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#also this is v much a personal trauma response
goldkirk · 2 years
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I have not volunteered a single fact about my past and my new therapist has not asked a single thing about my past and it’s weird but I’m interested to see if trying therapy THIS way helps.
We talk about my symptoms, we talk about my perspective and thoughts about symptoms and events, and that’s IT. I keep waiting for her to ask about something or ask why I think xyz way or whatever and she doesn’t, and I thought it’d be best to start therapy by giving the best summary I could to therapists but I keep running away from them eventually and so this time I was like “what if I just don’t” and we’re three sessions in and she just asks lots and lots of questions. Like, questions I can ANSWER, about daily life stuff or what I think about xyz. I knew you could do it like this, just going in to get help with symptoms and not actually talking about anything, but I didn’t think that meant ME
#what do you MEAN I can say the most objectively wrong perspective on something from Trauma Brain Learning and she just rolls with it??#what do you MEAN I can just say 'literally every person is dangerous and could flip at any given time' and then not have to explain that#what do you mean I can just talk about being numb and not have to connect it to past things#so weird. good weird#i hate doing this because i feel like the longer i don't give her background#the more i might be phrasing my responses for Implications and leading her to think like#way worse things happened to me than did#or I had a totally different kind of situation#that was nothing like the very good life I've had#but I ALSO know that traumatized people never think they had it bad enough#but I'm also just speaking Loaded Implications#and some things WERE worse than I thought but most things were NOT as bad as sometimes saying them without context makes them seem#so anyway it's just wild#we're out here riding the wild west train to therapyville and it'll be fun to look at these posts two years from now#if i'm still alive#PLEASE don't scold me for saying that it's just v much the headspace i'm in so far in 2022 i am not suicidal i just have a lot of old brain#pathways active and a lot of them tie back to 'ultimately if x happens again you can just die instead of going back to that' or 'i mean it's#best if you get to a great point in life but like things can happen and you MIGHT die idk. you weren't even supposed to make it this long'#which is a WHOLE nother kettle of fish I KNOW#but like fr fr I was definitely supposed to die before mid high school and i don't like that so much has happened since then#i didn't PLAN for any of this I didn't plan for COLLEGE#i didn't know wtf to do for college bc I didn't PLAN because I KNEW I WOULDN'T LIVE THAT LONG CLEARLY#and then I DID#that sucks. i mean i'm not saying it sucks that i'm still alive#i'm saying it really really really fucking sucks that i din't think to mention to a SINGLE adult in any area of life#that I was gonna die before being an adult#bc ANYONE would've been like 'wtf actually katie. wtf'#but nooooooo i just didn't mention it and thought it was TRUE and not just a stupid dumb personal feeling#i was like 100% sure I was gonna get cancer or something similar before junior year of high school#I AM OUT OF COLLEGE AND I HAVE AN ENTIRE DOG. I DON'T KNOW WHAT THE HELL YOU DO TO BE A PERSON
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charmwasjess · 5 months
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Strap in for the Soresu form III Obi-Wan lightsaber post. This is gonna be a sad one, girlies. We’re getting into Obi-Wan’s Fucking Trauma. 
Qui-Gon’s death changed literally everything about Obi-Wan’s life, right down to the lightsaber form. Still a Padawan himself, he had to watch as an extinct monster from his nightmares* utterly took apart the form he’d learned since he was a child, and then, to complete the destruction, slaughtered the teacher who’d taught him the form and raised him. The devastation of Qui-Gon’s actual death had to be the last in a cascading series of horrors that started with the gut-sinking realization that Qui-Gon was losing. And if all of that weren’t enough, Obi-Wan also loses his own lightsaber in the same duel, a psychological blow to his personhood which we don’t have to guess at the significance of. Obi-Wan tells us the cost of it himself in AotC: this weapon is your life. 
The Duel of the Fates on a sheer physical level is a devastating thing to consider. It’s a grueling, full out running battle, the likes of which we don’t see elsewhere in the saga. The beauty (and pounding musical score) of the fight distracts from the sheer brutality of it. Maul is physically attacking them at every turn; he manages to kick Qui-Gon hard enough to knock all 6’3 of him off his feet; he dumps Obi-Wan into a fall that seems to be several stories high. We don’t see Obi-Wan get back up off the floor with Qui-Gon’s body at the end of the duel, and I’d be surprised if he was physically able to even stand again so after the adrenaline faded and the soreness and exhaustion took over. He just been whirled in a lightsaber blender. 
I can’t imagine how hard it was for him to pick up a lightsaber again after the trauma of that battle - much less, a new, unfamiliar one, not the kyber crystal that had been his since he was a child. The new canon’s emphasis on the spiritual relationship between a Jedi and their crystal makes this detail even more excruciating. The Ataru form itself must have felt broken and unusable. How can you put your trust in a form once you watched it be broken so ruthlessly?
And this is where Obi-Wan is so endlessly beautiful as a character. He goes through this horrifying experience of violent unmaking, and instead of avoiding lightsabers as an understandable trauma response, or picking up an overwhelming power and dominance form like V, he remakes himself into a master of Soresu: a form of simple, complete defense. He doesn’t attempt to become a weapon of attack like Maul did to disintegrate Ataru; he makes himself invincible, untouchable, with a perfect defense. Soresu works the pieces that fell apart for the Jedi in the Duel of the Fates to an advantage. It is a form of ultimate endurance, of playing out your opponent and staying up in a fight until the attacker is exhausted or angry. It preserves and it lasts. It is philosophical. It is considered. It lacks the showy flash of Makashi or Ataru and returns to the basics, even working in some of that battlefield meditation that Qui-Gon so believed in. And in that simple economy, it’s gorgeous and effective. 
I have to wonder: is Soresu, on some level, a form of kinetic self-soothing for a person who faced an incredibly traumatic battle at a young age? Does Obi-Wan use it that way?
All of this is perfectly in keeping with the themes of the character. Obi-Wan’s story remains about life, about hope, about survival. The word he uses to describe the Jedi to Luke in the OT is important to me. “Jedi knights were the guardians of peace and justice.” Guardians. And what better lightsaber approach for a person who sees his role as one of protection than a form whose signature move is called “The Circle of Shelter?”
*Maul, of course, is a tragedy in his own right, but that’s a different post. 
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wayfaringhoax · 11 months
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Riddles
Frankie “Catfish” Morales x Female Reader
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Click here for part two
Word count: 12k+
Summary: You and Frankie become ‘friends with benefits’ until you evolve into something more. But when you can’t seem to communicate your needs, you find yourselves in uncharted territory.
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: 18+ Minors Do Not Interact
Explicit sexual content (p in v, female receiving oral, dirty talk, semi-public sex, sexting, sending nude photos), references to sex scattered throughout, swearing, unhealthy relationships, making each other jealous, communication issues, discussions of low self-esteem, conflicted emotions, angst, possessive! Frankie, reader wears Frankie’s t-shirt, consumption of alcohol, references to religion and drugs (purely for metaphorical purposes), public discussions of sex, reader is described as having a vagina and breasts. 
This is a reader insert fic, but there are a few plot details that lean towards an OFC. Reader's mentioned as having two parents, letting their hair 'down' after work, and one of their friends is given a name. If any of these details make you uncomfortable, please refrain from reading.
New to the community, so this hasn’t been beta’d.
Been working on this for a few weeks, please let me know if you enjoy it!
Get coffee, meeting, reply to emails, meeting, lunch, marketing proposal, planning period, meeting.
As you opened your planner that morning, you were greeted by your responsibilities for the day. However, each damn meeting brought you one step closer to the end of the work day, and subsequently one step closer to leaving your office and heading to Benny’s Fight Night.
Due to your busy schedule, you hadn’t been able to make it to one of his fights for a while so you often resorted to wishing him luck via a text message. Having the chance to actually be there and support him in person was therefore a big deal for you. Plus, you’d also have the chance to grill the eldest Miller brother, having set him up on a date with your friend a few weeks ago, only to have her tell you it didn’t work out. You knew Will would be prepared for you to press him, and being as stoic as he was, you anticipated that he wouldn’t reveal much.
How many times had they reprimanded you for attempting to play matchmaker?
You couldn’t help it. It was only natural for you to want the best for them, you’d shared so much of your life with them, and they’d been by your side when it counted.
Of course, you were only a kid when you first met the Miller brothers. When your parents had befriended theirs, you were quick to latch on to them, glad to have two little friends to annoy. You often spent holidays chasing them around their home, and they enjoyed bringing their LEGO to yours, much to the dismay of your poor mother, who wasn’t prepared for how much mess they’d bring.
Sure, shit got real when you got older.
After you graduated from college, you threw yourself into work. You successfully climbed up the ranks, securing enough money to live comfortably. Though you admit, you had to sacrifice a lot in the process, regularly denying yourself the chance to be happy - to be loved - in the name of prioritising your career. 
Every time you wake up in the middle of the night, yearning for the comfort of another body, you’re reminded of the loneliness that sometimes plagues you.
Benny and Will weren’t strangers to the feeling either. You’d been around to see the darkness that followed them home from deployment. The darkness that tarnished some of their ability to accept love. The same darkness that made them hold on to you that little bit tighter, now very much acquainted with the feeling of loss.
You would never be able to understand what it was like for them. Never be able to fully comprehend the extent of their trauma. Some part of you knew that for Benny and Will, relationships weren’t as simple as they used to be.
But that didn’t stop you from trying to set them up. You appreciated that your attempts were futile, they were just gestures of good faith, really. They communicated that you cared. That you wanted them to be happy - and they saw that for what it was: their friend looking out for them.
On the other hand, Benny and Will rarely tried to set you up on dates, understanding that the guys they knew wouldn’t be the right fit for you.
Despite this, they made sure to constantly remind you that you weren’t getting laid.
An issue you were sure they’d raise again, at some point this evening.
It wasn’t as though you weren’t looking. 
Respectfully, you’d found most of the boys’ friends attractive, and perhaps, there was one man from their Delta Force squad, in particular, who’d caught your eye.
A man with a serious attachment to his baseball cap.
A man who seems burdened by his affliction, shouldering the weight of it all by himself. 
A man who was just so gorgeous, yet often chose to play it safe, hanging back when in the presence of the other boys.
Yes, Francisco Morales. Or Frankie, as the boys called him. 
You had looked at Frankie. Many times. He’d definitely caused you to lose your train of thought more than once, having been mesmerised by his features; strong yet with a particular softness. 
Whilst you acknowledged your attraction to this man, you got the sense that he wasn’t available. 
Benny had never mentioned a wife or a girlfriend when he spoke about Frankie, but you still felt as though there was some kind of invisible wall up, preventing you from getting any closer. 
Besides, you were going to support Benny tonight, not ogle his friend. You could keep it under control. 
Or at least you tried, yet the way Frankie let out a soft chuckle as Benny teased you about becoming a crazy cat lady, was testing your patience.
Now, you were avoiding his gaze, afraid of having to confront your attraction to the man across the locker room. This was proving to be quite easy, as Benny’s enquiry into your (lack of a) sex life had you staring up at the ceiling in embarrassment, hoping the ground would swallow you whole. 
“C’mon, I’m only looking out for you here. You gotta break the dry spell soon, else it’ll become even harder to get back out there.”
Benny continues his onslaught, deciding to raise the point that if he didn’t fight for a while, he’d simply have no skill when he got back in the ring.
Frustrated, you roll your eyes at his comparison before telling him, “That’s unfair, Benny.”
Santiago chooses this moment to weigh in, reassuring you, “Bonita, you could have any guy you wanted, huh? What’s stopping you?”, and before you have the chance to speak, Benny jumps in on your behalf.
“That’s what I keep telling her, but she keeps making up all these issues. Worrying too much.”
“Well these issues are real concerns for me. I don’t want a relationship right now, but one-night stands aren’t for me either. There’s too many unknowns with hookups. Do you know how many married guys take their rings off just so they can take girls home for a night?”, you tell Benny incredulously, trying to communicate the extent of your concern.
Benny senses your ire, beginning to back off slightly, yet not before proposing, “Why don’t you just get a fuck buddy? Then you can get laid all you want. Problem solved.”
Sure, the prospect was very appealing to you. Someone you could count on to give you orgasms and not have to worry about the strings attached? 
You’d sign yourself up right now. 
The problem was, where would you find such a man? You shuddered at the thought of returning to the dating apps, having had enough interesting encounters on there to put you off using them again.
Turns out Benny had his own solution to that problem, choosing this moment to turn his attention to his friend who was currently leaning against the lockers, arms folded against his chest. It was almost as though Frankie could sense what was coming next, as he retreated further back into himself, looking down at the floor in a futile attempt to avoid being targeted by his younger friend.
“Hey, Fish is right there. He’s been hard up for god knows how long now. Why don’t you scratch each other’s backs, huh?”
Right now, he was cursing himself for having one too many beers that night at Santi's house, when he’d opened up to the guys about his sexual frustration.
“Jesus Christ”, groans Frankie, his eyes looking at Benny disapprovingly.
Turns out you two did have something in common, as you both looked as though you could kill Benny with your stares. The younger Miller, however, was sporting a grin that would rival the Cheshire Cat’s, thoroughly pleased with himself.
With the attention span of an excitable puppy, Benny was quick to move on. You guess it had something to do with the way Will was looking at him, the subtle tilt of his head gesturing to Benny that he needed to get his head back in the game.
But that didn’t stop you from wanting to die of embarrassment. 
Sure, Benny had a fight to focus on, but you had to survive a couple more hours in Frankie’s presence. 
You pushed the strap of your bag further up your shoulder, hoping that having something to hold on to would quell the anxiety bubbling in your stomach. Straightening your posture, you hazard a glance over at where Frankie’s stood, only to realise he’s not there.
Pushing open the double doors, you exit the locker room and spot Frankie, way ahead of you, and his steps are somewhat urgent as he catches up to Santi.
Shrugging it off, you find your seat and wait for the fight to commence.
****
He’s struggling.
Frankie’s still reeling from Benny’s comment. He knows the only reason Benny said that was to rile you up, and he knows he shouldn’t still be thinking about it now. But he just can’t get the way you looked tonight out of his head.
He grabs himself a beer and settles onto his couch, before allowing images of you to flood his head; the late-night news report swiftly forgotten.
He imagines your hair, slightly tousled after a long day at work. It was extremely sexy, to him; the image of you letting your hair down as you leave the office. It signified you letting loose, and he could only imagine what it would be like to have you lose control around him. God, he’d give anything to run his hands through it as you looked up at him with those eyes. 
Fuck, you were gorgeous. 
Frankie’s got it bad for you. Has done for quite some time now. Ever since he was introduced to you at Benny’s birthday party last year, you had taken over all of his fantasies. Being around you consumed all of his energy, as he often fought hard enough to play it cool whenever you spoke to him; always worrying he’d scare you off with his dark wit. 
And for Benny to joke that he had a chance with you? Well, that was cruel. 
He managed to make an escape from the locker room before you noticed, latching onto Pope in an attempt to recompose himself.
You were far too good for him.
He had baggage; struggles he was still working through. 
You, on the other hand, were stable. With a successful career, a solid group of friends and a pretty house at the end of the block, you intimidated him. 
Frankie often wondered how you had spent so much of your adult life around the Millers, seen the damage that had been done to them, and yet you still had a certain innocence about you. It was like you had seen first-hand just how unforgiving the universe could be, but you still saw purpose beyond the pain.
Yep, he needed to stay away from you.
Deciding to push his demons aside for the moment, Frankie casts his mind back to the times he’d tried, and clearly failed, to put the moves on you.
There had been the brush of his hand on your waist as you walked by him in Will’s kitchen to get another beer. And the time you fell asleep on Benny’s sofa, he had shuffled closer, allowing your head to rest ever so slightly in his lap. Frankie also recalls each time he’d driven you home from the bar, only driving away when he saw you head inside. As you sat in his passenger seat, Frankie came to the conclusion that your presence was downright intoxicating. Therefore, he always volunteered to be the designated driver in the hopes he could drink up more of you.
It was getting late. Late enough that he could put all this down to being some kind of a fever dream.
Frankie’s about to head up to bed, when his phone lights up with a text message.
A text message from you.
Yeah, this was definitely feeling like a surreal experience.
He decides to bite the bullet and glances down at your message.
Hey, Frankie. Just wanna say sorry about before. We all know Benny loves to tease, but I hope he didn’t make you uncomfortable. Hopefully see you soon! x
Frankie’s not quite sure what you have to apologise for, and frankly, his attention was elsewhere; on the last four words of your text. God, he hoped to see you again.
He sends his reply swiftly.
Hey, you don’t need to be sorry. I’ve definitely had worse thrown at me by the boys. Don’t worry about it. Hope you enjoyed the fight?
Frankie knows he’s pushing his luck, but he adds that little question mark hoping you’d take the bait to talk to him for a little longer.
You reply almost instantaneously, much to Frankie’s delight.
Yeah, it was great! Once I stopped wanting to kill Benny. Until then I was kinda rooting for the other guy. Promise you won’t tell him? 
Can’t promise anything, Cariño, came Frankie’s response. 
Your humour almost seemed like flirting, and Frankie would be a fool not to try, so after hitting send, he relaxes back into the couch whilst awaiting your response.
Huh. Knew I couldn’t trust a man with the name Francisco.
Fuck. Frankie was immediately consumed by visions of you - saying his name. 
Imagining how his name would sound coming from those perfect lips of yours caused something to stir deep down in his gut. 
Get it together, Frankie. Get it together. 
He found it a little harder to type his next words.
Not many men you can trust these days. But you deserve to be with one who takes good care of you.
He hadn’t intended to get so deep so quickly, but the thought of you being hurt in the past caused an unpleasant feeling to grow in his chest. You were so beautiful, so good. You had your whole life ahead of you. Whichever asshole had broken your trust in the past didn’t deserve to be breathing right now, Frankie was certain.
You take a little longer to reply, causing Frankie to doubt himself for a moment before his phone lights up again.
Thanks, Frankie. I feel like I really needed to hear that. You deserve to be loved, too. 
The sincerity of your words almost knocked the wind right out of him. Pleasantly surprised at the turn his evening took, Frankie longed to draw more of those confessions from you. 
Pope’s right, you know. You could have any guy you wanted, Bonita. 
The Frankie who hadn’t gotten anywhere with you before was not expecting the response you gave.
Any guy, huh?
And before he has time to process your insinuation, you send another text.
Even you? 
Oh, he wasn’t prepared for you to say that. So understandably, his response is delayed.
Shit, he needs to tread carefully here, he thinks, as he eventually composes his next few words.
Cariño, you need to be careful what you say to me. I don’t do well with riddles. 
On edge, Frankie’s composure is wavering. He’s definitely not prepared when he spots an incoming call from you yet he doesn’t hesitate to pick up.
“Hi…I, uh…I don’t even know what I’m doing Frankie.”, your words are soon followed by a soft, yet nervous, laugh.
“Do you wanna come over?”
Frankie swears he hears the breath leave his lungs, before all but moaning out, “Yeah.”
“Be there in 15.”
****
Of all the things you thought you’d be doing at 2 am on a Friday night, giving Frankie directions to your house wouldn’t have been your first guess. 
What were you thinking? You became a woman possessed. The dark timbre of his voice had caused a warm, fuzzy feeling to grow in your tummy, and before you knew it, you had invited him over for a late-night booty call.
You keep your hands busy, clearing up some of the mess in your bedroom when the realisation hits you. You were going to have sex with Frankie. 
Is this really happening?
The doorbell rings and you soon realise that - yes - this does seem to be happening, and it’s happening right now.
Like the cat about to get its cream, you slink to the door to let him in. You’re hoping your face doesn’t betray your eagerness as you greet Frankie with a smile. 
He takes a moment to assess your features, apprehensive that you may have changed your mind whilst he was driving over. Finding only a hint of shyness in your otherwise confident persona, he knows he’s made the right call. Frankie needs to see you move first. He’s not going to enter your apartment until he knows you want him in there. 
Luckily for him, you turn your body to the side slightly, allowing him to see further into your apartment. You take a step back; it’s an invitation that needs no words - it simply says, chase me. See what you’ll find. 
And he does. But not before looking away from you and rolling his eyes ever so slightly. You don’t know if he’s amused or frustrated, but you know you’ve got him right where you need him when he crosses your welcome mat.
His eyes return to you, then, and he gives you an assured nod. It’s Frankie’s way of asking you what your next move is. After all, he’s on your turf right now. 
Desperate to break the silence, you tell him, “Thanks for coming, I know it’s late.”. Choosing that moment to head to your bedroom, you lead the way. Hoping. Wanting. Praying he’ll follow you.
Frankie follows. He follows you blindly - like a disciple on a mission - trusting that wherever he’ll end up, it will be worth it. 
When he reaches your doorway, he’s greeted by a sight so divine, he’s forced to rethink his stance as an agnostic. 
You’re kneeling on the bed, stretching over to switch on the light, when he admires the way your back is arched like a feline wanting to play. He sees your mischief. And, as your shoulders dip low, he becomes hung up on the view of your ass in this position. He definitely wants to play, too.
The tension gets thicker and thicker as Frankie advances forward. He wants to test the waters; see what you do next. But he also wants to dive in headfirst and lap up your sweetness like a man starved. Frankie is a man starved, and he’s losing resolve with every passing second in your presence.
Of course, he’s delighted when you turn to face him again. You kneel on the bed, right in front of him this time, sitting back on your legs with your hands behind your back. You push your chest forward and sit up tall in a way that almost short-circuits Frankie’s brain. You look so submissive; preening and proud to put your body on display for him. So eager to learn, to please him. 
He knows you’re toying with him. You look so innocent sitting like that, but Frankie also knows you’re playing naughty. 
He wouldn’t have it any other way, though. Your moxie had his cock aching in his pants. 
Cautiously, Frankie rakes his eyes over your body, trying to figure out your next move. The soft glow of light in the room gives you an advantage, however, and you manage to catch him off guard. 
He’s too focused on the way you bite your bottom lip to notice your hands on his belt buckle.
Frankie thinks you’ll unbuckle it, yet you surprise him again as you use it to pull his body flush to yours. You’re on the bed and he’s stood up, and you adore the way he’s making you feel so small and pliant right now.
Sporting a mischievous grin of his own now, Frankie moves his lips to your neck.
“Don’t thank me yet, baby. Not until you’re cumming all over my tongue.” 
How’s a girl supposed to respond to that?
By some miracle, you manage to stay upright on the bed, and you decide you need to regain control of the situation before Franke dirty-talks you to death. 
“Francisco…”, you purr devilishly, toying with the hair at the nape of his neck. 
Frankie lets out a sinful groan; with just enough impatience to let you know he’s yours. There’s nowhere else he’d rather be right now than hanging on to every word you say. He can tell you’re being bratty. He loves it. Loves the way you’re taunting him, waiting for the moment he snaps and fucks you how you need to be fucked.
You repeat Frankie’s earlier words to you. “So…I could have any guy I wanted, huh? You really think so?”
Frankie thinks your smile looks a little bashful, for a second, before he notices the way you’re running your tongue across your bottom lip as you toy with the neck of his t-shirt. There’s a glint of something in your eyes. Your smile. That tells him he’s clueless as to the game you’re playing tonight, yet you’re definitely playing him. 
And, well, Frankie’s down for the ride. At this point, he’d promise you the world just to get a taste of the heaven between your thighs. 
Refocusing, he decides that’s what he needs to do.
“Cariño… so needy. You got my attention. All of it. No need to play up.”, says Frankie in a heady whisper.
You realise, then, that you may have underestimated the man in front of you.
But you definitely aren’t prepared for what he says next.
“On your back, baby. Panties off. Let’s see if you’re still an impatient little brat after you get your pussy eaten.”
Unable to form words, you get to the task at hand, dragging your lacy panties down your legs. You swear you can feel your skin throbbing as your hands skim your thighs. There’s nothing he could ask of you right now that would be too much, you decide, as you settle onto your back. 
He’s still fully clothed, and it’s almost like he senses your concern as he suddenly begins to undress. Starting with his t-shirt, he moves with urgency; afraid he’ll miss something if he takes his eye off you for a second. His hands reach for his belt, and you’re trying your best not to drool at the way he looks right now. Hair ruffled from your touch, chest heaving in anticipation of the pleasure you’re teasing of, and eyes glossy and wide. You’re simply mesmerised by the way this man looks when he’s affected. You’ve only ever seen him composed, playing it cool. You’ve never witnessed Frankie lose it, but you’re hoping that’s subject to change. Soon.
“Frankie…”, you beg. “Don’t keep me waiting, baby.”
Despite the way your impatience amuses Frankie, he decides he can’t wait any longer and dives down, using his hands to pry your legs open.
He nips the inside of your thigh, just far enough from where you need him to have you arching your back already; like a creature in heat.
You’re dying to express that you disapprove of his teasing, but you figure you should probably be a good girl considering he’s about to take care of you.
However, Frankie’s not done. His kisses trail higher, and as he reaches your knee, he places kisses there too, as he huffs out a demand. 
“You’re gonna be a good girl and give me all those pretty moans of yours. Take what I give you. Be grateful.” The way he emphasises those final two words tells you he’s not messing around, and you’re ashamed of the way you moan at the authority in his voice.
“Yes, baby. I’ll try to be good…. for you.”, you say. 
“Try, huh?”, is his response, as he reaches for a pillow, tapping your hip as a signal for you to lift them up. He places the pillow underneath your hips, and you’re ready to melt as he uses his thumb to rub firm circles into the spot just beneath your right breast. He applies a good amount of pressure, and all you can think about is how completely at his mercy you are right now; squirming underneath him in desperation. 
Frankie finally uses that tongue of his. But it’s not where you need it…yet. 
He draws your nipple into his mouth, sporting a smug grin as he does so. You want to scream. You can feel just how puffy and swollen your pussy is from the lack of attention it's receiving. As you feel it clench around nothing, you buck up against him whilst he continues to tease you. He’s sucking the peak into his mouth, drawing his tongue around in torturously slow circles, before releasing it with an audible pop. Frankie moves to continue his ministrations with your other breast, and in your petulance, you make the mistake of fighting him.
You hook your left leg around the back of his, trying to position your aching centre against the rough denim of his jeans; desperate for some friction.
But Frankie had been expecting you to challenge him. He’s seen your spark when you’d both been out with the other guys, it was one of the things that drew him to you in the first place. He recalls how you’d light up when you became competitive, you’d find ways to provoke your opponent yet you were able to mask it well. You’d get all giggly and cute, playing it off like you just got a bit over excited, and Santi, or whatever poor schmuck had gone up against you, would give in to you. Often letting you win. 
Well, Frankie wasn’t giving in that easily.
His hand shoots out to hold your left thigh open, whilst he uses his leg to pin down the other one; keeping you splayed out just how he wanted. You’re taken aback by his strength and you can’t deny it makes your pussy even needier. You need him, and your frustration has made you bold enough to tell him.
“Frankie, baby.”, you whine. “Need your mouth on it. On my pussy.”
He lets out a dark chuckle at that. And he decides to punish your brattiness with silence. You’re easy to read, to him, and he knows you’re liking the way he’s running his mouth whilst in your bed. But you’re reaching for too much, and he’s got to show some resistance for both of your sakes. 
Of course, Frankie would give you anything, but he’s not sure what your intentions were for inviting him into your bed. He assumes you’re after a no-strings-attached arrangement, and he’s gonna need to keep you wanting more if he’s to keep you. 
Pushing the thought aside for now, he focuses on his next move: giving you what you need. 
After what feels like a century, Frankie finally dips his head down to where you’re dripping for him. He’s sure he’s never seen a pussy so sweet and so responsive. He’s not even touched you there and he can see you clenching around nothing. 
His thick fingers part your folds and the way his breath ghosts over you has you crying out to him. 
“Ngghhh…fuck. Need it.”, you draw out in a frustrated giggle, and at this moment, Frankie thinks - no he knows - that you’ve ruined all other women for him. You sound so sexy, like a little vixen, but at the same time, there’s a sweetness about you that’s humbling.
Frankie decides he needs to reassure you. “Shhhh, Cariño. I’ve got you. You’ll get what you need.”
And you do get what you need, as Frankie forces your legs open even wider before licking a thick stripe all the way from your fluttering hole to your throbbing clit with his tongue - and the noise you make is untamed. 
He takes his time, opening you up on his tongue. He knows you need his fingers inside but he’s not sure you deserve it just yet. 
Frankie admires the way your pretty pussy is shy at first - like you - as he uses soft kitten licks to loosen you up. Your juices taste heavenly, and he laps up every ounce that flows from the core of you. Eventually, you relax into his mouth and your moans become more desperate. You need more and you communicate this by pulling Frankie in even deeper, your hands tight in his hair. 
“Jesus Christ”, he groans. “Tell me what you need, baby.”
“Fingers, Frankie. I need your fingers.”, you plead, hoping he’ll take pity on you. 
And he does, by some miracle, pressing two inside you and immediately curling them up. You’re soon ready for another, and he adds a third, causing you to pout at him as your orgasm grows closer. The way you’re trying your best to ride his fingers, yet also sink further back into the bed like a pillow princess, is endearing to Frankie, as he can’t help but watch how you take him. Fuck, you’re beautiful like this. Underneath him. He needs you to come on his fingers and his tongue and he decides he can’t wait much longer.
“There you go, pretty girl. You’ve got something to clench down on. Something to cum on.”, says Frankie, and his words have your eyes rolling back. He’s got a dirty mouth and it’s doing all the right things to you.
He moves his mouth back to your clit, sucking it into his mouth. Applying the perfect amount of pressure, he’s got you whining out his name as you stretch your arms above your head, gripping the pillow you find there to anchor you - otherwise, you’re sure you’ll float away. 
It doesn’t take Frankie much longer to push you to the edge, and he gets a little rougher, much to your delight. You’re suddenly thankful for the pillow you’re grabbing onto, as his hands grip both of your ass cheeks, pulling your cunt up to his mouth and there’s nowhere for you to run. His grip is unrelenting; all you can do is lie there and take it as his tongue lashes against your clit. The absence of his fingers leaves you feeling empty, though you’re not complaining, as the way he’s clutching your hips allows him to really wreck you with his mouth. And what a mouth that man has. 
You’re writhing on the bed, your orgasm so close that your body’s going crazy; arching and stretching as it tries to hit that spot to send you over the edge. It comes as no surprise, however, that Frankie’s words finish you off.
“That’s it, baby. Know you need to cum. Need it so bad you’re whimpering for it.”
“Come on now, give it to me. I know you can. Cum and I’ll give you my fingers to ride it out on.”, he says, and you cum. Hard. 
“Frankie. Oh my god, Frankie”, you moan out like a madwoman and Frankie plunges his fingers back into your pussy as you cum all over his face. 
You can’t help but chase every wave of your high, and you push your cunt down on his fingers like you can’t get enough of what he’s giving you. Somehow, you’re able to remember what Frankie told you before, and you begin to chant “Thank you. Thank you. Thank you.” as you ride out your orgasm. 
There’s a cheeky smile playing on your lips and Frankie lets out his own throaty chuckle at your sass. And that’s when it hits him. 
One time isn’t enough. 
He can’t give you up just yet. 
****
The two of you soon get into a rhythm. 
You alternate between your place and his, spending most nights together each week. It’s after a few weeks of this routine that you realise: you’ve got yourself a ‘fuck buddy’ after all.
But you wouldn’t dream of telling Benny. Or Will. Or Santi. You weren’t ready to burst the bubble and face reality yet. You were perfectly happy indulging in each other’s bodies, sheltered from the pressures of the outside world. 
The sex is incredible. You know it, and Frankie most definitely knows it too.
You’ve come to know Frankie’s body so intimately, it sends a shiver down your spine just from thinking about it. You know what makes him tick. What makes him abandon his resolve and cum for you. You know how to draw particular sounds from him; his moans, his whimpers, his shouts, even. You had become a Frankie connoisseur in what seemed like no time.
Actually, it had only been a few weeks, yet things seemed to be moving at pace.
Having been friends before all this began, neither of you was inclined to kick the other person out after you were done rolling around in the sheets. So, naturally, then came the lingering. 
You both had taken to lingering a little while longer after the post-coital high faded. 
One time, you had hopped in the shower, and when you were done, you found Frankie on the phone to your local pizzeria. You hadn’t even questioned how he knew your order, putting it down to the fact you were friends before this. Still, it caused an unfamiliar feeling to stir in your chest, and some small part of you didn’t hate the gesture. 
You start showering together, too.
The first time it happened, you were still giggling over something Frankie had said. You’d riled him up and he’d taken you on, finding it way too easy to laugh with you. You’d been poking fun at him after he’d shared quite an embarrassing story from his days in service and he had decided to take a shower to escape your teasing. However, you didn’t want to let the moment go, just yet - so you followed him into the bathroom. 
He had just stepped under the spray of water when he heard your girlish giggle getting louder. Frankie tried his hardest to steel himself, but your happiness was infectious and he couldn’t help but be affected, dropping his head forward with a content smile as you wrapped your arms around him from behind. And since then, this became a frequent part of your routine. 
On several occasions, you slept over at Frankie’s place and he drove you to work the next day. 
You struggled with this. You weren’t going to lie. The thought of one of your colleagues spotting you, and the gossip that would ensue, concerned you. But you brushed it off each time.
After all, it meant that Frankie would take you home as well - and that came with its own benefits.
You’d gotten into the habit of getting him all worked up on those days he was due to pick you up, deciding it was fun to have him show up wrecked and so hard for you. Sometimes he drove a little faster, gripped your thigh a little tighter, and braked a little harder as he rushed to get the two of you to someplace private. Whilst other times he’d take to finding a discreet place to park his car. 
Yeah, those were the days you’d texted him something filthy.
You figured out quite early that you were both into dirty talk, but you weren’t expecting it to escalate in the way it did. 
An incident occurred at the Millers’ BBQ, where everyone in the neighbourhood appeared to be out in full force. Despite you and Frankie pledging to behave yourselves, you couldn’t help but sneak off upstairs when the moment presented itself. You had to remind yourself that Benny had probably done the same, if not much worse, in your own bathroom as you let Frankie sit you up on the counter; his broad frame crowding you against the mirror and your heels digging into his back. He had come to love when you’d communicate how much you needed him by sinking your stilettos into him like a vice. It was a kind of foreplay and he was very much here for it. 
It was at that moment when he said it, as he had you spread out on the counter in your friend’s bathroom, fucking you good. 
You could’ve blamed it on the slight buzz of alcohol running through his veins. Or the fact you had been fucking each other a lot. The latter was more rational, you realised, yet you didn’t want to dwell on how you two got to this point. The anxiety and regret would creep back in, and you were having way too much to let yourself ruin it by overthinking.
“Fuck…Cariño. Feels so good. You like that, huh?”, he said.
You’d mewled out a “Yeah”, knowing Frankie needed to hear the praise, needed you to use your words.
What followed then, was a veiled threat to your dynamic. “Yeah…”, he groaned out. “You like it, huh? Letting me fuck you like this tight little pussy is mine.”
Frankie loved the way you whined at that, and he was perfectly content to watch you go wild as you took his cock like a champion, but you were getting too loud, so he covered your mouth with his; swallowing your cries of pleasure.
You should’ve noticed then that things were changing between the two of you, but you were too far gone at the time to pay it the attention it needed.
However, Frankie had been paying close attention to you. Specifically, you in his t-shirts, wearing only your panties and pottering around his place like you belonged there. 
You were blissfully unaware of how much this particular sight drove him crazy, but each time you wore one, Frankie died a little inside. He was overcome with the need to possess you. To make you his girl, have everyone know you warmed his bed. 
This feeling also reared its head whenever you called him baby. 
He’d never been one to jump to conclusions and he was definitely not one to overestimate a woman’s feelings towards him. But, against all odds, and because this was you, Frankie found himself desperately clinging to the pet name. He latched onto the idea that, maybe, he was your man and there was nobody else. Of course, Frankie knew what he signed up for. But he could still imagine what it would be like if things were different. 
But, afraid it would scare you off, Frankie subdued these urges every time. He’d often shut down when it all got to be too much for him to contemplate, rushing to another room where he’d make himself look busy. Unfortunately, you interpreted his struggle as him being distant. Closed-off. Emotionally unavailable. And in your eyes, this was the reason why you couldn’t let yourself fall for this man.
Despite the doubts you harboured, neither of you was prepared to stop.
The pace at which things were evolving terrified you, if you were being honest. It was as though you were heading towards a cliff edge, but you had taken the scenic route. 
The views were breathtaking, so you went along for the ride; paying no mind to where you were going.
You hated being unable to control the situation and part of you wanted to turn it around and go back to when you were just friends. Back then, you didn’t owe him anything. You could control the version of yourself you presented to him. But in this arrangement, Frankie was able to catch you off guard, sometimes. When he looked at you like you hung the moon, you felt as though you could fall into him with no parachute - give him more. And that scared you.
Frankie was scared, too.
In fact, he’s worried.
You’re currently enjoying a night out with your girlfriends whilst he’s home alone with his anxiety. 
He knows you can handle yourself, but he’s itching to hear from you. You’re having fun and you don’t need him, but he can’t help but keep glancing at his phone, thinking of texting you. Truthfully, Frankie’s afraid he’ll fade into your background. Every second you spend without him - untethered - is a chance for you to find something better and leave him behind.
He wants to be missed. Needs you to miss him.
However, Frankie’s not prepared to get this deep in a text message to you, so he settles for something a bit lighter. 
Releasing a strained sigh, he decides to bite the bullet and so begins to type out a message.
Meanwhile, in the club, you’re nursing your third margarita of the evening when the text comes through. 
Luckily, you’d agreed to watch the booth whilst your friends went to the bar for more drinks, meaning you were able to take a quick peek at your phone, away from prying eyes. 
You hated the way you doted on his every word, yet still, you ran your eyes over the text a few more times than necessary.
Hope you’re having fun. You know there’s a space in my bed if you want to crash here later.
Slightly buzzed from the cocktails you’d had so far, you aren’t sure whether this new sensation you’re feeling is down to the alcohol, or something else entirely. 
Being your usual flirtatious self, your instinct is to tease Frankie a little.
Your bed? Benny usually lets me crash with him after a girls night. Why should it be your bed, Francisco? X
It’s true. Benny did always offer you a place to stay at the end of the night, but it wasn’t like that. Yet Frankie doesn’t need to know that Benny always takes the couch, letting you sleep like a baby in privacy. Besides, you think it’s fun to rile him up. After all, you’re not sure how far he’ll go, to earn your company tonight. 
He doesn’t respond for a while, and you’re tapping your nails against the back of your phone, thankful that the bar service is slow tonight, delaying your friends’ return.
Fuck…is what comes to mind when Frankie reads your message. He’s driven wild by the thought of you in another man’s bed, even if it’s his friend who he knows has only ever been platonic with you. He’s not proud of his jealousy, as he knows what he signed up for. But he can’t help himself - he needs to give you a reason to end the night in his bed. He needs something that will reassure him: he’s not losing you. Thinking on his feet, despite having spent a solid ten minutes figuring out what to say, he replies.
Come on, baby. You know I can give you what you need tonight. Not sure Benny’s going to cut it. 
Kicking himself as he reads over his words, he knows he needs to give you more, so he sends another.
You think I can’t see through your games, Cariño. When you wake up needy in the middle of the night, it’s my cock you’ll be coming on. 
Oh. He’s playing dirty, you realise. You grab your drink and take a generous taste, needing something to cool you down desperately. 
Is he jealous? Your mind is racing with the possibilities of what this could mean for your relationship. 
Panic swirls in your stomach, letting you know that you may be heading into uncharted territory here. And to make matters worse, a glance to your left alerts you to the fact your friends are on their way back to the table.
You intended to reply with something equally as dirty as what he’d been sending you, yet as you spot your friends getting closer, you freak out and lock your phone, hoping they’re tipsy enough to gloss over the way you’re breathing a little harsher, right now.
You couldn’t deny it, Frankie’s way with words had you feeling hot. Heat pools between your thighs as you dwell on the delicious implications of ending the night in his bed, but you remind yourself that you need to appear unaffected or else you’ll be subject to interrogation.
It didn’t work, judging by Cami’s expression, and you take a moment to prepare yourself for the questions. Yet, there’s a look of real understanding on your friend’s face, like she senses your inner turmoil and feels for you. She assumes you’re tearing yourself apart over something, or someone, and she’s not sure that a crowded club is the right place to bring it up. Deciding to buy you some time, Cami suggests you accompany her to the bathroom.
Shooting her a look of gratitude, you let her lead you into a cubicle, before she turns to face you whilst leaning back against the door. 
You stare up at her from where you’re perched on the toilet, and you know she’s waiting for you to fill her in.
After a few seconds, you succumb. 
“I think I’m in too deep. Shit, Cami. Things are changing, and I don’t know if I like it.”
She doesn’t need you to elaborate. She knows you’re referring to a guy, and from the sounds of it, she can assume it’s casual. Well, supposed to be casual. The way you’re frantically chewing on your lip suggests otherwise.
Always in your corner, yet still firm enough to call you out when it’s needed, Cami’s been by your side long enough to tell when a man’s made a serious impression on you. Deciding it’s time to be firm, she weighs in on the situation.
“Being comfortable has never been enough for you. Change can be good. I know you know that, babe.”, she tells you.
“Who is he?”
You figure there’s no point in delaying the inevitable, so you reveal that it’s “A friend of Benny and Will. Uh…Frankie, the pilot.”
It’s hard to miss the proud smirk that Cami gives you. “Well-played.”, she says, chuckling slightly. “And that’s who you were sexting whilst we were at the bar, right?”
You nod, feeling less overwhelmed after opening up to her.
“Are you planning on showing me, then? I can’t help you blow his mind if you don’t let me see the texts.”, she adds smugly. Instantly putting you at ease.
You don’t need to ask her how she knew you were sexting Frankie, you’re just grateful that she’s a girls’ girl through and through, and you welcome her expertise in the matter. 
Cami’s about to suggest that you send him a flirty picture, with an even flirtier caption, until you scroll further down the conversation and you notice two new messages from the man in question.
It turns out that whilst you were stewing over your lover’s salacious messages, Frankie had gone through the motions, ten times over. He thought he’d pushed you too far. Pushed you away with his jealousy. 
He let himself simmer in his frustration before concluding that your lack of a response signified rejection. Frankie knew he’d shown his hand too soon. He’d fallen at your feet like all the other men, acting like a golden retriever in the way he fought for your attention. 
But still, your rejection hurt. It hurt enough for him to become defensive, trying to regain some of the control he’d forfeited to you. He shouldn’t have said what he said, but he let his emotions get the better of him.
You can’t quite believe what you’re reading, and even Cami appears to be shocked at the words staring back at you.
I get it. You don’t owe me anything, huh?  
And after he hadn’t heard from you for fifteen minutes, he sent another text.
You should stay at Benny’s tonight. Wherever you choose to go, I’m sure you’ve got plenty of options. 
All you see is red. All you feel is the unmistakable tinge of betrayal. You hadn’t expected Frankie to jump to conclusions, and you definitely hadn’t expected your Frankie - who was always so sweet and respectful - to degrade you like this. 
Some part of your brain is able to register Cami’s words and you hear her cursing Frankie with some very colourful language. You’re left feeling blindsided, unable to process his sudden resentment towards you, but nonetheless, you can’t allow yourself to get hung up on it, not when you were surrounded by such remarkable friends. 
You switch your phone off, determined to salvage the rest of your night, before letting Cami drag you to the dancefloor for some much needed release.
It’s no surprise, then, when Frankie’s 3 am apology text fails to come through.
****
Frankie becomes an expert at jumping to conclusions when it comes to you.
After you didn’t reply to his apology, and subsequently screened all of his calls, Frankie didn’t know what else he could do. 
He couldn’t reach you and you hadn’t made an effort to contact him. Hell, he knew he’d fucked up; he shouldn’t have spoken to you in the way he did, but he’d tried to make amends and yet you didn’t seem willing to hear him out.
Frankie doesn’t see you for a while. Eight days, to be exact. 
He knows you’re alright, thank god, as he hears from Will that you’d been offered a promotion at work and that he’d taken you out to dinner to celebrate.
And yet, it doesn’t get easier, he comes to accept, and he finds himself wanting to call you on multiple occasions, and he almost does, but something always stops him in his tracks.
Unable to stop replaying your words over in his head, Frankie’s overthought and overanalysed until the point of exhaustion. You were both to blame, considering neither of you had been willing to speak about your relationship. Expectations, boundaries and outcomes had all been forgotten. You’d gotten swept up in the pleasure and failed to address these crucial concerns, and now you were both reaping what you had sewed. 
It was supposed to be casual. It was supposed to be just sex. 
That’s what Frankie told himself when Benny revealed that he had set him up on a blind date with a mutual friend. 
Neither of you had told Benny, or Will and Santi for that matter, about the two of you and Frankie couldn’t have declined the invitation without arousing suspicion from the youngest of the group. He didn’t know where he stood with you, but he wasn’t going to drop you in it with the boys. He was way too protective of you to let that happen.
So, begrudgingly, Frankie agreed to the date.
The first you heard of the date was through Instagram, and Frankie and Imelda were well into their second drink of the evening by the time you’d found out. 
Turns out, Benny had crashed it around forty-five minutes in, having gotten a text from his friend revealing he wasn’t ‘feeling it’. Taking his wingman duties seriously, Benny wasn’t prepared to let Frankie give in just yet, so had shown up in an attempt to encourage him, and to salvage what was left of the night. Benny had brought a girl friend - whom you both had met whilst at college - hoping the double date vibes would put Frankie at ease, and as she had taken to posting on her story, you were able to poke your nose in.
It wasn’t spying, and you weren’t jealous. But when Stacey posted a picture of the group, you couldn’t help but fixate on the way Frankie had his arm around his date, leaning into her ear, and it looked as though she’d caught them during an intimate moment.
Due to the angle at which the photo had been taken, you couldn’t tell whether Frankie’s lips were just hovering over her ear, or whether they were pressed tight against her skin. His baseball cap cleverly hid the majority of his face from view, but you couldn’t deny what was plain to see. And it drove you mad. Though, you knew your anger wasn’t justified.
Preparing for the worst, you conclude that Frankie’s ready to move on from you. 
You wish you could put your phone aside and let it be. You wish you didn’t care. You wish that the thought of Frankie touching another woman didn’t make you want to die, and you wish you could stop yourself from doing what you were planning to do next.
There’s a fire in your eyes and you realise that, perhaps, you are jealous, though you don’t waste time dwelling on it. If you were going to keep Frankie’s interest, you needed to do something that would throw him off balance and you needed to do it soon. And you knew just what would do the trick. 
You practically run to the bedroom, pulling out one of Frankie’s old army t-shirts that you’d snagged from his place. Getting comfy on your bed, you slip the shirt up your skin until it exposes enough skin to drive your man wild. There was no doubt about it. Frankie adored your breasts, and he also adored the way you loved to tease. You are hoping that this sexy little underboob shot would make him forget all about his date. No disrespect to her, as any woman would be crazy to turn down a date with Francisco Morales, and you feel bad - honestly, you really do. But the anxiety in your chest is pulling you towards the action. Your body’s screaming at you to do something, like it senses that it’s about to lose Frankie’s touch, for good.
You angle your phone just right, so the camera focuses on the way your breasts peek out from under his t-shirt. Whilst you make sure to get your face in the shot, too, as you draw your bottom lip between your teeth and widen your eyes; looking all cute and innocent as you look up at the camera positioned above you. You know you’re anything but innocent right now, but you’re anticipating that Frankie will play right into your trap. As you have it on good authority that the man loves how you play coy, only to whine pathetically when he finally stretches you out with his cock. And by good authority, you’re referring to the way he grips your hips like your body gives him oxygen, or the way his big hands cup the back of your neck, fingers skimming over the side of your throat in a way that says, you’re staying right where I’ve got you. 
Throwing caution to the wind, you press send on the photo and you make sure to add a fitting caption. 
Your girl’s feeling a little lonely. Lucky she’s got your shirt to play in. Would be a shame for you to miss out, tonight. x
And you’ve got him. 
Hook, line and sinker; Frankie’s ready to come crawling back to you like a dog.
When he sees your name light up on his phone, notifying him that you’d sent him a photo, he needs to get somewhere private. And fast. 
He gives Imelda, as well as the other couple, some lame excuse about needing to get his jacket from the truck - just in case they decide to go somewhere with outdoor seating later on - and before he even reaches for his keys, he’s got his phone out ready. Somehow, he manages to hold off on opening your message, wanting to give you his full attention from the comfort of his driver’s seat. And he’s glad he did, as he pulls up the text and is greeted with what could only be described as a treat. Your eyes. Those lips. Your tits in… wait. Is that his shirt? Fuck, he doesn’t know where to look. His eyes rapidly move from each focal point in a frenzy to soak up everything you’d given him. You’d bestowed upon him a gift, and he needed to treasure it. Besides, he hadn’t heard from you in a while and he didn’t know if he’d ever be able to touch you, or even look at you, in this way again. 
And then, he casts his eyes down to the text that follows.
Your girl’s feeling a little lonely. Lucky she’s got your shirt to play in. Would be a shame for you to miss out, tonight. x
He takes a minute to process your words, but he’s unable to move past your girl and your shirt. Did you want him dead? Surely, that was your goal in pushing those exact buttons of his. You’d seen his possessiveness, and until now, Frankie was certain it had pushed you away; overwhelmed you. Were you now encouraging it?
Not wanting to miss his chance, Frankie recomposes himself, just enough for him to be able to send a semi-coherent reply. He also texted Benny, asking him to apologise to Imelda on his behalf and tell her he had to head home, as he wasn’t feeling well. Home wasn’t on the cards tonight, however, as he geared up to head to your place. 
Don’t play too hard without me, baby. On my way over now.
Somewhere on the drive over to yours, Frankie finds himself able to reflect on your relationship. 
Relationship. That word felt foreign on his tongue, but he didn’t hate it, he realised, as he allowed himself to fantasise about a version of you two where you dated, held hands, and openly expressed your affection in front of your friends. 
You’d never given him any indication that you wanted more. Until tonight. 
Frankie’s aware that you’ve given him a crumb, and he’s already dreaming about the whole damn thing, but he can’t help himself from pushing forward.
His attraction, and his appreciation for you had grown, and he often found himself doting on the way you held your coffee in the morning like it was precious cargo, just as much as he doted on the way you went all cock-dumb in his bed after he’d worn you out for hours and hours. He’d begun to notice the little things that made you, you. And he knew he could fall in love with you. It would be so easy. 
Frankie considers how he’s probably ruined it for himself, already. He spoke to you in a derogatory way, that night you were out with the girls, and you’d somehow found out he’d been on a date with another woman. He knows that, on paper, the date isn’t something he should feel guilty for, as you two weren’t exclusive. But you were still involved and he has to admit he hasn't handled things in the best way. 
As he turns onto your street, he concludes that he wants you.
Frankie wants to be with you, and he’s willing to have you in whatever capacity you’re prepared to offer him. If you’re not ready. If you can’t give him what he needs, like the self-sabotaging martyr, he’s willing to take whatever he can get if it means he doesn’t have to give this feeling up. 
Then he’s at your door, trying his hardest to stop the tapping of his foot, which would surely give him away.
You appear from behind it, and he’s a fool not to notice the tears staining your cheeks as he makes his way past you. 
He bounds on you, the force of his kisses backing you up against the kitchen counter. And there are so many words on the tip of your tongue, but you haven’t seen this man in over a week and it’s so easy to fall back in again. 
After he’s somewhat satisfied that you’re real, and you’re here in his arms, he pulls back to address you with a needy tone of voice. One that was unfamiliar to both of you. 
“What was that, huh?” he demands. Looking anywhere but at your face, it’s no surprise that he misses the anguish that clouds your usual playful expression.
After a beat of silence, he pushes again.
“You couldn’t let me try to get over you.”, says Frankie, and this time, you notice the pain in his voice.
It’s like you’re frozen. Paralysed by the weight of everything that’s gone unsaid between you. 
Silence follows. It’s the kind of quiet before a storm, and neither of you knows what to do to protect yourselves. 
He’s holding onto your hips like they’re his altar, and he’s staring down at your body like it will lead him to enlightenment; give him the answers he needs. 
When he moves his gaze back to your face, that’s when he sees the absence of light in your eyes. You look troubled. Uncertain. And Frankie’s kicking himself for not noticing the tears that are streaking your soft skin earlier. What had happened between sending him the photo and now?
Cupping your face with a tenderness unlike the way he had just kissed you so roughly, Frankie’s at a loss for what to do. He just knows he wants to soothe the pain; your pain and his, and make it all better. 
Your silence feels like another dose of rejection, so Frankie takes a step back from you.
He’s amazed at his own courage, as he finds himself needing to communicate what he needs, right now. 
“You know what I want.”, he says.
The look in your eyes tells him you were expecting this conversation. And it crushes him, because he needs you to fight for him. But you won’t. He can see that much from your pained expression and the way your body is curling in on itself. You’re retreating.
And you are retreating. You want so badly to run to him; to hold him in your arms and promise that you’ll try, you’ll give him what he needs. 
You know you could love him right. Some mature part of you wants you to acknowledge that you are falling for him, and have been since the first night. But you’re confused, driven by heightened, raw emotion and you haven’t taken the time to process what you’re feeling for him.
His rejection still stings you, and you struggle to bounce back when you’ve been hurt. You know the adult thing to do is to talk about it - patch things up and move past it. But you’re a creature of habit and what you actually did was stew in your irrational anger, before closing yourself off to him. He’d tried to reach out and you’d crawled deeper into your pit of self-sabotage. Yeah, it wasn’t healthy and perhaps Frankie was better off without the hurt you’d most likely cause him if you gave this thing a chance to grow into something more.
A lot of self-work needed to happen before you’d be ready to let him in; let him sink deeper underneath your skin. 
So you stayed put, whilst your words failed you. 
Frankie’s eyes are raking over you so intensely, awaiting your next move, and all you can do is look anywhere but at him. 
The tension in your body has been stretched too far, and so it snaps. And you’re sure that both of you can hear the way the energy in the room shifts just like that. 
“Francisco… I -”, is all that you manage.
And Frankie feels as though he can read your mind. 
What you meant to say, he thinks, was I can’t give you what you want. 
And he gives you a moment to finish your admission. But nothing comes.
Wanting to be anywhere but here - facing your rejection, again, Frankie pivots towards the front door, ready to leave. 
“I shouldn’t have come here.”, he says.
Then as he darts towards the exit, you call out his name, and his movements still completely.
You continue. “I - … “, before releasing a sigh. 
“Frankie”, you whine, though it’s not like he’s used to hearing. It’s a broken whine, telling him all he needs to know.
You’re not ready.
“Tell me to stay. Tell me you want me.”, he pleads. 
And you think it’s kinder to let him go now. As it’s only a matter of time before you break his heart anyway. 
This arrangement was supposed to be casual. It wasn’t supposed to evolve this way, but you had both fallen in a little too deep, with too little communication. 
Fuck, he’s a good guy. Why won’t you let yourself have this? Have him? 
By now, your delicate tears have given way to distressed sobs, and you need him to walk away from you, so you can let it all out. 
After what feels like an age, Frankie leaves. He realises that he’s powerless. He’d handed over all of his control, to you, and you now held the advantage. 
As you watch the door close behind him, you release the hand that’s covering your mouth and unleash your heartache. 
****
It’s not a secret that you miss him.
Your body feels the loss, as you regress into the shell of your hurt. 
You can’t eat or sleep for the first few days, and when your appetite returns, you’re too anxious to make a run for some groceries. You’d called in sick to work, and that should’ve been a sign that Frankie meant more to you than a ‘fuck buddy’. 
You were grieving him. And as cliché as it sounds, you didn’t know what you had until it was gone. Or more so, you didn’t know that you wanted more until you had nothing.
The days that followed that fateful night in your kitchen were filled with longing. You yearned for the comfort of his body: the softness of his hair underneath your fingers, the sound of his voice over the phone, the way he held you like his favourite memory. You couldn’t bring yourself to wash his clothes that appeared in your laundry; you weren’t ready to erase his scent. It was somehow calm and untamed at the same time. Like Frankie.
You also missed the way he made you feel so needed when he’d beg for your touch.
But physical touch aside, you missed his mind, too.
You found yourself wanting to bask in his dark humour; the way he was often quiet and observant in social situations, only to cut in with something downright philosophical when it counted. Truthfully, you thought a lot about the way he’d listen, hands on his hips and mouth slightly ajar, looking like he was sizing you up, though you knew he held nothing but empathy and respect for those he cared about. 
It was down to you now. You needed to be the one to show up, for him. You needed to reach out to him, tell him what he means to you, but you were worried you’d missed your chance. That night in your kitchen couldn’t have been more poetic; he’d come running to you and it would’ve been perfect had you crashed into him with open arms and an open mind. But you didn’t. And that left you playing out scenarios in your head, thinking of all the ways you could confess the depth of your affection to your lover. 
What would he say? 
Would he take you in his arms and vow to forget the past? 
Would he be forgiving? Or would he be guarded, detached?
You imagined the latter was more likely, though you had come to accept that you were the one responsible for the limbo you were both existing in.
And of all the ways you’d imagined seeing Frankie again, you never expected it to be in the grocery store; dressed for comfort and definitely not to impress. 
He’s got a six-pack of beers in his hand as you let your eyes soak him up. He looks good, but also exhausted, and although your heart aches at the thought of him struggling, the needy part of you latches onto it as evidence of him missing you.
Frankie had once revealed that he loved sharing a bottle of wine with a woman, as he enjoyed getting comfortable enough with a partner to share the pleasant buzz it gave. And that was something you had delighted in, too, before taking it for granted. Though as you glanced back down at the beers he was holding, you were so thankful for his choice of beverage, as it signified there wasn’t someone waiting on him tonight.  
You found yourself wanting to be the one waiting on him. Being the one he came home to every night, and the thought sent a gentle thrill through your body.
So you held on tighter to your tub of ice-cream, channeling your trepidation into the object in question as it gave your hands something to do and slightly quelled the urge to reach out and touch Frankie. 
As you pluck up just enough courage to walk over to him, he reaches for a bag of chips, and you believe he's blissfully unaware of the baggage you’re bringing him. 
The distance between you is not enough, as you know you’re only a few steps away from having to confront this thing. Tail between your legs, you slowly move closer to him. 
Of course, as an ex-veteran, Frankie had clocked you before you even considered approaching him. He’s grateful for this, though, as it gave him a sliver of time to compose himself before you had eyes on his weary form. However, he can’t help but think the way you’re slinking towards him, in an attempt to appear discreet, is cute. Despite how much he wishes he could refrain from becoming even more infatuated with you.
Arguably, the anxiety in his stomach tells Frankie he’s not ready to face you. Though he doubts he could ever feel completely ready. So, at the moment when you become too close to ignore, he lifts his head, knowing his time’s up.
Words aren’t exchanged for a while. Rather, you’re preoccupied with assessing each other; devouring with your eyes what you’ve been deprived of for over a week. 
Frankie knows he can’t be the one to break the silence. It has to be you, and if he gives you this, he’ll never know whether you mean to fight for him. He needs to see you step outside your comfort zone and give him the words you’ve held hostage.
And you do, after a poignant pause. 
“Hi, uh - … you look…good, Frankie.” is all you manage to say. You find a little more confidence as you go on, and the way you breathe out his name with poise gives Frankie hope for what’s to come. 
He doesn’t think it’s the right time for him to speak, though, and he doesn’t want to spook you should you be preparing to speak candidly. So, he doesn’t say anything.
You gesture towards the beers and chips in his basket, “Oh, are you seeing the boys tonight?”
Frankie puts the basket down, then, and folds his arms over his chest. He gives you a quick shake of the head, before telling you “No.” 
He’s trying to appear unbothered, but the way his laboured breaths are visible through his chest tells you otherwise.
You’re fighting the instinct to run but you somehow manage to continue.
“I’m sorry that I hurt you.”, you admit, and then you tell him, “I’ve been thinking about everything. About you. A lot.”
Frankie can’t help himself, and he jumps in, craving your honest disclosure. 
“What do you want. Really?”, he says, and he looks so tired - exhausted by your indecision, and it makes you loathe how avoidant you’ve been with him.
Oh, you think. We’re getting to this now.
“I- I’m not used to… used to letting someone in. Y-You-” and Frankie cuts you off.
“Cariño.”, he says sternly. “I need an answer.”, and he’s begging you.
“Francisco!”, you whine petulantly. And if he couldn’t see the pained expression on your face, he’d be offended. You’re conflicted, and he wants to believe that you’re trying. 
“You want me to tell you how I feel, then listen.”, you assert, before adding a softer “Please”, as you look at him like he could break your heart with any sudden moves.
“Frankie… y-you saw me, like actually took the time to learn it all. I couldn’t hide. I thought you’d find something that would make you leave me alone, and I wasn’t prepared to l-lose it.”
He leans closer, ever so slightly and it’s the encouragement you need to continue.
“Didn’t want to lose you, Frankie. You’re a good man. A man I could love, and… and I was happy but I was afraid it couldn’t last. S-so I kept going back and forth, daring you to stay. Seeing if you’d give up.”, you say, and the last five words come out sounding more uncertain than the rest.
Meanwhile, Frankie’s processing. He inhales every word out of your mouth like he’s gasping for breath. He’s needed to hear this - hear you - and it feels long overdue.
Your strength doesn’t fade, as you continue.
“I don’t know if I deserve you.”, you confess softly, before revealing, “You could be better off with someone else.”, and you can’t look him in the eye as you share such a deep-rooted insecurity with the man you’d come to adore.
It’s genuine, everything you’re saying, and Frankie sees that you’re trying, for him. He’s finding it hard not to say fuck mature communication and comfort you, knowing you could do with some physical touch to ground you. He wants to kiss you until all your worries dissipate, hating the thought that you could ever underestimate yourself in this way. If only you saw what Frankie saw when he looked at you, you’d be walking on air.
But he knows he needs to tread carefully. You’re giving him an inch, and he wants a mile, but he knows you. Knows the vulnerability you’re slowly welcoming is a lot for you, right now, and he’s appreciative regardless.
Then, you go and throw him a curveball. 
Taking a risk, you move in even closer, until your feet are practically covering his, and you’re looking up at him with an innocence and vulnerability in your eyes that you reserve for him, only.
And your voice wobbles as you say, “Shit, Frankie. I need you.”
He looks down at you and you appear so small and fragile beneath his gaze. There’s no trace of your usual playfulness or moxie on your expression. And in your voice, there’s no trace of the pretence you sometimes hide behind when forced to confront your emotions. And Frankie registers that you must really mean it this time.
He needs to believe that you mean it. That you really need him, as the alternative is something he’s not prepared to brave.
Arguably, you’ve put yourself out there this time, and Frankie would be lying if he said he wasn’t concerned about you reverting back to reticence, should he give you another chance. Who’s to say you’ll maintain this level of communication with him? He can’t go through this again if you aren’t truly invested in moving forward.
“Fuck, I never thought we’d be stood in a grocery store having this conversation.”, you add to ease the tension, and the way Frankie lets out a breathy chuckle tells you he’s just as grateful for the relief from the heaviness.
After a moment of intense deliberation, Frankie arrives at his choice.
He understands that acknowledgement is only the start, and he needs to see that you’re willing to commit to something more, whatever that may be.
But right there on the confectionery aisle, as the artificial lighting of the store illuminates every emotion on your face - and he sees the fear, the concern, and the tenderness that gives you away, Frankie decides that he needs you. 
And, like an addict, he swears to have you in whatever capacity he can get.
You can’t read him, and you’re on edge awaiting his response.
Then with a newfound sense of ease, Frankie picks up the six-pack from the basket beside you, as you watch his every move; afraid you’ll miss something. 
He gestures to the beers, before the slightest hint of a smirk greets you from beneath his baseball cap.
“How about we swap these for some of that wine you like? Then we can head back to my place. Talk some more.” he says.
And he knows those last three words could scare you off. 
Yet as you take his hand, pulling him over to the aisle you need, Frankie feels hopeful. 
It’s a kind of hope that simultaneously scares and excites him, and right now, he’s okay with that.
Thank you for reading! Please consider commenting, liking or reblogging if you enjoyed it. <3
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jasontoddssuper · 4 months
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'Fanon is better than canon' Batfam stans are so transparent.Jason is a mentally ill man who shows all the ugliness that comes with brutal trauma,grew up poor,has a deep respect for women and is closest to the only black Batkid so ofc it's 'better' to erase his erase his symptoms and trauma responses because they're not pretty enough,make him a rich dudebro,have him be a stereotypical playboy who gives his female love interests backhanded compliments and insist that anyone BUT Duke is his favorite sibling to the point of bringing in non-DC characters because they're so desperate to replace him.Cass is a wasian girl who's butch and probably on the nonbinary spectrum,snarky even without talking,tougher than nails,has a hard time with her emotions and is brutal in fights so ofc it's 'better' to feminize her and take away her struggles with gender and all her massive amount of bite,make her soft uwu and sensitive,reduce her down to the Batboys' perfect therapist and prop and have her never hurt a fly
Tim is an autistic-coded teenage boy who's mom died when he was little and who's dad abuses him so he's a huge asshole in the same way most traumatized teenagers are and is canon bi so ofc it's 'better' to switch his autism traits for stereotypes,infantalize him instead of treating him like a person and having him own up to his faults so he can grow up in a healthy way and say he 'has a thing for blondes' in order to reduce his attraction down to apperances instead of personalities.Duke is a young black boy who's extremely troubled from his dystopia-like childhood and a rebel with impulsivity out the ass and a physical incapability to not run his mouth and has some of the coolest powers ever that he knows how to use well so ofc it's 'better' to write him like a fucking white boy,completely brush over all he's been through,turn him into a weak geeky softboy who's oh so scared by his much more interesting family's weirdness,have him be the 'token nice Batboy' and never EVER show his literal demigod heritage
Dick is a romani man who grew up too fast and is mean so often that it's as defining to him as his kindness is,has a darkskinned black woman as his soulmate who he's constantly talking about how much he loves and shows it just as much and is a multiple time SA victim who's triggered by being sexualized by strangers so ofc it's 'better' to exotify him even more than canon does,turn him into a doofus who's happy 24/7 and dosen't have a mean bone in his body,downplay his wife who's also one of his best friend's and has been since they met and replace her with your fave white girl or boy and transform him into a sex symbol to 'normalize casual sex' and 'for gender equality'
Stephanie is a young woman with an abusive father and a drug addict mother who always fought both emotionally and physically to keep herself kind and to do true justice,was a child genius,is super bubbly and femme and silly and unashamedly weird but also take no shit and has a huge mean streak and a hell of a punch instinct and acts like a mix between a big sister and a pseudo-mom to the kids she meets because she wants them to have the positive adult figure she didn't get to have so ofc it's 'better' to age her down to take away her agency,treat her like she's never been constantly mistreated and dosen't 'understand' childhood trauma,is just naturally the way she is instead of working her ass off for it,treat her like a dumbass,take away her all her nuance and feminist personality to make her just a quirky white girl and girlbossify her and pretend she's never been good with younger people and bullies them instead
Damian is a biracial brown boy who was raised as a weapon instead of a child,loves his mom despite her faults,has severe self-eestem problems in the sense that he both believes he's better than anyone else and that he'll never live up to their greatness,developed violence as a coping mechanism,can't socialize normally because he was never taught to and is very much a child so ofc it's 'better' to draw him with no features from his parent of color for your unfunny and overrated and overdone 'they all look the same!!!' jokes,make him hate his own mother who was the only person who gave him genuine love,call him a narcissist as an insult when it's an actual personality disorder which he most definitely is developing/will grow up to have and 'feral' for shit that Jason and Tim have pulled,transform his lack of social skills into him being emotionless and careless and treat him like he's grown either so you can bash him or simp for him
They say 'fanon is better than canon' because despite all the writings faults,the Batfam are still amazing and wonderful characters that so many minorities can easily relate to and see themselves in.And that dosen't sit right with them so they have to destroy all that to turn them into their perfect caricatures of what we're like and pass it off as 'happy family fluff'.It makes me sick to my fucking stomach
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Which cars are most bisexual?
Ever get the chilling feeling that you made a grave mistake long ago and you are about to reap what you sowed?
In short, I hit some of my friends up to ask for help. In random alphabetical order:
@jettacar suggested the fourth gen Nissan Quest:
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"It's like, no one really bought these. They aren't particularly common. But also, there's no one type of person that buys a car like this. Rationality would have you believe only families are buying this, because it's a giant minivan - but i can't immediately think of another car with a wider variety of types of people that own them right now (excluding cars that just sell incredibly well)"
Unfortunately, that made the conversation derail into minivan talk.
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Up next, @rabidragon suggested the Fiat Multipla, due to its peculiar seating arrangement of two rows of three seats:
"3 seats in the front for you and your man and your woman".
Indeed, the peculiar thing about the Multipla is its row of three full-sized seats in front (many old cars had a front bench with some having three lap belts, but the Three Individual Front Seats club is as exclusive as it is devoid of prestige) and the many peculiarities that it caused, like off-center pretty much everything (mirror included) because the driver is further to the side than usual and where most of the centered things go there's now a passenger who would like to be.
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But the even more peculiar thing about the Multipla is how spectacularly ugly it is. It's one of the few cars I've ever actually seen that manages to be full-on ugly not just outside but inside. Click on any list of ugliest cars in the world and if it doesn't contain the Multipla I can promise you that list was created by a machine that has since been physically shot. And if you're thinking "Well, it's not bad enough to warrant that hyperbole" - you are looking at the second generation. This is the pretty one. I put the first one and its interior at the end of the post under a read more because I genuinely did not want to be responsible for you seeing it.
I noted that Honda's FR-V managed the same seating layout with downright smart looks inside and out...
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...and unfortunately that made the conversation derail into engine swap regulation loopholes.
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Finally, @chevyventure suggested multiple. In (roughly) his words:
First generation Mazda 3 "It's a hatchback, good for many different uses - and Mazda is a little silly, charming and off the beaten path (if you were getting a Japanese hatchback you'd probably get a Toyota or a Honda) with a cute lil' smile like a Miata"
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1988 Volvo 240 Wagon "Volvos are frequent hand me downs from family like all the cool childhood trauma the LGBTQs get"
[Editor's Note: bro.]
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Renault Clio "It's peak hotness while also being cute in its own way, not necessarily preferring a masculine or feminine audience. I've never seen an ad for a Clio before, but if my assumptions about the car market are correct my guess is the normal one is kinda marketed towards women"
[Editor's note: So, I wanted to check that, so I just looked up "Renault Clio ad". These were the first two ads I found.
youtube
youtube
So yeah. I feel it qualifies.]
Unfortunately, talking about the Clio made the conversation derail into TWR's involvement in- oh wait, you're not gonna know about that Clio variant, are you.
So, many racing series can only be entered with racecars based on some production car - which is great for manufacturers, because they get to advertise their brand and one of their models simultaneously! But since there are rules on how much of the base car can be changed and how much of it must be retained, the stricter they are the more what you want as a base for your racecar is something high performance. So when you want to go racing with a dinky little thing like, say, first car to ever use plastic bumpers and only car to ever be called Renault Le Car in America Renault 5...
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...what you are going to want to do is what, among many others, Toyota did with the Yaris GR and Lancia did with the Delta: the homologation special. Basically, you make a special version of the car with the characteristics you'd want in racing, sell enough to clear the rules's bar for "production car" (or at least, convince the officials you've done that), and go racing with that. So Renault did that to the 5 and hit up one Marcello Gandini to redesign it around the changes. You know, Marcello Gandini, guy most famous for designing mid-engined Ferrari-slayers:
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Which makes sense, because the Renault 5 Turbo was a mid-engined Ferrari slayer. It was faster than the top-of-the-line Ferrari both in acceleration and in cornering speed. This thing.
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(sidenote: The Interior. end of sidenote)
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Well, twenty years on, some legend at Renault thought "You know what? We were onto something with that. Let's do that again but HARDER." Presumably, into the headquarters of Tom Walkinshaw Racing, a racing team that developed for Aston Martin, F1 teams, and made Jaguar's Fastest Production Car Ever record holder, and of course a fuckton of the most exciting racecars around, showed up uninvited that Renault madman saying "Y'all wanna work on something REAL prestigious?" before chucking them the keys to a second generation Clio and walking off with a "Don't thank me".
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The result was the Clio V6, most notable for HAVING A FUCKING V6 WHERE THE BACKSEATS WERE. This car is genuinely incredible. Like, you see it and you go "Ooh ahh, the Clio V6!" and you look inside to see, you know, the huge V6 compartment thing and you see the interior and you realize this thing cost good sportscar money and when you got in it was a fucking Clio.
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Mental stuff- wait shit this post was about bisexual cars wasn't it? How did the conversation derail like this? I swear this never happens. Well, I guess it's time for my pick.
Personally, chatting with Mr. Venture about hatchbacks, I realized that I cannot think of a more "girls car" than a Fiat 500 Cabriolet (which actually is called 500C) and cannot think of a more "boys car" than a Fiat 500 Abarth (which actually is called Abarth 500)...
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...so how about the Fiat 500 Cabriolet Abarth?
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It actually isn't called that but I think you could piece that together. As though a spoiler on a canvas roof wasn't weird enough, it contains the third brake light, probably making this the only car out there in which it can change position during use. Although I assure you, you're not gonna be thinking about that when driving it. Thing's a RIOT.
But honestly, that wasn't what I started off wanting to answer. So, last but most definitely not least, I candidate my first, gut-reaction answer: the NA Mazda Miata.
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See, to me bisexuality (and pansexuality, but awareness of the nuances between them is so low they may as well be picked over flag preference) is someone appreciating all the beauty in the world, seeing no point in gatekeeping themselves out of half of it. And is that not what a spider is about? Is it not about saying "this world we're in is so full of beauty, who would rather blind themselves to half of it?". And look at the damn thing. It's bursting with exactly the kind of joie de vivre one would associate with such sentiment. It oozes enthusiastic curiosity. OwO what's this?: The Car.
Also, just look at this picture.
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It can drift. IT CAN WINK. IT CAN WINK MID-DRIFT. I mean, what more than this degree of flirtatious playfulness can you possibly need to be convinced?
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Links in blue are posts of mine explaining the words in question - if you liked this post, you might like those!
...
...are they gone? I think they're gone.
The Multipla pictures are down here. Go on then if you're gonna, you sick fuck.
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If you have dealt with traumatic tumor-related experiences and seeing that dashboard caused you genuine discomfort, well, do not say I didn't warn you.
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novilix-mimix · 8 months
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Ok, I know i'm supposed to use this blog for art, and i'll get back to that eventually, but; Can we just take a moment to point out how drastically different Duelist kingdom Kaiba is from Battle city Kaiba?
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Because, like, this Kaiba? Still very much a *kid*. Don't forget that the first time we see him, they're all in *high school*. Timeline wise, if we consider DsoD, he's like no older than 16-16 1/2 at this point. He's only been a CEO for like, 5 years max, and the majority of that time was spent restructuring *e v e r y t h i n g*.
This Kaiba has really only had to deal with adults and their crap from the perspective of bureaucratic mind games up until now. His greatest concerns up until now were like, his board members overthrowing him. Here, in duelist kingdom, he has a real grown human being holding the only person he has left to care about hostage.
That would shake the fuck out of *any* 16 year old, but Kaiba doesn't....He doesn't have time to feel things about it in the moment. It isn't until after we see Mokuba retrieved that he lets up even a little. Or in that last scene, where his posture slips into a more human and far less ridged state. He lets his shoulders down finally and lets expression back onto his face.
But *This* Kaiba? *Battle city* Kaiba?
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He's still a kid, realistically, but he's trying harder than ever not be perceived that way. Duelist kingdom stayed with him, and its evident in many ways. First of all, Yugi and crew saw him being soft towards his brother. Nope. Not allowed. *Backpedal*, but not to hard. Second, the idea is out there, in a bigger way than before, that his brother is just as good a target. *Nope*. Mokuba will now be tethered to his side for the foreseeable future until the primary threats are eliminated. *Understandable, have a nice day.*
Beyond his behavior regarding his brother, He's stiff again. All the time, just about. Boi doesn't even allow himself to slouch a little in front of his own computer (outside of resting against the desk). He carries himself higher, makes a greater point to look down at people to see them. His white coat makes him look taller (older?). He's a lot quicker about using his money to make flashy statements (Helicopter, buying a car, jet pack, ya'know). Hell, the way he chooses to hold the Battle city tournament is a bold statement of power. Who borderline shuts down a city to hold a card game tournament except for the guy with the money and influence.
It isn't until he has to confront his childhood trauma *in front of everyone* that we see the Kaiba of duelist kingdom resurface. He's *terrified*, not just as a response to the trauma playing out in front of him, but again for the potential to lose his brother. And he's still trying to maintain this tough guy shit he's been putting on. But when the touching sibling moments are over, and it's time to get the hell out of dodge? Tough guy business Kaiba snaps back into place. *Hard*. His actions become even more closed off, outside of Yugi and Mokuba, anyway.
Idk. I have a lot of thoughts. I'm an eldest sibling myself and I see a lot of things in my own life (as far as general trauma and reactions) mirrored. I wish people saw more of the nuance in him rather than bashing him bc "lawl rich jerk w/ no emotions". But I suppose I also envy, slightly, the type of upbringing you must have had to not be able to see it. What a pleasure it must be to not relate.
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cthulhu-with-a-fez · 15 days
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i started naruto a few years ago and made it to like the second arc in shippuden before stopping so i never made it to the kakashi backstory but....your notes compel me. tell me more.
okay so like take this with several grains of salt because the sum total of my sources here are "my understanding of the plot and characters as synthesized from the Abridged Revised Illustrated Edition my datemate's been writing me over the last two months", a handful of clips, and the only three (3) episodes of this 600+ episode show i've seen in my life, none of the three of which were relevant to the kakashi backstory
h o w e v e r
oh my god. my dude. my man. [holds him up like longcat] there is so much wrong with you and i'm enthralled.
so like here's the thing. here's the big takeaway that i'm understanding. this whole series is an ongoing exercise in generational trauma bullshit and everyone trying so hard to course-correct from their own tragic backstories that they accidentally set up their kids/students to have completely different but still somehow exactly the same tragic backstories, and naruto's chronic case of shounen anime power-of-friendship-itis is, i mean. yes it's him being the platonic ideal of Pure Of Heart And Dumb Of Ass but it's also a direct response to seeing ninja society's perpetual tragic backstory generator and going "this is bullshit, why are we even fighting? tell me what your side is, and i'll tell you what our side is, and then we can figure out how to make our sides the same side so none of us have to fight about it at all!" and honestly i love that but this ain't about him
so like. to explain kakashi we have to explain kakashi's father sakumo first. because sakumo was one of konoha's powerhouses, been on tons of successful missions, well-liked, well-respected, one of the earliest and loudest adopters of konoha's then-new and radical pivot towards a ninja being people first and disposable tools never ideology.
he really, genuinely believed in that.
except then he and his team went on a mission. and it went really, really badly. and he had to choose between completing the mission objective or saving his teammates' lives, and he chose their lives, because those who fail their missions may be scum, but those who abandon their teammates are worse, right?
... no, actually.
just because the ideology had been circulating and people were broadly toeing the party line didn't mean they actually believed in it, and sakumo's mission failure was already causing critical backlash.after sakumo made it back to konoha he was a fucking pariah for it. he was never officially reprimanded, but he didn't need to be if people went out of their way to personally spit at his feet, and... one day young kakashi comes home to find his father's body on the floor, wrists slit and suicide note devolving into begging apologies beside him.
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this, as you may imagine, fucked him up, and didn't exactly predispose him towards believing the party line about the value of life.
he gets put on a genin team that was. basically the alpha build of the sasuke-sakura-naruto team dynamic. because it was him, and rin the healer girl with a massive crush on him who he never gave the time of day, and obito the Loudest High-Vis Uchiha Who Ever Lived who had a massive crush on her, and minato their teacher who was doing his absolute best to try and get them through to understanding each other, which is an Ordeal
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because kakashi at this point has internalized that the party line is pretty lies for the gullible, that his teammates are only there to drag him down, and it drives obito nuts because that's the same exact bullshit that his family keeps spouting that he's rejected as thoroughly as a 12.9-year-old can, how does kakashi not see that it's bullshit? and there's rin who's looking at kakashi like i can fix him?? and getting upset when he doesn't let them in at all or even really visibly care that they're trying, and it's one hell of a dysfunction junction but minato is working on it.
... and then the worst happens. their team is caught out alone and everything goes wrong. rin is captured and obito's body is half-crushed under a rock and one of kakashi's eyes got slashed out and none of them are going to make it out of this, at this rate, until obito calls kakashi closer and tells him to take his eye. take the sharingan. he'd give him both but the other one got squished. kakashi will do more with it than obito ever did, so use it to save rin. please. and here's kakashi in the middle of field surgery on his dying teammate finally, horribly realizing that sometimes the win condition is, actually, protecting your friends, and he's already lost. but he can still try to save rin, it was obito's dying wish.
by the time he found her it was already too late.
the people who'd captured her had tried, poorly, hastily, messily, to seal one of the Tailed Beasts into her, and she was already dying. she had a demon thrashing in her soul that was tearing her to shreds around it and all kakashi could do was mercy kill her
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and she thanked him for it.
and he goes back to konoha, sole survivor of his team, charred by the newfound comprehension of why you have to care and what it feels like to lose what you love and with obito's sharingan in his head and rin's blood on his hands and something in him that was already hanging on by a thread finally snapped.
and the only thing he could think to do, the only way he could even parse that grief through, is to just... make himself into a living memorial to them. he started trying to live as obito. adopt his mannerisms, his interests, craft his entire adult persona around his memories of his friend like a grave offering, and quarantine the bleakly mercenary anything-to-get-the-job-done ice in him off into the hound mask he wore as part of konoha's black ops division, which he joined at the ripe old age of way too fucking young.
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he uses the sharingan to incredibly brutally efficient effect, copying enemy jutsus and bringing them back until the library's overflowing with them. but in the end, no matter how many he can technically use, they're still just cheap copies. and so is he.
and in the meantime the uchiha are collectively losing their shit about this random outside kid having one of their eyes in his head and getting all kinds of dubious 'glory' with it, and oh, wouldn't you look at that, they have a prodigy too!
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... yeah.
itachi gets shoved through the rank advancements on a timeframe of "whatever he did you have to do it faster and better." and then the kyuubi broke free. and minato and kushina died, and a fuckton of the home guard uchiha died, and suddenly he's the most able-bodied fighter in their clan overnight at age 11 and the uchiha pull strings to get him into ANBU as well.
and kakashi is his teammate.
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kakashi is his teammate and kakashi sees in itachi a whole awful lot of the edges of the way kakashi used to be, sees itachi trying to live up to and embody the absolutely impossible ideal of the perfect ninja, and he tries so god damn hard to nudge him gently towards something, anything, other than that.
but in the meantime, the uchiha have been... scheming. with danzo, Guy With The World's Biggest Chip On His Shoulder About Not Being Hokage, who's been marinating in a paranoia spiral for years. danzo had tried to set himself up as kakashi's palpatine, and tried to get him to assassinate hiruzen, and kakashi hears him out, and turns right around and goes to hiruzen with it instead, and danzo is pissed. the uchiha are pissed. danzo warns hiruzen that they're almost definitely going to try again and they're gonna make the uchihas' little prodigy do it this time, and kakashi silently braces to have to fight and maybe kill his teammate he was trying so hard for, and then...
and then itachi, who'd been watching his clan get. worse. for a long time. finds his cousin shisui, his best friend shishui, bleeding out in the dirt, who tells him everything, tells him danzo tried to have shisui killed for finding it out, and it worked, he's dying, but he's not dead yet, so please. make it count.
.......................................... And Then The Uchiha Massacre.
and now itachi is one more person that kakashi tried to care about who got destroyed.
and then fast forward a little bit further, he's been retired from active-duty ANBU after a decade-plus of service because the sharingan is starting to burn him out, he's starting to lurch to a halt like unwound clockwork without something to Do, and... he gets given team seven. the worst of konoha's gremlin children.
a bitter, disillusioned loner with a chip on his shoulder and the skill to back it up, the healer girl with a crush on him that he never gives the time of day, and the Loudest High-Vis Pest In The Village.
you see where this is going.
kakashi who at this point has been coasting along by bouncing between mask-personae for years is now having to dynamically engage with life again because if he isn't present and actively responding to his team then there's a nonzero chance he'll turn around to find all three of them chewing on the drywall and he cannot default to scripted responses because they don't work on a pack of middle schoolers hellbent on squabbling til the cows come home. and it's kind of good for him?
but also, uh. [gestures broadly towards... Sasuke(TM) and the rest of the plot]
and yeah i'm not gonna get too much further into it because i'm not confident enough in my own comprehension of the timeline to do that XD but like.
hatake kakashi is a scarecrow of a man stitched together out of his dead best friend, a hunting hound, and his dead best friend again, who's spent his entire life behind one mask or another, who over the course of the series keeps surviving shit that by all odds he shouldn't have, or survives specifically because the people he cares about throw their plot armor around him before they die, and he has a personality mostly composed of the crumpled-up pages of the memetically worst-written trashy bodice-ripper novels ever published because obito used to love them and the inexplicable receipts of other people's love for him, and i want to put him in a gas station hot dog roller and perceive him.
thank you for coming to my ted talk XD
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satuguro · 1 year
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Omg after reading part v and Xavier’s promise offer to patch y/n up quietly whenever she needs —and all its deeper meaning—I’d love your head cannons on Xavier having a bad mental health day (per Xavier’s mention in the show that he struggles with his mental health and his dad wants him to keep it secret) and !valkyrie reader making a similar offer. 💜
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✧*ೃ࿐ TONGUES & TEETH HEAD CANNONS
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[ INTERLUDE II: FOR HIS BAD DAYS ]
xavier thorpe x valkyrie! reader
#CONTAINS— fluff, angst
#AUTHORSNOTE— i'm writing pt. 6 of tongues and teeth rn, but this request is so dear to my heart cause i struggle with mental health almost every day. thank you sm for requesting this xx
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— both you and xavier have had a history of neglect and trauma regarding your parents, so that means that bad mental health days happen.
— you don’t get to help him on his bad mental health days prior to the relationship, and vice versa. it takes a lot of trust for you both to fully let people see those sides of you.
— that doesn’t mean that you or xavier don’t see when the other is struggling with their emotions. like that one scene i wrote where xavier says, “take your time,” is an example of the subtle ways he’d help.
— but that shared hardship with emotions also means that both of you can read each other like a book; you both notice the slight changes in mood or when each other’s social battery decreases. it’s something that takes a lot of work from the both of you, but you make it work.
you moved your head to the other side of the pillow, groggy eyes adjusting to the soft light that was emitted from the side table.
xavier’s lips were in a permanent frown as he drew on his sketchbook, his knees pulled up to allow him to prop his art on it. his pencil moved on the paper, the soft scratches dragging you further away from your exhaustion.
“you’re awake,” you said, seeking his close presence as you moved to lay close to him. the sleepiness in your eyes melted when you saw the turmoil in his green eyes. the lack of response only furthered your worry for him. “xavier,” you said softly, sitting up and holding his arm gently, pausing his drawing.
xavier said nothing as he put his pencil down reluctantly. he looked at you, his eyes softening ever so slightly at your pleading eyes. he knew he should talk to you when he had moments like this. moments where he felt as though nothing was going right, as though what he was doing could never be good enough for anyone.
but then he felt you squeeze his arm three times for those three words you’ve said to him over and over, and he found himself spilling his thoughts out to you. and you were so happy to soak everything up.
— you're really cautious about giving him advice during his bad mental health days. you know more than anyone that having someone to listen and comfort you can help just as much as solutions.
— but that doesn’t mean that you both won’t give each other advice when the other asks.
— it took a while for the two of you to work out how to help each other out during bad mental health days. both of your were so used to dealing it on your own that it was hard to actually address it with the other person.
— but it was you that made an indirect promise to him when he finally spoke to you.
the sound of his father's party was merely a muffle as you brought xavier to the balcony. you could feel the quickening of his pulse under your fingertips and how his skin was clammy; he was hyperventilating, the words of his father circulating in his head like a mantra.
how could someone be so degrading about their own son purely for the laughter of others? to speak so lowly of someone they were supposed to care for and raise?
"hey." you looked at him, your hand being the only form of physical contact with him as your worried face studied his.
xavier wasn't having a panic attack, you knew that. but you knew that he couldn't be in that environment for any longer than he was, for as you looked at his misty eyes and frowning brows, his quivering lip and how he sucked it between his teeth to try and keep it in, you wanted to cry with him.
"breathe with me, okay?" you placed his hand on your chest as you breathed rhythmically, allowing the fresh air to fill your lungs and exit slowly. xavier could only follow you, his eyes still threatening to spill over with tears as every exhale he let out shook with his emotions.
if he wasn't xavier's father, you would have burned him to the ground. xavier could see the anger you hid behind your worry, how he knew you would have easily demanded an apology from his father if you didn't know any better.
"do you want to talk about it?" you asked softly as his breathing slowed, your hands cupping his face. your thumbs brushed away the tears that spilled over his cheeks so gently, as though you were afraid that you would break him.
xavier could only shake his head. the possibility of being interrupted by his father was far too high for his liking; if he ever saw xavier like this, he would be forced to return to the party almost immediately. he'd have to get himself together. "'m sorry you have the burden of seeing me like this." he almost winced at how much of his father's words he heard in his sentence.
you pressed a kiss to his forehead as he sniffled, your head moving down to press your foreheads together. you took his hands into yours and thumb ran along his knuckles. "it's never a burden— not if it's you. never, if it's you."
— sometimes xavier does have to stop you from starting a fight with his father. it's a given, considering you're so fiercely protective of him and so accustomed to violence. but xavier kind of likes it because he's always been the one that was overprotective of others, not the other way around.
— xavier also has a really bad sleeping schedule; it gets worse during bad mental health days. you like staying up with him; not to talk to him all the time, but because you don't want him to feel like he's alone in his father's house again, dealing with his emotions without the presence of another.
— but you know how to get him back to bed when it's way too late in the night for him to be awake.
you heard him tap his paintbrush against his jar of turpentine three times quick. the rain rolled outside his dorm room, the droplets hitting the window violently. but while the night was violent and harsh, your lover's brush strokes were soft as he worked on his painting.
he had been quiet for most of the day. there was no particular reason for it— he didn't need a reason for it. sometimes that was just how he felt, and you understood that. he didn't feel like there was anything to talk about, only murmuring that he was simply feeling down and that talking felt too exhausting.
but as the clock flashed 3:32, you knew it was time to drag him to bed.
you wrapped the blanket around yourself as you stood up. your feet made small sounds on the floor as you approached him with the blanket dragging on the floor behind you. gently, you laid your forehead on his back, feeling his muscles relax under your touch. his chest vibrated as he hummed in acknowledgement.
xavier turned to look behind him, the shadow of sadness on his face lightening up at the feeling of your touch. "hi," he managed to say, his voice quiet as he gave you a small smile that took up a majority of his energy. he was exhausted— mentally and physically —from everything, but couldn't bring himself to be under the covers just yet. he felt guilty for being so down all day without reason; he felt bad that you had to deal with him.
"it's 3:32."
"i can see that," xavier responded, turning back to his work. the shuffling of the blanket was followed by your blanketed arms wrapping around his middle. his gaze softened, his arm falling down to put his paintbrush away.
“come to bed with me, xavier.” the request come out softly, your words nothing short of hopeful and worried. you were reaching out to him, calling for him and expecting him to answer. for him to take your hand or answer your call with his own.
in the end, he always returned to you. he always gave in, not because he was tired or because he was annoyed, but because it was you. he always gave in if it was for you.
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gold-rhine · 8 months
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If it's not too much trouble, could you expand on Diluc's "already incoherent characterization" you mentioned in one of your recent posts? I'm just curious cause I also feel that there's something off about him writing-wise but I can't put my finger on it.
sigh. so, at the start of the game hoyo wrote diluc as super aggressive and negative towards kaeya specifically and knights in general, and all of their interactions are very hostile. they are having bitch fights every time they are in the same room.
like, fandom likes to pretend that diluc has guilt, bc of like some anonymous message on a public board that sounds like it's diluc feeling bad, which hoyo back-wrote. but they can't gaslight me, i just recently replayed start of the game content on my new account. like first time diluc appears is in kaeya's domain after traveler and kaeya cleared it, and diluc bitches at kaeya for no fucking reason and kaeya is v passive aggressive back at him. they have bitch fight in venti's quest. diluc's entire quest is about him trying to keep kaeya from discovering he's darknight hero and he specifically makes it known that kaeya is unwelcome every time he shows up in the tavern. and he sounds negative when bringing up kaeya for any reason.
and then hoyo started to back-pedal. idk what happened, maybe the direction of the plot shifted. maybe the writer who was writing them in this conflict vein quit. maybe at the start they only had vague idea of like brothers at war with each other, and once they started to flesh it out and add nuance, they've realized that like, burning your baby brothers' eye out might be understandable in the moment of trauma and shock, but then acting like you're on high horse and treating him like garbage for YEARS after is a bit of a psycho behavior.
quick aside bc i know there are ppl who think that, um, kaeya "deserved" it and like. he was what, not older than 10 when he was left at the winery. and he was about 17 when he confessed. he was a traumatized kid who kept a secret bc his bio father told him that the fate of his entire country depends on it. get a grip. but as i said, with the same logic, diluc was also in shock and trauma, and i do not fault him the fight itself. what doesn't track is how diluc acts years LATER, when he had time to think.
so they started to drastically soften diluc AND back-writing retcons. Hidden Strife letters are all about it. They were like oh, brothers were always in contact! Diluc is not a maniac, he was polite to the knights and he told kaeya to take care :) :) :) this creates new set of problems. not only it gives diluc personality split where he was incredibly aggressive to kaeya in person, but apparently normal in the letters. But also, we have letters from Kaeya that make it obvious he knew immediately that diluc is a darknight hero and they both were chill about it. But like! diluc's entire story quest is about him trying to keep kaeya from learning that! like, come on! why then diluc did all these stupid scooby doo shenanigans with slimes and shit???
now i think they are trying to shift responsibility for reconciliation from diluc to kaeya, which is the only issue that affects kaeya's own characterization. bc they are very hard going into "all servants at winery ADORE kaeya and treat him like family and welcome him!!" and fandom like, extends it to diluc now, like diluc is welcoming kaeya too and kaeya is a silly goose who has his hang ups and refuses to visit. as if getting your eye burned off, trying to reach out first and getting "ugh, its you" treatment when you show up at your brother's tavern is just like. a lil awkward situation that kaeya himself should get over without any effort on diluc's side and he should just ~realize~ that he's still part of the family lol. and ppl justify it like "well we don't know how diluc actually feels, he probably feels guilt (anon message) and wants to reconcile". which like. so we don't know, but kaeya is supposed to figure out and reach out AGAIN, when diluc at any time could've just told him that he's welcomed.
and now in kaeya's hangout we learn more about their childhoods which tbh hurts diluc even more. like how are we gonna be pretending that diluc cares about kaeya when he returned to mond and found his baby brother, who was apparently the sweetest gentlest child in the world, his loyal shadow for entire childhood, couldn't lie, was taking punishments for diluc, and see him now becoming a high functioning alcoholic with brazenly unhealthy persona of liar and manipulator, and like NOT get worried and try to reach out. which i don't think it was hoyo's intention, they just wanted to add the tragic sweetie uwu to kaeya's characterization, but they did not think how it reflect on diluc in global context
so now diluc's characterization flip flopped in several directions, and he doesn't really has an arc or plotline going. he's kinda just there now, more of symbol than character, and hoyo just writes whatever they want for him without any regard for any previous lore
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Rewatched the tea party scene, and the fact that Jinx’s monologue to Vi only now registers to me (don’t know why or how it didn’t before)
‘Silco thinks he made Jinx, with all his rants’ etc. Silco thinks that he is what made Jinx, Jinx. Silco thought he had successfully supplanted Vi as Jinx’s primary motivation for what she did, but Jinx claims that is not true.
Jinx claims that Vi “was always there. Pushing me.” which I interpret in several simultaneous ways. As a torment, as a motivator, as a comfort, as a frustrating out-of-reach ideal she could never hope to match.
Vi was also there for when “all the colors turned black”. Silco was there for the meltdowns, the spiralling, the panic and chaos that would crop up from time to time, but as for the silent despair? It seems that Silco was not immune to the unfortunate tendency where those close to a depressed person do not pick up on that person’s suffering. Not out of negligence, apathy, or ineptitude, but because those who suffer from the sort of despair Jinx describes do so behind a very tight fitting happy mask, and in a small way you want to believe that the pain someone feels is not as bad as it really is. It’s okay, it’s fixable, it is not a pervasive state of existence but a temporary phenomenon.
In a roundabout ironic sense, Silco fulfilled his role as a father very well by being blind to his child’s suffering. And like a father often does, he misunderstands his daughter’s problem. He tries to mould it and liken it to something he can understand in order to apply his solution, which is a VERY Dad thing to do. The difference between Vander and Silco and Vi and Powder is the exact circumstances of betrayal. Vander tried to actively kill Silco, a man he considered a comrade and brother. Vi in an understandable fit of rage left Powder. A direct murder attempt v. abandonment will not have the same trauma attached to it. The betrayal of one’s trust vs. forsaking unconditional love.
And Jinx held no illusions that Silco was responsible for Vander’s death, ultimately, at the end of the day. She accused him of it. She knows what he is. (One could make an argument as to whether she has always felt this way toward Silco and just put it aside, or if the clash of Vi + Caitlyn, Silco, and the shimmer amplified subconscious ideas and pieces finally fit together so that she could finally make sense of the cosmic stew of her feelings)
But she had had no one else. Silco was right there. He raised her, cared for her, so what other choice did she have? Deny herself of those things because of who was giving them to her?
There is also the ambiguity of Vi saying “We can go” while Jinx is threatening Caitlyn. Vi doesn’t make clear if she means [Jinx and Vi] can go, or [Caitlyn and Vi].
I like to think that Jinx’s voices pointed that out to her and teased her with ‘your sister means her and the enforcer, not you.’
Uggggh there is so much happening. So many strings and loyalties tied to Jinx’s heart.
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thedreadvampy · 3 months
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I think the thing about relationships between people who've experienced a lot of trauma is
idk. I think of it as concave and convex. There's a whole bunch of hand motions I do to explain it IRL.
but it's like. convex people's response to their experiences is to need a lot of positive support and reinforcement. often it's like, people who've been neglected or left without support so much that they've come to a place where they know they won't get what they need unless they push for it. they have lacked, and really need, someone to offer them comfort and reassurance and structure and support. their emotional and physical needs are often very dominant and very fragile. the thing they struggle with most is containing themselves.
concave people are most comfortable taking on responsibility for others. they don't really feel comfortable or able to prioritise themselves, and get most of their positive reinforcement from Feeling Useful. there may have been times where they've felt or been made to feel like a burden or like they're taking up too much space; they may be carrying a lot of guilt about having had a lot of support needs in the past. the thing that they struggle with most is making space for themselves.
and we're all different people in different relationships. we have definitely all at some time been both. being one way in one relationship is often a reaction to having been the other in other relationships.
buuuuut. my observation of my own life is that this way of thinking helps me categorise a lot of types of relationship issues:
| | : This is relationship equilibrium. Everyone is getting what they need. I don't think this relationship exists, because relationships are dynamic and stuff changes, but as an ideal baseline - you're close enough to support each other, but both retain your own space. neither of you are getting pushed into unhealthy patterns.
)( : this is going to be a very chaotic and exhausting relationship. Both of you feel simultaneously undersupported and like you're taking on all your partner's shit. However, if you are able to work through conflict, it can help you grow a lot - you're both pushing each other out of your space and into alignment, figuring out how to balance your needs with other people's. But it's a process that involves a lot of overwhelming pressure.
( ) : alienated and cold. both of you are trying to be there for the other one; neither of you know how to let someone be there for you, so you end up shutting each other out while also yearning desperately to get closer. like this one )(, it can be super helpful - you're both trying to pull each other closer, and over time you do. but it's a process that involves a lot of hard, uncomfortable work and stretching.
(( : This is, for my money, the Least Helpful Kind Of Relationship for healing. it's also the easiest to get into. concave people want to pull loved ones in towards them. convex people want to push out towards loved ones. they're two relationship approaches which dovetail exceptionally well. and once you're in it, there's no room to move towards | |, because the convex is filling up all the space the concave could move into, and the concave increasingly is the only thing supporting the convex, who's a long way out on a limb now. Relationships that start out ( | or |( are pushed towards this too - if they seriously reach for closeness, | starts bowing past the centre line, and ( has way further to go than is fair for them to have to do alone.
like I say, we're different people in different relationships. And in particular, what I often notice is that social groups (and it's most noticeable in polycules just bc there's more of a linear relationship chain than in friendships) sort of look like this
|(((((((((...
where one person being the concave of a (( relationship means they're bulging out into another relationship, pushing the other party in that relationship into a more convex shape in their other relationships, etc. (and vice versa - someone getting more concave in a relationship prompts their partner to follow in order to stay close)
anyway, in a lot of cases, this (( kind of mutually destructive codependence is a nasty trap we all set ourselves. where a )( or () will move more towards equilibrium over time, (( moves further from it. the concave has less and less space or confidence to self-advocate or to ask for support or space, and takes on more and more responsibility for the other's wellbeing; the convex becomes more and more reliant on the relationship, and feels less and less able to survive without that support. the change also tends to happen so gradually and incrementally that neither of them notices that they're way further out of balance. you get to a place where one person takes everything on and never talks about their feelings or allows any vulnerability, and the other has no control over their own life, doesn't know what's going on with their partner, and feels like a burden all the time. it reinforces and entrenches every maladaptive coping mechanism and shitty feeling about yourself.
What's required to make this fixable is that somebody's got to actually make things really immediately, critically uncomfortable all around.
if the convex person withdraws, that's going to be so painful and alienating for the concave, whose only model for seeking closeness is to ask people to come to them. someone pulling away - or not following when they try to pull them even further in - is a terrifying rejection that they may not have a model for how to solve. if they can ride that out, though, they've got space to learn how to go towards the other person, instead of trying to pull them closer.
if the concave person stops bending to the convex's pushing, then the convex will come very abruptly and unexpectedly up against a hard surface they were expecting to be soft. They're going to feel hurt, betrayed, pushed away, rejected - they might feel like it's a confirmation that they're awful/a burden/too much, which may drive them to seek more comfort and feel even worse if rejected. but if they can ride that out, they can learn to start moving away and giving the concave space to follow.
like I really do believe it is possible to have a good, healing relationship that starts out )). But it's hard, uncomfortable, gruelling work. It's super worth it but it's HARD. it's somewhat easier to make changes if you start out at )( or ( ) - it's still difficult and painful, but there, the path of least resistance is to get better, whereas if you're dovetailed together it's way, way easier to get worse.
doing that work isn't just good for one of you though. it's good for both of you. the less your Shit dovetails together, the more you're giving each other the space and impetus to change.
(you also don't like. get to choose this. you can't be on dating apps like 'seeking person who pulls people close rather than leaning into them for cold, lonely, but ultimately useful mutually unfulfilled relationship'. anyway these are emergent properties. we take different roles in different relationships at different times. I think I've found thinking of it this way at most useful in retrospect.)
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eaudeeuphoria · 1 year
Text
thinking about adamil and honestly i just love them so much!! it really bothers me when people hate on that ship. i can understand some of the reasoning why people would feel uncomfortable with it, but i also definitely think people fail to consider everything about it, and i personally have a few reasons for why i ship it.
they met before emil's hospitalization. according to emil's wiki and ada's deductions, ada saw emil while he was panhandling and noticed that he was starving, so she bought him a loaf of bread. this is one of the reasons he was so comfortable being treated by her; he remembered her kindness.
ada treats him like an equal. emil was literally treated like an animal during his time at the dog fighting pit, and when he first arrived at white sand street asylum, he was traumatized and his violent responses caused the staff to lock him in a cage and subject him to electroshock therapy and constant sedation. his entire life, he has been treated as subhuman. however, when ada meets him, she treats him with kindness and administers treatment gently. she sees through his current state and recognizes his humanity. she also tries to lower his dosage of sedatives, so that he can be conscious and think for himself. he is more than just a test subject to her. she sees him as a person.
ada asked for emil's consent. she realized her hypnotherapy was an effective way to help emil heal and recover, and she was excited to test her theories, but she asked emil whether he wanted to continue using the sedatives or work with her. emil chose to work with ada, and chose to leave the asylum with her.
ada resigns from her position as a psychologist. while she does still use hypnotherapy to help emil, she no longer works for the asylum. even though she still performs treatment on him, there isn't the same power imbalance that he would have with a staff member at the asylum.
the relationship itself is healthy. ada encourages emil to think independently, socialize with others, write in a diary, and participate in other healthy coping mechanisms. ada does have to take care of him a lot of the time because of his severe trauma, but she isn't possessive or controlling and her main goal is for him to recover.
also, identity v is a horror game so it would make sense for them to have some darker and sadder themes!! in most situations, real or fictional, i would never condone a doctor/patient relationship, but adamil is obviously a very special case. everything in this post is probably common knowledge by now but i just love them and wanted to infodump!! that's all have a wonderful day and if ive converted you to adamil let me know lmfao
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genericpuff · 1 year
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have you watched pyrrhic_victoria's newest video of them critiquing lore olympus? they're currently being called out for invalidating persephone's sexual assault & doubling down on what they've said.
Ohhh boy, I have lol and it's pretty much what I was vague-posting about the last couple days `(*>﹏<*)′
TW: sexual assault, insinuations of victim-blaming, community drama, lil' bit of trauma dumping
So now that I feel sorta okayish talking about this, Pyrrhic & Victoria put out a new LO video recently with a take that wasn't so hot. I won't go into too many details but it was one that essentially attempted to invalidate the existence of SA in Lore Olympus. Which, let me just say, is a really bold but shit take to have because while we can criticize LO as much as we like, it should never, EVER be an excuse to invalidate what we all know was very obviously SA, whether or not P&V recognize it as such themselves.
It's been a bit conflicting for me because while I obviously disagree with their takes, they're in the ULO community and I interact with them on a regular basis. I've hosted them on my streams, I respect them as creators. But that whole schpeel... really didn't stick with me.
I feel like a lot of where this take (and the responses to it) is coming from is personal/subjective, but there's also a general argument between the ULO community and the main LO community when trying to discuss LO because often times, people will supplant their own experiences to defend shitty writing. A very good recent example is Demeter's character assassination - a lot of people defend the poor writing and mischaracterization as "well I had an abusive mom so this is good storytelling!" when it's like... that's neither here nor there. You can have experiences with shitty parents or SA (as I do!) but still separate those experiences from the media you're consuming and recognize when the media isn't being written well. I'm an SA victim myself and while I do NOT think Persephone's SA plot is being depicted well, especially when it comes to Persephone's internal headspace, that doesn't mean I'm justified in saying Persephone wasn't SA'd. That's a completely different line to cross and one that absolutely should not be crossed. Hence why I mentioned above that P&V seem to be conflating RS' shitty writing with the real life experiences of those reading it as their reasoning to criticize the writing itself, not much different from how we complain about the stans using their own experiences to defend shitty writing. It's two sides of the same coin - just because you've experienced the things that happen to the characters in a fictional piece of work doesn't mean that piece of work is actually well written; just because you're criticizing a piece of work for being poorly written doesn't mean you're allowed to invalidate the experiences of the people relating to that work.
All that said, from here on out, I won't be continuing to engage or affiliate with their content. They've explained to me in-depth how they feel about both the situation and the opinion itself and it still seems to just be something that we're gonna have to disagree on because they're failing to give RS even an ounce of credit for that scene. It doesn't matter how shit her writing is or how they think the SA "doesn't make sense" in the context of the story, we all know that scene was SA, even if it wasn't what Rachel originally intended to write, she chose to embrace it through the Eros/Persephone conversation and it's been SA ever since. It's not something that I'm going to debate here, ever. RS mishandling the subplot after the fact doesn't invalidate the nature of that scene whatsoever. And I say that fully as an SA victim myself, the "kind" of SA that often gets invalidated the way they tried to invalidate it - coercive, intimidated, pressured.
I won't blame P&V for being so aggressive with their takes, y'all know I'm pretty loud and outspoken myself. But they took it a step too far in their recent video and I'm not gonna entertain it any further. It's often said on their channel that they're "just two dummies with dumb opinions", but that doesn't mean their opinions don't have the power to hurt others or send toxic messages that are fully capable of being absorbed by and spread by their own audience. That's the responsibility one has to acknowledge when hosting any kind of platform with an audience of any size, and it's one that I take very seriously, both in what I consume and in what I create.
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I've definitely been getting that "maybe don't be such a snowflake" vibe off everything going on and I hate to see it. I genuinely want to see them learn and grow from this because I do care about them beyond just their Youtube rants, but so far it's not really looking like that's gonna be the case, at least not for a long while, best case scenario.
People fuck up. We're all human, and part of being human means making mistakes. But what defines our character is how we bounce back from those mistakes. How we hopefully learn and keep an open-mind to learn from others and strive to do better. I really hope they can take a bit to step back, actually listen to what people are saying, and do better. I don't want to see them encase themselves in the same kind of echo chamber they criticize Rachel for. But ultimately, I can't control what they do going forward, so I have to just focus on what I can control - and that's choosing not to engage with their content any further.
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horizon-verizon · 1 year
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“Quick” Note on Alysanne and her Children *EDITED*
Growing up and raising children more and more within the confines of the castle and royal court, where the customs would be observed and practiced more, Alysanne also grew to mentally and habitually adopt ideas and behaviors more than before Jaehaerys took the throne back.
Because Alysanne did seem to have terrible relationships with her daughters while expressing dread with a few’s willfulness (the post I’m responding to): 
Viserra: Alysanne not liking that she actively tried to pursue Baelon to become Queen, and Viserra not wanting the marriage with Manderly but being betrothed forcefully anyway without so much as a real conversation
her & Jaehaerys being responsible for Daella’s wanting to marry a too-old man over an Old-Gods worshipper like Royce Blackwood who was closer in age -- religious/extra-patriarchal/Faith-based parenting from the more submissive Alyssa Velaryon (*EDIT*we also have to note that ALysanne didn’t want to marry Daella off so young and later would rail against Jaehaerys for forcing i anyway, which he did by declaring Daella must be married or be forced into a nun’s life)
Maegelle turning out better and the “lucky” one, but still heavily influenced into not really seeing the rift between Alysanne and Jaehaerys as indicative of something greater than just disagreement
Saera, her whole life being compared to the dead and “unmanageable” Aerea and ending up (at first) in danger in the sex trade of Essos
Alyssa being allowed to be pregnant too young or not allowed to take breaks to heal/build up strength and Alysanne thinking more for Baelon than her, even with her mentioning how Alyssa followed Baelon around -- again, pattern of Targ women/wives of Targs giving birth to many children too frequently (Alyssa V, Alysanne, Alyssa T!)
Gael not being allowed to really grow on her own away from Alysanne because Alysanne sought her as an emotional crutch, thus Gael not having enough inner strength, self esteem, or perception to survive after her lover seduces and leaves her
And the fact that Jaehaerys thought to allow their daughters to have any sort of political/military education or training as Visenya and Rhaenys surely did, which I suspect Alysanne doesn't fight harder for because she already doesn't have much political power compared to Visenya and Rhaenys.
Alysanne constantly compares Saera to Aerea, as if it were a bad thing. Implying that Saera was too "willful" and hard to manage...which admittedly shows that Alysanne still has this bit of prejudice (and internalized misogyny) towards women and girls who display noncompliance and nonquietness despite her castigating Rhaena for disparaging the absent Aerea and her taking out Balerion and running away...Alysanne saying that Aerea was "just a child" to Rhaena's "what kind of monster" she brought to life who would take the dragon who killed her father (Aegon the Uncrowned) of all the dragons she could have claimed. A frustrated rage of a person who didn’t get to really raise her own daughters for the sake of their survival but never bonded with them properly afterward.
All because she seemed to know that Jaehaerys would not accommodate such a personality or expressiveness for power from his daughters. By how he treats Rhaena, knowing that she has some claim by being the eldest, he purposefully made her display her submission to him before he have her Dragonstone to live in. Even though she already supported his coming into power without asking for anything else. All of which shows Jaehaerys' anxiety of female power and leadership, even that coming from his daughters.
Then there is the fact she didn’t do anything more to make Jaehaerys reconsider not killing Braxton Beesbury right in front of their daughter even after she escaped the first time...because her escaping shouldn’t preclude trying to save her from emotional trauma like that and Saera really didn’t deserve being isolated and pusnished as she was for sleeping with different men at once. We just brushed right past her hurting Tom turnip, her bullying Daella like these were nothing and focused on her sleeping with other boys for attention and feelings of control...sure. Again, because Jaehaerys -- being the final authority AND having a stubborn streak when it came to male exclusive power -- she concedes to get some lesser form of power for herself and that of her kids -- what happens with Daella. So what happens to their kids are both her and J's faults, but it seems from the sociopolitical power that J has over his relatives, his ability to use it against them, and his willingness to do so for his own benefit, that it is mostly J's fault.
He has made the environment where everything hinged on his determination of whether or not the new "problem" would endanger his image and authority. And Alysanne was the responder, the victim, as well as the perpetuator.
It looks like Alysanne also inherited troubles with daughters that she rebuked and blamed Rhaena for. More than Rhaena does Aerea, though Alysanne abjects Saera into a monstrous feminine figure all throughout her childhood (while Rhaena's treatment of Aerea is arguably more sympathetic since Rhaena's *trauma* at Mageor's hands and her separation from her daughter, her daughter growing apart from her in that separation. A separation where they both lived conscious lives apart and long enough for them to be near strangers to each other).
How did Alysanne go from defending Aerea to her mother for claiming a dragon and running away to calling Saera Aerea-like with anxiety...and then had her own broken relationship with said daughter end with her also trying to run away on dragonback?! (Rhetorical)
**EDIT** BTW, I still hold Jaehaerys mostly accountable for what happens to their daughters as he uses his final authority and insisted on his way being the way to override and block Alysanne trying to get Daella married off much later, the heir questions and shunting his female relatives, the psychological terror towards Saera and ordering alysanne/making her feel guilty or hopeless to go after and retrieve Saera by foisitng all the blame onto her...meanwhile he is the one to order all that happens to this girl and refused to see/hear her out properly ever. 
I think Alysanne, while accountable by being an adult/parent/Queen, was also responding to this and had the sort of power only granted by Jaehaerys that is better defined as “influence” than power. Like the complicated woman that she is, she also kept with the enduring Andalized Targ/Seven- sense of misogyny that had her look askance at girls/women attempting to get power w/o the male lead’s leave MAINLY inspired by her guilt towards Rhaena coming into conflict with her young-girl belief that she was “born” to be Jaehaerys’ queen (as she said to the women who her mother sent to try and break her and Jae up in F&B). 
So Alysanne was a conflicted/complicated woman: 
trying to amass more power for herself and women by their own right
while wanting to get there through the male lead or/and sometimes giving in entirely due to her own socialization and running from remorse
And after the years with Jaehaerys, the more she gave in when it came to the personal AND fought harder when she saw and felt female power reduced -> a back and forth of trying to claim back power without confronting or going into a real confrontation with Jaehaerys or herself because of how intimate the relations and the history is.
She bound herself to him too well, until the end.
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dissociativediscourse · 7 months
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Since I got blocked by someone for no reason after trying to explain it earlier, thought I’d make a little post to clear this up, complete with sources! CDD is not a term meant to cover all dissociative disorders (Hence, “Complex”. It’s meant to distinguish DID et al. from things like DP/DR, dissociative fugue, standalone dissociative amnesia… et cet.) , and spitting vitriol at people who use that term for no reason is distasteful and shows that you don’t actually desire to fight misinformation, but instead to impose your fight response onto innocent bystanders. Don’t worry, I’ve been there, too. Trauma responses suck. It still makes you an asshole, though, just as much as I was one when I would do the same.
(A note, this user is not one I had seen in syscourse before today, and I was planning on this being just… Me dropping in, ignoring the rest of the vitriol, and maybe leaving behind a morsel of positive vibes and a tad bit of corrected misinfo without actually being combative about it. Another note, dear fuck, was it a lot of hatred and vitriol. This was on an opinion post about how one person believed that endos are inherently ableist, and I guess someone used the term CDD in the comments, which led the same user as well as another user to pull out all this (very rudely worded, might I add) mishegas about ‘don’t refer to me with your new terms!! i am a DID system not a CDD system!!’ and then ‘yadda yadda, CDDs are all dissociative disorders and don’t mean just the system ones yadda yadda.’ This ticked me off a little. Directing that kind of behavior at other people is unacceptable, especially considering you’re not even correct!! So I left a warm-spirited comment something along the lines of “Just so you know, CDD does just mean DID/OSDD! It can be muddied up and confusing sometimes, but it is used at least colloquially among specialists/professionals, and is referenced in some clinical research and peer reviewed writings as well. It’s really just shorthand that’s more succinct!” And when I replied a second time with some sources to help out (no room in the first comment), to my surprise… Blocked! So… Lmao. Here we are, I already had all these sources ready, so why not. Also, if you see this, person I will not name, try to think about why you are so reluctant to accept new information that does not fit your worldview, and why you have to be so… Nasty? About it. I get you’re young and you’re traumatized, just like most of us. You’ve got to learn how to work with others in a productive way. You’ve got to learn how to mitigate that vitriol. It’s not healthy for you, and I promise you you will regret it later on. Sooner than you’d think. I know I very much regret the way I used to behave.)
Very clear on the definition, also a very useful read in general: https://bmcpsychiatry.biomedcentral.com/articles/10.1186/s12888-022-03970-8
“DID and the closely related Other Specified Dissociative Disorders, example 1 (OSDD), where similar disturbances are observed without meeting the full clinical picture of DID, are commonly categorized as Complex Dissociative Disorders (CDD)”
(This is followed by a citation, which links to “Dissociation and the Dissociative Disorders: DSM-V and Beyond”, edited by Paul F. Dell, John A. O'Neil.)
This one’s similar: https://pubmed.ncbi.nlm.nih.gov/35695685/
“Complex dissociative disorders (CDD) include dissociative identity disorder (DID) and the most common other specified dissociative disorder (OSDD, type 1).”
Another one: https://www.tandfonline.com/doi/full/10.1080/15299732.2014.949020
“There is a paucity of empirical data to assist clinicians in choosing interventions to use with patients with complex dissociative disorder (DD; i.e., dissociative identity disorder and dissociative disorder not otherwise specified) at different stages in treatment.”
I could continue, but I think the point has been made.
Spitting vitriol helps no one, firstly, and secondly, I’m honestly quite appalled at being randomly blocked for (very cordially, might I add) offering an explanation of what the term CDD meant — which you had improperly defined in your comment. Considering the rudeness with which you spread misinformation and the venomous nature both of you involved seem to have exhibited throughout that exchange, it’s plain to me that your interest doesn’t lie with actually being correct. You just want to be pissy at people.
Again, I was once there. Exactly the same spot you’re in. And then I grew up.
I hope therapy treats you well.
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HOW TO WRITE D.I.D / OSDD:
I have seen some incorrect or harmful ideas about DID and i wanted to give literally the quickest rundown i possibly can.
HOW IS DID FORMED? 
- Usually formed between the ages of 2-9 but some research suggests there is no true age that it stops forming. 
- There has to be repeated trauma 
- Some research also suggests that children with higher imagination and innate ability dissociate are more likely to develop DID as a trauma response 
- Once you have DID new trauma/stress can result in new alters forming  
‘TYPES’ OF ALTERS: 
- Alters in systems (the alters that ‘make up’ one person aka, Marc’s system could be called the Moon Knight System) can have specific roles but also might not! :) 
- Protectors: imagine a cool older sibling who is kinda over your shit but wants you to be ok and is there to help  MORE ABOUT PROTECTORS (NOT MY POST BUT EPIC)
- ANP (Apparently normal parts): seemingly normal or non-traumatised 
- Emotional parts / Trauma holders: .... they tend to hold trauma. 
- Littles: Younger alters (NOT DDLG! Can be age regression or an alter that changes age) 
- Host: the one that most commonly fronts and USUALLY doesn’t know too much about the system or existance of DID at all. They don’t have to be the ‘original’ person
- Persecutors: alters, often very traumatised or hurt, that lash out towards the system and body. THEY ARE NOT EVIL! THEY ARE LOVED! 
- Fragment: they hold a specific role or memory, they tend to have less definition in who they are and don’t appear as a ‘whole’ alter. 
post I liked.
TERMINOLOGY: 
- Switching: Different alters ‘taking control’ or coming to the front 
- Fronting: when an alter is the one out or ‘in control’
- Inner world: a kind of visualised headspace where alters can interact, sometimes physically touch, and hang out. Not everybody has this and it can be hard to develop. No one innerworld is the same as the next, they are all unique. 
- Co-consciousness: Two or more alters being in or around the ‘front’ at the same time, often both dictating what the body does or how they react. Think of it as a hallway and the closer you get to the front door the closer you are to being co-conscious or the front. 
- Integration: lowering the amnesia barriers and increasing communication 
- Fused: Alters combining to create a NEW alter! This can happen for so many different reasons. Thing of it as. A + B = V... aka, an entirely new part with the memories (all or some) of the previous alters. This can be more than two alters! 
( Fused and integrated are used interchangeably but in more recent research and online conversation it has kinda started to change. So if you just say integrated to mean fused, people will know what you mean :)) <33 )
- OSDD 1A: a kind of diluted form of DID. Alters are less defined and individual. This can mean one person at different ages or in different emotional states. 
- OSDD 1B: DID but without as much or any dissociative amnesia between alters. The memory gaps are less or non-existent BUT alters still have unique experiences and their own memories of trauma (sometimes it’s different).
MORE ON OSDD
- Amnesia: In DID/OSDD and trauma this can specifically refer to the memory gaps due to dissociation (dissociative amnesia) from that singular alter OR the memory gaps from different alters switching
WHAT WOULD DID ‘FEEL’ LIKE: 
- I’ll be honest in that the memory gaps aren’t fun. You lose track of what day, time, month, year it is and can even find yourself in dangerous situations with no memory of why or how.  
- Dissociation can feel like you are lagging behind your body or watching yourself from across the room. 
- Switching can feel like falling asleep or being dragged through water but switches between systems and even alters can be different! It can take seconds to over half an hour. 
/\ this depends on communication levels between alters and also willingness of the alter to actually switch, if they resist or attempt to stay in the body it can become harder. 
- An alter coming to the front or into co-consciousness can feel like someone is standing over you or close by, sometimes accents will begin to chance and emotions will bleed through from one alter to another. Their voice may get louder and you can feel their opinions. 
- You will/may hear the voices of the other alters while you are out. 
- Seeing alters in mirrors and in the real world is not common, Moon Knight did this as a visual aid and it works amazing BUT I have only ever heard one other system (irl) say that they experience any sort of communication similar to this. 
- DID does not feel like schizophrenia or just ‘hearing things’. AKA it rarely (if ever) involves straight up psychosis. 
WHAT WE ARE NOT GOING TO DO!!!!!
- The goal of DID is not complete integration/fusion for everybody! 
AND /\  If this was the case, the resulting person would be a DIFFERENT person to the Alter/s that integrated/fused! They would no longer be the same!  It is 10000% ok and sometimes better to continue through life with alters! 
- WE ARE NOT GOING TO IGNORE THAT THIS DISORDER IS A TRAUMA DISORDER! People with DID have been through horrible things and often continue experiencing the abuse far into their adult years (not always), so 
- DO NOT force someone to disclose trauma. 
- DO NOT insinuate they are dangerous because in reality they are the victims! 
- DO NOT call alters ‘evil alters’ (THAT DOESN’T EXIST)
- DO NOT say alters are created by or chosen by someone else! This just isn’t true,,, read the how the alters form part of this post lmao 
- DO NOT force every alter into some sort of weird sexual romantic relationship! Alters can date in both their own system and across systems BUT THEY DON’T ALL DATE IT ISN’T SOME WEIRD FYCKED UP POLY ROLEPLAY! thx :) 
RESOURCES AND OTHER INFORMATION:
DissociaDID (there has been controversy so take information from them with a small grain of salt, but most of their content is accurate)
MultiplicityAndMe (They have stopped uploading but have amazing information)
F o r u m s! Just google DID forums! here
Ask! Just ask! Most systems are going to be willing to answer questions or fix up misunderstandings as long as you are not rude! Don't act like you know more!
DID / OSDD discords will have chats to ask questions! Instagram has a massive DID community!
EVEN TUMBLR! TEXT ME! I WILL TRY AND IF NOT I WILL GOOGLE WITH YOU TO FIND OUT!
GOOGLE :) just look it up and read a few things before you believe it because there is so much misinformation even in medical definitions.
It was called multiple personality disorder (MPD) AGES ago but it has been changed for decades now and calling it MPD is just kinda a dick move... so, don't??
IF I AM WRONG TEST ME PLS /G.. I WANT TO KNOW ALSO I DON'T WANT TO MAKE IT WORSE FOR SYSTEMS OMG! <<3 mwah ;)
I am not qualified or at all well educated in this topic BUT i did dedicate 3 years of my life to learning as much as i could in whatever spare time i had. SO :) love you.
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