting for.

The thing is, I have seen nothing among the "don't vote" far left (and I am talking here specifically about the people who both loudly announce their intention not to vote and try to convince others to do the same) to convince me that they actually care about harm reduction or stopping genocide. They only care about what makes them look the most Correct and/or superior to the Democrats. They yelled bloody murder about Obama using drones, they went dead quiet about Trump using them even more (even when he nearly started WWIII by assassinating the Iranian general Soleimani with one), and then said nothing at all when Biden reduced the drone program to almost nothing and withdrew the US from a failed war in Afghanistan it had long ago lost. Now they will yell all day about Israel/Hamas (something that Biden did not start and has had no direct military role in responding to) but they don't care about Russian genocide of Ukraine and Syria, Chinese threats to invade Taiwan, etc, because those governments are "anti-western/anti-American" and therefore should be defended. Their opposition to human suffering is extremely conditional and rests on whether they can look good out of it, and they never interrogate the hypocrisies of their own ideology.

Likewise: every country in the world prizes its own citizens above those of other countries. It's just a basic fact. Yes, the US has a grim history of intervening in other countries and causing untold civilian damage (especially during the Cold War and then in post-9/11 War on Terrorism). Yes, that legacy is complex and needs to be acknowledged. But literally none of that will be fixed, not to mention all the vulnerable people in America itself who will be punished, by Trump getting into power again. Biden is not just a grudging "lesser evil," but has done a lot of truly good and helpful things, regardless of the Online Leftists' constant lies, misinformation, and misrepresentation. If you spend all your time announcing what a champion you are for non-American marginalised people and/or those undergoing terrible suffering, and then deliberately and knowingly adhere to a course of action that will increase that suffering tenfold not only for those people but your own neighbors, friends, and family, then no, I don't believe you are a brave champion of social justice. You just want to know what categories of people you can gleefully and righteously punish and make to suffer for not believing the same things as you, that makes you just as dangerous as the right-wing fascists, and I can and will call out your ass accordingly.

#anonymous #ask #politics for ts

[meadowscarlet]

cinnamon girl ━━━ kaz brekker.

pairings: kaz brekker x fem!reader.

summary: everyone had their own dark history that formed them into a foreboding person, and kaz was no exception; he had his fair share of demons, but he was itching to discover about yours and why you loathe the feeling of touch as much as he did but seek solace from him.

warnings: mentions of abuse and brief spoilers of kaz's backstory.

author’s note: i know i said i won't repost my old fics but i'm currently in a writing block and can't post anything so have this plus i missed kaz. do not copy, post on another site, translate or claim any of my works as your own or you will be reported! nav.

Ketterdam is not a pleasant and welcoming city. In the filthy, morally repugnant, and dangerous place, battered and wounded individuals on the verge of death, criminals, thieves, and sinners were discovered. The city had corrupted the people with its savagery, where compassion and benevolence are seen as vulnerabilities, and it was irredeemable, tainting the citizens with the city's unrighteousness.

The Crows were no exception. They were also impacted by the darkness that Ketterdam had plagued them with; regardless of how young they were, whether a girl or a boy, they would be painted with the city's malice. Everyone had their own demons, something dreadful had occurred to them—it didn't matter what it was, for the demons and the city had shaped them into a person with a dark heart and a desire for cruelty.

Kaz had personal knowledge with this. He had been altered, like so many others, by the vile city's relentless brutality. With his sinister demeanor, or his lethal cane, where he might break a leg, or change a man's fortune, he was known as Dirtyhands. People feared him, and some had always wondered what had happened to Kaz Brekker to make him so merciless.

Of course, everything remained a mystery since no one dared to cross Kaz, including the Crows who were usually with him. They didn't want to meet death by Brekker's gloved hands just yet, even though they were plainly intrigued about the cunning yet deadly thief. The tragedy that transformed Kaz into the person he is today remained hidden, and others speculated that the city had done nothing to him and that he was born wicked.

They were not corrected by Kaz.

Matthias refers to him as demjin, which means demon in Fjerdan. It didn't bother Kaz; they could call him whatever they wanted; at the very least, they'd know he wasn't someone to tamper with. After all, he had a reputation to uphold, and if people feared him, then so be it. Kaz enjoyed the feeling of authority and domination among fools, and he relished seeing people's terror whenever he was near.

He was certain that he was born with a terribly malevolent nature. That perhaps the shadows had been there all along, seething inside only to become stronger when the feeling of vengeance overwhelmed him after a life full of treachery and violence, after Jordie's death and everything else that had made Kaz miserable before. He had his own darkness, but it was at odds with yours.

How did you wind up with him and the Crows in Ketterdam?

Kaz remembered the day he first met you as if it had been scorched into his mind. Your hair was escaping out of its hair tie, framing your face in a frenetic and wild yet compelling way. You appeared to be running, your movements swift and efficient; you seemed to be young, similar to Kaz's age, yet there was still a youthful simplicity in you, one that he had lost a long time ago, buried in the waters and deepest depths of it.

He might have gone about his business; after all, the last thing on his mind was a girl, agitated and wounded amidst the city of Ketterdam's well-known lack of morality. To Kaz, it's a common sight, one that would even amuse him, but when he first saw you, there was something unusual about you. He didn't feel sorry for you but you seemed to be a fresh face, and Kaz Brekker must know everyone in the city. He needed to keep a watchful eye on everyone, especially any potential enemies.

On a dreary night in Ketterdam, where Kaz could hear the same rattling noises and smell the foul stench of blood and sins outside, he focused instead on the kruge on his table. He was counting everything carefully and silently, and when he heard the familiar faint footsteps, he didn't stop. Kaz didn't look up at the person, instead continuing to stare at the kruge as if it were about to vanish from his grasp.

After a brief pause, he finally looked up.

He wasn't surprised to see her. “Hello, Inej.”

Inej approached Kaz, who was standing behind the table, and gave him a distinctive nod as he looked down and arranged the kruge on the table. Her movements were light and stealthy, like the Wraith she was and Kaz suspected she had something to tell him. Inej only came to his office when she had something important to tell Kaz.

“I’m hoping you're not here to waste my time,” Kaz remarked, his voice flat and uninterested as usual. “Any valuable information?”

“It's about the girl,” Inej started.

Kaz made a gesture of paying attention to her, but he was still gazing down at his money. “Girl?”

He could hear Inej's footsteps getting closer until she was directly across from him. “The one you said I should look into to find out who she is.”

For the first time since Inej went to his office, Kaz looked up with a gleam of pure interest in his dark eyes. “I'm listening.”

“She's a fresh face in the city—I once followed her on her way and discovered she lived near an elderly couple's bakery. She is new here in Ketterdam, and I hadn't heard about her until you told me to keep an eye on her,” Inej stated passively. “But, she is skillful. She was in a frenzy as she realized I was following her, so she became alarmed and attacked me.”

Kaz became increasingly intrigued. “Tell me you didn't kill her.”

Inej's dark eyes were frowning, but behind her mask and the darkness, Kaz couldn't see her entire face. “I didn't and I wouldn't,” she said bluntly, as if the answer was self-evident. “She's brilliant, and despite being new to Ketterdam, she's already proven her potential.”

“What is her name?”

“Y/N L/N.” Inej replied. “Why the sudden interest in her?”

“Always be cautious of new people; they are unaccustomed with the ambience of Ketterdam, and it is wiser to get to know them before they identify themselves,” Kaz counseled. “She may be destructive, but based on what you said, she's entirely harmless.”

Inej shook her head, disbelieving. “Did the word ‘skillful’ escape your notice?”

Kaz wore a vacant smile. “I heard you just fine.”

“Kaz,” she said, her voice warning. “What are your intentions with her?”

“I won't kill her, if that's what you're wondering.”

Inej's eyes glowed with understanding, and Kaz battled the impulse to roll his eyes; why did it take her so long to realize?

Inej remarked, “You're recruiting her in the Dregs.”

Kaz only wore a pleased expression.

You had adjusted well once you were recruited in the Dregs. Kaz remembered how, to his astonishment, a gun greeted his temple when he walked inside a small, cluttered space that he knows you call home. He followed Inej's directions, and your small abode was definitely close to the bakery run by an elderly couple. He could still remember the smell of the lingering pastries even in the middle of a wretched place you called home.

Kaz could see the survival instinct you implemented in your small home where there was collected foods, knives placed on the couch, and a blanket applied as a cover for the windows, and he observed his fascination with your cautiousness. You only let go of the gun after he assured you that he meant no harm and that he had a proposition for you.

That's how it all began. When Inej indicated you were competent, she was right. With the jobs Kaz had given you, you were swift and clever, as well as flawless. Perhaps your accomplishments were a way of repaying Kaz for providing you with a secure place to sleep and have a modest shelter. Not only that, but you'd formed close friendships with the Barrel's employees, particularly the Crows.

You were particularly fond of Inej. The one-time attack and brief fight against one another became a laughing memory as you both reminisced about it whenever you had the opportunity. There was no scorching animosity between you two, and you became inseparable as the days passed. Kaz remembered you blabbering your apologies to Inej after stabbing her in the leg when you realized she was following you. Inej could only chuckle heartily.

Matthias seemed to like you, much to Kaz's great shock, and he could see how you both chatted and spoke about things after each heist. Nina had mentioned that it was mundane at job when it was just her and Inej as the girls, and you were a wonderful addition. She had been pushing Kaz to make you a Crow for a while, but Kaz thought you weren't ready. You were only needed on occasion, not every time they pulled off a job.

You bonded well with Wylan as well, but Kaz sensed your apprehension towards Jesper. Kaz was initially perplexed; Jesper was a naturally cheerful person, and everyone seemed to enjoy his company. Not that you dreaded it, rather Kaz could always recall your laughter whenever Jesper cracked a joke—a laugh he grew terribly fond of.

Jesper, on the other hand, is far too friendly, and Kaz would be lying if he said he didn't notice the dread expression on your face whenever someone came close to you or when Jesper put his elbow on your shoulder.

Kaz began to observe you more intently after seeing that, as if he hadn't already. He believed he had made the right decision in recruiting you. You were special, enthusiastic, and the light of the Barrel. Kaz didn't think you'd fit in well with the city's grim environment at first, and he didn't want you to get further corrupted by the violence.

But Kaz had entirely overlooked and dismissed what had transpired to you and how you had landed up in Ketterdam.

Every day, Kaz's inexplicable fondness for you grew stronger. You and Kaz have a contentious relationship; unlike the rest of the Crows, you didn't necessarily converse and blabber to him, nor did you laugh and tease with him like you did with Inej and Jesper, but there was a wordless distinctive connection between you and Kaz.

Your patience and presence were the attributes he admired the most in you. Kaz wasn't easy to talk to or even tolerate—he's closed off and harsh—but whatever nonsense Saints Inej believed in seemed to bring you to Ketterdam to soften his roughness. In his world of darkness, Kaz didn't believe in miracles or light, but you were there, proving that there is still some good in the world.

Kaz had intended to fire you at that time.

He had questioned Inej about your misfortune and how you ended up in Ketterdam. Inej only shook her head and mumbled something about your past being none of her business. You were shut off as well, but unlike Kaz, you shine with gentleness and radiance, masking whatever darkness you may have. Matthias would grumble under his breath whenever you greeted Kaz in the morning with a big smile.

Matthias had once growled, “The demjin doesn't deserve such pleasant smiles.”

You only shook your head, as delicate and gentle as you were. “Even if it's seldom or undeserved, everyone deserves a little bit of decency.”

That's when Kaz realized you were mistaken. He didn't deserve such remedy from you—you and him had a routine where you'd read a book in his office or simply admire the moon and stars at night, the moonlight shining in your face and making you look stunning. There was no talking, just stillness. Kaz was always busy making plans and would occasionally glance at you.

Your very presence made him feel calmer, and whenever you came to visit his office, which had previously been dark, was replaced with a strange sense of peace. Kaz was hesitant to make you a Crow for a reason, selfish if it was. He didn't want to expose you completely to his enemies, risking you being wounded or worse, killed. He knows you're talented and all, but he let his vanity get the best of him, and to his horror, his worry.

He valued your tranquility, but he also sought your voice—he wanted you to talk excitedly about anything, and if your silence had soothed him, what more could your voice possibly have done? But maybe it was all one-sided, and you're only there with Kaz because you owe him courtesy, and maybe you've never liked him, and you're just doing this benevolence to him to act with integrity.

Kaz wouldn't blame you.

Kaz despised weakness, and he knew he couldn't just have you rot in the streets, no matter how he felt—and he questioned why he was feeling anything at all. He was ruthless, but he didn't want to hurt someone who had been nothing but pleasant and selfless. He didn't want to take away your friendship or the comfort you found in the Barrel.

He did not want you to go.

Kaz was disturbed by the thought.

Everyone was fast asleep, exhausted from the job they had just completed, so they chatted and ate waffles—Nina's suggestion—to calm their anxieties before retiring to their various rooms. Only the Crows were required for the job, and Kaz had assumed you were probably sleeping in your room as he lingered at the table with Jesper, who was elated from the successful completion of the job.

To Kaz's relief, Jesper yawned and stood up, but before walking away, he stopped and beamed even brighter and exclaimed, “Y/N!”

Kaz took a look around and spotted you. You approached them with a relieved expression on your face, a book in your hand, and no indication of drowsiness on your face. You gave a small smile as you met Kaz's gaze, which had not left yours, and then turned to face Jesper.

Jesper shifted his gaze between you and Kaz, then back to you, and Kaz swore he glimpsed a smirk on the Zemeni's face. “I'll talk to you tomorrow, gorgeous,” he says, “I’m exhausted, goodnight.”

Kaz watched Jesper approaching you and saw him about to hug you before deciding against it and giving you a wink before passing you by. It made Kaz frown.

“Aren't you tired?” you began as you sat across from him, helping yourself to the last waffles.

Kaz noticed this was the start of a conversation—he expected you to be silent as you eat and enjoy each other's company, but you spoke to him, and to his chagrin, a tightrope in his stomach loosened and made him feel relaxed.

“Why aren't you asleep yet?”

Your eyes squinted when the topic shifted, but you shrugged it off. “I wasn't tired.”

“That makes it the both of us.”

Kaz sat back and enjoyed your chuckle. The sounds it made were like a stack of kruge tumbling from his table. He was trying to memorize the cadence of your laugh. He shook his head, hating the thoughts that overwhelm him, but he couldn't help himself—it was only you and him, in the middle of the night, and there was no silence.

“No one got hurt?” you muttered as you bit into your waffle.

“We're fine,” Kaz said, pleased as he saw your eyes brighten. “The job was successful.”

Kaz has a keen ability to read people and can tell you were worried, which could explain why you weren't asleep. You had been waiting for their arrival. Or maybe it was just the other Crows and not him and Kaz didn't realize he was staring until you said spoke.

“I know questions are etched on your face,” you said. implying that he wasn't the only one who can easily read people. “What is it, Kaz?”

He was taking a risk, but he couldn't help but ask the question that had been nagging him since the first time he saw you. “How did you end up in Ketterdam?”

You remained silent for a moment, staring down at your waffle, before speaking softly enough for Kaz to mistake it for a faint hum. “I… wanted a way out.”

He almost laughed. “What could be worse than Ketterdam?”

You raised your eyes to Kaz, your expression solemn, the brightness that had warmed him faded. “Believe it or not, Ketterdam has seemed like home to me. It's the closest thing I've ever felt to refuge here, despite the fact that it's brutal. It was the first time I felt secure.”

The first time? Kaz thought.

“The people, too,” you continued, “Inej, Nina, Jesper, Matthias, Wylan. And… you Kaz.”

“What happened to you, Y/N?” Kaz struggled to hide his uneasiness in his tone. “Has anyone ever treated you with such safety and tranquility?”

“No,” you said softly and unsteadily. “You were the first who ever did.”

Kaz noticed tears threatening to spill from your eyes and decided he couldn't bear you being so vulnerable—it wasn't like you. “Talk to me, L/N.”

“When my mother left when I was six, my father became sorrowful, unhappy, and enraged, and he let all of his aggression out on me,” you explained, your voice strained. “He does things to me that no parent should ever do to their child.”

Kaz was filled with a searing and inexplicable rage. But he kept his cool by clutching his cane tightly in his hands, as if striving to maintain composure. He listened intently as you spoke, satisfied that you had put your trust in him to speak about something that had been a lingering memory. He observed you playing with your hands at the table, the waffle long forgotten.

His voice was like a promise of violence. “Why?”

You shrugged, a small, pained smile on your face. “People end up doing things they don't want to do, but sometimes they can't do anything to stop it. My father had no one else to release his frustrations on, so he did it to me, and after that, he'd apologize and hug me while crying.”

Kaz felt compelled to say something to you since you had put your trust in him, and it was only fair that he reciprocated it. “I had never been treated with kindness and tenderness by anyone. You were also the first one who did.”

“I owe you, Kaz.”

“You owe me nothing,” Kaz immediately responded.

“You saved my life,” you said.

Kaz locked his gaze on you, seeking to grasp the details of whatever it was he was enamored of. “I'd do it all over again. I can't guarantee you peace or liberty, but you will never be treated the way your father treated you. I won't let it happen.”

It was then that you both realized that when the day ended and night came, you would seek one other's solace. Two souls that had their own painful memories and had never known serenity before connected and shared it.

#♡ — ani’s works. #kaz brekker x reader #kaz brekker x fem!reader #kaz brekker x you #kaz brekker x y/n #kaz brekker imagine #kaz brekker #kaz brekker fic #six of crows x reader #six of crows x you #six of crows imagine #six of crows #crooked kingdom #grishaverse #nina zenik #inej ghafa #jesper fahey #wylan van eck #matthias helvar #six of crows fic #six of crows fandom

[bright-side20]

Elriel 🌸🗡️

"The argument that Rhys knows Az better, that's why he was right to tell him to stay away from Elain."

First, I do think that Rhys knows it's not just lust, and his reaction was purely political. However, the way he attacked Az emotionally shows that he doesn't really know him the way he thinks he does. Here is the most obvious example throughout the series :

_In silver flames, Nesta noticed Az's behavior after he tortured people to get information :

Azriel went on, “In the week I’ve been watching her, I … learned what her next steps are.” The way he hesitated before he said learned said enough: he’d tortured it out of someone. Many people. Nesta glanced at his scarred hands, and Azriel tucked them behind his back, as if he noted her attention.

_Then we learned that Az thinks of himself as a sort of monster because of what he does in his job :

"She looked up at him, her face so trusting and hopeful and open that he knew she had no idea that he had done unspeakable things that sullied his hands far beyond their scars."

"Such terrible things that it was a sacrilege for his fingers to skin, tainting her with his presence."

_Back in ACOMAF when they captured the Attor and Az had to torture him :

“Break its legs, shred its wings, and dump it of the coast of Hybern. See if it survives.” The Attor began thrashing, begging".... " "The Attor was already screaming beneath Truth-Teller’s honed edge when I left the cell."

_After a while, Feyre asked Rhys about what Az thinks about his job torturing, and that's what Rhys answered :

“Does he mind what he does? Not the spying, I mean. What he did to the Attor today.”

Rhys loosed a breath. “It’s hard to tell with him—and he’d never tell me. I’ve witnessed Cassian rip apart opponents and then puke his guts up once the carnage stopped, sometimes even mourn them. But Azriel … Cassian tries, I try—but I think the only person who ever gets him to admit to any sort of feeling is Mor. And that’s only when she’s pestered him to the point where even his infinite patience has run out.”

Rhysand doesn't even know what Azriel thinks of himself doing that job. In fact, every time Feyre asked Rhys something about Az, he would respond with 'Well, Az doesn't speak that much.' Yet, when Az tried to express his feelings to him, Rhys emotionally attacked him to silence him, told him to go to the pleasure house, and questioned whether he thinks he deserves to be Elain's mate. Meanwhile, Azriel is already dealing with self loathing. Regardless of the political pressure, the way Rhys handled the situation was clearly WRONG towards both Az and Elain no matter how the antis try to makes it fit into their narratives.

_I want to mention the building up of Elriel:

Despite Azriel suffering from self hatred connected to his hand, he consistently offered it to Elain, and she always accepted:

Azriel, graceful as any courtier, offered her an arm. I couldn’t tell if she was looking at his blue Siphon or at his scarred skin beneath as she breathed, “Beautiful.”

“I can help her,” said Azriel, stepping to the table as Elain silently rose. No shadows at his ear, no darkness ringing his fingers as he extended a hand'... 'Elain took his hand, and out they went.

"Azriel, gently taking Elain’s hand in his own, as if afraid his scars would hurt her."

"The occasional brush of their finger."

_The way Elain wants him to touch her that she asked him "put it on me?", the way she "shivered" at his touch, the way "she pivoted into his touch", the way she "drifted so close one deep breath would brush her breasts against his chest".

But he called it a mistake 🗣️

Yeah, that's exactly what they do in the forbidden love trope. A rose by any other name would smell as sweet.

#pro elain #elriel #pro elriel #elain archeron #azriel acotar #sarahjmaas #acotar thoughts #elriel supremacy #sjm #azriel shadowsinger #elain x azriel

[slurpi13]

Demon Delivery

Summary: There wasn’t much Aziraphale wouldn’t put up with for a truly superb meal. But while dining out both luxuriously and otherwise was certainly typical, occasionally the angel desired a private night in.

Crowley had been the first to tempt his angel to the earthly pleasure of a good meal, and it was only right to see him through. Regardless of the meal being a takeaway, Aziraphale deserved no less than perfection, and that’s what he would have.

(OR: Crowley is one hell of a food delivery demon. Aziraphale rewards him thoroughly for his efforts.)

AO3

Explicit - 4127 words

The angel loved to dine in all forms, whether it be an unhurried evening of the finest wine and multi-course dining or a plate of greasy fish and chips.

By all means, Aziraphale preferred the luxurious experience of dining with Crowley at the Ritz—the hum of mild chatter, the soft piano melodies, and the posh excellence as he delighted in his dainty bites of decadence under the demon’s attentive observation. He did always appreciate the finer things, standards and all.

Nevertheless, the pair just as commonly frequented Aziraphale’s favorite chippy despite its typically boisterous crowd and modern decor, the angel mentioning the latter as if they were dirty words. The seating was lackluster, sleek stools and stiff booths, not accommodating to long, lavish dining events. The small shop was narrow and noisy, locals and tourists alike crowding around for their turn. A stray, accidental elbowing from said overexcited patrons wasn’t unusual, inciting warning hisses from the demon when Aziraphale was the recipient of such. Despite the atmospheric shortcomings, it was the best in London, according to the angel.

There wasn’t much Aziraphale wouldn’t put up with for a truly superb meal. But while dining out both luxuriously and otherwise was certainly typical, occasionally the angel desired a private night in.

Often, it was on a Tuesday—first of the month.

Crowley lounged upon his grand throne, one leg dangling over the armrest and chin balanced precariously against his palm. The screen of his phone glared back at him as the digital clock ticked over to five on the dot. Ever punctual, his phone began to vibrate with an incoming call. Straightening up in his seat, Crowley smirked, trying his best to keep it out of his voice as he held for an additional buzz before answering.

“Hello, angel.”

“Crowley,” Aziraphale began, delight in his tone as if it were half a surprise to find him on the other end, as if he didn’t know Crowley’s number by heart, as if he hadn’t just dialed it purposefully on the antique phone he kept in his shop. “Are you busy? I was wondering if you might like to come over.”

“Sure. M’not doing anything. Hungry?” He should have waited for Aziraphale to suggest or at least allude to it, but he couldn’t help himself, his own appetite already getting the best of him. Crowley had no doubt the angel noted it, despite no indication.

“Well, now that you mention it, I suppose I am feeling a bit peckish. Would you mind terribly picking up something on your way? Dreadful weather.”

The weather was dreadful, a steady pitter of cold rain dribbling down the window of Crowley’s flat. While Aziraphale did appreciate a sunny day, if rain and a chill stopped the angel from venturing out into the streets, he’d rarely leave the bookshop. Regardless of what excuse the angel may have, Crowley knew that it simply just so happened to be raining on this Tuesday, the first one of the month, when the pâtisserie Aziraphale favored rotated their offerings.

“What do you fancy?”

Aziraphale hummed, making a show of debating over what exactly he had a craving for, as though it hadn’t been on his mind before he’d called, if not all day. It was a formality, as was his polite insistence that Crowley choose something else if he’d rather when he finally settled on his request—three courses of Italian from a restaurant that would balk at the idea of a takeaway.

The angel was letting him off easy tonight.

Nothing crisp that needed to stay that way in a steamy container on a damp evening. Nothing that would spill and slosh onto his Bentley seats if Crowley didn’t cradle it gingerly with his free hand and drive at suboptimal speeds. Nothing that deflated once it reached a few perilous meters away from the oven or started melting the moment it touched room-temperature air. No celebratory towers of fragile pastry meant for parties being tucked away by a single, prim angel.

Slightly disappointed, Crowley’s smirk faded. “Anything else, angel?”

“Perhaps something for our dessert.”

Full fic on AO3.

#good omens #ineffable husbands #aziracrow #good omens fanfic #good omens fic #aziraphale x crowley #crowley x aziraphale #aziraphale #crowley

[reasonsforhope]

Thank you, stranger, for making this blog. You are truly a kind, beautiful soul. Thank you for existing for the world. Many of us appreciate you!!!! Thank you!!!!! /vvvvvvvgen

...now to me. I'm sorry for adding for your huge askbox as is, genuinely...

I naturally, without thinking, don't act like my real personality because it's been shunned dozens of times across my entire life. It's not fundamentally flawed (I know that, 100%--we all have flaws, ad I absolutely wasn't a terrible person for expressing them). Nonetheless, all I know is that the person I act like everyday of my life since I finally snapped and started doing this whole thing two years ago -- almost three -- is not who I really am. You know when you put on a shoe that, while your foot can fit inside and you can walk around just fine, you know it's just not your size because it doesn't feel right at all? That's me and my "personality"...people thought I was weird when I showed my genuine personality. I was just...pretty different than most. some comments I've got on my old personality:

"You're ...... Weird." (said with a thinly hid derogatory tone)

"Stop. You're not one of us."

"Why are you talking like that?"

"Sensitive. No one likes you."

And the one that finally made me snap:

"Stupid." (the person who said this then continued top he conversation as normal. Not acknowledging my stunned reaction.)

In addition, for a couple months I got treated like a dog. A literal dog.

I basically got treated like an outcast.

I know the personality I've left buried for so long has grown on its own, with me. It wasn't totally neglected and in fact is still here. It's just hidden behind this mask...which I can't take off. Because I literally don't know how. It's become such a habit to be someone else that I don't even fully, consciously know who I genuinely am today...it's hard. I hurt. A lot. I'm terrified of being vulnerable in any way, now. Just curled up in a shell.

...what am I to do? Where am I even going to begin? I feel lost. All I know, in the depths of my heart, that there is hope. There is always hope yet. That is something I've always known.

So what now? I'm scared, tired, and unsure. Is there anything I can do, anymore, at all? To figure out, and then be, who I know I am, deep down?

Thank you for reading, if you did. From the bottom of my heart--thank you. Thank you.

Sincerely,

#🎈🌠🐘

<3 <3 <3

Thanks so much <3 And fwiw for anyone wondering, it's not HUGE huge, I've got like 45 asks and dms to get to, but it still feels pretty big for me, a person who has def never had that happen before. Hoping to try to answer a batch of 2-4 of them on the weekends

Also, in terms of the rest of it.... Sorry if I'm overstepping, and definitely not to do that "diagnose people over the internet shit," but have you ever looked into whether you might be autistic or some other flavor of neurodivergent. Because as an autistic person, I see a Lot of my own experiences in what you've written

Regardless of whether you have or not, and whether you're autistic or not, I definitely know what it's like to deal with that kind of shit and bullying, and how trying to mask your own differences can twist you up inside. I had a problem with compulsively lying for a while in high school because of how ingrained "covering for myself" became - so I get how unsettling it feels when this shit becomes something you can't consciously control

Because there's so much overlap, I'd actually recommend looking into books and resources from the autistic community in masking and the difficulty of unmasking, regardless of whether you're autistic or not. A lot of the traumas are similar, too, so if you're at that level of "burying," I really think you'll be able to get something out of it no matter what

(This applies to anyone reading this who has also had to deal with that kind of shit or has found themselves doing something similar.)

Also, you should definitely look into trauma work (and "complex PTSD") and see if there's anything helpful to you there--there's a lot of really effective, evidence-based stuff out there about how to untangle your nervous system, because that kind of social rejection and isolation is absolutely/inherently traumatizing

Some Resources

Masking stuff:

Seven Steps to Unmasking as a Neurodivergent Person

What Is Complex PTSD (C-PTSD)? from Healthline

Autism Masking: To Blend or Not to Blend from Healthline

This is an assessment for social masking. It's written about autism, but I think a good amount of it would be applied to other types of masking like this.

Trauma stuff:

What Is Rejection Trauma? from TherapyMantra

Healing from Rejection Trauma from CPTSDFoundation.org

The Body Keeps the Score: Brain, Mind, and Body in the Healing of Trauma by Bessel van der Kolk

What My Bones Know: A Memoir of Healing from Complex Trauma by Stephanie Foo

And if none of that helps you...there's definitely a lot of other stuff out there. There's things like journaling, which are a huge help with this sort of thing. Figuring out who you are underneath it all takes time and feels super weird and it's not easy, but I have faith you can do it. Don't give up, just keep moving forward

#Anonymous #neurodiversity #trauma #cptsd #ask #me #advice #resources

[oneprompt]

if you wouldn't mind could you do headcanons with paulie x fem reader? i love the stinky rope man and any content concerning him :) can be sfw or n/sfw i don't have much of a preference thanks :-)

authors note : lovelove seeing others love this rope boy as much as me .. he's too precious ! did nsfw ones because um... anyways !! >< please enjoy <3

NSFW WARNING <3

<3 <3 <3

minors dni .

<3 <3 <3

Paulie x F! Reader NSFW Hcs

- Despite the amount of manly man energy Paulie possess, i know he's an absolute sub when it comes to the presence of an enchanting woman, like yourself. He’ll do anything you want, whenever. When Paulie falls, he falls hard. He’ll do anything, whether its sexual or not. Paulie discards every bit of shame he has, when he’s in your presence.

- Paulie loves having you sit on his face. Just- he loves pleasing you. It doesn’t matter if its his mouth, his fingers, his dick, he’ll go to any lengths to get you to cum. But face sitting is one of his favourite. Feeling your soft thighs sandwich his head while your sweet fluids melt on his tongue... It’s like heaven. And hearing your moans, feeling your body tremble and quiver above him, it’s too hot.

- Paulie loves being called a pervert. He may do that to everyone else around him as an insult but hearing your pretty voice call him something so humiliating does wonders to him.

- This man has a breeding kink, i just know it. The way Paulie ruts his hips into you, how desperately he’s forcing his cock so deep into you, he’s just begging to knock you up. Its awfully cute, seeing such a strong man grovel to you like that.. seeing him want nothing more then to fill you up.

- I can imagine Paulie loves when you wear cute clothing, it really gets him going. Whether something innocent like a frilly dress or something more sensual, a soft corset pushing up your bust. Paulie’s a rowdy guy, but he loves a gentle aesthetic, especially on his woman.

- If you tease Paulie in public, he won’t be able to contain himself. Even if you do something as simple as walk by the shipyard in a skirt, waving to your boyfriend and the other shipwrights. Boom. Paulie is instantly bricked up at the sight of your exposed legs. He tries his best to hide his undying lust for you, but always fails to do so as blood oozes from his nose. If you aren’t there to fix his ‘issue,’ he’ll rush off to a tool shed, jerking off to the thought of your skirt being pulled all the way up, flashing him a sight of your perverted underwear. But, if you stay to help, he’ll have his face buried in your chest whilst you jerk him off. Paulie wants nothing more then to be close to you.

- Paulie is 100% the type to smoke after sex. So, hopefully you can handle the scent of cigars. If you're a smoker too, he'll share it with you. He finds it relaxing after such a draining activity. Just being together, tangled in the sheets with smoke filling his lungs is oddly comforting.

- Paulie likes bringing his rigging skills into the bedroom, either tying you up or you tying him up. He doesn't care who does what, as long as it's what you fancy most. He personally looooves being tied up, as well as what comes with it. Having you mount him while his wrists are tied to the bed frame is just too much. But if you want to be tied up, he'll happily oblige. He'll tie your legs, preventing you from jerking your legs away while he indulges himself in your pussy.

- Paulie loves playing strip poker with you. He tries to show off his gambling skills around you, both to impress you and to get you stripped down to your socks. But... that almost never happens. Paulie has terrible luck with gambling, regardless of the stakes. He's usually the one who's stripped down by the first few hands played. How embarrassing...

#one piece #one piece imagines #one piece x reader #one piece x y/n #one piece x you #fanfic #imagines #one piece imagine #paulie x reader #paulie x y/n #paulie x you #op paulie #paulie op #one piece smut #smut fanfic

[lunar-years]

everyone has different interpretations of scenes, but for real that scene with jamie and roy was just plain sexist. roy seriously said "i don't know if we're getting back together because she's a woman and you never know". like what the absolute fuck was that line? they showed up to her house condescending, completely unapologetic about their behaviour, and treated her like a trophy prize. she deserved to beat them up. jamie and roy have always been troubled characters, but they were never (not even in season one) sexist assholes. the show went out of its way multiple times to establish that even when they made mistakes it was due to personal insecurity and not misogyny.

and whenever it was something misogynistic, it was heavily criticised as such, which, in this episode, it was not. a lot of people did seriously not catch the blatant sexism of it at all and went "that's how these men act" (again, what the fuck?). jamie spent season three being respectful of roy and keeley's breakup and not making a move on her, out of consideration of roy's feelings. roy, who knows how abusive jamie's father is, probably better than any other male character on the show, physically assaulted him. despite the fact that throughout the season roy has been approaching jamie with affection, realizing that's what he needs to feel secure (complete disrespect to 2x08 too, one of the best episodes of the series). and while we're on the topic of violence, roy and jamie were never this violent with each other, even when they hated each other's guts. jamie, who gave keeley a truly heartfelt apology about the leaked video, making a point to not victim-blame or engage in literally ANY other sexist behaviour, just brings it up to upset roy in a dick-measuring contest. and one episode ago, one fucking episode ago, they were all getting along, keeley and roy were obviously trying to get back together, and jamie wasn't one bit bothered by it. they were holding hands on his bed and he saw them and smiled! regardless of whether you think the roykeeley arc was rushed (i do), jamie might have been heartbroken or sad, but he wasn't, not once, established as jealous of them. and this entire season was devoted to roy and jamie becoming friends by slowly growing comfortable around each other and actually trusting each other. every single one of those things was thrown into the trash. and yeah, sure, progress isn't linear and perfection isn't possible for people, but that WAS NOT regression. roy and jamie were never sexist dicks. those were two completely different characters.

ALSO, this scene normalizes the idea that it's perfectly forgivable to revert back to sexism whenever emotionally distressed, even if you are generally not like that in your life. it's not. in reality, you're either sexist or you're not, and doing this in one scenario will absolutely mean that you will be sexist in different scenarios too. nobody in real life will be sexist in some areas of their life and feminist in others. implying that this isn't the case shows a very poor understanding of feminist theory and ted lasso has more or less done a good job at not being sexist. i feel like this really excuses unacceptable behaviour that the show itself tells us, with rupert particularly, has very real consequences that perpetuate violence against women. to me, the light-hearted resolution of that whole scene was terrible and poorly written at best. people in the writers' room typed that scene, read through it, and did not find it weird at all. though it's not the first time in the third season, see: forgiving jamie's dad and far-right bigots (???).

and lastly, when people were asking for a love triangle resolution, they meant something fitting for the year of our lord 2023. healthy communication and conversations, mutual respect and love between the charactets, maybe even polyamory (3x11 had a great ot3 set up, too). nobody meant we wanted something from the fucking 1950s. literally the only worse way this could have played out would have been if keeley ended up with the one that caused the other more damage. legit disgraceful ending for roy and jamie as characters, and for the show as well. considering everything it has stood for so far.

(i'm sorry if this reads like i'm calling people out, i'm not, really, i'm just very mad. and also really sad, because i did not go into the ted lasso finale expecting unaddressed sexism. like that was Really Very Bad. for this show especially).

woahhh there's a lot going on here, anon. For anyone wondering, I'm assuming this is a response to this post of mine. While I don't mind discussion or being called out... this does feel like something that could've very well been your own post or an open response to mine instead of an anon note. Because if you've read my meta, you'll probably already know I'm not going to agree with you on this.

Just gonna drop a few short thoughts because I don't have energy to write a think piece when my broader thoughts are already contained in my original post:

I'm not sure where you think I was trying to excuse their words or pretending they weren't being sexist or like they weren't treating Keeley as a weapon in their own games or a prize to be won. I think there's a difference between excusing someone's actions versus trying to understand where they were coming from for the characters and where they are at now.

"while we're on the topic of violence, roy and jamie were never this violent with each other, even when they hated each other's guts" Roy & Jamie were literally beating each other up in the locker room and brawling right out there on the pitch in season 1, anon.

"Keeley and Roy were obviously trying to get back together, and Jamie wasn't one bit bothered by it." this is just not true. Roy was trying to get back together with Keeley. Keeley wasn't shown to be reciprocal (beyond sleeping with him, which is a repeated pattern of behavior for her on the show, and something she in fact did with Jamie in season one), and Roy misinterprets it, as Jamie misinterpreted it. In fact, I'd argue Roy deciding it was a good idea to try and make him and Keeley happen right there in Jamie's bedroom with Jamie crying to his mum one room over, shows he wasn't thinking about Jamie, not when it comes to Keeley. Roy wants what Roy wants and he assumed he was going to get it. And Jamie went through a whole journey of expressions when he opened that bedroom door, so I don't think it's fair to say he "wasn't one bit bothered." I think we've established at this point Roy and Jamie both love Keeley and have always been weird and jealous about it with the other.

"this scene normalizes the idea that it's perfectly forgivable to revert back to sexism whenever emotionally distressed" this scene didn't normalize anything, because the show immediately acknowledged that Jamie and Roy were both in the wrong and had Keeley rightfully kick them to the curb for it. The narrative was not that this is okay or acceptable behavior. I definitely didn't see the scene as light-hearted

"nobody in real life will be sexist in some areas of their life and feminist in others." i am a woman who considers herself very much a feminist. That doesn't mean I've never had moments of internalized misogyny or made harmful comments that buy into a patriarchal narrative, despite myself. Well-intentioned people make mistakes. We are all works in prog-mess trying to get through life as the best people we can be. Jamie and Roy, in my opinion, are fictional iterations of the same principle. I don't think this comes even close to destroying their entire characters in the way you are implying.

All the best x

#asks #roy kent #jamie tartt #keeley jones #ted lasso #ted lasso spoilers

[thelunarfairy]

Omg I love your analysis they're THE BEST thing to read in freetime- like- they give such an insight to the story, it's always interesting!

Also can I just talk about Nene?!?! SHES SO COOL WJSJSJ ESPECIALLY IN THE RECENT CHAPTERS-

I've never been the type to hate characters or people unnecessarily. If I do dislike them, there's some reason or its just their vibe or attitude. The thing is I've never faced that with Nene. She has that childish type of personality with a sense of maturity we can say? Idk how to explain that- but she's so imaginative, and it makes me so sad how boys shoot her down because of her legs- SHES LEGIT SO PRETTY WHY- I also read that Nene analysis of yours as to why she's still being dreamy about boys when she was kissed by Hanako. Always makes me sad- MY GIRL DESERVES THE BEST-

The best thing about Nene is that she's determined and brave. Once she sets her mind on doing something, she actually manages to do it. Take that one panel for example with Nene and tsukasa, where she's getting chased by him and she swiftly ducks while that one thing hits him in the face. I always thought that was such a cool move. And I'm always so proud of seeing her go through character development. Who would believe that the Nene in the first chapter and the Nene in the recent chapters are the same- it's not even the personality change, it's the maturity level. I'm always screaming things like "SHES SO COOL SHES SUCH A GIRLBOSS" because she's IS one.

Man I'm one of hell of a Nene supporter, she's a bit naive but she's still mature enough. Makes me feel like we don't have the exact idea of what she feels most of the times. My girl has suffered in her own way.

I also really wanna know about her background! I'm pretty sure we haven't talked much about her parents right? I would love to see them sometime in the chapters since we already got mother reveal of kou, hanako and Mitsuba.

Awww thank you for your kindness ♡

I love it when you all say you like the posts hahaha because I love making them :3

How excited are you to talk about Nene! I liked it!

Hahaha I'm not the type to hate characters either, I like to appreciate every detail of their personality, even if they are terrible. Don't get me wrong, but I like to see whether a character is well constructed or not, regardless of whether he is a villain or a "hero", I will speak in these words so as not to prolong it.

Personally, I always thought that Yashiro was very wronged. I've seen many people saying that they don't feel affection for her because of the way she treats Hanako, in short, because she doesn't reciprocate Hanako's feelings in the same way or because she still feels attracted to other boys.

What happens is that Hanako has become the public's favorite, Nene is left out next to him, people will always care about him first. Damn, Nene was kissed by Tsukasa without her consent! Who did people focus on first?

Hanako, the poor boy crying inconsolably because his little brother kissed and kidnapped the girl he likes, but what about Yashiro? She was the one who was forcibly kissed, she was the one who was kidnapped. Baby Nene clearly shows how unhappy she is but no one seems to care!

"Look Yashiro is so annoying as a baby, Tsukasa is putting up with so much!"

But how did they want her to react???? She was kissed by force, she was kidnapped, she was forced to "play" with Tsukasa with the threat that he would rip off her arm (we don't know if he meant it literally because Tsukasa is Tsukasa, right) she had a part of her life stolen and is still being forced to remove the yorishiros even though she knows that if she does so she will die.

And people still expect her to react well to this? Can you understand how wronged Yashiro is? I really like the characters but I like to be fair to everyone, EVERYONE.

Yashiro has a very strong comedic side, so many bad things that happen to her end up going that way, people find it funny or think she is doing something wrong and everything bad that happens to her is because she deserves it. This is complicated, because it shows how people are failing to understand how she is developing in the story.

I'm glad you brought up Yashiro, because you were literally the first person who asked about her without having anything to do with Hanako. She is one of the protagonists and almost no one sees the potential she has. Yashiro has all these qualities you mentioned.

Yashiro is brave and protective, how many times have you seen her protecting Hanako?

She is selfless and Hanako knows that, he hid that he was going to sacrifice Aoi because he knew she would be against it, she went there not only to find Hanako, but also so that her best friend would stay alive. Yashiro took the blame in Hanako's place, since this was all his idea.

As well-intentioned as he was with Nene, it wasn't the right way. And since Hanako was unable to fulfill Nene's wish of prolonging her own life, she gives herself up for good, even though she doesn't really want to die. This arc in number 6 shows how selfless Yashiro is, she didn't have a grudge against Aoi when she threw her into that pit, she didn't tell Hanako that Sumire was a yorishiro because she knew he was going to tell her to remove it, she asked Hanako letting Sumire leave the village with them so she could have a new life, she refused until the end to remove Sumire's seal, do I need to list more than that?

Sumire herself says that Yashiro is too good to be able to remove the seal. Sakura had to show her what happened because Nene didn't remove the seal and Nene deeply regretted it because she didn't know it would end like this.

But people are worried because Yashiro thinks other boys are cute….

The girl went to a ghost as a last solution to find a handsome boyfriend to PROVE to the other guys who rejected her that she is also attractive. Her self-esteem is low, there is always someone making fun of her legs that she suffers so much and is insecure about, she is not envious of Aoi, even though her best friend is so beautiful and almost all the guys are interested in her.

Just put yourself in her shoes, can you imagine having to go and beg a supernatural person to have a boyfriend? She's always trying to learn things that boys like just so they'll look at her. Yashiro has his own problems, his own complexes and pains. I think it's sad that people haven't realized this.

She's developing, she's in love for the first time in her life, and her first love is a ghost boy who won't be able to offer her what a human can. But she insisted, didn't she? She is learning that looks are not everything, that there are many boys out there who think she is beautiful but she doesn't care because she wants to prove to people that even though she has those legs, she is still attractive, the way she finds to do that is thus.

Of course Yashiro has her bad sides, and that's a good thing. What kind of character would she be if she were perfect? The important thing is not for the character to be good all the time, but rather to make a lot of mistakes and learn from those mistakes. This is how a well-constructed character works. I see her development, she said she wouldn't get involved with someone who wasn't her type, but look who she's in love with. And now she takes over. You understand?

We see Yashiro's weaknesses all the time, and we're seeing her develop too. I think the main problem for people not to notice this is precisely the "comic" factor, you see, when they talk about Hanako's past, we have that air of seriousness, of sadness, that heavy air.

When it comes to talking about how Yashiro feels about boys, self-esteem, her legs, or how she feels about having to change to attract boys or something like that, it always has that "comical" air.

Look, she hates being called radish legs, let's call her that, it's funny. Have you ever imagined if people spent the whole time making jokes about the characteristic that you are most insecure about yourself?

It's funny when it's with others? But imagine if they made fun of Hanako or judged him all the time for killing his brother?

It wouldn't be nice, would it?

People get angry because Yashiro says Hanako isn't her type or when she comically refuses his advances, and they still get angry because poor Hanako can't be rejected by her.

Did you see the difference?

Hanako can make fun of Yashiro, call her a radish, everyone laughs, but Nene can't refuse Hanako's flirtations, because she doesn't deserve the love he offers her. Hahaha it's really funny when you clearly see who people's favorite is. That's because I didn't even mention him wanting to imprison her in a false world, or sacrifice her best friend… It doesn't matter, they will always find justifications for Hanako's actions.

Look, I love Hanako a lot, but we have to face the reality of the facts, imagine this in the real world. The boy you like wants to kill your best friend to save you. Do you understand how dangerous this is? People forget that Hanako is a dangerously charismatic boy, his attitudes send off a very high red alert, what he does is not justifiable, as he himself says! He knows this, the public has to understand it too!

Hanako has good intentions, he wants to save the girl he loves, but he goes about it the wrong way!!!

Saving someone's life by killing another???? Is this right?

But, to be completely fair, what bothers me most about Yashiro is that she still remains "friends" with Teru. It doesn't make sense after everything that has happened in these recent events. At this point I hope she wakes up and stops letting him hang around, and of course, stops flirting with him too, although Yashiro does this to make Hanako jealous, did you notice that? I hope so haha

Anyway, I thought the answer would be shorter hahaha but I was really excited to finally have a question about Yashiro! \O/

Yes! I'm curious to know about her family, she is a Kannagi and has unique powers, she can remove seals and purify. It means we'll learn more about her past in the future! I agree with you, I also really like Yashiro, one of the female characters that I find most fun.

I hope people give her more chances. She is a good girl who has her flaws but also her own qualities, like anyone else in the world hahah

I hope you liked it! Thanks for the ask! ♡

#jibaku shounen hanako kun #hanako kun #toilet bound hanako kun #amane yugi #hanakokun #jshk #jshk spoilers #tbhk #aidairo #yugi twins #nene yashiro #yashiro nene #tbhk yashiro #jshk yashiro #hanako x yashiro #hanako anime #jshk hanako #tbhk hanako #hanako x nene #jibaku shoujo hanako kun #tbhk manga #yugi amane #yashiro

[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

[thegarleanexperiment]

yk this is just thoughts as I’m going through msq again on my alt, but Zero really IS Zenos if we had found him just a bit sooner. And the WoL is just now realizing he really did want to be our bestie. What I mean is: I know people get really angry when all of the WoL dialogue for Zenos post-EW is negative, but I think that's very intentional and understandable. Your “bestie” just tried to off the world and for what? To fight you to death? At its core, it's very selfish and it makes 100000000% sense that everyone is disgusted with him for it. 

Even though he made his own sort of amends by helping us at the end (regardless of if the desire was selfishly motivated) he still did all those terrible things beforehand. It’s (rightfully) hard to look past. I don’t think the WoL was capable of ever seeing his feelings for what they were, that he truly believed us to be his friend, even if his own definition of it was warped by his upbringing.  Long and short: The WoL is oblivious to Zenos’s deep “friendship” with them, but through Zero (who imo is a Zenos foil in terms of “what could have been”) we are slowly seeing things from his perspective and are coming to terms with his death in a different light. I think there’s good evidence for this in the flashbacks we see in the newest MSQ that are a lot less negative than they were prior. 

Now, putting my clown makeup on: I would like to believe this would lead us into actually exploring him more, whether its just lore, or (oh I wish, I wish, but it won’t happen) we really do get a second chance with him somehow. I really will die on the hill that his character redemption arc as a scion would probably be one of the funniest (imagining Tataru giving him new clothes and a haircut, Estinian wanting to spar him, Thancred wanting to throttle him on sight, Alisaie chastising him like a mother hen for his emotional constipation) and sweetest pieces of narrative they could write. And imo, I think it would be a good way to lead into (hopefully) the restoration of Garlemald. Since, I think ignoring Garlemald altogether would be really, really stupid. 

But I digress, those are my thoughts. Just dumping them here.

#ffxiv thoughts #ffxiv #zenos yae galvus

[ofoceansandtombsanew]

bllk men and your afro/curly hair

tags: black!reader technically but if you have curly hair that is hard to manage regardless of race this is for y’all too, gn!reader

a/n: it’s wash day for me and i was thinking about how nice it would be if literally anyone else was doing my hair for me so i decided to come up with this piece of wish fulfillment once i got done with it

does a surprisingly good job with helping care for your hair and becomes your wash day buddy. if you could make him do all the work, you probably would and on days you were too tired to do your hair you probably have. yet your hair always manages to look perfectly fine afterwards. you have no worries with this guy, your hair is in good hands

chigiri is the king of haircare and probably did his own research on your hair texture before the thought of you asking him to help out crossed your mind. he truly trained for this moment if we’re being honest. buys hair product for you when he is out, although they can be a miss at times but it is honestly sweet he puts as much effort into your hair as he does his own. when you mention that, he says it’s the bare minimum for him to do things like this and you don’t have to thank him at all

you might eventually think in exasperation that maybe you did yourself a disservice by letting reo help with your wash day because now he considers himself your certified hairstylist. he enjoys doing your hair whether he’s braiding it or finding protective styles he thinks you would look good with. your eye will twitch when he has the audacity to pop your hand away when you try feeling his work because “i’m not done yet put your hand down”

nagi randomly offers one day to help you out when he sees you struggling much to your surprise. considering his dislike of doing anything harder than watering choki, you didn’t think to ask him to help out let alone expect him to offer assistance unprompted. he handles one side and you handle the other and it becomes a nice little routine every wash day when your boyfriend asks when you’re ready to do your hair. he enjoys feeling your hair while he works on it but he is mindful to not run them through it since he doesn’t want your hair to tangle. compares your hair to a soft cloud that he wants to sleep on

tries his best but is less help than he would have liked to be. you still think it’s cute that he tried though and welcome him to still hang around so you have some sort of distraction from how much work your hair routine can be. at the very least helps to keep your space clean and with other things he thinks will benefit you if he can’t actually help with your hair directly

isagi can handle pressure in the match of a game and needing to think on the fly when faced with stronger players but your hair is an entirely different situation. he clumsily tries his best to help, trying to take one side itself but he tends to forget that he needs to start from the ends of your hair and work his way up to the root and after the third wince you tell him to just let you handle it in from there. feels terrible all in all

kunigami thought he would be good at helping you with your wash day routine because he already has siblings he helps with their hair but he guesses he overestimated his abilities. to compensate, like chigiri he tries to buy hair products for you at the very least if he can’t be direct help and even gets you different bonnets when he thinks your current bonnet is on its last string

do not let this menace touch your hair if you wish to keep all of it. the experience will end with you either telling him to just stop now or wishing that you had. if you let this man help, the following consequences are all on you to be honest 

ryuusei’s name being mentioned alone is enough of a warning

bachira plays around with your hair while doing it and your hair ends up getting knotted and great now you have some hair to cut off because it’s so knotted it can’t be untangled. he says sorry for goofing off and is genuinely apologetic but he has been fired permanently

#look she's writing #headcanons #blue lock x reader #bllk x reader #chigiri x reader #reo x reader #nagi x reader #kunigami x reader #isagi x reader #ryuusei x reader #ryusei x reader #bachira x reader

[prosperdemeter2]

Teaser Tuesday - collision

“Ow!” Eddie grunted, jerking his chin out of the cradle of Buck’s hand.

He couldn’t help but flush at the look he got in response. Buck sighed, dropped the alcohol swab on the table next to the first aid kit open on the counter in the bathroom sink, and pressed a piece of sterile cotton to the wound over Eddie’s eyebrow. “Sorry.” He said about as half heartedly as he would do when bandaging a patient that had gotten hurt doing something even mildly idiotic. Buck was sorry, to a point - Eddie wasn’t under any illusion that Buck wanted to cause him any sort of pain - but Eddie had… done something more than mildly idiotic.

Honestly, he was lucky that Chris had been sleeping when Eddie had come home because he didn’t exactly know how he was going to explain the bruises to him when he saw them. “Shit,” Eddie mumbled and resisted the urge to press his fingers to the sluggishly bleeding wound himself. “Sorry, I shouldn’t have moved.”

Buck hummed, pressing against it ever so gently with the gauze. “It’s an automatic reaction.” He pulled the fabric back, frowned at the cut and then pressed it again.

He had been surprisingly… quiet about the entire thing.

Maybe not so surprisingly, though. Eddie knew Buck well enough to know that he was terrible at confronting people when he hadn’t been sitting up waiting for them to come home from what was supposed to be a friendly sparring session at the gym after an eight hour shift. Lena had done an okay job of patching him up herself, her laughter infectious and the lethargy to Eddie’s limbs weighing him down in a way he hadn’t felt in a long time. You did good, Lena had said with a laugh. If you ever want to blow off some steam again… just let me know.

Only the peaceful lethargy hadn’t lasted even his entire drive home. His body had begun to ache, the crude bandaid Lena had laid over the cut above his eyebrow had bled through, and Eddie had a bruise, right in the middle of his ribcage that he knew was going to look terrible in the morning.

The gauze left his brow, a thin, butterfly bandage taking its place and a throbbing starting to set into the area around it. Really, it looked worse than it actually was. Eddie had known that Lena’s spinning right elbow would catch him off guard and the guy that taught it to her had proven that it would. It had clipped him before he could block it, but wounds like that had a habit of looking worse than they actually were.

Buck tapped his elbow. “Up.”

Eddie grumbled. “It’s fine.”

“Eddie,” Buck cautioned. Eddie hadn’t heard him use that tone quite so seriously before. He swallowed and straightened his fingers on the curve of his knees. “Do you need help?” Buck asked after a moment of Eddie simply staring at the floor in front of the sink with an ever deepening frown.

“No.” The thing about fighting, Eddie remembered as he stood, was that it felt good for all of a moment. And then the adrenaline disappeared and, yes, the anger was gone but in its place was a shallow empty pit that only held misery and everything else that he used the anger to hide. He stood up with a sniff and Buck, even if he was cautiously frustrated with him, offered him assistance regardless of whether he needed it or not. He trailed his hand over Eddie’s elbow and around to his back, fingers pressing lightly until they landed on his side and Eddie couldn’t hold back the pained scrunch of his face.

Buck’s silence as he lifted up his shirt to get a better look at the bruise was… unnerving. “You should see the other guy.” Eddie joked in an effort to lighten the mood.

It didn’t really work. “Why?” Buck asked in a deliberately light tone. “Did they get shitty first aid too?”

Eddie snorted, took the fabric of his shirt from Buck’s hands and held it up for him. “Nothing’s broken.” He assured as best as he could.

“Oh, I’m sorry,” Buck rolled his eyes. “Are you an x-ray machine?”

“No,” Eddie wanted him to look at him, though, not just at his injuries. Buck did this thing when he was upset and trying not to make it obvious, where he would steadfastly ignore making any sort of eye contact. He did it when he was uncomfortable, too, but Eddie knew the way he frowned to know which of the two he was dealing with. Buck was upset, he didn’t like that he was upset and he didn’t know how to deal with his upset without potentially making everything worse. And so he was hyperfocusing on the one thing he could do, and that was patch up Eddie’s wounds with a practiced precision to remind him, and anyone else, just how Buck had broken several records at the Academy both times he took the test. “And Bosko didn’t do that bad of a job.”

Buck’s hand stopped, for a moment, before he shook his head and went back to the task at hand. Eddie knew what he was doing - pressing his fingers to see if anything felt out of place, checking to see just how bad the bruise was. It hadn’t fully developed, and it would look worse as the day went on, but Eddie knew how broken ribs felt and the ache in his body wasn’t telling him anything was more than injured on the surface. “You knew she was there.” Eddie reminded him, kept up this one sided argument like it was going to change anything.

Really, he’d rather if Buck just argued with him about it. “Isn’t sparring supposed to be in a controlled environment with protective gear in place?”

#teaser tuesday #collision #rewrite

[alovelyburn]

Continuing from @zombiesgohome​ over here:

I think the “that misses the whole point” thing is what chaps my ass the worst. It misses the point of Berserk’s thesis statement, it misses the point of Griffith as a character and it misses the point of the whole system Miura invented to create Apostles and Godhand.

Because the purpose behind the Sacrifice working the way it does is to support Berserk’s theory on humanity - that humanity is twisted and beautiful and awful and wonderful and capable of immense cruelty and betrayal or kindness and loyalty, and all those things are in every person. It’s explicitly noted in the lost chapter that all those hellish emotions are a fundamental part of being human. When Griffith says he can feel that darkness in himself the story wasn’t telling us he’s inherently evil, it’s telling us that it’s a part of every human, and he’s exceptionally human.

When Griffith goes into the eclipse and sacrifices his friends and turns into a demon the structure of the dimensional space created by the behelit’s activation is defined by infinite human faces to represent that what happens here is in line with the collective will of humanity. And honestly if you think Griffith is a monster then what does it say about humanity as a collective that he is the one they desired?

Which is where people start talking about how they were conned by fake prophecies or whatever, but... even if the prophecy of the Hawk of Light is just a dream, it’s a dream constructed because humanity wanted a savior.

I think one of the big issues with Berserk is that its thesis statement re: the nature of humanity is at odds with what many people think: that humans are fundamentally good and that when someone does a substantially bad thing, it's either because something went wrong that pushed them to do that thing or because there’s something substantially wrong with them -they're assholes on a fundamental level. So someone cheats on their spouse and its like, well was it because the spouse was cold and unavailable and they were driven to it by feelings of loneliness and rejection, OR was it because that person is just an asshole and we didn’t realize it until now but now we see their true face: that of an asshole.

I contribute to that too. "Human" as "good" or at least "better than other stuff" is deeply embedded into the culture and also into the language. Even fans of Griffith’s character tend to say Femto is cruel because he lost his humanity. Even SF stories dealing with androids or AIs or aliens will tend to assume that the closer a non-human entity is to replicating humanity the better they are both morally and existentially.

But even if a reader believes that humanity is just great and only monsters do bad things, Berserk doesn't share that perspective. And because it doesn’t, the story will show humans doing terrible things without necessarily judging them as inherently terrible people. And if someone imposes their... idk, rosier?? worldview on Berserk they end up having to explain “bad” behavior through essentialism - Griffith did a cruel thing because he is fundamentally a cruel person.  And because he’s a fundamentally cruel person, everything he does is now tainted by that cruelty. From there it’s honestly not a long walk to “he would have sacrificed them at any time and under any circumstances,” because If circumstances had nothing to do with him making the choice - if he made it because he’s evil and selfish -  why would different circumstances result in a different outcome?

And I mean, realistically this isn’t true. People’s behaviors arise from a complicated mix of inherent factors and circumstantial factors. But I think that regardless of whether or not it’s true in real life, that causes a problem if they carry that into stories even when the story is saying something else.

One of the big complaints i see about Griffith a lot of the time is that the narrative doesn’t seem to judge him for his actions - and while I don’t actually agree with that, I do think the narrative doesn’t impose the unequivocal judgement of “monster” on him the way people would perhaps like or expect. But a lot of that has to do with the story just saying different things about humans than some people are used to hearing, or looking to hear.

#ariel talks about berserk #chatter #lara lara lara