#I'm generally better at the whole taking care of myself and not pushing myself but | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

fuxuannie · 11 months

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↳ pairing : miles morales x (filo) reader

↳ synopsis : general headcanons / random rants of dating him

↳ authors note : this is me self projecting yes yes u can call me out on it ♡♡ i lovelovelove atsv!! i mightmight write gwen, hobie or pavitr next,, probably another miles one though <3

↳ warnings : some r angsty w/ mentions of blood & etc! beware bewareee 👹

-> i think that a relationship with MILES is more chaotic than the spiderman aspect of himself.

For starters, Miles loves you SO bad that it's not embarassing but he clings onto you a lot, (you enjoy it) however you also want to study for your upcoming quiz without your boyfriend leaning against you, pulling you in for a hug and mayble blowing against your ear to mess with you. He's a bit of a loser whos addicted to your attention and does everything to grab it.

-> but if you have to deal with mr clingy every single day, miles has to suffer with your silly filipino cheesyness.

"Hello bebeloves-" You'll say with a snort, already giggling at the groan Miles lets out as he pushes you off him with ease.

"Huuuyy, di mo ba ako mahal?" ("Huuuyy, do you not love me?")

A pout is evident on your expression, and Miles just looks at you with a puzzled look. "???? I do NOT know what you are saying, please translate."

"I love youu-"

"I know that's not what you said >:("

-> texting and swinging is more than a common occurence.

"Local Hero 'Spiderman' was seen swinging through the streets of Brooklyn, seemingly texting on his phone before directly hitting a pole while distracted."

So now you're here, arms crossed and your boyfriend with an icepack on his forehead and an awkward 'I'm not an idiot' smile on his face.

"Babe, there's a whole lot of Spiderpeople out there-"

"How many of them are stupid enough to text while doing dangerous swings through the city?"

"You'd be surprised!" You shoot him an unamused glare, he sighs as he's well aware you're just worried for him. He knows that seeing him hurt all the time more than enough stress one person should handle, but he can't control the damage he takes whether outside or inside of a fight.

Miles stands up and pulls you in for a hug, the way you continue to still cross your arms makes him a little sad but he rests his head on top of yours and quietly tries to pick the right words to say. "I'm sorry, I'll try to take better care of myself."

That's all you wanted to hear, and you hide your smile as you return the the hug.

-> your safety was placed above all else, no matter what.

Miles knows he can take a hit, he can take several depending on the enemy, but he will take every single punch that he cannot take just so you wouldn't have to.

"You're- hngh... okay. You're okay, look at me, tell me you're okay." He whispers to you while literally bleeding from his torso and you're crying while holding him, going hysterical because he's ignoring his spidey senses that's supposed to protect him to protect you.

There are times where you're by his side in the recovery room, holding his hand as you sob and beg for him to start putting himself first. Just to be even a little selfish and think of himself for once before other people, before you. But you know you couldn't ask that from him, or you could and he wouldn't listen. It was natural in his heart to protect those who needed it, because he knew there was no one else who could do it, not to his care and extent.

It sucks that the very same traits that made you fall inlove with him are the ones that make you cry at your worst.

-> he was terrified the day he thought of revealing his spiderman identity to you.

"Will they think I've gone insane ???" Was his main thought, mostly on the fact who would think that someone like HIM would be the Spiderman swinging outside your window everyday, 'coincidentally' meeting you whenever you needed to clear your head on the rooftop of your apartment, dropping by those anonymous gifts at your door signed with a Spider logo.. who would've guessed?

I think that when he tells you he's Spiderman, he also confesses to you that he likes you. It's a two in one package deal! He could get rejected, but at least you now can say you rejected Spiderman at some point in your life. But of course, you knew Miles Morales before you knew Spiderman, and goodness did you love the boy under the suit more than the persona he wore with it on.

You've had to restrict his daytime Spidey visits though, if enough people take note that Spidermans been visiting YOUR room when you and Miles start dating.. it could spark some rumours. (it doesn't stop him, he does it anhway)

-> "don't worry, i'm not jealous." you always knew Miles was a bad liar.

Miles Morales, Spiderman, Straight A student (minus spanish but we don't talk about that) and the most handsome boy in Brooklyn.. jealous of the way you admire Gwen Stacy.

Don't get him wrong, he loves that his best friend and his partner get along, but you and her are WAY too close sometimes. Do you really have to be laughing that way with her? like come on, he thought that laugh of yours was reserved for him alone. :(

Obviously that's just Miles wanting your attention every 3 minutes, but also he knows he can't control who you're friends with anyway and he knows dang well he's the only person who gets to hold you at night in his arms.

He doesn't wanna be controlling and he trusts you so he lets you do what you want, if some boundaries are crossed though he'll talk about it with you. :)

But you won't deny how you are so so inlove with the jealous glare he gives to some people that you're talking to, you never intentionally make him jealous but the way his hand immediately grabs yours and the passive agressive smile has you giggling n everything.

-> DATES!!! dates are sososo fun with him!

"Trust me, I found this new place and a friend told me it's really good!" And you either come out with a full stomach and happy tastebuds or being on the verge of throwing up. Dates are always something new, Graffiti dates, picnic dates, study dates and such.

All of them are always full of joyful memories because Miles does everything in his power to make sure you laugh until your sides HURT. He knows how much memories can mean to people, it's all he has left of his uncle and so he wants to make sure that if something goes wrong, you'll have enough memories of you and him to last a lifetime. :')

His favorite kind are the ones where you sleep over, his parents are always bugging him on when you're going to visit and he's happy to see the widest smile on his mothers face when she sees you.

Of course he's happy for you to spend time with his family, but when it's finally just you and him in the comfort of his bed he feels calm and relaxed. There's so much stress in his life, not only as Spiderman but the upcoming rise as a teenager and only you bring a sense of relaxation for even just a few hours.

-> lowkey flirting in tagalog b4 u guys got together!!! 🤞

Miles used to hear you say random phrases in your foreign language while you looked at him, one that seemed to stick with him for a while was; "Ampogi mo talagaaaaa.." Which he wanted to ask you about, but figured it was just a silly joke or insult.

Surprise surprise, while he's learning how to speak your language, you can imagine his shock when he figures out just exactly what pogi meant.

"YOU WERE HITTING ON ME THIS ENTIRE TIME????"

-> love languageeez !!!!

Miles practically has all of the love languages, especially giving them!!

Words of Affirmation? He promised to himself to let you sleep without a heavy heart, whispering into your ear about how you're enough for him and how he believes you're genuinely the perfect person for him.

Quality Time? Boy is glued to you TWENTY FOUR SEVEN, not a day you don't spend atleast 10 hours with him because that is what he DEMANDS!! That's a joke, but he really does try everything he can to be by your side.

Acts of Service? His mama did NOT raise a boy who doesn't know how to care for someone, he'll take care of all your worries and chores whenever he comes over. Whatever you ask, it will be granted as soon as possible. ♡

Gift Giving? He prefers handmade gifts over anything, he'll spend nights during patrols that have nothing going on to make tiny presents to give you in the morning. He loves to make you mini scrapbooks with doodles of you and him together.

Physical Touch? His favorite, words cannot EXPLAIN how much he loves to hold you. PDA isn't a problem for him, whether or not you like it will depend if he does PDA w you or not. He doesn't really mind if you aren't into it, Miles himself actually prefers to be affectionate behind closed doors but he's happy to do the smaller things like hand holding or hugs.

#˚₊· ͟͟͞➳❥ bailu's candy stash #atsv x reader #spiderman atsv x reader #spiderman x reader #miles morales x you #miles morales x reader #miles x reader

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msmargaretmurry · 3 months

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Anon doing ratnovel reread again - it's an absolute pleasure to (re)immerse myself in this world and these characters, and I know I'm not the only one who loves these extra little insights into haw-verse! Rereading it and knowing the general shape of Leon's side (poor guy with his soft little heart that he gave to Matthew and then...) makes it so much more hurty. Which I love. And speaking of (and I promise I won't bombard you with questions for each moment, probably, but I am still immersed in the feels), what is Leon's side of things when Matthew tells him to leave after the kiss?? Obviously he is heartbroken, but does he cry about it, is he very stoic German, does McDavid take on look at him and facepalm because he KNEW Leon was too much of a softie for this...?

Leon is an idiot.

Sitting in the back of the car back to the hotel, that’s all he can think. He is an idiot. He’s so fucking stupid.

He could think about other things. Matthew’s mouth against his, finally. The hot, desperate way he kissed back. That moment, lying together afterward, when Leon thought, stupidly, idiotically, that he was getting what he wanted. But if he thinks about those things, his hands start to shake and his stomach turns and he is not paying the clean-up fee for throwing up in an Uber, so he stays focused.

He’s an idiot.

He needs another shower, and he’s an idiot.

Not an idiot for thinking Matthew was feeling something even remotely similar to what he felt. No, he’s still painfully sure about that. An idiot for thinking Matthew felt enough — cared enough — to get the fuck over whatever the fuck is wrong with him long enough to have one honest moment. To think he'd see Leon putting himself out there and meet him halfway — not even halfway, a third of the way. A quarter of the way would have been enough.

At least it’s a short ride.

The hotel lobby is mostly empty at this hour, which Leon is grateful for as he stalks to the elevator, mashes the unlock on the digital key on his phone until it takes him to his floor. If he ran into a teammate right now— he can’t fathom having a conversation. He’s still burning so hot with humiliation that he can hardly see straight. The real world feels far away. Everything is white noise and his own stubborn heart still thudding in his ears.

He needs a shower. He still has Matthew’s come on him, under his clothes, drying on his stomach, sticking to his shirt. The sensation makes him want to puke, but he’s not doing that in a hotel elevator any more than he’s doing it in an Uber.

He’s such a fucking idiot.

In his room, he goes straight to the bathroom, stripping his clothes off with such determination that he pops a button off his shirt, then another as he yanks it off in frustration. He’ll care later, maybe. More likely he’ll just trash the whole shirt. He does not wait for the water to get hot, and cringes when he steps under the cold spray, but it doesn’t deter him from scrubbing himself clean. And it doesn’t take long to warm up. Faster than the water in Matthew’s shower warms up.

He is not going to cry.

Leon’s not an easy crier. He’s emotional, yeah, and he gets choked up easier than some guys, but it’s pretty rare that actual tears fall. But he’s got this tightness in his chest, this pressure behind his eyes, like there’s a dam inside him that wants to break. He rubs his hands over his face as water pours over him, streaming down his back and shoulders, hot enough now that it’s surely turning his skin red. Better than his skin being red from Matthew’s fingers digging into it. A sob tries to push its way up and out of his throat; he bites hard on the heel of his hand, turning it into a sharp, muffled sound.

And he shouldn’t care, he shouldn’t care about what Matthew is doing right now, but, fuck, Leon hopes he feels like shit. He hopes he’s still sitting there alone on his bed, staring at the t-shirt folded on his dresser, feeling like shit.

He presses his palms to his eyes, his breaths coming too fast and too short.

“Fuck,” he yells, the word swallowed up by the steam.

He’s such a fucking idiot.

If he could, he would stand in the shower until the water ran cold. But this is a hotel, so it’s not going to get cold. So instead he stands there until he can breathe without it catching in his throat. Until the pressure behind his eyes eases just enough that the danger of crying is no longer imminent. Until it hits him how fucking exhausted he is and suddenly all he wants is to lie down.

He shuts off the water, towels off, and goes to collapse onto his bed. He nearly steps on his phone on the way, so he scoops it up to take with him, but he doesn’t look at it yet. If Matthew hasn’t texted, it’ll make him want to throw up. If Matthew has texted, that might also make him want to throw up.

At least his life will be a lot less complicated now, he thinks, and that also makes him want to throw up.

He lays there miserably for who knows how long. He’s been miserable before, after losses, after breakups. The entire time they were getting swept in the conference finals last year while his ankle throbbed so badly he could hardly stand. Could hardly think. He wishes he had some kind of real physical injury right now to explain away how much he hurts inside. He’s been miserable before, but not like this.

He’s so tired, but he can’t sleep. The idea of sleeping feels completely foreign, like it’s something he’s never done before and might never do again.

He swallows his nausea and picks up his phone.

Are u still up, he texts Connor, knowing he won’t be. Connor goes to bed at a reasonable hour unless there’s a very good reason not to. He sits and stares at his phone for a few more minutes anyway, scrolling aimlessly through his texts without looking too closely at the conversation with Matthew. The temptation to tap in and backread is there, but he’s not masochistic enough for that. Masochistic enough to get himself into this mess, but not masochistic enough for that. If Matthew texted him right now, maybe. Maybe he’d open the conversation then. Who is he kidding — if Matthew texted right now with an apology, he’d take it. He’d forgive him so fucking fast. But it would have to be tonight. Maybe tomorrow. But only if it’s a real apology. Only if it acknowledges, even a little, that they were doing something real. If Matthew can’t do that, then there’s no point to any of this.

Leon squeezes his eyes closed. He’s not going to fucking cry. He squeezes his phone, willing a text to come through. Nothing.

He can’t fucking do this. He can’t lay here all night thinking about it. He’ll drive himself crazy.

It only takes a moment to find sweatpants, a t-shirt, slides — the bare minimum for leaving the hotel room. He stalks down the hallway and raps on Connor’s door. Hopefully it wakes him up the first time. Leon will keep knocking if he needs to, but he doesn’t want anyone else to hear and come ask him what he’s doing.

There is a long, excruciating minute before the door opens just enough for Connor, tousled and grumpy, to squint into the hallway at him.

“Leo?” he says. “What are you— what’s wrong?”

“Do you want to watch a movie or something?” Leon asks.

Maybe it’s the way his voice cracks, or maybe there’s something in the look on his face, but Connor’s brow creases and the sleepiness seems to dissipate.

“Yeah, come in,” he says, stepping back so Leon can do that. He’s wearing boxers and a t-shirt so old that there’s a big hole in one armpit. The ensemble makes him look strangely teenaged, like the shy, skinny kid Leon met when they first came into the league, and that for some reason makes him feel a little better about showing up pathetically in the middle of the night because some guy broke his heart.

Connor doesn’t turn on any lights, just crawls back into bed and turns the TV on with the remote. Leon follows, settling on top of the covers instead of under them. Clicking through channels, Connor eventually stops on one showing some sort of disaster action movie that Leon doesn’t recognize.

“Good enough,” Connor mutters. His eyes flick over to Leon. “What happened? You look like shit.”

“Feel like shit,” Leon says, trying for deadpan, but a lump rises up in his throat and all of a sudden he feels like crying again.

Connor looks at him for a long moment, the light from the television distorting the shadows on his face. “Weren’t you going to see Chucky tonight?”

“Yeah,” Leon croaks. He squeezes his eyes shut and is embarrassed to feel a hot tear slide down his cheek. Fuck. He scrubs it away, sniffling and sucking in a ragged breath. “Fuck, sorry.”

“Leo,” Connor says softly. “What happened?”

“Doesn’t matter.” Leon’s voice is tight, wobbly at the edges. “I just want to watch a movie.” Onscreen, some sort of storm is wreaking havoc. People are yelling, but the volume is down pretty low.

There’s another long pause.

“Okay,” Connor finally says. Then, hesitantly, “Do you want a hug?”

Leon kind of really fucking does, but he doesn’t want to open his mouth again, because he will definitely make some sort of awful crying sound. But Connor moves anyway, scooting up and over to wrap his arms around Leon’s shoulders. Leon slumps against him and tries to breathe through it, but the dam inside him feels like it’s about to crack down the middle.

Connor squeezes him, his cheek pressed to Leon’s damp hair.

“Just tell me if you want us to hate him now,” he says. “Because if he doesn’t want you, he’s an idiot.”

#ask #ratnovel #hockey for ts #i started to write a normal answer to this and then was like..... actually i think i just want to write this scene for real lol #hope this is a good answer to your question anon <3

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steviewashere · 2 months

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The Sound of Silence

Rating: General CW: Internalized Ableism, Quick Mention of the 'R' Word (It's Not Written, Quite Literally as 'R' Word)Tags: Post-Canon, Post-Season 4, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Selectively Mute Steve Harrington, Negative Self Talk, Miscommunication, Mean Eddie Munson (For a Split Second It's Part of the Miscommunication and the Plot), Eddie Munson is a Sweetheart, Neurodivergent Steve Harrington (Implied), Pre-Steve Harrington/Eddie Munson, Eddie Munson Calls Steve Harrington Sweetheart

I should say before this that a lot of Steve's thinking here, a lot of the metaphors and such used, are from personal experience. They are things I think about myself when I'm mute. So be civil and kind about this piece.

💛—————💛

Steve Harrington is a man of few words on most days. He does talk, he loves talking sometimes, has so many things to share. But on a lot of occasions, Steve can’t muster the strength to say hello. Can only make sounds, hums and gasps and subtle clicks. And often times, he hides away when he gets to that point. He’s been like this for as long as he can remember. Though, the first time it happened, he’s not sure what really caused it. Just that something was too much, or he was too little and then it all began. There had been therapists and specialists and urgent care doctors. A lot of conversations between him and his parents that often ended in him being yelled at. Something about him too far left of ‘normal’. And he knew, when the bad stuff came, that part of him may just be this way.

Now, years later, he can put some recognition to what silences him. Sometimes it’s the lack of comfortable sleep the night before. Or it’s the social energy completely drained out of him. Or it’s a particular jab that somebody makes. The raised voice that pushes him over the edge. A nightmare so harsh it rips him of not only the ability to mutter whole sentences, but also the ability to crawl out of bed.

He’s only clarified this with a select handful of people. The people in his life that were closest to him or that would understand. Robin was the second. Words written on a steno pad in the middle of the night, three days in a row where he hadn’t been sleeping properly, nightmares of a cold bunker and rough hands. Notes passed in quiet lulls, pencil scratches the only sound. She only looked at him with a sort of empathy he’s never been privy to. Her eyebrows scrunched in concentration as she focused solely on conversation in written text. He didn’t have to beg with her, which he thanked whatever god gave him her presence in the first place. Then, it was Nancy before their breakup. She could just tell. Her notes accommodated him. Space he took up was always welcoming. And her voice carried softly to his ears, gossip and pet names and gentle praise. Even if she broke his heart some time later, he would always remember her better than alcohol stained and too tipsy to make sense. Max was most recent. She, surprisingly, didn’t tease him for it. Didn’t make him feel bad. More sad than anything. Her voice was raspy in her hospital bed, “I’ll be your voice, Steve. You can be my eyes.” He could see the white, nearly iridescent glaze that permanently altered the blue color underneath. There were no words exchanged after that, but he placed his hand in hers and squeezed.

The others either didn’t notice or were too intimidating to tell. It’s not that they’re scary. But they can be harsh about certain things. And he just wasn’t ready. His voice, the absence of his words, have always been a soft, insecure, and vulnerable part to him. Laying out his cards face up on the table was too much.

But he probably should’ve considered Eddie to be one of those people that he can trust. Especially since Steve lets him move in, take up space in a spare bedroom, rummage through his cupboards. Maybe because they’re roommates. Maybe because they’re friends. Maybe because Steve wants more.

———— It was a bad night. An even worse day.

The images flashed under his eyelids every time he blinked. Blood and loose skin and wet muscles. Echoing screeches of those creatures that ruined his nearly blank torso. That sadness rippling from Dustin. His wobbling lip, wet eyes, the snotty nose, and strained yells for help. Steve’s stomach turns with every subtle movement of his body. Every single time he stretches, the scars moving with him.

In retrospect, he shouldn’t have gone to work. Not when he woke up, throat scratchy and the seizing of his chest overwhelmingly intense with every sobbing gasp. Or when he realized, the energy somewhere else, that mustering words was the heaviest burden to bear. He shouldn’t have gone to work, where he gets yelled at for not communicating. For not counting out the change. For not selling the new movies. Where he’s called things he’s heard since he was a little boy, ‘Dumb’ and ‘Stupid’ and the infamous ‘R’ word.

He’s out of it by the time he’s able to sit down in the driver’s seat of the car. Part of him wants to bang the softest parts of his palms on the harsh, stiff leather of the steering wheel. Another piece of him wants to lean down into those same hands, pressed into the sockets of his eyes hard enough to speckle his sight with black spots, and cry until there’s nothing else to do but go home. There’s the encroaching need to scream, to hum behind his lips, wiggle his arms until they’re too tired to move, too heavy to lift, a worse burden than speaking. But he knows that it’s too open to break down in Family Video’s parking lot. So his drive home is ninety percent heaving breaths and squeezing the steering wheel to remind him he’s nearly back to his bed; his safety away from the world, somewhere where he can recharge, power through this, get back on track.

Though, he’s drained when he goes home. Exhausted. Beaten down to just a bag of meat and blood and bones. The Beemer is parked in the driveway. And he jiggles his keys in the door. And slips his shoes off, hangs up his jacket, places his wallet in the little dish in the foyer. Each step of shedding his work skin like tiptoeing on a bed of nails. Barely even makes it two steps before he’s bombarded by Eddie’s constant, erratic, and chaotic nature.

“Hey, Stevie!” he crows. “I made dinner while you were on your way back. It’s on the stovetop, covered it in foil so that it retains the heat. Oh, and I did the laundry, cleaned up our bathrooms a little bit. Made progress with the physical therapist on my bad leg and I—“

Steve sighs heavily through his nose, blinks sluggishly, and places his palm out to stop Eddie. He tries to say anything, something. But all he does is open his mouth, squeak in the back of his throat, promptly close back up, and sag. Shakes his head, sidesteps, and clambers to his bedroom.

Undressing himself like wrestling with bears. Climbing under his covers as if his comforter is a taut iron sheet. He can already sense it, the shift from charismatic Steve Harrington to odd Steve Harrington. Can’t even suppress the aching, sizzling pang that shoots through. Naked skin to his cold bedsheets. Blanket heavy. The darkness of his bedroom will coddle and consume him, he’s sure.

Tomorrow is another day to try again. And maybe he’ll finally be able to explain himself.

But of course it’s not that simple. Of course his eyes are crusted over and burning like he spent the entire night crying. His whole body aches. And, unsurprisingly, there’s no way to conjure words from deep in his chest. Just whistled little breaths. Coming short and strained from his nose. He stays in bed for the rest of the day. Blearily, he wonders how Eddie’s doing. If the dinner from last night made it to the fridge. Wonders if the phone has rung at all, because he should be going to work.

He tries it. Tries speaking to the lonely, cold, inky blackness of his room. As if seeking for a light. The sounds strain and garble. Like his emotions are honey and he’s gargling. Choking on it. It hurts. He wonders if speaking should be like death, like a demobat tail wrapped around his tender skin, squeezing with razor blade spikes, tugging on him as stiff and thick ropes. Wonders if Eddie can hear him struggling.

Wonders if Eddie can sense him as a shadow in his own darkness, half of a man, barely a person. Thinks that there’s a million ways to explain himself, the words on paper as he did with Robin, or if Eddie will pick him up like dead star fragments and piece him back together as Nancy did, if he’ll just have to wait this out and whisper it in the fragile, sterile, fluorescent light of his childhood home—it’s a hospital in a way, maybe Eddie can perform the role of Max. Steve would offer his legs to take over for Eddie’s bad one, if he’ll be the boisterous noise that should be croaking from him any moment.

Futile, however much he wants it to work. Steve curls himself tighter in his blanket and goes back to sleep.

Tomorrow will be another day. And he’ll be a full person again, tomorrow.

Some day, surely, he thinks on day three.

And the same on day four.

And when he can smell his skin like molded vegetables in the drawer of his fridge, only then does he stand on doe like legs, awkwardly ambling to the shower. He is twenty years old, mute as the day he was born—breathless and making noise if only to mark his presence; he thinks of himself as the stain on his bedspread, that is his presence, he’s sure. Twenty years old, moving like the toddler his mother was worried about. Crawling backwards. Unable to lift his head on his own for too long. He wonders a lot in the silence of his own existence. It doesn’t end now, in the shower with steam clearing his nasal passages. Ponders, Will I always be this way?

Surely.

The dirt swirls in invisible tornadoes down the drain. Those are his words. Still gone. Through the pipes and out to the sewer. He stands on the plush rug protecting the warm soles of his feet from the cold tile. An overly used towel, threadbare and rough, wrapped around his waist. He slips into pajamas easily enough. Hair sopping and wilted into his eyes.

Tentative creaks down the stairs. Shuffling if only to take up space. Frozen to his spot in the kitchen doorway. There, in the kitchen, shrouded in amber light with a warm mug of what appears to be hot chocolate, is Eddie. He looks up from the pale brown liquid in his cup. His eyes are richer than that of what he drinks. And Steve is startled by how sad, though ferociously angry they are.

“I know this is your house and you’re allowed to do whatever the fuck you want, but you can’t just be a piece of shit to me,” Eddie rasps. His voice is nearly hollow. Penetrated by shrapnel between his teeth. And Steve also wonders if that’s what he’ll sound like after this. This limbo he can’t control. “Seriously, Steve. I thought you were, like, changed or something. Thought you were supposed to be this good guy now. Not a douchebag, remember?”

‘Douchebag’ spits from him like acid. Steve is burning. He is sizzling. Can’t help the trembling in his hands. Or the subtle, missed by Eddie, flinch that forces him back a step.

He looks away from those molten eyes of Eddie’s. Towards the floor. At his bare feet. Going cold against the hardwood. Wants to throw it all up. The explanation. His thoughts. Every little other thing about him that’s always made him some sort of spectacle in his parent’s marriage. Am I the cold, he asks to nobody in particular, or am I the body drowning in it?

Eddie sniffles. Clears his throat. Sighs disappointingly.

Steve is five years old. His dad is sitting at the table. He is being scolded for not speaking up. Steve is eight years old, covered in mud and pink lines from being scuffed on the concrete. He is being scolded for not speaking up. Steve is eighteen years old, bloodied, beaten blue, sweaty, and soot on his new shoes. He is being scolded for not speaking up.

He is traumatized. And he is tired. And he can’t explain, no matter how much he wants.

“Maybe I should’ve expected this,” Eddie mutters, “being friends with Steve Harrington was always a sort of fantasy anyway, right? Who could like a freak?”

It’s not loud, though it disrupts the quiet Steve thought could never be broken again. He sobs. Wretched and screeching. The tears like a flash flood. His chest caving in. All the sounds escaping him, garbled and messy and drowning. He is drowning. He is different. He’s a freak. And Eddie must know, but not like Nancy does. Or he must have found something, the steno pad. Must’ve talked to Max, something.

He collapses into one of the dining chairs. A heaping mess of blood and skin and bones and meat. Just this. He is this with nothing to explain for it.

Out of the corner of his eye, though blurry, he sees Eddie stand from his chair. Making some sort of aborted movement. And, without much thinking, Steve scrambles his hands forward, wrapping them tight on Eddie’s forearms, tugging him in too close. Forcing him to stumble into his knobby knees. Fingers still squeezing, fingernails biting into Eddie’s soft skin.

“Hey, whoa, whoa,” Eddie’s whispering, “Stevie, hey.” He crouches down, arms encased in Steve’s terrible hold. It’s almost hard to picture, the space and positions between them. Eddie’s wobbling on his own feet, probably sore and aching on his bad leg. Though, there’s a palm warm on Steve’s cheek. Wiping away at the tears. Trying to, at least; more keep streaming. Fingers carefully scooting into his hairline. Massaging on his scalp, pruning with the cold water in his hair. “Steve,” he murmurs, “hey, it’s okay. I’m sorry. That was—I’m sorry, Steve. I really am. That wasn’t okay.”

He doesn’t know what comes from him next to cause Eddie’s eyes to widen in both surprise and horror, but it must be something awful. A scream. Loud and piercing and high pitched. Shooting from him like a bullet, shattering everything between them. Shrapnel from between his teeth.

Eddie frees from Steve’s grasp, wrapping his arms around his shaking back, bringing him in gently. Rocking him from side to side until he’s only whimpering. Petting down Steve’s hiccuping back. “You’ll be okay,” he whispers against Steve’s ear. “I was being mean. I’m sorry, sweetheart. I’m sorry.”

Eventually, he pulls back some. Putting a small amount of space between their bodies. Steve is shaking from it all. Unable to do much. Eddie soothes a hand down his left arm. “Tell me what’s going on? How come you’ve been pulling away?”

Steve shakes his head. Placing a tired and limp hand on his throat.

“You lose your voice? Are you sick?” Again, Steve shakes his head. And Eddie goes quiet for a few slow moments. Until, a lightbulb seems to shine bright and shatter over his hair, amber light still causing him to glow, despite it all. He scrambles up off the floor. Squeezes Steve’s shoulders. Lightly says, “Stay here, okay? I’m gonna go find a pen and some paper. Be right back.”

When he’s back at Steve’s chair, the both of them significantly calmer, a brand new steno pad is in his hands. He hands it off with a chewed up ballpoint pen. “Tell me by writing it down.”

And so Steve does. Gives it back. Lets Eddie read his chicken scratch scrawl.

‘I don’t know what’s wrong with me,’ is the first thing. Followed by, ‘I’ve been like this since I was a little kid. When things get bad or I just don’t have the energy, it’s like my body forgets how to talk.’

“Oh,” Eddie whispers. He blinks at the paper and looks up to Steve. A sad little smile flashes on his face. “Okay, Steve. I—I think I get it. Kind of like when my day gets really busy and then when I go home, I just shut myself in my room and listen to music until I fall asleep. Kinda like that?”

Steve shrugs and reaches for the paper again. Writing, ‘Sort of. But it’s for a long time. Like…You know now. Sometimes I don’t talk for weeks. Sometimes it’s a few hours. But I get like this a lot.’ When he’s finished and Eddie goes to speak again, Steve immediately writes some more. Eddie’s mouth shuts with the soft click of his teeth.

‘Am I really a freak?’ Is what Eddie reads next.

His head shoots up from the paper. Eyes impossibly wider than they’ve ever been. Startled and desperate and unbearably sad. “No,” he murmurs quickly. “No, Steve, you’re not a freak. What makes you think that?”

The pad trembles in Steve’s grasp. He doesn’t want to write it, wouldn’t even want to speak it. But still, he sketches, ’You asked me, “Who could like a freak?”’ He tilts his head at his own words. Ducks back in, his hands shaking too much and his eyes moist. ‘It’s okay if you think so. I’m kind of used to it.’

Eddie snatches the paper from Steve’s offered grip. He swallows heavily and locks eyes with him, they’re still so sad. He wonders if that’s what Eddie’s seeing, too. “Stevie, no,” he whispers. “No, I was talking about myself. I thought you were mad at me. Thought you didn’t like me. I don’t think of you that way.”

Steve nods, sagging with relief. And with it a few tears spring loose from his eyes. A hand softly cups his jaw, thumbing at his fat hot tears. He closes his eyes and sighs. “Not mad,” he forces, his voice like raw, out of the box grits. It hurts, but he swallows. “You are my friend,” he musters before falling silent again.

A soft, sad hum emanates from Eddie. His hand tenses on Steve’s skin, but it holds to him gently, like he never wants to let go. “You’re mine, too, you know that? I’m genuinely sorry for what I said,” Eddie says. The apology sweet and drenching. “That wasn’t okay of me. I’m sorry.”

There’s no words Steve can press from within him. He lays his hand over Eddie’s and squeezes. Eyes now open and darting between Eddie’s own. He pushes their joined hands further into his cheek, sighing with it. Boneless in his chair.

“Okay,” Eddie mutters, “I understand, sweetheart. I get you now.” His thumb soothes more. Petting—caressing Steve in a way that makes his stomach flutter. “We’ll get you through this,” he promises, “I won’t go anywhere.”

💛—————💛

#stranger things #steddie #steve harrington #eddie munson #selectively mute steve harrington #neurodivergent steve harrington #angst and hurt/comfort

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sathina · 2 years

Text

Mornings like this

Pairing - Jack Harlow x reader

Summary - in early mornings when the sun has barely shown over the horizon, you catch yourself staring at Jack.

Warnings - oral sex (fem received), domination, swearing

Strands of sunlight broke through the thick curtains. Your skin feeling warm from the morning heat.

You were laying on your side, right beside Jack as you carefully played with his messy hair. His lips sat in a natural pout, slight freckles decorating his face and the toned body underneath your sheets. Golden light sparkled over his cheekbones, illuminating his sharp features.

You were so caught up in your own thoughts you didn't even see him move. " It's not nice to stare."

" Sorry." Your gaze quickly turned back to him. Jack's eyelashes were fluttering open, his body trying to stretch as a yawn broke through. " I couldn't help myself."

" Yeah?" He asked with a smirk, you knew that the slight blush on your cheeks only boosted his ego. " You'll have the whole day to stare at me, darling. But now go to sleep, it's early."

" I can't."

" Why?"

" I'm starving."

He chuckled and rested his hand on the curve of your waist, pulling you closer and making you throw your leg over his hip.

" You know what I'm hungry for?" Jack smirked already having the general idea of what you meant.

When you saw that he caught on, you pushed yourself closer, the growing bulge sitting perfectly between your thighs. " You've just been taking such good care of me. I wanna do something in return."

" Oh, yeah? And what's that?"

" Just lay back and relax. Let me show you." You were fully sat now, hovering over his waist as you leaned down to kiss him. Placing small pecks around his lips, on them, and all over his jaw. Your hips started to slowly rock on top of his, pulling out quiet moans and groans from his lips.

As your mouth moved lower, you looked up to see the man underneath you. His head was thrown back, hands lightly grabbing onto the bed sheets, chest rising and falling.

You smirked at his shuddering breaths. " You're gonna be a good boy?" You asked in a mockery tone, and everything after that happened way too fast.

Jack pulled you up, you now sat by the headboard, his strong grip on your waist. " You think you're in charge, huh? You think you're this dominant little thing?" One of his hands moved to grab you by the back of your neck, quickly pulling you even closer to him. " I'll let you in on a little secret. You're not. You're still a little fucking slut who begs for my cock." You felt your skin set on fire, your whole body slightly shaking by the harshness in his voice. " But, if you want to act all tough, I'll let you. Come and use me for your own pleasure."

You swallowed the thick saliva in your throat, your hands moving to pull off your shirt, later on your panties. You slowly climbed onto the bed, a bit hesitant when seeing the growing smirk on his face. When you reached him, you were about to pull your leg over his body, but Jack was faster. He grabbed your thighs and pulled you over his face, you dripping pussy right in the line of his vision.

" Jack-"

" C'mon, I'm ready."

You slowly lowered yourself, your clit barely touching his lips when he latched on to it. Your grib around the headboard tightened, moans and whines spilling out of you almost instantly. You were still hesitant on putting too much weight on the man underneath you though. The thought of crushing his beautiful face not sounding so appealing at the moment.

" Baby, I know you can do better than this." And you did. You let go of the headboard, grabbing on to his hair instead. The added pressure of his nose brushing over your clit so perfectly made your mind hazy. Brain covered by thick mist that you didn't even think twice before grinding on his face.

Your hips worked in the perfect speed, hands tugging Jack's curly locks, making him groan sending vibrations through your body.

This was a completely new sensation you haven't felt before, the tiny bit of power making you even closer to your high.

You were so lost in the euphoric pleasure, tugging on your nipples, playing with his hair, suffocating him in-between your thighs. It didn't take long for your movements to get lazy. You came undone with butterflies bursting inside your stomach, your body completely halting as your legs shook.

You rolled off of him, Jack laying beside you, taking heavy breaths to catch up.

" Go back to sleep." He quietly whispered when he saw your dazed expression, eyes almost falling shut. " I'll get us something to eat."

#jack harlow #fanfic #jack harlow angst #jack harlow concepts #jack harlow imagines #jack harlow one shot #jack harlow smut #jack harlow x reader #jack harlow fluff #jack harlow x y/n

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madara-fate · 2 months

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Being recent on Tumblr and in the Naruto fandom in general (I've been there for 04 months), this fandom has really made me see all the colors.

As a die-hard fan of Sakura and Sasuke who didn't particularly care about the prospect of them as a couple before, I tended at first to subscribe mainly to individual pro sakura and pro sasuke accounts, something I I quickly regretted it because lord, these two fandoms suck. I love both of these characters and it's very difficult to see their two fandoms being so vicious towards each other. If you don't like one of them, why talk about it? why make so many passive-aggressive comments to provoke the other party? They despise each other so much that it's difficult to have a moment of peace for those who truly love both.

And then, let's not even talk about the strange takes they have about them.

I swear if I ever come across something like "Sasuke was right" or "Sasuke Revolution" or "Sakura deserved better - that is, she deserved everything except Sasuke - or "Sakura lost all its development", I'm going to lose my shit.

Their views are biased, self-centered, misinformed and so oc for many that it sometimes makes you wonder if they even understand the characters they say they love. It seems more like they… project their problems and their insecurities onto these two and it's frankly disappointing to see. They like the fanon version of Sasuke and Sakura that they have built in their head and not their canon character and it's quite sad that such characters are reduced to stereotypes by their respective fandom. Not all of them are like that of course, but I've encountered so many of them that it ended up exhausting any good feelings I had towards these two fan bases.

All of this ended up pushing me towards the SS fandom because it's easier to find fans who like both characters. And finally, even though this fandom also has its own absurd points of view that sometimes make me want to throw myself out of a window as well as a blatant bias towards one of the two characters that bothers me, it's still better than the shit I've seen before. here at least I don't have to worry about reading crap like "Sasuke is toxic", "Sasuke didn't do anything wrong", "Sakura objectifies/is obsessed with Sasuke", "Sakura is poorly written" etc and I admit it's a relief. Plus, it's nice to see the fans celebrating them and their relationship, which is what I signed up for after all.

Not to say one is better than the other because the whole Naruto fandom is shit anyway but at least there is more room to like these two characters without getting attacked in this fandom than in the other two.

I couldn't have said it better myself.

You know, your experience of the pro Sasuke and pro Sakura fandoms hating on each other, essentially being what pushed you towards the SS fandom, kinda echoes what pushed me to being a SS fan as well. When the series ended, I was fully neutral on them, but I definitely expected them to get together because it was just obvious. But after seeing some of the absolutely absurd takes that a lot of the fandom had towards them, it made me want to defend them because what they were saying just wasn't true. So much like you, I was also pushed towards the SS fandom due to fandom hatred.

And yes, the SS fandom also has it's fair share of absurd points and biased takes, as I've certainly had to argue against some of them before. Yet, it's still better than the toxicity and the sheer delusion exhibited from a very loud portion of the anti fandoms.

#Sasuke Uchiha #Sakura Haruno #sasusaku

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grison-in-space · 6 months

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"that ability to just modify your perspective and step into the context someone else is wrestling with and listen, that's such an upsettingly rare skill for knowledge workers and healthcare workers... if you ask people why they're struggling, you can fix it and build a better process!"

You might be interested to know that when I was in pharmacy school, those patient interviewing skills mentioned by you and clockworkcrow in that reblog chain about provider burnout were taught to us as a set of techniques known as "motivational interviewing." It's not really in the scope of the personal vs systemic interventions that that reblog chain is about, but one of the revelational takeaways that I got from learning them was the idea that the healthcare provider cannot assume that their goals for care line up with the patient's; sometimes, the patient really doesn't care about the treatment or its outcomes because they have different goals of care in mind, and eliciting those goals during interviewing (because a lot of the time people are not at all articulate about what they want out of life) is a kind of ongoing step one.

I'm also curious if you or the MDs in this discussion have ever encountered ambulatory care pharmacists practicing the approaches that clockworkcrow talks about? I ask because listening to patients, identifying patient-specific blocks to care, and addressing them was something we were taught to do in pharmacy school (because our program pushed us toward ambulatory care). But since I didn't go into ambcare after graduating, I'm unsure both how much of an impact it has/how widespread such practices actually are, and whether ambcare practitioners actually, on the whole, put their money where the educators' mouths are. Can ambcare clinics actually make a systemic difference?

Oh! I had no idea they taught y'all those skills, but then I don't actually think I've ever had a conversation with a pharmacist about meds beyond a perfunctory question about whether I know what side effects there are. In general I am not used to pharmacists, doctors, or other medical professionals like psychiatrists taking a lot of time to really listen to me. Some of that is probably that all my main health complaints are things that feel normal to me and some is probably that I am a chronic minimizer--like I said in that discussion, it's a coping method.

I have never heard the term "ambulatory care" -- oh, it's outpatient care. Yeah, okay, let's use a specific physical issue: I can't run for more than about two to three without finding myself unable to breathe. This has been a thing for essentially my entire life, and in middle school we did running with heart monitors, so even apart from the physical experience of not being able to breathe and having to stop and take great heaving breaths of air, I was aware that objectively my heart rate was going up very fast no matter how hard I tried.

(We are talking "run until you start getting black spots in your vision, then walk until you can just barely breathe again, and then run, rinse and repeat. Literally the only kid slower than me was excused entirely from running because one leg was an inch shorter than the other.) No one around me seemed to think there was anything unusual about this or that I was anything besides just physically lazy, so I kind of wrote it off until my mid twenties. I mean, I'd been visibly struggling with extended physical exercise my whole life, and no one had called it remarkable yet, but friends were telling me it wasn't normal to experience those kinds of breathing issues, so...

I presented myself with this complaint to a nurse practitioner who basically told me I was just fat and needed to exercise more. I pushed past this and was grudgingly scheduled for an ecg (normal) and a peak flow test (astoundingly poor). There was no explanation presented for the peak flow except that I was out of shape and needed (guess what?) more exercise. Tried a pulmonologist, who confirmed it was not exercise induced asthma (which I had been sort of hoping, because there are fixes for that) and told me I was basically fine.

I more or less gave up until a dentist idly mentioned that my airway was very, very small and told me that micrognathia was something I should look into: my airways might be occluded. So I went to an ENT, who also immediately tried to tell me I was basically fine but did grudgingly agree to scope my airways... and discovered major blockages from my tongue (insufficient room in my jaw, so it gets shoved backwards over the airway), my nasal turbinates (swollen almost completely shut), and I forget what else. It was incredibly exciting to have a reason.

Okay, I say, what do I do with this? Exercise more? But I want to do that, I just can't breathe. I was aware that there is a surgery to artificially extend the jaw; it involves breaking the jaw and encouraging it to heal while maintaining space between the halves. So I brought this up. He was very dubious about this. I asked for a referral anyway and was referred to a plastic surgeon. The surgeon was perplexed by what I wanted to talk about and had clearly expected me to have come in for a cosmetic procedure like a nose job. Eventually I got too exhausted to follow up further; I've been meaning to resume this thing for like six years now.

Generally, my experience of doctors is that they have been trained to be suspicious of patient accounts that don't fit a very specific narrative, and that they are impatient to get on to the next thing unless you are very proactive about your own care. If you don't have a condition in mind that you can point them at without making them decide you're med seeking, they are quick to tell you that you are just making things up in your head. There are a few exceptions but I cannot underscore enough how rare I have found them to be.

And they will all tell you to exercise and lose weight as a first line of response. Not that I'm bitter.

Now, actually working in healthcare, @scientia-rex or @clockworkcrow might have more relevant commentaries than I do. But my experience in this field has not been, to put it mildly, great. Let's not even talk about my history of psychiatric care.

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mbti-notes · 2 months

Text

Anon wrote: Hello! I've been following you for a while and you've given really good insights about types (I was quite blown by the way you've been able to read into INFJ's shame and what not. It was really cool to read.)

Anyway, I am an ENTP and recently I've realized that my sense of empathy is rather odd…I am able to understand others, I can predict how certain things may affect others emotionally within logic, however my sense of empathy never truly reaches me. I know it sounds a little weird, but truly I find so hard to be moved by things that often move others, or to care beyond the basic courtesy. I can understand how and why someone feels in x way, however said empathy often comes from logic more than actually feeling in the shoes of others.

At the same time, I take my sweet time when it comes to understand my own feelings. Like, I can experience something that leaves me feeling weird and take a whole day, nap included, just to realize I'm kinda angry or sad or surprised. This inability to guide myself through my own feelings or even experience what others experience has caused me some troubles through the years, because of course, despite being able to read others, one is bound to fail or misunderstand at some point.

From running my mouth, having bad timing, to doing hurtful stuff that in my view were not hurtful at that moment (because I somehow reached the wrong conclusion in my attempt for empathy) I often find myself a little on the sideway when it comes to feelings of vulnerability, to the point I even end up pushing myself through stuff that makes me uncomfortable after I failed to understand I was weirded out on time; or even the opposite when I end up stating that I am really angry just to realize I didn't even cared that much.

The fact that I am a woman and people tend to expect women to be more sympathetic doesn't help either, so it's not rare for a group of people who knows me superficially to think that I am too reactionary/intimidating/out of reach/aggresive/harsh when in fact most of the time I'm trying to be friendly and outspoken, all while my inner circle define me as very lighthearted and even motherly. And, keep in mind, I am actually very adjusted socially, quite functional. I'm the type of person who will push through depression and very bad scenarios out of will which has been incredibly useful in dark times, but again I wonder if it was less will and more me not being vulnerable at all.

So, do you think this is some kind of failing in my Fe? Is this something that happens often to ENTP's or maybe I should check on other things like mental health etc? Do you have tips that could help me being more understanding of my own feelings? (Thank you before hand!)

-------------------

Generally speaking, the focus of therapeutic psychology is mainly on the individual. Behavior is labelled "problematic" when it causes pain and suffering and negatively impacts one's ability to live life in the manner one aspires to. It is a self-evaluation. Since you claim to be functional in daily life, there is no reason to believe that you have any mental health problem or disorder.

However, abnormal psychology is but one of many perspectives through which to understand the human mind. E.g. What about highly functional yet existentially unhappy people? What about people who live a comfortable life but still yearn? What about people skilled at brushing aside issues to keep moving forward in life?

These people might not suffer from any serious mental disorder, but that doesn't mean there isn't enormous room for improvement. The subfield of psychoanalytic psychology helps people get to know themselves more deeply. The subfield of humanistic psychology helps people understand and fulfill their needs better. The subfield of positive psychology was created to tackle subjects like: how to live a better quality of life; how to flourish and thrive; how to realize greater potential.

You've described a psychological "issue" that you struggle with at times, but not to the extent that it poses a serious problem. Whether this issue is common for ENTPs with tertiary Fe is not the right question to ask. If I say "yes", then what? If I say "no", then what? Unless your behavior is very harmful, it's not for me or anyone else to tell you that there's something "wrong" with you. I don't want to play the role of judge and jury.

The question boils down to: What, if anything, do YOU want to do about this issue? The motivation to change shouldn't come from me saying that there's something "wrong" with you, as though I'm your parent. You should have some kind of intrinsic motivation, stemming from deep within your own soul, to improve yourself and your life. Unfortunately, without this intrinsic motivation, many people end up choosing unhealthy paths to self-improvement.

From your description, you have the capability to be emotionally aware and empathetic. However, "capability" is different than "ability". A capability is something you can potentially do but perhaps lack the knowledge or skill or will to do well. An ability is what you possess after you've put in the necessary hard work to learn the knowledge and skill required to do something well.

Of course, there are certain capabilities that are harder to develop for some people than others due to genetic predisposition. But this shouldn't be a barrier for anyone seeking personal growth for the right reasons. When you have the right intrinsic motivation, you understand that self-improvement isn't about being "the best" but about being a better you.

At any point in life, you get to choose to be a better you by turning your capabilities into abilities, by realizing more of your potential. To be clear, there's nothing "wrong" with refusing to. However, when you refuse, are you making the choice consciously, fully aware of the implications? Refusing essentially means you will never truly know that aspect of yourself nor see its benefits. And then you are likely to feel a strange "hole" in your existence, as though part of you is missing.

How does this relate to tertiary Fe? Generally speaking, people have plenty of capability or latent potential with the tertiary function. However, to develop latent potential and learn how to use the tertiary optimally requires a lot of difficult self-work. Why is the tertiary difficult to develop? Two main reasons:

1) It can only come after sufficient auxiliary development, which is hard enough. It sounds like your grasp of Ti is average at best, perhaps immature but not unhealthy. You use Ti in its most basic form to understand and solve problems, including human problems. However, it seems you haven't yet learned how to use it optimally to turn your capabilities into abilities.

2) People often don't understand the true value of the tertiary function and perhaps even unconsciously resist developing it in the right way. Most people use it merely as a tool to gain some egotistical advantage but then discard it whenever it becomes inconvenient. Does this not encapsulate your relationship to emotional life?

Chasing the good aspects while rejecting the bad means you don't have a full appreciation of the function. If you care about Fe, which includes having a healthier relationship to your emotional life, then you must learn to appreciate its true value and WANT it. Nobody can convince you or force you to develop a function that you overlook, ignore, or disdain as it suits you.

Gender may or may not play a role depending on how you choose to react to societal expectations. Rebellion against gender norms is sometimes necessary to promote fairness and equality, but it can also work against you, if you just end up resisting or rejecting things that are good for your personal growth.

As explained in the guide, type development is about improving your self-awareness, with the implication being that knowing yourself better allows you to make better judgments and decisions in life. It is entirely your decision as to whether you're going to: stop devaluing Fe; become more aware of its role in your psychology; accept and embrace its presence with both its positive and negative aspects; and fully integrate it into your way of being.

If you choose to take your personal growth in this direction, your emotional awareness will certainly improve which in turn will help improve your empathy for others. I've explained before that empathy requires both the cognitive and emotional components to work at its best. So far, you have favored the cognitive (as it relates to Ti) and been resistant to the emotional (as it relates to Fe). Rectifying this imbalance requires proper auxiliary and tertiary development, such that they complement rather than interfere with each other.

I've already written about emotional intelligence and recommended books that provide advice for self-improvement. The tools already exist, so it is a matter of study and practice. You say you want to be more understanding of your feelings but then your actual behavior toward feelings suggests otherwise.

For example, instead of being patient and vulnerable and listening to feelings in order to become more aware of them, you treat them as alien or as a nuisance, unwilling to take full responsibility for them. In terms of type development, it is this kind of ambivalence that keeps people stuck in a rut.

In short, is your question really about whether you "can" do it, or is it really about whether you have enough will to change and grow? Until this is clarified, your true purpose remains muddled, and that will continually limit and slow your progress.

#entp #auxiliary ti #tertiary fe #tertiary #emotional intelligence #empathy #capability #ability #ambivalence #development #growth #intrinsic motivation #ask

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the-radio-demon-caregiver · 16 days

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I had to REALLY really focus myself to get big enough I could type this understandably. Getting on tumblr the past couple days has caused almost instant regression because of how safe all of the cgs make me feel so it's not easy.

I just want to let you know that no matter what the struggles you're going through at home are or how difficult being online may be, that you've done a wonderful job thus far being the person you are. You're important too, though, so please don't forget to put yourself first and try, try, try to take care of you. After all, you're just one person, and you have no reason to feel bad about taking care of yourself, or needing to take a break if you do.

You're doing great, Alastor. Be good to you like you're good to us, please.

-Jamie

OOC -

This genuinely means more to me than I can even explain.

I'm definitely not crying- /positive.

Honestly I'm glad that the cgs have made you feel safe!!!

I will be honest I was very unsure when I made this blog if it was a good idea, I have a regression blog which I absolutely adore being on and making new friends on but I had never before considered making a Caregiver blog before I saw the Angel, Husk and Lucifer ones as that was never something I'd really done, the closest thing I've ever done is acting as an older sibling when my friends would regress younger than me and I do sometimes think it shows in my responses that I don't always know how to respond in a way that doesn't sound somewhat childish. 😅 Unfortunately I spend a lot of time regressed, which can be quite an issue in my day to day life but I do think that having this blog has helped me to spend more time big. I try to look after myself but I am not the best at doing so and my mental health isn't always great enough to be able to do so.

The main issue I have is that I am not always on it with communication and my mood and mind can change up very quickly for no reason and I don't know why. Which means that I can end up not answering anyone all day or only answering some asks in a day but with absolutely no reason for it I forget to communicate that and I fear it sometimes feels like I don't like certain people which isn't the case at all.

Since I've made this blog I can't express how much happier as a whole that I've been, in general I have been doing much better but I know that that is because I'm getting to talk to you guys and so I feel horrible when I see a bunch of asks in my inbox and I don't answer. This does tend to lead me to pushing myself to doing something/being more active than I feel comfortable with or should be..

I am working on it though as well as working on my communication with everyone here and I really do hope you guys understand that if I'm not answering it's not because I don't like speaking to you or anything like that, I'm just struggling a little..

Thank you very much for this ask, like I said this means so much to me.

#ooc #i really hope this made sense #words are very hard- 😅#sorry!!!#this means a lot to me so thank you so much #😭💞#i absolutely adore everyone ive gotton to speak to since having this account /platonic #agere sfw #sfw age regression #sfw interaction only #sfw agere #sfw littlespace #hazbin hotel agere #hazbin hotel rp #hazbin hotel

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goldenteaset · 3 months

Text

(I know I've posted this official art before but I don't care, it fits the occasion)

It's my 1 year yume-versary with Belial today! I felt like being a hopeless romantic (especially after seeing this art again), so I wound up thinking about the process of how this happened. And while it's 99% coincidences that make me happy, when put together like this they do form a love story...

While I got into GBF because of him, the actual act of falling for him "as myself" (for lack of a better way to put it) was a lot longer. Four years, in fact! It was half "I just like him with Djeeta and Lyria better" and half "Nah, he wouldn't like *me*, I'd be too shy".

Cue 2022. XD;

By which I mean, I'm not sure when in summer it started, but all of a sudden he kept showing up in my dreams (as Oribe, his semi-canon school AU self). "Oh cool, that hasn't happened before", I thought, thinking nothing of it. It seemed a good reason to write him and Djeeta in a similar setting; I'd take it.

And then I started noticing that Djeeta wasn't involved. "Well, maybe she's there but I'm seeing things from her POV this time"... ^^;

Months before the Oribe dreams, I kept dreaming about Summer Belial months before we got the Summon, which is funny anyway, but those were still focused on Djeeta. My subconscious really wanted me to have fun with Oribe/Belial, and it was going to bludgeon me until I did. At the same time, two things happened:

A particularly powerful dream about Oribe!Belial where he really wanted to take a selfie with me and kept insisting "I want to see your face, don't hide~"

The "Belial advice column for GBFest" appeared

The former was A Lot, but the latter was easily compartmentalized: "Just write the letter as if you're part of GBF's world". It took a few tries, because I had to remember kafabe (i.e. these letters were being sent to "Belial", not the devs), but I did it!

I burbled about how he'd always gotten me out of writer's block, because of course, and made absolutely sure not to overthink my heart racing while imagining sending it in canon. It was in English, down to the pen name "Shy Writer", and knew it probably wouldn't get picked for the GBFest segment.

"Just the fantasy is enough," I thought, forgetting what "yume" meant.

Fast forward to Jan 2023!

GBFest is here, it's fun whether you're there in person or not...and I'm catching up on Day 1's stream after falling asleep. ^^; I found the "Belial answers fanmail" segment and was just enjoying the spectacle. Here's a video of it separate from the massive stream one:

youtube

Someone had sent in something about being shy/nervous about who they liked, very likely him. (Also they called him "Beli-chan", which is adorable.) Belial read it normally, but his response (at 4:13, yes I've kept track of it)...well...

He let out probably the deepest, sultriest chuckle we've heard from him yet, which is saying a lot, and then added "'Shy'? How cute (kawaii ne)~."

Again: it's all coincidence, of course. Just a lot of convenient circumstances that eventually lined up into a fantasy narrative that makes me happy.

But boy did it not matter in that moment, when I felt like a tsundere who'd been found out after a whole season of UST. XD

It felt like there wasn't any need to deny it anymore. Nor to make excuses that were never going to hold up, as long as I kept denying that sense of fun to my own detriment. Or, to be extra sappy about it--it was as if Belial had been seducing me throughout '22 to the beginning of '23 and had now finally gotten the point across to my very dense self-insert/OC.

I've been enjoying myself a lot since then--going out more, trying new hobbies, just being happier in general. Could that have happened without this as a push? Maybe. But it didn't happen until I "had food at home", so to speak, which feels telling.

I think we as a species need space in our heads for imagination and play, and that varies from person to person. Along with writing, mine just happens to be (day)dreaming about the Primarch of Cunning acting like a bird of paradise and/or seducing me and my self-insert OC into semi-reasonable sleep schedules.

So, yeah. Happy anniversary, Belial. May there be many more!

#F/O: Look Into The Abyss of His Heart #yumejoshi #proship selfship #Sadly I don't have precise anniversary dates for the other two but I can figure out something I'm sure #It's tempting to be cynical about it all and wave it off as “patterns that aren't there yada yada”#But you know what? I *did* that nonsense in my teens and wound up worse for it #So here we are. Improving by embracing the fantasy XD #Youtube

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sillyromance · 5 months

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hello! Your ask game is wonderfully designed! And I wanted to send one too!

💘❤️‍🩹🩷

can’t wait to see what you say!

Hello, dear Rosey! Thank you for your kind words - you are such a wholesome person!!! Stay healthy and happy for eternity!!!

💘 personal meaning:

I suppose, vore means comfort and trust for me. Since my early days I have always seeked for trust with no borders and excuses, especially, because of an unpleasant experience of taking knifes in the back from a person who is my relative and who I can't trust at all anymore... And actually, I have found such closeness with my mom - we are literally best friends, and she accepts my special interests for which I feel genuine gratitude to her. I hope to be able to trust my future partner so much - and that's why usually my preds are men and preys are women. However, there is no sexual context - I have quite complicated attitude to this stuff and for now I consider myself kinda asexual; though, I'm REALLY romantic. Vore is so intimate: to let someone have you whole, to push yourself inside their craving body - and to know they will be kind and thoughtful despite their wild hunger; or on the other hand, to allow someone come inside you and see all your vulnerability, to be able to feel complete at last... I find it fascinating. As for comfort and care, I use vore as a coping mechanism - and it helps me a lot with all the struggles I have in life. Things seem much easier when you imagine yourself being put in a warm, soft stomach; you don't need to control anything, there are only you and your friend. The pred rubs their full belly, it growls at its fullness and churns around you, peaceful sounds and gentle heartbeat lulling you to sleep... The coziest atmosphere ever.

❤️‍🩹 - comfort vore:

As I have said, it's one of the things I adore much. I'm more prey-minded, so why a prefer thinking about being tucked away in someone's stomach rather than devouring someone myself. I don't mind latter, though; helping other people is very important in my opinion. Nevertheless, speaking about personal preferences, I'd say mine are quite usual around the community. The tropes I use depend on the situation and mood, but generally, there is a wholesome pred who licks their prey's tears out, kisses their head and gulps them down very carefully, fondling a volumnous lump on the waist afterwards and recognising as the prey's body relaxes and the touch. Or, if it's the pred who faces difficulties, there is an understanding, compassionate prey who smiles at their big partner and offers themselves as a comfort meal - the favour which is gladly accepted by the pred who eagerly thanks the prey and slurps them up instantly, then curls around their growling middle, feeling full, loved - and supported. These are quite classical tropes, but is there anything better than classics?..

🩷 - safe vore:

It's the trope I expluate more often than any others. The idea of one person lovingly holding their friend/partner inside them, both making each other feel good just makes my heart flutter in excitement! I adore any kind of such vore weather it's particularly occasional or casual, for protection or for fun. Commonly, I think and write about friends or romantic couples in this case, but there can be some kinda twisted scenarios too. For example: the prey is eaten by a pred who is secretly a sweetheart. They thought to digest the little one because of their violent hunger, but after they swallowed the prey down, the pred regrets it and set their victim free, apologizing for their behaviour (it's great if that's how these two will start good relationships of any sort). I find safe vore quite cheering up when it's a bad day and I need something to encourage myself to look at things in a positive way.

#soft vore #safe vore #extreme cuddling #ask game #comfort vore

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yellowcry · 4 months

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Gluing the broken glass

(Tell me what to do to make it all feel better)

Mirabel had never cooked for such a big fiesta before. No, there were celebrations, often including the whole village. But usually, it didn't have such importance, unlike the gift ceremony. And, obviously, Mirabel hadn't cooked for a one ever before. The last gift ceremony was hers, and no one would know about her wonderful healing abilities that she would get. The other ceremonies that Mirabel lived through were Camilo's and Luisa's, but the latter didn't really count, taking into account that Mirabel was about eight months old at the time. So she was somehow excited. Mirabel made sure to create the best table for tonight.

The old stove sizzled as Mirabel placed another portion to bake, then she ran off to place the aborrajados in a decorative way. It wasn't any normal meal, so arrangements must be appropriate for the occasion. Then Mirabel got back to cooking for a bit; there were still a lot of repast she had to make until the evening.

"Mi amor, how are you doing?" Mirabel looked up and saw her mom standing next to the pedestal table. "It seems like a lot of work..." Mirabel just nodded, not looking up from the dough she was kneading at the moment. "It's good; I should make it in time." She rubbed her hands against her apron before getting back to the kitchener and turning the baked goods over.

"Don't push yourself too hard," Julieta asked, putting her hand on her daughter's shoulder. "I know you want to help, but you have to take care of yourself."

The girl just sighed, looking up at her mother for a bit. "I know, mama, I promise I'm doing great." Maybe she was tired a bit, but the thoughts of Antonio finally getting his door were enough to shave her tiredness off. In a way, this ceremony was way calmer than Mirabel's ten years before, as far as she could remember it. After all, she was the younger sister of a giftless Isabela, so there were questions about her getting a gift, even despite the fact that Luisa already had one. Antonio was in a better position. And, after four gifted grandkids, everyone just assumed that Isabela was a strange mishap, for whatever the reason. Abuela herself had always been saying that Isabela was just like she was. In a way, Mirabel felt bitter. Abuela was spending almost all her attention on Isabela, despite the lack of a gift. And, probably just to add herself even more attention, Isabela was always dressing the same way Abuela did in her youth.

Julieta took a place next to her, now helping with the cooking. Mirabel smiled kindly but still spoke out. "You don't have to help; I can do this." Having somebody to share the work with was a nice feeling, but Mirabel wasn't a child.

"She's right, Mija," Agústin interrupted them. Mirabel looked up at her father and let out an exhausted groan, seeing another dose of swollen bee stings on his face.

"Papi...." She sighed, taking one of her fresh-baked pandebonos and passing it to him.

"No, don't worry, I can take the rest of the menu on myself!" Agustin announced this after he finished his healing. Julieta and Mirabel looked at each other, knowing how bad of an idea this would be.

After what seemed to be hours, Julieta managed to convince Mirabel out of the kitchen for ten minutes. She agreed to that, mainly because she wanted to see preparations in her own eyes. The patio was filled with people, decorating it, placing benches for the elderly, and just generally trying to help. Mirabel paced a bit faster, as she saw Isabela with a notebook, she most likely was leading the process again when Abuela got distracted. Honestly, Mirabel didn't want to do this in front of her sister at all. Still, a stinging jealousy pinched her heart. Isabela was most certainly the favorite among the grandkids, despite the lack of a gift. Mirabel never quite understood why. The only thing she actually knew about her big sister is that she was usually with Abuela. And Mirabel had been busy with her cooking, trying to do her best to help.

Her thoughts were drowned in the townspeople's noises, and Mirabel didn't want to get struck with dozens of questions that she couldn't even answer to. So she walked upstairs, where the amount of people was smaller. Casita usually didn't allow outsiders on the second floor. From far away, she could already see Luisa's big figure standing in front of Mirabel's door, covering her carved picture. Noticing Abuela took a bit more time.

"Where's Osvaldo? He promised to deliver the rest of the decor half an hour ago."

Luisa pursed her lips, looking to the side. Her face muscles were strained a little as she filtered out the sound she needed. "He's almost here." She'd finally breathed out, turning her attention back to Abuela.

Their grandmother sighed harshly. "You needed to check on him once he didn't come in time." Mirabel bit her lip awkwardly; she knew that Abuela was strict and always demanded to do their best all the time. Luisa just nodded wordlessly before turning her attention to her younger sibling, who was standing on the other side of the second floor. "Hermanita, do you need anything?"

Mirabel winced; even she sometimes tended to forget that there was nothing that could hide from Luisa's cat-like hearing.

Abuela looked at her as well, finally noticing the fact that she had been spied on for a while. "Mirabel, why aren't you in the kitchen? You have to prepare for the night." She demanded, now staring at her across the patio. Mirabel looked down, clutching the railing tightly. She didn't mean to get distracted; Mom just wanted to do some cooking as well. "I'm sorry, Abuela; I decided to go out for some fresh air. Mama is replacing me right now." She knew it didn't excuse her, but at least it was some reason to slack off on her chores.

Luisa tilted her head before nodding in confirmation that it was true and that their mom was, in fact, in the kitchen instead of her youngest daughter right now.

For a moment, Mirabel looked down, not looking at her hermana and Abuela. "Is there anyone who would miss the ceremony?" If anyone didn't come, the amount of food would be slightly less, so Mirabel wanted to be sure of who would be at the party.

Luisa bit her lip for a second before replying. "Not as I know about." Mirabel tilted her head from the echoing voice. Why wouldn't Luisa know who wouldn't come? Mirabel was pretty sure Luisa could hear who had mentioned this. On the other hand, there's a chance nobody said it out loud, and Luisa was most certainly unable to listen to the inner thoughts. Well, it seemed that Mirabel would have to make her full plan.

Abuela lifted her head to look over Luisa. "Check if everything is going on time. Tonight must be perfect."

Luisa nodded, just like she always did at any request. "I'm..." Mirabel knew that her sister would most certainly going to say that she was on it, but she had suddenly trail off, wincing before she had covered her ears, hunching over the handrailing.

A moment later, Tía Pepa rushed upstairs like a crazy wind. The floor almost shook from her footsteps. Or it actually did. It was loud enough even for Mirabel to startle for a moment, not even mentioning Luisa, who didn't say anything but looked at Pepa with a face that said that she would gladly rip off Tia's legs to make her quieter.

Tia Pepa muttered in a yelling tone of voice, visibly trembling. "Tonight must be perfect, but if it's not perfect, then..."

"Mi amor, be careful." Tío Felix ran after her.

A second later, Dolores had gotten upstairs too, joining this little family meeting. "Oh, mama, don't worry. Antonio will definitely get the best gift ever." The warm couple looked at their daughter, who waved her head slightly, creating another ark of flowers that wrapped around the barrier. Pepa looked down at her child, now running to her. "Ah, how much did you grow up!" She mumbled in awe, squeezing Dolores' cheek slightly. "Mama, please..."

Mirabel looked at the other side and noticed that Luisa was gone already. Alright, it was probably time for her to get back to work as well. There was a whole night ahead.

#encanto #ao3 author #fanfic #encanto au #gluing the broken glass au #mirabel madrigal #julieta madrigal #luisa madrigal #alma madrigal

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bibbykins · 2 years

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Idk if I'm late but I can see the mc using the boys as her sex toys (and the boys being ok with it, though I can see this mostly with yoongi and hoseok). Like the mc is in yoongi's office and he's doing some paperworks while mc's just chilling, then suddenly mc can't take her mind off her horniness anymore so she asks if she can sit on yoongi's laugh, and yoongi just can't say no without thinking too much about it. Then instead of sitting sideways, she straddles him and after a minute or two, just dry hump him lmao (you continue this if you want)

This... This turned into something more than I meant it to lmao. Enjoy nonetheless!

Note: This is an ask in relation to The Household's Bunny series Warnings: consensual somonophilia mention, drool/spit kink, degradation, dom/ sub dynamics, thigh riding, begging, yandere behavior, unhealthy relationship, obsessive behavior

No bc you're 100% correct lmao. The only thing is that Taehyung, Jimin, and Hoseok are most likely to allow her and even encourage her to do it. I'm talking like sitting her down and being like "I don't care if I'm asleep and you're only a little wet, please, go to town." Like the idea of waking up to her desperately grinding herself on his thigh or hand? Now that is a good morning.

Taehyung is utterly desperate for her pleasure and her touch in general, so he's over the moon if she were to use him like that. Like, if she asked, he'll put his hands behind his back and try to restrain himself to just watch her do as she pleases. Of course, he can't keep his hands to himself that long, but he tries rlly :< "Fuck, you look like a goddess above me right now." "Sorry, little lamb, I can't help myself. I wanna help you make a mess all over me."

Hoseok thrives on her enjoying herself tbh, so he's as pleased as punch when he wakes up from feeling something warm on his hand and swears he's dreaming when his eyes flutter open to see her all fucked out. He's basically drooling and the only way to stop him from interfering with her pace is to... distract him "Wow, what a good girl, doing what I asked you to do and waking me up all nice." "Shit, baby, I wanna- wait, you're drooling so pretty. Don't let it go to waste, come on, give it to me."

Jimin is a little shyer about it though so he would take a while to be that bold but if she asked, no hesitation lmao. The moment she's grinding on him, he's basically panting regardless of if she's grinding on his thigh or his dick, "You look so pretty like this, angel." "Yeah? You like using me to feel good?"

Yoongi, Jungkook, and Namjoon are the harder doms of the group- for the most part- so they wouldn't let her get away with it that easily, mostly because they like watching her face as she lets them command her body as they please.

Yoongi thrives on controlling her pleasure the most, so he prefers to be involved actively. If he's feeling generous, he would let her dry hump him, but he'll whisper in her ear the whole time, "You can do better than that, baby." "You have until I can feel you soaking through my pants to cum or I'm taking matters into my own hands and I'll take as long as I please."

Jungkook literally cannot resist participating in making her feel good, so if she were to try and use him to get off he'd grab her face and still her hips, laugh at her whine, and degrade her until his erection became too painful to not pleasure her like "What a needy little slut I have." "You want to feel good? Beg for me to make it happen then."

With Namjoon, it depends on his mood tbh. If he's pretty chill that day then all she'd have to do is ask nicely and he'd let her, but if he's more high strung then he's going to let her but lean into degrading her and controlling the speed of her hips, "Squirming and whining like that is only going to make me push you down harder." "Come on, my pretty little housewife, ask sweetly or I'll keep you on the edge all night."

Jin is somewhere in the middle of encouraging her and not rlly letting her. Sometimes he'll let her, but it's usually some form of punishment. When he does let her, his patience runs super thin. "Come on, you were so desperate to cum earlier that you did it without permission, so do it yourself on my thigh." "So desperate for me, huh? I'll let you have your fun for a little more, but I can't just stand by while my princess is whimpering like that.

#the household bts #yandere bts

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marvel-and-chicago-fan · 8 months

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1 Hour

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“Everly, don’t forget to eat your lunch on the counter!” Hailey Called out to the twins as she grabbed her phone off the counter. Everly ran downstairs to see her lunch packed, for the first time in forever. “Thanks Mom” Everly almost ran into Jay whilst running out the front door. “Bye honey see you later. '' Jay called out. “You too” Everly closed the door and walked down the sidewalk towards school.

I'm Everly Halstead. You can call me Eve, Ev, Eve, V or Evie. People spell my name differently. Me and my twin brother Nathan are 15 years old and were in 10th grade, well I'm in 10th grade my brother was homeschooled so he's in 11th grade since he was “smarter” than me.

My parents are amazing detectives in the intelligence unit. Pretty amazing but most would disagree. My brother Nathan was born with Spina Bifida, when he was born his spine wasn't formed properly so his Spinal cord and nerves, so his ability to walk was damaged but it's better now and he does Physical therapy to help.

The doctors said he would never be able to walk, but because us halsteads are stubborn he beat those odds and with help and surgery he was able to walk with an assistant when he was 5. My parents say I'm the best younger sister in the world, even though I'm 11 minutes younger, I disagree. Most of the time I mind my business and understand when my parents have to go take care of Nathan.

Once Everly walked through the front door she already knew the drill. Get to color Guard practice. Football season is over but with the UIL season in a couple of months and your state hoping to go Nationals this year all the practices started early. The band directors would get mad when people were late, absent, sitting down or just chilling out in general. She hated it most of the time but she liked it and she had to take a fine arts class to graduate.

Once practice was over Everly walked to homeroom and sat down in her seat. Everly didn't have any friends as most people didn't like kids whose parents were cops/detectives. She also learned having friends came with problems and issues, so she rather just be by herself with her family.

“So Everly what did you do during Thanksgiving break?” Ms. Wilson Her English teacher spoke. “I just hung out with my family and ate some good food” She shrugged. “Probably failed at her stupid flag sport” The “popular” mean girl Cora spoke. The whole class let out a light laugh. “And you probably spent trying to make out with the entire football team.” The whole class started laughing at Everlys joke more than Coras. Coras jaw dropped and formed a big “O” Everly sat down in her seat laughing in her head. She hated these kids and they all probably hated her.

After school instead of heading to the district I walked home, I had a lot of homework to do and since it's getting colder my asthma is getting a little worse. Oh yeah I forgot to mention I have asthma. It doesn't really affect me until I start pushing myself too hard or when it's really really cold. I knew no one would be home since my parents were at work and my brother was doing whatever he usually does around this time. Perfect, peace and quiet.

#chicago pd #halstead brothers #jay halstead #will halstead #one chicago #chicago #hailey upton #halstead #hank voight #chicago med

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talenlee · 14 days

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Well What if I Was In Charge Of Pokemon If I'm So Bloody Smart?

No matter where you are on the internet, whatever the fandom is, someone is always going to ask about what you’d do if you were in charge of it. For example, a lot of Bible fans are very convinced that their fanfiction is actually factually true. Whether it’s fantasy Wrestlemanias or ideal outfit compositions in Pretty Little Liars, there’s always an urge to take a thing you already know and make your version of it.

Also, people who like Pokemon routinely talk about what stupid idiots the designers are and how they could do a better job of running the game. I don’t think I could, because I know there are competing factors and I think that everyone who opens their mouth to talk like that sounds like a tool.

Still, if I think those people are silly, it’s easy to say that if I don’t put myself out there, right?

Here! A bunch of opinions about what I think should be done in Pokemon as a game franchise. Nothing like ‘open world matters’, I think the game should always be a competitive 2v2 Bo3 format and the rest of the game can follow from that. I also don’t think that this would make the game better. It’s very important that I put it out there, on my sleeve, that none of these changes are based on deep insight into the game or the way that it should be. No. This is a centering of myself, as a designer, and as a player of games. This is how I want it done. Also note that none of these changes are simple or oblative, like, this isn’t all that I think should happen, there would need to be specific changes and fine tuning for all these pushes.

There, preamble done, here’s how and where I’m right.

Kill the Rock or Steel Type, Don’t Care Which

To me the Rock type feels like it exists because when they were setting up the type chart back in Red-Blue, they figured they’d need something like that, like making sure to sketch out space for a window box while designing a window. But Rock in RBY got to be Ground’s ugly cousin, with its greatest perk (a resistance to normal moves) not proving adequate to the task of dealing with that generation’s overwhelming normal type attacks, and being bolted consistently to something that gave it a quad weakness. In Generation 1, there was one rock type that wasn’t quad-weak to grass, and only three that weren’t quad weak to water as well. In its first appearance, Rock was literally never used on its own, which to me suggests that the type wasn’t actually doing a job. It was a sorta-type, a thing to keep them overwhelming grounders under control, I suppose.

In Gen 2, as if to fix Gen 1, they introduced Steel types, which were uh, like, Rock types but good? They had the ground weakness still, they shared that, but they no longer catastrophically mixed with ground, and Steel had the kind of resistances that made it fit for ‘tough’ Pokemon types. But this brought with it the new problem that now Rock’s old job – a physically tough type of elemental Pokemon type that represented being made out of something inert that wasn’t necessarily stuck to or of the ground – was displaced by something that was just better.

Rock exists in an ugly space between ground and steel, made worse. Steel exists to do Rock’s job, but better. Steel is one of the best types in the game and even brings with it an immunity to a whole wing of status conditions that you want on a tough Pokemon that wants to endure fights. One of these types sucks at doing its job and the other is too good at it and any time you get one of them you probably would be better off if it was just the other.

My druthers, Rock would be Steel, the Steel Type wouldn’t exist and the Rock type would just have the Steel associations, and if that doesn’t make sense for a Pokemon I’d just make it loose the Rock type. Graveller and Golem didn’t get anything being Rock types after all. Oh, Stab on Rock Slide, yeah, woo, that means something.

Get Rid of the Fairy Type

You can admit to your mistakes, just admit it, the Fairy type was an attempt to address the problems of making a bunch of broken dragon types. It has no coherent flavour, and it’s super strong in a way it does not justify.

The Fairy type sucks and it’s so popular and strong it’ll never be properly addressed.

‘Oh but if you got rid of the fairy type, what type would you give the fairies? there’s nothing else that fits’ yeah see what I mean about not having a coherent theme?

Buff the Ice Type

Ice got a ‘sort’ of buff in Scarlet-Violet, in that one of their moves got made worse. Oh, more usable, but it it didn’t actually help Ice. See, Ice Types in Hail get a defense buff, making them better defensively under the new ‘Snow’ condition. This means that now you can run a single Ice type and it gets tougher as long as this snow condition is going on without needing to build your whole team around them the way them. You could include teammates that were immune to Hail without building around a single type, and benefit from the defensive bonus it now grants, which is like the defensive bonus you get from Sandstorm.

Basically, you know that good weather, Sandstorm? Well, rather than Hail, the Bad Sandstorm too much like Sandstorm, it got replaced with Snow, so it’s now the Bad Sandstorm.

Anyway, the Ice type should resist water (turning water that hits it into ice and floating in ice are two good themes there), and Steel should be weak to Ice. No strong reason, just fucking hell, give Ice something to do.

Stop Making Bugs A Dumping Ground

Bug is such a weird type because it’s clearly something that the designers are fond of, something they like, but it’s also a type with almost no meanigful support in the game’s entire history. The list of good, tournament-meaningful bugs starts at Scizor, adds Volcarona and kinda stops there, and that’s a list that’s been about that long since forever. The Bug type is used in the early game to populate early routes invoking things like looking for cicadas as a kid.

But the result is that bugs aren’t treated as a sort of whole type of their own. Bug type moves are typically weak hits, and even though U-Turn is an incredibly important move, it’s never important for being Bug, it’s important because it’s a pivot – a move that lets you transfer in a Pokemon after other attacks. Its potential offensive capacity is irrelevant, and you can tell because as good as U-turn is, it’s showing up on Incineroar – quite possibly the best VGC Pokemon of all time.

There’s no legendary Bug.

There’s never been a Box bug.

There’s exactly one Mythical Bug ever, and it was Genesect.

Fully-evolved bugs have the lowest average stats, and they as a group have the lowest hit points, and special attacks of any group.

Bug as an offensive type is resisted by seven other types, and bug resists three uncommon offensive types – fighting, ground, and grass. It even has a weird thing where Fighting resists Bug and Bug resists fighting, which isn’t something that shows up in other damage types.

The Bug type is a bad type and Bug Pokemon are bad Pokemon because Bug Pokemon aren’t made to be good. The best Bug move is good because it shows up on the Best Pokemon of all time in a competitive environment.

My solution to this is not to do anything with the type per se but just, like, fix it? Stop making Bug Pokemon that are bad. Make better moves for Bug Pokemon to use. Take every fully evolved Bug Pokemon and give it better stats. By all means, keep the way that Bug Pokemon are bad at HP and Special Attack, sure – but give them something for it! This is a type with a lot of Pokemon that get to be Someone’s Special Guy, and they have made it so anyone who gets attached to Bugs early on is guaranteed to have to give up on their faves when they start playing in competitive scenes. That sucks!

There! Just some opinions about how Pokemon should be designed. These are the kinds of opinions I think are interesting to consider.

Check it out on PRESS.exe to see it with images and links!

#pokemon #Games

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feastfic · 30 days

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I had a moment and wrote down a whole lotta nonsense with Popcorn and I accidentally made myself feel really hard with it so. I might as well haha

Tw for drug use and (NONGRAPHIC) mentions of sex.

Okay so, where to begin hah. A lot of this was spawned from indulgent things and so I'm going to try and reword a lot of what I wrote down to make it more general.

• To me she is the pinnacle of "making everything a joke to push away the fact that she is deeply fucked up". To her it's just easier to never address anything and play it off as just a bit or something unimportant if somehow, someway, someone approaches her about it.

• Her avoidance has lead to an unstable relationship with substance use — it's a cycle of getting high and getting a whitey, and then getting hungover and being back at the base of "feeling the things she literally just got high over to not handle". Keeping herself busy with hosting (as precarious as it is, given that her contestants aren't exactly the most empathetic bunch about her case) is one of the only means for her to dodge herself, in a sense. So it sure isn't a good alternative, but it's better than y'know, whiting out...right?

• Literally everything she has is undiagnosed and she isn't about to get her shit checked out. (ADHD, BPD, MDD and Crohn's.) The majority of the folks around her aren't really versed in Why she decides to act like she does; they just think she's egotistical, big-headed and a dick overall.

• If for whatever reason somehow there was someone who was wholeheartedly genuine with themselves and with everyone around them...she'd actually kind of hate them. Literally they could do nothing wrong but she would be skeeved about the fact that they can just essentially gallivant around with their heart on their sleeve. It's like an anti-her, you get me.

• To add onto the last point, she's made herself so distant that if there was anyone that would try to actually talk to her and y'know, be a basic human being (or, well, object being) she wouldn't know how to reciprocate that in the slightest. Because she does want closeness but that kind of thing is deeply unsettling to her, and she would engage in what she guises as just "casual" sex; to her it's the only feasible way to actually figure out how exactly she feels about someone. It's just an empty feeling spawned from an innate guilt at this being the only way she can achieve basic positive social interactions and anger — less at herself and instead projecting it onto the other person for, in a twisted and cruelly roundabout way: leading her into this situation in the first place.

• She doesn't really cry — it's just...hard for her to be able to. "Feeling miserable" isn't how she'd describe it but there's no real way to really say it otherwise. Pretty much everything gets bottled up, both good and bad, and it can sometimes (unfortunately) seep through into her actual hosting job.

• If somehow she came across Airy, he would genuinely be one of the only people she could tolerate. He's so similar and yet could not be more different. Both apathetic but in his case he just... legitimately doesn't really seem to express that he cares. It's like if Popcorn were a firecracker and Airy was a bundle of wet sticks — they can exist next to each other without friction that would spark either of them.

• On MUCH much lighter notes: somehow she managed to get her 3D glasses to be prescription. She cannot see without those things but also you just Cannot take them off; if you lift them up there's just an endless amount of others underneath the pair(s).

#sorry haha she's just. means a lot to me ...#'its showvember its not that serious' you might be saying. look thru this account i make everything serious <3 /LHLHLHLH #showvember #showvember popcorn #tw drugs #// drugs #ask to tag #also the airy thing was lowkey based off the aircorn stuff i see lol. i dont go there myself but i do enjoy the idea of them being #unconventional friends :) its nice to think about #long post

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