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hangesdarling · 5 months

Note

Can I ask for hate sex with hange?

(Hope this fits within your rules!)

commitment — h. zoë

PAIRING. Hange Zoë x female reader SYNOPSIS. Commander Hange find it difficult to commit into a relationship with you. CONTENT. 18+, MDNI, biting, leaving bite marks, vaginal fingering, oral sex (hange receiving), overstimulation, panty stuffing, scissoring, angst, alcoholism, teasing, dirty talk (lmk what else) WORD COUNT. 4.1k (i got carried away 😭) A/N. School may be killing me but at least I get to write this angsty smut for Hange (sorry for taking so long anon, and yesss, this fits with my rules 💕)

Your privilege from birth remained an indelible mark and only strengthened when your father rose to rank in the military police brigade. Those itchy elegant clothes at private parties, or of wearing a proper pin-up dress when you want to cross the road without a word of judgment became a pervasive familiarity.

Maybe even freedom contorted itself to your comfort and safety for you only saw Titans in those publications. Hange thought of you as an entitled woman untouched even by the dust from Shiganshina as expected from someone who lived in the inner walls from birth.

But you love playing with fire. You love Hange's esoteric yet strangely fascinating eye bored through you across that expansive room. It was full of people in the usual fancy setting you were used to. Empty words were exchanged through them as if a common meeting could create another layer of peace to prevent such bonds from breaking.

However, tonight was not so tasteless when you're exchanging wordless conversations and suggestive glances with the Commander of the Survey Corps.

The party was not fascinating but the eventual meetings that followed were. For some time, your father almost believed you were interested in a position in the military from how you frequented the headquarters. Your surreptitious meetings with Hange came once a week, turning twice or thrice later on. Eventually, their vision of you as an entitled woman shattered under one kiss followed by sloppy lovemaking in their office.

"So you weren't so stuck up after all," Hange mused, their lips stained with the gloss from your lips.

"And you weren't so sophisticated, Commander." A teasing smirk rose on your lips, fingers circling the angry kiss marks trailing up from their chest to their neck. Your hips mounted to reposition yourself in their lap, earning an appreciative smile from them just for your boldness. "Taking me right here in the office? Really?"

Your banters flowed like fluid robbed of viscosity, a free-flowing connection to the soul. Hange has this charming, relaxed smile, a glimpse of their youth smothered by the weight of responsibility on their shoulders. Your presence became a prying tool, each loving word uttered lifting the heaviness within them.

You relished on those weekdays you had to pretend that you were not fucking the Commander. A sensational thrill shot through your body, even to the tips of your toes just from writing each lipstick-stained letter, each lewd word placed upon paper to be mailed directly at their office disguised as a formal letter.

Lately, your meetings have thinned to twice or thrice a month, putting intense yearning upon waiting for a familiar letter in your mailbox. It wasn't frequent but Hange had a way with words, and it was enough to make you read their letter the way a devotee reads their bible.

However, upon another chance of meeting after such intense longing, you found Hange in haste, bounding your conversation into half an hour based on how the clock on their wrist ticked.

So you hugged them, you nestled your head on their chest like you always used to as if doing so would merit their stay.

"Sweetheart, I really have no time for this," their tone sounded apologetic, as if in repentance for your yearning bounded by their time. "Say what you want to say, Y/N."

"Tell me, Hange. What are we?" It was soft yet so pointed that Hange stirred from your touch. They can't find a way to scoot around the topic with your tone of adamance. Their lips pursed into a thin line before sighing.

"Y/N, we've talked about this."

Your fists clenched at their olive uniform, your face remained buried on their chest.

"But Hange... We've been seeing each other for such a long time now. And I..."

Hange knows you cannot finish your sentence, each word snatched from your mouth for fear of sounding pathetic.

"Y/N, look, I wasn't carved out for such a commitment," they pulled away gently, lifting your chin to look at them and letting go eventually when you shook their hand off. "I care for you, Y/N. But we can't do this now."

That's what you always say, you wanted to scream out. That this wasn't the right time, that it would be best to keep things this way not to hurt each other. You always do this as if there was always a better time than now.

Your hand clenched around their coat once more then let go all at once. Hange's watch ticked twice.

"I hate you," your lips moved in scorn, in an angry desperation to not burst into tears. It took all Hange's strength to not argue back, to resist your statement and pull you back in their arms so this parting wouldn't hurt as much. Their watch ticked again and like any other meetings, they didn't have time.

Hange sighed, squeezing your hand and letting it go as they stepped back. "I'm sorry, Y/N. We'll talk about this when I get back."

Your eyes welled with tears as their footsteps grew fainter from where you stood frozen. You tried to walk away silently but the sound of their train leaving clutched you in an urge to scream.

Maybe Hange was right that being in an official relationship wasn't any better. I have to grow up, you told yourself. Hange has this mature view of things that smothers their imaginative side. Their decisions felt like the safest yet most terrible ones you couldn't wrap your heart around. You grew up knowing that things you want would materialize the moment you wished for them. It contrasts all the harsh experiences Hange had outside the walls all those years ago, not only fighting titans but the corrupt humans themselves. This isn't a fairy tale, Y/N, your mind spoke in Hange's voice.

But you want to stop longing, to await for a love that does not dither, for a piece of commitment you could hold onto each time you wait for Hange to come back. Just the slightest verbal evidence that you're the person they come to as a lover. But your attempt to get their heart in your care failed once again.

Maybe you were never their lover. You're just another one of those women they invited over for a fortnight of pleasure. You just happen to last long enough because they weren't tired of you just yet. You scoffed to yourself, pouring yourself another drink later that night day when Hange left. They should be getting on the ship as of this time based on your estimate. Another few weeks of not seeing each other, but this time parting with such bitter words.

I hate you.

Did you truly mean it? Maybe you hate their choice, but not them. Or perhaps it was irritating how much you cannot fully place hate on their name even if you tried.

You drank the bottle of wine to the last droplet, mind considering a visit to your father's headquarters early that morning.

Not long ago, you earned a temporary job in the headquarters as an excuse to see Hange. It was rather tedious but you're not aversed about reading lengthy reports and sorting them when you could always meet the Commander afterwards. But with Hange's absence, the papers were getting more difficult to bear that you had to avert your eyes from the pile for at least an hour.

However, you left the room later on, remembering you shouldn't have to bear with such things when you have a privilege placed on your name. You could always pay that kind soldier trying to help you out. But later that noon, he won't accept monetary payment, but rather a chance to take you out on a drink until night.

Perhaps it wasn't such a bad offer since you needed a drink yourself. A splash of alcohol might hopefully erase Hange's face from your mind. You haven't even written a single letter since they left and planned to keep it that way.

The bar where soldiers of low ranks weren't as sophisticated, and the cheap drinks tasted unique. Your first drink burned your throat but you were too thrilled by the new environment to even protest. You tried to imagine Hange in place of the guy next to you. Hange would have looked at you in amusement, maybe even tried to down a bottle to show you a glimpse of their previous life before they became Commander.

But that daydream blurs and vanishes into a tasteless reality as you down a few drinks. This place only reminded you of Hange's absence, an environment far too cruel for you to bear. It was clear that you wanted to leave the bar and cut that night short. The man who brought you here has been a help in your tipsy state, and much to your distaste, he began a shaky confession of why he brought you here.

His hands were cold when they met yours, you wanted to roll your eyes at how he was trying to meet your eyes. You're beautiful, you're friendly enough. I always see you frequent the headquarters.

Shallow confessions, you thought to yourself, and yet it all sounds tempting especially now that the alcohol was kicking in.

You tried to kiss him mid-sentence, tasting the cheap beer on both of your lips. His lips felt strange, unfamiliar, and almost cold from the air outside. You retracted almost immediately, the tempting whispers of the alcohol in your system diminished all at once. It was a terrible kiss and it will never feel good when your lips keep searching for Hange's sweet and loving ones.

You're not one to toy with other people's feelings but the kiss stirred and hazed your mind back to soberness that you ran away into the frigid night. You tried to wash away the taste with another glass of wine when you got home but the feeling of betrayal lingered.

But then again, it wouldn't be a betrayal to Hange because you were never theirs. They've made it clear a few more times than enough.

We can't do this now. There wasn't an ‘us’ to begin with.

Later that midnight, you tried writing several letters addressed to Hange but none felt right. All ended up in a discarded pile beside your bed, your inked hands unwashed as the alcohol inched you closer to slumber.

Returning to Paradis without you in sight made the morning all the more bitter for Hange. Not a letter from you, nor an answer for all the letters they sent while they were away. They remember the hatred laced with your words the last time you saw one another.

Against all the bitterness nestled within them, they remained wishing that you never meant your words.

Later that afternoon in the headquarters, they wanted to come to you but decided against it at the last minute. They need a few hours to themselves. Maybe for sleep or other things. However, Hange cannot sleep now that their mind is occupied not just by the pressing issues in the military, but also by you.

They thought of your sweet, blushing face in their hands whenever they kiss you, or how you make a seat for yourself in their lap whenever you're in the mood to be playful, but above all that, they longed to feel you after such a tedious time away. Their mind was plagued with questions of where you were and what had happened while they were gone. Do you still resent them?

However, their questions were beginning to be answered in such an unlikely manner when they overheard a conversation among soldiers drinking at work. The Commander wanted to burst in and admonish them for misbehavior when they heard your name being spoken along degrading words. A slut. A woman easily persuaded by an invitation to drink. Hange proceeded to listen, fists clenched as the soldier you kissed not even a week ago decided to warp his story of rejection to your disadvantage.

Hange glanced at these soldiers, remembering the names and faces they would subject to grueling military work later that day. They forgot their tiredness and went out of the headquarters to look for you.

Hange didn't want to believe that man's words. They placed their trust in you to that extent. However, their reasoning shattered when they heard it from your mouth.

You resent them because seeing them makes your heart ache. You wished to hurt them the way they did when they broke your heart.

"I was never yours, Hange. You've made that clear several times so why bother to snoop around to what I'm up to?" you glared at them when they stood blocking the way out of your room.

"Are you telling me these things because you're bored of me and wish to have a new plaything, or is this your petty attempt to make me mad?" Hange gave you a tired glare, arms crossed over their chest. They were too exhausted to deal with your temper at that moment and wished for a more civilized conversation.

Your brows rose from their claim and said, "I'm not one to find playthings, and toy with them until I'm satisfied. Maybe you should look at yourself, Hange."

Your attempt to storm out of the room was interrupted when Hange caught your arm and brought you back to face them. "You think I'm toying with you?" Their tone only indicated that you managed to anger them with that statement.

"What am I supposed to think when we only met several times just to fuck each other and yet you seem revolted by the idea of even calling me your lover?" you jabbed a finger on their chest, your tears more unbridled than that of your last meeting. "Was it easier to dedicate your life protecting a hopeless, godforsaken land than loving me?"

Your claims were making Hange snap but they couldn't let themself lose control now.

"You misunderstood me entirely," they muttered as if speaking any louder would prompt them to break. "And don't you dare call Paradis hopeless. You know nothing about it."

"You think so low of me, don't you? You think I'm too stupid to know what's happening here?" you argued, hastily wiping your tears so they wouldn't blur your vision. "It's obvious we don't understand each other. Maybe it's better if we stop all of this entirely."

Their grip on your arm tightened unconsciously. "You don't mean that," they scoffed.

"Don't challenge me, Hange. You must be a fool if you think I can't replace you," you said coldly, earning a glare from them. Hange couldn't hold themself any longer, the frustration from work coupled with your behavior towards them irritates them further.

They swiftly locked the door and pulled you towards them, arms circled tightly on your waist. Their face was centimeters away from you, their warm breath brushing against your lips, "This is not what I'm expecting when I come back here, Y/N. You're such a clever girl so you must know what I'm feeling right now."

Their hand went to the back of your head, lips touching yours as they whispered, "I'm so damn fed up and not just that..."

Hange dragged you back to your bed, forcing you to sit down. Their silent aggressiveness scared you when they slowly pressed their body against yours, their frame caging you firmly like one would do to a prey. Your legs dangled over the edge as their knees pressed on your sides. The bruising kisses they gave dug into your skin, almost like Hange was trying to tear the soft surface apart until you bled.

"Hange, not here," you hissed, pushing on their shoulders. They groaned on your neck and gathered your wrists over your head.

"Don't act like this is the first time I fucked you here," they retorted, completing the cruel necklace of love bites surrounding your neck. Hange rolled up your skirt to your waist, their other hand pushing at the back of your thigh so you would lay open for them.

"My father's at home, you asshole."

"I don't care," they replied almost immediately. "Let your father hear us. Let him know I'm already defiling you so he'd force me to marry you. After all, that's what you want, right?"

"You twist my words," you argued.

"I'm just learning from you," Hange muttered, their desperate lips now kissing on your chest. Hange could feel that your wrists were starting to relax on their grip. "Do you know how much irritates me when you think I don't love you?"

"Maybe you should ask yourself why I think that way," you shot back.

"If I'm so terrible in your mind then let me prove you otherwise," Hange told you like a firm promise, letting go of your hand to undo your clothes to the last button. Their hand kneaded on your waist, finding their way to settle on your breasts.

You hated how much your body leaned into their warmth, of how you let yourself become so vulnerable and bare in their eyes. Your resentment felt so shallow when you fall apart every time their hands touched you.

Hange breathed onto your neck, their hand passionately locked around yours while the other glided over your folds. You gave their neck the same treatment from earlier as you left bruising kisses on their skin, making sure that their subordinates will see through the marks even with their uniform.

Hange kept your moans muffled with their mouth, their usual loving whispers gone and replaced by a desperateness to have you, to make you come all over their hands once more. Your fingers gripped and dug into their uniform, the coil on your stomach tightening with each thrust.

"Hange..." you whispered their name and repeated it like a fervent prayer as their lips never left your body. You clamped a hand over your mouth as your hips rocked against their fingers.

"Louder, sweetheart. You want people downstairs to hear you, right?" Hange smirked, their lips and thrusts both deepening as if in punishment for the moans you were trying to muffle. They tore your hand from your mouth and bit on your skin, earning a whimper from you.

You desperately closed your legs in between their hands but Hange only pulled them farther apart.

Come again for me, sweetheart, they would whisper, and you would collapse onto them over and over again the way rocks gently wear away against the crashing of waves.

Hange pulled their calloused fingers from your dripping cunt, groaning when they felt your teeth biting them again once more.

You wrapped a leg around them, shifting your body weight so you could straddle them. Hange felt your hands ripping at the zipper of their pants, the button securing the band disconnecting from the fabric.

"Ease down, Y/N, damnit," they grunted as you strip off their button in haste. You bite on their lip as you kiss, letting them know you're in no mood to be gentle nor loving like you always used to. Your passion was coarse and carnal, grating through their flesh. Your hands found their underwear, slipping it off their legs without letting them say a thing.

You balled the fabric into a loose gag before stuffing it on their mouth. Your lips curled into a smirk before kissing their forehead, saying, "You talk too much, Commander, it’s irritating. So you better keep that on until I'm done with you."

Hange groaned softly, patiently watching you settle in between their thighs. Your eyes bored onto theirs as the soft pad of your thumb circled their clit. Their hands found your hair, gripping onto them the moment your tongue glided along their slit. Hange whined at how torturously slow you used your tongue, getting them to the edge and pulling away when they needed it most.

Hange kept their mouth stuffed as you wished but proceeded to brutally use your mouth later on in accord with their liking.

"That's right, put your mouth to good use," they grunted, spitting out the gag later on, their inner thighs pressing on your head as their cum smeared your lips and chin. They delivered a wet, warm kiss on your lips, fingers resting on your chin as they said, "That's a lot better than arguing with me, don't you think?"

You groaned at that remark, yet your stamina was too depleted to protest when they're shifting you into another position.

"I'm tired, Hange," you mumbled.

"And I'm not, Y/N," they answered back, lifting your leg so they could settle in between. "I'll stop once you cease this bullshit with me, and handle your temper so we could talk."

"You wish," you rolled your eyes.

Their hand circled around your throat as they inch closer to your face and spoke, "Then shut your mouth and take it."

Hange pushed your legs further, your soaked entrances meeting. Hange groaned as they felt the friction building up close to their pelvic region. They gave your throat a light squeeze as their hips moved against yours. You pulled onto their collar for a kiss, distracting both of you from how the bed creaks just by your movements escalating to roughness.

Your intimacy was full of marks, of bites that drew blood. Your bodies moved in such a way where a stronger emotion could be felt other than desire. Perhaps it was longing, or an immense unresolved yearning of two hearts who could only find understanding through the flesh.

Hange's lips trembled against yours as they came, their grip loosening so their hands could trail along your back. They placed a band of love bites that turned to purplish bruises, their tongue licking along the ones that managed to bleed. It took a while before your breathing stabilized enough.

Hange untangled their body from you and dressed up silently a few minutes later, mumbling about how it was getting too late, that it would be suspicious for them to stay. You're too tired to sulk as you shift your body to turn against them, finding comfort from the warm sheet encasing your body. Fine, just go, you wanted to mutter in defeat.

However, Hange walked over to you, kneeling down so they could meet your eyes once more. They tucked the stray hair from your face as they spoke, "I'll talk to your father first thing in the morning."

You were alerted, brows creasing as your eyes tried to scan their intentions. "For what?"

"Well," Hange sighed softly, playing on the loose strands on your face. "You have quite a traditional family so I'll formally talk to your father about us. I hope to merit a positive response."

"But I thought you don't want a committed relationship with me..."

"I know I told you that several times before," Hange traced a thumb over your cheek. "Truly it scares me because I know what I'm like. I can't give you all my attention, Y/N, and I don't want that to hurt you. But I've hurt you several times already because of my refusal. My fear is not worth breaking your heart over."

Their solemn gaze met yours, and you could feel another layer wearing away from them. Another vulnerability they're willing to hand over to you. You couldn't have guessed that they would bare their heart this way.

"Hange..." There are things you wanted to say but couldn't find one where you could subdue your intense, profound appreciation. Your hand went to their cheek, gathering their warm skin onto your hand.

"Y/N, you deserve more than I could give you. I can't promise to be everything you wished for. And perhaps it scares me terribly that you'll end up hating me for it," Hange continued, their gaze softening. "But I'll try, alright?"

"Alright," you smiled, absentmindedly fixing their collar and tugging on it as a subtle plea. "Could you... stay for a bit longer?"

Hange's responsibilities await like an undesirable visitor at their desk, waiting for them to get through their office door and pounce upon them. It thins their energy and will, a fuse burned into blackness within their heart. Staying with you would only create another opportunity for work to pile up higher, and yet, they couldn't find the heart to refuse. They felt like a charred, pitiful wick that once burned brightly. Your loving embrace, and intoxicating touch, your insistent love they cannot shut down for much longer— all made them forget their inanition and diminished vigor within.

"Of course I can stay," Hange smiled before letting themself sink back into your embrace, drowning themself into your depth until they couldn't breathe.

likes, reblogs, and comments are appreciated, sweethearts <3

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hussyknee · 9 months

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Jesus is Under the Rubble

“This Advent, while global Christians prepare to commemorate the arrival of the Prince of Peace, our Palestinian kin in Gaza suffer unthinkable violence. Their cries of deliverance, echoing those of two millennia ago, seem to be falling unheard on the United States.”

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— by Kelly Latimore icons. All proceeds from sales of this digital image will go toward Red Letter Christians trusted partners in Gaza.

Transcript: Christ in the Rubble A Liturgy of Lament Rev. Dr. Munther Isaac Evangelical Lutheran Christmas Church Bethlehem Saturday, December 23rd, 2023 We are angry…

We are broken…

This should have been a time of joy; instead, we are mourning. We are fearful.

Twenty thousand killed. Thousands under the rubble still. Close to 9,000 children killed in the most brutal ways. Day after day after day. 1.9 million displaced! Hundreds of thousands of homes were destroyed. Gaza as we know it no longer exists. This is an annihilation. A genocide.

The world is watching; Churches are watching. Gazans are sending live images of their own execution. Maybe the world cares? But it goes on.

We are asking, could this be our fate in Bethlehem? In Ramallah? In Jenin? Is this our destiny too?

We are tormented by the silence of the world. Leaders of the so-called “free” lined up one after the other to give the green light for this genocide against a captive population. They gave the cover. Not only did they make sure to pay the bill in advance, they veiled the truth and context, providing political cover. And, yet another layer has been added: the theological cover with the Western Church stepping into the spotlight.

The South African Church taught us the concept of “The state theology,” defined as “the theological justification of the status quo with its racism, capitalism and totalitarianism.” It does so by misusing theological concepts and biblical texts for its own political purposes.

Here in Palestine, the Bible is weaponized against our very own sacred text. In our terminology in Palestine, we speak of the Empire. Here we confront the theology of the Empire. A disguise for superiority, supremacy, “chosenness,” and entitlement. It is sometimes given a nice cover using words like mission and evangelism, fulfillment of prophecy, and spreading freedom and liberty. The theology of the Empire becomes a powerful tool to mask oppression under the cloak of divine sanction. It divides people into “us” and “them.” It dehumanizes and demonizes. It speaks of land without people even when they know the land has people – and not just any people. It calls for emptying Gaza, just like it called the ethnic cleansing in 1948 “a divine miracle.” It calls for us Palestinians to go to Egypt, maybe Jordan, or why not just the sea?

“Lord, do you want us to command fire to come down from heaven and consume them?” they said of us. This is the theology of Empire.

This war has confirmed to us that the world does not see us as equal. Maybe it is the color of our skin. Maybe it is because we are on the wrong side of the political equation. Even our kinship in Christ did not shield us. As they said, if it takes killing 100 Palestinians to get a single “Hamas militant” then so be it! We are not humans in their eyes. (But in God’s eyes… no one can tell us we are not!)

The hypocrisy and racism of the Western world is transparent and appalling! They always take the words of Palestinians with suspicion and qualification. No, we are not treated equally. Yet, the other side, despite a clear track record of misinformation, is almost always deemed infallible!

To our European friends. I never ever want to hear you lecture us on human rights or international law again. We are not white— it does not apply to us according to your own logic.

In this war, the many Christians in the Western world made sure the Empire has the theology needed. It is self-defense, we were told! (And I ask: how?)

In the shadow of the Empire, they turned the colonizer into the victim, and the colonized into the aggressor. Have we forgotten that the state was built on the ruins of the towns and villages of those very same Gazans?

We are outraged by the complicity of the church. Let it be clear: Silence is complicity, and empty calls for peace without a ceasefire and end to occupation, and the shallow words of empathy without direct action— are all under the banner of complicity. So here is my message: Gaza today has become the moral compass of the world. Gaza was hell on earth before October 7th.

If you are not appalled by what is happening; if you are not shaken to your core— there is something wrong with your humanity. If we, as Christians, are not outraged by this genocide, by the weaponizing of the Bible to justify it, there is something wrong with our Christian witness, and compromising the credibility of the Gospel!

If you fail to call this a genocide. It is on you. It is a sin and a darkness you willingly embrace.

Some have not even called for a ceasefire.

I feel sorry for you. We will be okay. Despite the immense blow we have endured, we will recover. We will rise and stand up again from the midst of destruction, as we have always done as Palestinians, although this is by far the biggest blow we have received in a long time.

But again, for those who are complicit, I feel sorry for you. Will you ever recover from this?

Your charity, your words of shock AFTER the genocide, won’t make a difference. Words of regret will not suffice for you. We will not accept your apology after the genocide. What has been done, has been done. I want you to look at the mirror… and ask: where was I?

To our friends who are here with us: You have left your families and churches to be with us. You embody the term accompaniment— a costly solidarity. “We were in prison and you visited us.” What a stark difference from the silence and complicity of others. Your presence here is the meaning of solidarity. Your visit has already left an impression that will never be taken from us. Through you, God has spoken to us that “we are not forsaken.” As Father Rami of the Catholic Church said this morning, you have come to Bethlehem, and like the Magi, you brought gifts with, but gifts that are more precious than gold, frankincense, and myrrh. You brought the gift of love and solidarity.

We needed this. For this season, maybe more than anything, we were troubled by the silence of God. In these last two months, the Psalms of lament have become a precious companion. We cried out: My God, My God, why have you forsaken Gaza? Why do you hide your face from Gaza?

In our pain, anguish, and lament, we have searched for God, and found him under the rubble in Gaza. Jesus became the victim of the very same violence of the Empire. He was tortured. Crucified. He bled out as others watched. He was killed and cried out in pain— My God, where are you?

In Gaza today, God is under the rubble.

And in this Christmas season, as we search for Jesus, he is to be found not on the side of Rome, but our side of the wall. In a cave, with a simple family. Vulnerable. Barely, and miraculously surviving a massacre. Among a refugee family. This is where Jesus is found.

If Jesus were to be born today, he would be born under the rubble in Gaza. When we glorify pride and richness, Jesus is under the rubble.

When we rely on power, might, and weapons, Jesus is under the rubble.

When we justify, rationalize, and theologize the bombing of children, Jesus is under the rubble.

Jesus is under the rubble. This is his manger. He is at home with the marginalized, the suffering, the oppressed, and displaced. This is his manger.

I have been looking, contemplating on this iconic image….God with us, precisely in this way. THIS is the incarnation. Messy. Bloody. Poverty.

This child is our hope and inspiration. We look and see him in every child killed and pulled from under the rubble. While the world continues to reject the children of Gaza, Jesus says: “just as you did it to one of the least of these brothers and sisters of mine, you did it to me.” “You did to ME.” Jesus not only calls them his own, he is them!

We look at the holy family and see them in every family displaced and wandering, now homeless in despair. While the world discusses the fate of the people of Gaza as if they are unwanted boxes in a garage, God in the Christmas narrative shares in their fate; He walks with them and calls them his own.

This manger is about resilience— صمود. The resilience of Jesus is in his meekness; weakness, and vulnerability. The majesty of the incarnation lies in its solidarity with the marginalized. Resilience because this very same child, rose up from the midst of pain, destruction, darkness and death to challenge empires; to speak truth to power and deliver an everlasting victory over death and darkness.

This is Christmas today in Palestine and this is the Christmas message. It is not about Santa, trees, gifts, lights… etc. My goodness how we twisted the meaning of Christmas. How we have commercialized Christmas. I was in the USA last month, the first Monday after Thanksgiving, and I was amazed by the amount of Christmas decorations and lights, all the and commercial goods. I couldn’t help but think: They send us bombs, while celebrating Christmas in their land. They sing about the prince of peace in their land, while playing the drum of war in our land.

Christmas in Bethlehem, the birthplace of Jesus, is this manger. This is our message to the world today. It is a Gospel message, a true and authentic Christmas message, about the God who did not stay silent, but said his word, and his Word is Jesus. Born among the occupied and marginalized. He is in solidarity with us in our pain and brokenness.

This manger is our message to the world today – and it is simply this: this genocide must stop NOW. Let us repeat to the world: STOP this Genocide NOW.

This is our call. This is our plea. This is our prayer. Hear oh God. Amen.

(Source)

I found these on Twitter a while ago. Original creator unknown.

I can't stop you ascribing hateful, paranoid meanings to these images, but they're not about blaming religions. Jesus was a Jew born to a community of Jews in Palestine, the cradle of the Abrahamic faiths. He was raised and loved by them, betrayed by their rulers* and killed by Romans. He's a Prophet of Islam. End of.

*Y'know, like how the people of the Arab and Muslim nations love Palestine and crying to help them, except their leaders are greedy and rotted to the core. The ruling class will always only serve the empire.

Edit: alt text provided by @this-world-of-beautiful-monsters

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amourdivine · 7 months

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PAC ઉ YOUR CURRENT ENERGY!

Hello, lovelies, I know it has been some time, but I missed you. I hope everyone is doing ok these days. Let's look into your energy today, shall we?

paid readings are closed as of february 2024

none of the images are mine unless stated otherwise!

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the piles.

1 → 2 3 → 4

how to choose your pile. take deep breaths for a few minutes & look at each and every one of the piles separately. see which one brings you to a feeling, a place or a memory. take your time and feel free to come back to it later.

amourdivine. 2021 - 2024 © do not copy, redistribute or edit my content.

disclaimer. this is a general reading! tarot is a divination tool & is not a substitute for medical and professional advice, nor is it meant to be taken as such. i do not take responsibility for any choice(s) made by you or others regarding my readings.

PILE ONE

queen of cups ✧ death ✧ ace of swords ✧ the high priestess

Before I shuffled, I couldn’t help but feel lonely, like there’s this pang in my chest whenever I think of life and the current state of the world. It reminds me of the term “loneliness epidemic” and how so many of us are struggling to make friends or maintain pre-existing relationships. I think you are beginning to find emotional fulfillment in different things than you did before. Nothing may have worked out - at least, the things that used to work out aren’t working out anymore. There’s this voice inside of you begging for a new beginning, for clarity, and it’s slow but surely coming towards you. Where your energy is will wildly depend on how much you’ve listened to that inner voice already, but it’s a calling towards something new, regardless.

I think you’re scared because you haven’t done this before. You may be discovering things about yourself as well that are quite surprising, like new hobbies or gifts. It’s refreshing too, both painful and refreshing. Sort of like the concept of growing pains - growing up is not easy and there are no guidelines, no roadmaps. Often, we discover things through trial and error.

You may have withdrawn your energy as well, especially from old social circles. I get the feeling you were unsatisfied. Things felt stuck. They may still feel stuck, boring and completely lost in the routine of it all. It’s okay. You’re growing. Bones can hurt when they heal and grow. The same goes for you. I see snakes here, shedding their old skin. In your case, I don’t think you have found a “new skin” already, but you’ve shed your old life either way. It’s okay to want more, pile one. It’s okay to change. We’re ever-evolving. What suited you then won’t suit you now, that’s how life goes, with the changing of the seasons. It’s beautiful to witness - and when you look back you’ll realize just how much we can shift, how many places we’ll go and how much more there is to life than our old selves.

It’s okay to let it go. You’ll be okay even if the waters are muddy for now.

This is a very spiritual pile! Make sure to cater to your emotional and spiritual needs, taking care of your physical body and being around soothing, comforting or quiet places while you tend to this new self.

channeled messages & songs: white snakes, ring, scarf, life path 8 (or 8 in general), silver jewelry, bodies of water, sleeping, bed-rotting, kundalini awakening, modern loneliness by lauv, scorpio, pisces and cancer, hermitting, social batteries, introvert, epiphany, books, the bible, prophetic dreams, chocolate, ego death.

PILE TWO

six of cups ✧ the hanged man ✧ eight of cups ✧ seven of wands

You are returning to yourself, it feels like a sort of homecoming. Fighting for your peace while, at the same time, learning to accept what you can’t control. You have walked away from old beliefs, from restraints of the past and renewing your faith in yourself. Even the picture you’ve chosen is a close-up of someone’s outfit walking away. You’ve found dignity and you’re not willing to sacrifice it anymore. Maybe you’ve left a situationship or relationship that was draining you, molding you into someone you weren’t. Props to you for that. It’s not easy and I know it.

Your guides are proud - they’re very serious and regal. They think you deserve more than what you’ve had. Not in a self-serving way, don’t mistake it for self-indulgence, but in a human, dignified way. They see you as royalty, too. They don’t want you to settle for breadcrumbs in life anymore. No matter how difficult it’s been, they don’t want you to stop believing that things can get better.

For most of you, this is a time when you’re shifting into a more peaceful but assertive phase. You’re taking charge of your joy, your future and your responsibilities without clinging to self-blame or guilt. Maybe it took you a long time. I heard “recovery” in my mind and this has possibly something to do with a specific illness or disease you’ve battled for so long. There’s a huge feeling of relief, of taking a long breath after a tiring day.

It’s okay, you’re home now, you’re safe now. You can relax. You’ve got this, pile two.

channeled messages & songs: therapy, journaling, barbie or baby doll, sage green, green tea, pastels, tiktok, doomscrolling, healing, “i’m not the girl i used to be”, rainbow by kacey musgraves, self-acceptance, shadow work, “i’m still standing”, camping, nature, libra and taurus.

PILE THREE

three of swords ✧ the hermit ✧ the star ✧ queen of pentacles

Your heart is broken. Someone or something has left you to lick your wounds and tend to the bruises they gave you. You’re in pain, so much pain that it may be unbearable to wake up everyday. You’re questioning your worth, your self-esteem has crumbled.. and you don’t want anyone to find you, to see you in such a vulnerable state. All you do now is hope for better days, pray a rainbow comes after the storm because the current is heavy and has taken you astray.

Unfortunately life can’t always be what we want or expect. Allow room for these heavy emotions - this too shall pass. It’s okay to be disappointed, to feel betrayed and hurt by what happened. If the ground was pulled beneath your feet, was it ever really that solid to begin with?

This is the aftermath of something painful. And that’s okay. You can’t force yourself to feel good. In the meantime, you can take it slow, nurture the hope for better days and hold onto it. I know we tend to view hope as mostly something negative and passive, but you can take baby steps towards emotional fulfillment. The Queen of Pentacles suggests you take it slow - there is no rush to healing, nothing to be accomplished, there is nothing for you to prove. You’re human, and therefore, worthy of compassion, patience and healing. Remember the Wheel of Fortune: what comes up must go down, what goes down must go up eventually. You’ll feel better, pile three. I promise.

channeled messages & songs: taking a walk, flower pot, cacti, heartbreak anthems, olivia rodrigo, punk rock, “i’m angry all the time”, hurts like hell by fleurie, capricorn, saturn, personal year 5, backstabbing, depression, navy blue by muna.

PILE FOUR

the hanged man ✧ the hierophant ✧ six of pentacles ✧ the star

You’re learning and teaching. Giving and receiving. Letting the scales balance themselves out, remembering that balance is not always fifty fifty. All the piles have had somewhat similar themes, so I wouldn’t be surprised if you have felt drawn to either pile one or two, but this one feels like a continuation of it, so it could be that you’re transitioning from one to another. Naturally, please take only what resonates for you!

You may have found a new job, a stable relationship, a good circle of friends. You know, despite the positive feeling of these cards, I can’t help but wonder if you’re waiting for it all to crumble again, feeling like the shadows of your past are going to haunt you forever. I keep wondering if you’re okay, I keep wanting to ask you. You’re scared, you’ve got your guard up. You can’t really trust it will last - and while it’s true that it all comes and goes, you can trust nothing is ever wasted.

Let your guard down. Not everyone has your worst interests in their heart. Maybe self-isolation suited you before, didn’t it? You weren’t used to being loved, you still aren’t. But you still deserve it. Sometimes it’s easier to endure the hard things because they’re all we expect. It’s difficult to take in the good things, isn’t it? To feel worthy of them. To realize there is more to life than survival. You’re finally living now - and that’s a good thing. Uncertainty is scary, but in a way, so is the familiarity of hurt, of unrequited lovers and callous friendships. Are you ready to be loved, pile four? You can ask for the good times as much as you want, but when it is here, you have to remember to enjoy it, to not be on the lookout for the bad things so much.

We’re rarely in control. I know it’s difficult, but that’s often a good thing. Not being in control means you can worry less. You can fret less. You can take it day by day, knowing that the outside forces will do what they must and we’re all silly little souls on a giant floating rock.

PS: You’re doing well, I promise.

channeled messages & songs: self-sabotage, nightmares, attachment issues, bulletproof by la roux, bones, candles by daughter, earrings, 2024 planner, five year plan, entj, istj, quiet singing, “the pen is mightier than the sword”, studying, sweater weather, stress cleaning, autumn girl.

amourdivine. 2021 - 2024 © do not copy, redistribute or edit my content.

#pick a card #pick a card reading #tarot #tarotblr #tarot reading #tarot reader #tarot community #divination #witchblr #mine.

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dearheart42regenerated · 1 year

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MOTORCITY SEASON 2 MASTERPOST

once upon a time, over 10 years ago, just a few months after the announcement that Motorcity was officially canceled...the creators of the show took pity on their heartbroken fandom and gave us several glimpses of what season 2 might have been like. they saw how much we loved Motorcity and gave us every scrap of info they could at the time, so that we could use those scraps to imagine our own personal "Season 2" - whether it continue on in our fics, our fanart, or simply our own heads.

I'm making this masterpost so that none of this material will be lost or forgotten, and so any fanartists/fic writers still hanging around today can use it for inspiration. if there's any related material I've missed, PLEASE feel free to add it in a reblog or let me know in my inbox! I want this list to be as complete as we can make it! :)

The Season 2 That Never Was: A Comprehensive List

Motorcity Season 2 Rough Intro "Scratch audio by our very own Chris P." (x)

youtube

-> backup download

Season 2 Writer's Wall posted (and later deleted) by @chrisprynoski on twitter, and shared on tumblr by @peopleofmotorcity, these pictures of the writer's wall showed us a "rough sketch" of what could have been, and gave our imaginations SO many fun theories and possibilities to play with. every blurry sticky note was a treasure to us. :')

-> original tumblr posts: x x x x x x x x x x x x -> image masterpost -> google drive folder

Chris Prynoski's Fan Interview + Tumblr Q&A's this whole interview on youtube is a delight to listen to, and Part 2 in particular has some interesting bits about season 2. (skip to 17:10 for some good stuff about Texas and Chuck's backgrounds!)

youtube

-> Part 1 -> Part 2

Chris P also answered several juicy season 2 questions on tumblr. sadly his blog is deactivated now, but you can still read through all of them at the links below!

-> image masterpost -> google drive folder

Capri Chilton - Mike Chilton's long lost big sister! I can't remember where or when it was first revealed that they were considering giving Mike a secret older sister, and I haven't been able to track down the origin. that being said, when it was revealed, the fandom loved the idea so much that they begged the creators to make it canon. Chris P busted out the "magical canon stick", gave us this delightful concept sketch, and "Capri Chilton" was born!

The Motorcity Series Bible "To help you all understand what it is you are reading, this is the material that Titmouse used to help pitch Motorcity, and it was also a tool for writers to use when coming up with episodes to help understand who the characters were before there was any other reference. That being said, this was one of the very first documents about Motorcity, so many things have changed or evolved from these early concepts." (x)

-> original tumblr posts: 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 -> image backups -> PDF download

EDIT: the COMPLETE series bible has now been leaked by Lost Media Busters on X (Twitter) and helpfully shared by @waksworldrebooted!!

--> here is a google drive download for the full PDF file!

Motorcity Series Bible - Redacted Version (Pages 1, 2, 17, 19, 20) funfact: @peopleofmotorcity was the official? unofficial? tumblr blog for Motorcity, and it was run by a guy named Mac - an animator for the show who loved to tease and joke around with the fandom. before revealing the actual first 13 pages of the series bible, he posted this censored version as a prank - a mix of truth and trolling! it's up to the fandom to decide which is which. ;)

-> original tumblr posts: 1 2 17 19 20 -> image backups -> PDF download

MTV Era Motorcity Masterpost a fantastic collection of glimpses into the original pilot/pitch trailer that would evolve into the show we know and love today, found and compiled by @waksworldrebooted. "In 2000, Chris Prynoski pitched a cartoon called Motorcity. He made a card and a website promoting the show, which wouldn't see the light of day until the Walt Disney Company got their hands on it."

youtube

--> tumblr masterpost (including wayback links to the old website) --> twitter sources from Chris P himself :)

Motorcity Unaired Pilot - 2009 Disney Version Originally aired during Comic Con 2012, the pilot was recorded and then posted on YouTube by Allison Simmons in July of 2012, later being privatized in 2022. The video was re uploaded onto VKVideo 22 days after its original posting to YouTube and is still currently available to watch online. (x)

youtube

--> backup download --> also viewable here!

if I find more material, I will add it here! :)

#motorcity #motorcity season 2 #mike chilton #capri chilton #julie kane #chris prynoski #peopleofmotorcity #Youtube

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tanadrin · 2 years

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(Note: this is all totally non-rigorous free association)

Famously, the King James Version of the Bible translates Exodus 22:18 as "thou shalt not suffer a witch to live." This is one of those translations, though, that has suffered for passing through multiple different cultural lenses over the textual history of Exodus. Alternate modern translations say things like "put to death any woman who does evil magic," "*wizards* thou shalt not suffer to live," or even "whoever has sexual relations with an animal must be put to death."

In the Septuagint, the underlying word is translated φάρμακος; despite the connotation of the English word, a masculine noun; the word is associated with magical arts in general, but is *especially* associated with poison. It's from φάρμακον, a word which can mean either "poison" or "drug," and is the origin of "pharmacy." Greek had a rich vocabulary for the supernatural: an older and more general word seems to be γοητεία, "charm, jugglery, sorcery," from γόης, "sorcerer, wizard, juggler, cheat." That it includes in its semantic field the concept of sleight-of-hand shows that mundane deception is countenanced as a possible explanation for claims of magical power, which no doubt contributes to the dim social reception of magic, but also shows a neat symmetry with the modern concept of the stage magician, whom we publicly acknowledge as really being just a particular kind of illusionist and entertainer. Another Greek word for magic is, well, μάγος, the source of the English word, ultimately a borrowing from Old Persian maguš. A maguš was simply a priest of Mazda in the old Zoroastrian religion; the word is of uncertain etymology, but its connotations in Greek arise from crediting a Greek mythical version of Zoroaster with the invention of magic and astrology, showing us that perhaps orientalism of one sort or another has long been part of European traditions of the occult. There is also θαυματουργία, "wonder-working, doing miracles, wizardry."

But the Septuagint word choice is an odd one; as I understand it, the actual underlying lexical item is מְכַשֵּׁפָה/mekhashefah, the feminine form of מְכַשֵּׁף/mekhashef. The root of this word seems to be כשף/KH-SH-F, which has been glossed various ways. One gloss I find particularly interesting is "cut." Kenneth Kitchen links this etymology to the cutting of herbs; thus, a mekhashef is a kind of herbalist, and the context, as with pharmakos, is the fear of poisons--the feminine form might also make sense here, as it seems plausible that just as in our modern society, poisoning was a more reliable tool for killing for women than for men, for whom the possibility of physically overpowering their enemies was less likely.

But I think it's interesting to note other ways in which magic is about division and breaking. Though in modern fantasy a "warlock" is either just a generic wicked sorcerer, or a summoner of demons, the word comes from Old English wǣrloga ("promise-deceiver"), a deceiver, a breaker of oaths. A warlock is thus someone who dissolves social ties, or even betrays their baptismal vows by making an unholy vow, an un-promise, to Satan himself. The English "witch" comes from the Old English wiċċa or wiċċe (masculine and feminine forms respectively), from Proto-Germanic *wikkô, "sorcerer, necromancer," from the verb *wikkōną, "to practice sorcery." One likely derivation of *wikkōną is the Proto-Indo-European stem *weyk-, "to separate, to divide, to choose." This may be a reference to cleromancy, the casting of lots; many ancient words for magic link together fortunetelling of various kinds (the second element in words like "necromancy" and "cleromancy" is ancient Greek μᾰντείᾱ, "divination, prophecy, fortune-telling), but here again the concept of separation appears in a way that is difficult to ignore.

The Romans, like the Greeks, looked east for their wisdom, and were also obsessed with divination in particular, so their words for magic are often borrowed from Greek, or concern forms of fortune-telling in particular: haruspicina, the inspection of entrails; the genius or numen, language of spiritual presence and will (the latter not dissimilar to the mana of Polynesia); auspicium, the interpretation of omens, especially the flights of birds. Perhaps other kinds of magic invoked skepticism: Pliny argues that, except possibly in the making of potions (the Romans, no less than the Greeks and the Hebrews, knew that the right herbs could kill!), most claims of magic were simply lies--though there was little harm in apotropaic wards to set the mind at ease. Apuleius granted the existence of spirits and demons, and both Augustus and Constantine worried enough about magic to try to suppress its practice.

In Sanskrit, magic was apparently sometimes called इन्द्रजाल/indrajala, "Indra's net," a metaphor for emptiness, a word that foregrounds the idea of fraud and illusion. Similarly, the word माया/maya means "magic," but also "illusion," being in that way akin to the English notion of glamour found in fairy-stories. There is also possibly semantic overlap with German Zauber, whose meaning is "magic," but which is etymologically connected to Old English tēafor, "to paint [a picture]," and Icelandic töfrar, "enchantment." (Icelandic also has galdur, "sorcery," but also "[conjuring] trick.") Chinese offers the root 魔/mo2, which according to Wiktionary is from Sanskrit मार/mara, "death, pestilence;" in Chinese it takes on theurgic qualities: "devil, demon, magic, the unnatural, crazy," depending on the context it's found in: 魔羅, a kind of Buddhist demon; 魔術, "magic," as in an illusion imitating the supernatural; 瘋魔, "to be insane, to be fascinated by, to be enchanted by," a concept of obsessive madness shared in other cultures, including our own.

A full cross-cultural, historical comparison of words pertaining to magic is far beyond my capabilities, of course; but exploring current in the vocabulary and historical development of words around magic is interesting so far as it peels back the thick systematizing, empirical layer within our culture and helps us glimpse how these ideas functioned in the past. Nowadays, magic is often prototypically the magic of high fantasy: it is systematic, little more than a flashy kind of science, even if it is one accessed through mental discipline rather than mechanical instruments. Magic is patterned, stable, fundamentally knowable, because we are so thoroughly grounded in systems of knowledge that understand the whole world as patterned and knowable that we cannot imagine anything else. We redefine magic in ways that simplify it down to nothing: to be little more than abstract spiritual practice, moral therapeutic deism with countercultural window-dressing, or to mean nothing more than simply acting on the world. But is that really in keeping with the spirit of the thing, as it is has been imagined for most of history?

Magic is about many things. It is about division: discrimination, separation, cutting. Cutting the body of the sacrifice, to prod at its bloody insides; cutting breath from a living victim; cutting off the sacred from the unholy, and vice-versa. It is about speaking, chanting, singing, the form and the performance of words. It is about writing (itself a word which means to cut or carve into something). It is about deception: lies in pursuit of status or money, lies to avoid culpability for murder, lies about secret knowledge. It is about feeling oneself inhabiting a world filled with intentional beings, beings with a will and nature unknown and perhaps unknowable to you. Spirits of the dead, of the air, and of the wild world; the genius loci, the demon, the hungry ghost. It of a world when the night could claim real darkness, when the stars were forever an inscrutable mystery, and when the terrifying unknown could intrude into your life at a moment's notice. Even modern occultism feels like a nonsensical imitation of the past, with emphasis on benign enlightenment or spiritual growth, when ancient magic was rife with murder, curses, treachery, and simple human greed. The huckster fortune-teller, who cynically defrauds their customrs, is closer to the spirit of magic than the observant neo-pagan.

We are mostly too sure of ourselves, and too confident in our ability to understand even that which is at first horrifying and inexplicable, to really replicate the feeling of that kind of magic. A world in which that kind of magic is possible is a world in which the last few centuries of philosophy and epistemology and science are shown to be so profoundly wrong that we are left with nothing but naive superstition and fear. Or else, it is a world where all these basic forms of inquiry that we take for granted simply do not work--because if they did work, we would be back in our own comforting, familiar world, a world of rationalism and enlightenment, albeit perhaps with a few of the phenomenological incidentals changed. I wonder if it is really possibly anymore for us to tell stories in the mode of that older world. With the exception of certain kinds of horror, I don't really know of anything that comes close.

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foone · 1 year

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Every time I try to tag some thing as trans whatever, Tumblr suggests #biblical trans shitposting, and every time I'm sad I don't have more content for that tag.

The world needs more biblical trans shitposting, damn it.

So, uhh.. Let me just do some biblical shitposting:

Jesus is obviously a trans man, so is Noah and Saul/Paul, Rahab was a trans woman, and God is non-binary.

Angels are too, but they don't have sex in either way. They're tools. And not like the kind you might talk about having in your pants.

And speaking of pants, Deuteronomy 22:5 (no cross dressing) , much like Leviticus 18 (no gay sex) were both intended as "don't do the weird shit those foreigners do" rules that were and are being taken out of context. They're not intended as eternal and universal commandments in what is morally right and wrong in the world.

Also when I said "Noah" up there, I meant Moses, because both Jesus and Moses were born at a time of KILL ALL THE BOY BABIES and survived. But fuck it... Noah is trans too now.

God said so. They called me up on my orange hotline phone. (I'm a pope, so I get a direct line to the big G)

Who else is trans... Eve, obviously, by the same reasoning as Jesus (they both only have one "parent" who could have given them chromosomes, and yet are a different gender to them).

Sarah (wife of Abraham) too. She's got it all: meaningful name change and she laughed when told she'd have a child. Was that just because she was already old... Or because she didn't have a uterus?

(well, through God all things are possible, so jot that down Sarah)

Joseph (of the many colored coats) is another trans man. Man (no pun intended), the Bible is just full of trans men.

As I've said before, the victim in the story of the good Samaritan is trans, especially now.

Also not to get off the subject of being trans (do I ever?) but I was just thinking that a running theme of the Bible is "The Empire".

There's aways the Empire. Who they are changes from book to book, but they're always there. Babylon, Egypt, the Seleucid empire, the Romans, the future world-spanning empire john talks about in Revelation... They're big and powerful and oppressive and cannot be fought in traditional ways, but they will not win. They can't. They won't. They may be horrible and causing so much pain right now but they will be overcome and we will be free and safe one day.

And really, if that's not a good message for trans people right now, I don't know what is.

#biblical trans shitposting

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selfcare-with-senshi · 2 months

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ദ്ദി ˉ͈̀꒳ˉ͈́ )✧ Welcome!

This is a blog meant to help younglings (and elders) who struggle with proper selfcare. A well maintained body, mind and environment are crucial to a good life, and I'll be happy to help!

This is not a fandom blog! But I will occasionally share positive Dunmeshi things too :)

Senshi ✧ he/him ✧ 21+ ✧ diagnosed w. AuDHD and PTSD

One of the greatest things in life is that you can start over whenever you want. Right now, you can choose to make the change you need. To be the change. In this very moment, you can choose recovery. Today could be the first day of the rest of your life. Even if nobody came to save you in the past, or nobody taught you what you need to know, you can learn to be there for yourself now - and you're stronger and more capable than you may feel.

Your experiences weren't for nothing. They shaped you into who you are. And once you can learn to get along with the person you are, you've won at life.

I steer away from discourse, fandom drama and the like. I don't engage in callout or cancel culture. I don't have a DNI, but I block people when I notice they support any hateful ideology (for example homophobia, transphobia, racism, bullying, callout culture, anti-recovery, etc...) Please keep in mind that I'm not a professional, but I'm some guy out there who cares and wants to see you succeed.

Look after yourself! 🍞

divider by @/saradika-graphics. last updated - 28th of July 2024.

Do you have a problem, a request, or are you looking for something? Please read below! 🙌

I'm happy to answer ♥ Life Questions (for example, how to unfuck a depression bedroom, how to cook eggs, how to make a vet appointment...) ♥ Questions about Autism, ADHD, PTSD, and mental health (with the help of therapy resources or my own experiences) ♥ Venting (please with warning beforehand, a quick "CW vent" is enough!) ♥ Personal Questions ♥ Dunmeshi related things

But please keep in mind

♥ Please keep it sfw ♥ What I post and answer is my opinion, my experience, and doesn't have to work 100% the same for you! ♥ I have my own life outside of this blog and it might take me a while to respond. ♥ I can't answer every question. ♥ I reserve my right to refuse answering things and sharing information I'm not comfortable with.

Taglist

#senshis recipe book -> posts related to a healthy diet, properly handling/cooking/storing food, and overcoming eating disorders. Potentially triggering if you struggle with EDs, please be careful! #selfcare with senshi -> posts and reminders related to the 5 fundaments of selfcare - eating, drinking, sleeping, resting and exercise. #senshis first aid kit -> therapy resources, tools and reminders related to mental health and coping with the monsters of daily life.

#senshis adventurers bible -> posts related to survival, in summary. How to make phone calls, how to make appointments, how to tie knots...

#senshis infodump -> posts that don't fit into any of the categories. #the advice box -> answered asks #senshi speaks -> personal posts #lower levels -> venting catch-all tag

If you need something tagged, please feel free to shoot me a message or an ask (`･ω･´)ゞ

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moth-related-inquiries · 7 months

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Hi! I read your oneshot involving Micah and fem child reader and absolutely loved it! I never thought i could see Micah ever taking on the role of a parental figure but you did such a good job tying his character into a role that i thought would never fit him! I was wondering if you could expand more on their dynamic afterwards and how reader would interpret his ‘cull the weak beliefs’ do you think teaching her these would ever come to backfire on him later especially if used against him?

Micah Bell and Fem! Child Reader Pt2: Knives Out

Warnings: incredibly angsty, Micah Bell, you're gonna hate this if u love Micah LOL, lots of murder, terrible beliefs, graphic description of murder, and child death.

tldr: Micah Bell's teachings came to bite him back in the ass. :( Nobody close to him can be happy.

A/n: Hi, Anon! Thank you for the req ♡♡♡ I'm so glad you liked my last fic! I hope you like this one, too. Feel free to send any more requests you might have :p

Listen while you read?:

Today was your third month of 'bonding,' as Micah liked to call it. You'd slowly progressed from being as terrible of a shot as Sean Macguire to being fairly good at your shots. Of course, you weren't as good as Micah, but he congratulated you on your significant progress. Unlike the others, Micah has been surprisingly patient with you. There were a lot of things he had to teach and show you, and you seemed to learn best when you were in the middle of action.

Not only had you become a better shot, but you'd also become a more malleable tool. When you finished your first robbery, Micah decided that from now on you weren't going by your old name. The Bell family had a very specific practice they used when choosing names. For the first time in a long time, he flipped open a Bible and scoured its pages for a suitable name. Eventually, he settled on Elisabeth, the technical grandmother of Jesus. Not because she was a humble or remarkable woman, but because she was stubbornly faithful. Like a dog.

He hoped that, since he'd earned your trust, you'd follow him like a dog to the ends of the earth. And that you did. No matter what he did, where he went, or who he killed, he stayed as your role model. Beyond that, he was also your new father figure. Sure, you liked Dutch and Hosea, but they never saw things from your point of view like Micah did. The Dutch, for one, insisted on the dramatics constantly. He'd make up schemes to entertain himself and some big wig bastard, then steal the money. Which probably would've entertained you if you had the patience. And Hosea, well, he didn't enjoy the 'thrill' of murdering and robbing the same way that you did. Meaning that he liked making a fool of himself and then leaving with a small sum of money.

Not to mention that Micah secretly found both of them to be fools in their own ways. You thought, at first, that he saw you as a fool too, but he assured you that you were anything but. He called you his 'kinfolk.' His kid. You found it odd. He claims to be so strong, yet he practically creates his own weakness. With this idea in mind, you began to dissect some of his flaws.

When the two of you were in camp, you noticed that he was anything but pleasant to the other members. He often harassed and berated many of the women in camp, too, which you found odd. Even odder was the fact that he berated Jack, which made you curious. Was he perhaps jealous of John and Abigail for their achievements? It seemed so. You guessed that he was jealous because he too wanted a family, no matter how dysfunctional. Though he hadn't had much luck considering that, like the stupid man he is, he took his anger out on all the women around him.

Micah Bell could never score a woman, and he knew that very well. And now, so did you. And all you had to do was watch him like you normally do. Every time you did, he'd lean over and whisper in your ear about how someday he's going to get a nice and fine wife, and these floozies are going to be sorry. You knew better. Every time he'd provide some weird back-handed compliment, you wondered if he knew it only made him look weak. He had all bark and no bite. Which, in many cases, he did. All talk until Dutch struts over, then suddenly he's acting like he's a holy deity sworn to do nothing but good.

That was one major weakness you'd noticed about him. His one big fault. Micah seemed to assume that being a snake oil salesman made him a man. A man fit for survival in the natural world. A man who could do whatever he wanted and whenever he wanted as long as he still had his silver tongue. And it did, for a little while. He could go around murdering families and sleep like a little baby the night after. That is, until he met you.

See, Micah Bell had done himself dirty when he began 'training' you. Because, unlike Micah, you shut your mouth, and you watched everyone really well. You waited for someone to come to you, and you didn't, no matter how tough it was to resist, let your guard down. Yet Micah Bell had shown his since the day he decided to mentor you. Sure, you were unaware of the impact of his actions then, but he'd taught you well. He'd gifted you a higher consciousness without even knowing it.

So, after three long months of needlessly long interaction, you put his teachings to work. You woke up bright and early to listen to the birds chirp their jovial toons. It was nice to let the weak be, just for a moment, because sometimes they end up surprising you with their entertainment. Your steel gaze turned to Micah, who was fast asleep on his bedroll, facing the cliffside. He, too, was nice when you left him be. When he did sleep, it looked peaceful. And, for a moment, you decided to let him be, too.

You grabbed your satchel, one that Micah had bought for you, and opened it. From it, you produced a jagged stone that you'd found back in Strawberry, after the pair of you (and Arthur) murdered an entire town. You originally picked it up in order to execute whoever was holding Micah's precious revolvers, but he beat you to it. And, with savagery and cowardice, he murdered another family right in front of you. It was eerily thrilling when you first experienced it, but now? Now you feel nothing but guilt. Not for the town you'd helped murder, but for Micah.

You looked down at him, staring at his greasy forehead. As you lifted your stone, you teared up as you remembered all the times that he'd slipped up. A terrible feeling sank into your chest as you thought about your first robbery. How he wiped your tears away after you'd committed your first murder and rubbed your back like the father you never had. You'd given him your weakness, and he accepted it with unknowing tenacity. From then on, you gave him your weakness, and he allowed you to piggyback off of him like a little parasite.

For such a morally corrupt man, Micah had always done his best to assure your safety, no matter what. When the two of you were low on rations, he let you have the last. When the gang was ambushed, he made sure you were never there. When the two of you were caught in a rock and a hard place, he always made you run back to camp while he distracted the bastards following you. It's your fault that he turned into something he never wanted to be.

It's your fault that he became so weak.

Your brows furrowed, and your face twisted into anguish. You lifted the stone up above your head and, with all your might, sent it crashing down upon his skull. It made a sickening crunch, like a pumpkin being dropped, but Micah did not move. You repeated the action over and over again until his head finally caved in. Once you were done, you walked over to your horse, one that he had gifted you, and shot her, too. Baylock was smart enough to run off.

From then on, you decided that, out of the four of you, Baylock would be the strongest. He was the survivor because he ran like hell instead of sticking around to die. Finally, you walked back to the cliffside and erased the last remaining proof of Elisabeth Bell's entire existence.

A/N: i hope people like this :p i know child death is a very sensitive topic, but I think that this is how it would go in the eyes of a child. I tried to make it a little confusing so that we could really understand how uniquely this kind of situation would affect someone as vulnerable as a child versus an adult.

#red dead redemption 2 #micah bell #micah bell x reader #child reader #angst #angstycowboy #rdr2

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hereticcryptid · 10 months

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you should tell me all your thoughts and feelings about that bsd official art i would love to hear it

AHHHHH THANK YOU VERY MUCH

This art. This art. LOOK AT IT! It's such a perfect depiction of Fyodor's and Nikolai's relationship and their characters!

Firstly, look at Nikolai! He's smiling, and he has his hand in Fyodor's mouth, which implies a certain level of proximity. But it also seems (and I'm kinda pissed that no one ever mentioned this talking about the art) that he's tearing through Fyodor's cheek, which is a very good representation of his twisted affection towards Fyodor, and his desire to kill him to be free of emotion, because it showcases both the affection and the way he wants Fyodor gone. Also, the illusion of freedom he has, because that's what it is! An illusion.

Still about the tear through cheek, Fyodor seems entirely unphased! It's like he knows what he's doing, and he's humoring Nikolai, which shows that 1. he has no ill feelings towards Nikolai (also showcased in that one manga panel where Nikolai fearlessly holds Fyodor's hands and nothing happens) and 2. that everything he does is a calculated risk. Despite their positions, Fyodor is in control.

The unphased also fits in nicely with Fyodor's christ/savior complex— in the manga, the eyes represent the person's moral perception of themselves, hence why Dazai's eyes are typically black and Nikolai's are foggy. If you look at most of Fyodor's manga appearances, his eyes are usually white, which would mean he perceives himself as 100% morally in the right. Fyodor considers himself a messenger of god (missionary if you will), and so views his actions as necessary and morally correct!

Now many people say Fyodor has a god complex but what he has is a christ complex, and you know, "died for our sins"! Being unphased at Nikolai tearing through his cheek would represent his perception of himself as a messenger of god and willingness to endure pain to reach his ends, which he sees as the will of god! I'm not gonna start drawing paralels between Fyodor and Jesus because I'm not christian and not well versed in the bible, but I can still be totally insane about Fyodor's whole deal with religion!

And then, you have the grapes, the jewlery and the skull, typically a pagan symbol! Can be a reference to Dionysus and abundance, and Nikolai's obsession with freedom that in my opinion really draws into religious trauma. Dionysus is the god of several things but what is relevant to this is wine, party, insanity, theater, and the intoxication that merges the human and the divine. It draws to Nikolai's role as a 1. jester, 2. how he is presented to us as insane at first but then reveals that he very much is not, and 3. as a tool.

Dionysus is the protector of outcasts, and a symbol of everything that is chaotic and unpredictable, (godly), and that goes hand in hand with Nikolai too, and with his desire for freedom and his inability to reach it truly, because he is trapped in a world of gods (Fyodor) and emotion (also Fyodor), and that is why he wants Fyodor gone despite liking him so much! His position in the art also kind of highlights his role as a tool, because despite being above Fyodor and having an active rather than passive role in the imagery, [gestures at everything I said above], he's still not in control, despite having the ilusion of being so!

Yeah, anyway, I'm totally normal and not at all insane about them

#bsd fyodor #fyodor dostoevsky #nikolai gogol #bsd nikolai #bsd nikolai gogol #fyolai #character analysis #analysis #meta #bsd meta #bsd analysis #bsd #bungou stray dogs #asks

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doberbutts · 1 year

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Hey there! Before I begin, I totally understand if you aren't comfortable with answering questions about this. Feel free to delete this ask.

Would you mind describing the treatment of animals you saw when you were in Mennonite communities? I've heard Amish and Mennonite communities treat them more like tools than living creatures.....

Yes, Mennonites and Amish largely treat their animals as tools and a means to an end rather than like living creatures deserving of their own respect. Understand that this is very much hard-coded into the religion and culture itself, so it is a difficult mindset to combat. Even Mennonite-adjacent communities often treat their animals in a similar manner, even if they say that they don't like that type of ownership, because of the same.

In the Christian Bible, there are a lot of verses about man having dominion over the earth and nature existing to do two things: worship God and serve Man. And Anabaptists in general believe that the best way to worship God is through hard manual physical labor and rejecting any and all paths that make this labor easy. It's why the Amish don't do electricity, for a rather extreme example, but it's also why many of these communities seem addicted to the ideals of "work" and "discipline" being the way to a Godly life.

So... if animals exist to serve Man and worship God, and the best way to worship God is through hard manual labor and rigid discipline (read: punishment) for anyone who steps out of line, it follows suit that the animals are not treated particularly kindly.

Don't get me wrong. These communities are also filled with horrific human rights violations. From child labor to forced marriage and impregnation to abandonment of the elderly and disabled to rampant domestic and sexual abuse to denial of education and medicine... this is not just an animal problem. I know I'm running an animal blog, but it's really important that if I talk about the way they treat their animals, I also have to talk about the way they treat the women, the children, the elderly, the disabled, and anyone who dares think outside of their strict rules. The care for the animals is just a symptom of the same problem.

It is my experience that the Amish are worse about it than the Mennonites, but they are also sort of cut from the same cloth so various communities of either can really vary widely. Animals are expendable. They serve their purpose and then they die and the owners get a new one. Dogs, cats, horses, livestock, doesn't matter. Most of these animals are not pets and, even if they are, they are not pets in the same way that my dogs are pets. If they get sick, letting them die or killing them outright is usually the path taken instead of medicine. If medicine is used, it's what can be purchased from a trip to the local farm store, not actual doctors and prescriptions.

Unfortunately, pretty much every attempt to fix this problem has been met with "it's my religion" and thus it continues to be an issue. Again, I have to stress, this is a religious problem, there are very specific verses they are using to justify this. It also does not help that their religion teaches that "the world" (anyone outside of their local church community) will try to lead them astray by telling them their religion and religious practices are morally wrong, and so pretty much any "hey maybe don't work the horses on the plow until they literally fall over dead" or "hey maybe breeding hundreds of dogs per year with no vet care or oversight is not the nicest way to do this" is met with "THE DEVIL is trying to tell me THE WAY I SERVE GOD is WRONG, clearly this is an attack directly on my soul" and not like. "Maybe you are right and I should be nicer to my animals and not work them to death and provide vet care when they're sick and injured"

This is why I call both Amish and Mennonites cultists. You have to have experienced the religion and culture firsthand to understand how this all hooks together. It's not so simple as just improving the law because these communities believe they are not bound by the law in the first place.

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gatorbites-imagines · 2 years

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Kinktober day 10

Tyler Durden + Leather

Tyler Durden is like a disease or a very bad virus for me. He won’t go away no matter how hard I try, and I need him wrecked. I will always devour a reader who isn’t starstruck by Tyler and take all his bullshit, so this one is too.

Oh yeah Tyler and the narrator are two different people in this even though we don’t see the narrator, just thought I should add that. Readers also a big guy in this, cuz I like it. I also gave the reader some specific tattoos for plot, lmao.

This became a lot more than just leather stuff, so hope yall enjoy as I fell completely off-track writing this. Enjoy nerds.

Kinktober list

Tyler Durden, a name on the lips of every single member of Fight Club. It was whispered with the same reverence one would when speaking of a god, awe and worship in their voices as they looked around them as if the man himself would materialize out of thin air.

You had joined Fight Club a while ago, from your understanding this wasn’t the original place it had started, it wasn’t even the second or third. It was in the back of a mechanics shop, the garage cleaned of any cars and the tables with tools pushed away to the back of the room. You had become somewhat of a stable here, even surpassing who was meant to be the captain sent by Tyler Durden himself.

To everyone there you were almost untouchable, never buckling under anyone’s fist or kicks, always getting right back up and wailing on them with twice the strength they had tried to deliver onto you. To the captain, the space monkey, it was like looking at another version of Tyler, though you never joked or smirked, you never tried to butter anyone up or spread your ideals to them in sugar coated words.

And even though you had never tried to gain a following, a handful of space monkeys of your own, you got it. This group of fight club seemed to have ripped itself free from project mayhems claws and thrown them to the wind, turning to their new object of worship, you. Where Tyler Durden was only rumors and whispers, you were very real, your punches like revelations and your glare like the light of God shining down upon them.

You didn’t notice or care that they started calling you sir, or asked what their homework was, neglecting the captain apparently sent by Tyler Durden all together. You had always thought of the homework as stupid and useless, so you would always shrug and tell them to have a healthy number of meals, drink enough water, sleep well, things like that. You didn’t care for their attention, as long as you got to fight. And at this point, they would all crawl over each other for a chance to fight you, to feel your fists against them making bruises like psalms or bible verses stamped into their very being.

Your followers, your sheep as you had referred to them as once as a joke, must have started spreading your message, as more and more people joined your Fight Club. Soon there were too many people to fit in the mechanics garage, but one of the sheep there, as they had embraced being called, apparently knew of a place you could go. It was an abandoned storage facility, large enough to fit hundreds of people if needed inside, and at this point you wouldn’t be surprised if there were that many. You could never keep count as the members always seemed to change, like they were taking turns on who would get to be there when you were.

You had never joined fight club because you believed any of the drivel they spewed, you had been half drunk the first time you had stumbled into one, and had won multiple fights that night. It seemed as time passed and more and more sheep appeared, your name was lost in the process. After a while you were referred to as The Angel, The Demon, or even The Demiurge.

You knew where they got all these names from, as you had multiple tattoos that could hint at Christianity or something similar. Biblically accurate angels on your arms, demons down your legs, the leviathan curled over your hip bones and over your stomach, and a being of death on your back. You weren’t religious, you had simply gotten one angel tattoo when you were young because you thought it was cool and just kept up the theme. You were never much of a talker, so you never corrected the other men there when they referred to you as these titles. As long as you got to vent your anger through your fists, they could build you an altar for all you cared.

During all of this, the captain sent by Tyler Durden had disappeared and returned back to the house on paper street. Here he shared the news of the faction that had ripped themselves away and created their own system. How it seemed project mayhem had no control whatsoever, the only thing staying the same being the rules of fight club.

Tyler had not been home at the time the captain had returned, and it took weeks almost a month and a half before he came back. During this time, it seemed your sheep had reached out even further and infiltrated more of fight club’s other hideouts, spreading your message, and converting them to you. The space monkey that shared the information with Tyler did so with a shaky voice, his fists clenched by his side as he sweated, fearing his leader’s reaction to the apparent betrayal.

Instead of blowing up in rage Tyler had become interested, that evening laying in his bathtub thinking of what kind of person this Demiurge must be to pull the rug from right under him and steal what could be hundreds of his people. Not only that but your followers seemed to spread your message even faster than Tyler’s, more and more new people joining up to your branch than there did the original.

That Friday night he decided he needed to see it himself, the bubbling feeling of interest brewing in his chest. He had to see what was so attractive and drawing about this, he needed on an instinctual level to know who this other person was, the need burning deep in his bones and taking over most of his thoughts.

When he arrived at the empty storage facility, he was mildly intrigued at just how many people there were, and how many different people there seemed to be. Anything from the lowest of the low, to what looked like military men and judges lining the edges of the room. No one paid him any mind as he wormed his way through the crowd, making his way along the edges and keeping an eye out for whoever, their leader could be.

You had clocked Tyler the moment he stepped inside, you didn’t care who he was you just knew he was there for trouble, you could tell from the way he carried himself to the way he dressed. Your eyes traveled up and down his body, taking in the sheer almost see-through shirt half covered by a red leather jacket, and the tight leather pants dragged up over his thick thighs, the material stretching and pulling every time he would take a step.

Tyler caught your eye where you were standing against the walls, shadowed slightly by an overhang. You were wearing a baggy hoodie and grey sweatpants, the kind that looked baggy but left little to the imagination. He shot you that cocky smirk he was known for, and quirked his brow in interest when you looked away from him and towards the fight happening in the middle of the room, as if he was an afterthought.

It sent some kind of thrill through him, pushing him to search you out for the very fact that out of everyone here, only you seemed to notice he even existed. Worming his way out of the crowd with ease, he kept you as his target, Tyler’s eyes running over the shapes he could see through the fabric, his eyes lingering on your thighs or upper arms. Tyler was never one for performative muscles, but it seemed you had gotten yours from wailing on others instead of at a gym.

You heard him before he reached you, the fake leather of his pants announcing his presence as he neared you. When you looked over at him again, he smirked again. As he was closer you could see the chipped tooth of his, and the many bruises that seemed to litter his body from head to toe. He purred a greeting before leaning against the wall, turned towards you as he had to crane his neck to look up at you.

You pulled dismissively at your lip as he tried to start conversation, the attention of the men around you laying heavily on the two of you, not that you cared, but Tyler certainly noticed. As the fight in the middle of the room stopped, Tyler grinned at you and said, “Since it’s my first night here, why don’t we fight?”, a giddy excitement burning in his eyes, as if the concept of fighting was something he wanted more than a man wanted sex.

You looked down at him, quirking one of your brows before giving a slight shrug and an “alright”, motioning towards the center of the room with your head as you pushed off the wall and started making your way there. The many men in the room seemed to part as you approached, like the black sea parted for Moses. Tyler was starting to think he had found exactly who he was looking for, and when you pulled off your hoodie, revealing a shirtless torso underneath, he was sure. The tattoos and bruises on your skin told him he had the correct man.

The air grew tense, excitement running like electricity through it as the two of you got into position, both shirtless and shoeless. Where Tyler grinned and seemed giddy, jumping from foot to foot, you stood sure and silent, face completely blank. Your fight lasted longer than any either of you had been in in the past, Tyler growing somewhat frustrated as you never seemed to tire even a little. But it also made heat stir in his body, the leather of his pants doing a piss poor job at hiding how hard he was getting.

Tyler finally patted out as you held him in a choke grip, his vision almost going fully black before he called it quit. He could taste nothing but blood and couldn’t breathe through his nose after having it punched so many times. The men around the room cheered as you picked Tyler up from the floor and carried him out of the center, like one would a doll they found on the side of the road.

You made your way outside and threw Tyler into a chair, cleaning yourself up the best you could with some paper towels before pulling your hoodie on. Tyler made slow work of wiping the blood off himself, the shitty paper towels doing nothing to soothe his raw punched skin. The man couldn’t help but moan softly as he started cleaning himself rougher, the dry drag of the paper towels smearing blood over his sensitive skin.

He let his head flop back to stare at you, watching as you blew your nose to get some of the blood out as you shoved some gauze into your cheek where you must have ripped some stitching or similar during the fight. Glancing down your eyes met, and you huffed to yourself at the almost fucked out expression on Tyler’s face. His pupils were wide, and he was breathing through his mouth, his tongue peeking out to lick at his bottom lip every now and then.

He bit his lip, dropping the bloody paper towel on the ground to grab at his crotch, giving the tightly contained length a squeeze. He moaned out loud, his eyelids fluttering as he started massaging his length, his hips moving against his hand to try and get as much friction as he could through the material. You rolled your eyes as the man seemed to busy trying to fuck his own hand to really care that he was sitting shirtless and shoeless out in the open of some junkyard, his hair a mess and his nose definitely broken.

Tyler moaned when he was suddenly grabbed, lifted out of the chair with ease as you sat down, turning him around and dropping him in your lap. You had one of your thighs between his own, the sudden movement grinding his crotch against you. He groaned, forcing his hips down harder to drag his length against your thigh, the tight leather of his pants only making it more painful for him.

Reaching up, you grabbed his chin and turned his head to you. His eyes were half shut as he chewed at his lip, blood bubbling up and running down his chin as he gave a hard bite at a cut your fist at left earlier. When your thumb ran over his bottom lip, he let go of it to slip his tongue out and drag it against your finger. You stayed silent as you pressed your thumb up and into his mouth, Tyler immediately curling his tongue around it and sucking, hollowing his cheeks and pressing it as far into his mouth as possible.

Tyler let his eyes fall shut as he kept sucking on your thumb, slurping as spit ran out from between his lips and down your wrist. He groaned as you grabbed his hip with your other hand, moving him faster against your thigh, his cock giving a pathetic twitch where it was held tightly in place by the leather. Tyler let out a noise similar to a gurgle as he grew closer, his eyelids fluttering as his hips twitched in uneven motions, his sucking on your finger growing more desperate.

When he finally came he moaned, his mouth falling open and releasing your thumb that you pulled away, a string of spit connecting from his lip to the tip of your finger. He ground his hips down roughly against your thigh, choked noises leaving him as he could feel the cum spreading on the inside of his pants, the leather growing uncomfortable at the motion.

Reaching up you cradled his face in your hand and he leant into it like a touch starved cat, quiet moans leaving him as he rode the afterglow of his release. He let his upper torso grow useless as he flopped forwards, resting his head against your shoulder as he breathed, moving his hips in tiny motions as he muttered gibberish against the fabric of your hoodie. He was starting to see the appeal, Tyler decided. Maybe he would have to come back sometime soon to observe you again.

#male reader #fight club #tyler durden #kinktober 2022 #kinktober #fight club imagine #fight club headcanon #fight club x reader #fight club x male reader #tyler durden imagine #tyler durden headcanon #tyler durden x male reader #tyler durden x reader

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