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cottoncandyjester · 3 years

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Which of your ocs would go to therapy for or with their darling? How much effort would they actually put into it?

This is like tricking your dog into going to the vet.. y'all are evil

This story contains: them talking about their dark past, incest(twins), talk of sex

Theodore

Absolutely not.

He's a doctor so he would argue that he would know his own body pretty well

"i don't need therapy sweetie, I'm mentally healthy"

This is the same man who flinches at the sight of a butcher knife and has so much mental trauma he still gets scared touching you

If you beg he'll do it though..of course he'll be passive aggressive but he'll go.

Tries to out logic the damn therapist

"so theodore, describe your childhood"

Theodore pushed his glasses up and clears his throat, this was definitely not going to be good. "I'm well aware that a person's childhood shapes their mental state but I assure you this is a waste of time."

"theo, let them help y-" you shuddered at the sharp glance theodore gave you. You've never seen him so aggressive before but it was clear he wasnt having fun. He hated the thought of someone analyzing his every movements and play with his head since it's something he does to you so having it done to him is less fun. "I assure you, I'm mentally sound..nothing is wrong with me"

"alright well, how about we talk about your childhood anyways just chatting nothing serious?"

Theodore scowled before glancing your way, you were doing this cause you loved him..so he should go along with this right?

Hikaru

You have to trick him

You brought it up once and he lashed out at you so badly he actually hurt you pretty bad

You told him you wanted to shopping but when he saw you two were infront of a building that definitely wasn't a mall he was PISSED

He was about two seconds away from hitting you but he saw how much you wanted to help him so he gave it a shock

Aggressive as all hell

He couldn't believe he was here, a group therapy session for victims of sexual abuse. The male sat there in his expensive clothes with his diamond encrusted shades on a scowl on his face.

"so, would you like to introduce yourself and tell us why you're here?" You flinched lightly at the single question the therapist asked before glancing at hikaru who in his legs and pushed his shades up his blue eyes flickering with rage.

"I'm here cause my bitch of a soulmate decided to drag me here instead of a shopping trip like they promised, I could be at home getting my dick sucked but no in here surrounded by idiots" hikaru was definitely in a fiery mood.

"well hikaru, y/n brought you here bec-"

Hikaru huffed in anger cutting the doctor off his anger being never ending. "they brought me here cause they think they are so smart. Their job is to please me in anyway I see fit, in return I spoil them once in a while and I am NOT pleased." With that Hikaru got up before shooting you a dirty look.

"you have ten minutes to meet me in the car or you're walking home" he snapped before walking out the room. You apologized for hikaru before going to join him.

Axis

The first one willing to go

He thinks it will make a great date

Tells his therapist EVERYTHING

Honestly he sounds so chipper about it they look so worried for him

Like sir are you okay?!

Clams up when it comes to insecurities

Like nope.

He only goes once though cause in his eyes therapy is a going once event

"- then my brother salem poured bleach in my eyes! I know it was bad but I of course forgive him cause all siblings fight right? He's really great though! Like one time we were playing hide and seek and he couldn't find me for six hours haha!"

you nervously glanced at the horror stricken expression the therapist had, they were so shocked they werent even taking notes. "Your brother sounds extremely toxic and incredibly dangerous" they stated and axis paused with a light pout clearly offended.

"salem wouldn't hurt a fly!" He huffs out and you weren't sure this was helping too much..though you were glad he decided to go.

Salem

So his therapist had to see a therapist

The first three minutes he had to wear a muzzle cause he tried to eat his therapist and not in the fun way

He is so feral he just speaks in slurring words and barks

You have to put a collar and leash on him

He did leave with a mouth full of blood though cause he bit a huge chunk off his therapist.

"s-s-so, salem w-what do you think c-caused you to be this way?" The doctor spoke while standing on their desk as you tried to pull the leash hard to pull salem away. "Bad boy! Stop it!" You snapped out at salem who got his muzzle off and was attempting to devour the poor therapist. "I-im sorry he's usually much calmer than this, strangers make him hungry" you explained before seeing salem bite the therapist on the leg.

"salem! No! You don't bite people!" You scolded as you tried to pull the male off and once you did you decided it was time to go home now. "W-well thanks doctor this has been fun, let's go salem!" You dragged him away while shaking your head.

"y/nnnnnnn~"

"...yes salem?"

"I love you!"

You glanced at him seeing he was docile once more and you sighed "I love you too babe" you mumbled out not sure what to do.

Rin

His therapist quit.

He trolled them so hard they gave up

Spoke in meme quotes the whole time.

"rin, would you say you were a happy child?"

"yeet."

You face palmed at your boyfriend who was hellbent on annoying the therapist to death. This session has already been thirty minutes and while rin was holding back his laughter the doctor looked like they wanted to snap their clipboard.

"please rin, work with me here..."

Rin beckoned the therapist to come closer and when they leaned in feeling excited thay they made progress rin's eyes sparkled widely. "Big...chungus"

You and rin walked out the office after being kicked out since the therapist had an absolute mental breakdown. "You're an asshole.." you mumbled and rin wrapped an arm around your shoulder with a wicked grin. "I'm your asshole, babynow how about we dress you up then have clown sex? I say that's equal payment for this"

Yuki

He hated it

He was quiet the entire time

Like the entire time

He wouldn't answer a question or nothing

He legit fell asleep with his head in your lap and now sees therapy as a place to nap

He doesn't like strangers so there was no way in hell he's speaking to a stranger.

You sighed at the tense silence in the room as yuki buried his face into your stomach his head in your lap. The moment he got here he took a nap not really caring about the doctor or his questions..it's been this way for a full hour. Slowly yuki opened his eyes and sat up with a low hum, he leaned in to kiss you feeling really clingy until he heard the shuffling of another person.

yuki tensed up suddenly wrapping his arms around you his chin rested on your shoulder. "Y/n, home?" He questions with a grumpy pout. You ran your fingers through his hair with a loud sigh.

"yeah yuki, we can go home.."

prince

He sees himself too cool for that stuff

"I'm not going, therapy isn't my vision of a fun date. Foreplay and sex is a good date"

He doesn't like the idea of sitting in a room and talking about his feelings.

If you promise to let him finger you during the car ride he is totally In though

He doesn't take it seriously at all

Avoids all the questions

Ends up just boasting about his sex life for an hour

"y/n moaned louder that night than ever before, it was so fucking awesome" prince cheered out his eyes lit up. You were covering your face with your hands feeling nothing but embarrassment as prince went all and on.

"t-the question was what makes you happy" the doctor stated and prince gave a confused look. "Yeah, and I said sex I mean wasn't that clear?"

"prince could you perhaps be a nymphomaniac?"

"shit, maybe? If I don't bang at least twice a day I get all grumpy...speaking of bang on the car ride here it was fucking great y/n let me-" you covered his mouth not being able to handle anymore of this. "We'll be going now!" You snapped out now dragging prince away.

"you're sexy when embarrassed"

"shut the hell up"

Rocket

He is literally the least dangerous yandere

He thinks he's fine

But he goes and actually speaks about his life

Everything about his life seems so cheerful and good...until..it isnt

Like axis he speaks as if it's okay

He's a dumbass so therapy doesn't really help him

He just uses it as a way to spend time with you

"so what was your childhood like?"

"well, I grew up in a small village we owned a pretty big farm. My mother and father kinda liked to spoil me.."

You've never heard about his childhood so you were very engaged in this story..it sounded pretty nice. Rocket paused to think when suddenly his eyes lit up

"I ended up being chosen to be the village pet! It was such an honor!" He cheers out with a happy hum. Instantly you knew this wasn't going to be good but you let him explain.

"the village pet is like...hmm a handyman, they do basically anything the villagers don't wanna do it's hard work but it's good work." He explained

"what were some of the things you had to do?"

"well...solves disputes, help out on there people's farms, help procreate, honestly anything! Only way to leave the village as a pet is to choose a new pet. It was hard to pick someone..but I'm glad I did"

The room got very very silent...very fast.

Rocket gazed at the time before getting up. "Hey y/n we should go yeah? You promised we could go get ice cream if I do this with you"

Yuuji& yuuta

Lord...these two got so much fucking baggage

They go, but they see it as entertainment

A fun little joke

Until it's not

The therapist manages to make them fight

And that NEVER happens

Like never.

It gets super damn intense

You're over there like "damn okay."

You watched the two boys argue clearly upset with each other. The question was that if yuuta found yuuji attractive..and yuuta hesitated.

"so you don't think I'm cute or anything?"

"I never said that! I just think, you're not my type."

"how the hell could I be not your type?! I know exactly what you like and don't like! I please you all the damn time!"

You cleared your throat awkwardly, not sure if going to couples therapy was a good idea anymore.

"I'm just saying! You sometimes..don't hit it quite right I mean..it's fine everyone has their ups and downs"

"OH so I'm bad at sex now?! You're such a liar cause on the drive here you were screaming like a little whore!"

"anyone can fucking scream yuuji! Doesn't take damn rocket science! Y'know I'm starting to see why ushio fucking hates you! You think you're so damn high and mighty! This is why we can't have normal relationships with our siblings!"

The room got silent as the two panted softly the screaming working them up and yuuji turned his head away eyes glimmering with tears. You honestly..felt like you were watching a drama show and was totally into it. "I-i didn't mean that- I'm sorry I just-"yuuta mumbled out and yuuji sniffled.

"do you..hate me?"

"wha-"

"ever since we came out when we were younger, you've been trying to be such a tough guy..you don't even say you love me as much. So, do you hate me?" Yuuji explained and you watched as the two hugged.

"of course not! I-i just didn't want anyone to still see me as that girl who was scared of her own shadow" yuuta whimpers out and yuuji smiled at him "you're not her, you're a strong guy.. our strong guy and we love you so much me and y/n" yuuji whispers out planting a kiss on the boy's cheek.

As the three of you left you suddenly felt an arm link with yours on either side. "Enjoy the show dollface?" Yuuta chimed before yuuji giggled "it was very fun!"

"you two were faking it?!" You huffed out seeing them both nod. They were totally lying but they didn't want you to know that, after all they were twins..fighting was basically illegal to them.

Scarlett

Another person who isn't happy with therapy

Straight out refuses

Like nope.

Never.

It takes A LOT of convincing til she agrees

Another member of the "has a bad childhood but sees it as normal" group

Hers is downright horrifying

But she giggles it off

"my childhood? Hmm..well my father was a doctor, I was his little nurse" she said softly in thought and you immediately didn't like this.

"he taught me all about plants, poisons and human biology. He was studying human mutations he wanted to know if it was possible to have humans evolve animal like traits, by replacing their body parts for animal ones of course" she cheers out and interlaced her fingers together.

"such an interesting study, some of them works in some ways..though it seems the human body can't handle some things..we are such fragile creatures are we not?"

Scarlett had this creepy dangerous vibe about her and the session was instantly cut short due to your therapist feeling unsafe. As you two walked out you couldn't help but gaze her way.

"who were his victims?" You asked out softly before feeling her hold your hand with a smile. "Well, children from my school. Then..me" she stated softly causing the haira on the back of your neck to stand.

"what animal part did he give you? Did it work?"

"it worked.."

That was all she stated and you didn't hear anything about it ever again so you were left to wonder about it.

#yandere imagines #yandere #yandere ocs

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stressedspidergirlsfandomblog · 4 years

Text

Okay, so imagine this

Kaer Morhen is a place that little boys go to die, if they’re lucky, or they become witchers.

(In some ways, Strangers Like Me is what fucking ran thru my head literally all night last night. I wrote nothing, I could not sleep, and my brain SPIRALED all over this)

And somehow, despite the world beating him down and beating him down and beating him down and shelling him out over and over, he runs into an idiot bard who has no fear of him. Who slowly goes from thinking he’s a simpleton to realizing there is a man in there, a boiling seething lake of feelings and anger overtopped by a thick layer of ice. And the bard makes it his life’s mission to help him learn that he is human. (the whole fic idea is more Geraskier, but it has to START the development elsewhere)

he also bumps sorceress who teaches him love and anger and all sorts of other things -fancy table manners, philosophy etc. He has access to things with her he’d never have had in the keep. She teaches him how to eat chicken on the bone with a fork and knife (book canon), and all the other fancy utensils because he’s a person dammit and he should know that his napkin goes in his lap. He devours her books, and since she can read minds she can draw out the conversations from him. She teaches him how to have those conversations and those debates.

TWs for all the canon compliant fucking misery that is Geralt’s life. Child abuse, neglect, assault, etc.

Geralt is incapable of believing good about himself, or expressing himself normally or knowing what to do in social situations. He mimics, he copies, he attempts to replicate, but if the situation changes he isn’t sure what to do.

Trauma gives us 4 options. Fight, flight, freeze, or fawn. He knows how to fight, but sometimes it leads him to battles he’ll never win. Flight is usually safest. Freeze can also work well, but he doesn’t know how to fawn, no one’s praised him enough or taught him how to give praise or fake affection in turn. Usually, he chooses to freeze until he can assess better. If there’s no blades drawn, it is time to freeze.

( I am looking at this purely from a child abuse perspective)

He has no idea what to make of Yennefer. She is rage, and greed, and feelings, and luxury. She teaches him to fight back. She teaches him you can be angry and people will not always leave you. Some children/adults will do anything to please someone in hopes of affection until they feel safe, and they begin to test boundaries. And with Yennefer, he’s allowed. Neither one of them knows how to process emotions in a healthy way, not really. But if she wants to throw a jam jar at the wall -not at him, never at him. She doesn’t want to hurt him. She’s just angry and has to break something. Better the jar than herself. Or him. He learns to stomp and yell right back, to knock things off the dresser or desk. Maybe it’s not a good lesson, but it’s something.

She teaches him choice in bed. He’s never had choice in bed, he’s never made love. He has had sex. Voluntary, involuntary. Me for her, let the girl go, use me instead. He heals. He always heals. He can kill them if he wants to, but that raises more problems than it solves. Kaer Morhen has no women. He learns very little about making love there, either, feelings are forbidden. However, he learns to keep himself silent and still as his cock is stroked, he learns to not let the bed so much as creak the slightest bit, not the softest change in his breathing. He learns how to use precum as lubricant because there is nothing else, and while he doesn’t learn how to kiss, or fuck, he learns how to touch. There’s no kind of education like that. It’s control, management of pain, seeking approval from people who rarely give it.

Yennefer gives him approval. She gives him choice, and she teaches him to move his hips. She teaches him it’s alright to breathe through it, to beg for it, to twitch, it’s okay to want something for himself. He can’t reconcile it, can’t adapt well to it. But in bed, with her, he allows himself to be freer. It doesn’t translate for him, into other situations. His learning is contextual. He has trouble applying the lessons she tries to teach him to other social situations. He can fight back with her because she likes him. He can argue with her about books because she starts the conversation for him because he doesn’t know how. He is heinously smart, he can read, write, and speak at least three languages, he can synthesize information so quickly it stuns her. If he’d been chosen as a mage, if he could access the Source, he would set the world on fire.

She teaches him to say ‘no.’ It’s not something he knew he could do. Not outside of negotiating a contract. Most of his world is lived inside of his own head because he isn’t allowed to offer opinions unless someone asks. Other than contracts. There is a script, there are rules, he can say ‘I won’t kill that’ or ‘that’s not enough coin’ or ‘no.’ Those situations he can talk freely and articulately.

They experiment in bed, to a point. She can tell when he’s getting cagey and stops. She never makes him say ‘no’, never lets it get that far, because she knows he’ll freeze. When he’s vaguely curious about light bondage she simply tells him to see if he can even stand to put his palms on the headboard and not touch her. He can’t. He can’t stand it if she won’t touch him, either, when she offers to return the favor and see if he likes that edge of control. He doesn’t. She’s had other lovers, but none like him. None as broken and angry as she is. (The book says, it flat out says, they did not know HOW to be kind, but they wanted to be, and so they were, when it describes how they make love.) They try other things, some things he more tolerates than enjoys -the unicorn. But he doesn’t hate it, he just doesn’t prefer it.

He can’t admit to feelings, he can’t admit to loving her, and so she can’t tell him because he isn’t ready to hear it. He can’t believe any of it, and so she can’t say a word. Telling him would chase him out of her life forever. When he tries to share things with her, when he tries to push himself to describe any part of himself, she listens. She uses many of his failings against him when they fight, but never what he tells her in confidence and struggle and broken words. When he tells her ‘they botched it’ meaning they botched him, he’s worthless, not made right, and horrible, she tells him perhaps she is the same.

Eventually the fighting is too much, the frustration at themselves is too much. They can’t heal each other. What they need doesn’t line up yet.

They break apart and he travels again, happy to reunite with Jaskier. Not that he understands that feeling. But something feels ...easier, with the bard around. He tries on occasion to engage in conversations, just sharing a random fact or quote with the bard and Jaskier doesn’t realize what Geralt is doing for weeks until Geralt stops and he finally asks him what his quote of the day is. Geralt visibly perks and Jaskier finally understands what Geralt has been trying to tell him. He finally asks the right question and Geralt talks to him for hours, long after the sun sets, as animated as his training allows him to be, describing how he’s connected this human myth to an elvish historical event that is corroborated by the dwarves, he had to read it in Elvish, and also Dwarfish, but he can’t find a written version of the myth he’s only heard it spoken or sung.

Jaskier takes him to Oxenfurt and leads him in and out of guest lectures. They sit in the back so Geralt can hide, because that’s what he does. Don’t look people in the eye unless they tell you to. Don’t look up, don’t be big, don’t exist if you can help it. And he hides and scrunches in on himself, but he listens, and the bard lets him pore over libraries and scares off anyone who would complain at a mutant witcher touching precious tomes. Geralt is gentle, and careful, and sweet, and he deserves to read what he wants, he deserves answers to questions about the world he could never find in Kaer Morhen where his only training was how to survive as a witcher.

Jaskier teaches him how to answer the question asked, not just say what he thinks people want to hear. That’s not what I asked you. I asked what your preference was. He learns that Geralt was very much raised to believe children should be seen and not heard, in terms of himself. He doesn’t speak up, doesn’t offer anything unless asked. Not unless it’s about witchering, then he is allowed. And so he makes sure to ask. Are you hungry? Would you like to stop for the night, too? Does that hurt, it looks like it hurts. And Geralt learns to listen to the words, and he learns if asked, he is allowed to speak for himself. He doesn’t have to do what he thinks Jaskier wants. Unless prompted, around people, he rarely speaks, rarely converses, and just tries not to be terrifying. Keeps his head down, hood up, he doesn’t want to be hurt. He’s sick of being hurt. He’s sick of going hungry, he is sick of being miserable. And he has found if he is invisible, people leave him alone. He doesn’t get stoned, he doesn’t get beaten, he doesn’t get chased out for just wanting a bed to sleep in and a warm meal. If he doesn’t take up space, he can exist. Jaskier speaks for him, people think perhaps he’s a simpleton who the bard travels with, they don’t know the quick mind behind the eyes focused firmly on the ground.

It constantly breaks Jaskier’s heart. He has never seen Geralt smile. He has never heard him laugh. He has heard him talk with intonation on occasion, and usually only when reciting what he’s been told. He is an incredible mimic for tone and pitch and it astounds the bard. When he asks Were you even listening to me at all? and Geralt begins reciting everything he had said, with perfect inflection, since Geralt’s last one word response, perfect tone, perfect everything other than he doesn’t change his voice, his gravelly voice will never soar into tenor heights.

Children, ones who don’t know what he is, love him. Parents who don’t know, don’t see the swords strapped to Roach, they don’t mind the bard’s pet simpleton playing pat-a-cake with their children, they don’t mind them teaching him to make flower crowns. Or watching them draw in the dirt. The children never think he’s stupid, they like him all the more for knowing they aren’t, either. He lets them pet his horse, and boosts them into the saddle. He helps them reach fruit on tree branches, and pulls down prickly berry vines full of blackberries so they can gorge on the sweet fruit. Jaskier loves watching him with children, because he’s less guarded. He starts out small, makes himself so small, so nonthreatening, and when the children realize he’s happy to play with them, he relaxes. The tension leaves him and the villagers ignore him. Any adult stupid enough to want to play with children, to humor them, and listen to their stories can’t be right in the head. The bard’s assurances he won’t touch them or hurt them goes a long way.

He used to freeze and flinch and shudder whenever Jaskier touched him, because he could not understand. He still doesn’t. Emotions make no sense, touching for affection that isn’t between lovers makes no sense. Jaskier stays with him, so they must be friends. He’d admit it openly if asked. He doesn’t understand he loves the other man. He wouldn’t know that’s what he was feeling even if he was told. He feels nothing, it’s a scooped out shell, there is nothing inside of him other than sometimes anger. That’s why he had to leave Yennefer. She was the sun and he just reflected her warmth, he had nothing of his own to give back.

Patently untrue, but there’s nothing that would convince him otherwise and Jaskier doesn’t try. Geralt is ridiculously capable and educated, and wonderful and the bard does what he can to praise him when he can because he knows Geralt needs to hear it. No one praised him or loved him as a child. Hugs are still foreign and after years of them his first instinct is still to flinch. He will sleep comfortably draped across the bard, or with the bard curled into him. He doesn’t care about that. He doesn’t have the same personal boundaries other people do. If he’s cold, and Jaskier is there, he sees no reason not to share heat.

It had given the bard heart failure when they’d been sitting around the fire after eating and Geralt had just started pleasuring himself without understanding why that might not be socially acceptable. He’d offered to help the bard first. Not wanting to give Geralt another reason to be ashamed, or small, or scared, he had declined, and wondered in what world could a boy grow up afraid of being held, but feel perfectly comfortable jerking himself off in the company of others. What had been even odder was the witcher had continued their conversation as though this was normal. Hadn’t lost focus, his breathing had never changed, he hadn’t seemed to take much pleasure from his actions, and Jaskier couldn’t understand why he was doing it.

It had made his heart hurt in new ways. It’s a perfunctory action, meant to relieve an itch, not something for pleasure’s sake alone. Everything he does has function and reason and logic.

When they run into people Jaskier knows, and they want to talk to the white wolf, or see him, or bother him, Jaskier tells them to leave him be. He won’t talk to them. His poor witcher gains a bit of a reputation as being a tame monster, trailing his bard on a leash and killing monsters as directed.

When they’re low on grain for the horses, he goes to busk and see if he can drum up coin. When he comes back to pay the stablemaster, the last thing he expects is for Geralt to be paying with his body, a blank expression on his face as he braces himself against the door of an empty stall. He looks at Jaskier without any kind of shame, any understanding of what’s happening to him because he needs feed for Roach, and she needs a warm place to sleep out of the muck during the rainy seasons. Her hooves need to be dried out, he needs to borrow tools to clean the frogs and check her shoes. He might need the services of a ferrier. He’ll get a bit of coin for this and then some extra. If it isn’t sex with a lover, it’s just a transaction, what should he care? The bard escapes when he realizes only Geralt saw, and pukes his guts up into the gutters. He’d have tried to stop it, but the stablemaster was bigger than he was and he couldn’t take the risk the man would hurt Geralt.

The horses taken care of, Jaskier uses the coin he’d earned to have a bath drawn up and helps Geralt bathe until all trace of stable is washed away. He tries to ask, and when Geralt openly tells him it’s just better that way, he bites his tongue so hard it bleeds rather than reply or push the issue. He has coin, they’re fine, Geralt won’t need to do that again while they’re together.

He notices how the witcher gets thinner after, stress and shame eating his insides even if he won’t admit it. He’d been the heaviest Jaskier had ever seen him after living with Yennefer for a few years. Healthy. Shiny hair, bright eyes, enough meat over his bones to hide them. Slowly his spine creeps through his skin and the bard can count the vertebrae. It will pass, and he realizes he’s seen this pattern. This has happened before he just hadn’t seen. It passes, Geralt finds lucrative contracts, and his body fills back out.

They continue to work on what feelings are. Geralt remains baffled by the fact the bard will not bed him in any capacity, and doesn’t understand why they can’t share a little pleasure. Jaskier knows if he gives in, Geralt will never let it progress beyond more than just skin on skin. He’ll never understand it could be more. He has to wait, he has to keep pushing for the witcher to understand there is more.

They happen upon a town, and a small girl, perhaps three or four years old, picks flowers by the side of the road. There’s a house visible in the distance, but it’s awfully far for a small child to have wandered. Geralt immediately looks around for a dead body, half expecting to find the child’s mother dead in a ditch. Nothing. When she notices his hair peeking out from under his cloak as he crouches down to talk to her, she pushes the fabric off his head to twirl her fingers into his hair. He barely breathes as he asks her where her ma and pa are. She points at the house and said she wanted the orange flowers. He looks over and sees that while there are what seems like thousands of wildflowers much closer, none are the color she’s currently collecting. The child will be missed soon enough, he supposes as he offers her a seat on his shoulder. Before she accepts, she splays small fingers under his eye and he freezes, waiting for her to scream or reject him. She simply says ‘pretty.’ When he lifts her up, she tangles a hand back into his hair to help her hold on and keep her balance. She stuffs the flowers into her small apron -probably made more to humor her than for any practical purpose, and occasionally pats Geralt’s head and tells him again, his hair is pretty and he’s nice to take her home.

When screaming reaches his ears, he knows the little girl’s name is Ivana, and he tells Jaskier, “Make noise, her mother is in the fields looking for her.” The bard’s trained lungs will project far better than his will. His lungs are trained to breathe evenly and slowly in all things. He will endure if he keeps his heart slow and his breathing calm.

“Over here! We’ve found her!” Jaskier calls, his voice ringing stridently over the fields. He’s not sure how she could hear him from so far that only Geralt can hear her frantic calls, but all the same he sees how Geralt tilts his head and nods to himself.

They speed up, Geralt’s stride long and even as the woman comes pelting across the grass, crushing flowers, and her skirts hiked up over her knees to keep them out of her way. She gasps slightly when she sees Geralt and the brightly dressed bard, not sure what they will do to her or her daughter. She can see the swords on the roan mare. “I haven’t coin, please don’t hurt her,” she says.

Jaskier feels Geralt shrivel. “We just saw her picking flowers and knew she’d be missing,” he explains. “We don’t want coin. Not for returning a toddler to her mother,” he protests. When she reaches out for her child, and Geralt obliges by leaning to hand her off, the girl shrieks in displeasure.

Geralt freezes, one arm half coming up to ward the mother off, but unsure. Why wouldn’t she want to go back? It’s Jaskier who saves the situation by laughing. “I see she’s gotten quite attached,” he tells the anxious mother. “Here, Ivana, come down, he’s very tired and he’s not a pony. You brought flowers for your ma, didn’t you? You can’t show her very well from up there,” and holds out his arms. The girl allows Geralt to pass her over, and he swiftly deposits her on the ground where her mother relaxes immediately. She shows the flowers, and offers Geralt one.

“Are you a witcher?” she asks.

“Yes,” Geralt says, careful not to open his mouth too much. His teeth are a bit too white, and his canines a bit too sharp. Not fangs, but some people choose to see them that way. They’d grown in sharper when he’d lost his baby teeth, he’d seen plenty of other humans with teeth like his, but against his pale skin and yellow eyes, the effect was more noticeable. More monstrous.

“There’s a wyvern, my man, when he gets back from ploughing, he can show you. I see Ivana has taken to you. If you’ll watch her while I bundle herbs, I’ll feed you both lunch.” She isn’t afraid of witchers. “We don’t have much coin, but there’s a bounty on the beast, you can turn it in, if you travel up the road a bit. In the mean time, I can offer you a place to sleep, some feed for your horse, and a meal in a few hours once I’ve finished my tasks.”

Jaskier knows Geralt is well pleased with the idea just from the shift of his shoulders. “Geralt’s a wonderful babysitter,” he smiles. “I can help you with the chores, I’m sure. Just put me to work. My name is Jaskier, that is Geralt, and you are?”

“Oh gods above, I’m so sorry, I’m Melina.” She reaches out to shake Jaskier’s hand and the bard accepts warmly, but when she tries to do the same for Geralt the bard gives her a look and she drops her hand. Odd. “Ivana, you mind Master Geralt, or I’ll give you such a hiding you won’t sit for weeks, do you hear me?”

“Yes, Mama,” she promises. “I will show him where to put the horse,” she says proudly and Geralt makes a ‘lead the way’ gesture at her with a little bow that makes her giggle. He takes Roach’s reins from Jaskier and follows the girl child to the barn.

“He won’t hurt her?”

“No, he’d die in her defense in a heartbeat.”

“But he can’t shake hands?”

“He wouldn’t know that’s what you wanted,” Jaskier tells her. Not sure if that makes it worse or puts her more at ease. “You don’t seem much afraid of him, considering how we started.”

“Witchers help people,” she smiles faintly. “My pa would have died long before he met my ma if not for a witcher who saved him on the road. Took a bad rake across his face, though, the witcher. My Pa taught us, even if we don’t know much reading or writing, history turns. People used to trust witchers. Then they tried to kill them all. And they’ll trust them again. Any man willing to risk dying to save others can’t be all bad.”

“That is what I’ve been saying.” He glances up to see the black-clad witcher come back into view with Ivana swinging his hand happily. He can’t hear her, but he knows she is chattering nonstop.

“Is he... simple?” she asks softly, watching as her daughter teaches Geralt a new clapping game he hasn’t seen before. He seems to be devoting all his energy to the game.

“No,” Jaskier breathes. “No, he’s brilliant,” his heart aches. “Will they be alright out here, your man won’t come home and try and beat him with a stick?”

“No, Roddy would never. He’ll come from the back fields as is. My Roderick is a good man. How could he hit your Geralt for playing with our daughter?”

“People have done worse for far less,” Jaskier says bitterly. He has no idea why he’s sharing with her. Perhaps months on the road of people being truly horrible to Geralt have made him desperate to talk to someone who isn’t. Someone who is kind.

“I see.” She shows Jaskier the herbs she’s drying, some to sell, some for home remedies. Vegetables to jar and pickle, and hundreds of other small tasks made near impossible by having a small child to mind. “My boys help their father in the fields, so that he can work on other tasks once they can manage the rest.” As the bard gets the knack for how to tie the herbs, she watches him a few seconds. “So what’s wrong with him?”

“Nothing,” Jaskier protests. “Nothing at all,” he aches for Geralt. “People, people are the ones who are wrong. He does everything he can to not draw attention. The less he talks, the less he moves, the less people notice and the less likely they are to-” His head snaps up when he hears a husky chuckle from outside. “Your man early?”

“No, he doesn’t laugh like that,” she says.

“Who the fuck is that then?” he demands, peering from the small window. Ivana is pointing at something dramatically and stamping a foot and he realizes the laugh is Geralt. His heart squeezes and he blinks rapidly. He hadn’t known Geralt could laugh. Not in all the years they’d been travelling together. “Oh,” he gasps, the wind knocked out of him.

“Let them be, if she starts to have a true tantrum I’ll rescue him. It’s about time for her to nap, she’ll be fussy soon enough.”

“Eh, he’ll be fine,” Jaskier tells her, rubbing at his eyes with a knuckle. “He’s faced worse than a grumpy toddler before.”

“Perhaps, Master Jaskier. But he cannot swing his sword to stop her from inconveniencing him.”

“He would never. Although, he might turn tail and run in here, seeking rescue,” he tries to turn the conversation somewhere else.

#geraskier #gerlion #yenneralt #eventual geraskefer #yenralt #geralt of rivia #the witcher

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thecomfywriter · 4 years

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On Writing Eating Disorders...

@thecomfywriter (original post; remember to tag me or lmk if you want to repost it)

NOTE: Everything in this post is based off of my personal research, thoughts, opinions and experiences.

If you or a loved one has an eating disorder, please seek help by letting a loved one know, or contact one of these resources. Take care of yourselves, lovelies.

Toll-Free Number (NEDA): 1-800-931-2237 or text NEDA to 741741

Eating disorders are often misrepresented in the media, rather in being glorified, or romanticized, or flat out ignoring some types while claiming others are a choice. As a person who has recently recovered from an eating disorder, these representations can be incredibly harmful and add to the stigmatization of the serious mental illness. As a writer, I thought I’d give some pointers of what to do and what to avoid when writing eating disorders.

1) Do your research

There are many different types of eating disorders, each with different symptoms and different treatment plans. It isn’t just anorexia nervosa, bulimia and binge eating disorder (although this one is also not handled much or not properly). Here’s a list of eating disorders and their basic definitions.

TRIGGER WARNING:

Anorexia Nervosa: officially defined as the ed with dramatic weight loss or an aim for a weight below the healthy amount for age and height. characterized by extreme restriction in food, types of food and calories.

Bulimia Nervosa: subtype of anorexia involving a purging method in order to maintain low weight or dramatically lose weight. Purging can include extreme/obsessive exercise, vomiting, and/or use of laxatives.

Binge-Eating Disorder: reoccurring episodes of eating large quantities of food followed by shame or discomfort. Typically, these episodes are performed in secret, and include a feeling of lack of control. Binge eating disorder is not overeating once. It is a very serious and life threatening disorder where the sufferer feels a lack of control in eating to a point of discomfort repeatedly.

OFSED: encompasses individuals who don’t meet the specific guidelines for the other types of eating disorders but still engage in disordered eating behaviors. Includes frequent binge eating episodes and possibly purging episodes, body image issues (may include body dysmorphia), frequent dieting behaviours, restriction, “burn off” calories consumed, etc.

Orthorexia: included in OFSED, which is defined as an unhealthy obsession with eating healthy/clean to the point of disorder eating and restrictive behaviors. Often shares symptoms with bulimia nervosa (burning off calories through exercise) or anorexia (needing to eat clean/vegan/organic/etc.) Individuals may express body image issues through their desire to be “lean” or “skinny”

ARFID: known as the Selective Eating Disorder, involving limitations to types of food or amount of food consumed without the distress of body image or fears of fatness.

NOTE: these are general terms and definitions. I want to make clear that eating disorders do NOT have a body type or “look”, which brings me to point two.

2) Eating disorders do not have a “type” or “look”

We see this a lot. The anorexic girl is stick thin, dainty and pretty. The bulimic is probably thin too. The binge eater is fat.

It’s not that general.

I was anorexic long before I was skinny. Some anorexics never become skinny. Most people with restrictive eating disorders are actually on the ‘average’ to ‘higher’ end of the scale. Just because someone has a specific weight, that doesn’t mean they don’t have a mental illness. That’s not how mental illness’s work. They are mental meaning they are about what’s in your head, not how your body looks.

If you’re writing an OC with an eating disorder, consider separating their body type from their eating disorder. Eating disorders are about the mental anguish and the overthinking and fear related to food. It’s an unhealthy relationship with food, not a weight or body type. Not only will you be representing ed’s better, it is actually a lot more interesting to read (the books I’ve read focusing on the mental pain of having an ed are wayy better than, omg I wanna be skinny but I can’t see that I already am. Not saying that body dysmorphia isn’t a thing. It 100% is. I have it. But it’s often oversimplified and almost mocked in media, which sucks ass).

3) Do not discriminate

First of all, there is a huge underrepresentation of men with eating disorders. NEWS FLASH: BOYS CAN HAVE EATING DISORDERS TOO

This also goes for age. I personally know people who have eating disorders ranging from 6 years old (I know it’s sad) to in their late 40′s. Eating disorders do not discriminate based off age, nor sex, nor sexual orientation, nor race.

There are black people with eating disorders. There are asians with eating disorders. There are south asians and latinos and hispanics with eating disorders. There are old people and young people, and boys and girls, and gays and straights with eating disorders. It’s not just the average white teenage girl. Take it from the indian recovered anorexic.

Don’t be afraid, and honestly, please do consider adding diversity in your representation of eating disorders. Consider the cultural aspect of how the standards of each of these POC societies affect body image.

An example of this is, in indian culture, people are very blunt. They also glorify weight loss, but don’t be too skinny either. It’s all about looking fertile, but heaven forbid you put on too much weight. This affected me so much when I went on vacation and met with family, and they all started commenting on my weight or pinching at my developing body. It was hurtful. It was even worse to hear them say I looked healthier because of my weight gain because for an anorexic, hearing ‘you look healthier’ is synonymous with ‘you look fat’.

Also, the type of food per culture! Indian food is very healthy but also very dense, so it was my number one fear food when I still had my ed.

Consider all of these things when adding representation, and ADD REPRESENTATION.

4) DO NOT GLORIFY or ROMANTICIZE EATING DISORDERS

I can’t say this enough. Please do NOT glorify or romanticize eating disorders. Often times, the anorexic girl is “dainty” and “pretty” with a “slim weight that you can hold in your hands”, or “is so beautiful but she just can’t see it”.

BLEGH! VOMIT! STOP! DO NOT DO THAT!

Every time I read that, a part of me dies inside. There is nothing aesthetic or dainty about having your bones show, or having such little weight on your body that you physically can never get warm, even after wearing four layers of clothing. There is nothing romantic or aesthetic about having your bones rub together every time you try to sleep or having joint pain at 17. There is nothing romantic or aesthetic about shaking in fear every time someone touches you because you are so scared of someone touching your body, or judgement, or discovering how sick you are. There is nothing aesthetic or romantic about eating disorders. Period.

Please stop using language that makes an aesthetic out of eating disorders. Please stop describing it as if it is just a “dainty waist” or “tiny wrists,” because a) it implies only skinny people having eating disorders, and the skinny people with eating disorders are more brandable and “pretty”, whereas every other body type isn’t (WHICH ISN’T TRUE); and b) it adds a positive connotation, or almost makes eating disorders seem like a choice; like a diet gone wrong.

Repeat after me: Eating disorders are NEVER a choice

5) STOP. WITH. THE. ROMANCE. SAVING. LOVE STORY.

For some reason, most plots involving a person with an eating disorder (typically a pretty and skinny girl) involves a guy falling in love with her and saving her from herself, and being the reason she recovers.

News flash! If love was the cure all for mental illness, my family would have saved me a long time ago.

Mental illness is complicated. It’s debilitating. It steals your life away from you and it’s a long and gruesome process to try and recovery from it or learn to cope with it. I didn’t recover from my eating disorder ~through the power of l o v e~

My mom begged me with tears in her eyes for me to try harder and to eat properly. I yelled in her face.

It’s a sad reality. There’s never a day in my life where I don’t regret doing that. But eating disorders change you. They can turn you sour. Starving is painful and it makes you cold. I wasn’t a kind loving person anymore. My family’s love wasn’t enticing enough for me to recover. The truth was, I was more scared of food and my eating disorder than I loved them. I hate admiting that, but its true. Which is why they couldn’t have been my reason to recover.

It’s not the same for everyone. For some people, their family is the reaosn they recover. And I definently did try harder for my family too. But when I was in the deep, love wasn’t going to make me rational. It wasn’t going to cure me from my suffering. I was too busy pushing people away for that to happen. The sad reality of ed’s are that they ruin relationships a lot of the time. It takes a lot of resiliency to support a person with an ed because of how complex and difficult it is.

I’m lucky my family did it for me. But I couldn’t expect that much from anyone beyond them. My recovery came from myself with the support of my family. I wasn’t saved by love. I was definently motivated by it, and supported by it, but that was only later.

I’m sorry if this isn’t the happy truth you want to hear. I’m only speaking my own reality. Eating disorders are tragic. They have tragic consequences. Ultimately, some guy who is crushing on your OC, or who your OC is crushing on isn’t going to be the person who “saves them from their ed”. Your OC has to help themselves by reaching out to the people they love and to professionals for support.

Don’t minimize the strength and bravery of a sufferer by making their mental illness disappear with love, because love is not a cure. Empower your readers by showing how your OC was strong enough to seek help, and what a big step it is towards taking care of themselves and recovery.

This is just a general list. Sorry it’s so long. I can go more in detail if you guys want a part 2, or I can make more tip posts. Let me know if this helps. And if you know anyone or if you yourself are suffering from an eating disorder, please use your local resources. Tell a friend, a loved one. If anything, you can always message me on tumblr (@thecomfywriter) or insta (@tovwriter). I’ve been there, and I’ll always be here to support you guys <3

You deserve to recover and live a free and happy life. Recovery is possible. For you and your OC’s. Write a story that makes you feel powerful.

Happy Writing <3

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caffeinatedhealer · 4 years

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It’s been over five years...

And I still love you. We knew each other for almost a third of my entire life and you’re still with me in so many ways. I know I ruined everything. I know you were strong and patient and tried. I just wish I had gotten over my problems soon enough to show you how much I truly loved you. Cleaning out my house today, I found it, the first thing you ever gave me. I still have it, even though that was over ten years ago now. I still remember everything:

Our first conversation, the first piece of art I saw you working on, every one of our trips, the smell of your body wash, how you looked in the morning light as you brushed your hair and did your makeup, the sound of your laugh, the tears in your eyes when you would watch certain movies, the effort you would put into your dinner parties, the ride to visit your family, the feel of your warmth against me, how your hair would react to being combed, the layout of your bedroom and how cramped it was with all your art supplies, when you asked me to guess your favorite record and I came close, how I later saw that record many years later in a movie, and then again in a record store, your love and affection for all living things, when I tried to make your cough medicine taste better because I knew you hated the taste, going grocery shopping and cooking at your side even though you were much better at me and I felt like I was in the way, visiting you and looking at the stars together, walking around the mall and going into Lush, trying to make you special meals and decorating my room for your birthday, going with you to meet your pet for the first time, sharing webcomics with you, making cute little cartoon pictures or photoshop banners about us, when I wrote something for your blog and felt like you were letting me take part in something personal of yours, Steven Universe, drawing us as partner players in TWEWY or as a Fusion Gem, the exact sound of your voice saying “punkin”, and how you smiled when I’d call you “Fluff” back, the first time we kissed near the train...

Before I moved, I used to go back to the spot where I first fell in love with you a few times each year. I know you remember that place, too. You used to ask... when did I know for sure that I loved you? And I always told you the same moment... I used to go to the breezeway and lean against the pillars, and to playback everything in my mind.

You were the first person I ever truly loved more than life itself. Yes, I had loved people before, and have loved people since, but no one ever so much as you. I know you’ve moved on from me by now, in great strides. You’re engaged, you have a house, you have new pets, and even a family... All of your hard work and effort paid off, all those hours and years spent saving and working, and you have what you always wanted. I’m happy for you, genuinely I am, but I still can’t fully put aside the pain knowing that it could have been me by your side.

If only I had learned to stop hating myself sooner, maybe I could have properly expressed all the love I had for you, instead of convincing myself you were “just being nice to me”. Now that I’ve gotten better and don’t convince myself that everyone secretly hates me, now that I have enough self respect and appreciation to realize I have genuine value, I know that love would shine through in a healthy way that would make you feel secure and proud.

But it’s too late for that now, and nothing can change the past. I keep moving forward, and sometimes I can go for a few weeks without your memory surfacing. More often, though, I find you in my dreams. I see you there, just like the days when we were together, and I can hear your voice, and I can hold your hand, and I just want it to be real. It never is, and I always wake up in tears, convincing myself that I have to keep going, regardless of how badly I want to just go back to sleep and find you again.

Find you... I found you... you found me...

I loved you, I really, genuinely, honestly did, and I’m sorry I never acted like it. I was an emotional wreck and was never taught how to deal with the scars my parents left. I thought I could just push them aside and focus on us, but they would always crop up and ruin everything again. I never spoke to anyone about it because I wanted to believe I was strong enough to get over my problems alone, but I should have sought out some form of assistance out of respect and love for you. I’m sorry I didn’t do that until it was too late. I’m sorry I broke down into a disgusting mess and begged you to stay in front of him. I’m sorry that I kept my livejournal going for so long, using it as a covert way of talking to you. I know that you were aware, since you vaguely reached out to me on occasion... but it felt like... if you were still willing to communicate with me, even if it was distant and through viewing my journal... that maybe there was still hope. Maybe we could still work things out. I would’ve done anything, literally anything, just to fix things and grow from them and become stronger together... but that’s not what you wanted. So... I stopped.

I know you’ll never see this, but I’m sorry. I feel guilty because I still love you, even though I’ve desperately tried to stop. I know you probably still hate me or, at the very least, want to pretend I don’t exist anymore, so I try my hardest to just... leave you alone. It kills me and twists me up inside, but I already hurt you enough in the past. Even though it would make me worlds happier to just be able to hold you again, I know that’s not what you want and you never will. So I try to do right by you and respect where your life is now by not trying to be a part of it anymore.

I saw you on the day before I moved away. I went for a walk along the river, and I saw someone in a black tank top walking a pair of dogs. I was wearing a jacket and a hat, so it’s possible that you didn’t realize it was me, but I swear that we locked eyes for a moment as I walked past you. I went to our old “place”, the place where we snuck out and ate together, even after our relationship ended. It’s just a literal pile of rubble now, but I climbed the pile and laid there, staring up at the sky. My stomach was in knots and I could feel my heart racing. You were still so beautiful, even though you were struggling to keep your pets in order. I wanted to say something, anything, but I didn’t want you to hate me for trying to reach out to you. I laid there for hours, in utter disbelief that in nearly five years I didn’t so much as exist in the same zip code as you, and then during my last few hours in my old hometown... there you were, mere inches away from me. I went home as the sun went down, and apparently I had been crying. My roommate asked why my eyes were red, and I explained. We talked for a bit, they comforted me, I appreciated it, and eventually I went to sleep... the next morning, I left. But even here... several years and miles away, I can’t stop loving you.

I need to stop writing this now because I’ve started crying again and it’s almost three in the morning. My life is so much different now, and yours is as well. I can’t help but feel like... we would be amazing together in our current state, but that’s just my overly romantic and wishful heart desperately trying to revivify old dreams. The truth is that we’re “strangers again”, right? As much as it hurts, I can still hear those words in your voice. It still kills me whenever I do.

I don’t know if I’ll ever be able to stop loving you, not completely. I’ve come a very long way in forgiving myself for how I acted and accepting the consequences, but that doesn’t stop the longing or desire to be a part of your life once more. It’s all I can do to simply talk myself through those feelings when they arise, and remind myself that it isn’t an option any longer. So I continue with my life, moving forward as best I can, trying to find happiness where I can, and try to remind myself that at least I was lucky enough to experience someone loving me as beautifully and powerfully as you once did.

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peachyteabuck · 6 years

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loving him was red

summary: you’ve never had sex on your period, but when you find yourself heated during aunt flow’s visit while at an event with steve, the perfect opportunity arises for you to try it out.

pairing: steve rogers x reader

words: 2381

trigger warnings: menstruation mention, some graphic descriptions of blood, smut (oral, fingering, vaginal sex), lots of swearing, the lords name in vain a few times

notes/other: HI PLS READ THIS ESP IF YOU NORMALLY DO NOT i based this p heavily on my own experiences with menstruation + other accounts i’ve heard. it is very important to remember that there is never one singular way to experience a period NOR is there a WRONG way!! all ppl who have periods are individuals with intersecting health/economic/work statuses. this has been ur daily menstrual health psa from lukis peachyteabuck.tumblr.com

ask box / masterlist / faq / ko-fi

Pro: you currently look fine as fuck, and are on a date to some Very Important Thing with Captain freaking America.

Con: He’s horny (because you look so hot) and won’t leave you alone about it.

Pro: He’s horny (because you look so hot), and you’re horny (because he looks so hot).

Con: You’re currently on your period. Not only that, but the heaviest day of it is today, meaning your current tampon is acting as a floodgate to the Red Sea. Aunt Flow. Blood Moon. Red Scare. Hellstorm. Bitch in Red. Crimson Tide. Shark Week.

You get the picture.

When he thinks no one’s looking, Steve slides his hands down to your ass. You tense and squeeze your eyes shut.

“Babe, stop,” you hiss through your teeth, but you don’t sound very convincing. A waiter comes by with glasses of champagne and you grab two. You’re gonna need them to get through the next few hours, both because the...whatever you’re at is boring as hell and because all you want to do is jump your boyfriend’s bones.

“Why?” Steve says lowly into your ear. You take another sip of champagne, trying to quell the desire in your stomach. “You look so hot, your tits and ass look so good. Can’t wait to get home and give you all the bruises you want. Can’t wait to make you cum under me. Just wanna fuck you until you can’t remember you own name, until you’re begging me to stop.”

You grab the table in front of you and moan, other patrons be damned.

“Babe,” you whimper. “Stop, seriously.”

He laughs a little. “What? Can’t take the heat, should’ve expected this. In that dress? You know, I can’t tell what’s hotter, you in or you wi-”

You take a large drink from one of the glasses and turn to face him. You use your babysitting voice, the one you use with Peter when he pulls some dumb shit and no one has the courage to shame him. Damn Tony, doesn’t want to grow a spine and discipline Peter for fear of making him hate the man. “Steven Grant Rogers, I am on my period, and unless you want to beat your meat on the couch tonight, I’d recommend you cut it out.”

He’s stunned, a little. You snapping at him is extremely uncommon, you’re normally a total sweetheart with him (Who wouldn’t be?). Steve’s mouth hangs open a little as you turn back to face the crowd.

You engage with the rest of the Avengers who came - Sam, Tony, Pepper, and a few other people who you’d been wanting to talk to. A designer, some singers, a movie producer. You have lively conversations and Steve’s hand stays safely above your waist the whole time.

This time, it feels awkward. Not...sexual, like usual.

Now it’s just supportive, a way to tell you know he’s there. That’s it.

You feel bad, so bad. He was just telling you how attracted he was to you and you literally snapped at him like he was a petulant child! God, what’s wrong with you? Why were you so angry out of nowhere!

Oh, you’re in your period.

Right.

Once you’re too tired to stand in your heels, Steve moves you into the limo that’ll take you back to Stark tower. He holds your hand the entire way back, even carries your heels for you once you make it through the entrance.

He’s so amazing. And sweet. And kind. You want him to rearrange your guts.

You’ve been together long enough that he knows the minute you get into your shared apartment you want your dress unzipped so you can hunch over a take a deep breath. He guesses (correctly) that you need it undone even more so now that you’re bloated. When comes behind you to grab at it, you sigh.

“I’m so sorry for losing my self control earlier this evening...it’s just…”

You turn around, facing him. He looks so sad and you feel like you’ve kicked a puppy. Or stepped on a flower. Or thrown a fire blanket over the sun. Or slammed a baby’s hand in a car door.

In short, you’re a horrible person and all you want to do right now is cry dramatically surrounded by roses and candles. Or maybe while you stress eat banana bread.

“I’m so fucking horny when I’m on my period, and I’ve always just...I know guys find it so gross and frankly, I guess I unders-”

Steve tilts your chin up with his knuckles. It’s a sweet gesture, grounding. You stop talking, enchanted by his beautiful eyes. “I don’t find it gross at all.”

You gulp, remaining silent as he spoke. What?

“Let me fuck you, please. I find you so beautiful, and a natural and healthy body function isn’t going to change that.” The dress slips down your body and he first kisses down your chest, then your stomach, then lands on his knees right in front of your pussy. The dress, with its deep, wide neckline didn’t allow for a bra, so he skips right down to your panties. Menstruating had made your lips extra sensitive, so you told your stylist specifically to give you a simply black cotton panty.

Steve, someone who has seen you in much fancier, much more expensive, and/or much sexier lingerie, doesn’t seem to mind. He still pulls them down with his teeth, and massages your inner thighs. You want to look away so badly, so worried about what he’ll say when he finds the string of your tampon, or if he sees your more pronounced belly due to bloating.

When the panties hit the floor, you want to scream. Why is he doing this? Why does he find you sexy?

“Okay,” you finally get out. You immediately regret your response. Okay!? What was he asking you, what he was getting for dinner? You could at least say please!

You try to breathe, to calm down. But you can’t. You absolutely cannot calm the fuck down.

“Open your legs a little for me, babe,” he whispers. It’s low, calm. The kind of voice you’d use if you’re trying to pet a stray cat on the street. He’s trying to get your heart to stop racing, for your palms stop sweating.

You follow his orders, opening your knees a little bit, attempting to relax your muscles in the process. He coaxes the tampon string down from where you tucked it in, pulling it out slowly.

When he pulls it away, it’s a deep, ugly brown. Not earthy, or some deep coffee-like brown, or a beautiful oak in a desk at Ikea.

It’s gross. Just plain gross.

You wince a little at the sight, and he tosses it into the trash can under your desk.

“Now that we have that out of the way,” he inches his strong hands back up your legs, digging a little into the sore muscles.

Right before they can ghost your clit, you sigh.

“Wait,” you say. Steve hands stop and you close your eyes.

You can’t look at him, you’re so embarrassed.

But you want to do this, and you want to feel good while it happens. “Lean me against a wall, it feels better on my lower back if I have something to lean against...also I’m really sensitive right now, so going slow would be appreciated.”

Steve nods, standing up and pressing you into the closest wall. “Anything else, darling?”

He’s eye-level with you now, and fuck you love him so much.

You shake your head. “No...just, thank you...for this.”

He descends again and smiles. “Anything for you, my love.”

First he circles a thumb around your clit, inserting some of his middle finger into you. It feels so good, especially since you haven’t gotten off at all this week.

You blame it on being too busy, but you know why.

It’s never something you could understand, why you were always so ashamed of being on your period. Maybe it was societal influence, maybe it was because once a kid pulled a tampon out of your purse in high school and called you a she-demon, maybe it was because once your period started while having sex with your most recent ex-boyfriend and he called you a nasty bitch and then broke up with you...while you were both still naked.

Whatever it was, you knew three things:

One, you have the best boyfriend in the world.

Nope, scratch that, the universe.

Two, your boyfriend cares for you a lot and wants you to be happy.

Three, whatever he’s doing is incredibly erotic and you love it.

It’s absolute ecstasy, the way he pumps his fingers in and out of you in rhythm with circles around your clit. You knead your breasts and moan lewdly, and it only drives Steve to work harder.

When you cum, you cum hard. He fucks you through it with his fingers, smiling at the amount of pleasure coursing through your veins.

“Fuck,” you mumble. “That was so good.”

He chuckles. “Glad I could be of service.”

You laugh a little, running your hands through his hair. It’s thick, golden, warm. He’s like the sun.

You bite your lip, preparing to speak.

But he does so before you can. “Want to go to the bed?”

It’s sounds like such an innocent question, but you know better.

You nod, letting out a deep exhale. “Just be warned, changing my center of gravity is gonna...it’s gonna be weird...”

Steve laughs a little again. “Babe, I know what I’m getting into.”

He then picks you up and carries you to the bed. The second he lays you down, you start to feel that familiar feeling you can only describe as a stomach ache, but if it was also a waterfall.

The second you start to look how you feel, Steve becomes concerned.

“You okay?” he asks, eyeing you up and down to look for injury.

You squeeze your eyes together. “Yeah...just feeling weird.”

Steve laughs a little. His hands were stained with your blood, and since he had picked you up, smudged handprints riddled your body. You thought you might be disgusted, or he might be disgusted.

But it was beautiful, art. A painting made with you, by Steve, on you.

A masterpiece.

Steve seems to have the same thought. “Should draw this and sell it to that damned museum we were just at...hang it up for all the world to see just how beautiful you are…”

You think Steve is about to just fuck you, and you’re totally okay with that.

Not expecting to get fucked and then getting fucked is a wonderful surprise, one you welcome.

But then he kisses down your navel again, and lightly licks and nips at your clit.

The minitrations illicit loud and broken moans out of you. Your fingers fly to the back of his head, pulling him impossibly closer to you. His blood-stained hands hold you hips up, keeping them from bucking. It’s good, it’s so good.

He removes one, and begins to fuck his fingers in and out you. It’s good, your clit in his mouth, his fingers in your cunt.

You cum with a cry. If the first time made you see stars, this time you’re able to identify the Big Dipper. Before the orgasm was surprising, almost juvenile. It reminded you of getting fingered on the bleachers, or in a bathroom.

This one makes you feel like an adult. An actual, real life adult woman with actual, real life adult woman desires.

“Fuck,” is all you can muster.

Steve crawls up to you, resting part of his body on your chest, which is still heaving. He places a hand on your hip, his thumb rubbing supportively.

“Was hoping you’d say that,” he says, smiling. God, you want to hit him.

Not in a sexual way, though. Not right now, at least.

You groan a little at his gloating. He looks like a cheshire cat. “Shut up and fuck me, you insolent bastard.”

“Yes ma’am,” he says before positioning himself at your entrance.

Despite his sarcastic nature, he watches you for any sign of discomfort while he slowly enters you. It’s sweet, and sickeningly slow.

You moan, wrapping your legs around his waist to give him a better angle. This is exactly what you needed to make you feel less shitty, some good ole fuckin’ with your exceptionally attractive boyfriend.

By the end, you two are a moaning mess. You finish again, your hand on your clit and Steve kissing your neck. This time, the crystal clear pleasure is gone, and you feel like a giant fuzzy cloud of “holy fucking Jesus H Christ that was amazing.”

While your pussy pulses around him, Steve cums inside you. When he pulls out and collapses next to you, you’re finally clear-headed enough to take in the scene around you.

It looks like you should section off the bed with caution tape. Steve’s dick, hands, and face are absolutely covered in blood, as is the bed.

That’s when it hits you. White sheets. Deep red and brown clumps of your uterine lining. An absolutely perfect but sometimes forgetful boyfriend.

“Steve, babe?” you question, attempting to pry him away from the edge of sleep.

“Mmmrf,” is all he says, face down, head resting between your breasts.

“Did you forget to pull a towel down before we fucked?”

He lifts his head, smile sated. “Maybe.”

You sigh, and let his head fall back down. Finding a way to non-suspiciously change your blood sheets is a problem for tomorrow-you. Right-now-you just wants to run your fingers through Steve’s hair, his light snores filling your room and giving you something to fall asleep to.

“You know I’m gonna make you do this next time, too, right?” You ask, suddenly just as tired as Steve looks.

He nods a little, then turns his head so you can hear him. He kisses your breast before he speaks. “Of course, baby. Would do anything for you, especially when it comes you makin’ love to ya.”

You smile. “Good. Because after that, there’s no way I’m ever letting you go.”

Steve chuckles. “Ditto, babe.”

#steve rogers x reader #captain america #marvel fanfiction #marvel fanfic #steve rogers fanfic #captain american fanfic #lukis writes stuff #captain america x reader

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lubdubsworld · 7 years

Text

The unfaithful Wife ( Jimin/OC)

Chapter 9

I woke up feeling like I'd been run over by three trucks. My entire body ached , my throat felt dry and nausea hung heavily inside me, bile right at the back of my throat and I knew that I had less than five minutes to get myself to the bathroom, unless I wanted to vomit all over the bedsheets.

I wasn’t a complete idiot.

Even thought it had been five years , the symptoms were painfully familiar and just as bad as they had been then.

My body was no longer my own. I was in for the worst ride of my life. Misery crept up inside me in a huge wave.

“Baby?” Jimin’s voice made me look up and I knew, taking one look at his face that he didn’;t even guess. And that somehow just made things completely worse.

“I have never hated you, as much as I do at this moment.” I said clearly and he flinched.

“I’m so-”

“Don’t apologize, Park jimin! I swear to God, if you apologize, I’ll honestly kick you in the teeth! A sorry is when you accidentally knock someone’s coffee down or step on their damn foot! Sorry does not make up for the kind of things you put me thorugh!!! ” I shouted, tears stinging.

He flinched again and reached out as though to touch me , but i recoiled.

“Get away from me. i have to-”

I stepped out of the bed and ran into the bathroom, locking the door behind me and emptying the contents of my stomach into the sink.

“Are you okay?” He called through the wood and i clenched my fists.

The urge to kill him was increasing by the second.

“Seokjin hyung is here....” He called out again, sounding very tentative and apologetic and I sighed. Splashing water on my face , I slowly washed away the remnants of make up and sweat and wiped my face down.

i opened the door and smiled as i saw the familiar face.

“Hi, Oppa...” I reached out to give him a hug and his arms went around me affectionately. I saw Jimin’s eyes dart to where his hands rested on my waist and I glared at him so firecely that he quickly looked away.

Was there no end to this man’s irrational jealousy?!!

"you still remember me" He grinned and i relaxed.

"Of Course. How have you been?" I smiled. Seokjin was Jimin's cousin, a top surgeon and a wonderful guy. He also owned one of the best hospitals in the country. I'd first met him at our wedding and then a couple times more at a few parties. He was one of the few people who had refused to make public statements about me whne the media had gone around interrogating all of mine and Jimin's acquaintances.

"I've not been eating right...The past few days have been a bit rough." I admitted.

"Yes, well certainly, that would explain a lot of things but the most pressing issue is that... you're pregnant." Seokjin grinned wide and happy.

Jimin went parchment pale next to me and i gave him a vindictive glare.

“Wh-What?” He muttered.

“Pregant!” i hissed. “ You got me pregnant you arrogant son of a-”

“Language!!” Seokjin hissed glancing at the sleeping form of our son and I shut my eyes taking a deep breath.

“I’m pregnant …” I said shutting my eyes for a brief moment. When I opened my eyes, I caught Jimin desperately trying to rearrange his features to show guilt.

“Wait, are you smiling?” I said affronted.

“What!! No!! Minnie I’m so sorry… I shouldn’t have…”

“Stop saying that…it’s obvious from your face that you’re not sorry at all about getting me pregnant.” I shrieked, grabbing an abandoned pillow and whacking him on the face.

“What..I mean…of course I’m sorry that you aren’t ready but…”

“But…?? Why is there a but…” I glared.

“But I’m happy that this time I’ll be around to see the baby grow.” He said quickly and I couldn’t even begin to understand his thinking.

Sighing, I dropped my head into my arms.

“Not a planned one? Well, no matter. You’re pretty healthy and with ample rest you should have no trouble carrying twins.” Seokjin perked and it was the second blow to my stomach.

I went green.

My entire body went cold. My brain shut down completely and the next coherent thought just wouldn't form at all. It was like going underneath the ocean , the sound of rushing waves a faint echo while I struggled to draw in the next breath.

Jimin was spluttering next to me

“Two…What the hell… you’re too small to have two kids in there…” He said in complete seriousness and I laughed in disbelief.

“that’s what’s bothering you?!! “ i shouted and Seokjin wisely stepped out of the room.

Jimin and I stared at each other for a second and the exhaustion in my body finally caught up. i moved to the bed and felt my anger deflating. I was just too tired of being angry at my husband.

“I’m sorry.” Jimin said again and i sighed.

“You do realize this still doesn’t change things between us. I’m still not sure if this will work out.” I said quietly and he sobered up.

“Of course. I’m so sorry, Minnie. It’s just that... when I see other men looking at you and wanting you... i feel like ... like I’m not good enough. That someday you’ll realize you can do so much better adn you’ll leave. ” He whispered.

I gawked at him.

“Does that make any sense?” I said furiously and he shrugged.

“You married me when you were eighteen, Min. I was sure that if you had , had a chance to meet a lot of men and date them, it might not have been me that you would have chosen to marry.”

“Oh, you idiot.” I said completely thrown by this humbling confession. What was wrong with men? ?Why did they have the most ridiculous thought processes.

“I’m being honest here. Don’t call me an idiot for the way I feel.” He said angrily.

I sighed.

“I’m not...i just... why do you have to be so unreasonable.”

He settled down next to me and draped his arm over me.He still smelled like heaven. Still felt wonderful pressed up against me. The urge to lean in, to press into him and to just kiss him was overwhelming.

Park Jimin was a jerk but apparently my body never got that memo.

“Why didn’t you tell me you were engaged to Mirae before me.” I said quietly and he grimaced.

“I never liked her. The night I first saw you, it was at her birthday party. You were wearing a nice lilac gown.” He traced my jaw with a finger and i sighed.

I had a mild flashback to Mirae’s eighteenth birthday.

“I never saw you…” I said suddenly feeling a blush start up on my face as he kissed the edge of my mouth.

. It was the bed. We were never used to talking on a bed. The bed had only ever meant one thing for me and Jimin.

“No, you didn’t. But I saw you and you took my breath away , sweetheart.” He whispered.

My face went redder and a silly little happiness bloomed inside me before I could tamp it down. God damn Jimin for knowing exactly what to say to make me forget why I shouldn’t be forgiving him.

“I met your father later and it was just a coincidence that he happened to want to invest . I only ever met him to ask for your hand in marriage.” He smiled.

I grimaced. “ That’s so old fashioned.” I rolled my eyes.” You couldn’t come and talk to me first?”

“And look like a pedophile?? . I was twenty four and you were 18. That’s quite a gap.” He shrugged.

“You could have waited…” I pointed out, wrinkling my nose.

“And risk loosing you to someone else? No, I wanted you to be mine. Only mine. And I’m guilty of making sure that you had no way of escaping.”

I stared at him.

“Is that why you had such a hard time trusting me? Because you were always afraid of losing me?” I said suddenly , the cards falling into place with a rather rapid clarity.

Jimin looked away from me.

“it was stupid but, I …well all my friends they told me there was no way you would ever agree to be my wife. I mean, God knows I’m no looker… And well, I knew so many men, better looking rich men who would all have given their right limb to be with you. They told me as much. I was wary of not being good enough for you and…”

“Are you even listening to yourself… Jimin you’re gorgeous…what the hell is wrong with you?” I gaped at him.

Jimin hesitated.

“I’m not perfect. Will you forgive me?” He said softly and I sighed in defeat.

“To be perfectly honest I’m more miserable alone than I am with you. I’d rather have you by my side and be unhappy and leave you and cave in on myself. “ I whispered.

“I’ll never hurt you…I promise..” He said roughly and I shook my head.

“Don’t make promises you can’t keep.”

“Will you let me take care of you?” He whispered.” We don’t have to get married. We’ll leave Seoul.”

I stared at him.

“Leave Seoul..?”

“There’s a beach front villa in Jeju Do I’ve been working on. It’s completely isolated but fully fitted with all modern stuff. There’s hospital nearby and I’ve built a helipad anyway for emergencies. Why don’t we move there for the duration of your pregnancy?” He said very seriously.

It sounded like heaven but I bit my lips.

“Jimin…I can't just up and run away from the real world like that. I want my life here. .”

"Okay...Okay... We'll do it slow then. You need someone to take care of you...it's going to be hard being pregnant with Jin Soo to take care as well. ..." He begged.

I hesitated, still not sure. Sadly he was right.

“Trust works both ways, Minnie. I can tell you I’m sorry a million ways but it won’t work unless you trust me. You know I’d never hurt you intentionally…I never have… never will…” He said pleadingly and I nodded, not at all certain I was doing the right thing.

"I'll trust you. But if you hurt me again, it's really the end. And this isn't some sort of promise. I'm not committing to anything. " I said my voice trembling a bit.

The relief that flooded his face was oddly touching.

"Thank you babe, i love you so much."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

A week later, I found myself alone as Jimin had been working overnight on a deal.

I woke up feeling nauseous as usual.

Groaning, I dragged myself off the bed, barely able to stay upright. The doorbell rang right at that moment and Jimin's annoyingly cheerful voice came through the home.

How he could be cheerful, after getting his estranged wife pregnant was just one of the mysteries of the universe i would never fathom.

"Good morning Sunshine!" He called out. He'd always been a morning person and I felt irritation well up.

I'd done some research on carrying twins and apparently my mood swings and nausea could possibly double.

Joy.

I gripped the wall a couple of times, well aware that I was feeling too dizzy and really should be back on the bed before I crashed head first into the floor. But then Jin Soo's voice came from his room.

He was up.

"Papa...Papa...it's Papa..." He whined piteously, already clawing at the front door and I could hear Jimin laughing from the other side.

When I opened the door I was greeted by the sight of Jimin with bags of muffins, bagels and a huge bouquet of flowers.

it was seven in the morning. Where did he even find flowers at this time of the day?

The idiot.

I opened my mouth to protest but was afraid I'd end up losing the contents of my stomach all over his thousand dollar shoes.

He took one look at me and went pale.

Stepping in he dropped everything in his arms on the floor and came straight for me.

"Babe, You look sick..."

He smelled like fresh baked bread and coffee and the faint lingering scent of fresh flowers.

I went green.

I really couldn't stop myself, and ended up dashing for the bathroom at once, the attack on my olfactory senses making me vomit into the toilet bowl. My stomach cramped horribly, determined to expel any remnant of last night's dinner as well as bile. When it was over, I was sweating and Jimin was holding my hair away from my face. My vision blurred and I shook my head.

"Oh, God..." I choked out. I'd forgotten how bad morning sickness had been for me. Tears welled in my eyes and I let out a sob, remembering the absolute nightmare that my first pregnancy had been. I had no wish to go through it again at all. Now, thanks to my irresponsible husband , I was doomed to endure nine more months of hellish aches and soreness and sickness.

I wanted to kill Jimin. I really did.

I turned around to glare at him.

"I hate you." I said clearly and he went a few shades paler.

"I'm so sorry babe, I...I wish I could suffer for you... But..I can't.. Just tell me what I can do..." He begged. Sighing, I felt a little bad for my outburst. I gripped the edges of the counter and dragged my self up , ignoring Jimin's hand. I wouldn't make the mistake of relying on him completely again.

"I.. You'll have to take care of Jin Soo today... I need to get back to bed..." I said tiredly. Jimin nodded.

"Breakfast? For you?" He said worriedly and I shrugged.

"Even if I eat, I won't be able to keep it down. I'll get some after a while." I tried to take another step and my knees gave out. Jimin caught me just before I hit the floor.

"It's alright. Let me do this.." He said gently, pulling me up into his arms and carrying me to the bedroom. He placed me on the bed and tucked in the blankets.

"I'll make a quick run to the grocery store and get some fresh fruits . You should at least drink some juice." He said firmly. I could feel the exhaustion creeping in, weighing my eyelids down. I nodded vaguely and a second later fell asleep again.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"You're starting to show , I see." Seokjin said cheerfully, glancing through my ultrasound reports and blood work with a cheerful smile. I nodded, shifting around a bit on the seat. I was now 11 weeks along and already twice as big as I'd been with Jin Soo which made sense, considering there were two little ones in there. But this just meant I could no longer walk without being careful about knocking into stuff and the dull ache at the back of my spine was pretty much a constant.

I'd returned to work officially and Mrs. Min had even assigned two separate wedding events for me to cater to. One was for a fairly famous underground rapper called Min Yoongi and his partner, Jeon Jung Kook. Of course, same -sex marriages were still illegal in my country so it was more of a private ceremony with friends and family. A small crowd of less than 150. I'd already met the the slightly surly groom, Min Yoongi and his adorable fiance who literally radiated innocence and sunshine. The contrast had made me want to giggle on separate occasions earning glares from Yoongi. But i liked them and I looked forward to working with them.

"Yoongi told me you were helping out with his wedding . " Jin said with a smile and i startled.

"you know him?" I was surprised.

"We were in university together . Two years ahead of your husband. Kookie was in high school back then." He grinned.

"So Jimin knows them too?" I said pleasantly surprised.

"I'm pretty sure he knows them very well. He used to hang off Yoongi hyung's arm all the time when we were in college." Jin laughed fondly and I suddenly felt an unaccountable yearning to know all the little things about Jimin's childhood that he'd failed to share with me.

The door opened suddenly and as if summoned by my thoughts , Jimin toppled over the threshold. He'd finally gotten the deal done and had rejoined work the previous week.

This meant that Jin Soo spent more time in the day care but I was planning on keeping myself occupied with work for a while.

It would take my mind off the morning sickness and the perpetual weariness of being pregnant.

Jin had told me that people just naturally had different kinds of pregnancies. Some ladies bloomed , had no morning sickness and glowed . Some of them, ended up crumbling in on themselves, losing weight and experiencing all the worst symptoms of Pregnancies.

I was just unfortunate enough to be one of the latter.

"Am I late.. is it over??" He looked so excited Jin laughed out loud while I flushed.

"Jimin-ah... She's just getting a check up, not giving birth right now. Calm down."

"Still... I'd like to see my babies..." Jimin frowned, giving me a light hug and dropping a kiss over my head.

I sighed a bit, relaxing into his touch. The last two weeks had been a healing period of sorts for me. I still lived with Jimin and he spent almost all his time here, even moving in some of his office stuff so he could work from home. I didn't mind really, because honestly, he gave me plenty of space.

"Well, I took a picture." I smiled and held out the little polaroid. Jimin studied it very carefully before nodding in satisfaction.

"Yup, a boy and girl and the girl looks like me..." He nodded happily and I gawked at him.

"How on earth are you seeing that in there?" Jin said in surprise .

"What? It's so obvious..." Jimin shrugged.

"Is he right?" I said stunned.

"Well, no one can possibly tell now. You're still in the early stages. But honestly, I suspected the same thing. " Jin looked flabbergasted. " But I've never had a parent accurately know the sex..." Jin looked completely baffled and Jimin waggled his eyebrows at me/

"Hear that babe? I'm a genius..."

I smiled shaking my head. " Is Jin Soo fine?"

"He's with his cousins. He's happy. Don't worry too much..." He said softly. I nodded, still a bit upset that i couldn't take full care of jin Soo. Without meaning to, my son sometimes roughed around with me a lot. After a few incidents of him accidentally kicking me in the stomach, Jimin and Jin convinced me that it was best to leave him with his aunt and cousins for a while. Carrying twins was always a risk, so I had to be extra careful with how much i worked.

"Jimin-ah...Your mother called me earlier." Jin said softly and I stiffened. So did Jimin.

"She wants to talk to both of you." He said softly.

I felt violent protest build up inside me.

"Thank you hyung." Jimin said politely before holding a hand out for me to take. I hesitated before taking it. Once we were in the car he quickly took my hand in his and squeezed.

"You don't have to come meet her..."

"I wasn't planning to. We're divorced now. I don't answer to your family anymore." I didn't mean to sound very rude but Jimin flinched.

"Can I take you out to dinner tonight?" He said after a pause and I sighed.

"I don't think that's going to work. I need to meet Yoongi and Jung Kook tomorrow for lunch ."

Jimin blinked.

"Wait, you're the gorgeous caterer?"

I stared at him in surprise.

"What?"

But Jimin was gripping the wheel tight enough to make his knuckles turn white.

"Fucking Kim Taehyung, I'm going to murder his ass!!" He gritted out.

"Who on earth is Kim Taehyung?" I said confused.

"He's Yoongi's younger brother and my classmate from college. He told me he's going to try to... " Jimin stopped and glared at me. " Are you flirting with other men now?" He snapped.

I stared in stunned silence.

"Are you out of your mind? I don't even know a Kim Taehyung..." I said shrilly.

"Well, he knows you. He told me he met you when he was out with Yoongi picking flavors for the cake. " Jimin stared at me accusingly and I wracked my brains to try and remember.

"Wait.." I frowned. " Does he have like dark hair with highlights?" I vaguely remembered the guy. I hadn't exchanged more than two words with him but he'd been genuinely excited with a wide boxy smile.

"See !!! you do remember him.... DId he ask you out?"

"I'm just supposed to meet him for breakfast . With my clients. We may get some work done later..."

"Work? what work? Do You like him or something?..." Jimin’s eyes bugged out and i rolled my eyes.

"You're being ridiculous. I didn't even know his name..."

"Well, now you do. What are you going to do about it?" He challenged.

"I'm going to date him. " I snapped and then recoiled when Jimin snarled at me .

"Don't you dare..."

"Oh my God, I was joking you crazy person... I can't believe you think so low of me. Why would I date someone you knew..." I rolled my eyes. My head was beginning to pound again.

After a few minutes silence he cleared his throat.

"You mean you may date...others?" His voice was very small and I felt a little lost.

"Jimin , I'm pregnant with twins. I have a five year old son. Dating is literally the last thing on my mind." I said softly and he looked even worse.

"I wrecked your life didn't I?" He said quietly and I felt genuinely bad. There was so much guilt in his tone that I felt weighed down by it.

"Don't blame yourself. You just... did what you thought was right. It's not your fault. Or mine. It's just... things happen sometimes , I guess. Bad things. To good people. We'll leave it at that." I shrugged.

"Still....we both know you don't really have a reason to stay with me..." He said softly and I didn't know what to say really.

"I'm here . Now. " I said finally.

But he didn't say anything else for the rest of the ride.

Later , in bed I thought a lot about what he'd said and what it meant for our relationship , going forward . In a way he was right. Our relationship wasn't what it was. Loving someone and being in love are two different things, really. I loved Jimin but I'd also fallen out of love, somewhere along the way. I liked him, I was attracted him but there were so many scars, so many fresh wounds, barely healed and still bleeding stopping me from taking a step towards him. It didn't help that he wasn't exactly being mature about the whole thing.

Was Jimin really insecure? Worried about losing people? Did that really give him the right to treat me with distrust though? Was it wrong of me to expect implicit trust instead of understanding that he was just naturally worried about losing me?

The questions led to more questions till my heart began to ache and my head grew heavy till I fell into a fitful sleep.

Hopefully, the kids would be something we could share together. Maybe, once he learned that I had no intention of pursuing anyone else, he would let go of his insecurities and begin trusting me.

#bts jimin #bts fanfics #bts scenarios #park jimin

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theladyragnell · 7 years

Note

top six controversial opinions!

Are you trying to get me in trouble??? To keep this from devolving into something that has the potential to eat my night, I’m going to make this “controversial opinions about fannish-related matters.”

1. I come down firmly on the side of “even if a ship or a trope is problematic, even if it personally disgusts me, people have every right to write it as long as they use relevant tags or post it in a place where that is expected.” Sometimes I go into a tag looking for edits for a show or movie or something I just watched and run into people going “well, obviously I don’t ship this, I’m not a monster” or whatever, and I am just So Tired of that culture.

2. Concrit should be opt-in 100% of the time. If someone does not have a note on their profile or at the bottom of a fic saying they would welcome it, nothing but perhaps a typo fix should be mentioned in the comments. I for one would rather have an outright hate comment than concrit from a stranger.

3. I really wish there was more division between creators and the fan community. Creators who are going to be kind to us will be kind anyway. Creators who are going to be shitty to us are going to be shitty to us anyway--Teen Wolf is the example. All those fan campaigns, the begging, the fan/creator engagement, and ... what, exactly, did we end up with? I’d rather just keep a wall, even an illusory one, there. This is just as much because of fans acting poorly as creators acting poorly, too.

4. I don’t care at all if my ships become canon. That’s kind of weirdly phrased. Like, on a representation level I frequently care a LOT if they become canon? But it makes no difference to my fannish experience if they do or not, that’s a better way to phrase it. Sometimes I see “my ship is more likely to become canon than yours, thus you should ship it” and that’s just not the way my fannish experience works. If a ship of mine DOES get made canon, that actually makes me less likely to write fic, simply because I don’t feel the need to Fix The Canon.

5. On a related note, what I want in canon and what I want in fandom, and even the way I interpret things in canon vs. the characterizations and takes on events I want to see in fandom, are very very different animals. Like, thinking back to Merlin fandom, the Arthur/Gwen vs. Arthur/Merlin debate. And, like ... Arthur/Gwen was super sweet on the show! But I had no real desire to read fic. And I loved reading (and writing!) Arthur/Merlin, but could see no healthy and well-done way for the ship to actually happen in the show. Or with Les Mis, I love reading the Brick Purists talk about characterization, but I like to read fic about fanon interpretations, because those characters, the patchworks created by fandom, are often more interesting and flexible and relatable to me than the Pure Hugo Characters.

6. This isn’t so much a “controversial” thing, but it has to be said: look, fandom. Can we, as a community and speaking to writers here, assume that if someone uses the word “Yep” or “Nope” instead of “Yes” or “No,” that they chose to do so because they were going to “pop the p”? Over the course of years this has become a weird obsession of mine and at this point it throws me out of the story EVERY TIME. Fandom, I love you, and this is such a small thing, but PLEASE STOP. WE KNOW. THEY ARE BEING INSOUCIANT OR OBNOXIOUS OR LIGHT-HEARTED, AND ARE SHOWING IT LINGUISTICALLY. Can we just ... take it as read and stop saying “’Yep,’ he said, popping the ‘p’.” Please.

#fanthropology #anonymous #answered asks

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forgetmenotsandroses · 7 years

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กอด

SEUNGCHUCHU WEEK DAY 4: FREE DAY

A/N: This might not be my best work ever, but I wrote it on adrenaline in two hours and I think it's alright!! Pretty proud of this :) Dedicated to @slightlystalesushirolls who puts up with my shit. Also Blood Sweat & Tears is a BTS song for y'all who don't know. Happy Seungchuchu Week!!! @seungchuchuweek

PHICHIT:

He’s tearing up and the walls are closing in, and his makeup starts running (should’ve worn waterproof), then something breaks in him and he’s sobbing and wailing and he doesn’t really care about anything anymore.

“Shhh.”

The sound is soothing, the last thing he would expect from Seung Gil. Especially because now there are tear stains and makeup all over his nice jacket and Phichit himself is an ugly, crying mess who’s had too much to drink. It’s the party for the GPF, and he should be happy. After all, Yuri is engaged, Michele and Emil are dancing (how’d that happen?) and even Yakov is actually smiling (until a drunk Viktor begs him to officiate his wedding to Yuri). But all he can think about how he is such a disappointment. How his family will be ashamed to tell their neighbours that he lost, how he let down his entire country.

As happy as he is for Yuri and Yuri, and, he supposes, JJ, seeing them all so happy is a bit… much. Like rubbing salt into a wound. Even though Phichit is eternally happy for his friends, who deserve all the medals they get, some small, selfish part of him whispers, ‘it could’ve been you’. After all, he had worked as hard as anyone to train for the GPF. He’s sacrificed, poured out his own share of blood, sweat, and tears. Thinking of the song in such a situation brings the barest hint of a smile to his face, but Seung Gil notices.

“Are you feeling better?”

He sounds… concerned? It’s odd. Phichit has never pegged Seung Gil as someone who really cared about other people. Borderline sociopathic. But here he is, wrapping Phichit in his arms and telling him it–whatever it is–is going to be okay. They’re nice, all of these unexpectedly sweet gestures.

“Do you want to go out for dinner?”

“Wha–?” Is Seung Gil actually asking him out? Why does that make his heart flutter?

“I just thought that you might want to get out of this bathroom and have something to eat. Have you even tried any of the banquet food?" With Phichit’s mind racing at mach five, it’s hard to comprehend the question (another question?), let alone answer it.

"Uhh.” Is his voice slurring? Does he sound like a drunk idiot? He is a drunk idiot. He should be celebrating the success of his friends. What the fuck is he doing? So many questions…

“I don’t think I’ve eaten since… This morning!”

Seung Gil raises an incredibly well-defined eyebrow at the loud remark, but nods. "Then we should go out to eat something. It can’t be healthy to be drunk on an empty stomach.“

"I’m not drunk! Well, maybe a bit. But not really!”

“Right.”

Seung Gil hauls his intoxicated ass out of the building, somehow managing to hail a taxi. The next thing he knows, they’re sitting in the car and awaiting their destination. Except he’s leaning on Seung Gil’s shoulder. It’s hard work to keep upright when the world is tilting. His body is heavy and he’s just so tired… When he wakes up, they’ve stopped at a hole-in-the-wall restaurant. Seung Gil supports him as he staggers in.

“Where are we?”

“I don’t really know, I just asked for the driver’s recommendations.”

Phichit almost laughs, because the incredibly put together, notoriously logical Seung Gil does not have an exact plan. It’s a miracle! Albeit a strange one. After all, who is Seung Gil to him? He’s being kind at the moment, yes. And he seems less reserved than normal. A bit awkward, actually. Cute. Before Phichit can ponder this further, Seung Gil pulls him into a seat and tells him to order. He ends up with something called 'Escalivada’, which turns out to be grilled eggplant and red pepper with onion and tomatoes. Seung Gil, true to his meat-eating reputation, orders 'Fricandó’; meat and mushrooms in a sort of rich sauce. As they eat, he eyes the mushrooms with distaste, pushing them to the side like a picky child. Phichit frowns.

“You should eat those! No use in wasting food!” “I hate vegetables.”

“Mushrooms aren’t even vegetables! They’re f-fungi." He’s stuttering now? Maybe it’s the alcohol. Or his proximity to Seung Gil. The table is so tiny that they’re knee-to-knee in the corner of the restaurant. He’s put his elbows on the table in an effort to keep himself from face planting into his food, which means he’s practically leaning across the small table. Right into Seung Gil. Just as he comes to this conclusion, Seung Gil seems to realize it too. He flushes a dark pink (highly visible with his pale complexion), and mutters something about needing to use the washroom. He stands up, nearly knocks into a candelabra, and walks off.

With that, Phichit is left alone with his thoughts. About what just happened. Normally, he is the whirlwind force of nature, impulsively trying to make others feel better and generally have fun. But tonight, Seung Gil seems to have fulfilled that role. (Not the fun part, just the impulsive kindness part. Seung Gil doesn’t really seem like one to just get out and party.) After all, hasn’t Phichit just been swept off his feet into this… date? No… meal. There’s nothing romantic going on. Nothing at all. All this thinking hurts his head, so he tries to focus on the present. Seung Gil is being kind, the food is good, and he feels better about the competition. Much better, he notes with surprise. There’s still disappointment with himself, of course. And the shame of letting down both his family and his entire country. But in this moment, he could care less. By the time Seung Gil comes back, Phichit is happy and somehow filled with new energy, or at least adrenaline.

"I think we should go clubbing!”

“What? Wait, shouldn’t we go back to the hotel–”

SEUNG GIL:

It’s Seung Gil’s turn to be subject to a force of nature, though perhaps not the gentle one he himself had attempted to be. Phichit stumbles out, feeling very much himself again and nearly smacking into a lamppost, right before running back in when he realizes Seung Gil is still inside paying the bill. Phichit makes Seung Gil promise that he’ll let him pay him back (“friendly” Asian competition) and they walk outside together.

PHICHIT:

“Really, we should get back to the hotel. It’s getting late now. Almost 11:30.”

“It’s not that late!” But Phichit is obviously losing ground. The adrenaline rush wears of almost as fast as it’s come, and his eyelids begin to droop. And his body begins to feel like it’s made of bricks. Unfortunately, neither knows the streets of downtown Barcelona well. Or has enough money to hail a taxi. Neat, orderly, rigid Seung Gi has a horrified expression on his face.

“I am never going to do anything impulsive ever again. I swear, I will every second of the rest of my life out. We’re lost, and coach is going to kill me when she finds out an–”

“Seung Gil, you should try to just… live a little! Y'know?”

“What? We’re lost! How is that relevant?”

Phichit giggles.

“This isn’t funny! We’re lost in Spain, thanks to my impulsivity.”

“Maybe that isn’t a bad thing. Maybe we should just go with the flow.” Seung Gil sputters.

“Maybe if you weren’t drunk!”

“Hm.” This is a valid point on Seung Gil’s part. If the amount of alcohol he’s consumed at this point is any indication, he should be seeking out a place to rest, and sleep off the headache he’s probably going to have in the morning.

“Fine.”

By the time they reach the hotel, it is 2:53AM. Seung Gil is exhausted and irritable, and Phichit is so sleepy he’s ready to pass out in the lobby. Somehow, they manage to make it to Phichit’s room.

“Seung Gil?”

“What.”

“We might have a slight problem…”

“What is it?”

“I can’t find my room key.”

“Fuck.”

Seung Gil groans comically, or in a way that would be comical had they not spent the last few hours desperately trying to find their way back to the hotel. “You can stay in my room. I can’t deal with this bullshit any longer.”

SEUNG GIL:

That’s how they end up, Phichit flopped onto the comforter in borrowed pyjamas and Seung Gil on the floor, slightly uncomfortable with this breach of privacy.

Phichit starts suddenly.

“What am I doing on the bed? It’s your room! And you’ve shown me nothing but generosity and kindness tonight!”

It’s Seung Gil’s turn to argue.

“You’re drunk! And going to have a hangover, as well as be sore from all the walking we did!”

“So’re you! This is stupid. Just come sleep here. The bed is big enough for two.”

Grudgingly, Seung Gil accepts. But only to get this argument over with. They lie down on opposite ends of the bed, sharing the covers.

“Seung Gil? I really am grateful for tonight. Thank you.”

“Mhmm.”

PHICHIT:

The sunlight on his face wakes Phichit up. He feels safe, warm, and strangely comfortable. A pounding headache overcomes him, though, and the urge to lay down and die overtakes him. Then he realizes. There are arms wrapped around him. And legs tangled with his. And a person snuggled into him. Seung Gil stirs and mutters something incoherent. A dark blush spreads across Phichit’s face.

They didn’t, did they? No, nothing of the sort.

The night’s events slowly come back into focus. His embarrassing meltdown. Seung Gil’s unexpected kindness. Hours spent combing the city for the hotel. Just then, Seung Gil wakes.

“I-I’m sorry! That was a direct violation of your personal space–”

“It’s okay. I didn’t really mind…”

“Oh.”

“But I wanted to apologize for my shameful behaviour last night!”

“No no, it’s okay.”

They stare at each other, both at a loss for words. Conflicting emotions flit across Seung Gil’s face as he detangles himself from Phichit. He silently gets up and fills a glass of water for Phichit to drink. Phichit takes it and drinks–there’s so much to repay him for, why can’t you just say something damnit? But the awkward silence is maintained. Seung Gil breaks it painfully.

“I guess you should go down to the lobby and tell them you lost your key, huh?”

“I guess.”

“I’ll see you out.”

As they approach the door, Phichit leans in and kisses him. Lee Seung Gil. Spontaneously, passionately, and full on the mouth.

He walks out the door and calls out a thank you, tripping down to the elevator.

SEUNG GIL:

Seung Gil leans on the doorframe and dazedly wonders what just happened. (Five hours later, he gets a text asking if he wants to go out to dinner for real this time. He accepts.)

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ourexes · 7 years

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The "GIRLS" you hate are not on TV

Why the actual HBO show and its showrunner do not match the ones in your head.

It’s so funny-slash-tragic that the overwhelming majority of people who hate Girls most adamantly are actually hating on a completely different show. One that must air in their minds whenever they get really angry at Lena Dunham or at Starbucks, but not on HBO at ten on Sundays.

The latter is a half-satirized, half-empathy-demanding study on a very particular group of young women, with no intention or desire to represent the whole of either the millennial or female experiences—an impossible venture. Only that of these ultra-specific, oftentimes obnoxious four characters. Yet after six seasons of endless debate, many still don’t seem to get this.

In preparation for the finale, I recently spent an afternoon scouring YouTube for old clips from the series, and in that dream-like coma made the always perilous and ill-advised decision to scroll down and scan the comments—if anyone cares to know, the post in question was a hilarious car-ride scene involving a Maroon 5 sing-along and Shoshanna’s thoughts on female presidential candidates. After some obligatory praise for Adam Driver’s character—the only dude involved—one observation with exactly forty defiant, icy blue upvotes read: Does Lena Dunham even listen to what comes out of her mouth?!

Now, when I stumble upon things like these, me being the big boy that I am, my soul sinks a little—and unbidden red fury rises in its stead. Well, very confused person, A) Yes, she does, because this was actually put on paper many months in advance, perhaps even by herself, unless it was an improvised bit, and at any rate B) It’s really coming out of Hannah’s mouth, her character, the part she’s playing, and not hers. This is a scripted television series, not The Hills. Does not one of these people know the difference?

In a wonderful piece by Jia Tolentino for The New Yorker two weeks ago, she attributes this tendency to conflate the two to the show’s ability to craft such raw, fully-fledged characters and stories. She argues that the writing and directing are so excellent, audiences can’t tell the difference between these scenes and real life. That’s high praise for a series with the naturalistic instincts and sensibilities of this one—for any scripted show, one would say, save for maybe Game of Thrones—, and a much more optimistic theory than the next most plausible one: sexism, and generational side-eye. These guys simply could not believe that a twenty-four-year-old woman could create a thoughtful, poignant fictional world, instead of the real-life version of UnReal’s very fake The Bachelor. Could she be capable of some actual, what’s the word? Self-awareness? Could she and her co-stars portray such narcissistic characters without they themselves being just as shallow? No, impossible. She doesn’t even look like a model! She must be a mess.

Yes, it was mighty surprising to these folks when HBO—Deadwood-, The Sopranos-, Game of Thrones-, all-these-shows-these-macho-men-revere-HBO—succumbed to Dunham’s tricks, letting themselves be fooled by this chick’s—what, wanton sex-appeal? No, we’ve already discarded that. Um, art-world connections? Yes, HBO was tripping over itself to greenlight her pilot after that one.

It’s so exhausting when everybody alive in this planet insists on having strong opinions about a TV show of which not even half of them have watched a single minute. Maybe a quarter of those have seen an episode, or two—if we’re being charitable. And then maybe ten percent, or five, actually understood what they were watching.

And then they liked it—or they didn’t. Maybe it tickled their fancy, or they respectfully concluded that this wasn’t for them. But that makes Girls a perfect metaphor for the West’s current political climate—brace yourselves for we are reaching peak Girls think-piece here—: how can we have meaningful conversations about any one issue if we can’t even agree on what’s true and what isn’t? How can we talk about Girls, ultimately a piece of art, a work of fiction on premium cable, if we’re never even looking at the same show?

A good illustrative example of this disconnect lies in the line that will likely go down as the show’s most memorable (and no, sadly it’s not “It was nice to see you. Your dad is gay”.) Near the end of the very first episode, an intoxicated Hannah rushes to her parents’ hotel room to hand them her manuscript, and announces that, while she doesn’t want to freak them out, she thinks that she may be the voice of her generation. “Or at least a voice”, she continues, “of a generation”.

This comically self-aggrandizing statement is meant to be a joke on Hannah—who, it bears repeating, is on drugs in this scene—, on the complete lack of self-awareness that would come to characterize all the major players in the series, and most of the humor. But that didn’t stop smug bloggers and hot-takers from reading it as a mission statement by Dunham herself, all lines between reality and fiction be damned. In related news, Bryan Cranston cooks meth in his backyard.

It is telling that these misunderstandings extend to Ms. Dunham as a creator and public figure. She first faced backlash for building a show that was ostensibly white—lambasted to an extent, it’s worth noting, that probably no other series in the history of television ever has or ever will be—, and supposedly trying (and of course failing) to act as a spokesperson for every woman in her twenties—an extremely lazy and outright inaccurate take, as we’ve established. Never mind her much-repeated explanations that she, like so many of her peers, was only writing about her own experience—by definition limited—; and her willingness to engage with these conversations in a significant way, using them as a chance to learn; never acting dismissive or over-protective of her creative property. A willingness translated into attempts to bring on more non-white actors in guest-starring roles, her constant vouching for creators and storytellers of color (and of different genders, religions and sexualities) to be given the same chances that she got—a sentiment turned into tangible action with her feminist newsletter Lenny Letter, and her production company A Casual Romance, which provide a platform for those who lack one (both projects a result of her collaboration with Girls executive producer Jenni Konner)—and her own admission that, looking back, she “never want[s] to see another poster that’s four white girls”.

And yet, has any of this been successful in appeasing the naysayers? Not a bit. Both Girls- and Lena Dunham-fueled loathing seems to exist in a stagnant pond near a fast-flowing river: unable to grow or morph into anything else, and unable to ever be challenged or debunked by the goings-on of the actual waters. Not unlike those liberal and conservative bubbles we keep hearing so much about.

So, aside from the admittedly misguided remarks she sometimes makes in public (for which she tends to apologize), and a healthy little dose of envy towards her privileged status as a well-to-do white woman (which she seems aware of), the Lena Dunham you so vehemently hate probably does not exist either.

This whole piece is not an attempt to shut down any criticism you might want to level at Girls if you haven’t consumed the sixty plus half-hours of content available—there’s a very important discussion about diversity that you’d still be rightfully invited to, for one (though I would still beg you to listen to what the people behind the scenes have to say on the matter, so that it is in fact a debate and not a monologue). But when we talk about the quality of the show, its value, again, as a work of art (and it is sad that so few of the conversations around it have actually been about this), if you haven’t even seen it—or you have, but refuse to engage with what it’s trying to tell you—, how to put this gently? Just shut up.

You do not need to have opinions about every other thing under the sun (this is a hard concept for a lot of people to grasp, I know. I blame capitalism). And if you do, we certainly don’t need to hear them all. Girls is famously not a show for the faint of heart. Nor is it one for the lazy hot-take pitchers or the confirmation-bias-hungry. I mean, sure, you can still watch it—but it’ll be an entirely different piece.

Having informed opinions to contribute to the conversation takes work. Work no one is forcing you to do—not every piece of culture needs to appeal to you, and not every Summer best seller or successful movie franchise requires your input. So, stop being lazy and make an effort to listen, to understand why a group of people have assembled all these different pieces to put together the product in front of you, what their goal is and whether they achieve it—and where, and how—, and how you might be expected to react to all this; or shut up, quit clogging the Internet, and put on Bones or whatever.

Find this post and more here.

#girls hbo #girls #lena dunham #please read this i worked hard to finally gather my thoughts and take you all to school #writing

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belatedintp · 7 years

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Types in Depth #2: ESFJ

Sorry I am dragging. Apologies to anyone who may be waiting on this series.

Observing Functions: Se, Si, Ne, Ni

Judging Functions: Te, Ti, Fe, Fi

According to the CAPT, the ESFJ type is around 9-13% of the population in the United States, with men being around 5-8%, while the women are around 12-17% of their respective population.

Cousins of ENFJ in judging (Fe-Dominant, Ti-Inferior), and ESTJ in perception (Si-Auxiliary, Ne-Tertiary).

ESTJ prefers functions in this order: Fe-Si-Ne-Ti; however, unhealthy ESFJ can engage in Fe-Ne loops, and/or fall into Ti grip.

Suggested processing is Fe-Si-Ne-Ti.

Fe dominant features in ESFJ makes them caretakers. The dominant preference keeps their Ti relatively under-preferred, which tends to be their area of weakness. it doesn’t meant that ESFJ types are illogical; they’re more than capable of reasoning things out logically; they just won’t generally choose the “logical answer” over a “peaceful answer.” It also probably is better if they do not choose to access Ti directly due to the limitation placed on Ti through their function stacks.

ESFJ mindset works for effectuating mass-level cooperative task completion (Fe dominant), with a focus on maintaining the status quo or improving upon the status quo (Si auxiliary gives ESFJ strong understanding of what worked in the past, and the Ne tertiary gives ESFJ troubleshooting abilities in anticipating some of the negative consequences that should be avoided when executing the plan). When done correctly, ESFJ will achieve effective understanding of the human condition and cooperation, which will hopefully fulfill the ESTJ’s inferior Ti desire, whatever that may be.

The functions themselves do not come with good/bad labels; merely, how well they’re used by that individual to achieve their specific desires and goals. There are well functioning ESFJ who gets needs met and gets the job done. Then there are the ESFJ who are manipulative through use of emotions and does whatever they feel is logical (one of the side effects of Ti inferiority, I am afraid). The lower psychological awareness of Ne-Ti makes them especially sensitive to not being seen as “intellectual.” Even if their academic records prove otherwise.

There is often a big desire to engage in Fe hobbies due to the nature of Fe not being needed in general “workplace” America. Fe users tend to hold lots of house parties, engage in gardening, civic activities, and such activities as hobbies due to their need to satisfy Fe; they’re often quite excellent in these endeavors and are great hosts. Unfortunately, With Fe overdose comes Ti inferiority. These can be seen through:

Incessant curiosity of what the “neighbors are doing.” Most of the time, Fe users fall into the “OMG, did you see what Petra was wearing the other day? So inappropriate, and during daytime too!” or “I can’t believe Kim Kardashian makes so much money doing such indecent things! They have no morals!”

A/N: Not all Fe users do this, but a lot of them do, especially when there are more than one or two of them, and as a Ti-user, I can’t help but be incredibly annoyed by such things… although I try my best to keep it contained.

At a wider level, I would argue that Lobbyist and interest groups (especially those of moral character) would fit into the Fe realm. One of the biggest would be the parents against violent video games; that movement comes around every once in a while in the U.S. The simple logic is that violent video games makes killers out of people as much as watching Law & Order makes lawyers out of people. However, whenever something tragic occurs, some people inevitably blame these non-human “influencers,” therefore ignoring real causes of the violence (generally, mental health, availability of firearms, or even the attitudes toward them, etc.).

I think this is what ESFJ implementation can be when applied inappropriately. It again uses an incorrect use of the functions Ti-Ne-Si-Fe, because such violence is hard for Fe types to grasp (well, for anyone really, …), which is enough to throw them into a Ti-grip. This motivates them to come up with all sorts of “links” to the cause (Ne), which tend to be around their immediate environments (Si), which are ultimately wrong (Ti), but still begs implementation with the argument that it will result in safety (Fe).

Fe-Ne Loops

Fe-Ne loop in ESFJ often appears as ESFJ gets insecure about all negative possibilities. Ne tends to only shine on negative consequences and possible scenarios when in one’s third preferred position, and the ESFJ seeks validation from others to reassure themselves that such fear will not come true. They can’t stop themselves from imagining horrible possibilities and desperately act to prevent the futures from occurring, forgetting that at least 2/3 of those negative images they have have not happened before (Si). When panicky, they would be wise to deploy Si, and ask themselves,

“How likely is it, considering my previous experiences, that this is the final straw my husband has had of my crappy potato casserole dish and decide to leave me and the children to that hussy in the office? Probably none since he ate the potato casserole without complaint.”

Maybe the hussy isn’t a hussy. Maybe they’re co-workers, and she actually has a boyfriend she is happy with, because that is what your husband told you already, repeatedly.

Ti Grip

Ti grip is difficult for me to understand simply because I use Ti for everything. However, according to literature available, Ti grip is essentially one becoming overly critical, being illogical but thinking they’re being rational and logical. Going back to my lame example of the wife and the hussy, it’s seeing a piece of lint on her husband’s suit, and thinking that the lint is from a dust particle on the hussy’s desk, which got on his suit when he sat by her desk so they could make out.

There’s no evidence of this at all, “but it makes sense!” so it must be true!

What I see in ESFJ types is their illogical use of Ne and Ti to come up with all sorts of unwarranted judgments on an individual. For example, there is an ESFJ at my workplace, who hates this other person. At one point, we were friends (although we no longer are), and she would badmouth everything about this person, even going as far to say that she felt sorry for his girlfriend because she has to deal with him (completely ignoring the fact that the girlfriend clearly wouldn’t be with him unless she liked those qualities of this person). She was critical over everyone’s behavior, but you wouldn’t know this unless you were in “her private circle.” You’d also not know how she felt about you because she’d never tell you. Naturally, my view of Fe has gotten worse, sadly. Healthy Fe user, please reach out to me, so my viewpoint clears up.

I eventually had to cut off the relationship because her criticisms of everyone in the office naturally made me realize that wherever I am not present, she would most likely give me the same treatment over something I may do that she considers to be “inappropriate.” I think she is an unhealthy ESFJ though; I don’t think all ESFJ types do this, or certainly, I hope they don’t.

She connects with so many people so easily and can talk to anyone, so I don’t exactly know why she is in a Ti grip. I tried to help (using Ne rather than Ti so I don’t bluntly hurt her feelings), but she dismissed them. So I gave up.

How to Get Out of the Ti Grip

Of course, everyone falls into grips a few times in their lives. Coming out of grips help the person grow, as they learn to access their auxiliary function in order to get out of that grip.

It is the same for ESFJ as it is for the ESTJ; use Si. Think of all of the times when something you imagined actually happened. That Si will provide the link you need to Ti, so you can make the correct logical leaps and not be the judgmental “mean girl,” unless that is what you’re gunning for. Then all the more power to ya.

There are enough ESFJ types that will encourage such behavior, that I don’t really know how one can break that hive mind mentality; but I’m assuming that Fe-Ne loops or Ti grips cannot be pleasant for the ESFJ, who really need the proper Fe feedback to function well and be fulfilled.

They do fascinate me; just how sophisticated they can look at social settings, or how they can handle nonsense with courtesy (unless it is quirky or interesting, I zone out). So… interesting, but as my inferior Fe is always in play, best at arms length.

#mbti #ESFJ #Fe #Si #Ne #Ti #Fe-Ne loop #Fe-Ne #Ti Grip #types in depth

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batwynn · 7 years

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I hope this isn't a stupid question, but how did you get your art noticed? I just started to post my art on here and I was just wondering.

Ah, that’s a bit of a complicated answer, actually. (But not a stupid question!)

(Note: This kind of applies mostly to those who fanart, so yeh.)

Let me start by saying that:

# Of Notes Does Not = Self Worth.

Because it’s really, really important to remember that you exist and have value as a person outside of the attention of others, especially on this website. That being said, there’s absolutly nothing wrong with wanting appreciation. Everyone deserves appreciation.

So, let me tell you a little bit about my Tumblr art journey. Way back in 2013 when I first joined, I posted my first art on here and got 5 notes. [ x ] (And my first ‘fanart’ got 5 more notes.) At the time, I had only joined Tumblr so I could talk to my favorite fanfic author at the time, and I hadn’t really settled into the whole Tumblr of it all. I wasn’t really in a fandom, I wasn’t expecting anything, I didn’t know the 5 tag rule, or the ‘no-no’s of Tumblr. What i’ve learned over time, however, is that you’re going to have to be actively paying attention to a lot of different aspects of Tumblr, fandoms, pop culture, current events, memes, movies, etc etc etc. So #1 is going to be: PAY ATTENTION TO THE WORLD AROUND YOU:

A lot about posting art on here and aiming for recognition is riding the ‘wave’, so to speak. See a fresh new meme you can throw at your favorite ship? Do it, make them wear pants one way or the other, here come that boy. (Does Derek Hale wear them like a dog, or a person?) New preview for a movie/show that catches your attention? Doodle a scene from it. Did an actor sneeze popcorn out their nose? Draw Batman doing that. Why not? The second part of this, though, is knowing what and when to contribute. Sometimes it’s not a good idea to make light of a current event, or reference/draw a problematic celebrity, or support a certain film. So looking into these things first is probably a good idea, because there are people out there who won’t care that you didn’t know that so-and-so did something horrible, they’re here to tear you down and hurt you regardless. (I’m sorry, but this is 100% true, there’s no sugar coating it. Some people are just assholes.) So, while you’re keeping an eye out for something funny or a fun mashup of fandoms, always try to be aware of the less-fun issues that are around too. And, if you mess up / did not know / accidently phrase or draw something problematic / etc, IT’S OKAY. You are not a horrible person. You made a mistake, that does not make you evil, okay? Apologize, remove or fix the thing, and don’t do it again. But please don’t beat yourself up about it, or listen to anyone else beating you up over it. It happened, you’re now aware of the thing, and it won’t happen again. Anyway, #2 is: THE WILD WORLD OF FANDOMS AND SHIPS :

I’m going to start off this one with a tiny warning. Watch out for fandom drama. Look out for the people starting fights just to fight, look out for the people pushing their ideas on others with no regard to anyone else at all, look out for the people using your content as a soap box from which they spout their opinions from. I’m not saying everyone in the world of fandoms does these things, but good god there are a lot of them out there who are more than willing to start something if you so much as sneeze in their general direction.So, if and when you post content/art/etc in, say, your favorite trope, and someone hops onto your post and starts caps-locking about how this trope promotes ‘something they don’t personally like but is not actually a major problematic thing’ and how y’all gonna burn in hell for this art, try to avoid engaging with them. Because they’re honestly not here for a discussion, otherwise they would have probably sent you a private message, sans the caps lock, and requested an opportunity to talk about this. Also, this is a matter of personal likes and dislikes, for which you are not responsible for. You do not have to cater to every single person on Tumblr. You also don’t have to love every ship, every character, every idea, every story line, every moment of every film, TV, book, magazine, interview, anything. No one has to broadcast their hate for these things either. If it’s not hurting you or others, you probably don’t need to create content with the express purpose of attacking a different ship/etc. ( If it is hurting others, try the more diplomatic way first, and report their asses to Staff.)Which leads me to #3: CATER TO THE MASSES (But also, like, love yourself) :I’m not saying sell your soul. (Seriously, please don’t, the Art Institute isn’t worth it.) But a lot, I mean a LOT of what I do is to feed my fans and friends. (Also, commissions are basically getting paid to feed your friends and fans whatever art goodies they want to pay for, so there’s that too) A good sum of my time is spent drawing things I have literally no interest in, or have very little knowledge about, or am up to drawing but aren’t 100% invested in. But I still do the thing, because I respect other’s likes, and it appeals to people i’m drawing it for, and I’m always happy to make others happy. (And sometimes I actually grow to like a thing.)

So, draw some stuff that other people would like to see. Are peeps out there begging for an assassin AU? (You bet your hiney they are! I’ve doodled some myself, hoo-boy.) Do some assassiny things. Are people always sighing about the lack of decent back story about so and so? Doodle a little moment from the past. Friend says they just want some Mpreg? (APOCATITS) Feed them, feed them the art. But--huge BUT here--do not sacrifice your values and comfort.

If something bothers you, is out of your comfort zone, is something you have trouble drawing and just don’t want to tackle right now, DO NOT DO THE THING!

Second but--another huge BUT here--Make art for yourself.

To quote Rosencrantz and Guildenstern Are Dead:

Guildenstern: “Is that what people want?” The Player: “It’s what we do.” Create for yourself. Give water and sunlight to that little seedling of an idea in your mind, try and try again to create that moment or look or design. Ignore art requests like a boss, and draw something to feed your own needs. Because you deserve to be pampered and treated to art of your favorite thing just as much. :D This is leading into #4, which is: CREATE UNTIL YOU DIE DRAW UNTIL YOU STOP AT A DECENT AND HEALTHY POINT IN TIME:

Please do the thing. Please draw to your heart’s content. Please push yourself, expand, experiment, practice, take breaks, draw some more, and some more, and some more. Please don’t give in to self-doubts, frustration, envy, or art blocks. It’s okay to let things go for a while, to step back, to stop working on a drawing that’s just not working. But do not give up forever. I’m saying this for you, personally, but also for the goal that you’ve set before you. To achieve a certain level of appreciation, to get noticed, to be seen, you have to keep creating content. So, to sum it up:

Be kind to yourself and others, pay attention to what’s hip and happening, forgive your mistakes, avoid drama if you can, Feed the Fans, Do as the cat and do what you want, and keep up the good work.

#art #artists #fanart #fandom #popularity #Not sure if this is #helpful #or not but it's worth a try #long post #thatgrumpywolf

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imnoexpertblog · 5 years

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Anxiety Shouldn't Control Your Break-Up

3/10/18

This is about to get real. Some of my friends and long-time followers date back to before I was with Baby, and when I was with my most recent ex and even before that when I was with my ex-fiancé. I have been asked so many times about how I got over them, what I did to cope, etc. You need a little back story to understand how I coped with each break up. We will call my ex-fiancé EXF and my more recent ex REX.

EXF and I were together for four years, from when I was 15 to 19 years old. He was 18 at the beginning, 22 at the end. To make a very long story short; we briefly broke up a few times in the first 2-3 years, he lost the respect of my parents, we got back together, I graduated high school, we got engaged, I moved in with his family. Everything seemed great and we were planning the wedding. As time went on, we actually got really distant and it didn’t feel the same anymore. And I’ll tell you one thing, living with someone else’s family is not easy. If my sister is being annoying, I can tell her to shut up. It’s not like that when it isn’t your own family. That wasn’t helping when it came to getting back on track as a couple. Less than a year later, we moved into an apartment with a girl I met while in college. EXF and I were going to work out our relationship with the space we finally had from his family. Now, I’m not here to talk trash or out anyone’s wrongdoings so I am omitting details. Shortly after moving into this apartment, some bad things happened, on his part. We basically split. Eventually we talked about it a few weeks later and we decided to work on the relationship further. After a short amount of time, things were back to the crappy way they were. I felt like we were roommates, rather than partners. We took a week apart to think about what we wanted. We had a fight that week which ended it all. He moved out and that was that. This break up was long overdue. I had prepared myself for that event months beforehand. It didn’t feel right for a while and I think I knew that it wasn’t forever. Either way, it’s a lot easier to deal with a break up when you are the one who wanted it. This was the first time I had been single since I had just turned 15. I was now 19, and although that is young I was still an adult. I had a career, was going to college, and had a great roommate. As much as I wanted the break-up and knew it was for the best, EXF was my first real love and long-term relationship. I grew up with him and he was my best friend. That was the hardest part. I owe the fact that I stayed away from him all to my old roommate, Hannah. She had been in a very toxic relationship before I met her and she knew how to help me deal with it all. That is one thing I suggest after something tough like this; surround yourself with a positive support system. You may need to lean on someone at that point and that is okay, you just need to make sure it’s someone that cares about you and that can help you cope in a healthy way. That was my biggest success post-EXF. I saw my friends and family more. It was what I needed and it got me through. It’s hard to be anxious when you’re discovering yourself again, too. I honestly had no idea who I was as an individual after those four years. I tried new things, met knew people, put myself out there, traveled a little bit, and really found who I was again. It sounds cheesy but it’s so real and raw. It's always easier to stay than it is to leave. But that doesn't mean it's the right decision. Don't hang on to a mistake just because you spent a long time making it.

Now for REX… This is completely different because I was not expecting this break-up. We were only together for a year and a half (on the very dot). We both were serious about each other, enough to be house hunting and talking about weddings. The first nine months of our relationship was perfect. He was seriously perfect. I was so happy. Something must have happened inside him right around then, though because all his walls that I broke through seemed to be under reconstruction. It wasn’t bad for the next three months by any means, it was still a good relationship and I was still happy. It was the last six months that tested us. We got distant, like EXF and I did. He wasn’t as perfect anymore, in the sense that he didn’t sweep me off my feet every day anymore. I don’t necessarily require that in relationships but I had gotten used to him giving me 200% all the time. Then it seemed like I was lucky to get 50% out of him. I tried to figure out why, but couldn’t get any explanation. It’s like he exhausted himself for the first year and just stopped being that person after that. I became someone I didn’t like. I was crabby all the time, hated everything he said and did, I resented him for pretending to be someone else for the first year. The night we split, I was not expecting to go home to a break-up. I thought we were going to talk (again) about what we can do to make our relationship better. He decided he was done working on things with me and that was that. Once one person is done, it’s all done. I begged REX to change his mind. No luck. I moved out the next day. You can tell already that this was different. I didn’t want it, nor did I expect it. This was when I discovered how powerful my anxiety was. I didn’t eat more than a couple bites of pizza for 8 days. I also couldn't sleep to save my life. Being awake for 90% of the week and eating nothing caused me to lost about 15 pounds. It wasn’t healthy. It was scary. I was weak and tired and depressed. I stepped on the scale for the first time on that 8th day and realized I needed to change something. REX was very emotionless toward the end, so the split didn’t seem to affect him at all. I figured that meant he didn’t deserve me being distraught over him. So, I pulled myself together and acted just as heartless as he had and I faked it until I believed it. I already faced the fact that I wasn’t okay. I was messed up over it for that week. That was enough. I decided to take all this new time I had on my hands and fill it with something productive. I had only been modeling for about four or five months at this point and I needed to up my game. I redirected all my emotion and drive and passion to that for about two months. I made myself a priority and did something that he held me back from when we were together. It was completely enthralling. It was almost like getting that revenge bod. It felt good to actively make myself happy without him. And that was how I met Baby, the love of my life. I knew who I was at the end of this break-up, unlike last time. I just needed to upgrade her.

I noticed I have a pattern after break-ups and I recommend my friends to follow suit. I delete all pictures with/of that person and I block them on all social media. This isn’t out of pettiness or bitterness. I do this because there never seems to be any benefit of talking soon after. I don’t want to wind up back together if we broke up in the first place. I don’t want to be hung up on this person when I need to focus on myself more than ever. It has always been the healthiest for me to separate myself from the ex as soon as it’s all over. With EXF, we talked every now and then and caught up a few times. We had closure and discussed things multiple times. With REX, there was no closure. He literally told me I was perfect and did nothing wrong but that he still didn’t want me anyway. That was really hard for me to wrap my brain around. Still to this day I don’t know what I make of the whole thing but I haven’t worried about it because I have too great of a life for that negativity. Its about finding what is more important and much bigger than the ex and the break-up. They exit our lives for a reason and what better to do when you are alone than to date yourself. Take care of YOU. Do the things YOU have wanted to do. Make YOU happy. The ex is not worth the meals you may skip or the hours of sleep you may lose. And they are DEFINITELY not worth crying off all that expensive mascara. Get some space, surround yourself with good people, do what you enjoy, explore, and focus on yourself. It might seem easier said than done, but you only do what you truly want to. No one and nothing will be able to help you if you don’t want feel better. YOU have to want it first. So commit to YOU. YOU deserve it.

#anxiety #breakup #heartbreak #life #love #laugh #blog #new #newblog #newblogger #blogger #wife #smom #stepmom #mental health #model #write #imnoexpert #advice

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hsews · 6 years

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LA Galaxy forward Zlatan Ibrahimovic is known just as well for his flair off the field. The 1point8 for ESPN

In one of the very first scenes of Zla-La-Land, the latest offering in the epic and eclectic Zlatan Ibrahimovic series, the film’s protagonist, Zlatan Ibrahimovic, is sitting on the bench — and no one is happy about it. It is shortly after halftime of Zlatan’s debut on March 31 with the Los Angeles Galaxy, and the Galaxy are getting soundly beaten 3-0 by their crosstown rivals, LAFC.

The fans in the stadium shout Zlatan’s name, begging for him — even though he’s jet-lagged, even though he arrived in town just a day earlier from England — to entertain them. In the corporate suites, team officials ask one another how much longer they will have to wait. On the bench, the head coach pleads with the team’s trainer, who has restricted Zlatan to 20 or 25 minutes of action in his opening game, for approval to send the big man on a little early.

You can guess what happens next: Zlatan runs on the field. The crowd goes berserk. Zlatan unleashes an alien-level shot from near midfield to spark a stunning rally. Zlatan scores the game-winning goal in the final seconds. Zlatan preens and explains to the media that he was only doing the people’s bidding: “They wanted Zlatan,” he says. “So I gave them Zlatan.” It is Rocky, basically, but with (a lot) more man bun.

Formulaic? Of course. But successful movie franchises have forever been built on rock-solid main characters — and Zlatan is about as sturdy as they come. Brash, brilliant and overflowing with bravado, the Swede puts in a performance that smacks, more than a little, of another high-grossing franchise centerpiece: Lightning McQueen from Cars, who also never met a soundbite he couldn’t top. (If I told you one of them boasted that he “wanted to give the folks a little sizzle,” could you guess which one?)

What works in Zla-La-Land, as it has in the previous iterations of the series, including the last version, 2016’s Zlanchester United, is the underlying ambition to say something of substance. Zlatan movies, despite their commercial appeal, have forever tried to be more than just summer blockbuster eye candy.

And they are. Sure, the action sequences in Zla-La-Land are — as always — remarkable. The arch of Zlatan’s back and the whip of his neck as he powers in a header against the Chicago Fire mark the type of sequence that can make even the most jaded film snob appreciate the progress of computer-generated imagery (it looks so real!). But the value here is in restraint.

Both the film’s director and its executive producer, Zlatan Ibrahimovic understands that as much as Zla-La-Land is the story of a soccer phenomenon, the bones of the film are an examination of modern fame and the ways one (really, really tall) man shoulders it.

In an interview, Zlatan, who has directed each of the previous episodes in the series, said he tried to keep reminding himself of the defining juxtaposition of Zlatan’s character as he determined how to shoot the latest adventure: “He’s just a simple guy, father of two children, husband of Helena, happy guy, big heart, emotional, confident and normal,” he said. “Just normal.”

As a soccer player?

“There is no limits to describe him.”

Whether he scores or not, Ibrahimovic is still giving LA Galaxy fans a show. The 1point8 for ESPN

That push-pull — the feeling that Zlatan wants to be simultaneously generic and extraordinary — lies at the heart of the film and provides its texture. As per usual, Zlatan’s antics (both physically and verbally) are wildly compelling, but there is more here. The softer moments of humanity serve as a tantalizing counter, slowly unspooling Zlatan’s real personality in front of our eyes.

The breadth of the film, too, is comprehensive. It fills in its own origin story, going as far back as when executives from the Galaxy pursue Zlatan even as he suffers a debilitating knee injury with Manchester United. In one particularly charming moment, Zlatan is sitting at dinner with his agent and several Galaxy officials who are concerned about Zlatan’s recovery and wonder whether he will be healthy enough to transfer to Los Angeles.

Eager to put them at ease, Zlatan — wearing jeans and perched in the middle of a classy restaurant — lifts his leg above the table to nearly face-level, like an oddly-mustachioed flamingo, proving that even while wounded, Zlatan can deliver something special. “It was something you would anticipate from my 6-year-old daughter,” deadpans the team’s vice president of player personnel, Peter Vagenas. “That’s a type of flexibility that most grown men — even top athletes — don’t have.”

The film works mostly chronologically from there, hitting the high points of Zlatan’s immersion into Hollywood — a city that is seemingly made for him. He is hounded by TMZ photographers. He attends a Lakers game. He makes the rounds on the couch circuit, hamming it up with late-night hosts Jimmy Kimmel and James Corden.

When he makes an appearance on ESPN, Zlatan gives his erstwhile interviewer a smile and suggests — now that Zlatan is on the channel’s airwaves — “Let’s make ESPN famous.”

In another light, that sort of line might clunk. But as the Galaxy’s technical director, Jovan Kirovski, explains, “When he comes out and says the things he says, usually you think, ‘I don’t like this guy,’ but the way he says it somehow makes you like him.”

Part of that, naturally, is the context. There have been plenty of movies made about foreign sports stars coming to America, most of which fail to find the sweet spot between likable familiarity and utter cliché. Others miss the mark altogether, such as the basketball flops Finding Darko or Dunked: The Frederic Weis Story. In the soccer genre, the throwback silent film Pirlo’s Dummy received immense hype for creativity before its release but was remarkably forgettable once it hit theaters.

Those duds only serve to make the impact of the Zlatan franchise more enduring. Zlatan’s quips and one-liners will forever provide a trove of buzzworthy viral moments on social media, and Zla-La-Land delivers another batch of the goods. From the moment Zlatan signs with the Galaxy and takes out an ad in the Los Angeles Times that says, simply, “Dear Los Angeles, You’re Welcome,” it is clear that Zlatan — even after stops in Amsterdam and Milan and Barcelona and Paris and Manchester — still has his silver tongue.

“Just like when they asked my ex-girlfriend what did she get for a present when we were engaged,” Zlatan says. “She got me. She doesn’t need a present. I am the present.”

Zlatan’s rapier wit isn’t on display only for the media, either. After nearly every game — and most notably after the memorable opener — he pokes fun at the team’s president, Chris Klein, rubbing his fingers together in the universal sign for money while making pointed remarks about how the Galaxy got a “Zlatan bargain” and need to pay up.

His teammates get a quick indoctrination, as well: On his first day with the Galaxy, he submits to the standard initiation ritual of running through a gauntlet while the others beat on his back before standing in front of the team and performing a joke. (Never shy, Zlatan seizes the moment, but the content, alas, cannot be repeated here).

The film has its slow points and, at times, can feel as if it lapses into the mundane. Zlatan’s take on not participating in the World Cup with Sweden this summer, for example, is straight out of The Athlete’s Handbook (“It is impossible to have any regrets”) and, for a guy who has lived around the world, he occasionally comes off as oddly detached. (“I don’t do politics … what I do is passionate. Football is one religion.”)

The upside to being the bad guy, he continues, is that at least you can be certain what someone thinks of you. Because while someone might tell you they love you but really hate you, no one tells you they hate you without truly feeling that way.

In an age of omnipresent phoniness, Zlatan says, that is significant. Also, “I make haters become my fans,” he says. “So I actually need more haters.”

Given the early response to Zla-La-Land, more haters seem unlikely. But this release has prompted another round of speculation about when, exactly, the Zlatan franchise will run its course. The original film, Zlamsterdam, came out in 2001(!), but Zlatan — somehow — continues to dazzle, pulling off the trick that all the best sequels achieve: familiarity without repetition, entertainment without pandering.

The ending here? No spoilers, other than to say it’s hard to describe. But put simply: Zlatan still has it, whether “it” is a knack for dominating in front of the goal or in front of the cameras. Once either of those goes — and they go, at some point, for every character — it is hard to imagine this producer or this director or this leading man pushing hard to keep it all going. The best is the only choice.

Even Zlatan, the character, addresses the future in Zla-La-Land, and his answer — while quintessentially Hollywood — seems as good as any.

“I’m here as long as you think I perform,” he says. “I don’t drag out anything here. Nobody is forced to do anything. It’s gentleman’s agreement. They don’t like me? They don’t want me? Arrivederci.”

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