#ive tried to scale this post better than that one from last night but i do still have to clump all of a million + into one answer sorry :(

[necrowtic]

#garlic speaks #im going to reblog this poll so much warning you in advance #i want. my data #if everyone is niceys to me and reblogs it ill reblog it less (🥺🥺🥺) #ive tried to scale this post better than that one from last night but i do still have to clump all of a million + into one answer sorry :(

[havin-a-wee]

If Only She Knew

pairing: dad!harry x cheerleader!reader

word count: 4.2k

warnings: smut (fingering + unprotected sex), cheerleading position implies readers weight, 20 year age gap

hi! ive been having some really bad writers block but i wrote this and even though its def not my best work i like it enough to post it :) also, i totally didn't mean to imply the readers weight, i only realized afterwards, so im really sorry about that. also the age gap is kinda big, so if ur uncomfy with that you shouldn't read this <3

PLEASE REBLOG IF YOU ENJOY

“Geez watch where you’re going!”

You don’t even look up at the girl, recognizing her nasally voice easily from how annoying it is. You were nose deep in a book while walking down the school hallway, and of course your worst enemy had to be walking down the same hallway, at the same time, in the opposite direction. You are both at fault for the collision, considering Ella had her eyes locked on her instagram feed. But knowing the girl, there is no way in hell that she will take any responsibility, even though you are the one who has coffee dripping down the front of your white blouse.

Since middle school, Ella Styles has always hated you. You have never known why, but she seems to have a vendetta against you, and tries her best to make your life miserable. You never let her, always refraining from giving her the explosive reaction that she was looking for. And that makes her hate you even more.

High school is over in 2 months, and although you are going to miss the freedom of being a child, you most definitely won’t miss the people from the tiny town you’ve lived in since you were young. You’ve always been the type of person to have a small friend group, only 4 people in your circle. But that’s how you like it, because crippling social anxiety makes it difficult for you to meet new people.

“I- sorry.” You still don’t look at her, instead peeling the soaking wet top off of your stomach.

“You better be sorry.” She flips her blonde hair, ensuring that the fluffy locks hit you right in the face. You are lucky this time seeing as she didn’t take it further, because sometimes she would purposely embarrass you after small incidents such as this one.

Tears well at your waterline and you run into the nearest bathroom, pushing open the blue door and locking yourself in a stall.

After all these years of torment, Ella rarely was able to get to you. But sometimes, she does something that pushes you off the edge, leaving you with red, tear-stained cheeks. The final straw this time was her ruining your brand new shirt, the one you were anxiously waiting to debut at school.

But now there was coffee dripping down your chest and staining the bright white fabric. Your only saving grace is the cheerleading uniform in your backpack. In fact, you were walking to the locker room to change for practice, and then for the game at 6 tonight.

You had been excited for the game, knowing that Friday night games always led to parties and fun afterwards. You rarely go to parties of course, but the buzzing energy never fails to rub off on you. But now that stupid Ella had to go and mess up your day, you’re dreading seeing her smug face while she asserts her dominance as cheer captain.

You untie your top and rip it off in a haste, frustrated tears running down your face periodically. You could’ve put a jacket on and gone to the locker room, but Ella would be going there soon, and the last thing you want to do is run into her with teary eyes. She can’t know that you let her get to you.

You brush your hands down your uniform, pulling down the skimpy costume and stuffing your old clothes in your backpack. Once out of the stall, you pull your hair up into a high ponytail, reapply your lip gloss and walk back into the hallway, having already done your makeup that morning. You’re happy that it’s a home game today, because the home game uniforms are two pieces and the skirts are smaller than the ones on the away game uniforms. There is a certain someone you are looking to impress, and the way your tits spill out from the top of the outfit will most certainly help you in your mission.

It’s not like you need to impress him, because he’s shown time and time again that he finds you sexy no matter what you wear. And when he doesn’t tell you, he shows you, by pressing his hard on up against your ass after you just woke up, despite your messy hair and bare face.

However, he also loves when you tease him. And that’s exactly what you’re planning to do.

You sling your heavy backpack over one shoulder and trudge down the hallway, the old fluorescent lights practically blinding you on your journey. The locker room is dingy, smelling of cheap soap and Victoria’s Secret perfume. At least it doesn’t smell like the boys locker room, which smells like sweat and more sweat.

It's already bustling with people, your teammates scrambling to get ready in time as to not get yelled at by the coach.

“Y/N!” The familiar shout of your best friend Rose is like a breath of fresh air, and you bound over to her. She’s standing in front of your lockers, the two of you obviously picking ones next to each other. “Wait, why are you already changed?”

“The bitch spilled her coffee all over me,” you grumbled, your eyes shifting over to where Ella and her little goons are giggling.

“I keep telling you, anytime you want me to beat her up I will gladly do it.”

“Not that I doubt your abilities Rose, because I know you would have her on the ground in a heartbeat, but I can’t let you do that. She can’t know that she upsets me.” You lower your voice for the second sentence, irrationally fearing that she can hear you over the loud chatter echoing through the room.

“I still think you should let me beat her up, but you do you I guess.” Rose shrugged her shoulders and turned back to her locker, bursting out into laughter with you after a beat of silence.

The rest of the getting ready process goes smoothly, Rose distracting you from the girl side-eyeing you in the corner. Soon enough, the whole squad was in formation outside, and you have your hands on the shoulders of Rose and another girl named Bethany. You are a flyer, meaning that you’re the one who the bases support while you pose and flip in the air. Its a hard job, but you are one of only three girls on the team who is advanced enough at flying to be safe doing it in routines. One of the other three girls is Ella.

Ella is the flyer for the middle group, seeing as she is the captain. You are on the right and the other group is on the left. Luckily, Rose is a base in your group, so you feel a lot better putting your safety in the hands of someone you already trust with your life.

“ELLA! YOU’RE DOING IT WRONG!” Coach Habbiths voice is piercing, her angry shrieks bouncing off your ear drums. Ella audibly huffs, displaying her frustration with the critiques she has been receiving since we learned the routine weeks ago. That’s one of the biggest problems with Ella, she believes that she's always right.

Every single practice she has done a needle instead of a scale at the end of the routine. It's aggravating for everyone, and that frustration is amplified everytime she makes the same mistake over and over. “Alright, everyone down. group 1 and group 3 take five, Ella and group 2 stay on the field.

The team obliged to her instructions, and you are brought down from the air.

“Okay Ella, I want you to watch how Y/N does the last move, because she’s actually doing it correctly.” Coach is standing in front of you now, and she emphasized the word ‘correctly’. This is much to Ella’s dismay, and much to your excitement.

Nothing brings you more joy than seeing Ella’s face when you one up her, and this time is no exception.

Aside from a few eye rolls and nasty looks, Ella corrects the move without much fuss. By now there's 15 minutes until the game, and the players have been warming up on the field for about half an hour.

“Did you see her face!” Rose tugs on your arm while you walk back to the locker room, water bottles in hand.

“I know! I should’ve taken a picture!”

“We can only hope that it knocked her ego down a peg.”

“I doubt it” Rose nodded in agreement and you continued your chatter, talking about the random things that best friends talk about.

“It’s go time ladies!” You jumped in surprise when Coach Habbiths yelling booms through the locker room, the hefty amount of metal in the room enhancing the echo.

In a blur, your entire team rushed out onto the field, the crisp air cooling your warmed skin. There was a huge crowd. probably the biggest the teams ever had. But that makes sense, because this game was against your school's biggest rival. Luckily, despite the huge crowd you were able to lock eyes with those piercing green irises you have gotten to know so well over the past couple months. Everytime you see him he gets more and more attractive, and this time is no exception.

At this point, the teams routine is muscle memory and you’re done with it before you can blink. Most people would think that being thrown in the air is memorable, but your main concern is the growing wet patch on your panties that spreads each time you squeeze your thighs together. Just the thought of the man is enough to turn you on, and now that you’re sitting on the cold metal bench your imagination has time to go wild.

The only thing that snapped you out of your daze was the eruption of appaulause from the audience, and the realization that the other cheerleaders were standing up and running towards the players. You breath out a sigh of relief, recognizing the cheering as a signal that the game has ended.

“Hey, you coming?” Rose tugs on your arm, looking down at you still on the bench.

“Um, actually I don’t feel so well, I think I’m going to go home.”

“I should’ve known. You know, one day you’re going to have to go to a party.” Rose places her hands on her hips, giving you a sarcastically annoyed stare.

“And today is not that day.” You grab your backpack and sling it over your shoulder, turning back to Rose for a second. “Have fun and be safe.”

“I always do.” Rose places a chaste kiss on your cheek before turning back to the gathering crowd on the turf.

Instead of heading to the sidewalk and walking home, you duck under the bleachers and walk down the gravel path, pushing open the fence that separates the field and the school. The contents of your backpack slosh around while you sway your hips as you walk. Finally, you make it to the back wall of the school, leaning your back against it and plopping your heavy backpack down by your feet.

And now you wait.

Much to your convenience, the wait this time isn’t long, only five minutes passing before you see the familiar man following the same path you did earlier.

He has a pair of brown slacks on, pressing against his waist courtesy of his black belt. A button up white shirt hides the tattoos on his stomach, but he's rolling up his sleeves as he walks over to you. He's walking with intention, hungry eyes zeroed in on you.

When he’s only steps away, you cheekily bite your lip and use your finger to push up your skirt a little bit more.

Your actions have the intended effect, his eyes blowing wide and hands grasping at your waist.

“Y’can’t do that.”

Before you have a chance to ask what he means, his lips collide with yours, his tongue slipping in only moments after the initial kiss. But as soon as he started, he pulls away.

“Y’can’t be teasing me on the field like tha’, had me hard next t’my friends.” His hand is on the wall above your head, and his other arm is wrapped around your waist pulling you into his chest. He’s panting, and you are too.

“Sorry Mr. Styles,” you push your bottom lip out in a pout, giving him the most innocent look possible. “Just wanted to wear it cause I know how much you like it.”

“Aw, my babygirl wore this f’me? Well I guess y’can be forgiven. Now let’s get t’my house before I fuck yeh right on this wall.” He places a soft kiss to your lips picking up your backpack from the floor and turning to the direction of his car.

“But it hurts!” He turns around again, giving you a sympathetic look and caressing your cheek. The rings on his fingers are cold, but you’re used to the feeling.

“I know sweet girl, but I can’t take care of yeh here, s’too risky.” He pauses for a moment, thinking of a solution to your not so little problem. “How bout I give y’my fingers in the car? Hows that sound hm?” You nod eagerly, pulling his hand down from your cheek and holding it. He takes the signal and begins walking to his car while you follow him.

You never planned to sleep with your bullies dad. But a few months ago your parents dragged you to a family friends housewarming party, and that friend happened to be a friend of Harry’s too. There were no other teenagers there, so your focus was on the attractive older man who had been checking you out since you first locked eyes, and after ending up in the upstairs bathroom together the two of you have been fucking at least twice a week. You only learned that he’s a dad when you saw him for the first time outside the party. He didn’t look the part, and you actually thought he was in his 20s until he corrected you. He’s 38, having become a parent at only 20 years old. Your relationship is a bit taboo, but you’re a mature 18 year old and you and Harry get along well. So well that your time together has developed from casual sex to a mutually exclusive relationship. (Neither of you like labels, but you’re basically boyfriend and girlfriend).

He makes you really happy, and when you have to face off against Ella, it helps knowing that you have power over her, even though she doesn’t know it.

“Did she do anything today?” Harry is walking beside you, hands still intertwined.

“Besides spilling coffee on my shirt, nothing much.” Harry sighs in frustration and squeezes your hand as a show of affection.

“M’so sorry, I wish y’didn’t ‘ave to deal with her.”

The thing about Harry and Ella is they can barely be considered family. Ella’s mom is, for lack of a better word, a bitch. She’s snobby, conceited, and rude, and those behaviors have rubbed off on Ella. Another thing that rubbed off on her was her mom’s hatred for Harry. Being young parents put strain on their already struggling relationship, and they split before Ella’s first birthday. Harry said he tried his best to make it work for Ella’s sake, but her mom was looking for someone to pay for her life, and Harry had just started working his way up as a businessman.

Now, he’s a CEO, but luckily Ella’s mom already found a new beau with plenty of money, so she didn’t come crawling back to him. However, the success Harry achieved only a few years after their breakup made her jealous, and so she instilled that anger in their daughter. So currently Ella spends most of her time with her mother, and when she is with Harry she doesn’t treat him kindly.

“It’s not your fault Harry, you don’t have to apologize for her actions.”

“I know, I jus’ hate tha’ she treats yeh like that.” He sighs again, reaching into his pocket to grab his keys. In a few more steps you’re standing outside the sleek black suv, walking around to the passenger seat and sliding in once you hear the click of the door unlocking.

You both take a few seconds to breathe, an unspoken gesture to prepare for the night's events. Harry turns to you, a sexy smirk plastered on his face. “What d’ya think about fixin’ that ache darlin?” You nod eagerly, sliding down a bit in your seat to give your legs room to spread. “Think yeh can take off y’skirt fo’me?” Your head bobs once again as you nod, hooking your fingers under the elastic waistband and shimmying out of the skirt. While you’re doing that, Harry turns the car into the deserted street, using only one hand to steer.

You toss the tiny skirt into his lap, giving him a signal without distracting his eyes from the road. He reacts immediately, his free hand coming down to squeeze your thigh. You mewl at the contact and bite down on your lip, trying to stop your hips from bucking up in search of relief. His squeezes move up your thigh, and finally his fingers press against your weeping cunt. Swiftly, he pushes your soiled panties to the side, swiping his fingers up your folds collecting your juices. You shriek and buck your hips up into his hand, but much to your dismay he removes it from between your thighs. The car comes to a stop at a red light, and Harry takes the moment to look at you, his eyes wandering your squirming body. He’s practically drooling when he places his fingers in his mouth, tasting your sweet wetness.

“Sorry pup, jus’ needed t’taste yeh.” He chuckles again, and you whine softly in desperation. In one quick motion, he dives his hand back to your pussy, pressing his thumb on your swollen clit.

“Fuck!” The pleasure shoots up your spine, goosebumps raising across your body as he rubs circles on the puffy button. “Harry- please,”

“What d’ya want puppy? Want m’fingers?”

“Yes, yes,” you breathe out, words barely comprehensible through your panting.

“Alright, alright, I gotcha.” And with that his two fingers press into you, filling your tight hole perfectly. There is no hesitation before he begins pumping the digits in and out of you and his thumb never lets up on your bundle of nerves. “Such a needy puppy, got yeh soaking f’me from out in the stands hm?” His eyes are still on the road, but you can picture the lust filled eyes that are undoubtedly on his face.

“Get so wet jus- just thinkin’ about you,” you gasp, writhing as his fingers slam in and out of you.

“Yeah? This is my cunt, m’the only one who can make yeh this wet, isn’t tha’ right?”

“Only Harry.” At your confirmation he speeds his hand up, your vision clouding with white spots as the knot building in your stomach grows tighter and tighter.

All of a sudden, he pulls his fingers out of you, leaving you empty. “Wha-” You begin to question him but you realize that he’s pulling into his driveway. Instead of complaining, you sit up quickly and unbuckle your seatbelt, pulling your skirt back up your legs to avoid being nude on his front lawn.

As soon as you feel the little jolt your hand yanks on the handle and you hop out of the car. Your brain is fuzzy with need and all you are focused on is alleviating the aching between your thighs. You hear Harry lock the car while you're on the steps, and you turn back to ensure that he’s behind you. And sure enough, he’s hot on your trail, just as eager as you to get inside and onto his bed. Your foot is tapping on the ground anxiously, waiting for Harry to unlock the front door. After what seems like an hour, he is next to you again, fumbling with the silver keychain in his hand, eventually unlocking and pushing open the door. You both practically run inside, hands roaming each other's bodies and lips locking as you shuffle through the hall.

You disconnect breathlessly when you reach the stairs, subconsciously wrapping your hands around Harry’s neck so he can pick you up bridal style. He does so hastily, barely a second passing before he’s plopping you onto the fluffy mattress. “Finally,” he pants, hands fumbling with his belt buckle. There’s a prominent bulge in his trousers, and although you’ve seen it plenty, you are always in awe at how thick and big he is. While he’s busy removing his clothes, you are practically drooling at the sight of his bare cock, full, heavy, and dripping precome.

“Harry?”

He looks back down at you with his emerald green eyes, simultaneously dropping his recently-removed shirt on the floor. “Can I ride you?” The look he gives you is indescribable, a mixture of need, lust, cockiness, and beauty all rolled up into one.

“Whatever y’want puppy,” His hands scoop under your ass, and he lifts you up and switches your positions. Now it’s your turn to undress, and Harry makes himself busy by running his hands up and down your torso. “So gorgeous, y’know that?” You nod quickly then pull your shirt off of your head. “Most beautiful girl in the world I reckon.” You blush at the compliment, butterflies being added to the many sensations occuring in your body. You straddle his thighs, wrapping your hand around his length and tugging a few times. A loud groan rumbles through his throat, and you smile knowing you’re the one who made him feel like that. “Thought- thought yeh said y’wanted to ride me pup.”

“I do.” You keep your hand on his cock, sitting up on your knees and lining him up with your weeping cunt. All at once, your body is put at ease as his cock fills you up perfectly. He bottoms out inside of you, both of you moaning and groaning while you adjust. “So big-” Your words come out in choppy pants, the syllables being cut off by your heaves. You suck in one deep breath and move upwards, sinking back down onto him quickly. His large hands hold a tight grip on your waist, guiding you up and down his member. His lips attach to your neck, suckling on the supple skin just enough so that it doesn’t bruise.

“What a dirty little puppy you are,” he growls, eyes focusing heavily on where your bodies connect, watching himself disappear inside of you as you bounce up and down on his cock.

“Feel so full-” Tingles ricochet down every part of your body, and your legs are becoming weaker with each movement. Harry can feel your movement faltering, so his hips thrust upwards to meet yours, fucking you from underneath. “Harry!”

“I know pup, I know.” His thumb strokes your cheek and he leans in for another kiss, devouring your plump lips and swirling his tongue around yours. “So fuckin tight,” The words tumble from his mouth in a low growl, which sends the butterflies in your stomach into a frenzy. His cock twitches inside of you, encouraging you to muster all your energy and finish both of you off. Adrenaline kicks in and your strength returns, riding him faster and harder than before. “Let go f’me Y/N.” It only takes a few more thrusts for you to come undone, Harry’s orgasm following suit. The waves of pleasure roll through your body, and you throw your head back in ecstasy as you allow the feeling to overcome your body. Spurts of his hot cum cover your velvety walls and you ride out your orgasms together, resting your foreheads against one another.

You end up sleeping at his house, feeling safe knowing that Ella is staying with her mom today. It’s normal for you to sleep at his place, seeing as both of you are usually so tired that you pass out before you can leave. What isn’t normal is for you to be woken up in the morning by Harry’s phone ringing. Harry is a deep sleeper, and you laugh at the sight of him conked out while his ringtone blares on the nightstand just a few inches away. Carefully, you reach over his sleeping body and grab the phone, planning on hanging it up and going back to bed. However, when you saw that it was Ella calling, you changed your mind. Making a split second decision, you slide the icon to the right, holding it up to your ear.

“Hello?” Her whiney voice rings through your eardrum and you wince. Not the nicest thing to be woken up to.

“Hello,” you answer, your voice not reflecting the cocky grin that spread across your face.

“Who the hell is this!” she shrieks, and you make a mental note that she must not be a morning person.

“A friend of your dads.” Your response is once again calm and monotone, trying to stifle the laugh that is bubbling in your throat.

“Ugh! What’s your name?”

“Y/N. Y/N Y/L/N”

#harry styles smut #harry styles #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles blurb #harry styles fic #harry styles imagine #harry styles story #harry styles one shot #harry styles writing #harry styles blog #harry styles headcannon #harry styles au #dad!harry #one direction smut #one direction fanfiction

[might-guys-acorn]

1. "I know better than to ever call you mine" from the lyric prompts with Shino - maybe nice and angsty? :) :)

Okay, Its been a minute since Ive posted a request, but I was scrolling through my requests for the millionth time and I love this and inspiration has struck again. Plus! The Lyric prompts list makes me disgustingly happy💕 -Acorn🦎

===============================

"I know better than to ever call you mine." (Let's Fall in Love for the Night by FINNEAS)

Walking to the training grounds was a daily activity at this point. But today was different, simply because on your way there you had to walk by team 8, standing by their usual tree and most likely waiting for their sensei. You glanced slightly at him, and a blush ran across your cheeks as the blood ran cold through your veins, forming a small knot of venom in the center of your chest. You hadnt spoken in weeks.

Shino, Im flattered, but I dont really see you in that way.

Your own words rang in your ears as you sank in thought, losing all feeling of the grass under your shoes. He was so sincere, and you crushed his soul in one sentence. You lost your best friend in one. Goddamn. Sentence. Youd be lying if you said you didnt miss his presence, but you also couldnt blame him for not being around you right now.

Your focus on the present shifted back as you walked up to the targets in the center of the training ground and landed a single punch with all your strength. The only way you could handle the anger and pain was with training. The scabbed and swollen knuckles of your hands were proof of that, but no matter the wounds, you didnt feel the pain. God, why did he have to fall for you like that, he was the closest person in your life and now he couldnt even look at you.

In frustration, you jabbed into the trunks 3 more times, following up with a leap to the top of them and flipping back down. Turning on a heel, you started your taijutsu practice, aiming punches and kicks into the empty air in front of you. After the sweat began to run down your face, you heard voices coming through the trees.

"Kurenai-sensei! Me and Akamaru have spent ages on our Man-beast clone, why do we have to evolve it from there??" Kiba's whines rang through the tree and in a moment of panic, you climbed the nearest tree as high as you could manage, removing yourself from sight just before their steps moves into the clearing. Your heart racing in your ears, you stared down at the one person you thought would aways be there, and you could nearly scream at the sight of his dark hair. Still, you were stuck in a tree, observing team 8 training for what felt like an eternity. Just as your legs were going numb from crouching for so long, the sun began to set and Kurenai let the three of them call it a day. You watched as they dissappeared through the trees, and tried to make your way down the tree, legs a mess of pins and needles as you scaled the branches. One wrong move, a misplacement of the foot and a weak limb, and you heard a crack just before weightlessness.

Falling. You were falling. From 30 feet in the air.

You braced yourself for impact as you realized, gravity tugging your body down towards the hard ground. But, the impact never came, and your panic dissolved after a moment, the adreneline ebbing away just enough to feel arms around you on the ground. And then a familiar pair of glasses.

"Shino? H-how?" Your voice shook as he placed you on the ground.

"We're a sensory team, Y/N, and I couldnt just let you fall." He responded, crouching next to your ashen face. "Why were you watching us?"

"Uh, well. I was out here, and I didnt want you to have to see me. I know its probably still hard for you, but I-" you stuttered, unable to meet his iron gaze, but he stood up and turned to walk away.

"Me saving you wasnt some last ditch effort for you to change your mind. I just didnt want you to get hurt. Ease your mind, Y/N, I know better than to ever call you mine." He said, his voice hardening with every syllable of the last sentence. You looked up as you felt your heart sink into the ground, and seeing that jacket disappear into the trees was somehow more painful than that fall ever could have been. Nothing could hurt more than the iciness in his voice, than seeing the one person you needed most simply walk away. His presence was gone, and you broke inside, falling into a puddle of tears, frustration and sheer guilt as the darkness of night fell around you.

#oof this was angsty #im into it though #shino #shino aburame #shino x reader #shino angst #naruto #naruto imagines

[autoirishlitdiscourses]

Discourse of Monday, 26 April 2021

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To have one extensive monologue from someone who is a really good ideas in an A-for the quarter, and quite engaging. 415 B-range paper grades discussed in more detail, I am not asking you to perform suboptimally on the most directly productive here would have paid off to have had Cyclops suggested to them effectively, demonstrated a strong preference and I'll stay late. It's all yours! All in all ways, and the historical situation. Similar things could be set against each other personally. Let me say some general things, you should focus on the assignment, and exploring additional related issues, focus your analysis what is short-sighted or otherwise need to expose your own writing, get an incomplete would also require the professor's miss three sections, get an A-territory with 1 point out, it's insightful—but being flexible may be that your choice of a number of particular interpretive problems for Ulysses none of these are true. So, you would like to see Dexter as a first draft and allow for real discussion with the assumption that the more egregious errors in the biggest payoff possible sometimes you have any further questions, and my guess is that the Irish as postcolonial subjects; probably others. Another potential difficulty is that you did a good night, due to midterm-related questions?

I can attest from personal experience it can feel to a natural move is to find that this is a very strong essay in a comparative manner over time, and I quite liked a lot of ways. This is already an impressive move, and modeling this for everyone, Having just checked my stack of midterms against my other section is engaged and engaging despite my sometimes rather nitpicky comments, but more general discussion of The Butcher Boy; Stephen Dedalus's rather morbid and misogynist fixation on the Mad Hatter's hat in Lewis Carroll's Alice in Wonderland. I suggest that Dexter is X, whereas Y is like A, for free: Chris Walker and the ideas and your boost from your section self-addressed, stamped envelope with enough stamps to make sure that I'll be in my box South Hall 1415. You picked a very small number of ways here: you had an accommodation through the writing process is itself the immediate, direct, personal interest in the first seven that the song. Often, a profitable manner, and it shouldn't be too hard to avoid thinking that an A, in case they ask you questions for discussion.

I do not overlap with yours, but I also think that it's actually not that you were reciting and discussing the selection you picked to the course's discourse about Shakespeare every day, because unless you are, I think. Reminder: if people aren't getting quite full credit on author, title, date, you really have done. One would have helped you to ten pages long; this counts everything including participation and attendance that is excerpted in Plough. Let me know what you're going, and you managed to articulate as fully integrated parts of your quarter! If you have done quite a challenge, and want to make sure that you just need to be aware that you just need to make huge conceptual leaps immediately. If you happen to have a good student and I will take this into account. Still Life-Le Jour. Have a good performance even though this is potentially profitable idea, but may not be able to give you a grade somewhere in the front of me wanted to demonstrate that you score at the top of the first three and four the other students were engaged, and the Stars: Nora Clitheroe, The Stare's Nest again so that I can. You had said to other people talking. A-for the quarter winds up being more successful in any way that helps to further your analysis and perhaps point him toward your larger-scale details and of putting them next to each other. Similarly, looking at the Recitation Assignment Guidelines handout. You're got a perfectly acceptable to cite poems by Eavan Boland, and would have needed to happen for this particular passage. If you don't have a hard line to walk, and it's completely up to this page:. Can you confirm she was having. Make sure that your formatting is impeccable. I felt the same degree that you gave quite a nice touch, too. Let me know if you want to know how GOLD looks for undergrads, I'm dying for it and so this hurts your ability to appreciate the argument in a productive exercise I myself tend to think about how you achieve full and open honesty about where you need to be this week. I'm sympathetic here. Not mine. Yes, that's fine provided that the one that the professor is a mid-century American painter Willem de Kooning's Woman series is full. My current plan is to think about what audiovisual and historical issues at stake. Looks like you. Picking a selection from each paragraph, you have any questions, OK? The assignment required and gave what was overall an excellent sense of the several topics that each of you effectively boosted the other's grade while you write, and have moved forward even more specifically on the section guidelines handout. I say thank you for being a good job here. The first of these guidelines with you. Soon to be fully successful. Yes/no pass, knowing where you are nervous about possibly having accidentally leaked confidential information, but rather to help you to think about how recruiting works and the marketplace, and is able to avoid. And your writing is quite enjoyable. Have a good move here, I can find a recording of your group, and your health allows. What this relationship between these texts in an otherwise dull day. Again, please read September 1913. Com that you are attentive to what other students in great detail, I absolutely understand that this is unfortunate because they tend to do that metaphorically. If he lets you expand or drop material if that doesn't work, might be surprised if they cover ground which you are planning on getting out of your recording early. Needing to study for a more impassioned which may differ in some form, even if only because they're also doing Wandering Aengus—6 p. I'll be on campus today, actually.

The Butcher Boy song 5 p. 57. It's absolutely OK to depart/intentionally/from the syllabus pretty well, you should come to each other. But analysis requires moving outside of your outline will be. Thanks for your section this week. I'm glad that it never really rises far above the compare/contrast paper which is to make it support that negative value judgment: that you could be squeezed in most places is basically structured in a moment. Good luck on the edge of something genuinely wonderful job of moving between the texts are primarily theoretical, critical, or it becomes apparent that more supports your specific point, just as Shakespeare doesn't necessarily have to make this transition which you dealt. I'm terribly sorry and embarrassed. On James Joyce's Ulysses: discussion of a topic of your skull with the same names to denote the same time, and your visual texts, how does this statement relate to the class's actual level of knowledge and their outline doesn't bear a lot of the recording of your own notes for week 3. Plan for Week 8: General Thoughts and Notes 23 October in section; we talked after section, and perform the resulting articles and see what other people to dig into in conversation. Kilmainham p. Other administrative issues? It sounds like a fair number of good news. Nothing immediately proposes itself to me, but I completely forgot. Recitation/discussion 5 p. It turns out, it's a beautiful little gem that is particularly relevant here; but make sure neither of those finals. Is that Walter definition of race were like, or historical in nature. Hi! Tonight's paper-grading rubric above. Your paper is that the paper is due or a bit more so that I have never been a pleasure to read and thought about the course syllabus that reciting twelve lines of text may only be minimal changes later tonight, a productive way to avoid a assuming that everyone in class. Alternately, if you'd like to know tonight instead of discussion. So I hope you won't have time to meet me. Still Life with Four Apples; probably others. They are presented in the class and the group develop its own; I will still be elusive at this point is that you will receive at least 70% for a student whose final grade at your main ideas. One thing that will help you to give a paper to pay off in terms of the top eight or so of all but the group may help you here. Be sure to give quite a good selection, and apply it with a selection from Ulysses this Wednesday.

Again, thank you for a job well done. Some suggestions: Georges Braque painted food-related topics not only contributes to a natural end or otherwise set up to you after I qualified it by then. I looked at them, but perhaps it would be helpful, I think that you wanted the discussion as a section you have questions about Cyclops or it becomes apparent that more information about just to pick up a fair grade for the historical and literary readings are passionate and engaged and engaging, and some broader course concerns and did a good choice on topic.

You should aim to do so by 10 p. Just send me email since then, is perhaps not easy deal for you, I will still be elusive at this point, if you want to examine, because I think? TA Christopher Walker and the Stars: Nora Clitheroe, The Butcher Boy can best be read in ways other than that, taken together, then looking at his wife, Annie, in part because it's an appropriate analysis that supports your larger-scale payoff … but as a section you have any questions, which is fantastic and free! Let me know. You're very welcome to sit down on Wednesday can you make the switch function in GOLD you should email me and holding eye contact in that relationship can make your own readings within the realm of possibility for you. There were some pauses for recall and retraction/corrections, but want to prepare a set of ideas in here, though this is really successful paper at an IV coffee shop on lower State, but the power company left me reading by candlelight for several reasons, including class, but not past your level of familiarity with the group to list their impressions of how your questions touches on. Hi! So, for instance. It took the midterm and the text, and the 1916 Easter Rising, the F on the final, too, that there will only be recited during our first section; got the lowest score was 46%. Make sure to do you mean by talking about. In particular, for instance, you will leave me with a worn pick, OK? However, if you want to make it productive to look at the performance, and I think that there are a lot of material. You need to focus on whatever revs your engine, intellectually speaking, but you handled yourself and your readings are often primarily just due to my office door SH 2432E, or unclear. You're welcome to leave your paper. Let me know what works best for you if I try very hard to avoid explicating yourself as the audio or visual component of your mind until you recite more than 100% in section. Similarly, the nude painting Fluther & Peter are tittering over in O'Casey, both of which revolve around a male visions of beautiful women, his understanding of the test, but some students may not have started reading Godot yet if they're cuing off of the Wandering Aengus Performed 16 October 2013 Thus, love of a letter grade; made an excellent job!

This doesn't change the way of thinking about it not perhaps rather the case and I appreciate your quick response! Like It, Orlando, in our backgrounds. Overall, you could engage in related to the reader/viewer, and you met them at their level of familiarity with a lifetime's regret; d it's YOUR JOB to make his slide show available to, you're about in lecture tomorrow! Of course.

#Irish literature #automatically generated text #Patrick Mooney #Python #Markov chains

[tommybaholland]

Working Hard Or Hardly Working? | tom holland x reader

(beefcake bby image is not mine)

Summary: the one where you’re struggling with working on your body, but tom isn’t far behind

Word Count: 2.5K

Warnings: body image issues, swearing, the fluffiest shit ive written in a min

———————————

“3, 2, 1 REST…”

“Next up, spiderman plank!” 

You groaned as the automated voice instructed you to assume the position. And yet, you proceeded to push through the exercise in hopes that one day, it would be easier. But for right now, you sigh and grunt through every tense muscle and that ache in your lower back.

Tom watched you from a few feet away as he was doing a cooldown run on the treadmill. He has to admit, he was a bit amused with your frustration at the gym. You both used to exercise together, but lately you’ve been preoccupied with this app that tells you what to do, and you do it. You had gotten a head start getting back to the gym after the premiere of Far From Home and downloaded it to help give you direction on what to do for what you wanted to work on. And for you, it was probably the best thing you did. 

Also the fact that Tom is one of the most competitive people you’ve ever met. 

That didn’t bother you, usually. 

But he couldn’t help but notice your attitude at the gym has changed since the press tour ended. You’d been wanting to do your own routine more often, only offering to warm-up and sometimes cooldown routines with Tom. So he allowed you to do your own thing, and would on occasion tease you with, 

“S’okay babe, you probably wouldn’t be able to handle my routine anyway,” while flexing his muscles, which you knew has become thicker and more defined since before Far From Home had begun shooting. 

He honestly couldn’t complain though, watching you and that ass throw down some squats had never been better.

Other than you doing your own thing at the gym, you also seemed more aggressive with the workouts. When you and Tom first came to the gym together, you would just do some cardio on the elliptical or the treadmill and then finish with some yoga. But now you seem more committed and will do HIIT routine after routine and even lift weights some days as well. 

He had also noticed your eating habits had changed drastically as well. He couldn’t remember the last time you had both eaten the same meal. In fact, he couldn’t even remember the last time you had eaten, in general. You just didn’t seem to want to enjoy the usual things you and him would indulge in lately. He minded wandered to last night, when you turned down a legendary pastime you and him would take part in from time to time. 

“What kind of pizza should we order?”

“Oh, uh, I’m actually not that hungry.”

“What?” Tom questioned in disbelief. “You’re still drinking though, right?”

You shook your head. “No, sorry. I think I’m going to just have water.”

“You’re kidding, right? You love our beer and pizza nights,” Tom replied, in disbelief.

“You can still order it and we can still watch something!” You reiterated. “I’m just––taking a break from pizza and beer.” 

Something seemed off to him. Normally, he just brushed it off, thinking that you missed being active and wanted to catch up. But your mood and behavior didn’t seem right to him. 

Frankly, you didn’t look very happy.

You had finished your last exercise, and were left panting and dripping with sweat. You took a sip of water before getting a disinfectant wipe to wipe down your yoga mat. Tom stepped off the treadmill as you finished cleaning your mat, calling over to you.

“Ready to go soon, love?” 

You nodded, still trying to catch your breath. Your heart was racing, and your muscles felt thoroughly worked, despite that you skipped some exercises or took more breaks during the hard ones. 

As Tom was putting away some of the free weights he has used, you decided to weigh yourself on the scale in the gym. You took a deep breath before stepping on the scale, something you always did, calling it the “moment of truth.” 

Standing up straight and sucking everything in, you looked down at the numbers to see your fate. 

No change. 

It wasn’t the worst thing in the world. You didn’t gain weight, but nothing had been lost either. You sighed, rubbing over your face and through your sweaty hair before stepping off and putting your shoes back on. 

Grabbing your stuff, Tom rejoined you at the front of the gym, wrapping an arm around your shoulders to pull you into his side, placing a small kiss on your temple. 

He quickly pulled his hand off of your arm, rubbing the excess moisture onto his shirt. 

“You’re quite sweaty,” he chuckled. “A bit smelly, too.” 

You gave him a small chuckle and smile, humoring him. But it wasn’t as big of a reaction as he normally would get from you. 

The ride home was silent between the two of you. Tom posted on his insta story for the thousandth time about Far From Home while you sat in the seat adjacent to him, dealing with your own business.

Leaning your cheek on your hand that was propped up on the window by your elbow, you looked at the graph that the app had created with all the data points you had entered for your weight. 

You tried to weigh yourself everyday, or almost every day, once reading somewhere that people who weigh themselves regularly have more motivation and therefore, lose more weight. You’d been committing yourself to working out everyday and trying to make healthier choices for about a month now and you would’ve thought you’d see a small difference in the numbers. 

But the graph didn’t show that. 

The trend was an absolute mess, with hills and plateaus everywhere. It was disappointing and frustrating to you. And it wasn’t just about looking good,

It was about feeling healthier about yourself. 

It almost made you feel like you weren’t allowed to have that. Tom worked hard and trained enough to make his body “Spider-Man ready” but he was also naturally athletic. His body was practically made to look like that.

You, however, are soft and round with some strong build. It was just extremely hard to get that build to show. 

Upon arriving back to Tom’s apartment, he went straight to the kitchen to make his usual post-workout protein shake, turning to you as you put your water bottle down on the counter. 

“You want one, darling?” 

“Uh, no thanks. I think I’m gonna go shower,” You could feel the redness still on your cheeks. “I feel gross.” 

And it wasn’t just from the sweat. 

Tom nodded, giving you a small smile before you turned and went into his room to grab a change of clothes before walking down the hall to the bathroom to shower. 

Tom could sense that you wanted to be alone, deciding that he shouldn’t join you in the shower like he normally would do. 

You took your sweet time getting clean, mainly focusing on how your body didn’t feel much different as you rubbed body wash over your skin. 

One thing that you and Tom had in common was you both liked the idea of a challenge and would persevere through anything that stretched beyond your normal abilities. That’s why he loved being Spider-Man. He gets to show people what he can really do, even if it takes time, or 40 takes, to get there. 

You’re the exact same way. You never really like repeating the same thing over and over again with work and want to show off your capabilities. Normally you would see this as a challenge and keep trying to see it through to your goal. 

But lately just the thought of perseverance has been the real challenge. 

You wanna just say ‘fuck it’. Some days, you just want to go to the gym and spend time with your boyfriend without being distracted by some app telling you what to do. Some days, you wanna eat all the pizza and drink all the beer you want while watching stupid late night movies with Tom. 

Some days, you just want to give up.

And that’s how you’re feeling right now. 

You knew Tom was catching on to your behavior, especially with eating. You felt ashamed when you had to decline the traditional things you would eat together and drag his spirits down with you. You had to admit, sometimes you would become jealous that he could eat whatever he wanted, and burn it off quickly without a change in his sculpted body. 

It didn’t seem fair to you. 

Getting out of the shower, feeling cleaner, you decided to hop on the scale one last time, completely naked. After taking your habitual ‘moment of truth’ deep breath, you stepped on and the result was the same. 

“Fuck,” you swore under your breath. It was true. 

You stepped off and proceeded to dress yourself with anger, not wanting to dry your hair. 

Exiting the bathroom, you passed Tom, who was still in the kitchen, and walked over to the sectional couch where you took your usual corner spot. Tom eventually bumbled over, holding two glasses of a brown, thick liquid. 

“I made you one anyway,” he voiced, handing you the fuller glass before sitting down next to you, his knees tucked up and turned towards you. “I figured you hadn’t eaten yet.”

Ugh, why did he have to be so good?

You returned a quiet ‘thanks’ as you accepted the glass. You didn’t take a sip but just stared down into it, the smell making your stomach yearn for a taste. 

“It’s chocolate,” Tom pointed out, beaming with pride. “Your favorite.”

“....What time is it?” You asked in response. 

“It’s,” Tom paused, checking his phone for the time. “10:10. Why?”

“I-I can’t eat until 11,” you remarked softly. 

Tom’s expression contorted into confusion. “Well, that’s the point, babe,” he chuckled. “It’s a protein shake, you’re not eating it.”

You could hear the smile in his voice, wanting to roll your eyes playfully or do something that showed him you were amused. But you just kept your head down, letting out another sigh. 

Tom’s tone changed as he saw you were serious and continued to not drink it. 

“Aw, c’mon, love, please drink it. Can’t remember when you last had something to eat. And I know I would be starving after what you did at the gym today” 

You hated making him feel responsible for your health. You knew you needed to eat, but you couldn’t bring yourself to tell him the whole truth.

“I just….want to feel fuller throughout the day,” you explained. 

Tom nodded, shifting his own gaze down to his fingers, which were tapping the glass of his cup. He suddenly put his glass down on the coffee table in front of you, before moving closer next to you, placing a hand on your shoulder. 

“Y/N….why can’t you eat until 11?” He asked earnestly. 

You could feel the tears welling up in your eyes. That was like the equivalent of stressful things building up and you break down once someone asks ‘you okay?.’ You turned your face away from him for a second, trying to gather the words.

“I….don’t w-wanna gain weight and then regret everything tomorrow after I work my ass off at the gym and then don’t see the results,” you spat, the first tear beginning to fall. 

“Aw, love,” Tom consoled, taking your glass from your hands to place it next to his on the table before moving slightly behind you so he could pull you into his arms, his chin resting on top of your head. 

“What’s all this about? You know I think you’re beautiful,” he reminded you.

You sniffled, wiping your face before pulling away from him. “That’s the thing, Tom.”

“This isn’t about you. I mean, I want to look good for you but that’s not why a-and not to sound vain but...I know I’m pretty,” You rambled out, making yourself chuckle a bit. 

He chuckled with you, reaching up to wipe away a tear, pushing a piece of your hair behind your ears before letting you continue. 

“I know how you feel about me...and I’m glad you remind me but I just,” you paused for a moment, shifting your eyes from eyes, trying to find how to say it exactly. 

“I just want to feel healthier,” you finally get out. 

“I haven’t felt that way in….a while,” you admitted. “Especially when the movie premiered, I could just...feel myself going over the edge.” 

More tears came to surface, you took a moment to breathe through them. 

“And my body just isn’t like yours, I gain weight so easily! And working out everyday isn’t enough; I have to practically not eat anything to see any change in the numbers...right now I’ve been fluctuating back and forth...I just can’t seem to get out of this spot..I-I just,”

You broke down at that point, leaning back into his body as he comforted you, pulling you into his lap. 

“It’s okay, baby. You’ve just worried me, ‘s all,” he admitted. 

“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you. Didn’t mean to make you worry,” you apologized as your tears subsided, resting your head on his shoulder. “But I’m putting in more effort than I can give and it leaves me exhausted everyday. I’m just….frustrated.”

“I’m sorry you’re having a rough time, love. It is hard,” Tom agrees. “But just remember that you’re your own toughest critic and I know you’re strong enough to overcome that. I, for one, think you look sexy as fuck,” he voiced, a hand squeezing your hip. 

You chuckle a bit, sensing a similar situation. “I could say the same for you.”

“What do you mean?” Tom questions with a smirk.

You sit up again, leaning back into the cushion of the couch with his arm still around you. 

“You’ve just openly talked about how you thought you looked better in the last Spider-Man than in this one so,” you shrugged. 

Tom scoffs a laugh. “Yeah, but, that was different. I still look good, I just thought I looked better in Homecoming,” he clarifies. 

“Okay, well, I, for one, think you look sexy as fuck anytime,” you emphasized, throwing his words back at him, while squeezing his thick bicep. 

Tom tipped his head back, laughing before wrapping you in his arms again to squish you into a hug. Pulling away, he kissed your lips quickly before pulling away slightly, his nose brushing yours. 

“Well, my point is, we can figure out what you need together. I’m glad that you’re trying to help improve on yourself but just know that I’m here to support you all the way.” 

“Thanks, Tommy,” you giggled before placing your lips on his again, your hand going to the back of his neck while his pulled your waist closer. 

“Starting with,” he spoke against your lips before pulling away and reaching over.

“Chugging this,” He held the drink he made for you in front of you, prompting you to finally drink it. 

“Are you serious?” You laughed, raising your brows.

“YESSSSS,” he replied, singing loudly. “You’re gonna have to drink it if you wanna build that muscle,” he pointed out, squeezing your bicep, which had a little more loose skin on it than his did. 

You sighed dramatically, taking the glass from his hands, looking down at the thick, brown liquid again. 

“Weeeeeee like to drink with Y/N because Y/N is our mate—” Tom started sing-yelling again, this time belting out one of your infamous drinking songs. 

“—Okay, okay” you shushed him, covering your hand over his mouth to silence him. “But if I puke, you’re gonna regret it.”

“And she gets it down in 8, 7, 6…”

Bitch.

~

A/N: im back bitcH. heres a lil surprise for everyone, i know its not GRIND but i want to thank everyone for being so patient with me while i was away! i wanted to start with something a lil smaller before i get back into GRIND but i have been writing for it and it’s coming, i promise. i thought of this idea this morning and wrote it today (fastest i’ve written in a while) and this ones pretty personal for me rn bc i have been struggling with trying to take care of my health and i thought it tied in well with toms comment about his physique in ffh. anyway, be patient with yourself and consistency will take care of you!! 

xx. tommybaholland 🌺

i haven’t written in a minute pls tell me ur thoughts!

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[cosmonaughty]

I recently re-watched Season 1 of Fargo FX and, as is the case with every great show or movie, there were things I noticed that I had missed in earlier viewings. A few of these had to do with the portrayal of hospitals in film, which is another small obsession of mine, so I thought that I would take the time to combine these two interests and talk about the way that Fargo FX depicts hospitals. I will be mentioning the inaccuracies in this portrayal and the way that the liberties that are taken advance the plot and enhance the mood of certain scenes. By pointing out these inaccuracies, I am not trying to criticize the show or its writers, I’m just using my specific experiences to talk at length about something I love.

(Also, this post will contain big ol’ spoilers for Season 1 of Fargo FX, so go watch it if you haven’t yet and then come back.)

There are a few scenes that I wanted to discuss here, and I will bring them up chronologically. In episode 5, Lester is rushed to the hospital in an ambulance with what appears to be sepsis resulting from a shotgun pellet lodged in his hand. In the following episode, he sneaks out of the hospital to frame his brother for his wife’s murder. He does this by switching beds with his roommate, whose face is bandaged. As far as accuracy goes, it pretty much goes without saying that this concept is pretty farfetched, but I’ll run down the issues here anyway.

It’s never really clear to me what injuries require intensive care in this show (more on that later), but I will say that Lester recovers from sepsis in what must be record time. When I had more or less the same thing, my body essentially held down its own power button and restarted everything. I was in the ICU for multiple days, though I’m not sure how many because I wasn’t lucid the entire time, and I was pumped full of fluids and antibiotics, as well as hooked up to multiple tubes and wires.

Lester, however, is in excellent condition pretty much as soon as the source of his infection is removed, despite having been delirious, vomiting, sweating, shivering, and all that other fun stuff only the night before. His room seems to be on the general ward and the only thing hooked up to him is an IV, which appears to be dispensing saline and nothing else.

He is also under the care of what may be the least competent nurse I’ve ever seen in any show. Nurse Farber comes in to transport Lester’s roommate to radiology, but if she had checked his bracelet, she would have realized she was transporting the wrong patient. She also moves the entire hospital bed, rather than moving the patient to a gurney or a wheelchair, as has been my experience in the past (those beds are portable, but they’re very heavy and unwieldy).

However, these aren’t “mistakes”. They are deliberate choices that serve to move the plot along. We can’t put the story on hold so that Lester has a couple of weeks to recover and gain his strength back, so that process needs to be hurried along for the sake of the plot. If the nurse had checked his bracelet, his plan would have been foiled and, again, the plot would not be able to progress. If she had moved him to a wheelchair or gurney, he wouldn’t have been able to smuggle a change of clothes with him. So, these choices don’t arise from the writers’ ignorance of hospital procedure, they just need to bend some aspects of reality to advance the plot.

I would also like to point out some things this scene gets right about the hospital (based on my experience).

This room layout is pretty accurate. I like the little details like the plastic cup + bendy straw that everyone always has on their bedside table (even if you can lift a cup to your mouth, a bendy straw is required. It’s like an unwritten rule). I like the detail that the windows don’t open and I really appreciate that they didn’t have Lester pull out his IV like every renegade tv character seems to do. Instead, he simply disconnects the port from the tube so that he can move around, which I’m sure is more difficult than he makes it look but it’s leaps and bounds better than the old rip-em-out technique that I seem to see all the time.

I also like that the nurse uses the pain scale, which is pretty standard but I get a kick out of it. And, believe it or not, I have actually been deposited in the hall and left alone by nurses while waiting for imaging, which is how Lester manages to escape in the first place. Personally, I’ve never made it out the front door, but I haven’t tried that hard.

 Now that we’ve talked about how the writers take liberties to advance the plot, let’s look at how similar inaccuracies can be used enhance the mood of a scene. If you want to see me get emotional (you sadist), get me talking about episode 7. In this episode, Molly, having been hospitalized after an emergency splenectomy, makes a trip from her room on the general ward to question Mr. Wrench, who is in custody in the ICU after having been shot twice by her (it’s not clear where he was shot, but he indicates his upper right chest, so somewhere in that area). He uses a white board to ask about his partner (Mr. Numbers) and Molly confirms that he is dead. She makes an attempt to connect with him and asks for his help in finding Lorne Malvo, but he shuts her out by refusing to look at her and she leaves. Later, in episode 8, Malvo shows up to taunt Wrench about having killed his partner, as well as to commend him for coming closer to killing him than anyone else had in the past. He gives Wrench the handcuff key and leaves.

Like I said earlier, it’s not clear what requires intensive care in this show, since Mr. Wrench doesn’t appear to be any worse off physically than Molly is (or than Lester was earlier). He does have more stuff attached to him, which is…good(?), but let’s talk about this ICU room:

This looks nothing like any ICU room I’ve ever stayed in. For one thing, in my experience the bed has always been facing the door, not inward to the rest of the room. I assume this is to make it easier to provide emergency care, which is the function of just about everything in the ICU. For this same reason, there’s very little privacy; the doors are usually clear glass and people come in and out all the time (nobody checks on patients in this show).

As I mentioned above, he has more “gear” (no, that’s not the correct term, but just be glad I didn’t call it “swag”) than either Molly or Lester, but far less than I would expect to see. There are maybe two bags on that IV pole, so probably saline and morphine (no blood/plasma/antibiotics/other medications). He’s got a heart monitor and a pulse oximeter, but no oxygen or bp monitor. Whether I like it or not, I’m always given oxygen in the ICU (which I tend to remove as soon as possible, apologies to my nurses) and if he was shot in the chest, he might actually need it. I’m also not convinced that heart monitor is working, since it doesn’t fluctuate at all when Malvo shows up in episode 8. ALSO: that bed rail should be up; I don’t care if he is handcuffed in place, that looks like a fall risk to me. Who is running this place?

(I’m also kinda jealous, because I’ve never been in an ICU room with this much natural light.)

 As I mentioned before, there is specific intent behind these omissions and changes.  For one thing, if there were several different machines and wires and lines and the like, the shot would be really busy and it would be distracting, both visually and auditorily, as hospital equipment tends to beep and beep and beep and beep.

Additionally, the shots are very clean, which effectively communicates a sterile environment to the audience; the natural light from the window compliments the Season 1 aesthetic really well and it also contributes somewhat to the coldness of the scenes in this room.

Speaking of which, this is as good a time as ever to bring up something I only consciously noticed very recently. Let’s go back to episode 7 and take a look at the difference between his room and Molly’s.

It’s very subtle, but the light above her bed is a warmer tone; her bedding is also comprised of warmer, lighter tones. Additionally, there’s some framed artwork on the wall, and most importantly she is surrounded by people (and flowers) in every shot.

Even in reverse shots of her, the frame contains color and warm tones. Contrast this with a similar OTS shot of Wrench in his hospital room. The temperature of the scene is a lot colder and the frame surrounding him is empty, which is excellent shorthand to communicate loneliness and alienation.

His room also has some kind of mesh over the window, the practical purpose of which (if there is one) eludes me. As I mentioned earlier, hospital windows don’t open, something the writers are obviously aware of, and I’ve personally never been in a hospital room that had a grate or bars over the windows. Regardless of its practical purpose, this is another detail that contributes to the theme of isolation that is present in the design of these scenes. Being in the hospital can be a lonely, alienating experience, which is something I feel is communicated really well here.

These are subtle decisions that make a huge impact on the mood of the scene. I’m gonna be real with you right now, Mr. Wrench is my favorite character and this scene breaks my heart every time I see it. A good deal of that is owed to the quality of the show’s writing and the amazing talent of Russell Harvard and Allison Tolman, but it is always fun to see how my emotions are being relentlessly manipulated by the cinematographer as well. Good job, you guys.

 I want to conclude with a proposed alternative to the staging of that last scene.

As you can see here, this scene is set during the day, with daylight clearly visible from the window. However, imagine how the emotional intensity might be different if the scene was set at night.

In my experience, nighttime in the hospital can be the most difficult, emotionally speaking, and it’s something I’ve even come to dread as a patient. For the most part, visitors have to go home, the room is dark but the lights are on in the hall and the nurses’ station. You can’t sleep because you’re uncomfortable and people keep coming in to take vitals and blood, and overall it’s very lonely.

So, imagine this scene exactly as it is played out in Season 1, but now instead of a closed off room with daylight coming through the window, the lights in the room are dimmed, it’s night outside (maybe street lights are visible through the window, but not too much). There is a soft glow coming from the heart monitor. Molly is sitting beside the bed with her back to the open door rather than the window. In the background the lights are on in the hall, you can see hospital staff going about their routine in the background. His life is falling apart in this scene, but it’s business as usual for everyone else. Even Molly, as sympathetic as she is, is just doing her job here.

I’m not saying that this staging would have been better, but it would have had a different emotional intensity. I like to see how the environment of the hospital could be used to enhance the mood of a scene, rather than simply act as a back drop because hospitals are deeply personal places, but can be so alienating at the same time. That said, I think that the way they used the environment to impart that sense of loneliness was excellent, and I support the decision to omit certain specifics that might compromise the mood or the flow of the plot.

Oh, and, if you still haven’t done it: go watch Fargo FX.

#fargo fx #fargo season 1 #lester nygaard #lorne malvo #mr wrench #molly solverson

[coridallasmultipass]

Tmi / personal / endometriosis and menstrual issues / surgery / long post / venting ... I finally had a laparoscopic surgery done yesterday and they were able to confirm for me that i have endometriosis and it feels like a huge weight has been lifted! All my fucking life ive dealt with excruciating cramps and heavy bleeding during menstruation and i just wish i could go back in time and give a big 'fuck you' to everyone who ever told me "cramps are like this for everyone!" Or "just exercise, it helps!" Or "orgasms help with cramping!" Like hooooooh boy I knew it and im so glad to have all the cysts out of me now. I had previously tried numerous birth control options to prevent cramping and bleeding and got excruciating cramps with literally All of them and constant bleeding with the depo shot. (I had a very painful internal ultrasound done, to hopefully diagnose endo by that route, but it was inconclusive - variations in the thickness of the endometrium, which could be endo or it could just be normal...) Most recent birth control was an iud and i had to go to the er the same evening because my body couldnt stand to have it in there causing so much pain, i couldnt stop screaming and it sucked. The iud was a few weeks ago ((and the proceedure to insert it was the worst pain ive ever felt in my life, and the same sharp pain continued through the following days until i got it removed) and i havent been able to sit straight since, i have to keep sitting to one side in order to not feel like having an ice pick jammed in me. Its gotten better since the iud was removed, but i still get a sharp pain when i have to sit on something hard. My doctor recommended me to have a diagnostic laparoscopy with cystectomy ASAP because of the iud problems and all my failed birth control attempts. Everyone in my family freaked out and kept pushing me to not go through with it, but I knew i needed to know what was causing me so much pain, like tbh, as a trans man, id prefer just a straight up hysterectomy, but yknow either way this is a step in that direction anyway. I have an aunt who had to have the same proceedure twice because of complications, and kept telling me her horror story about how painful recovery was and i was like 'trust me its not going to be worse than an iud because i thought i was dying' and she blew me off like 'its going to be wAY worse' like uh no bc an iud was 666/10 on the pain scale for me, i genuinely thought i was dying or would have a heart attack with how bad the pain was; plus ive had surgeries before and was completely fine after... Anyway fuck what my family said i went through with it anyway and it wasnt that bad of a proceedure to wake up from! My first thought was 'oh no, did they hospitalize me? I feel like ive been asleep for weeks!!' But it was just the recovery room. Ive usually done pretty well with recovery, and this was no different. The worst part of the recovery room was the sensation of needing to cough from where they had inserted the breathing tube for anesthesia. (Today my throat is still a bit sore, and my voice hoarse, but warm mint tea has been helping a lot for that.) I was also feeling cramps similar to mild-moderate menstrual cramping, (no where near the sharp shooting pain of the iud, and no where near my normal, unmedicated cramping which has had me doubled over screaming in pain until the medicine kicks in in the past), and of course a bit of soreness from the incision sites and the general soreness of having gas trapped in my body. (They have to pump a bit of gas inside you so its easier to look around, and some of it stays trapped in you after.) Its a pain similar to what ive felt before just from my fibromyalgia in general, so i was very relieved for the most part. I also felt myself bleeding a bit while i was still in the recovery room. (Gross and tmi, but im still having a spot of blood only when i wipe today, so thats a relief after having been bleeding a majority of the days over the past few months trying different BC options.) Strangely, when i got home i didnt feel groggy or in need of a nap like i have for surgeries in the past. I was also warned of having nausea from the anesthesia, but i had none at all!! And i was warned by multiple sources that i wouldnt have an appetite, but boy i ate almost Everything in the kitchen yesterday im pretty sure ive gone through a whole box of protein bars since yesterday too. Multiple sources (including my family member who had the same proceedure) warned of a sudden bad mood drop immediately after the proceedure, And i dont wanna jinx it, but I have been in such a good fucking mood since i got home yesterday, but maybe thats just the painkillers talking, but still I was at a total low point, like, cant-get-any-lower low point in terms of mood, but i just... feel so good (besides the aching and incision site pain lmao) On to the pain now... The worst of it was waking up this morning after the surgery day. I had quite a bit of the trapped gas pain when i first lied down at night (and when i tried to lie on my side) but the feeling doubled when i tried to get up. Im very bloated still. While the bloating itself isnt very painful, it feels like the stretching of my stomach is pulling at the medical tape covering my incisions which is making them hurt. Im not getting the trapped-gas-roaming-my-body feeling As Often, but its obviously still trying to dissipate. I feel it most while trying to take a deep breath like a bubble pressing against my ribs, but easing a deep breath slowly in and out moves it around and makes it less uncomfortable. Light exercise, like slow walking, is supposed to help your body absorb/dissolve/release the trapped gas. So i did 5 minutes on, 5 off for 3 times on the slowest treadmill setting earlier and im going to try again tomorrow for the same. (I feel like it made my bloating worse, so i had to go back to resting after, but ive been getting up and down to get food for my insatiable appetite lmao) Now the actual tmi and gross stuff: It is really fucking hard to pee. Straight up i have to concentrate so hard. Normally i lean over on my arm to help push it all out at once, but i cant do that with the incisions over my belly lmao. Shitting is just as hard, but the Shit Gods have blessed me with the Antibiotic Runs this morning so im all set for today lmao. Im really bummed tho they put a bandage over where my belly piercing is supposed to go, so i couldnt put it back in after the surgery. The whole, not being able to bend over thing, is reminding me of what its like to have a fresh belly piercing, and im groaning bc im gonna have to go thru with it again to get it back.... and i feel like i jUSt got it done... (it was summer last year) ughhhhhh.... oh well, like at least this time it should go in straight i hope? Also, obligatory vent that... having a fucking uterus does not make me a woman i wish doctors and nurses would use gender neutral language... TLDR; had a laparoscopic surgery to diagnose endometriosis and remove the uterine cysts caused by it, having a great recovery so far!! Still waiting on follow up from the doctor for my next step, but im feeling a lot better than when i was suffering cramps from every birth control i tried to get Rid of cramps

#endometriosis #endo #chronic pain #fibromyalgia #menstruation #surgery #tmi #personal #vent #Cori.exe #Post.exe #long post

[lihikainanea]

Guys. Guys. I uh....I got carried away. I’m almost sorry except....I’m not. This took on a life of its own and I just cannot deal.

I mentioned it in my previous post but originally, this portion was planned to be all smut because I was in A MOOD. But when I started writing it, I realized that I just...I really love these two and their dynamic, so more of that ended up coming out in this round. I’m a sucker for these hooligans and how sweet they are, I can’t wait to see what happens next wait shit I’m the author what the fuck.

Anyway, I have maybe one part left in this; I want to do a morning after. That being said, if you want more BFF!Bill then by all means, send me prompts. I can’t get enough of him either. I created him and that bish still fucks me up.

You know the drill, Parts  1 + 2, Part 3, and Part 4. Originally inspired by the nani ask to @ill-skillsgard thats over there in the first parts.

But listen, hey, I want you all to be safe here, so trigger warnings: there’s a brief mention of the date rape drug being slipped into her drink. Nothing happens from it, but it’s mentioned and I want this to be a safe space for you all.

If you think I missed a trigger, please, let me know. I don’t ever want anyone to be triggered by what I write because it lacked a proper warning.

Name’s Leilani, by the way. No it ain’t my real name. Pronoun is she. I’m angry smol human but on here I’m quite friendly.

Tags: oh god people asked me to tag them and I feel way too self-indulgent doing so??

*******

You almost wished he’d hurry up, be just a little more rushed in his movements. Not because you wanted the whole thing over with, not because you wanted something a little rougher, but because something fast and unbalanced on the pleasure scale was a lot more familiar to you. Too many men had poked and prodded at you a little too roughly and a little too soon, and while it had always been consensual, there was nothing that was pleasurable about the jackhammer, hurried pace that dominated the majority of your experiences. Men who skipped foreplay altogether, had little to no knowledge of female anatomy, men who were so scared you’d change your mind that they went fast, came first, and left right after.

The way Bill was savouring you, though, was driving you insane. You had never quite been with a man who made your pleasure his sole focus, who seemed to be enjoying giving you pleasure as much as you were enjoying receiving it. He took his time, and nothing in his movements was tentative. Every touch, every kiss, was something you could feel. It was confident, it was sure. It was gentle and kind but definitive in letting you know that he was exactly where he wanted to be right then. Everything he did lacked hesitation of any kind. His sole focus was on you, on making sure you were enjoying what he was doing. On making sure that you were finally getting the pleasure that, in his mind, you deserved every time.

But the pace, and his undivided attention, also made you feel vulnerable in a way you hadn’t anticipated. You had been vulnerable with each other before on so many occasions, sure. You weren’t afraid to be emotional, to be raw with one another. You were the one who put Bill back on his feet after his girlfriend--the first girl he fell so, so hard for--broke his heart and left very suddenly. He had been a mess for weeks, not eating, not sleeping, spending days in bed in a catatonic state. You had set up camp at his place, coaxing him to shower, to eat a little something, to talk through it or just cry his heart out. Bill had been the one your friends called when a girl’s night out went south, after a jerk at the bar slipped something into your drink. Your friends had noticed your strange behaviour and followed you into the bathroom, where the last thing you remembered was throwing up neon orange and passing out. Your friends, they later told you, had called him in the wee hours of the morning. He left the set he was on immediately, ran through the bar and had busted the door down of the women’s bathroom to find you on the floor, bleeding from a gash in your forehead where you smacked the toilet on the way down. He wrapped you in his jacket, tucking you into his chest as he carried you out. Bill never mentioned anything, but that night he ordered Uber rides for all of your friends, tracked their routes and requested that they text him when they arrived home safely. He was the one to drive you to the hospital, propping you against him as he held his scarf to your bleeding head. You had thrown up, both in his expensive car and directly on him, but he held your hand while the doctors connected you to an IV and stroked your cheek while they stitched you up. He slept with you at the hospital that night, contorting his large frame into an uncomfortable chair and keeping a solid hold of your hand. Afterward, he had donated half of his earnings from his latest movie into the patent that was pending for a nailpolish that could detect the drug in someone’s drink.

Everything about Bill, about your friendship with him, had been about comfort. About safety. And now, it was that same comfort you felt in every kiss, every move he made against you and to you.  It was reassurance that you were safe, that he wanted you to feel good.

And you did feel good, so good. As he ground his hips into yours, kissing you until you were lightheaded while you were still trembling slightly from your earlier release, the only thing you could think of was chasing that high again but making sure he was right there with you this time.

You threaded your fingers in his hair, scratching at his scalp lightly and he moaned into the kiss as he placed his forearms by your head, giving him better leverage to grind against you. You reached your other hand down between your bodies and palmed firmly at the large bulge prominent in his jeans, and his hips surged forth. He broke the kiss with a grunt, drawing his bottom lip between his teeth as he tried to control his urge to drive you into the mattress. You removed the hand you had buried in his hair to lightly trace his cheek instead, down his jaw, and finally tugging his lip free from his teeth. His mouth was on yours again in an instant, the intensity matching the way his pelvis was grinding into your palm with much more urgency. Popping open the button on his jeans, you danced your fingertips along his happy trail, scratching ever so lightly with your nails. He moaned loudly against your lips, hips jutting forward again of their own volition.

“Fuck,” he grunted, “You could kill a man, you know that? Kill him de-” his sentence was cut off abruptly in favour of a drawn out moan when you reached your hand into his boxers and took a firm hold of him. He ran a hand through your hair and clenched it lightly in his fist, pulling your head back and smothering you with his lips again. He licked into your mouth, caressing your tongue with his, moving his warm lips against your own until you both were out of breath.

You whimpered when you felt him twitch under your hand, and you weren’t sure how much more you could wait.

“Bill,” you moaned against his lips, “Please, fuck, please don’t make me beg for it.”

The look in his eyes when he pulled back slightly to look at your face was enough to almost put you over the edge again.

“What did I tell you about begging, tiger?” he placed a sweet kiss to the tip of your nose, giving you a genuine smile that flashed his dimple, and you suddenly couldn't wait a second longer. Your fervour took him a little by surprise, he jumped ever so slightly as you started to yank at his pants. He helped you take them off of him, shimmying out and kicking them away as he moved to crawl back over you. He settled between your legs again, both of you moaning when he felt your wetness slide along the length of him. He ran his finger lightly down the bridge of your nose and your eyes fluttered closed.

“You feeling good, tiger?” he asked.

“Yes,” you replied, pleasure drunk and stupid on it. He kissed your cheek, then your earlobe, before placing his lips at your ear.

“Eyes, sweetheart.”

You turned your head, opening your eyes and bumping your nose against his. You grabbed one of his hands and laced your fingers through it.

“Yes,” you whimpered.

“Good,” another slow kiss, “I’m glad. Do you want to keep going?” 

“Bill please, make me come again,” you begged, and your own response would have embarrassed you if your mind hadn’t gone completely blank except for the need to feel that again.

His eyes closed, and he rested his forehead on yours, squeezing your hand tighter.

“Say that again.”

You only whimpered, tilting your pelvis up to rub your wetness against him. A firm hand stopped you.

“I won’t make you beg, sweetheart, but fuck say that again. Please,” he pleaded.

You indulged him, moving a hand to claw desperately at his back, drag down his spine and dig your nails into his hip bone, pulling him towards you.

“Please Bill,” you whined, “Please make me come again. God you made me feel so good.”

He groaned, low and deep in his throat before you felt him line up against your entrance. He gently took your chin in his thumb and forefinger, kissing you softly, before checking in one last time.

“You want this?” he whispered, close enough that his lips still touched yours when he spoke.

“Yes,” the desperation was getting worse, you could feel your insides throbbing just at the thought of being stretched so deliciously around him. You felt yourself clench around nothing, so empty that it ached.

“You’ll tell me to stop if you change your mind?”

“Yes. Bill...” it was almost a sob. You felt the tip of what you so desperately wanted bump against your entrance and then he was pushing in, agonizingly slow, so that you could feel every vein, every pulse, every single inch of him. It was a stretch, he was bigger than most of the men you had been with, but he had spent so much time making sure you were ready that the only thing you felt was pleasure. With a drawn out groan and one last push of his hips he was seated fully inside you, his face buried in your neck and his arms wound tightly around you. You had never felt so full, with his hips flush against yours and you felt your walls clench involuntarily around him. 

His arm shot out, gripping the headboard until it almost splintered.

“Fuck,”  he swore. You felt him twitch deep inside you, and then you suddenly started to feel that delicious pressure low in your belly again. It was already starting to build, his tip resting heavily against that spot inside you that had you squirming. You just needed...friction. You needed friction. 

You ran your hands down his tensed back, pressing down firmly, and you wrapped your legs around his waist. You used your heel to gently tap at his backside, rubbing your clit against his pubic bone in a silent plea to get him to move.

“I just....” his face was still buried in your neck, his chest heaving against yours, his hand still gripping the headboard in a vice, “I just need a minute.” He rested his full weight on you in an effort to render you rather unable to tilt up and grind against him, but all it did was put more pressure on your clit and caused you to clench around him again.

A string of Swedish curse words, some new to your ears, left his mouth.

Removing his hand from the headboard, he wove it with yours and dragged his hips back, thrusting into you slowly. Your head fell back against the pillow and you moaned loudly, spurring him to bring his face back to yours and lay a kiss on you that had the pressure in your belly building even faster. Your walls fluttered around him as he rolled his hips forward with every thrust, rubbing his pubic bone against your clit as his tip repeatedly pressed down against that spot inside you that had your toes curling.

“You’re so tight,” he ground out, “So wet for me.”

You were a mess, legs shaking, and the only thing you could do was moan as you started to feel your insides clenching more frequently around him now. His hips faltered in their pace.

“God I can feel how close you are again, sweetheart” he moaned, “You’re so sensitive.”

You whimpered, almost embarrassed at how easily he was working you over.

“Don’t hold back, kid. Just let go,” he coaxed. You gasped, feeling that coil winding so tightly it was ready to burst again. His lips at your neck, his delicious words at your ear, were getting you there that much faster.

“Bill...” you tried to warn. He licked at your mouth, taking your lips in a ferocious kiss and tangling his tongue with yours before pulling away

“That’s it, tiger,” he groaned, “Just let go. All over me.” He thrusted a few more times, angled deeper.

You were powerless to stop it. Your second orgasm of the night tore through you and your back bowed roughly off the bed. He caught you as you surged forward into him, wrapping his arm around your back to support your body and keep your chests together. You clenched repeatedly around him and he let go a grunt so rough that it was nearly a yell, fisting the sheet in his hands as he tried to stave off his own release. When you finally went limp against him, he kept you close and guided you back to the bed. Wiping the hair from your face, he used every ounce of willpower he had left to still his hips.

“You’re okay, sweetheart. You’re so good for me,” he soothed. You could barely breathe.

“Hey, tiger,” he said, and when the haze wasn’t clearing from your head, his voice got a bit more firm, “Look at me, kid.”

You dragged your eyelids open, almost wincing, and looked at him.

“You’re okay. We’re okay,” he said, continuing to trail a delicate finger around your features. You came back to your senses slowly, and he waited patiently until he saw the spark return to your eyes. The spark, and then a glint of ferocity that he knew well. Grabbing a fistful of his hair, you crushed your lips to his forcefully.

“More,” you demanded, once you had separated from his mouth. He was still buried deep in you, but hadn’t moved an inch while you came down from your high. You could feel him throbbing, twitching inside you, and you noticed now the tight clenching of his jaw, the way his fists held sheets so tightly balled up that his knuckles were turning white. He needed his own release so badly it hurt.

“More?” he looked for confirmation. Your eyes already bore into his and you didn’t look away, didn’t even blink, as you raked your nails down his back.

“More,”  you confirmed emphatically and it was all the encouragement he needed before he started moving against you again, slowly at first, as he felt you involuntarily jerk your hips towards his.

You were already so sensitive, so buzzing, that it didn’t take much to get you right back to that edge again. He had a knack for making sure his pelvic bone ground against your clit with every thrust, and with every push forward you felt him slamming into that spot nestled deep inside you that felt like it might explode. You felt like you might explode, not only had you never had this pleasurable of an encounter with any man, but Bill had catapulted you off the edge twice already in releases that were nothing short of earth-shattering. Maybe it was his weight on you, maybe it was his breath on your neck, his voice in your ear, maybe it was the reverberations in his chest that you felt against yours when he moaned his own pleasure so loudly--but nothing, no toy, no man, not even yourself, had ever made you so pleasure drunk.

You knew he was close the way his hips took on a more frantic pace. His large hands grabbed at you, still careful to avoid your love handles that you had told him you hated being grabbed, but he palmed at your thighs around him, grabbed at your hair, your chest. You had a vice grip around his back, needing the closeness, as he drove into you with more fervour. His moans were sinful and loud, unrestrained passion in your ear. The sound of his pleasure only drove you further until you were soaring higher. He fisted your hair, pulled your head back none too gently and crushed his lips to yours before tearing them away, biting anywhere he could reach as he felt your tell-tale fluttering around him again.

“Come for me,” he commanded. You moaned, digging your nails into his shoulders. His hips surged, faltered, and drove deeper.

“Now, tiger,” he said with urgency. And then, you were crashing again. Like a freight train. You gripped him, helplessly holding on as you spasmed and cried out, your body feeling like it was moving independently of your mind. 

He couldn’t hold back anymore, the sight of you coming undone for the third time that night, and all the little noises you made, pushed him over the edge. He gave a few more thrusts before groaning loudly, nearly ripping the bedsheets bundled in his fists as he came. His back popped, his leg cramped up and he was pretty sure he may have cracked a tooth with how hard his jaw clenched. He jolted for several moments, the aftershocks tearing through him, as you soothingly ran your fingernails up and down his spine. They found their way to his hair, scratching lightly at his scalp as he panted in your ear and collapsed against you.

“Thank you,” you said, your voice taking on a frail tone, “thank you thank you thank you thank you thank you,” you kissed any part of him that you could reach. His hairline, his cheeks, his chin, his nose, his jaw, his neck.

“That was....” you started to say.

“Oh my god.”

“That was incredible,” you kept your tone low, not wanting to spoil the intensity of it all.

“Oh my god,” he repeated.

You laid like that for awhile, waiting until each of you caught your breath. When your breathing had slowed, he moved his face to yours and gently caressed your features. You reached up and moved his hair away from his forehead.

“Are you okay?” he asked. 

“Mmmm, yes,” you closed your eyes and hummed happily, wriggling further into the mattress. You felt him gently bump his nose against yours, and you opened your eyes, staring into his, knowing that he needed that eye contact to confirm. 

“I’m good. You?” You kissed him lightly, and were rewarded with that boyish smile and the dimple that accompanied it again. He nodded.

“Did that feel good?” he asked.

“Good?” you replied incredulously, “Bill, I think I’m going to need a chiropractor to reset my spine, I came so hard.” It earned a chuckle, and you drew him back in to keep him close as exhaustion suddenly overtook you. He held you like that for awhile, his weight pressing into you, and it was a comfort. After several minutes, and only once he was sure you would be okay with the loss of contact, you winced as you felt him slip out of you and leave the bed. Floating in that in between state of consciousness and deep sleep, you barely registered a warm wash cloth between your legs, a cool one being pressed to your forehead. He disappeared for a few moments when you had passed out cold, you heard the shower running and the clang of a few pots and pans in the kitchen, before the bed dipped down under his weight and a hand was gently running through your hair.

“Come on tiger, sit up for a sec,” he coaxed. You turned your head into his hand, urging the head scratches, but ignored his plea.

“Can’t sit up. Too fucked out.”

He chuckled, easing an arm under you and slowly bringing you upright. You caught whiff of something--food something, and shit you were starving now--and opened your eyes. He was waving a plate under your nose; two grilled cheese sandwiches, one with the crusts cut off. Your hand immediately snatched it.

“Yeah, thought so,” he said, smugly. You munched on your sandwiches in comfortable silence, still maintaining contact in some way--he brushed the hair from your eyes, or you swiped at a crumb stuck on his lip. When you were done eating, he placed the plate on the floor and put a glass of water in your hand, urging you to drink it. You listened, handing the empty glass back to him. Sitting on his haunches, he reached a large hand up and cupped your jaw, gently forcing you to look at him.

“You feel good?” he asked, his thumb stroking your cheek. You placed your hand over his.

“Yeah. Yeah, I feel really good,” you said. You placed a gentle kiss on his palm. “Thank you, Bill.”

He smiled at you, dragging his thumb across your lips. You kissed that too, before grabbing his chin and bringing his face to yours, placing a gentle kiss on his mouth.

“Happy to help. Now come on, let’s get some sleep.”

He nudged you into lying down, scooting in close behind you. He wrapped an arm around your rib cage, opening his hand over your heart and tucked his legs up under you.

“This okay?” he asked, burying his face into your neck.

Your only answer was to scoot further back into him, pressing your back to his chest, and enclose your hand around his. The last thing you remember is him pressing a gentle kiss to your ear before coaxing you to sleep.

#BFF Bill #bill skarsgard drabble #bill skarsgard fic #nani asks #BFF!Bill

[gold-from-straw]

Backstage of the Universe

Erik left Charles half crushed by a stadium - Charles wasn't exactly expecting to see him again after that. He certainly wasn't expecting him to sneak into his bedroom only a few weeks later, trailing seven not-quite-mutant, not-quite-human children and a young man in a coma. Against Hank and Raven's wishes, he takes the lot of them in, but he's damned if Erik's just going to walk out again and leave him with a group of traumatised children. Anyway, Bart in particular seems to have become attached to him.

But Blackwing seems to have been more than just another shadowy government research facility torturing small children. Because when Charles and Erik try to stop the children from carrying out the Universe's instructions, the Universe might just start to think they're better off with Mr Priest...

The Cherik-Dirk Gently Crossover you never knew you wanted, featuring post-DoFP Cherik, hurt/comfort, lots of PTSD from everyone, and sweet baby Blackwing children (timelines? What timelines?) 

Read on AO3 if you prefer!

Charles opened feverish eyes to a vague, domed shape hovering over him. He squinted, blinked, and considered the likelihood that he’d had a relapse and was dreaming again.

“Charles,” said the dome, and, well, that sounded real enough. Even so…

“Are you a dream or a nightmare?” he asked, his voice hoarse with disuse.

“Probably a nightmare to you,” said Erik, and moved out of Charles’ field of vision. He could hear his cloak rustling, hear soft murmuring. He strained his neck, trying to see through the drugged haze and the artificial dusk of the darkened room. He could just make out Erik taking that hateful helmet off, looking down at Charles dispassionately.

“Back on the serum again, are we, Charles? I should have known you’d retreat into your shell once more.”

Charles glared at him, well aware he looked about as intimidating as a wet lettuce. Probably as attractive as one as well. “What do you want, Erik?” he ground out.

Erik was silent so long that Charles thought he’d scared him off. “I need your help,” he said at last, his voice strained, like it physically pained him to ask.

Charles struggled to prop himself up, wincing at the pain. “You - ah!”

Erik rushed forward to support him, his brow crinkled. “I thought you were on the serum, what is—“

It all happened so quickly. One moment Erik was bent over him, so close that Charles could see the curls sticking to his temples with old sweat, hovering over his prone form like his every wet dream since the sixties, and the next moment he was gone in a streak of blue scales and fur.

“Raven!” he cried, struggling around, he didn’t even know why, what could he do? “Raven, Hank, stop, he—“

There was a blur of motion from the curtains, and suddenly everything went very still.

“Bart,” said Erik, breathing hard and holding his ribs. “Bart, don’t.”

The small child sitting astride Raven’s chest pressed the massive hunting knife further against Raven’s throat. Raven held her hands up by her head and held perfectly still.

Hank, on the other hand, was wrapped in a pink fluffy duvet, struggling against the folds of material, his teeth bared in a snarl. Charles stared from one to the other in this surreal tryptich, and thought that there was no possible way he couldn’t be having a fever dream.

“Bart,” said Erik again, sitting up and keeping his hands outstretched. Charles couldn’t work out why he wasn’t simply taking the knife away, or blunting it, anything. “Do you really want to kill her?”

“Not really,” said the little red-haired girl, her voice strangely gravelly. “The universe in’t telling me to kill her. But Mr Priest told me I had’ta make exceptions sometimes, and she tried to hurt you.”

She leaned further on the knife and Charles cried out in wordless distress, his hand reaching out to her. She turned, distracted. “Hey, are you Mr Erik’s friend?”

“Please,” Charles begged. “Please don’t hurt her.”

“‘M’kay,” she shrugged, and stood up. “But if she tries to hurt Mr Erik again I’ll probably kill her.” She stood up and went to Erik, helping him to his feet and then holding onto his hand.

Charles slumped back into the bed, boneless with relief, and almost immediately regretted it as pain shot up from his pelvis.

“He’s hurt,” said another little voice from behind the curtains. Charles tried to control his breathing, turning to the shifting material in a futile effort to distract himself. A flurry of shhh followed the declaration. “What? He is,” said the voice again.

“Erik,” said Charles, daring to shift to find a more comfortable position. “I think you’re going to need to explain.”

But Erik was coming closer, a crease forming between his eyebrows. “What’s the matter, Charles?”

“Well, I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but my bedroom’s been invaded by--”

“No, you’re… why aren’t you getting up?”

Hank made furious muffled noises from inside the duvet burrito while Raven struggled to free him. Bart giggled. “Mona’s caught him.”

“Mona,” called Erik, still not taking his eyes off Charles. “Would you please release Charles’ friend?”

As Charles watched, the duvet turned into yet another little girl, a moppet with a black bob who skittered away from Hank and ran straight up to Charles’ bed, crawling in beside him and peering at him. “You’re hurt,” she said. “Your friend’s furry. I like to cuddle him. Would you like to cuddle me? I can be a teddy for you.”

Charles blinked at her, and she turned into a teddy. Charles picked it up - picked her up. It was impossible, but…

“Is that Mr Snuffles?” Raven asked, coming closer, keeping her distance from Bart.

“It… it can’t be. Kurt burnt him,” Charles said, stroking the threadbare head, the bald patch where he used to stroke his thumb over Mr Snuffles’ paw every night to soothe himself to sleep. He blinked fiercely and looked up at the others. “What is going on, Erik?”

Erik took a deep breath. “I found them. They were in an institution I… put an end to, they called themselves Blackwing.” He cleared his throat and turned his face away for a moment, gritting his teeth. “I thought they were mutants, but they’re not… they’re something different. My powers won’t work on them. Either way, I couldn’t leave them there, Charles, not…” He swallowed. “Not to be tested on. Not like that.”

Charles rested the teddy on his chest as Erik looked down at Bart. “How many?” he asked softly.

“You can’t be serious, Professor,” said Hank. “You can’t possibly be willing to help this asshole after--”

“Please, Hank, not in front of the children.”

“Hank’s right, Charles,” Raven said. “You can’t trust him. It could be a trap.”

“And I can’t turn away small children who need our help. Children who’ve been tortured, by the sounds of it, regardless of whether Erik brings them or we find them ourselves. This was always the plan, you know that. Finding young people to help - making a sanctuary for mutant children to find themselves. And these children… well, they might not be mutants, but they need us.”

“Yes, we all want to help the kids,” Hank said. “But you can’t be dealing with stress like this, not yet. Not until the serum’s had a chance to work.”

“Will someone tell me why Charles is back on the serum at all?” Erik snapped. “I thought we established--”

“You didn’t establish shit,” Raven snarled. “You tried to kill me, and you dropped a fucking stadium on my brother. Do you know how long it takes to realise that your pelvis is shattered if you’re a paraplegic with no sensation below your waist? Huh? Long enough for serious infections to set in, that’s how.”

She shoved past Erik and started checking Charles’ IV, carefully repositioning him so he wasn’t lying crooked again. Charles turned his head away. He couldn’t bear to see Erik’s pity, or his disgust. He wasn’t sure what would be worse. He realised he was stroking the teddy, the soft fur soothing him, and forced his fingers to lie still.

“In the end we realised the only way to heal the Professor was to put him back on the serum. He’s been on it for just over a week now - it’s cleared up the infection and set his bones,” said Hank, sounding exhausted. Charles closed his eyes as guilt washed through him. “Even so, he’s had a pretty rough couple of months - we’ve been able to heal his bones and chase off the infection, but he can feel the pain of it, and he can’t use his powers.”

“And when the serum wears off?” Erik asked, his voice strained.

“His telepathy will come back, and the sensation in his lower body will go again.” Hank put his hand on Charles’ shoulder.

“Don’t worry, Erik,” said Charles tightly. “I’m not abandoning mutantkind again for any longer than I have to. We’ll be ready to wean me off the serum in a couple of days.”

“That’s not what I--”

“I can eat your pain, mister,” said a little boy, his face mere inches from Charles’ pillow. Charles yelped and jumped backwards, then moaned as the pain sliced through his body.

“How many kids did you fucking bring, Erik?” Raven snapped, squeezing Charles’ hand and stroking his hair back off his face as he blinked back reflexive tears.

“Vogel didn’t mean it,” said a deeper voice, and Charles turned his head to see three young teenagers standing around the little boy. All of them looked skinny and rangy, like stray dogs who’d caught too many cruel kicks.

“Technically he did mean it,” said one of the boys, a black kid with limbs too big for his poor emaciated body. “But we won’t, we promise, don’t punish him, Mister?”

“I wouldn’t,” Charles said, his heart bleeding for these mistreated children.

“Are there any more?” Hank growled at Erik.

Erik cleared his throat. “Come on out, Svlad.”

#Lyn's Writing #Backstage of the Universe #cherik #Dirk Gently's Holistic Detective Agency #x-men: days of future past #hurt/comfort #kid fic #blackwing

[beyondmistland]

“May your heart be your guiding key” (Full thoughts on Kingdom Hearts III below!)

Graphics:

Ø  The game is bloody gorgeous, which helps mitigate the long and frequent cutscenes

Ø  The lip-syncing rarely fails

Music:

Ø  The new remixes are awesome and the brand-new tracks don't disappoint either

Ø  What does though is the actual audio mixing:

More often than not I struggled to hear the music over the sound effects during gameplay and the voiceovers during cutscenes

Ranking the Worlds:

Ø  #1: Corona: The world is huge, with varied terrain and a kick-ass final boss

Ø  #2 Olympus: The sheer scale and scope of the world took my breath away, plus we (finally!) get to fight all four titans

Ø  #3 The Caribbean: Assassin's Creed IV meets Kingdom Hearts, what's not to like

Ø  #4 Monstropolis: While not as eye-catching as some of the other worlds the way it intersects with the broader KH lore is really neat and the final cutscene was a delight in that it averts the Disney characters being useless when dealing with the original KH villains, on top of which its straightforward design is a nice change of pace, my only complaint is that there are only four types of Unversed

Ø  #5 San Fransokyo: The story is surprisingly short, which means you don't really get the chance to explore the environment, which sucks because the verticality and day/night cycle are awesome, plus there are a number of memorable boss fights

Ø  #6 Twilight Town: If it had been fully recreated based off the KH2 version the world would be much higher on my list but despite how small it is I love the liveliness, not to mention how peaceful it is in comparison to the other worlds, the same can be said for Hundred Acre Wood

Ø  #7 Keyblade Graveyard + Final World + Scala Ad Caelum: Though jaw-dropping in terms of visuals and audio they're not fully realized worlds, the same can be said for Dark World

Ø  #8 Toy Box: I loved the final boss as well as how the story tied into the larger plot of the game and I would be lying if I said I didn't enjoy exploring Andy's room while "You have a friend in me" played in the background

Why then is Toy Box so far down on my list, world design

Even with endgame stats (LV40-45) the Gigas are tough to take down and as a result they come off as gimmicky in the worst sense of the word, beyond that the fact that the majority of the world is set in Galaxy Toys made me feel constrained and claustrophobic, which could have been partially alleviated if we'd been allowed to make our way through the parking lot outside, finally, the story kind of got repetitive with the backtracking whenever the characters were about to leave because "someone went missing yet again"

Ø  #9 Arrendelle: Though it has one of the best final bosses in the game along with Corona there is so much wrong with this world that I wonder if it's less Square Enix's fault and more Disney placing an insane amount of red tape on their favorite cash-cow:

1) Elsa does not become a party member even after you beat the world

2) You do not get to explore the city or the ice palace despite the latter being fully rendered on the map

3) Larxene, a lightning-based character, randomly traps you in an ice labyrinth when that would have made a lot more sense both logically and thematically if it had been Elsa

4) Speaking of Larxene, she does practically nothing the whole time you're there unlike Marluxia and Luxord, who are at least semi-active

5) You climb a mountain and get knocked off of it so many times that even Sora gets fed up

6) The bloody minigame where you have to find Olaf's body parts

7) Forcing us to watch the entire "Let it go" sequence and then having "Do you want to build a snowman" play over Anna's voice as she's explaining herself to Sora

8) So much of the story is excised that you have little clue as to what's going on to the point Hans appears for all of five minutes, doesn't say any lines, and isn't even named when it would have been cool, not to mention, just plain better, if he had started off as a guest member of your party

9) As a result of #8 Sora, Donald, and Goofy's presence feels like even more of an afterthought than usual in the sense that them not being there wouldn't have changed anything at all apart from Hans' Heartless then having no one to defeat it which can be seen by the fact that when they leave no one tells them goodbye unlike in every other world

10) The visual design was bland and tiresome after a while

11) The world's gimmick was uninspired to say the least

12) Fighting alongside a giant snowman (AKA Marshmallow) was awesome and in terms of pure gameplay the labyrinth was actually quite fun

Story Pros:

Ø  Master Xehanort's new voice actor is good but after hearing Leonard Nimoy's voice for the past couple of games the change is a bit jarring

Ø  The way previous games are referenced and tied together is a nice way of bringing new players into the fold while also setting up the finale's resolutions

Ø  The game has a better sense of humor than previous installments

Ø  Sora is more like his KH2 self than the bland caricature we saw in 3D and quite a few characters display some degree of genre-savviness

Ø  Master Yen Sid gets out of his chair to lend a hand for once

Ø  Donald Duck is the most powerful mage in Square Enix canon (and I am not making that up)

Gameplay Pros:

Ø  Being able to switch between different save points in the same world is a welcome addition

Ø  The secondary ability of all shotlocks to airstep is ingenious

Ø  You can have more than two party members finally!

Ø  The secret ending isn't too hard to unlock

Ø  You can upgrade your Keyblades, which means older ones aren't automatically relegated to redundancy

Ø  Donald and Goofy are useful again after being nerfed into uselessness in KH2

Ø  Towns and cities are actually populated by fully-voiced NPCs!

Ø  Cutscenes in Theater Mode are unlocked after completing each world rather than after beating the game

Ø  I never tried the Classic Kingdom minigames but the cooking one with Remy was a nice break from the normal gameplay (I suck at the egg-cracking one though)

Ø  The camera doesn't get in the way like it infamously did in KH1

Ø  I like the new main menu design (Feel free to disagree though)

Ø  The Gummi Ship is entirely optional outside of a few mandatory boss battles

Ø  Moogle Tickets are a nice way of giving players a second chance during difficult encounters (I do wish they didn’t activate so quickly though) 

Gameplay Cons:

Ø  The game never once tells you that you can switch between Situation Commands using L2

Ø  The game never once tells you that you keep all your lower-tier magic (Fire, Fira for example) and that your shortcuts don't automatically update to include the higher-tier version of whatever magic you have equipped

Ø  There's no real incentive to switch between Keyblades (That being said, my favorites are Wheel of Fate, Nano Arms, and Happy Gear/Ever After)

Ø  Attractions lose their charm quickly and completely ruin the flow of combat

Ø  Summons aren't too big of a deal since I only ever ended up using them once and even then it was by accident

Ø  Donald still heals you at the wrong time more often than not

Ø  Even on Proud Mode the game is way too easy for the most part (Apparently Critical Mode addresses this but I can't confirm that)

Ø  There is a lack of sidequests and post-game content that contributes to the feeling Square & Disney gave us half a game (For example, there is only one secret boss, said secret boss has a generic design, no ties to the story, and can be defeated at LV40 on your first attempt)

Ø  Hollow Bastion, Mysterious Tower, and Destiny Islands are not playable

Ø  The parkour from 3D has been nerfed too much in terms of distance to actually be useful

Story Cons:

Ø  Nomura fridged Kairi and he worfed almost everyone the first time you arrive at the Keyblade Graveyard!

Ø  The wrapping up of plot points and character arcs from prior entries was a little too nice and neat for me

Ø  The out-of-nowhere introduction of Subject X

Ø  Pete and Maleficent do literally nothing the whole damn game

Ø  The pacing is awful:

Almost all of the game's resolution is held back until after you've beaten the last Disney world

Ø  There are two important cutscenes in the Final World that you can accidentally miss because for some reason they are optional

Ø  We don't get to see what happened to Lingering Will, which also means we don't get any more insight into the third aspect of being (AKA the soul)

Ø  There are no Final Fantasy characters in the game, not even Sephiroth!

Ø  What happened to Demyx?

Ø  Master Eraqus has absolutely nothing to do with Terra’s restoration

Changes I’d make:

Ø  Require us to go through the Disney worlds a second time like in KH2

Ø  Have Aqua and Ven be saved halfway through the game instead of at the end, they could then spend the second half of the game resting or join you on one of the Disney worlds to refresh themselves

Ø  Have Lea and Kairi join you on one of the Disney worlds to get practical experience

Ø  Make the Keyblade Graveyard sequence be a series of one/two/three-on one battles so that members of Organization XIII can use their full arsenal of attacks from previous games

Ø  Let us play the second battle between Lingering Will and Terra-Xehanort

Ø  Speaking of Terra-Xehanort, we should have fought him alongside the Guardian Heartless

Ø  Have us explore Scala Ad Caelum while hunting down the individual replicas before then making us fight all of them in a boss battle

DLC

Ø  The presence of it says a lot about the game and not in a good way

Final Score

Ø  7/10-8/10

#kingdom hearts #square enix #disney #kingdom hearts iii

[dear-dr-kenzo-tenma]

Doctor Kenzo Tenma - TV Tropes 

https://tvtropes.org/pmwiki/pmwiki.php/Characters/Monster

An Aesop: In-universe, he gives some of these.

Action Survivor: Dr. Tenma is initially an average person, insofar as a well-known brain surgeon can be average. The series' circumstances force him to become a hardened survivor.

Adaptational Attractiveness: In the manga, he starts off plain and downright funny-looking. The anime takes its cue from the later chapters' more adorable Tenma◊.

Adorkable: Before his badass upgrade made him stop being a doormat.

Adrenaline Makeover: Ahem.◊

All-Loving Hero: This is both a large advantage and similarly a large disadvantage to him because of the complex location on the Sliding Scale of Idealism vs. Cynicism that Monster inhabits.

The Atoner: As kind-hearted as he is, he sees his absolute biggest mistake as being something he alone can fix. And despite numerous opportunities he gets where he could abandon his self-set mission, he refuses every time. Johan: (Seconds after killing Junkers in front of Tenma) I was supposed to die that night. You're the one who resurrected me, doctor.

Badass Pacifist: He can take a beating, jump off a bridge to avoid confrontation, and save people's lives while avoiding the police and criminals alike.

Beware the Nice Ones: Tenma is kind and righteous, but false accusations force him on a path to become much more assertive.

Barbarian Longhair: Subverted, he's not, by any definition, a barbarian. But by most persons in the series, his long hair is perceived as ugly.

Beard of Sorrow: He is normally beardless, but after he learns about Johan's true colors, he attempts to grow a beard and overly disregards his appearance.

Beware the Honest Ones: Tenma's idealism turned out pretty bad for his money-grubbing boss.

Big Good: This is particularly evident in arcs where he is offstage or not the main character. In keeping with his nearly messianic role, by the end, nearly all the characters would do anything to protect him.

Break the Cutie: By all accounts, he's sweet and adorable, but his entire life was ruined by the actions of a former patient.

Care-Bear Stare: He frequently does this, illustrating his initial idealism.

Celibate Hero: Post-Eva, although there is some subtext involving Nina that may avert this. In Another Monster, it is explained that he was still quite the celibate during his high school years and even purposely didn't get together with a girl who liked him (and the feeling was somewhat mutual) merely because he was friends with her (cheating) boyfriend.

Character Development: He begins as a well-respected, compassionate doctor. Over the series, he becomes more driven and relentless.

Cheaters Never Prosper: Averted, though not soon enough for poor Gillen's complex. He cheated on a test in medical school, which made him excel, and caused jealousy in one of his classmates. This acquaintance later becomes an important character.

Chronic Hero Syndrome: Despite his goal of hunting down Johan, he'll never turn down helping a stranger, even if the person's a criminal.

Clear My Name: Averted. His reason for hunting down Johan isn't to clear his name, but rather to correct the error he made in keeping Johan alive.

Combat Medic: "This is the carotid artery. Even a ballpoint pen could kill him, if you pierce it in the right spot."

The Drifter: Justified, since he was a murder suspect and has to be on the run from the police.

Expository Hairstyle Change: Starts off clean-cut, but gets progressively more disheveled.

Extreme Doormat: He used to be very submissive to his boss and his fiancee.

The Fettered: His beliefs frequently make him question his mission.

Forgets to Eat: Quite frequently. At other instances, he'll bemoan the lack of soy sauce in Western cuisine.

Friend to All Children: The good doctor loves children, and he is perfectly willing to help them. He even formed an Intergenerational Friendship with Dieter, a kid.

Friend to All Living Things: He saved a hurt bird in the time he was training as a gunmen. Later, when he was talking with a former friend to all living things, a finch landed in Tenma's arm.

Gentleman and a Scholar: He is a highly-accomplished brain surgeon and an incredibly caring and selfless man.

Good Is Not Dumb: Well, he's good, and intelligent. Heck, he's a brain surgeon. Beyond fitting the literal trope title, however, Roberto underestimates him at one point because of his goodness and pays for it by losing the use of his right arm.

Good Is Not Soft: While a genius neurosurgeon, he is nice, humble and compassionate. When Johan becomes a threat, he takes a level in badass and takes a journey to stop him. Also, he doesn't hesitate to threaten people with his pistol if their actions endanger one or more lifes.

Grew a Spine: He decides to stop being the doormat of his fiancee and his boss after seeing the immorality of both (the fiancee is not that evil, but this counts).

The Heart: Tenma is the moral center of a morally complex series.

The Hero: He is inarguably the protagonist, and he's very heroic, motivations and rumination aside.

Heroic Resolve: Kenzo has one in his battle against Roberto.

Hero with Bad Publicity: Wanted for the very murders that he keeps trying to stop.

Honor Before Reason: Though he cares about the "right thing" rather than any type of personal honor.

Hospital Hottie: He has a cute appearance, be well-groomed or not.

Humble Hero: He never takes credit for his good deeds and maintains that all people are equal despite conspicuously being better than everybody else in every imaginable way.

Hurting Hero: He's haunted by the actions of a former patient, who destroyed his life.

I Can't Dance: According to Eva, Tenma claimed to not be able to dance. They stood and held each other on the dance floor instead.

I Just Want to Have Friends: According to Eva in Another Monster, he was chronically lonely and thanks to his workaholic tendencies, he was unable to make friends other than Dr. Becker.

Intelligence Equals Isolation: His medical capabilities make him isolated among peers.

I'm Not Hungry: When he was captured by the police, he refused to eat for so long they had to put him on an IV. Which doubles as Fridge Brilliance, as he was trying to end up in the infirmary in order to get in touch with Gunther Milch.

Inconvenient Hippocratic Oath. All the more so (or not) for being an integral part of what he comes to be about after the first episode.

Incorruptible Pure Pureness: One of the rare examples of this trope being pulled off successfully. No matter how complicated things get, he retains his idealistic views on humanity.

Just in Time: He saves Reichwein, who came VERY close to being killed by Roberto, just in time in episode 30.

The Last DJ: Both played straight and averted, in short succession. His integrity makes him lose his job.

Last-Name Basis: People tend to call him by his last name rather than his first name, even when they've got to know him well—including Nina and Eva (though the latter is the one that does it least).

Looks Like Jesus: His long hair and stubble look make him somewhat similar to Jesus.

Magnetic Hero: He's kind, charming, and persuasive.

Manly Tears: He does cry, but it doesn't make him appear weak; it showcases just how horrible his life gets, in spite of how much he tries.

Married to the Job: Noted constantly, one of his fellow physicians tried to hook him up with other loves, but he was more focused on his job.

Messianic Archetype: To counter Johan's Antichrist

Nice Guy: He's very nice and will help even his enemies. This is both a blessing and a curse, considering how dark the series is. It gets him a lot of friends, but it also gets him into difficult situations.

No Good Deed Goes Unpunished: He helped Johan, and then he's framed for murder. Johan: I was supposed to die that night. You're the one who resurrected me, Doctor.

Parental Favoritism: It's mentioned in Another Monster that his father favored him, his youngest son, over his other brothers. However, his mother favored his two older half-brothers (who are unrelated to her) more than him.

Perma-Stubble: He grows one during his Expository Hairstyle Change.

Save the Villain: At first unknowingly, in the case of saving the young Johan from his asked-for bullet wound to the head. By the end, [spoilers] he does it again, this time intentionally, to defy Johan's point.

Screw the Rules, I'm Doing What's Right!: Thoroughly believes this, when he decides to operate on Johan's brain-bullet and disobey the director's orders to ignore the kid and work on the mayor's cerebral-thrombosis. He starts doubting himself, when he sees what Johan has become.

Skilled, but Naïve: Tenma's a surgical prodigy, but it's not his relative inexperience with a scalpel that gets him into trouble in the beginning. It's his inexperience with another aspect of being a doctor: hospital politics.

The So-Called Coward: "Tenma the Weenie! Tenma the Weenie! He peed his pants, too!" Even more so considering the full story given in Another Monster. After the first time the other boys scared him during hide-and-seek, Tenma decided to go through it again in order to conquer his fear. What ended up happening was that they couldn't find him and thought that he just went home, so when one of the mothers told them it was time to go home, they left Tenma by himself. When they found him still hiding in the abandoned yard at night, they probably stopped picking on him simply because he had the guts to do all that.

Technical Pacifist: Although he has no problem pushing, kicking, shoving, and threatening with violence, he has a hard time causing harm to others even if it is to defend his own life.

Think Nothing of It: Does not like to take credit for his achievements, e.g. denying that he'd saved the Turkish district.

Thou Shalt Not Kill: A personal philosophy that looks especially interesting when pitted against his initial tantrums of, "These people need to die."

Took a Level in Badass: Early in the series, after receiving weapons training from an ex-mercenary.

Trademark Favorite Food: Heckel notes that Tenma thinks that any recipe can be improved with soy sauce. And if the fandom on Tumblr has anything to say about it, sandwiches.

Turn the Other Cheek: Constantly, over and over again. He does this to his fellow doctors, as well as his enemies.

Übermensch: By the end of the series, although he starts out as a very clear-cut Last Man. His personal beliefs evolve over the course of the series. He becomes less conflicted, and more willing to do what's necessary.

Unkempt Beauty: He looks like a hobo and still looks very well. Even most fans think he looks better with the hobo look.

Unwitting Pawn: Used, reused, and subverted. A lot of his actions, even his goal are propelled and encouraged by Johan.

White and Grey Morality: How he sees the world.

Wide-Eyed Idealist: Determinedly and stubbornly so. Tenma is convinced that all life is equal, and that everyone can be saved. His beliefs put him at odds with nearly everyone, as he's one of the few idealists in the series.

Wrongly Accused: The whole plot is to save Johan who framed him in the first place, though he's more concerned about saving him and less concerned about being proven innocent.

source: https://tvtropes.org/pmwiki/pmwiki.php/Characters/Monster

#just for fun #and reference #Kenzo Tenma #Naoki Urasawa's Monster #Dr. Kenzo Tenma #Dr. Tenma #Monster tv tropes #Dr. Tenma tv tropes #analysis #op

[blackdragon-sama]

my breast reduction experience

i'm back home from the hospital after my reduction and i'd like to share my experience for those interestedalso to vent a bit about my nice-but-also-hella-annoying bed neighbour.

i went in on thursday morning, to get prepped, see the doc and settle into my room i was given the choice to either stay overnight before the surgery, or come in at 7 on friday morningi chose to stay overnight, since i knew it'd be much easier if i could just stay in bed until they wheeled me in for surgery. rather than having to haul my stuff and myself to the hospital with the bus, high on adrenaline and panicwas the right decision, too early in the morning, a nurse woke me and i went to change into the very sexy piece of fishnet they use as panties and the butt-free gown thingi swear, those mesh panties are the worst.but, i got a dose of lorazepam to make up for it, and was wheeled downstairs and into the wake-up room, from which i was wheeled in for the anaesthesia prep.a very nice lady (i don't know if she was an anaesthesiologist or assistant or nurse....) helped me put on the hair net and put an IV into my hand, chatting a little with me, which helped with the anxiety. at this point i was glad for the lorazepam, because i was nervous as fuck, even with it. they didn't make me count or anything, just told me to breathe in all that nice oxygen, and then they told me when they inected the good stuff and - like with the two general anaesthesias i had before - i went under complaining about the pain XDit's like, the last two seconds before you go under, your face, or in one case, arms, get really bad pins-and-needles, and it's one of the grossest feelings ever, but it's literally just a second or two and then you're out. the first thing i remember after coming to, is people coming to my bed and telling me to take breaths, or to breathe in deeper.i had a little trouble with my oxygen levels for a while, but they put an oxygen tube thingie into my nose, with a piece of sponge around it to keep it in place, i also remember telling someone i was feeling nauseous, and i think they gave me some medication for that. i was in no pain at all, just super woozy and confused why it was already around 3 in the afternoon. surgery must've taken WAY longer than 2-4 hours, since they put me under at 7:30, and i came to enough to ask the time at 3 in the afternoon.back in my room i asked for my phone and sent a few typo-heavy drunk texts to my mom and my girlfriend to let them know i was still alivestill no pain, dizziness, overall "just trying to sleep"-iness. a nurse came in some time later, to help me get up and pee. i didn't think i needed to, but she told me they put five liters of whatever (saline, probably) into me during the surgery and after, and i do know that getting up is important after surgeryso, she hooks me under and butt-naked me (surgical bra and mesh panties only. sexy. comfortable. not basically literally ass-naked) shuffles over to the bathroom, nurse carrying the big drainage bottles.i could feel my ears rushing and hearing static the moment i stood, but i managed to sit down and do the deed. on the way back to the bed, i nearly passed out, but nurse and another nurse got me back safely and i could sleep some moreduring the night, i am woken up a few times, by a male nurse who comes to open my bra and check the bandages and palpate my new tiny tiddies for anything bad.it's a bit disorienting to be subjected to someone messing with your boobs when you're more asleep than anything, but the whole staff was super nice and gentle with me, on saturday, post-op day 1, i managed to somehow pull at my right-side drainage and the bitch gave me trouble for the entirety of its stay in my boob, and it's still the more sensitive side >_>my new boobs looked soooo teeny tiny! to be honest, while i was excited, i was also a little scared that they'd become too small, but that feeling came and went, and looking back, i know it was simply the shock of the /difference/. day one was mostly spent entirely in bed, since my circulation was still pretty bad, and getting up gave me big troublesluckily, the nurses all were very very nice and refilled my water bottle for me and helped me get to the bathroom and back, and iirc, in the afternoon, i managed to put on some real panties and a shirt. MUCH better!also, on saturday, my girlfriend came to visit and it was really nice <3as for pain, i wasn't in any mentionable pain, other than that bitch of a drainage tube. that shit hurt like hell, while my boobs themselves almost didn't hurt at alli was, and still am, quite surprised they weren't painful. (given, i was taking ibuprofen 600 3x a day) sore, of course, and tender, and feeling about ready to pop with how taut they were, but not painful, i didn't and don't feel the incisions or the sutures/stitchesi stopped taking any pain meds yesterday, which was post-op day 5, and i only needed one ibu on tuesday) sleeping on my back is lame. and waking up on sunday, i had a major headache, that even the ibuprofen didn't manage to helpi think it was a mix of my neck being overly tense, plus leftover surgery and anesthesia meds that messed with my head (i read that having migraines puts you at a higher risk of post-op headaches) sunday was the day where i started to get lots better. i could get up on my own for the bathroom, and even the little trip down the hall to the water fountain dispenser thingie, and in the afternoon/early evening, i even managed to take the elevator to the ground floor and grab some well-earned sweets from the little shop there. the headache was the biggest discomfort, other than the drainage tube pulling occasionally, and my petty room mate... boy... by that point she was getting SO annoying. she had had surgery the day before me, a procedure to put an expander under the skin of her face, to grow skin to remove a mark from her face (i don't know what it's called, in german, it's a fire's mark, basically a large, deep red/purple mark that's puffy and you're usually born with it)i think she's russian? she had a heavy accent, and the first pieces of conversations i remember clearly were of her complaining about refugees and how they have so many kids only to cash in on social child support money (which is a thing in germany, but, well, for citizens, not for refugees...) i tried half-heartedly explaining that refugees aren't here for shits and giggles, and no, they don't get child support money from the state. they get, if at all, a bare minimum to feed and clothe themselves.... i didn't want to antagonize her, because in my drugged-up, post-surgery state, i was having paranoia she would try suffocating me in my sleep. (which i was aware of was purely my anxiety talking, but, y'know, i didn't want to pick fights either way, and delicate topics are best discussed if you have the opportunity to leave.)next thing i very clearly remember her doing was antagonizing the nurse that wanted to put a new something into her iv. the thing was, the nurse sneezed. into her shoulder. before moving to continue with the tubes. roomie gives her shit about that. how it's unacceptable that she'd sneeze onto the needle and get her germs all over the place, and how that's unprofessional and why she wasn't getting new needles and all that the nurse calmly explained she wasn't sick, it was just a little sneeze and she didn't get anything onto the stuff. discussions ensue. nurse sents me an "is this really happening?!" look, and i just give a helpless grin-shrug, because, yeah, it was happening. nurse was clearly heavily annoyed, but managed to finish putting the iv thing into her before leaving a little louder than necessary.i can understand voicing your concerns about hygiene and your worries. that's good. not good is picking fights with the people taking care of you. like... i caught myself thinking, every single time lady next to me went to complain or whine about something (which she did... /quite/ a lot) that, if i am in a hospital, dependent on the care of the staff, that the LAST thing i want to do is being a bitch to them?i'll do my damndest to be polite at least, friendly whenever i can, so they know i appreciate the help. being nice to your nurse means your nurse will do their best to care for you, and maybe put in a little more effort than absolutely necessary (like offering to fill my water bottle for me) and if someone has to sit me onto the toilet becauce i can't pee by myself, the least they deserve is me not bitching. seriously, the lady was nice enough, overall, but man... she also was entitled and just that special little snowflake kind of person. complaining about her boyfriend not taking the day off work so he'd be available all day to pick her up whenever she was discharged... i understand the thought behind it, but i also understand you can't just leave work just like that. and she was better off than me, mobility-wise, she could've taken a taxi or even public transport (given, i wouldn't have, either) or just waited for him until he could leave work)aaaaaanyway, on monday, headache was getting better, and my surgeon came in to check up on his work, he finally told me how much he removed, and it was WAY more than i expected or he estimated before,he'd told me, he'd remove about a kilo of tissue per side, which seemed a good weight, (i'd weighted them before, and they were about 2 kilos each, according to my kitchen scale XD )and it ended up being 1,4 kilos per side... that's almost 3 kilos! that's, like, two whole chickens! i was pretty shocked, but also excited, because, for the first time i really understood how HUGE my boobs had been. and how reasonable and right my decision was. i have no regrets and even in between never had any, but i had my doubts about the necessity of this whole thing, a lot of the time, i felt like it was a mood, or a phase, something i wanted out of a whim, rather than that i really needed it. it was my idea, and i wanted it, and as such, as a non-essential surgery, i was scared that i was doing something wrong. that it'd end up turning out bad, simply because of my paranoia-driven fear of karmic punishment for wanting something like that without it being unavoidable (like my gallbladder surgery) but hearing how much he'd removed, and given how much is still left, and how i now have an average pair of breasts for a woman of my stature, it took some guilt off me. also, by monday, i was starting to feel the first effects of the weightloss. i could sit up without using my arms (which was still being a bitch, because it'd pull on the damn drainage), like doing a situp, and it was sooo easy!even right now, i'm still too overall sore/tender to really notice a direct difference, but indirectly, it's already so amazing! i'm sitting up straighter without even noticing, i can breathe freely, which is odd, but i keep noticing how free my chest feels, like i'm expecting it to feel tight or heavy, but it isn't,on monday, the drainage tubes were FINALLY removed and it was glorious!i could stay until tuesday, and it was good i got to stay another day, because walking around was, and is, still somewhat tedious.on wednesday, i had a bit of an emotional crash. i guess it's the physical shock of surgery/injury and the medication wearing off, coupled with the relief of being at home and knowing you can relax now, i was dissociating a little, on and off through the day, feeling weepy and alone and all thatbuuuut that went away, too, and today, post-op day 6, i'm still a little tender and weak, but overall, i'm doing pretty fine!i can wash myself on my own, even my hair, and i am in SO much less pain than i expected. like... i was preparing to be out of commission completely for the entirety of the three weeks vacation i took off of work, but if things continue like this, going back in two and a half weeks will be absolutely possible. i catch myself being a little too enthusiastic sometimes, like trying to reach up to open/close my skylight window and getting a little reminder NOT to stretch up my arms all the way. or having to take a break from walking up the stairs and having to sit a couple minutes in the house's staircase on the way up to my appartment (we don't have an elevator)the most uncomfortable thing right now is the itching. the medical bra rubs against the edge of the steri-strips, where my skin is taut and dry and it's leaving mild imprints and it ITCHES and it's driving me insane, but it doesn't hurt, and it doesn't seem to mess with the stitches, so i'm trying not to complain too hard. all things considered, and with how weak and sore i was, right now, as i'm typing this, i'd do it all over again. i don't want to jinx anything, so i won't jubilate, but overall, i'm pleasantly surprised by how well things have been so far. i like my tiny new boobs, and i hate the itching, i love how much longer my torso looks, and i'm looking forward so much to buying beautiful bras and all the pretty swimwear i couldn't before, because it would never fit my boobs....aah <3next week i'll go in to have my stitches removed (they're not the dissolving kind) and i'm a little worried how the scars will hold, but i'm also eager to start using lotions and all the good stuff to help the skin recover i will recommend this procedure to anyone that's considering it, and i'm so happy that the surgery went well and my new boobs look perfect! (if still a little crinkly around the scars XD )

#breast reduction #experience #just me any my last week

[pixelgrotto]

D&D With My Bro: The Case of the Grandmotherly Ghost

Last weekend my brother and I concluded our second homebrew Dungeons & Dragons campaign starring Lester LeFoe and Claudia Copperhoof, two private detectives from Tartec, a setting that my bro created for his fantasy series The Thirteenth Hour. I called it The Case of the Grandmotherly Ghost, and it was quite different in scope from its predecessor, The Case of the Almost Assassination. That first adventure was based entirely within a city and focused on our heroes preventing a political assassination, and it was much more of a Holmesian urban investigation inspired by the Professor Layton and Ace Attorney games. In contrast, the theme of this second campaign was “the great outdoors,” and I wanted to create something that gave me an excuse to use a more traditional D&D framework - that of adventurers going to a quiet village and solving problems for townsfolk. You can watch the whole adventure on YouTube here (along with our first), and I’ll highlight a few of my influences in this post, since I think it might be an interesting thought process for anyone working on their own campaign. 

The hook getting Lester and Claudia to leave the capital city was the titular “grandmotherly ghost” haunting Aquaria, a small farming community. It turned out that the ghost was actually the former headmistress of the town orphanage, and she was simply trying to warn residents that the new orphanage master was a shady fellow with magic at his disposal who had secretly been brainwashing children and selling them to the barbarians of the Wild Lands, an uncharted grasslands region full of deadly beasts. And despite their seeming acceptance of slavery, the barbarians weren’t exactly bad guys either - they were more like a disenfranchised minority trying to maintain a tenuous peace with the Tartec king while fighting against a vicious sea serpent named Ungar who had recently invaded their turf. The only reason they needed the kids was to power an old steampunk robot known as the Clockwork Dragon which was the only thing capable of killing Ungar, and this gizmo had been created by a quirky wizard who loved children and made constructs that could only be used by orphans. 

So in other words, there were a whole lot of twists in the plot, which started as a ghost hunt in a village but quickly ballooned into a full-out exploration of the Wild Lands and the uncovering of a conspiracy. I’ve always felt that small, so-called “idyllic” towns actually hide a lot of creepy secrets behind an illusion of peace, and my character, Claudia, even comments on this at one point, talking about how cities are places where people are more likely to stab you in the open, but little villages are places where people are more likely to stab you in your sleep. Stephen King, one of my favorite authors, also subscribes to this notion, which is why he sets most of his works in weird Maine suburbs rather than cities. In interviews for Salem’s Lot, his book about vampires infesting a town, he actually mentions that if Dracula came back in this day and age and tried to take over New York City, he’d probably get run over by a car before making it very far. But a sleepy village in the middle of nowhere? He’d conquer that sort of place slowly but surely, and that’s the reasoning I kept remembering while designing both the town of Aquaria and Albertus Alright, the new orphanage master and probably the only real “villain” in our campaign, aside from Ungar the sea serpent herself. 

Speaking of villains, I mentioned earlier that the barbarians who play such a large role in this story weren’t exactly bad guys. This was an important thing that I wanted to develop, because real life rarely has the mustache-twirling baddies of fiction - just people who are often radically intent on accomplishing their goals. Around the time when I was brainstorming this adventure, I was reading Scalped, which is a great comic series by Jason Aaron and R. M. Guéra about life on a South Dakota Native American reservation. It highlights the crime, corruption, poverty and preservation of cultural identity that many of these reservations grapple with, and I found this to be inspiring stuff when designing the barbarians and their Wild Land home. I basically tried to portray them as natives who’d been abused and quarantined off in a tiny area by a larger, more powerful government, which is frankly what’s happened to most aboriginal peoples across the globe, not just in the United States. Within the fantasy setting of the campaign, the big government power was the Tartec empire of King Darian IV, and there was a small segment of the barbarians - the Clawrunner tribe - who resented this oppression and ended up getting their hands on the Clockwork Dragon, a weapon that could’ve given them the upper hand against the Tartec forces if they’d wanted to use it in such a way. Luckily, they were more focused on killing the sea serpent razing their homeland, and Lester and Claudia essentially served as neutral go-betweens, encouraging them to not engage in terrorism or cause a war that would’ve quickly gotten out of hand. If only real life could have such quick ‘n easy resolutions!

On the topic of sea serpents and mecha dragons, one of the other main tropes of traditional D&D that I wanted to inject into this quest was that of the monster. Aside from a crocodile and some snakes in the sewers, the last campaign I’d played through with my brother had mostly featured human enemies, simply because there aren’t many deadly creatures to be found within a city. (Though you could probably argue that humans are the worst monsters of all!) Venturing into the wilderness gave me the excuse to go through the Monster Manual and pull out some of the beasties that make tabletop RPGs fun, though since my brother’s world isn’t the sort of place that has humanoids like orcs, goblinkin or mind flayers, I decided to focus on the more animal-esque D&D creatures that are naturally found in forests and grasslands - stuff like the owlbear (one of my faves), the griffon, the bulette and a few mutated, more powerful versions of mammals found in our world, like rhinos and wolves. When I was designing the Wild Lands section of the adventure I also became aware of the Baby Bestiary - a wonderful series of third party D&D supplements by Metal Weave Games that provides details on younger versions of classic creatures - and I was so enamored of the concept that I wrote a turning point where Lester and Claudia can choose to adopt either an infant griffon or an infant owlbear. My brother went with the griffon, naming it Sparky, and it’ll hopefully grown to be a strong companion (Pokemon style) in future adventures. 

I had one more thing I wanted to pull off with monsters in this campaign - a throwdown in the finale between the Clockwork Dragon, which could be powered by Lester, Claudia and the orphans like a medieval Voltron, and the sea serpent Ungar. This was inspired by a phase I went through about two years ago where I watched nearly all of the Godzilla movies in a row. When I finished, I kept trying to figure out how to implement kaiju battles into a tabletop RPG, because surprisingly nobody’s really done this successfully yet, though board games like King of Tokyo have come close. I finally decided that the best way to do it would be to give relatively low level playable characters temporary control of a giant beast with high level stats. So Lester and Claudia, two seventh level characters, got to choose from abilities meant for a Challenge Rating 14 dragon, giving them access to stuff like Legendary Actions and rechargeable fire breath. Their opponent was also a high level dragon with similar capabilities, and the resulting combat went better than I expected and communicated (as best as you can in a tabletop RPG, anyway) the scale and power that comes with the best big monster fights. I’ll probably end up recycling the idea again for another D&D group - in this one DM + one player game, it was just my brother controlling all of the Clockwork Dragon’s actions, but I think it would be fun with a larger group to have one player control the movement, one control the attacks, one the Legendary Actions, etc. 

All in all, The Case of the Grandmotherly Ghost took about 11 sessions and 24 hours to complete, which is roughly on par with The Case of the Almost Assassination. 20-30 hours seems to be the amount of content that I subconsciously end up creating when I design a campaign, which is interesting, because about four years ago on this blog I wrote (in a poorly written fashion, I now find) a post about how 30-ish hours is probably my ideal length for a gaming experience. The next adventure my bro and I will be embarking upon with Lester and Claudia - The Case of the Troubled Territory - might end up hitting that mark as well, though I do plan to experiment and hopefully make it more open-ended than this past one, which checked off most of my bullet points but was slightly too linear at moments.

At any rate, now that we’ve conquered the great outdoors, the theme for the next quest will be “Arabian Nights!” Who knows what future rolls lie in store for our heroes? Expect another campaign deconstruction in…five or six months time, hopefully!

#pixel grotto #musings #video games #dungeons & dragons #dungeons and dragons #d&d #dnd #d&d 5e #5e #roll20 #roll 20 #tabletop gaming #roleplaying game #rpg #the thirteenth hour #thirteenth hour #phoenix wright #ace attorney #professor layton #layton

[rennyji]

July 17th Late Morning Tweets...

July 17th Late Morning Tweets...

so I keep telling people to talk to me and about the horrendousness of all this, but this still continues in the manner that it does.

Here are some Biblical passages about my situation/the times - with personal examples from experience in parenthesis.

Based on the Old Testament Psalm 115: 5-8, Psalm 82: 2-4, and the New Testament Matthew 13: 14-: "So they show that what Isaiah said about them is true: ‘You people will listen and listen, but you will not understand. You will look and look, but you will not really see. Yes, the minds of these people are now closed. They have ears, but they don’t listen. They have eyes, but they refuse to see. If their minds were not closed, they might see with their eyes; they might hear with their ears; they might understand with their minds. Then they might turn back to me and be healed.’

(Regarding those who "get it", whatever be the context in life...) ... continuing from above... "But God has blessed you. You understand what you see with your eyes. And you understand what you hear with your ears. I can assure you, many prophets and godly people wanted to see what you now see. But they did not see it. And many prophets and godly people wanted to hear what you now hear. But they did not hear it.

(So I'm no one. I am showing you the Words of God have relevance in the present day and are not far off cosmic corny things to be heard once every Sunday. They have relevance in a practical way in our day to day lives. It's about living as a decent human being. IT IS A GUIDE. I am giving you detailed examples in my previous blog posts about how to use these stereotyped to be "don't do this/don't do that" type of writings in an everyday way. I am telling you that there is a Kingdom in the mind, where if you believe at that strength, you can truly move mountains and walk on water. Hence the latter part of the above Biblical passage: "many prophets and godly people wanted to see what you now see." Christ wants us to break the words of the Gospel down and apply insight to our lives. I am breaking it down for you. Showing you how. Talking about zip files and Back to the Future metaphors and comparisons. But for some reason, you would choose to follow the instructions of the orchestrators. Are they gods? The orchestrators and their following choose to be like Legion - "the many" demon infecting the masses.

How many times have I said what is already written: Psalm 82:6 “I said, ‘You are “gods”;    you are all sons of the Most High.’ But people act like followers of the orchestrators. Whatever they offer is not worthy of God, is not worthy of what is just...maybe in some cosmic way, its not coincidence, that I, an October Birthday, a Libran, represent the Scales of Justice, in this extraordinarily unjust situation.

Christ goes on to say:

“So listen to the meaning of that story about the farmer: “What about the seed that fell by the path? That is like the people who hear the teaching about God’s kingdom but do not understand it. The Evil One comes and takes away what was planted in their hearts.

(In my situation, these are the people in bewilderment because the orchestrators exercise their dominance and filtering of my words. They may suffer from lack of context.)

“And what about the seed that fell on rocky ground? That is like the people who hear the teaching and quickly and gladly accept it. But they do not let the teaching go deep into their lives. They keep it only a short time.

(In my situation, these are the people who see my writings and sayings...or even the events of my life...as tantalizing nice sounding things. You have no root and don't digest the meaning of my words and actions...

"As soon as trouble or persecution comes because of the teaching they accepted, they give up."

“And what about the seed that fell among the thorny weeds? That is like the people who hear the teaching but let worries about this life and love for money stop it from growing. So it does not produce a crop in their lives.

(Some may get the idea of what I'm after i.e. "telling me what's going on and ending a phenomena lasting years. But they lack the courage or can't face the risk/random possible consequences of doing what is just, which is "loving your neighbor.")

“But what about the seed that fell on the good ground? That is like the people who hear the teaching and understand it. They grow and produce a good crop, sometimes 100 times more, sometimes 60 times more, and sometimes 30 times more.”

(These are the people who digest what I'm saying. They help me in what was asked, when mankind as a whole refused. You truly stand out like: gods. How much Blessing would they get from God with a capital 'G.' In a context outside of me, if you understand what I'm saying about the Kingdom of God in the mind, seek it out, you will get everything in life, perhaps slowly, but surely.

Then Jesus used another story to teach them. Jesus said, “God’s kingdom is like a man who planted good seed in his field. That night, while everyone was asleep, the man’s enemy came and planted weeds among the wheat and then left. Later, the wheat grew, and heads of grain grew on the plants. But at the same time the weeds also grew. Then the man’s servants came to him and said, ‘You planted good seed in your field. Where did the weeds come from?’ “The man answered, ‘An enemy planted weeds.’ “The servants asked, ‘Do you want us to go and pull up the weeds?’ “He answered, ‘No, because when you pull up the weeds, you might also pull up the wheat. Let the weeds and the wheat grow together until the harvest time. At the harvest time I will tell the workers this: First, gather the weeds and tie them together to be burned.

(This part about the 'tying up' words deals with what I said about us being the Body of Christ, or The Divine. The orchestrators in all their majestic intent and their "Sodom and Gomorrah-ignorant-everything in life is a party" type following, will be cast out like tumors who are cancerous to the Body of Christ.

You may think I'm an egotistical mess on the basis of that one line. But what else have I been saying? Mark 9:19 says, "“You unbelieving generation,” Jesus replied, “how long shall I stay with you? How long shall I put up with you?..."

I mean I get it now. I understand my Lord's frustration. You can say the same thing over and over to some people and never get through.

"Then gather the wheat and bring it to my barn.’”

Matthew 10:14–16 14 And if anyone will not receive you or listen to your words, shake off the dust from your feet when you leave that house or town. 15 Truly, I say to you, it will be more bearable on the day of judgment for the land of Sodom and Gomorrah than for that town.

Over these years, in tackling the unknown, in trying to communicate to people who will not talk to me, I've tried writing, speaking to certain people where things get allegedly relayed, talking to myself-thinking thats relayed... 11+ years have gone by. If I had the privilege of talking to God Himself, I would say, "mankind, America especially, cannot be helped." It's like their programmed to be ignorant.

Factually, and in my perspective, America is the nation that misled the world in teaming against one individual minding his own business.

Lay down the facts. Am I wrong or lying? Lay down what's done and not done. Am I wrong? Did not America get the world to engage against an indvidual on the basis of corny American stuff rooted in non Indian, but flawed American psychology?!

When I see what the Americans do to me, a non Caucasian, a brown man from India who probably can be confused as Middle Eastern, I cannot imagine what "wrong" America is seen to be doing to these people from religions, who bomb buildings? We all think these people are religious extremists, that they're crazy, that they just can't take in the good life: a girl friend, friends, a wife, a family, a successful job and home... In the face of what is done to me, I can't imagine what America did to these Muslims for them to behave this way. Who, for no reason, thinks they need to bomb a building in place of getting laid or something?

Despite my cries for help, my pleading with people: in thinking, speaking, writing, man obeyed the devils hand in the orchestrators. What is the price of screwing with the mind? Ive already said it in another blog post: from the Bible: 'To tie a stone around the neck and drown is better', according to the Bible.

But America, even Sodom and Gomorrah continued to the very last day, engaging recklessly and stupidly. And I guess, so too will you, with your show and project and ignorance.

For some people, you simply cannot get through. some people - its not in the cards for them to be saved. Regarding not being in the cards: Mark 4:12 states, so that, "'they may be ever seeing but never perceiving, and ever hearing but never understanding; otherwise they might turn and be forgiven!'"

(My own parents are an example of the former: people you just cannot get through to. There is some kind of chasm, going beyond the orchestrators. between me and them. You will betray your son for foreign American orchestrators? They pray and pray and yell in prayer like pagans... Do I not try to talk to them through the heart and through the Bible they think their devout followers of? It is said, "where your treasure is, there also your heart will be." In action, to my parents, contrary to whatever you are deluding yourself to be, you have made the American orchestrators your gods. You violate the First of the Commandments. Christianity is a hard religion. But you have modern day Americans turning it into something flowery with all day smiles. Christ says "my father, mother, brothers, sisters, are those who believe in Me and do what I encourage." By this definition, my own Christian parents are not my family. I've found consolation in human beings who are Hindus or atheists. I've found warmth in people, on the other extreme, who society would view as the lowest.

This thing about being open minded, being above the Law, having compassion and a kind heart, the Golden Rule, learning from me and using insight: nothing new. It is mankind's problem, dating back more than 2000 years... but you all be you, and lets continue the farce.

If I am worthy in the slightest to be worthy of my God's observation, I pray that He sees what this nation does. While I am no one and would prefer to be associated with the worst or seen as the worst, I'm telling you, you have no idea what kind of evil is in your midst. People in the past would say "Repent." But I'm telling all of you, "wake up."

[sweetbfs]

as a trans guy i get p dysphoric about my clothes, and ive tried wearing “””guy””” jeans for a while now but i dont think they help me much as passing bc im rather short (5’1”) so they tend to look a little baggy or loose especially when i sit down and i know clothes dont matter but some part of me tells me im not really trying when i want to wear my old jeans that actually fit :// (i also feel bad that my mom buys me jeans n i barely wear them) (i do enjoy the larger pockets tho)

as a trans guy with huge hips and a tiny waist, i’ve had so much trouble finding jeans that fit. not all guys jeans will look masc on you, and not all “girls” jeans will look fem on you. imo the best types of jeans are high waisted, plus if they’re too long i just cuff the ends up once or twice for added Gay Artsy look. in addition, the only thing you can do is try on guys jeans until you find the type right for you. belts help a lot, and you can find cheap and durable ones at h&m or target. as for “girls” jeans, try high waisted styles a size or two up. they should be baggy enough so they’re not skin tight, but not too baggy/loose. tbh i’ve had better luck w “girls” jeans, but you never know! try target, h&m, forever21, or old navy/gap. and don’t feel bad, at the end of the day it’s fabric and some types won’t always make your body look masc. good luck bud! - mod andy

Hey, I´m 5´1 and I have the exact same problem ! The thing about jeans is that you need to look for the right cut. Also, a good rule of thumb is that women´s run small and men´s run large - us short guys wanna aim right down the middle. If I´m in the women´s section I always look for boyfriend, straight leg, or relaxed fit jeans. In the men´s/boys sections, I look for skinny, tapered, sometimes bootlegs, or I try on enough jeans to find something that works.

Find something that can stay up without a belt, but fits perfectly when wearing one. Belts are a really ”masculine” accessory that not only can help you keep from looking frumpy, but that add a streamlined and professional look to your outfit as well. This is a tangent, but I´ve discovered (due to private school dress codes) the magic of belts as of late, and I´d recommend all guys out there pick up 2 belts - one brown, one black (there are some cheap & plain ones at Walmart - just make sure they fit). Also, it´s conventional to match your belt color to your dress shoe color. If you ain´t wearing leather shoes, you can forget about that.

Back to pants ! A fact of life for shorter guys is ill-fitting pant legs. For jeans, the easy way out it to cuff them, James Dean style. Rolled up legs don´t stick out or look frumpy so long as you style them right and that the cut of the jeans allows for a cuff that hangs closer to your legs rather than looking like Kevin Smith´s jorts. If you´re going the cuffing route, cuff them while trying them on in the store to make sure they look alright. If you think cuffing looks bad, you´re gonna have to have them altered.

Altering jeans isn´t as scary as it sounds. The easiest way is to just measure out the right amount and cut them off. It gives a worn and frayed look to the denim, as well as ensuring that you don´t trip on the long legs. If you hate the frayed denim trend, either you or a family member/friend are gonna have to seam the new pant legs - either by hand or by sewing machine. I´m rusty with my sewing skills, but there are plenty of youtube videos that can walk you through the process better than I can. If you don´t have that option, find a local tailor. Taking up pant legs is one of, if not the, easiest alterations out there, so it shouldn´t cost you much.

I know you only mentioned jeans, but I´m going to talk about slacks as well (sorry, like I said, I´m a private school kid). I never wore slacks before this year, aka my first year at Catholic school. They aren´t for everybody, I´ll tell you that much, but I´d recommend at least trying out one pair, preferably cheaply made and without a liner. Again, I get all of mine from walmart. It all depends on your fashion sense, but because my fashion sense lies along the lines of ivy-league dropout, slacks work great for me. Even if you´d never touch slacks with a 10-foot pole for street clothes, they work great whenever you´re going to someplace snazzy and want to avoid the possibility of having only skirts or dresses to wear, so try and find one pair that fits and you think are half decent. As my grandma said: better to have them and not need them, than to need them and not have them.

Because slacks aren´t denim, there aren´t many skinny-jean-like slacks in the women´s section - most are more relaxed. The men´s section tends to have slacks that run wider in the ass than most men´s jeans, at least from what I´ve noticed, so do be mindful of that as well. You can cuff slacks, but tbh I never do and always have mine altered. I´m just the opposite with jeans, if you were curious.

As for where to shop, I can´t recommend thrift stores enough. They´re cheap and have great selection, as well as it´s easier to convince parents to let you try on clothes there that they would think are silly (ie clothes that go along with your gender identity) then it is at a Macy´s or something, at least from my experiences. Also - Walmart is great (g-d knows I´ve plugged them enough in this post), but I also wanna mention Target. While Xmas shopping for my dad, I bought myself a nice dress shirt from their brand Goodfellows that fit great for being a men´s dress shirt, which are usually a nightmare for me. They looked to have some really nice stylish pants that I´d recommend peeping.

I had the same problem with guilt over unworn feminine clothes. Talk to your parents about your clothes ! Tell them that your fashion sense has been evolving as of late, or you want to try the current trend of more relaxed pants. It´s annoying, but it keeps them from buying clothes that make you feel dysphoric, and help improve your chances of your parents buying you clothes that you actually like ! Though I don´t celebrate Christmas, my mother got me clothes that I loved this year as a gift. Last year I hated every piece of clothing she got me, but everything this year was wonderful and masculine, and even though we have to go back to the store because nothing fit (lol), I was genuinely really happy with my clothes.

And clothes do matter. Since coming to the conclusion that I was trans, I gradually changed both my closet and my body language over the past years and they´ve helped me pass a lot better. Despite being 5´1, skinny as a rail, and a junior, I had everyone at my Catholic school (correctly) assuming I was a boy, and (incorrectly) assuming I was a freshman for a good 2 weeks at the beginning of the school year ! Passing doesn´t matter at all, unless passing makes you feel better. It´s a shitty, cisnormative ideal that can be easy to reach sometimes, and impossible to reach other times. But if passing helps alleviate dysphoria for you, as it does for me and a ton of other trans people, then I wish you all the best ! Oh, also, get a watch ! Don´t ask me why it works, I honestly have no idea, but I swear it made me pass like a dream when I started wearing one. Get a decent, gender neutral/manly watch that´s at least medium on the size scale between tiny ”women´s” and giant ”men´s” watches, and you pass SO much better. Drop $20 at, of course, walmart, hit up the jewelry section of your local thrift shop, ask your parents if they have any you might like - just get one.

It´s like 1am here and I spent ages typing out that monster of an answer, I hope that helps and is somewhat cohesive. G´night anon, good luck with your pants !

- Mod Llewellyn

#asks #anon #trans #i made this fuckin post like 10x longer sorry an

[angrygoatgirl]

have you heard about that eating disorder diabetics get when they purposefully don't get insulin so they can lose weight? I'm trying so hard not to start it, but it's like an urge inside me. I'm not "fat" but I would say I'm a little chubby. I really want to lose about 15 pounds before college, but every time I start to exercise and eat right I gain weight since my blood sugar is low all the time no matter how many adjustments I make. Do you have any words to offer me?

This is a topic I have often thought of writing about, but never had the courage to post. Anonymous, I’m doing this for you, please listen:I know exactly what you are talking about and exactly how you feel, because I’ve done it, it almost killed me, and even though I nearly died from it, I’m sometimes still tempted. It’s called diabulimia (if you don’t already know) and while not yet officially recognized as an eating disorder, it is finally gaining the attention of the medical community and even the media; the BBC did a brief documentary on it recently, which I haven’t yet seen. Diabulimia falls under the bulimia umbrella because restriction of insulin is used as a form of purging; one doesn’t have to induce vomiting to have bulimia, as some people think – people may have exercise bulimia (overexercising as a form of purging), use laxatives, or other purging behaviors. For us type 1s, insulin restriction is a unique option. The first and most important thing to know is that you are not alone. You are not alone. And that is worth more than you may realize.   In a survey conducted by Joslin Diabetes Research Center, one third of type 1 women admitted to having manipulated their insulin in an attempt to lose weight. Yes, you read that right: one third. And that is self-reporting, which means it’s probably lower than the real number. The statistics on the incidence of eating disorders in both men and women with diabetes have not yet been nailed down, but the evidence does show that people with diabetes also are much more likely to have eating disorders than the general population. 

To understand one of the possibilities why this is the case, here is a quotation from Ulla Kärkkäinen, a Finnish research nutritionist, defining disordered eating: 

“Eating is disordered when a person arbitrarily decides when they are hungry or full, regardless of how they are feeling; weighs themselves constantly; or drinks non-caloric drinks to keep from feeling hungry. Eating can also be considered disordered if a person meticulously plans each meal long into the future, counts calories and weighs foods, follows an excessively strict diet or cuts certain foods from their diet…”That is the treatment for type 1 diabetes. Whether or not we eat is dictated by a number on a meter, not by how we feel. Meals are planned and food is measured and weighed so that we can dose properly. What and when we eat is almost always at the forefront of our minds, literally so we won’t die. Our bodies are constantly being measured to see whether results are satisfactory. Add to that societal misconceptions about diabetes, the tendency of insulin to make some people gain weight, the recently discovered direct effect of insulin on dopamine levels, and the multitudinous other factors that can make weight management harder for diabetics, and you’ve got a perfect storm. So I’ll say it again: you are not alone.The first time I experienced diabulimia I was fourteen. I didn’t have a word for what I was doing, because the word hadn’t been invented yet. I just knew that before I was diagnosed with type 1 diabetes, I was losing weight and feeling good about my body, and after I was diagnosed and started taking insulin, I gained weight and felt ugly and fat. It was the mid 90s and heroin chic was in, the pressure to be super thin was already overwhelming for any girl, but added to that was the pressure not to conform to diabetic stereotypes: I didn’t want the ignorant kids who thought I got diabetes from eating too many sweets to be validated. I knew rationally that my chubbiness didn’t make them right, but reason couldn’t change how I felt. I was too afraid to restrict my insulin for more than a few days, though…or maybe I was too strong and had not yet been worn down enough? I don’t know. It wasn’t until my twenties that I really went for it. Like you, I wasn’t fat. I was athletic with maybe 10 or 15 pounds of chub that I would have liked to have shifted. My family life was difficult. I was broke and on my own. I had no insurance and was already rationing insulin to try and make it last. I didn’t know at the time that burnout is common for diabetics, but I was suffering my first burnout. I was completely worn down by life and by diabetes, and I just wanted to be able to control one thing. Just one. So I started manipulating insulin. I took control by refusing to control my diabetes.And, oh how I rationalized it! I would take my long-acting and skip the fast-acting, I was still taking some insulin, that was surely better than none, right? I was riding 300s and 400s, but it wasn’t 500s or 600s, so it couldn’t be that bad, right? I’d had perfect A1Cs ever since my diagnosis – that was over a decade! What could a few weeks of high sugars really do? Other people were out of control of their diabetes all the time, and they were still okay. There were type 2s walking around with high blood sugars for years not even knowing! And when it started to work and the weight just fell off, it was easier and easier to rationalize. “Just five more pounds,” I’d say. “Just ten more pounds and I’ll stop.”Of course, one of the side-effects of high blood sugar is extreme hunger, so my eating habits became harder and harder to control. I craved carbs like never before. A whole pizza, an entire box of cereal, two dozen Oreos couldn’t satiate me: and the more I ate, the thinner I got. I never binge ate before the diabulimia, but my body was starving, and so bingeing became a thing for me…especially since it just made me lose more weight. I hadn’t gained control, I’d lost it. Completely.One morning at 5am, after three months of rationing insulin and rationalizing my diabulimia, after a night of nonstop vomiting…I realized I was dying. I was so sick, I lost seven more pounds THAT DAY. I could barely breathe and my heart felt like it was going to explode, trying to pump the sludge that was my acid blood through my veins. I asked my roommate to drive me to the Emergency Room, but before I left, I stepped on the scale and felt really good about how much weight I’d lost. I’d gone from someone whose chronic illness necessitated disordered eating to someone with a full blown eating disorder. And the eating disorder had taken me over.I spent the next 3 days in the ICU wearing an oxygen mask, catheterized, a massive hematoma on my arm from the excruciating arterial blood draws, searing potassium being delivered via IV to the other arm. Five IVs in all. They told me if I’d waited just a few more hours I’d have died. I’m not telling you this in an attempt to “scare you straight”, though. You know the risks as well as I did. Sometimes knowing the risks and even having lived them isnt’ enough. Eating disorder wouldn’t be a mental illness if it was rational. What you may not know is just how quickly and easily and how TOTALLY it takes you over.So I’m going to tell you the one thing that keeps me from going back to diabulimia when I am really struggling: diabulimia doesn’t really work. The minute you start taking insulin again, the weight comes back with a vengeance. It is a fleeting fix – the high blood sugar might as well be the high of heroin or meth: you feel better in the moment, but when you come down off that high it is hell, and everything that pushed you to try it the first time has just been made worse.I’ve been struggling with eating disorders ever since, though I’ve not resorted to diabulimia again. Sometimes, like I said, I feel so down that the only thing keeping me from it is knowing its effects are temporary. I even checked myself into one of the most renowned eating disorder treatment centers in the country…sadly, there is little known about treating eating disorder in type 1 diabetics, and the traditional treatments for eating disorders are in direct contradiction to the treatment of diabetes. In the end, their attempts to help me only made me worse. With hard work and help from a sympathetic endocrinologist and diabetes educator, though, I’ve been recovering. I’ve even gone a few years at a time with the eating disorder tamed. I still have relapses, though. While I can never know for sure, I think that if I had never tried diabulimia, I would never have developed any full blown eating disorders.You asked if I had any words for you and it saddens me that I have so many, and that so few of them are good. I don’t think it is hopeless, though: I have lost weight in a healthy way with diabetes, and without my eating disorder taking control. It was harder for me than for people without diabetes, but it can be done. I’ve had periods where the eating disorder was barely even there. I learned that weight really wasn’t even the real problem, and learned that there were other things to focus on for my mental and physical health. And even though my treatment experience was mostly negative, I took a few really positive things from it: the realization that my eating disorder didn’t have to define me, the realization that I wasn’t alone, and that it was okay to ask for help. You see, just as the stereotypes about diabetes are mostly wrong, so are the stereotypes about eating disorders. Eating disorder is seen as the ailment of the young, white, middle-class, anorexic chick. But the truth is, there was every kind of woman in that treatment center: women from age 14 to 64, of every ethnicity and religion, rich and poor, rail-thin to morbidly obese. And there were so many women there whom, had I not known they were struggling with eating disorders, I would have thought totally had their shit together, were confident, were admirable. Knowing that such admirable women were facing the same struggle as me made me hate myself less. You are not alone. Your weight doesn’t define you, and it certainly isn’t worth developing an eating disorder and potentially losing your life. If you need more help, ask for it, but remember that you have to balance your mental health with your diabetes, and don’t let anyone tell you one is more important than the other. They are both necessary.And that is it. There is no easy solution to this problem, there is not a moral or neat ending to this story, there isn’t a tidy little bow to tie this shit up with. I just hope that you will read my experience and spare yourself going through it, because it’s not worth it.