#c; moc

[toabastignika]

"Lifela" These Rahi live on deep oceans like Aqua Magna's. It's very friendly and will follow you if you interact with it. Remade my old moc for DuckBricks' contest!

[leona-florianova]

Ojojojoj so barbaric so scarryyyyyy

gee thanks bram stoker

[v1x3n]

P U B L I C S E X

꒰ PAIRING : phillip graves x reader x shadow company (hint).

꒰ SYNOPSIS : your commander has an eye on you and fucks you so hard that all your co workers hear!

꒰ TAGS : smut - office sex, spanking, public sex, degrading words, humiliation, hair pulling, overstimulation, unprotected sex, p in v.

navigation ⸝⸝ kinktober masterlist ⸝⸝ taglist

your mewls fill up the room as your commander's large hand wraps around your hair, pulling the strands back whilst his cock fills your hole to the brim. his cum filled balls hitting off of your clit, the small nub overstimulated, the man behind you grunts grew loud, almost covering the sounds of your small pathetic whines.

“fuck!” Phillip groaned with a high volume, “you like th-this?” you nod weakly at his words. “Say it” he warns, a slap delivered to your round ass. his hands grip onto the flesh after as you whimper out, “i-i like it!”

“That's it” he almost moans out, his head falls back as his thrusts grow impatient. you look up and see the door, just on the other side of this list filled room was your co workers, your friends, men and women who respected you. would they respect you after this? oh god, could they hear you?

your mind snaps back as the very tip of his wet cock pushes against your g-spot in an angry kiss. you whine loudly, your eyes fall to the back of your head while your teeth tightly hold onto your bottom lip, on the brink of letting out your loud moans.

you didn't expect this to happen - well you wanted it too happen and you wished for it but you never had expected to be bent over your commanders desk, his hand pulling your hair back, your back arched and your ass bright red due to the smacks phillip had gave you, your cunt was overwhelmed, this had been going on for around an hour. his pace didnt stop and he was so fucking strong, manhandling you into any position he wanted you to be in. luckily for you, he had come, unluckily for you, he wasn't done with you yet. your short pencil skirt lifted up to your waist and your tights and panties ripped to create an opening for your holes and cheeks.

you had walked into there to ask him about a mission, you being his assistant would need to fill out some paperwork, but he couldn't keep his eyes off the way the bottom of your ass peaked from the small skirt, the way your blouse tightened in all the right places and the way your lipgloss was applied so perfectly. Within 5 minutes, all of that was messed up and you were crying, clenching around his thick cock and trying to keep your noises down to prevent your coworkers hearing your pathetic moans.

“c-commander!” you whine when his dick pulls out to thrust back in, harshly hitting the gooey spot deep inside of you, your mewls roll past your lips, “p-please! someone ca- hah! -can walk in!" Phillip scoffs at that, stupid worry. “dont- fuuckkkk!! -king care” he groans out, pressure growing in his stomach while he feeds you his cock.

The sound of skin slapping against each other fills out the room, probably echoing outside his office but at that moment he didn't care. “shit!” groaning while your pussy tightening around him, cum creating a ring around his cock. pressure coils in your stomach as you whine out, trying to bring your head to the table but his strong hands keep a grip onto the strands. you quickly approach your orgasm, body jerks at the overstimuation as a white liquid splatters all over his twitching cock, “so good f’ me, good f-fucking slut!” philip moans out loudly, his eyes close to focus on the way your tight cunt wraps around his dick, not letting him pull out as he finishes, “fuckking- hngg- whore”

cum fills your hole, deep inside of you and you subconsciously loosen, letting his dick slide from you and hits your spanked ass. you breathe out with heavy breathes while he pants, you clench due to you missing his big dick deep inside of your guts. Phillip sees your hole clamping and he snickers evilly, “miss me already, sweet’art?” your commander mocks.

After he cleans you up, your ripped tights and panties not able to be fixed so you have to take them off! Phillip said it was the smart thing to do and he's your commander so you have to listen to him. You buttoned your blouse back up and tried to sort out your hair, fixing up your make up and swiping off the mascara that rolled down your blush filled cheeks. Phillip put his cock away and sat in his chair, watching you tidy yourself up with a smug smirk on his face, your ripped clothes in his hands. 

“You better hurry, you got t’ hand in the paperwork by 7” he warns which makes you scramble out of his office. As soon as you left you met eyes with a few shadows. The awkward air mixed with the groups of soldiers peering over to you led to being hinted that they heard the entire thing. Trying to ignore all the looks through the day, you also try to ignore the way breeze hits your wet, cum filled pussy and your sensitive clit. you do end up forgetting about it until you accidentally drop a pen. Subconsciously bending down to grab it and your skirt lifts up - flashing the liquid that spewed from your messy pussy. The white slop dripping down your thighs, the burning eyes on you filling your cheeks with a  bright blush, you hear a whistle and your eyes snap back towards the sound. 

There you saw philip graves, standing outside his office, lingering in the doorway, he winked at you, “was round one not enough?” the smug words gaining a few snickers from the shadows, “slut.” Phillip smirks. Looking you up and down before walking up to you, 

“Wanna give 'em a show, sugar?”

[fourbrickstall]

Some more crops I made in BrickLink Stud.io for my Stardew Valley Farmhouse MOC

Love SDV? Vote for my model here to help it become an official LEGO set:

[queerliblib]

do you have books about trans men of color? Written by trans men? Asking cause I can never find books with trans people in them, let alone written by them, and it's especially hard to find books about & by trans men, especially trans moc. (Also, I've never once seen a book about a straight trans man, which idk I always feel nervous asking about cause "erm straight ppl can't be queer" or whatever but I want to see some trans het and T4T books)

Anyways, sorry for the bother but I need some new books to read and I've decided to be self indulgent this time around

oh please don’t apologize, you should absolutely be self-indulgent! these (as far as our research shows) all have trans moc main characters and are primarily by trans moc (with a few non-binary authors of color)

Freedom House by KB Brookins (poetry)

Cemetery Boys by Aiden Thomas (YA)

Black on Both Sides: A racial history of trans identity by C. Riley Snorton (non-fiction)

We See Each Other by Tre’vell Anderson

Felix Ever After by Kacen Callender (YA)

The Passing Playbook by Issac Fitzsimons (YA)

& here are a few more titles from our wishlists that we hope to buy in the future, just to give you a few more ideas

Pretty by KB Brookins (memoir)

Outside the XY by Bklyn Boihood (anthology)

Boys Run the Riot by Keito Gaku (manga)

The Thirty Names of Night by Zeyn Joukhadar (adult fic)

as for trans het or t4t, caveat that the authors & characters here aren’t necessarily POC but I wanted to still give you a few options!

A Lady for a Duke by Alexis Hall (trans femme)

Chef’s Choice by TJ Alexander (t4t)

A Shot in the Dark by Victoria Lee (trans masc)

Stay Gold by Tolby McSmith (trans masc)

[bebemoon]

look for the name CALEB (requested by anonymous) | nike x fear of god double hooded hoodie in grey, nike dri-fit drawstring running shorts in purple, nike air soc moc slippers in off-white (c. 2ooo's), nike mini rubber-bottom backpack in grey-blue (c. 199o's), casper small oval carabiner pendant chain necklace

[pozartaa]

Post specjalny ED w życiu dorosłym i dojrzałym.

Długo już zwlekałam ale obiecałam, więc bez przedłużania! (choć post jest długi)

Post jest głównie oparty na moich osobistych doświadczeniach i paru uwagach, które podsunely mi inne konta #edadult i #ed18+

O 4nor€ks1 mówi się że to choroba nastolatek i oczywiście w większości przypadków wtedy się to wszystko zaczyna. Bl1mi4 i BED częściej dotyczą osób w starszym wieku, choć te dwa ostatnie częściej są wynikiem tej pierwszej i wcześniejszej historii lat restrykcji.

News flash - 3D nie przemija wraz z wiekiem. Jeśli nigdy nie podjeliscie żadnej próby terapii są dwie drogi:

A) jesteście dorosłymi, którzy siedzą na karku swoim rodzicom i nigdy nie rozwijają skrzydeł. Wasze życie składa się z powrotów do szpitala nieudanych terapii. Pewnego dnia stwierdzają, że 3D zabrało wam 10 najlepszych lat życia.

B) z wiekiem i rozwijający i się możliwościami "motylkoV@nie" przechodzi na dalszy plan, ale zawsze jesteście z siebie niezadowoleni, wiecznie jest to temat który was męczy i w wielu przypadkach ogranicza. Ciągle gonicie swoją "4n@ honeymoon phase". Albo jedne obsesję zastępujecie innymi - pracoholizm, sprzątanie, przesadne dbanie o wygląd, nadmierne uprawianie sportu... Do wyboru do koloru.

C) opcja (w której zawieram się ja) - Poszliście na terapię i zrobiliście z tym porządek, ale zostały blizny.

"Nie mogę się doczekać gdy będę dorosłą i wyprowadzę się z domu - będę się wtedy głodzić"

No cóż wedle statystyk dorosłe życie zaczyna się teraz koło 30-stki. Jeśli myślicie, że po ukończeniu 18-nastki. Magicznie stać was na wyprowadzkę i decydowanie o sobie - to gratulacje. Ale większość z was jeszcze długo będzie potrzebowało wsparcia rodziny i zanim się tam na prawdę usamodzielni i znajdzie swoją drogę. Przekonacie się szybko, że nie ma specjalnego traktowania bo dziś masz dzień fasta, a wasz brak sił i niemożność skupienia się na pewno nie pomoże w sprawach finansowych.

Sporo ludzi na szczęście wtedy właśnie zaczyna szukac pomocy, bo świat się przed nimi otwiera, widzą że ludzie dokoła coś robią, wchodzą w związki, planują przyszłość, a ty stoisz w miejscu że swoją tabela ka1oryczną i wag@

"jak osiągnę moje UGW to kończę z tym"

No i jak myślicie tak z doświadczenia wielu osób które rozpoczęły swoją wątpliwa znajomość z 4n4 - kończy się to czy nie kończy? Zaręczam wam, że nigdy już nie spojrzycie na jedzenie tak samo jak wtedy zanim wiedzieliście co to kalor1@. Nawet po latach zostały mi takie przyzwyczajenia które teraz w dojrzałym życiu bywają dla mnie źródłem totalnego krindżu...

Więc tak wygląda życie osoby dorosłej/dojrzałej z 3D (w moim przypadku po przejściach).

- niczego nie słodzę cukrem (noszę że sobą słodzik, kiedy idę na kawę do koleżanki)

- nie używam masła

- nie używam tłuszczu jeśli to tylko mozliwe

-od lat pije mleko 0.5 max 1.5. Nie znoszę kawy bez mleka, ale jeśli nie ma innej opcji biorę czarną

-panierka budzi we mnie niepokój. Chleb też. Prawdopodobnie dyskretnie zdejmę panierkę z kotleta na proszonym obiedzie.

-unikam rzeczy które trudno obliczyć albo które przygotował ktoś inny (wszelkie jedzenie na imprezach - choć oczywiście nie na tyle by kogoś urazić. To znaczy, że się częstuje, ale z umiarem)

-unikam słodyczy i rzeczy które są zbyt smaczne (czekolada, chipsy, lody inne rzeczy "do chrupania", fastfood - to ostatnie akurat nigdy nie było jakoś czeste po prostu nie lubię ani MC ani KFC ani innych takich) Boję się, że mogłabym nie moc przestać ich jeść - wolę nie zaczynać. Chyba że mam to zaplanowane ( Cheat Day)

-nikt mnie niczym nie częstuje bo zawsze odmawiam. Dosłownie - nawet już mi nikt nic nie podsuwa ani nie namawia.

-boję się tycia i utraty kontroli (mam za sobą historie z bul1m1@ więc wiem jak się traci kontrolę na całego).

- w jakimś stopniu nadal towarzyszą mi jedzeniowe rytuały.

-literalnie porównywanie się do dzieci. Wiecie, że nie jesteście już nastolatkami, a wasze body-goals to jakaś nieletnia "modelka" z insta.

- brak żywieniowej spontaniczności. Raczej nie zdarza mi się bym nie wiedziała co zjem w ciągu najbliższych 2-3 dni. Odpadają nagle wypady, niespodziewane obiadki w knajpie. A jeśli już gdzieś idę to na pewno zamówię coś co wyda mi się najbezpieczniejsze (tak, często sprawdzam wcześniej menu danej restauracji żebym nie musiała robić lipy i zastanawiać się godzinę)

- czytanie etykiet na zakupach (a nawet sprawdzanie z Fitatu). Zastanawianie się dłuuuugo czy czegoś chce i czy mogę to chcieć. Zabawa w "do koszyka, a za moment spowrotem na półkę".

- Jeśli nie ma dokładnie tego co chce w danym sklepie potrafię iść na drugi koniec miasta by to znaleźć. Ciężko idzie z nowymi rzeczami do jedzenia.

- prawie zawsze opcja light i "zero"

- jestem na tyle szczupła by ludzie zwracali na to uwagę. Słyszę często "ale pani to jest chudziutka" a jeszcze gorsze są komentarze od ludzi, którzy dawno mnie nie widzieli i pamiętają mnie grubą. Często muszę odpowiadać na różne dziwne pytania - jak schudłam, czy jem, czy nie jestem aby chora. Budzi to u mnie ogromne zażenowania bo mam czasami wrażenie, że zrobiłam coś złego. Nie wspomnę nawet o tym jak uważnie obserwuję mnie własna matka, która pamięta o moim dawnym 3D.

- nie wypowiadam tego na głos, ale miewam fatfobiczne myślenie i zdarza mi się kogoś oceniać pod względem tuszy i stylu życia. Nienawidzę tego w sobie!

- decyzja o tym by nie mieć dzieci. Nigdy nie czułam że jestem na tyle stabilna by dać komuś życie i go dobrze wprowadzić w ten świat. Sama czuje się nie raz jak dziecko. Lęk przed tym, że mogę moje wadliwe geny przekazać lub być "almond mum" (proszę was - to nie jedyny powód i nie przekonujcie mnie, bo decyzja zapadła lata temu. Nigdy nie widziałam siebie w roli matki, a dzieci nie budzą we mnie żadnych emocji. Jestem na półmetku życia i nigdy nie żałowałam)

- odpowiedzialność za dom i druga osobę. Jako dorośli będziecie mieli najprawdopodobniej stałego partnera/partnerkę. Kogoś trochę na innym poziomie niż chłopak czy dziewczyna. Będą wspólne rachunki, a wasze gacie będą razem w koszu na pranie. Zawsze musicie pamiętać, że to związek jest najważniejszy i to, co jest między wami. 3D często pcha się na trzeciego. Wiele rzeczy funkcjonuje u mnie tak jak funkcjonuje bo mam pewne przyzwyczajenia - najprostszy przykład - gotujemy sobie oddzielnie. Samo tak wyszło. Mój S. nie chce jeść "mojej trawy", a ja nie bardzo gustuje w talerzach ociekajacych tłuszczem i porcjach dla górnika. Nikt nikomu nie wytyka sposobu żywienia, choć czasami sobie żartujemy.

- patner/partnerka widzi was na codzień i jeśli macie trochę oleju w głowie nie pozwolicie by 3D niszczyło związek. Mój S. wie o moich dawnych problemach i wie też o tym z czym zmagam się do dziś. Wszystko szanuje i do niczego się nie wtrynia dopóki nie robię sobie krzywdy, a ja wychodzę z założenia, że za bardzo go kocham by sprawiać mu przykrość a przede wszystkim coś ukrywać. To zawsze jest myśl przewodnia i czerwone światło w mojej głowie - kiedy nie daj Bosze pomyślę o jakichś głupotach.

-praca i odpowiedzialność - oczywiście jeden z najważniejszych aspektów tego dorosłego życia. Wspomniałam wcześniej, że nie ma specjalnego traktowania i na prawdę ludzi nie interesuje, że chcesz żyć na 500 kc@l - masz obowiązki i na głodniaka raczej nie będziesz ani użyteczny ani produktywny. Jeśli zrobisz sobie krzywdę - to sam/a poniesiesz ich konsekwencje. Teraz tego nie doceniacie, ale rodzice którzy widzą wasz problem i wysyłają was na terapię, i chcą wam pomoc - to skarb! Korzystajcie póki możecie. Terapia i lekarze - to nie są tanie rzeczy. (Teraz jestem wdzięczna, że moi ofiarowali mi tę dozę "twardej miłości")

- zmarnowany czas. To ostatni aspekt który chciałam poruszyć. Moje 3D i alkoholizm zeżarły mi 10 lat życia! Nic mi tych lat nie zwróci. Czasami mam wrażenie, że wszystko musiałam nadrabiać z dużym opóźnieniem. Odkrywałam radość życia i nowe rzeczy, które moi rówieśnicy rocznikowi mieli już lata temu ogarnięte. I czasami czuje ogromny żal do siebie.

-myśl o własnej śmiertelności. To taki ogólny aspekt zdrowia psychicznego. Cóż, myślałam, że nie ma przede mną przyszłości i po prostu kiedyś ze sobą skończę, więc nie warto się starać (piszę o tym bo, często widuje takie podejście na blogch młodych osób) Cóż za niespodzianka!! Jednak żyje i mam się dobrze, i nadal jestem w szoku, że w sumie to nie chcę umierać. A im dłużej żyję, tym mniej mi się podoba to, że prędzej czy później trzeba będzie odejść 🙁. A zaburzeni@ odżyw1ania niestety często mają taki finał.

Mam nadzieję, że się nie zanudziłiście czytając. Mam też nadzieję, że nie wystraszyłam za bardzo młodzieży... Wiecie, też kiedyś byłam gówniarą i mówię to z sentymentem a nie z pogardą i taki post pominęła bym z wzruszenie ramion - co tam mi stara baba będzie gadać... A teraz jestem stara baba i gadam 😆.

[princessmisery666]

Meeting In The Darkness

Summary: You forgive Dean for what he did when he had black eyes but he can’t forgive himself.

Warnings/Genres/Troupes: angst, blood, implied torture, Demon!Dean, MOC!Dean, unresolved angst.

W/C: 2,882.

Pairing: past Dean Winchester x fem!reader (you - no descriptions of body type or ethnicity).

Bingo: @jacklesversebingo Square Filled: “Well one of us has to be wrong, and it’s not going to be me.”

A/N: @justagirlinafandomworld and @pink-sparkly-witch helped with ideas and feedback, thank you, but it has changed a little since then.

Betas: @slytherkins // all mistakes are my own.

Graphics: made by me on canva, divider @talesmaniac89

Master Lists: Dean Winchester // JAckles Verse Bingo // Main

It’s dark. Too dark. Your gun is out along with your flashlight, scanning the corners of the abandoned warehouse but the darkness seems to swallow anything beyond the end of the barrel.

Something is off and your gut tells you to get out, run fast and far. But you won’t, at least not until you find Dean. He called hours ago, said he was hurt and needed help. He sent the location pin and it brought you here. But it doesn’t feel right, it's too…quiet. Like the shadows are listening to your heartbeat. 

You tried calling Dean when you arrived but it rang out until his voicemail picked up. Sam’s not answering his phone either, maybe he’s hurt too? 

One foot over the other, that’s all you can focus on, not the worry making your heart beat faster. You desperately wish you’d called for back-up. Jody, Donna, hell even Garth. Except it was Dean. Your affinity for the surly hunter often clouded your judgment. He might not have time for you to wait for back-up. If Dean is hurt, he needs you now, not when the sun rises, though you doubt the dawn would penetrate the dark depths of the damp smelling warehouse.

“Dean,” you call out in a soft whisper. “Sam?”

Dean’s location blips on your screen, you're standing right on top of it, but he must be a floor above you because there’s no sign of him, and you’ve checked below. You're afraid of what you’ll find, and looking down at the illuminated screen blinds you further in the blackness that surrounds you.

“This isn’t right,” you say and have the eerie feeling someone hears you. 

Your phone rings, startling you so much, it drops to the floor. Of course it lands face down so you can’t see it.

“Fuck!” 

You scramble around, flashlight scanning for it, and as you step forward, you manage to kick it further away. You follow as it slides across the dusty floor, and the corner hits the wall just as it stops ringing.

You're quick to pick it up and the smell hits you as you straighten up. It isn’t dust… 

Demons. 

You sigh with relief when Sam’s name flashes on the caller I.D again. “Sam.” 

He doesn’t offer a greeting, frantically asking, “Where are you?”

“I’m at the warehouse. Dean called, he said you-”

“Get out,” Sam panics, “get out now, run!”

You freeze, terrified to turn around as the sudden sense you aren’t alone makes the hairs on your arms stand on end. 

“Sam what’s going on?” You ask, slowly backing up, trying to follow the same path to ensure you don’t trip over anything.

“Dean isn’t Dean,” Sam explains, “the Mark, it changed him. He’s a…” he struggles to finish the sentence taking a deep breath, and he utters the word as you back into a solid chest, “demon.”

“Shit.” 

“Hey, sweetheart,” Dean’s voice whispers against the shell of your ear, and it sounds as dark as the shadows. 

He takes the phone from your hand and hangs up, throwing the device over his shoulder. He runs his fingers down your arms, shoulder to wrist. For the briefest of moments, you convince yourself it’s a gentle caress, a sweet ‘I missed you’ in Dean’s language, until he wraps his fingers around yours and the gun.

You forgot you had the weapon, despite Sam’s frantic warning, you’ve never feared Dean, and it’s not like you’d have shot him. But you know you’ll soon regret that thought.

“Give it up,” he instructs, with little room for argument, almost crushing your fingers beneath his. 

You surrender it, cautiously taking a half step forward and turning at the same time when you feel Dean lean back to hand off the gun to someone you can’t see. He’s unnaturally fast, and before you can take a breath, he has you pinned against the wall, arms above your head. The flashlight falls, making the shadows dance, and as if on cue, the room's light illuminates, blinding you.

You squeeze your eyes shut against the assault and debate whether to keep them closed, afraid of what else is lurking in the room.

Dean demands, “Look at me,” and you know you’d be a fool to disobey.

Finally, when you find the courage to follow his command, you look up at him. Black drowns his pretty eyes, and his smile is fiendish.

“Please don’t say here’s Johnny,” you quip though you feel yourself start to tremble.

Dean laughs, but it doesn’t hold an ounce of amusement. “Johnny ain’t got nothing on me.”

You look over his shoulder, an army of demons line the walls looking at you with a fatal hunger. 

“Is this…” You can’t say it, recognizing that this is the place Crowley kept the alphas. The room where you saved Meg from Alistair’s clutches. You don’t know what you're asking for exactly; to be let go, to make it quick or something else, but the word falls from you in a shaky breath. “Please.” 

“Oh, don’t start begging yet,” Dean tuts, “you’ll spoil all the fun.”

“Fun?”

“See Sammy doesn’t believe that I’m no longer his big brother,” he explains, sounding irritated and bored.

“Dean, you don’t…” 

His hand wraps around your throat, lithe fingers reaching from ear to ear, and he cuts off your air to stop you from talking. “I’m tired of telling him to leave me alone, so I thought it’s time to really show him what I am. Maybe when I’m done here, he’ll let me go.”

Dean POV

I watch you thrash and squirm in your sleep. I know better than to wake you. Luckily, my reflexes saved me from any real damage but I have the scar to remind me of the knife you keep tucked under your pillow. 

“Dean, you don’t…” you whimper into the dream world.

Only, I know it's not a dream. It's a memory, playing out in full high definition. Unfortunately, I remember what happens next too.

I’ve tried running from the man - thing - I was, but I guess I’m too slow. It catches up to me in waves, winds me so much I clutch my chest, digging my fingers into my skin, hoping I’m somehow strong enough to break the flesh and rip my own heart out. Because that’s what it feels like while I watch you struggle. Every thrash or whimper is a blow to my chest, and I can’t catch my breath. 

I’ve waited at the bottom of a hundred bottles, drowning while I waited for you to come back. Waging a war against myself, punishing myself the only way I know how, abusing my body and falling into bed with any woman willing to sleep with the down and out drunk. 

I denied myself access to you. And you never called me. When finally I thought I had gotten away with it and felt a spark of relief that I wouldn’t ever have to face you again, like magic, you appeared.

That agony swallowed me whole, and I still feel like some big bad is chomping on my insides. It’s no less than I deserve, and heaven knows I’m never getting over you or what I did.  

I remember the pact you made, a vow etched in your blood as I slowly and painfully drew it from your body. “When all this is over,” your lip trembled, but the conviction was in your eyes. So much so, even the demon in me was intrigued with the absolute belief written on your bloodied features. “When Sam has fixed you…” you swallowed thickly, found a last ounce of strength and told me - him - “I can wait for you at the bottom. I can stay away if you want me to, and I’ll wait for years if I have to, but I’ll see you again, and I’ll forgive you, Dean.” 

I thought when your blood dried, you’d take it back, but apparently you haven’t. Because here you are, back at the bunker, sleeping in your old room. Is this what your forgiveness looks like? Pretending like nothing happened, even though you still have the scars, physical and mental, to show that it did. 

Your jerking movements stop and I hope that the nightmare has passed when you roll to lay on your back. I wait a few minutes, watching your body relax, your eyes remain closed, and your frown smooth as your breathing evens out. 

“Dean.” 

It sounds intentional but you still look like you're asleep. You sigh heavily, hand coming up to rub your eyes open, and then you’re looking at me. A mixture of tiredness and weariness in your expression. 

“Did I wake you?”

I can’t help but huff a laugh. You woke me. Seriously? I’m literally the thing in your nightmares, but you’re worried about waking me. It’s infuriating and typical. 

“No, I haven’t been to bed yet.” I haven’t been sleeping much lately, but with you here, I knew it was useless to even try. 

You roll on to your back, stare up at the ceiling and ask, “Where’re you gonna run to?” 

You’re not completely wrong. I thought about jumping in Baby and hauling ass in any direction. I wish I had. I didn’t because I owe you at least an opportunity to tell me how much you hate me, remind me that I fucked us up, all because I couldn’t lose Sammy. Worst part is, I think you know I’d do it again.

Silence deafens me for a long time, and I can’t be sure if you’ve fallen asleep or not, until you deliver a blow I never expected. 

“I still love you.”

I really did do some permanent damage because that’s the craziest thing I’ve ever heard you say, and you’ve never said it before today. It’s always been on the tip of your tongue. I could see it in the moments you wanted to say it, especially the moments it wouldn’t have changed anything because then you’d have been saying it for you, to make yourself feel better, knowing I was going to hell or purgatory or wherever I was headed knowing how you felt. But now you're saying it for me because it’s what I need to hear, despite that I doubt the truth of it.

You shuffle to sit up, stare at me through the darkness, repeating, “I still love you, Dean.”

“You shouldn’t.”

You lean over to switch on the lamp, a slight jesting smirk when you look back at me. “Well, one of us has to be wrong, and it’s not going to be me.”

You say it so unbelievably casual as if you're commenting on the weather, and I know you’re trying to lighten the mood, but I just don’t have it in me to make jokes.

“There’s a first time for everything,” I counter, “and this is that time. You don’t love me, you love the idea of me, and I wish I was the guy you think I am, but I’m not and I won’t ever be.” 

You sigh, and though you're too far away from me, I swear I feel it. As if a ghost just showed up, the temperature drops a few degrees, and a cold shiver runs through me when you mutter, “I know,” looking down at your fidgeting hands in your lap.

Son of a bitch. Why does that sting like a rock salt shot to my chest? 

“But you're not the villain you think you are, either,” you say, softly, as if you're talking to yourself, and you may as well be because I’ll listen, but I won’t hear it.

“Villain, monster, all means the same.”

“You know what your problem is?” There’s no softness to your tone now. You're getting angry, and that makes more sense to me. You should be angry, furious, murderous even, but you won’t claim it like you should.

Regardless of your right to be furious with me, I bite back, “I have a few, but why don’t you tell me?”

“You don’t think you're worthy of love, that anyone who cares for you has been fooled into doing so, but what you don’t see is that you prove yourself worthy over and over again. The sacrifices you make, you put everyone - damn, the world - above yourself, and that makes you worthy.”

There’s that conviction again, the same undeniable faith you had when I had you tied down and bleeding out. You believe everything you just said, but it's the second time you’ve been wrong today.

“You’re wrong,” I say. “All the sacrifices I make are for selfish reasons, to save Sam, so I don’t have to live without my brother. That’s not commendable. And all the other times it was probably to fix a mistake I made trying to save Sam. I’m not worthy. I’m a screw up.”

You shrug, “Difference of opinion, I guess.” 

Letting out a frustrated sigh, I shake my head, looking up at the ceiling as if I’ll be able to see the sanity you’ve so clearly let go of floating around up there. As my eyes drift back down, they land on your duffle sitting on the chair. It’s packed up tight still, the clothes you were wearing when you arrived neatly folded on top, boots on the floor beneath it. 

You’re saying all this, claiming you love me but it looks as though you're ready to leave at the drop of a hat. “Not planning on staying?”

“Hadn’t decided yet, needed to know if I was too much of a reminder or if you could get past it all.” 

“Get past it?” I shout. “It’s not some minor accident, YN. I didn’t accidentally step on your foot. I ran a blade through your skin, repeatedly. I took pleasure in hearing you scream. I was proud of how your blood dripped onto the floor!” 

My rage makes you jump out of the bed. You, quite literally, won’t take this sitting down. You cross the room and get in my face. “I got past it, so why can’t you?” 

I laugh, there’s no humor in it, but it's either that or smash my fist into the door. “You're past it, huh? So I wasn’t just stalking your sleep, walking around with black eyes and a knife soaked in your blood?”

You avert your gaze and take a half step back. I’ve won, I see the fight drain out of you in the way your shoulders slump. I don’t feel good about it. 

“You came here to forgive me.” You meet my gaze and it’s right there, I can see it reflected back in your tearful expression.  “But I don’t need it,” I say, as the first tear slips free, “and I really don’t want it.”

“We can’t go back.” 

You’re not asking a question, you're speaking the realization aloud. But to be sure you understand, I add, “And there’s no going forward.”

Your gaze flicks to your unpacked bag. You inhale slowly and hold it for a long pause. “I won’t stay where I’m not wanted,” you exhale, “So when I leave, I’m not coming back.”

That’s not true. You are wanted, more than you’ll ever know and more than I could ever express, but it doesn’t matter. Wanting you is not enough to keep what I did in the shadows.

It’s a dick thing to do, but the hurt I’m causing you now, the pain that is free flowing from your eyes, is nothing compared to what will happen if you stick around. “Finally,” I sigh, “something we agree on.” 

You hand flexes at your side, balls into a fist while you decide whether to strike me or not. I brace myself, expecting the blow. I deserve it. It’s what I need, a flare of anger, a singular moment to show me that I haven’t slaughtered the fight left in you.  

Your hand relaxes, and the resolve, with such a finality I’ll never forget, settles in your eyes. 

You’ve given up on me.

It’s for the best and there’s nothing left to say, so I turn and walk away.

It doesn’t take you long to get dressed, and I can’t bear to watch you leave, but I wait around the corner, out of sight, listening to your movements. 

When you leave your room, I follow your departure through the halls, trying not to inhale your scent too deeply, knowing the memories it will ignite will burn my resolve.

Your truck door slams, but the engine doesn’t start, and I hold my breath. Are you fighting with yourself to leave or stay? 

I don’t know which would make me feel worse. 

The engine starts, and I drift closer to the garage door. I push it open a crack, enough to see you resting your head on your hands that grip the wheel so tight, I can feel the sting on my own palms. Your shoulders heave with your tears that the old cranky engine drowns out. 

I do nothing but stare. The irony isn’t lost on me, I did the same thing that day in the warehouse; waiting, watching. The only difference is, as you drive away I’m the one left bleeding out and tortured.

Tags Info.

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Master Lists: Dean Winchester // JAckles Verse Bingo // Main

[nejsemzezplzne]

Nedovedete si představit, jak moc miluju, když se Angličani snaží vyslovit moje příjmení. Člověk by si nemyslel, že je nějak extra komplikovaný, ale obsahuje J a C hned po sobě, a to je pro ně nepochopitelná záhada.

Řidič DPD: are you miss *kletba na tři generace dopředu*

Já, zvyklá: yes

Řidič DPD: what a lovely name ☺️

[atla-confessions]

Z/ks call moc incels for relating Aang,Zukka shippers fujoshis when most of them are trans men and on the younger side too,lesbian Azula shippers who're lesbians themselves and often on the younger side as well delusional,Mai/Maiko stans pick mes for being goth/alt women,Kataangers rape apologists for not thinking a 12 year old boy reading the room wrong means he's gonna grow up to be a sexual abuser,Jet and Hama aka brown characters who're victims of The Radical trope one a child and the other an elderly woman 'just as bad/worse' than their colonizers and treat their defenders as dumb whiny c*loreds,lump in Korrasami stans with lesbophobic dudebros for daring to be happy about representation even IF they're critical of the show and it's creators and completely brush off any self-defense or critisism against their fanbase as 'baseless accusations' but suddenly everybody who hates Zutara and Zutradras is a misogynist no matter what according to them🤨And y'all wonder why people assume most of you are white women,this is peak white feminism.And cis girl fragility,please name a transfem

X

[llyfrenfys]

LHDTC+ : Acronym heb Q / LHDTC+ : Acronym without Q

P'nawn da pawb, Mae'r post hwn yw'r post cyntaf yn fy system ddwyeithog newydd. Mae'r Cymraeg sy'n dod yn gyntaf a Saesneg yn ail. Afternoon pawb, This post is the first post using my new bilingual system. Welsh is first and English is second.

[Fersiwn pinc o'r ddraig yn y faner hon/Pink version of the dragon on this flag]

Mae'r acronym Saesneg LGBT fel arfer yn cael ei sgwennu fel LHDT yn Gymraeg. Ond beth am y Q+?

Fi'n gweld 'LHDTQ+' yn aml - ond does dim llythren Q yn yr alffabet Gymraeg. Felly beth am C+?

Mae'n amhosib siarad am yr acronym heb sôn am yr hanes yr acronym yn Gymraeg. Ar hyn o bryd, mae'r sôn cyntaf am yr acronym yn Gymraeg yn "Storïau sy'n rhoi siâp ar fywyd" gan West Rhyl Young People’s Project yn 1994. Ar dudalen 4 mae'n dweud "LHD" ar gyfer LGB. Ar ôl LHD, mae LHDT yn cyrraedd yn "Canllaw Cryno i Gymunedau LHDT: Ar Herio Adroddiadau Negyddol Yn Y Cyfryngau" gan y Comisiynydd Plant Cymru yn 2015.

Hefyd, mae'n amhosib siarad am yr acronym heb sôn am Q am 'Queer' neu Q am 'questioning'. Mae'r ddau, y ddau yn dda iawn. Ond yn y Gymraeg mae trydedd ongl: C am 'Cwiar' neu Cadi'?

Siaradodd Mihangel Morgan ar 'theori Cadi' yn Queer Wales (2016). Mae Morgan yn hoffi gwell Cadi na Cwiar fel term cymunedol ac mae yna rai sy'n cytuno ag e. Ar y llaw arall, mae rhai pobl yn hoffi Cwiar. Ac mae rhai pobl yn hoffi'r ddau. Fi'n hoffi'r ddau yn bersonol. Ond fi'n meddwl ei fod yn bwysig dangos y sgwrs o gwmpas y pethau 'ma.

Beth yw eich barn chi? Atebwch isod neu mewn neges neu drwy fy mocs gofyn!

/

The English acronym LGBT is usually written as LHDT in Welsh. But what about the Q+?

I see 'LHDTQ+' often - but there is no letter Q in the Welsh alphabet. So what about C+?

It is impossible to talk about the acronym without also mentioning the history of the acronym in Welsh. Currently, the first (known) mention of the acronym in Welsh is in "Stories which give shape to lives" by West Rhyl Young People's Project in 1994. On page 4 it has "LHD" for LGB. After LGB makes a debut, the acronym LGBT arrives in "A Brief Guide for LGBT Communities: Challenging Negative Media Reports" (tr.) by the Children's Commissioner for Wales in 2015.

It is also impossible to talk about the acronym without mentioning whether it is Q for 'Queer' or Q for 'questioning'. Both, both are good. But in Welsh there exists a third angle: Q for 'Cwiar' or Cadi'?

Mihangel Morgan has spoken about 'Cadi theory' in Queer Wales (2016). Morgan has established that he prefers Cadi to Cwiar as a community term and there are some who agree with him. On the other hand, other people prefer Cwiar. And some people just like both. I like both personally. But I do think it is important to show the conversation around these things on here.

What do you think? Reply below or in a message or an ask!

[lawless-walrus]

She tripotentiary on my Moc til I Weepe

she Clara on my mire til I breach

she gold on my finch til I notarize

she kozma on my lazslo till i melt

she jonas on my spahr till i divorce

she breach on my back til I pack

she Lox on my lee til i'm light

she laz on my retto till i'm merciful

she valorous on my caenum till i break even

she fold on my baron til I'm shallow

she burden on my zenith till i fracture

she the's on my highest till i light

she bed on my rock till I breach

she moth on my reverie till i eclose

she anguish on my mother til I'm trauma

she descend on my coda till my end is loose

she mirror on my hawk til I dip

she bocular on my horse till i awooga

she b on my o till i c

she sher on my man til I guthrie

she arca on my balustrade til I caenum

she pea on my body til I fuze

she atti on my cus til I concord

she inside my truth till i hit a new imago

she more on on my that til I'm later

she master on my post till i shatter

she ice on my cracker til I nut

she moon's on my empty till my wallet's full

she tinder on my box til I wail

she cabaret on my candle till I black

she arch on my auditor til I Imelda

she stationary on my hill till i'm blinding

she DO NOT on my SHOW til I'm WEAKNESS

she light on my bulb til I pulse

she bludgeon on my heat till i sink

she breakfast on my bread till i'm infinite

she inter on my istletary til I cable

she milton on my fleit till i'm senior

And finally, the deep cut

She blue on my berries til I'm hill

[uselessheretic]

When it comes to Ed and addressing his issues around things like mental health, trauma, and anger issues, I understand the kneejerk reaction to deny that he has any of those traits due to not wanting to stereotype him, but I don't think that really solves much. Ed is someone who is severely traumatized, forced into a world where he had to take care of himself from a young age, and never given a chance to learn things like healthy coping mechanisms. He's going to develop in ways that are maladaptive as he searches for a way to just survive.

A lot of the time, people will say things like "Ed doesn't have anger issues because whenever he gets mad he's valid" and I get it, I do, but it just? Doesn't work that way? When a room full of people makes fun of you, you can't just go in there and shoot everyone even if they hurt your feelings. Not just because that's a wild ass thing to argue as correct, but because it directly endangers himself and others. Even if he's fucking Blackbeard, that's still a huge risk of him being harmed. Characters like Oluwande and Frenchie would also be at risk where maybe people can't stab Blackbeard, but it's possible someone might take a chance on one of his companions if they think they're a part of this.

Denying that these problems exist doesn't do anything. It doesn't strengthen his character and it doesn't engage with him in a way that humanizes him to allow for growth. He's not gonna marry Stede and suddenly never be angry again and nobody ever makes him feel sad ever again!

I understand that the thought process here is that men of color are stereotyped to be angry and violent, and therefore, it's racist to interpret Ed as having these traits. That doesn't really solve anything though because it doesn't engage with the problem past a surface level. Moc are stereotyped as being angry... Why? Because it's a way to justify enacting state violence and control them. Sure, you can say "Ed isn't angry though so there's no need to put him through the system" but that narrows the scope down to him as an individual that relies on him never being angry to rescue him from that.

Because what happens when moc are angry? When they are violent and you're not able to just deny that and move on? Do we just abandon them?

Obviously not. When we base a person's humanity off a prerequisite that they can't embody any of the negativity the state is seeking to control, we inadvertently justify the violence imposed onto those less able to hold themselves to, frankly, impossible standards. It's another way of trying to appeal to respectability politics.

So instead of denying these parts of Ed, we can look more closely at them.

Ed's moments of anger are often prompted by him experiencing hurt. He's made fun of, he's been tricked, a snake fell on him, he feels abandoned. He has a tendency to go from zero to one hundred very quickly, and often will react to things with the same level of intensity regardless of what is actually triggering it. This makes sense though when you remember that he's a severely traumatized person who went through substantial abuse as a child! Often, people experiencing things like c-PTSD lose their ability to accurately gauge threat levels, meaning that if they want to survive, they are on constant high alert for any possible danger. Anger is a natural reaction to this, and his trigger for going off is hypersensitive as a result. Something like this helps explain why Stede leaving him, and Izzy subsequent antagonism, hit him like a fucking truck.

When Ed expresses anger, it often comes coupled with reminders of his trauma and greatest insecurities. Making fun of him for growing up in poverty, saying he can't have friends, poking at his breakup and fear of abandonment. He has direct flashbacks to his childhood with some of these, becoming forced to relieve times when he was at his most powerless. This lack of power pushes him to try and regain that control. He's not poor! He has more riches than you can shake a stick at! You can't make fun of him for how he eats, do you have any idea who he is? He's fucking Blackbeard! Choose your next works carefully, dog, and decide if you want to bring up Stede anymore.

It's instinct. As much as jerking your hand away from a burning iron. He's being hurt, he needs to make it stop.

But it doesn't work. Not only does it not work, Ed knows it too. He may have more riches, but the French captain will still view him as something vulgar. He's fucking Blackbeard, but what does it matter if the party will continue laughing at him? "There he is..." The Blackbeard who Stede abandoned, the same as always.

In a world of cartoon violence, there's little care Ed needs to afford towards the lives he takes. That's not the problem. The problem is that the harder he tries to maintain control, the more he loses it. And the less control he has, the angrier he becomes. And the angrier he is, the more desperate he becomes to keep himself safe.

Ed is playing a game rigged against him from the start. He exists in a system meant to antagonize and hurt him while surrounded by vultures waiting for him to prove them right that he does lack discipline where no matter what action he takes he loses. How could he be anything other than furious about it?

His anger is a perfectly logical reaction to his situation, and there's no point in denying that it exists like it's something shameful. Ed needs tools to help him cope with this, a support system that has his back, and an environment that nourishes him instead of constantly putting him at risk of dying.

[fourbrickstall]

Started building out the small models of my Stardew Valley Farmhouse MOC with real bricks

Here's what can fit inside the shipping bin (and that I have the parts for on hand).

In my MOC, Joja Cola is in the trash though.

Keep the votes coming to have LEGO officially consider my project for a real set!

It's up to almost 400 now but still a ways to go to 10,000 required votes.

[gloryhrs]

⟡ 𝐓𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐒𝐔𝐑𝐄! ━━ 「 Kitsune!Ichigo Kurosaki. 」

gender neutral reader. ʚɞ req — @evet1224 ᵎᵎ( ๑˃̶ ꇴ ˂̶)♪ ⁺｡o

˚୨୧⋆｡˚ A light tune escaped from your lips as you completed your last assignment for today, the wind blowing past your hair and the birds chirping around you made your mind feel at ease. "I’m finally done! This week was so draining." You stood up to stretch your aching muscles and removed the hair tie from your ( h / c ) locs. After gathering your materials and placing them in your school bag you began to make your way back home whilst humming the same tune from earlier.

As you proceeded to make your way down the dirt path to your house an object made you trip over and land on your stomach, "Ow, what was that!?" You looked over the large orange and black teapot with Japanese lettering on it. You tilted your head at the old-looking object before picking it up and opening the lid, a harsh gust of wind brushed past your hair making your eyes widen from shock. Any smart person would have taken this as a sign to leave the item alone, unfortunately, you weren’t one of those people. "This is so cool! I guess it won’t hurt to take it home." You closed the lid and continued your journey back to your house, without knowing what you just did.

˚୨୧⋆｡˚ YOUR fingers grazed against the ancient pot as you carefully cleaned the excess dirt from the golden lines, "Done! Cleaning this was harder than I expected." You wiped the imaginary sweat off your forehead. After setting the item down you made your way to the kitchen to check up on your dinner, which was chicken shrimp alfredo. The delicious smell makes your smile brighten, "Ahh I can’t wait to eat this!" A drop of drool left from your lips at the sight before you. As you continued to stir the noodles a loud sound from the living room made you freeze, "Hm?Shin?" You called out to your cat only to hear nothing but silence.

The mind immediately thinking for the worst you slowly reached for the knife on the cutting board to scare away the stranger who made themselves into your house. As you have gotten closer the more you started to hear your cat purring and meowing in delight, "Shin! Oh, I thought—" Your eyes widened at the sight of the unknown man who was petting your cat who lay in his lap. "Oh my goodness." The knife slipped from your hands to stare at the man in your living room, he had waist-length orange hair with a matching set of ears on top of his head, and nine orange tails with white tips to match the ancient traditional Japanese clothing he was wearing.

"I—Um how may I help you sir?" You spoke calmly and carefully to avoid aggravating the man who continued to pet your cat, ‘He’s a Kitsune! But where did he come from?’ You rubbed your sweating palms on your apron. After putting your pet down he walked closer to you as your heart started to beat out of your chest, "Did you release me?" He tilted his head with a blank look on his face, "R-Release? What do you mean?" You tried to ignore the way his face was practically inches away from yours. His eyes scanned the room then pointed to the clean teapot that sat on your living room table, 'He came from that? Was I supposed to know that an ancient spirit was in there? I just thought it was pretty!'

"I’m so sorry! I didn’t know you lived there! I just picked it up and cleaned it because I thought it looked nice!" You felt your eyes start to burn at the thought of the spirit killing you and your cat, once a tear fell from your cheek his thumb wiped it away before it could hit the ground. "Please don’t cry." His baritone voice rang throughout your ears, those soft brown eyes of his looking back into yours. "You freed me, thank you." His hand stayed on your warm cheek, you could tell the kitsune was trying his hardest to not scare you back into a corner but was still suspicious of you.

"May I ask for your name, sir?" You took his other hand with yours to completely make him trust you, "Ichigo Kurosaki." He mocked your actions by rubbing his thumb on your hand as well. "Well my name is ( Y / n ) ( L / n ), it’s nice to meet you Ichigo." You grinned at him as his ears flattened slightly at you. He tugged your arm forward and hugged you, "You have such a lovely name, ( Y / n )." One of his tails kept you closer to him, the warm fur making you snuggle into his chest. "Thank you Ichigo, I love yours as well."

˚୨୧⋆｡˚ FOR the past three months Ichigo has been following you around everywhere, at first, you were a little scared for him to be walking outside but he told you only you and Shin were able to see him. Everywhere you went he would tag along with you, but you didn’t mind, who wouldn’t want to have an attractive spirt following them around and protecting them from harms way? Plus he was so affectionate with you, his tails always finding a way to wrap around you, and how he’ll constantly kiss your hand when you woke up in the morning.

"Do you like tuna?" You held the can out to the man who nodded quickly and pushed the shopping cart to the register, "That’s good, I was planning on cooking us some tuna, eggs, and rice tonight." You lifted your hand to give him a signal that you wanted to pat his head, once he crouched down you immediately ran your hands through his orange locks and beautiful ears with a series of purrs leaving his lips. The way your behavior reminded him of his lover from the past made his chest tighten, he still found it uncanny how you not only act like them but look like them as well. From your ( e / c ) eyes to the star-shaped birthmark on your ankle, the same one his lover had.

He followed you out of the store with one of his tails wrapped around your waist, your hands often brushing against it. "Ichigo? May I ask you something?" You used your key to unlock the house door and sit the groceries down on the table. "Of course." He followed you to the living room and sat beside you with your hands combing through the tails. "Why are you here? You’re free and you can travel anywhere! But you decided to stay here, why?" You continued to hold his tail in your lap, you watched as his ears perked up from the question with a pink tint on his cheeks.

"You remind me of my lover from the past, everything about you reminds me of them. From your otherworldly beauty to your respectful behavior. I’ll do anything to protect and take care of you, something I failed to do for them in the past." He played with his fingers in shame with his ears falling along with his tails. "So that’s why you didn’t attack me when we first met?" You caressed his cheek with a small smile on your lips, which caused him to nod his head slowly. Everything about you made him think back to them, and the time when he let his lover die because he couldn’t protect them from the enemies who were originally after him. His hold on your hand tightened from the memories he wish he could forget.

"Come here." You pulled on his arms so he could lay on top of you, once he fell on your body his tails protectively blanketed you as you laughed at his overprotective demeanor. "I'll keep you safe until the end of time." He spoke into your neck with your fingers playing in his long hair. "Thank you Ichigo, I truly can’t thank you enough." You removed the hair from his face and kissed his forehead.

© gloryhrs, 032423. — notes and reblogs are appreciated! (≧∇≦)

[too-many-mice]

So what work have we done with our mutants you might ask?

Pearl has been so far proven to show on the following colours.

Black , blue , chocolate , fawn.

Future testing will include c locus colours

Havana , moc chocolate and pointed types like siamese and reverse Siamese.

We also need to test pearl on long coat and rex combinations.

As for white undercoat

Since we now have it free from agouti

The next step will be seeing how it interacts with the self colours first.

Then on to the c locus genes.

These plans will mean some changes to the mousery

Mostly upgrading holding capacity to facilitate the numbers needed to get reliable results.

We don't do things on a small scale and need to get a decent sample size in our breedings to make accurate assessments on whats going on.