#feels like any progress I've made is just gone now. the only thing I still have going for me is fucking medication

[efflorescencesims]

→ t-shirts with a bunch of random things i enjoy! ☆ new mesh, bgc ☆ 11 swatches + 2 bonus swatches ☆ feminine frame / teen-elder ☆ custom thumbnail ☆ disabled for random please lmk if there are any issues, since this is my first real piece of cc!!

*ೃ༄ download (sfs)

since this is a thank-you gift, you will find the thank-you notes under the cut (quite cheesy + long)

first of all: thank you so much for 100 followers!!

i especially want to thank all my mutuals for being such amazing people, hyping me up every time i post and blessing my feed with their incredible talent. i don't normally like singling people out because of my fear of leaving people out but i wanted to give a special special shoutout to @miralure and @simulatd because they are literally the sweetest people ever!!

my page is almost a year old but i've only been consistently active since october and if you look at my earlier posts you can definitely tell my edits have gone through a few transformations. even now i’m not entirely sure what my niche is. i wanted to thank you guys for supporting me even when i give you whiplash while trying to figure out what i want my page to be!

i feel a little proud with the progress i’ve made last year, or rather in the last few months. i’ve started learning how to use blender (which i never thought i’d do) and honestly it’s the most fun i’ve had in a while!! it allows me to realize my silly ideas and has almost no limitations. i’m still very new to it, but i’m looking forward to the this year and to all the progress i’ll make.

as for cc making, i have so much respect for cc creators and what they're able to do. going into this with no experience and time to practice (because i gave myself a stupid time limit) was definitely not my smartest move. these shirts honestly don't look the best, which is a little disappointing but if you don't want them, just ignore them and look at the preview instead (which kind of sucks as well) !!

if you read all of this: thank you!! and if you didn't: thank you still!!

i know i'm a little late but nevertheless i wish everyone a happy new year!! i'm so excited to see what this year has in store for us <33 much love & see you soon (because i do need a short break after this...)

#the sims 4 #ts4 #sims 4 cc #sims 4 custom content #ts4cc #s4cc #the sims 4 cc #the sims 4 custom content #download

[heart-of-the-morningstar]

Brand New One Shot - Last Preview

Last preview before I post the full thing either later tonight or tomorrow! No active warnings but the cliffhanger is suggestive~

"Stay...please..." you managed to respond. You made your way over to your bed and gestured for him to follow. You sat down crossed legged near the edge of the bed, Lucifer mirroring your actions. You took a deep breath before speaking once more. "I'm not angry with you, you know."

A strange mixture shock and confusion flashed across Lucifer's face. "Y-You're not?"

You smiled wearily. "No, I promise. I mean, I'm a little taken aback..." Lucifer winced. "...but not in a bad way! If anything, I feel...flattered, you know?" Your face burned at your own candor. A quick glance at him showed he felt the same heat in his own cheeks.

"R-Regardless," Lucifer cleared his throat, "it was still wrong of me. I could try to give excuses about...my ex-wife being gone for more than 7 years now, or tell you that watching you from afar just sparked something in me that I hadn't felt in God know how long, or..."

"You've been watching me?" you teased, flashing him a small grin.

"Shhhhit, well, I uhh...only sometimes!" Lucifer tried to reason. "A-And not for very long! I just, umm, I just noticed how kind you are with everyone you come into contact with, and you're extremely helpful when it comes to the hotel! And your smile...I MEAN, uhh, C-Charlie absolutely adores you with the way she goes on and on about your progress! We both wonder how you even ended up down here in the first place. And well, you...you're," he gulped, "you're the most beautiful creature I've ever laid my eyes on..."

You sat there frozen, your body trembling slightly. Your mind raced a million miles a minute. You tried to get your mouth so form any sort of words, but nothing. Lucifer started to panic.

"I-I'm sorry! That was really forward of me! I shouldn't have-I uhh...God, this is the worst fucking apology imaginable!" Lucifer brought his hands to his face, covering his eyes and lowering his head. "Maybe it would be best if I just g-MMPH!"

You don't know what came over you, but somehow your lips crashed into Lucifer's. His hands flew from his face, now gripping the bed sheets beneath him. He sat perfectly still, but only for a moment. He couldn't help but give into you, letting his eyelids flutter closed and melting under the kiss. You pulled away after only a few seconds, Lucifer leaning his head forward slightly, still needing more. His crimson irises had grown into saucers, his face hot as the sun. Having the literal King of Hell flustered beyond belief from a single kiss was a sight you absolutely wanted to see more of.

"If you think I'm beautiful, then you are someone who is beyond beauty, your majesty," you cooed. You weren't completely sure where this sudden burst of boldness had sprung from, but you liked it. And from what you were witnessing, all signs pointed to Lucifer being completely enamored with it as well.

You went back to your seated position, but now Lucifer was on all fours, crawling ever so slowly towards you. "P-Please..." he begged, "I-I need more..." His face was now mere inches away. He rested his forehead on yours, waiting for your lips to touch his again.

"You want me to kiss you again?" you asked playfully. "Then you need to tell me something, darling."

Lucifer's breathing had picked up at the sound the pet name you'd given him, his eyes screwed shut. "A-Anything!"

"Tell me then," you said as you began to stroke his soft blond hair, "what were you thinking about when you were touching yourself to me?"

#hazbin hotel #lucifer morningstar #hazbin lucifer #hazbin hotel lucifer #lucifer smut #lucifer x reader #hazbin hotel x reader #hazbin hotel smut #my writing #preview #hehehehehe get cliffhangered losers!! #jk i love you all <3

[drdemonprince]

Can we really expand our window of tolerance as autistic people? I’ve been working on that kind of thing for so long and I can’t tell if I’ve made any genuine progress or if I’ve just unconsciously doubled down on masking :(

We can! But our expanded distress tolerance can't come out of nowhere. Something has to give. So for example, for me, I have way fewer sensory issues these days than I used to have, by a wide margin, and I have significantly less social anxiety and don't need much social recharge time on the level that I used to. I have more distress tolerance for sensory input and for social stressors now than I ever have before -- but this has required lifestyle changes and unmasking in order to get there. Let me break down both these improvements and how they happened:

Even as recently as a year ago, I would have terrible sensory meltdowns on a regular basis. But I haven't had a single sensory meltdown in months, maybe not even a single one for the entirety of 2023 so far? And that's because I have a) cut out caffeine, dramatically reducing my physiological stress levels, b) cut back on some workplace stress by reducing my commitments, c) stopped taking on additional projects outside of work that I didn't want to do and that only caused me stress (workshops and talks), and d) began working from home far more consistently, and made myself a wfh office that is more comfortable.

Now I operate from a really solid base of sensory comfort most days and I'm not overloaded with information or overwhelmed with obligations. This means I am far more tolerant of screaming people on the bus, the upstairs toddler slamming her feet on the floor, ambulances blaring by, noisy concerts, people bumping into me at the bar, etc.

I also am, for the first time in my life, clear-headed enough to recognize when I am starting to experience sensory distress, and can intentionally put on sunglasses or pop in ear plugs or remove myself from an upsetting situation more quickly. I had to experience what being relaxed and not overstimulated felt like, and get accustomed to living that way, in order to recognize subtler signs that I was feeling shitty and take steps to address those small annoyances before they exploded. I can handle a lot "more" in an intentional way now because I built my life to allow "less." My overall distress tolerance has still expanded -- but it's because I stopped masking and began attending to my sensory and stress regulation needs.

For the social piece, my distress tolerance has also gone up due to unmasking. If I was still motivated by passing as NT or being socially acceptable all the time, I'd be so overwhelmed being around people and worn down by every interaction. I also wouldnt be able to advocate for myself. But in the past few years I've become more and more openly weird and outspoken in my needs and true feelings, and I've recognized that the right people actually love me more when I do so and show up for me, and so being honest or even difficult to deal with is not really a threat.

This means I just don't experience much distress being honest or difficult to deal with anymore. I really can tolerate the discomfort of telling someone they're wrong or that I'm hurt without freaking out about being hurt or abandoned, because I've had a lot of good experiences with it and because I enjoy being unmasked so deeply that I just can't put my personality back in a bottle.

Masking lowers distress tolerance because it frays your nerves with stress and wears you out and bars you from ever getting to attend to and regulate your discomfort when there are signs of it happening. In order to increase your distress tolerance, you actually have to learn to better honor your discomfort early, and preventatively, so that you don't bubble over into a meltdown after days or weeks of ignoring your needs.

I think some people think distress tolerance is about becoming more tough, but it's quite the opposite. We become more resilient by getting better at recognizing and attending to our hurts.

[frownyalfred]

If this too much or too personal please ignore!

But I was just wondering if you had any advice for grieving? (I lost a close family member very recently)

I'm so sorry for your loss, anon. I don't know your exact situation, but I hope your loved one's memory is a blessing to you and your family. I'll leave my thoughts below the break, since I'll discuss death and dying a little.

I am, as many people on here likely know, still grieving the loss of my father. It was sudden and unexpected. It was bloody and somewhat traumatic for our family. Thinking about it still leaves me dazed and unfocused.

Grieving is such a strange process. I've been talking about it with my therapist weekly, and her main takeaway has been that there is no right way to do it -- and that it is far from linear. There are positive moments and regressions. There are funny memories and difficult truths to grapple with. There is anger, confusion, sadness. Despair. So many unanswered questions and moments that hover on the edge of veneration simply because they are the only ones you have left.

How did I grieve? I cried a lot, at first. I took off work and sat shiva with my family. I answered a thousand well-meaning messages and played one singular song on repeat on my phone. I barely slept. I dreamed and dreamed and dreamed. I woke up crying without remembering exactly what I had been dreaming about.

Then, as if in reprieve, my brain let up. I slept somewhat normally again. My body was no longer on the edge of tears at any given moment, nor was I entirely numb. Slowly, I began to think of normal things again; new television shows, updating a chapter, irritation at the banal things like traffic and work.

And anon, I thought to myself, this must be it. I'm no longer "grieving," or at least not in the traditional sense of the word. I was eating, sleeping, going to the gym and work, updating my works and hitting the club again on the weekends.

But I wasn't done. And I'm not sure I ever will be. I wanted to be done, in so many ways. I was mad at my father for dying, for making me grieve, for keeping me in this state where I couldn't be confident in anything I was feeling, any progress I was making. Where I could remain silent and resolute at his burial, but sob like a baby in my apartment when the concert t-shirt he gave me was stained by some soup.

But that's a lot to put on the dead. And sometimes I have to keep reminding myself that -- that he is dead, that there is a gap in my life I keep trying to skip over, like avoiding tonguing at the aching tooth in the back of my mouth. And when I forget, the world is more than glad to remind me, whether through well-meaning neighbors, colleagues, etc etc.

I suppose that's a long way of saying, I think I'm still grieving anon. I'm not sure I'm doing the best at it, active or involuntary as this process seems to be. I have an amazing support network, but so much of this work seems to be solitary, even when someone is sitting right next to you, crying with you.

The Jewish saying "May their memory be a blessing" has been a good focal point for me, I think. It dovetails nicely with the Mandalorian saying "Not gone, merely marching far away." I've thought about both a lot in the last few months, because I'm a huge nerd and also because I don't think the cultures are too dissimilar.

Let your loved one's memory be a blessing in your life, anon. Remember the happy moments, and speak them out loud if you're able. Don't let their name remain sacred. Don't sanctify them, for we are all humans and humans are complicated, but don't leave their life behind you.

Those memories of them, those funny moments and sad days, fun trips and strange conflicts, those are all yours now. No one else has them. And when you and your family are gone, those memories are gone too.

Other small things that have made this whole process easier: Starbucks and DoorDash giftcards (seriously, some days are too hard), letting myself take time off hobbies (gym/writing) without penalizing myself, naming my grief and allowing myself to sit in it (I'm sad today about x, and I want to lie down for a few hours. I'm lying down because I'm feeling sad about x, and I'm allowed to feel that way). Going to the gym and running until the natural endorphins help. Talking with my families about good and complicated moments with my dad. Writing, when I'm able. Reminding myself it's okay to not be very functional, that it's okay to not be perfect and you would never expect someone who is grieving to be so. Talking to a therapist and getting treatment for what I experienced. Accepting the kind words of others, even if they hurt or are unintentionally difficult.

I'm sorry you're going through this anon. I know how you feel, or at least some of what you feel. I hope you have support and loved ones around you who can help shoulder some of this process.

<3 Jay

#tw grief #tw death #tw dying #tw grieving #personal #about me #forgive me for being terribly emotional and personal for a moment #asks #anon

[startrekfangirl2233-writes]

And In The Middle of My Chaos There Was You

Jake 'Hangman' Seresin x Reader

Description: You're a Naval Aviator at Top Gun, and you finally feel like your career is progressing. Sure, you have to fight to be heard and avoid being disregarded because you're a woman, but that's par for the course at this point in time. If only the men in your cohort weren't so pissy at being beaten by a girl. What will you do when you find yourself facing a situation you've only heard of in the news? Is your knight in shining armor, actually that? Or does he want to take advantage of you at your lowest?

Disclaimers: Female!Reader, All the warning above!

Warnings: There are quite a few warnings on this one! Near sexual assault, misogyny, Male chauvinist pigs, Hurt/Comfort, Jake is a dick at first, Sex, Angst, Crying

As a reminder, everyone's experiences are different. Everyone's experiences are valid. This is a fictional story.

YOU ARE RESPONSIBLE FOR WHAT YOU CONSUME ON THE INTERNET. PLEASE DO NOT READ THIS FIC IF IT IS TRIGGERING TO YOU IN ANY WAY.

Word Count: 4872

A/N: I'm insatiable, and I swear I need to be stopped. I have three WIPs shaking a spear at the writer avatar of myself in my brain right now, and I'm still churning out one-shots like this one. Top Gun Brain-Rot: 1, Star: -100

I was a little hesitant to post it because it's different from other things I've written, and I hope I've handled this sensitive topic wisely. This was an incredibly hard fic to write because of the topic.

AO3: Cross-posted Here!

My Masterlist

The US Navy's Naval Fighter Weapons School, colloquially known as Top Gun, is the most selective program you can be selected for as a Naval Aviator, and you've finally made it. You've worked hard to get to this spot in your career. You've put in countless hours of training, learned from every single one of your mistakes, and perfected the flying style that gained you the callsign Hummingbird. Point being, you're good, you're damned good, and you're going to prove it. You've got an itch under your skin, goading you to fight for that trophy. You need it. You've been fighting the shackles of male dominance since you decided to become a fighter pilot, and this is what will prove to them you're where you belong.

The only problem is there are nineteen or so other pilots in your class all with the same urge bubbling under their skin. The worst of the lot is Jake Seresin, callsign Hangman. He'd been gentlemanly at first, opening doors for you, handing you your pen when you dropped it during lectures, not flirty, but nice. Then you'd gone up against him on the first hop and smoked him. You'd been the only person in your cohort to beat the Hangman. After that, when your name and callsign had been at the top of the rankings, the gentleman schtick had been shredded and discarded faster than a tissue in a windstorm.

He’s now the ringleader of a group of five or six men in your cohort who seem hell bent on bringing you down. It’s obvious by now to them that they can’t do it while you’re flying. So they try to be intimidating, peacocking and talking shit and looming over you like their physical presence alone would be enough to knock you from the rankings. You’ve heard it all.

“It’s because she’s pretty, y’know, boys?” His Texan drawl had spit those words out in the hallway in front of the locker rooms two weeks ago. “She must be fucking Admiral Simpson. There is no way she’d be at Top Gun otherwise, not how she flies.”

It was so fucking easy for them to say that. It’s the only thought in your mind as you keep your face blank and muscle your way through the group of them on your way to and from the locker room every day. They don’t have a glass ceiling they need to shatter to be heard. They can just open their dumb mouths and the world falls at their feet. You and Phoenix, in the meanwhile, the only two women in your cohort, have to go above and beyond. It’s your hard work and nothing else that got you to Top Gun. So why does it feel like a hollow victory whenever you out-perform on a hop and have to hear the vitriol pouring out of Hangman’s mouth? You’d thought there was at least one man you’d never have to worry about. Boy were you wrong.

Today was the day of hop 25. You hadn’t smoked all the boys in this one, and you knew it was because it exploited all of your weaknesses in the air. Hangman hadn’t given up the opportunity to hold his success over you either. He’d been in your space all day, and all you wanted to do was go for a run, take a hot bath and order greasy chinese takeout so you could stuff your face. Your failure feels like a blanket coating your skin as you tie your sneakers and pop your headphones into your ears.

It’s only a few minutes before you’re jogging down the beach. It’s a beautiful day and with each slap of your sneakered feet against the pavement you can feel your disappointment and anger melt away. Soon the only thing in your head is the rush of endorphins and your steady breathing. You’re about four miles away from your quarters on base when you finally stop running. Your legs feel like jelly as you drop to sit on the sun-warmed sand and chug some water. The beach has to be your favorite part of living in San Diego, at least temporarily. Being able to just sit in the hot sand and watch the pounding waves always takes you out of your head in a way that only alcohol and orgasms have before.

You’re startled out of your meditative state when a series of shadows blot out the sunlight in front of you. It’s three men staring at you. Their gazes are predatory, gazes heavy over your exposed legs, shoulders and midriff.

“What’s a pretty little thing like you doing here all alone?” The first man’s voice sends shivers down your spine as you scramble to your feet. They’re about six inches away from you, but as you stand, you soon find yourself surrounded. A hand clasps your upper arm as the ringleader crowds into your space. You can smell beer on his breath and see unknown greenery in his teeth as he leers down at you. You can smell the sour scent of his sweat as he looms over you, corpulent and disgusting. All the hair on your body is standing on end as you try and fail to summon all of the confidence that you exhibit when you’re in a fighter jet. The ringleader’s ham hands plant on your waist, and that’s when your fight and flight response kicks in. You shove the other men’s hands off of you, throwing your metal water bottle into one of their faces for good measure. Then you kick the ringleader right in his family jewels. He falls with a satisfying thud and groan of pain and you’re left to try and run away.

Your adrenaline pounds as you jolt across the beach. You’re screaming at the top of your lungs with each step you take. You only get a few steps away before you’re stopped by a vicious yank to your hair. Your eyes water as you try to kick the men away. There’s a man holding your arms behind your back when you’re dragged back to the leader. His jaw is still clenched, face red and dripping sweat as he cradles his balls and tries to catch his breath.

“We’ve got a live one, don’t we gentlemen? Now why don’t we see what she has going on under that itty bitty sports bra. You’re just a little slut, aren’t you? Running down the beach in those tiny clothes?” You’re struggling when that hand rips your sports bra at one of the straps, but before he can put his hands on your skin, he’s being pushed away. His goons drop their grasp of you to go help the ringleader and you collapse to the sand clutching your tattered bra to you and watch your savior fight them off. It’s Jake! He’s already knocked the leader out and your heart is in your throat as you watch his fight with the other men. The struggle has brought other people to the sand and even the police. It’s a relief when the police officers handcuff the men and walk them away.

You’re just staring blankly into the ocean water when you feel soft fabric being handed to you. It’s Jake and he’s looking at you like he’s never seen you before.

“Hey, Hummingbird. Can you wear that for me, sweetheart? It’s getting cold out here. I talked to the police officers for you and gave them your contact info. They want to see us tomorrow.”

His first words send hot droplets of tears welling from your eyes. How can you do this? Be Hummingbird, the woman who can outfly any man on base while being the fragile creature you feel like right now? You note distantly how his face falls as you sob before him. His hands are gentle as he helps you put your arms into the sleeves of the shirt and buttons it until you’re decent.

“I’m going to hug you, sweetheart. Is that ok?” Your nod is barely a bob of your chin when he wraps his arms around you. You’re crushed against his broad chest and as you curl into his skin you can’t help crying harder. He’s safe. Jake’s safe and he’s going to keep you that way. You don’t know where that bone deep surety came from. He hates you and he’s your rival. But you don't care right now.

All you can feel is his bare skin. You can hear the beat of his heart as he positions you on his lap and feel his hands as he wraps them carefully around your waist. The gentle caress makes you sob harder as you nearly scream into his bare chest. You feel scraped raw, like those men had robbed you of everything you are. It’s nearly dark out when your tears finally run out. In the half light on the beach you can barely see the man you’re curled into, but you can feel the steady whooshing of his breath as he holds you as long as you need.

Your voice is soft and hoarse as you pull away, “Thank you, Jake. You didn’t have to do that.”

“Yes, I did. I have sisters. I did what I would’ve wanted any other man to do for them.” You can see his jaw clench in the half-light as he nearly growls the words. “Did they hurt you?”

“The big one, he pulled my hair.” You can’t stop the catch in your throat as you think of what he did to you.

“I’m sorry, sweetheart. Let me take you home?” He cradles the back of your head gently, long fingers probing the tender parts to ensure you’re not seriously hurt.

“Okay.” You’re still unable to look him in the eye as he slips you off of his lap and helps you stand. His hand is huge as he carefully envelops your hand in his own and walks you to his truck.

“Y’drove here?” Your voice is slurring, exhaustion haunting every movement as the fear and adrenaline fade away.

“Yeah, baby. I was going to grab dinner with a friend at a restaurant a bit up the beach. I always park here and walk up the beach to get there.”

“M’sorry, Jake. I spoiled your plans.” Your voice is quivering again as you wrap your arms around your waist.

“No. You didn’t, baby. Keeping you safe means more than canceled dinner plans.” He pulls the door open and carefully helps you into the cab.

Your heart is pounding. Jake Seresin is being sweet to you. He let you cry in his arms, he saved you from sexual assault, and now he’s making sure you get home safe.

“Your quarters are on base, right?” His voice is gentle as he tries to find your frazzled thoughts.

An irrational jolt of fear pulses through you at the thought, and you can’t keep yourself from letting the words from spilling past your lips. “Yeah, but I don’t want to go there. Please, I don’t think I can be alone right now.”

“That’s understandable sweetheart. I’ve been living in my brother’s apartment off base. Can I take you there?”

“Yes, please.” His jaw is clenched as he drives. You’ve shoved your shoes off and are curled up in the big bucket seat as you watch the light play over his face. It’s silent as he drives the truck and you must’ve fallen asleep because the next thing you know is you’re being carried carefully up a set of stairs.

“Jake?” Your arm is curled around his neck as he carefully carries you.

“You awake, baby?” He sets you carefully down on his front door mat as he unlocks the door and ushers you in. You’re a little curious as to how he lives, because even after a fistfight on the beach, there isn’t a hair out of place on his head. It’s a bachelor’s apartment, but clearly lived in. There’s a throw over the back of the sofa and a couple of dishes in the sink. When you stop your slow examination, you see Jake leaning against the kitchen counter. He’s smirking gently.

“Like what you see, baby?”

“It’s not what I’d expect from you, Seresin.” Your voice is straining to be light as you smile half-heartedly at him.

“Oh yeah?” His voice contains a shade of the normal teasing he usually uses with you. “What would you expect of me?”

Your voice is bitter and harsh as you chuckle mirthlessly, “Not a knight in shining armor, that’s for sure. The worst part is, I don’t even know what to think. You were nice in the beginning. Then overnight you turned into the biggest dick I’ve ever met. Why didn't you let them do whatever they wanted? You hate me anyways. If they did what they wanted to, I'd have probably dropped out and you could've gotten Top Gun.”

You’re not expecting the joy to leave his eyes. He’s serious now. You’re not looking at Jake Seresin anymore. This is Hangman. You can’t help the gasp as he tugs you towards him before he spins the two of you until you’re caged between the island counter and his body. His voice is a barely restrained growl as he looks at you.

“I want to win Top Gun fighting against you the whole way. Darlin', I don't hate you and I never meant a thing I said. I was just trying to get into your head. Not degrade your sense of self. Truthfully, you're the most captivating, intelligent, sweet-hearted, gorgeous woman I've ever met.”

Your heart is in your throat as you glance up at him. Each breath has your chest brushing against his.

“Never question why I saved you. You are the best of the best. This is just a blip in your career. Tomorrow we'll go give your statement to the police and get those asswipes all locked up. Then, you’re going to kick our cohort’s asses, mine included, and accept that trophy. And I’ll be cheering for you every step of the way.” He’s so close to you that you can see the different variations of mossy green swimming in his captivating eyes, and especially how he keeps looking at your lips. “Can I kiss you?”

“Yes,” Your voice is gentle as you cup his jaw, “make me forget what it feels like to have their hands on my skin.”

The first tender press of his lips to yours has you gasping, wrapping your arms around his neck as you melt into his embrace. His hands are gentle as he lifts you onto one of the barstools, tracing gentle patterns on your ribs as he slides his hands under the shirt he’d given you. You’re panting as he finds the torn fabric of your sports bra. Each gentle press of his fingers has your cunt clenching in need as he chases the phantoms of the unfriendly touches away.

“Can I take this off, sweetheart?” Your nod is gentle as you unwind your arms from around his neck. You shudder as he slips each button out of its hole and moan appreciatively when he finally pushes the entire garment off of you. You’re left with only the torn sports bra covering your breats and even that’s off shortly. His eyes are hungry as he gazes over the expanse of your skin laid bare for him. Jake drags you into another all-consuming kiss as his hands send heat shooting across your skin. His lips trail hot down your throat, laving across your pulse point before trailing wetly across your breasts. They latch onto one of your nipples, nuzzling, licking and sucking before he places another kiss to your mouth.

“Can I take you to the shower, sweetheart? We’re both covered in sand. Let me make you feel good in the shower.” His voice is a purr against your ear as his hands cup your ass.

“Yes! Please!” Your voice is breathy and high pitched as he picks you up. Faced with his hot skin against yours again, you can’t resist peppering kisses of your own across his shoulders, and collar bone. You feel delirious, swept up in the thrall of his warmth and the scent of his skin, something citrusy and light but woody with a touch of musk. Jake’s arms are like steel cages around you, but you’d like nothing more than to stay in them forever. That feeling of safety courses over your skin with each step.

He sets you on the bathroom counter, leaving your skin exposed to the cool air as he turns the shower on before stepping in between your parted legs. It’s in the bathroom light that you finally get to explore the full expanse of his bare torso. You’ve seen Jake topless before, when you’d been dragged out to compulsory cohort bonding activities on the beach. You’d marveled at the play of light over his torso and the light dusting of soft hair a shade or two darker than on his head, thankful that your sunglasses hid your gaze. But here, when it’s just the two of you, you let your eyes drink their fill. When your eyes drift back to his, there’s an amused glint in his eyes.

“D’you like what you see, sweetheart?” His hands find your ass, calloused fingers dipping below the band of your exercise shorts as he slowly begins to nudge the fabric down. You can feel the heat rising to your face as he exposes your sodden core to his gaze before discarding both the shorts and your panties to the floor at his feet. He wraps his arms around your hips before blowing a stream of air over your sensitive folds. It has your bare skin goosing with pleasure as he presses a kiss against each calf before stepping back so you can hop off the counter. Now you can see the considerable bulge in his exercise shorts. You can’t resist trailing your finger gently over it before stepping into the shower, calling over your shoulder, “I love what I see, Flyboy. Now are you joining me or are you going to stand there and look pretty?”

As you step under the stream of perfectly hot water, you can’t hide your chuckle as you hear Jake struggling to get the shorts off. You can feel all the stress of the day slipping off of your body and into the drain just as the last grains of sand do. Jake’s hands at your waist finish the job. You're tugged against his firm chest and your moan of pleasure as his big hands knead your skin is lost under the patter of water drenching the stall. His cock is hard and thick against your ass as he gently rocks his hips against you.

You turn in his arms, wrapping yours around his neck as you kiss him. Jake returns the kiss, stealing the breath from your lungs as he plunders your mouth with his tongue. You can feel your body clench, muscles drawn tight at the promise of the pleasure his body can wreak on yours as he devours your mouth.

“Jump.” his voice is a sensual growl against your ear, and you’re only too eager to comply. He’s gentle as his big hands cup your ass. He presses you against the cool tiles of the shower and your shuddering moan at the contrasting temperatures is silenced with another all-consuming kiss. Jake buries his head between your breasts for several long moments, and his voice is absolutely wrecked when he speaks again, “You’re so beautiful, my gorgeous fiery, sweet girl. And I nearly lost you today.” His lips are indescribably tender as he presses kisses across your skin. Your fingers are buried in his soft hair as he sucks your nipples into his mouth nibbling and laving his tongue over tender peaks until your core is jerking against his stomach.

“Jake!” Your voice is a strung-out squeal as he pulls away from your breasts and lifts you higher.

“Put your legs on my shoulders and hold onto my hands. I’m going to eat you out until you scream my name. Now’s your chance, pretty bird. If you don’t want this, we can just shower and I can take you to bed.”

Your only response is to push his head to your core. The first swipe of his tongue over your heat has your back arching, core clenching as Jake eats you out with abandon. Your thighs are already quivering with the strain of not squishing his head between them. His nose nudges your clit with each thrust of his tongue into your heat and you’re reaching your orgasm impossibly fast.

“Jake!” You’re screaming his name, babbling about how good he makes you feel when you cum, thighs constricting as tight as a vice around his head before your body finally, blessedly, goes slack. Your knees are wobbly when Jake finally sets you on your feet. You cling to his waist, praying that your legs will cooperate enough to let you at least stand stably. You know you’ve got a dopey grin on your face when you look back at him.

“Y’ok, baby?” His voice is gentle as he wraps his arms around you.

“Yeah, better than. I’m good, Jake. I’m very good.” You’re smirking at him when he turns you until your back is pressed to his chest.

“Y’good enough to let me fuck you until we make you cum again?” As he’s speaking his hand is pressing wickedly between your folds, slowly fingering you. You don’t respond outright, too busy chasing the sensations his talented long fingers wreak on your body. You’ve forgotten what you should be responding to, in fact, when he stops moving his hands in their entirety. It’s when his hands tweak your nipples that your attention snaps back to Jake.

“Jake?” Your voice is gentle, half whining as he cups your breasts. “What happened? Why’d you stop?”

“You didn’t respond, baby. Wanted to make sure you were onboard with what I wanted to do to you.” His mouth presses kisses across your pulse as he waits for your eager consent.

“Jake.” This time, you’re moaning in earnest as you clutch at his hands over your tits. “Please fuck me, my darling, please. Want to cum on your cock.”

His groan sends heat through you as he places your hands on the wall before parting your legs.

“I’m clean, baby. But I don’t have a condom.” His big hand is splayed comfortably around your hip.

“I’m on birth control. Please.” You can feel the puffs of his breath against your damp shoulder as he nudges your clit with his cock before slowly pressing into you. Your pants turn into moans with each thick inch of him pressing into your walls. You’re seeing stars already at the constant assault of his length against your g-spot.

“Please! Please!” You’re babbling as he finally bottoms out in you, “You feel so good, Jake, please! Want to cum for you. Please, Please, Please!”

His hands are soothing against your hips as he caresses the hot skin before drawing his hips back. Jake’s infuriatingly slow, each slow glide and press into you has your toes curling as a jumbled mess of need and want and ache and pleasure washes over you. He doesn’t speed his thrusts until you begin to circle your clit with your own hand. The flutters of your wall around his length make him groan before he tugs you back against his chest.

“Oh, baby.” His voice is reverent as the new angle has your walls clenching even tighter around his length. “Gonna make you feel so good.”

You reach for his face, kissing the corner of his mouth sloppily as he picks up the tempo. You’re soon squished between the cold bathroom tile and Jake’s body as he rails into you with impunity. Your breaths are punched out moans and you can feel your second orgasm approach with an unparalleled intensity as Jake continues to piston his hips. You can hear the slapping of skin against skin even over the pounding water as Jake slides his hand between your legs and massages your clit. Your scream as you orgasm is prolonged and a thin, weak thing as the pleasure robs you of every thought.

You don’t come back to yourself for several moments. Jake’s carefully massaging shampoo into your scalp, fingers gentle against the tender parts. You kiss his chest, wrapping your arms around his waist as his hands leave your hair to wrap around you again.

“You back with me, baby?” His voice is filled with such fondness and affection that you could cry.

“Yeah, I’m back, Jake.” Your smile is dopey and fond as he draws you into a kiss. “Did you cum?” Your hands are just as gentle as his as you stand on tiptoes to lather his hair just as carefully as he’d lathered yours.

“Yeah, baby. I came when you did.” He’s started to rub soap across your skin, something fancy that smells like oranges. “God, baby. If I hadn’t been so jealous or selfish, we could’ve been doing this a long time ago. I haven’t come like that in years.”

Your heart swells as you grab the soap from him and run your sudsy hands over his strong thighs and ass, putting in just the right amount of pressure on his back to make him moan before soaping his chest and soft length. He’s looking at you like you’re something special as you tip your head back and let the hot water wash all the bubbles away. While Jake rinses off, you stay cuddled in his arms.

The bathroom is steamy and warm as he drapes a towel under your armpits and pulls a hair dryer out. You melt when he turns the dryer on and uses the combination of warm air and his fingers carding through the bedraggled strands to dry your hair. It’s quiet between you as he leads you to his bedroom and hands you a soft t-shirt and a pair of basketball shorts to wear.

“Are you hungry, darlin’?” His hair is soft and mussed as he stands in the kitchen wearing just a pair of low-slung sweats.

“I’m starved.” You curl into his chest again as he pulls up a menu on his phone.

“What do you feel about Chinese food?”

You kiss him for that suggestion before pulling away to look at the menu. Jake hooks his chin over your shoulder as you laugh and playfully fight over the best menu choice. It’s light and easy as you sit on his sofa, sipping on wine and eating chinese food. You’re sure you could get used to this.

North Island Naval Base - 2 ½ Weeks Later

“It is without further ado, that we present the Top Gun Trophy to Lieutenant Junior Grade Jacob Seresin, Callsign Hangman.”

Admiral Simpson looks proud as he hands the plaque to Jake and you know Jake’s looking right at you as he smiles like he won the world. Your loss doesn’t bother you, not at all.

After that fateful night, things had been different between the two of you. One night of sex, mind-blowing, and Chinese food, greasy and perfect, hadn’t been the harbinger of change between you. Change had started the next morning when he accompanied you to the police station and waited as you’d given your statement to the police with your JAG representative by your side. It had been a relief to see the police throwing the book at your three attackers and to see their sentencing. You’d attended their trial two days ago and celebrated into the night with Jake as they’d each been sent to prison for assault of a military officer.

The biggest change had been during class. Jake was back to being the nice, perfect gentleman he had been at the beginning of your tour at Top Gun. He no longer heckled you or tried to bring you down using misogynistic remarks. He did still banter with you, but it was light and fun. And every night, he made love to you in his apartment while he called you “his beautiful fiery girl” or his “pretty bird”. He held you when your nightmares kept you awake and made you feel like you were perfect when you felt like anything but.

That’s why losing the Top Gun trophy hadn’t hurt so much. You won Jake at the end of it all. And you weren’t sure if he knew that he’d won you too. You're going to show him the next chance you get. Your entire cohort is grouped around him as you walk towards him to congratulate him. He’s been getting hugged all day, so you know it doesn’t look out of place when you wrap your arms around him and congratulate him. But you can guarantee that none of the others whispered in his ear that he had to eat them out to console them from the loss. That privilege is just for you, and it’s a consolation prize you’re very keen to claim.

I DO NOT CONSENT TO HAVE MY WORK POSTED, TRANSLATED, OR PUBLISHED ON ANY SITES OTHER THAN HERE OR ON AO3 BY ME. IF YOU SEE MY WORKS ANYWHERE OTHER THAN HERE OR AO3, THEN THEY HAVE BEEN POSTED WITHOUT MY PERMISSION AND I WILL BE WORKING TO TAKE THEM DOWN.

#star writes #top gun fanfic #top gun fanfiction #top gun maverick fanfic #top gun maverick fanfiction #and in the middle of my chaos there was you #jake hangman seresin x reader #hangman x reader #jake seresin x reader #fluff #smut #top gun imagine #top gun smut #top gun fluff #angst #this handles some pretty serious topics #tw: sa #tw: attempted sa

[spiritual-nature]

Inner talking (part 2)

"Every stage of man's progress is made by the conscious exercise of his imagination matching his inner speech to his fulfilled desire. Because man does not perfectly match them, the results are uncertain, while they might be perfectly certain. Persistent assumption of the wish fulfilled is the means of fulfilling the intention. As we control our inner talking, matching it to our fulfilled desires, we can lay aside all other processes. Then we simply act by clear imagination and intention. We imagine the wish fulfilled and carry on mental conversations from that premise. Through controlled inner talking from premises of fulfilled desire, seeming miracles are performed. The future becomes the present and reveals itself in our inner speech. To be held by the inner speech of fulfilled desire is to be safely anchored in life. Our lives may seem to be broken by events, but they are never broken so long as we retain the inner speech of fulfilled desire. All happiness depends on the active voluntary use of imagination to construct and inwardly affirm that we are what we want to be. We match ourselves to our ideals by constantly remembering our aim and identifying ourselves with it. We fuse with our aims by frequently occupying the feeling of our wish fulfilled. It is the frequency, the habitual occupancy, that is the secret of success. The oftener we do it, the more natural it is. Fancy assembles. Continuous imagination fuses. It is possible to resolve every situation by the proper use of imagination. Our task is to get the right sentence, the one which implies that our desire is realized, and fire the imagination with it. All this is intimately connected with the mystery of “the still small voice”. Inner talking reveals the activities of imagination, activities which are the causes of the circumstances of life. As a rule, man is totally unaware of his inner talking and therefore sees himself not as the cause but the victim of circumstance. To consciously create circumstance, man must consciously direct his inner speech, matching “the still small voice” to his fulfilled desires." "Right inner speech is essential. It is the greatest of the arts. It is the way out of limitation into freedom. Ignorance of this art has made the world a battlefield and penitentiary where blood and sweat alone are expected, when it should be a place of marveling and wondering.” Right inner talking is the first step to becoming what you want to be." "It is only what is done now that counts. The present moment does not recede into the past. It advances into the future to confront us, spent or invested. Thought is the coin of heaven. Money is its earthly symbol. Every moment must be invested, and our inner talking reveals whether we are spending or investing. Be more interested in what you are inwardly “saying now” than what you “have said” by choosing wisely what you think and what you feel now. Any time we feel misunderstood, misused, neglected, suspicious, afraid, we are spending our thoughts and wasting our time. Whenever we assume the feeling of being what we want to be, we are investing. We cannot abandon the moment to negative inner talking and expect to retain command of life. Before us go the results of all that seemingly is behind. Not gone is the last moment – but oncoming." -Neville Goddard

(from his book "awakened imagination" chapter "the coin of heaven", by the way , I'm not copying this in order, I'm just posting quotes from the book that I like and find helpful to read some things are skipped in copying although I've read all his books already and just like going back to them sometimes)

#law of assumption #manifestation #loa #neville goddard #manifesting #self concept #loassumption #affirm and persist #law of assumption blog #sp manifestation

[hearteyes-for-killmonger]

Miguel O'Hara x Black Reader. A short and simple to the point Dominant Miguel series with fluff and smut included as it progresses. Go on a lil journey in love with Miguel.

(I didn't feel like doing the small print. There has to be an easier way than going paragraph by paragraph 😭😭 Also anyone I didn’t tag who wants to be tagged, let me know.)

Chapter 4: Dealbreaker

Miguel was truthful when he said nap. He didn't do anything in your bed but sleep for the better part of an hour, making you the little spoon though you weren't tired. By the end of the hour, the two of you had cleaned the kitchen as it was before he came. He left the meat and the few ingredients purchased, but he cleaned and took his slow-cooker with him. You've now got enough pork to last you a week of taking your lunch to work and eating at home. Instead, you invite some friends to help you eat it and decide to tell them all about Miguel.

"Right here?" Aria panics when you mention the head on the couch, moving to the opposite couch with your mutual friend, Zenia.

"Exactly right there."

"You let me sit in it?"

"When I say he drained me dry, girl, he kept goinnng. Then we took a nap upstairs. It was pretty chill."

"You just fuckin met this man, what, a few days ago?" Aria laughs.

"I know, but if you saw what I saw, you'd do it too... That's why you can't meet him! Not yet."

"Bitch! One time! I didn't even know you knew David like that."

"I know, but NEITHER of y'all lil hoes are gonna meet Miguel or see Miguel until I've got him secured."

"Now, how did I get in it," Zenia asks, mouth stuffed with pork.

"Right now, things are up in the air, but I'll keep dangling and manifesting. He'll be wrapped around my pinky, and only then will y'all meet him."

"So when are YOU seeing him again," Zenia asks.

"I don't know, probably next weekend. We haven't made any other plans yet."

And you're both busy through the week. A week seems a long time to wait, though. You'd rather see him sooner.

"You think you should call him to schedule something," Zenia asks, reading your mind.

"Nah, I'll let him call me. It gives him time to miss me."

"Well, he's not disappearing just yet," Aria adds, "He ain't got that pumpum yet. Niggas ain't gone leave before getting it, believe that."

"Well, I'm a done deal," you smirk, "But if he does leave, I'll just get another one. Now I know where they congregate"

Sunday passes with no contact. When Monday comes and goes, you start to wonder what happened. Did he hit a busy streak? Did something happen? Tuesday, he texts you.

Is it too soon to miss me?

You're at work, so you keep it short.

Of course not. Text me any time. I may not respond immediately, but I'll respond.

You sure?

Yes

Why would he need permission? Is that what was stopping him from reaching out? If so, you'd like to hear more about it. You wait until you get off work to check your messages again.

He's sent a paragraph about his day at work.

Alchemax acquired another property to place a testing site. One more step for gentrification. The director is on my ass and pushing me to run this unethical experiment on the volunteers. They think we're testing covid shots. If I told you half the shit, you'd run from me. Hell, you're probably on your way now. Anyway, that's my day. How's yours?

Oh, okay, you stare, processing what you've just read. So he's not just the hero. He's confessing that he's done some sordid things in the name of his job. You get it, but can you really accept that? Knowingly testing dangerous procedures on innocent people? It's a lot to consider. You'll have to sit with it.

Later that evening, you still wrestle, but you're coming to term with your thoughts.

I admit that's fucked up. I don't agree with experimenting on innocent and unexpecting people. I do think Miramax or Alchemax can go to hell. With that said, I understand that this is your job, so I can't fault you. Sucks for you, I'm not that easy to scare. You're stuck with me.

You had me worried.

His text is almost instant. In all honesty, you had to think about if you COULD stick around. That's a big thing to admit, but at the end of the day, it's not technically his fault. He's not calling the shots. That's what you tell yourself.

Since you're at home on the couch with a bottle of Fiji water, you decide to call.

"Preciosa?"

Damn. His accent's got you weak already.

"My day was good," you buckle. "I delivered some interesting news to a family who were happy to finally know what was different about their daughter. Turns out, she has Angelman syndrome, but it was my first time coming across it , so I was explaining something I'd literally just learned about."

"Sounds like you did them a great service. Like you said, knowing is everything. If you're not educating and planning, you're worrying, which then diminishes your mental health, making it harder for you to parent."

"Exactly... Do you know about Angelman's syndrome?"

"Seizures, a smaller head that's flat in the back, issues with balance and movement, and most notably, smiling for no apparent reason?"

"I should've asked you," you sigh. "How do you retain all of this?"

"Having a photographic memory helps."

"Ah. I'll check Amazon..."

The more the two of you converse, the more you glean. For example, he has a 9 year old daughter named Gabriella, who unfortunately passed nearly four years ago. It was a case of Sudden Unexplained Death in Childhood (SUDC), and he was devastated. Since then, he's been okay, but every so often, the grief hits. Working stops him from thinking about it? So he works long hours every day. He knows it's not healthy. It certainly helps you understand him more. A lot of things suddenly make sense about him.

"Can I tell you how much I hate Taco Bell," he says, changing the subject. You get it. It's painful to lose a child, and talking about it can be triggering.

"That dog food? They don't even have a line. That should tell you something right there."

"It's a god damn stroke in a wrapper and tastes like shit. Not to mention, it's literally horse meat."

"See, I stopped eating there years ago. It doesn't even taste like real beef."

You put the phone on speaker while you fix yourself a snack. Talking food makes you snackish. Of course, he hears the popcorn popping.

"Damn, Supersonic! Do you hear everything?"

"Pretty much."

Your eyes roll as you gently fold yourself back onto your couch with your bowl. It's getting late. You've been on the phone for over an hour, though it doesn't feel like it.

"So question."

"Answer," he responds.

"It's a different kind of question."

"Ask away."

"Ok. Would you consider yourself vanilla or experimental?"

"Definitely experimental. You?"

Ooh! "Explain," you smirk, curious.

"You first. Vanilla or experimental?"

"Definitely experimental."

"Oh I see."

Your jaw drops. "What do you see?"

"Just know I see," he says, a smile in his voice.

"Uh!... Now you have to elaborate!"

He chuckles.

"Miguel!"

"Preciosa?"

You kiss your teeth.

"Ask what you really want to ask."

"Kinks?"

"Yes..."

"Yes," you repeat, rolling your eyes. "Well, what are they."

"Mm... I enjoy quite a few things. I like being in control and directing the action. I like taking care of my submissive with guidance and rewarding her when she's a good girl. I like making her do humiliating things for my pleasure. And... I love it when she tries to escape me. Then I get to catch her and teach her a lesson. You?"

🤭 To be continued...

@dashhoney25 @lettidarawest @soufcakmistress @ljstraightnochaser @princessstevens-blog @eye-raq @thiccdaddy-mbaku @destinio1 @iamrheaspeaks @hidden-treasures21 @bidibidibombaclaat @forbeautyandlife @blowmymbackout @misspooh @thotyana-in-this-hoe @purplehairgawdess @thegucciwaffle @goddessofthundathighs @theegoldenchild @thadelightfulone @sultanabby @mysticalblackhottie @baekhyunbabybunni @fd-writes @richonne4life @tgigoldie @thehomierobbstark @capswife @blackpinup22 @harleycativy @lishabaybee @playgurlxoxo

#original #miguel fanfic #miguel spiderman #miguel x reader #miguel spiderverse #miguel o'hara #miguel o'hara x black reader #miguel o hara x reader #miguel o hara fanfic

[loveshearsmith]

Agh, hi, i love your drabbles! i've read every single one so i know you've already covered it a bit, but i would love to read something about caring for an emotionally distraught Ross, on account of all the being called worthless scum who'll never amount to anything everyday. What do you think? 💜

hi!! thank you for your kind words about my work and for your request - i would love to do this for you! i wasn't entirely sure how you'd like this to be written, so i've gone for ross x gender neutral reader. i hope this is okay! let me know what you think and i hope you enjoy :)

p.s, i do have other inboxes/requests which i will reply to as soon as possible! i'm not ignoring anyone! <3

---

Ross Gaines - "Worthless Scum"

Summary: [Ross x GNreader] Ross gradually becomes worn down by Pauline's relentless bullying, and seeks comfort in the arms of his favourite person.

The look on his face as he entered through the front door to our shared apartment almost ripped my heart in two. His eyes, once bright and full of wisdom, now dull and sad. His mouth, soft lips normally smirking or twitching with intense interest, now down-turned in a melancholy frown. His face, usually so clean and smooth to the touch, now tainted with smears of dried blood, and roughened due to weeks of tiring work and pain.

This had seemed to get progressively worse over the past week or so. When he was first assigned the job of investigating a restart officer at the local job centre, neither of us imagined what horrors he would return home with every night. It started with simple, belittling comments and rude remarks from the woman he called 'Pauline', but with each passing day he'd start showing up with random bruises and telling me heinous stories of being beaten and physically attacked.

Of course I was horrified, I had begged him to report her, or at least refuse to continue working until she was fired. But Ross was stubborn, he always had been. Especially when it came to his job.

It was only a few evenings ago that he had come glumly walking into the apartment, his expression laced with unusual sadness. I was stood cooking for the two of us and expected him to give me a usual 'hello' kiss, but instead he glanced at me with a weak smile and walked straight to the shower, sighing heavily as he went. When he reappeared to eat dinner, I had tried asking him if he was okay, but he just nodded his head and changed the subject. Our evening meal was usually one of the favourite parts of our day, getting to finally spend time together and catch eachother up about our day. But this particular evening, it was quiet. He usually doused in my home-cooked meals, but he barely ate anything this night, pushing it around with his cutlery. As we cleaned up, I tried again to see what was wrong, but he dismissed me and said he just needed an early night, before taking himself to bed.

It was very strange behaviour for Ross. And this carried on up until today. I gasped aloud at the sight of him, immediately rushing towards him and placing my hands on his arms. "My god, Ross! Please... tell me what's going on" I could barely whisper as my eyes examined him, riddled with anxiety and dread as I couldn't wait any longer to find out what had been bothering my significant other.

I watched as he opened his mouth to speak, but stopped as no words came out, only a broken squeak. Hot tears immediately filled his eyes as he shook his head, falling limp as I pulled him into a bone-crushing hug. We stayed still for a while, allowing him to cry into my neck as my hands rubbed soothingly against his back and across his hair. I had never really seen Ross cry before. He had always been very selfless with his feelings and didn't communicate them much with me - apart from the things he deemed important. He was a very headstrong man, extremely patient too, so seeing him so distraught almost made me break down along with him.

When the sobbing had quietened, I held him at an arms length and gently wiped the stray tears away, trying to read his face for answers. "Talk to me, baby." We didn't use pet names very often, but this felt necessary. He sighed and lowered his head, looking at the floor for a moment. "Let's sit down" I said gently, leading him to the sofa and perching next to him. He took a shaky breath as I held one of his hands in mine.

"It's Pauline..."

He went on about how awful the past week had been. He didn't think that she could get any worse than she already had been, but he was wrong. The beatings, the insults...

"It must be true," he wailed, fresh tears falling as he continued to talk, "I'm obviously not good enough. I'll never amount to anything." I couldn't believe the words I was hearing. I was baffled, to put it simply. I shuffled closer to him, wrapping my arm around his back.

"Ross... You are the smartest man I've ever met. You don't seriously believe any of that?"

I felt his shoulders raise and fall again with a dismissive shrug. "Being an internal investigator isn't much, is it?" His voice was angry, but he spoke so gently, almost as if he was questioning the very words out of his own mouth and was asking if I agreed or not.

"That's not true. I know you don't even believe that." I squeezed his shoulders as I spoke. "It's a really interesting job, you're so good at it. And you love it, which is all that matters anyway."

He shook his head with a whisper. "Not anymore." My heart broke hearing him admit that. Ross has always been a workaholic, he has stated to me many times that before our relationship, all he knew was working, work, and even more work. And now he's falling out of love with his job? Pauline should be grateful that I don't know what she looks like, otherwise she'd be getting a hard slap.

"Oh, Ross" I sighed, pulling him into me for another hug, tears still pouring from his eyes, wetting my shirt. "No matter what you do from here, whatever you decide is best for you, I will always be so proud of you. I love you so much." I felt his head raise as he tilted to look up at me, eyes glistening. I stroked against his hair and pushed his glasses back up the bridge of his nose where they had slipped, "You have always done me so proud. And you should be proud of yourself too. For everything. Don't you dare listen to whatever Pauline has said, you're a very successful man with the biggest heart, and I'm so lucky to love you."

I reached to grab a tissue from the coffee table and dabbed it under his eyes.

"I'm so lucky to be loved by you" he choked out in a whisper.

I smiled before laying down onto the sofa and extending my arms up towards him, welcoming him in for a cuddle. He curled into me, his head on my chest, letting me pepper small kisses all over his forehead. Some time had passed, and I was sure he had fallen asleep. My own eyes were getting heavy, and it was only until he mumbled my name that I realised he was still awake.

"Hmm?" I hummed, tilting my head down to look at him.

"Thank you." He murmured, reaching for my hand to press a small kiss to my knuckle.

When I didn't say anything, he turned his head to make eye contact with me. "What?"

I stayed quiet for a moment, allowing myself to think. "Please don't feel like you have to hide anything from me ever again. I'll always want to help you." I spoke sweetly but firmly, making sure he knew I was being serious.

With a small nod of his head, I smiled at him and leaned down towards him for a kiss. He puckered his lips and closed his eyes in anticipation, but opened them again when nothing happened. His brows furrowed in confusion as he stared at me inches away from his face, "What's wrong?"

"You've still got blood all over your nose" I chuckled, grabbing him by the hand and leading him towards the bathroom to clean him up.

#the league of gentlemen #reece shearsmith #x reader #ross gaines #ross gaines imagine #league of gentlemen #ross gaines x reader #fluff #reece shearsmith imagine #the league of gentlemen imagines

[gdbatbitch]

Surgery happened on Tuesday! So my thyroid is now gone, along with some suspicious looking lymph nodes. The surgeon, Dr Lawrence Shirley at Baptist Health, was wonderful and has genuine concern for my progress. He told me that what was removed will be examined/tested by a pathologist to see if there may be any other issues, but hopefully this will be all I need to start healing. Hopefully. I'm not saying anything for certain.

The surgery itself was pretty easy on me. The only other time I've had major surgery like this was almost 24 years ago, when my twin daughters were born. That was a much different experience, but I have strong memories of the hospital staff at University of Kentucky hospital, and most of those memories are not positive. I'll just leave it at that. Baptist has been great so far. Everyone I've interacted with has been kind and made me feel like I was being genuinely cared for. Especially the nurse I was assigned Wednesday morning, Cody. He and I had a few conversations about the economy and comic books and movies, and that really helped me stay positive even though I was in pain.

I am still in a lot of pain. Swallowing hurts, as well as turning my head, leaning, bending over, or sitting up in bed. I tried a couple of times this morning before just rolling myself over to the side so I had more leverage to stand. I also apparently talked way too much yesterday because by the end of the day, my voice was all hoarse and that was causing pain as well. So I think today is going to be a quieter day.

I'm also going to be able to take off the bandage on my incision today and see how that goes. I'm kind of dreading that, even though I am curious to see what it looks like. I'm not afraid of having a scar, I have several as it is. It's just I have this weird fear of the incision opening up on its own. That comes from when I was recovering from the C-section and a staple that was holding the incision closed popped. It didn't really cause any problems, but I had nightmares that my guts could just fall out at any moment. Logically I know that's not going to happen, but the gremlins that control my anxiety levels are having a blast making me paranoid.

At this point, I'm at just around a third of the way toward my goal. I've already had to use what I've raised so far to keep the bills paid and pay for part of the surgery. The hospital has put me on an installment plan that will have me paying about $300 a month for 18 months. That is so far outside my budget, so I'm going to be pushing this fundraiser more, and I'd really love it if those of you that have already donated to share this page and encourage your friends to do the same. The more eyes we get on this, the better.

Right now my bank account is looking sad and since I'm missing time from work, my next paycheck is going to be just a little over half of what I usually bring home. It's only the 19th now, but I'm already nervous about being able to make November's rent. And I know things are tight for everyone, so even the smallest donations can make a big difference to me. A $5 donation is just as good as a $500 donation, and I'm grateful for all of them.

I'm grateful for all of you, for all you've done for me, whether it's a donation or words of support or a phone call, all of it. I usually feel like I'm taking on the world all by my lonesome, but I do feel very much supported and cared for thanks to all of you.

Please enjoy my post-op selfie and the grippy socks I absolutely took home with me. I'm wearing them now and I love them. I'm going to be doing nothing but resting today, since I overdid a little yesterday. Later taters.

#surgery #thyroid cancer #fuck cancer #grippy socks #gofundme #fundraiser #help please #reblog the shit out of this

[sapphire-weapon]

My favourite thing ever is the way Ashley gets Leon to smile. Honest to god, his most sincere and genuine smiles are the ones he's given Ashley.

Now if she could just get him to laugh, that would be something completely unprecedented.

Sorry, it just occurred to me literally today that Leon never laughs -- even one time -- at any point in this series. Other protagonists, at the very least, laugh at how stupid a villain's plan is sometimes. Not this guy. Not our Leon. He's too dead inside. Bro doesn't even laugh at OG Salazar, who may as well have circus music playing in the background any time he's on screen. We stan a depressed king.

I was actually thinking about this a little last night -- again, in the context of the whole "Ashley is Leon's anchor to reality/his road back to himself" thing that I've talked about before, while also paired with the shitpost-but-not I made the other day about Leon's sense of self-worth and identity.

Leon drifts further and further away from himself as the series goes on, and not only does he not smile anymore, he becomes downright sullen. There was a time -- a significant period of time, actually -- where you could have said that one of Leon's defining traits was his optimism. That stops being true by the time of Damnation; Leon's optimism is replaced by hollow machismo in a poor attempt at a coping mechanism in that movie -- and, by the time of Vendetta, even the machismo has fallen to the wayside. By the age of 37, Leon has completely and utterly embraced the creeping sense of despair that's been hounding his steps for years.

That has never been who he was. But it's who he is now.

And, as soon as I had that thought, something occurred to me that I somehow had not noticed in the 18 years since RE4 OG has been out:

Ashley is a foil for Ada.

That wasn't her intended purpose when she was created, but it's the narrative role that she's come to inhabit as the series has gone on and Leon's character has progressed without her.

In OG canon, Leon thinks of Ada as a part of himself that he can't let go. But the longer he clings to her, the less of himself he becomes.

And the last person to actually see him as his true self, lifted up from the despair, and without hiding (fully) behind a veneer of machismo was Ashley -- someone he did let go. Even in OG, he is very genuine and very sincere with his affection for her (platonic or not) in a way he really isn't with anyone after RE4.

So, when you point out that his smiles for her are genuine, there's really something to that. He trusts Ashley with a piece of his heart that he doesn't show to anyone else post-RE2. Like, literally, the last person who probably saw him like that was Sherry, and we already know that Leon estranges himself from her almost completely after they're taken into CIA custody following RE2.

And the Remakes make this way more obvious than the OG games did, too -- not only because of the RE engine being great for facial expressions, but because of the way the script changes make certain parts of Leon's character more noticeable. If you go straight from RE2make to RE4make, the entire opening sequence involving the cops and the hunting lodge is absolutely horrifying. If I was a new fan coming in from RE2make to RE4make, I would be knocked on my ass and going "This is not my Leon. This is not the sweet boy that I know. What the fuck happened to him?"

RE4make does such a good job with sharply juxtaposing who Leon was with who he is now. By the time of RE4make, Leon is so beaten down and tired and closed off and angry and, honestly, scared -- that he almost kind of feels like a completely different character. Except, he's not a different character. He's still Leon -- just, Leon with his blinders ripped off and his heart broken.

And, we know that he's still Leon, because every once in a while, the sweet boy that we know comes back. It's infrequent, and it's only for a few moments, but he's still in there. And it always -- every single time -- is only ever Ashley that pulls it out of him.

And Ada? She forces him to retreat again immediately, and he locks himself back up tight.

So, when Ashley gets permanently erased from Leon's life and Ada becomes more of a permanent fixture in it, that sweet boy from RE2 disappears, and he's replaced entirely by the version of Leon that's heartbroken and angry all the time -- because Ada is a constant reminder of all that he's lost, whereas Ashley, as his only true success story, was a hopeful reminder of all that he could potentially be.

I honestly don't think that Capcom even realizes that this is how they've written Leon's character. I don't think it was intentional for Leon's smile to fade with Ashley's absence in his life.

But that's just kind of how it happened.

#resident evil 4 #leon kennedy #ashley graham #meta analysis #this one kind of hurt my heart ngl #i mean i love that leon suffers don't get me wrong #a happy character is a boring character #but goddamn man #can we give this guy a fucking break #can we get him some pussy that won't bum him the fuck out for once #will somebody please just be nice to him #and then fuck him so hard that he temporarily displaces from time and space #and when he snaps back into it he realizes how ridiculously hard he just came #and how stupid the look on his face probably was #and he just starts breathlessly laughing #CAN WE DO THIS FOR HIM PLEASE??? #CAPCOM??? #HELLO???

[theunstuffedpepper]

I realized that I’ve never really documented my L&D experience with any of my boys. Memory fades, but anyone who has gone through it knows that there are some moments and aspects of labor and delivery that you know will stay fresh in your mind for a long, long time.

This will probably get lengthy - fair warning.

For a bit of background, my first and second experiences with labor and delivery were complete opposites in everything except arrival time; both boys arrived in week 38 (38+3 and 38+4, to be specific).

My first involved an induction due to preeclampsia concerns. I was working remotely and got a call from my doctor on Wednesday - I was 38+0 and they told me that due to the protein levels in my urine from my 37-week appointment, they wanted to induce me. That same day. After a bit of freaking out and calling B, we packed up and headed to the hospital. Wednesday, Thursday, and Friday were spent passing the time, letting things... ripen. My body was NOT ready. By Saturday, though, I was ready for pitocin. I labored for about 6 hours and was still only at 2cm, so I requested an epidural. An hour after the epidural, my doctor came in to tell me that if things hadn't progressed any further, I'd be getting a C-section. She checked me and I was fully dilated +2. Thank god for that epidural. One more hour of pushing and he arrived. The whole experience was off, though. It wasn't a great labor and delivery experience for me, though I was very grateful because it could have been much worse and much harder, but it was only the start of a very, very difficult year of my life. PPD is no joke.

My second was quite the opposite. Again, I was working remotely at home, and I wrote an email to my boss the morning I started going into labor to tell him I thought I'd best hang up my hat. We called my parents to come watch Holden. They arrived to our house by 1pm, we got to the hospital at 2pm, and the baby was born at 4pm. It was wickedly painful - my water broke on the way to the hospital - and to this day, I've never experienced physical pain like that in my life. It progressed FAST and furious and my body told me when it was time to push, even before the doctors did. Two pushes and he was here.

I guess that brings me to my third and final labor/delivery experience. You may already know that we had a false alarm and spent the day at the hospital two days before the baby was actually born, frustratingly being sent home at the end of that day because I was still only 3cm dilated. That was Wednesday. Friday morning, my contractions woke me up at 4am and I knew in my gut that it was Actually Time. I woke B up, we woke up my parents who were already staying at our place that night, and we left. The hour-long drive to the hospital was stressful but we made it. We were admitted at 6am. After vomiting once and laboring for much longer than I wanted without any pain management, I was finally given the epidural around - what was it, 7cm? I think so. It was only about 75% effective, but it was certainly enough to take the edge off and it was a welcome relief. My labors move fast, apparently. The L&D nurse was so incredibly kind and encouraging - telling me I was doing amazing, that my pain tolerance is incredibly high, and that I was cranking out those contractions. When I was fully dilated, the midwife (who also saw me for my false alarm and who I had become very fond of by that point) told me we were ready to go. Let's push this baby out. Four pushes and there he was. He had arrived at 39+2. He looks just like Holden did as a newborn. He's healthy and happy and it's been absolute smooth sailing as far as his health goes, thank goodness. That's all I wanted.

So, with that, the family is feeling very complete. It was a scary thought, but now it's mostly just a welcome one. I won't have to go through the pain, anxiety, and trauma of another pregnancy, labor, and delivery again. That part of the journey is thankfully in the rear view. There was a time when I thought I wouldn't have kids - at that time, I never would have believed you if you told me I'd end up having three. Now, though, I can't imagine not having done it. Life has a way of doing that, I suppose.

#labor and delivery #momblr #pregblr #labor #delivery #08192023

[divergent-paths]

First things first, I'm very grateful there's still interest in my older work. I'm so happy my characters and art have people hungry for more! To address the issue of finishing the comicking, there's a few things making it difficult, but it probably isn't super interesting to a lot of people, so I've put in it the cut below. tldr; it would need a redo from scratch in order to post because reasons.

In an OCT (original character tournament), the work is heavy on the use of other people’s OCs, and with that, there's implied permission to use those OCs, but only within the confines of the OCT. This means that for a number of the OCs in the final round's draft, that permission is definitely invalid this many years passed, and they need to be completely edited out of the draft.

Secondly, on where to post, ughghhh, I really, REALLY do not want to go back to deviantart. When I said I was done with that hellhole, I meant it, and I genuinely haven't gone back, but... that does kinda mean I'm still without a good art 'home' as it were making it difficult to choose where to post anything. There's not really any site out there that comfortably caters to such a wide range of posting, styles, themes, etc, I've never exactly stuck to a single niche that the bigger art sites want.

Next up, I also don't feel like what I had was actually any good, and it wouldnt've been something I'd be proud/happy to post because my pacing was garbage, the writing focused too much on irrelevancies, and the art in progress was lackluster, so I'd probably need to just scrap what I have entirely so I can write a new ending that's self-contained as well as something I can be happy with in the future too.

While at the time of writing I haven't yet played the Blueberry part of the ScarVio DLC, I have seen that there is a curious little device allowing players to possess their Pokémon, in a manner of speaking. It's certainly a ways off from where we're at with posting right now, but that might be the best place to bring up Alex's past adventure in Lato and how it concluded. Food for thought at least.

For everyone who made it here, thank you for reading my thoughts about this, I appreciate that people care about my characters enough to ask such questions. I hope in the meantime you also still enjoy the current story we're on, even if Alex is an absolutely horrible teenager to watch. :'D

#character qna #ajks #lato league #op art talk

[amphiptere-art]

So I'm just going to post some weird vomit on all the things going on with the newest sun and moon show episode. There's been a lot of people saying that moons sacrifice shouldn't be as sad as some people have made it. And other people defend the episode and moon.

I won't deny, I've never seen Moon as a kind person. He is always been really cruel. But I also see why people want to support him. He's a character who is "rough" and yet makes friends and companionships. He's the perfect example of a person who has issues with society and yet still be able to mix in. His comments towards sun are probably not as harsh as they're supposed to be in his mind. But he also isn't apologetic at all.

He does not seem to progress, at least not in his actions towards sun. He seems to progressed when it comes to other people, Monty, Golden Freddy, extra. And yet he still stays suck on his version of Sun and his version of how he interactions sun. I don't think he is purposely being cruel. But he is naturally cruel and unfortunately not fixing any issues he has with sun. He failed to do anything with sun's anger until it was too late. He refuses to help sun and what can only be described as willing ignorance. He's not a good brother. But he is not a bad person. That part is clear.

Moon has lots of things on his own plate. a feeling of regret is embedded deep in him as much as sun. He regrets what he did to his brother. he regrets what he's doing now. he regrets how he left his kill code in sun to make eclipse. And he's trying to do something. getting rid of the eclipse. getting rid of kill code. protecting his family in a way that is very physical. Unfortunately he is missing the mental stability of his family. And unfortunately he seems the only really notice when tensions are so high that it's hard not to. He's fixing the wrong stuff and fixing it the wrong way. He has a motivation to fix what he has done to sun. But he's unwilling to do actions that would actually help.

This is always been a thing I've gone back to but he is eclipse. That was a thing eclipse said at the very start. The only difference is that eclipse is willing to go through a more personal and physical way of doing everything that moon.. probably has secretly wanted to do. I don't know if I'll call Moon a manipulator. But he definitely feels like a gas lighter. Somebody who throws away the truth. Although I won't deny it does feel more like he's hiding from it. Moon doesn't like it when it's pushed at a forefront that he is a bad guy. And defends that point by either saying "it's just how I am" or by threatening with violence.

There's a part of me that wishes that moon could have met Earth. Earth out of everyone could have definitely snapped him into shape. Earth would have noticed what he was doing and Earth would have told him to stop. Earth could perhaps lead him through the steps that could actually help fix his relationship with his brother and positively move the character forward. But we are not getting that angle. Earth will never be able to correct moon at least not as he is now. Sure there's a high possibility that reset Moon will act very similar to the moon we have now. But it won't be the same.

I wish the creators of the show would have tried to fix moons problems naturally. It's not unheard of, It might be hard but it's not unheard of. And it's clear that he has changed when interacting with other people. This positive fix exists. But I don't think the creators of the show know how to pull it off. at least not this far out. Maybe if they started earlier it could have worked but the closest we ever got to it was when Sun started having anger issues. at that point Moon decided to lock him up and put it as a "fix later" after his first true attempt failed. At that point they got so separated that any chance of them fixing it out naturally just wouldn't be able to happen at all.

Honestly this relationship is one we're usually the siblings would separate. I have done so with my brother. Someone I could describe is very much like moon although in different ways of course. I haven't seen my brother in what, 8 years? And yet I know from my other brothers and sisters that he's living a perfectly fine life he has friends and family that care for him. He's just not part of my life anymore and I'm honestly happier without him. Moon is not a bad person but he is a bad brother.

And all tho strange, I am slightly happy that his character is getting "reset". If you couldn't have done earlier and if they can't do it with Earth and this is possibly the next best thing. I just hope this moon doesn't end up like nice eclipses moon.

#Youtube #sams #sun and moon show #fnaf moon #fnaf eclipse #kill code moon #I'm trying to be as neutral as I can with this #I don't exactly hate moon's character but I do hate moon as a person #I can unfortunately relate moon to people in my life who were bad to me #and yet I can also relate him to my own struggles #I do relate more to Sun's character though #I hope new moon doesn't ruin the show

[trickster-shi]

1/19/24 Writing Projects Update

Last week was pretty slow with minimal progress on anything, hence no update then. There was an arctic cold blast that came through the area and between that and the day job, my brain only cared about vegging out and staying warm, so I mainly read a lot of fanfic and poked my writing with a stick every few days.

Though, I know exactly where each one needs to go next. The real problem was getting the words in the brain to arrange themselves in an orderly fashion to come out of he fingers. They didn't want to do that. All they wanted to do was scatter and hide any time I came near them, kinda like squirrels on a sugar high.

Until yesterday. Yesterday was one of those days I love having when everything aligns just right. I didn't have an overwhelming work load at the day job and, all of a sudden, the words were there.

Project Zander

Word Count: 6364 for Chapter Two

So, yesterday I started out doing some world building and brain dumping about part one and two on the role of magic in the world and the difference between regular witches and what the trio become. That evolved into exploring the culture around magic for two different countries which evolved into shaping the plot of parts one and two, coming up with plot twists and foundations for part three, and exploring the concept of the power of belief when it comes to legends and gods entangled in magic.

At lunch, I was still brimming with excitement about what I'd put down and ended up finishing the last scene of chapter two. It's been bugging me for over a week now, because I only needed to finish one scene and it was like pulling teeth. The scene wasn't even that complicated, either, but I managed to get it finished, so score for me!

Now I can dedicate my weekend to polishing chapter two and getting it ready to send off to my beta reader. I'm always rather happy to get to this part of the writing process. I love it all, but the editing and rewriting sometimes feels like I make more progress faster, probably because I have something on the page to work with so there's a visual marker.

So, story-wise, the trio are on the move, a little broken and battered and highly concerned about avoiding the predator that will soon be stalking their trail. The chapter was from Darius' POV and he is both drowning in anxiety and completely over the situation as a whole. He would love a hot bowl of soup, a warm blanket, and for someone else to be in charge so he can focus on bitching about the snow and how much he is not made for winter.

Unfortunately, in chapter three, he will still be stuck out in the snow and things will continue to get worse. :D

Rabbit Come Home Part 3

Word Count: 16549

This one took me by surprise during certain parts of last week when I didn't want to write much at all but I ended up editing and rewriting quite a bit on it. My main problem with part three has been how to give the series a satisfying ending, but I think I figured it out.

And it may need a part 4. Possibly. More than likely.

I've also written, re-written, and re-rewritten the scene where Stiles tells everyone what really happened and why she was gone for four years. I'm still not completely satisfied with it, so I think I may rewrite it one more time from a different angle between Stiles and Lydia and see how that one plays out. I have versions where she tells John first, then where she tells Derek first, and I just don't feel quite sold on either.

Also, there has to be one more dramatic and angsty fight scene where Stiles can show off her zombie apocalypse skills and the more I try to wrap up this chapter, the more I'm realizing it just won't fit in part three. Part three needs to be focused on Stiles settling back into her home reality and patching things up with the pack--and learning about what happened while she was gone.

But I have a good idea of how that needs to go, I just have to get through the Reveal scene/s to my liking. Then I can work on the ending. I'm really excited about the ending idea I have.

Home Across the Universe, Story #10

Word Count: 3216

Not a lot has been done on this one in the past two weeks. I've poked at it here and there, did some rewriting and some cutting. Mostly it's still marinating on a back burner. I'll probably take another run at it once I get Zander's chapter done and sent off.

Into the Black, Episode 2

Word Count: 5876

Another one still marinating, I don't think I did anything new on it, but I've made some notes on it here and there when inspiration strikes and I'm excited to work on the later scenes that happen planet-side, since it will reveal some more of what happened at the Academy to Stiles and Lydia and introduce another Teen Wolf character into the mix.

I've also made some short brainstorm session notes on future episodes. Guys, I don't want to spoil too much, so I'll just say this: Coach Finstock, in space. Oh yeah, it'll happen and it's gonna be glorious.

#shi speaks #writing updates #writing progress #teen wolf #home across the universe #project zander

[ruthlesslistener]

So when I was little I was like. Deathly afraid of snakes. Terrified and awful at even being around them. A sharp contrast to my sister who at the ripe age of 10 would happily want to hold and touch snakes, even if she really shouldn’t. (She’d over turn logs and wood to look at the babies? Little snakes curled up under them. Much to my horror.)

Anyways around 14 I started trying to get over it, bc my rational brain had kicked in and I knew they weren’t any real threat to me. They were just creatures trying to live and explore safely as well yknow? I held a snake at that age for the first time and I actually enjoyed it. Wasn’t frighten and was proud of myself for not freaking out about it despite it being v new and nerve wracking. (In the years following with trying to connect with Mother Nature I’d also be trying to breath and get myself to not freak about being close to spiders and some other bugs. Still. Working on those.)

Since then I haven’t had access to snakes in front of me. High school didn’t have any science teachers with snakes and I’m in a city for college so even worrying about them being in the brush is gone. So my fear/progress with snakes had largely gone dormant. But! You keep posting snakes and esp your thoughts and experiences with Juniper and it’s?? Really?? Helped me wrap my head around being cool with snakes. They’re funky noodle creatures. They’re pretty chill usually. They’re creatures with habits and personalities like anything else. Just noodle shaped. No more dangerous than a dog or cat really, maybe even less so considering big dog breeds. Arguably prettier than a lot of dogs too.

Idk it’s just been nice hearing about Juniper. She sounds like such a delightful noodle to live with honestly. And hearing about your experiences with her has grounded snakes back into reality instead of Evil Serpent Creature Of The Brush. So thanks for that ig✨✨

!!! I've just had this sitting in my inbox for a couple days now because I genuinely couldn't come up with the words to answer it. I've loved snakes all my life but was raised by a parent who was and still is scared shitless of them, so being able to reduce some of that terror by just nerding out about them?? That really made my week.

Now, if you want some more fun info about my experiences with them that ground them even further into 'this is just a little guy' territory:

Snakes are hands-down one of the most gentle, least-capable-of-evil vertebrates that I've ever worked with (which to be fair, includes parrots and rabbits so we've got a high bar here), primarily because they seem to only experience a few emotions: fear, hunger, curiosity, and contentment, and each of those motivations take up the entire braincell currently running at the moment. Which is likely far more simplistic than what we give them credit for- they can be very clever little things when they want!- but what surprised and delighted me the most after getting Juniper (even with all the research I did!!) was just how much curiosity takes up that one active braincell. Snakes are very frightened, sensitive beings, but when they feel secure enough for it, they are SUPER inquisitive. Everytime after 7, Juniper will poke her head out of her hide, and will actively watch me go about my nighttime routine until I settle or she gets bored enough to fall asleep. When I take her out, her primary mission is to explore wherever she can, investigating every little change in her environment before coming back to me to coil up under my crossed legs (or trying to wedge behind the bookshelf). They're often flagged as simple animals, and their emotions likely are quite primitive, but there's just a certain sort of joy that one gains from watching an animal explore her surroundings and seeing the little gears turning in her brain that makes it click just how similar we are to each other, even after years of evolution, and how magical it is that she has grown to understand that I am harmless enough for me to be a familiar anchor point when something New and Scary but also very Intruiguing comes along. And it's delightful to interact with her and see that realization click into place, and to also know that I wouldn't get a bite from it without great warning. Because snakes only bite when scared or hungry, and she is neither scared of me nor mistakes me for her dinner. That's a marked difference from interacting with parrots or rabbits, and also much less painful of a bite prospect- snakes do not have big beaks or jaws made for crushing through wooden materials, with sharp edges that slice right into your flesh. They've just got a whole bunch of little pinprick teethers, and no bite force whatsoever to hold it up. A bite is much less scary and much less likely to happen from a nonvenomous snake than from most other animals

(They can presumably also get angry, but the only time I've ever seen an angry snake was a very territorial, horny male in breeding season who'd mistake hands for othet snakes. Even then, all he'd do is push at them with his coils or grumpily shove at the hand with his face. No striking! Just the snake equivilant of hip-nudging.)

Something else about Juniper that really surprised me when I first got her- snakes aren't born knowing how to eat! They've got the instinct to strike at food and coil it, but the actual size they need to strike, amount they need to coil to kill the prey, and which way to gulp it down is a process learned by trial and error. Some can bonk their wee faces too hard on the strike and scare themselves so bad that it stops them from eating; some will try endlessly to eat a rat from the side or the ass end and then get so frustrated by their efforts that they give up. Juniper, luckily, is not either of those- she's a garbage disposal of a ball python, one that'll eat anything as long as it's not covered in substrate- but she was terrible at striking when she was little, terrible at figuring out how to eat said prey, and is still pretty terrible at wrapping her meals, like any proper snake should. I got her eating frozen/thawed when she was only 75g, so it's likely that she's never learned how to kill prey, and so sometimes she just...doesn't even try. I can't ever give this girl a live rat!! She doesn't know how to kill it like a proper python!!! And that's just so very funny to me. It really shows you that snakes aren't instinct-driven killing machines like people say, but animals equipped with a basic understanding of what they need to do and no actual experience on how to do it. She's at least figured out how to eat her reheated rats facefirst like a normal snake should, without enthusiastically trying to chow down on it from the side, but the way she's learned to manouver it against her body until she finds the right way it needs to go took almost an entire year of practice. And it's fascinating to see her do it, as she'll often use her own coils to help push her food to where she wants it to go. It might seem callous to state how much I enjoy watching my snake eat, especially since I love rodents, but the clear enjoyment/enthusiasm she gets out of a meal and the way she problem solves to get it in a configuration where she can eat it shows just how much more is going on upstairs than what we think, and that's super cool to me

(She also wipes her face after meals! Usually because a bit of substrate gets caught in her mouth and she hates the feel, but I've seen her do it even when nothing is in her mouth. She'll go up to one of her rougher pieces of decor, then carefully wipe her face on it, one side after another, just like how people do with napkins. I'm not sure if this is to help realign her jaws or if the fur of it tickles her face when no subtrate is in her mouth, but it is extremely cute)

Anyways, I'm so very happy that I've been able to use my love for snakes to help you appreciate them better! Here's a couple pictures of Juniper for you, taken when she was just hanging on my lap chillin while I called my family (or crawling over me so that she can get a good scope of the new apartment)

#demonicintegrity #miss juniper everythingbagel #reply #i can go on for ages about her antics honestly #she's such a character and its so fucking cute #just such an inquisitive and sweet and gentle little soul #and I get the delight of being the one to take care of her

[greatwesternway]

tfissabposting so i was looking through old rail & wires and apparently the museum just. buried three tank cars to use as septic tanks in 1969???? from rail & wire 55

I'm just as happy to field questions as Ray is but for IRM/Rail & Wire minutiae, Ray's really gonna be your better bet. I write Pioneer's letters so I'm in charge of knowing all that kinda stuff about the Museum of Science and Industry, the Century of Progress, the Chicago Railroad Fair, basically anything that's more Pioneer's (or his MSI yardmates') business than Pilot's.

That said, one of the things I've been working on lately is adding notable IRM acquisitions and activities to the timeline. At present, I'm just working-smarter-not-harder by taking Aaron Isaacs' IRM timeline from Illinois Railway Museum In Color and cross-referencing with the IRM's own website to confirm details and Hicks Car Works' deaccession list to navigate items that were scrapped or traded. Once these things are on there, I'll start reading the Rail & Wire's to put more specific repairs and works on the timeline.

All this to say that the letters undergo edits every time we update because we're constantly learning new info. Like that three tank cars were buried on the property to make septic tanks.

I suppose what you're really asking is how they feel about it.

I have to figure if they weren't already only just clinging to sentience by that point, they'd be ready to give up the ghost at that announcement. Generally, it's very easy for us to decide if an engine is "alive" or not. They're scrapped or they ain't. But... there is some room for nuance.

The Flying Yankee, for instance, we'd consider to still be alive, but it's not that good a life. He's been gutted, taken off his trucks, left to the elements. The reason he's still "alive" though is because he still has the possibility open for his disposition to improve. Similarly, The Mark Twain Zephyr sat in the same conditions for decades and is now being restored quite nicely.

But if you've been buried? Might as well be dead too, right?

It's not as tragic as all that though. 'Cause see, nearly everything at the IRM is common stock who would have had no expectation of preservation and for whom the end of one's usefulness and eventual scrapping would have been seen as an inevitability. (Indeed, being preserved when you hadn't any reason to expect to can sometimes be troublesome itself, as with 2903, or when perhaps you might have preferred not to be preserved, as with U-505).

And even once a piece of equipment gets to the IRM, it's still possible that you're too far gone to be restored, even as a static display. That can be disappointing, for sure, but I'd say it's similar to Pilot and Mate getting briefly recalled from the scrapyard to pull grain cars. If you didn't ever expect to be preserved, then it turning out to be a stay of deaccession isn't surprising. Generally, you'd probably know how much work you'd require and if the guys are being realistic about it ever getting done. One does not count themselves preserved until they actually are.

But I do also think that engines value usefulness above all else and tank cars aren't exactly in any position to be picky about their work to begin with. So being made into septic tanks and buried isn't the worst thing in the world, as long as they don't actually have to be sentient for it.

It's not every piece of equipment that gets to continue being useful after deaccession and I think we'd all agree they're doing very important and necessary work.

#the future is still silver and black