terrence-silver

[terrence-silver]

do you still do requests?

Yes. ❤️🐍

[terrence-silver]

Having seen several of TIG's movies, I can say with absolute conviction that the man has a thing for brunettes. Something which plays into his Terry Silver character too, I think. His interest seems drastically lacking with lighter-haired individuals. Lol.

Anyway, I can't picture Terry being into blondes. But brunettes...especially of the small, brown-eyed variety...tan too...

Well...!!

Imagine Terry the billionaire Silver being absolutely swamped by blondes that throw themselves at him on the daily; tall, long legged, busty types with huge blue eyes and he can't stand to look twice. Nobody sends him petite brunettes because they think he'll dwarf them and it could never work. He gets a reputation for being unable to be swayed by sex. The blond men some people throw at him do not work either. The Selma Hayek types or the Tyra Bankses of the world elicit some interest, but never enough to distract him from anything and meanwhile he is so bored with it. So bored. He wants a petit brunet, or yes, a tiny brunette he can put in his pocket and swear undying loyalty to. And they never offer him that.

Terry doesn't do casual anything, not casual sex either but he uses it to his advantage that everybody is so biased about blondes that they never try anything else.

And does Tig not have chemistry with blondes. Yikes. Gus Travis kinda sorta works because he had fun playing the villain. But if he has any say in who the love interest is, they are doe eyed and brunet(te), and if he can tower over them, so much the better. He wants them no higher than his shoulder.

[terrence-silver]

This is will sound strange as hell, but if an afterlife exists, and with the age difference between Terry and Beloved, Terry ends up dying. Would he, like in your perception of him, haunt your beloved and in a way remain present and 'controlling' her especially if she, perhaps out of loneliness and social pressure, tries to get involved with others... How would a ghost! Terry be like?

---

The thing about ghosts whether you believe in them or not is that ---

Hauntings don't have to be literal.

There doesn't have to be an actual spectral figure hovering above your bed at night.

What Terry would have with beloved? It is just that. A self fulfilling prophecy; him embedding himself into her life, her existence, her hobbies, her habits, her space, her mind, body and soul, every aspect of everything she is and does...that hey, who's to say she wouldn't dream of him years after he's gone? Who's to say everything wouldn't eerily remind her of him? Who's to say she'd wouldn't think about him so frequently she'd get the impression she's heard his voice from outside even if he is no longer there? Who's to say the brief time they had together, brief mainly because of their age difference, wouldn't be so intense and fundamentally life changing beloved is forever affected by it one way or another? There's the piano he used to play, the pool outside on the veranda, his immaculate suits in an equally immaculate closet, his vast collection of liquors in the cellar, his luxury cars parked in an equally luxurious garage that she can swear still smell a bit like him, the steering wheel his bearing the familiar imprint of his hands --- his colognes are in the cabinet, a lone hair tie that might've got misplaced, his Gi, his training equipment, his documents, his work desk, heck, his phone, his laptop and everything around her serves to evoke remembrance --- the very notion of how intensely he loved her only for that love to be cut short by mortality is the aspect that haunts. How he'd maintain control posthumously. It is his legacy, in ways. Ghosts can come in the form of contractually binding legal terms that forbid one from marrying at the cost of losing everything Terry would leave beloved. Ghosts can, ironically come in the form of beloved suffering social isolation thanks to unhinged, immoral and polarizing things Terry did throughout his life and him holding a grip over her that way. 'That's the crazy billionaire's wife. You know the one? From that yacht explosion shindig a few years back...' whispers would circle, effectively making beloved a persona non grata in most drawing rooms --- that too is a ghost. He doesn't need to show up at a fancy, upscale cocktail party knocking over a bar to to scare off a persistent new suitor mingling around you with charming smiles --- his reputation will do that all for him as someone discreetly whisks the man away from you and as cliques of people give you eyes, alienating you, ensuring you're always the perpetual widow. The Widow of the Valley. Terrence Silver's woman. A ghost can be loving someone and having been loved by a man who is objectively bad, the baggage that comes with that.

Who devotedly ensured you'll be provided for in every way a person can be after his departure, yes, but perhaps at the cost of you eternally being tied to his name --- a name you weren't born with. You're natively no Silver. Nobody is, anymore, in fact. The only other person who was by blood is dead. And you? You get to bear the heritage of a person swallowed up by the fire because nothing's for free.

That's how, effectively, Terry Silver would haunt beloved for the rest of her life.

Always 'the wife of...'

She becomes more him than herself --- the snake ate itself.

The snake shed its skin and came back to life.

[terrence-silver]

I keep saying the show fans are infinitely more creative than the show writers.

OKAY BUT WHAT IF WE SPLICED IN YOUNG JOHN AND TERRY SPARRING AND HAVING FUN IN KOREA AND WE CUT TO THEM AS OLD MEN FIGHTING ON THE YACHT AND AND AND

[terrence-silver]

I imagine Terry in the 80s as the type of person who has a random locked room filled with a thousand snakes—like a whole room designed for them. He would just lie in the middle of it, making snow angels while allowing the snakes to crawl all over him. They couldn’t hurt him because he has injected himself with snake venom over the years. I recall you mentioning the snake venom once, and he just laughs as they wrap around him. In fact, he could probably even caress the snakes gently with his hands, and they wouldn’t bite him.

Would also bring the whole 'snake pit' trauma storyline full circle and how he overcame his deepest fear by fully embracing it, and oh, how very Terry of him.

[terrence-silver]

blushing terry doodles <3 theres only one man that can leave him like this (bonus doodles under the cut!)

[terrence-silver]

Do I fully recognize it made no narrative sense for Chozen to break into Terry’s house and fight him? Yes. Will that stop Terry doing that little flippy thing with the samurai sword from living rent free in my mind? Absolutely not.

I miss that shady bond villain mf 😭

oh + 💕 your blog hope you’re doing well!

💕

[terrence-silver]

Okay i wonder is terry to type like in the 80s to sleep with a married couple like I got a whole scenario for this thought

The idea is that Terry, who is secretly sleeping with both a husband and his wife. Unbeknownst to each other, they are both cheating, and Terry is fully aware of the situation and seems to enjoy it. Eventually, the husband and wife discover that Terry has been involved with both of them and suggest the idea of a threesome.

Terry is probably laughing his head off the whole time the husband and wife are like I hope my s/o doesn’t finds out while speaking to terry 😭

I’m sorry this is such a random thought

I genuinely imagine an absolute menace like Terry Silver's entire existence (at least in the timespan between the 70's and the 80's, probably well into the 1990's as well) has been full of sexcapades like this because I refuse to believe this guy 👇 has led a sexually conventional, vanilla life. I mean, look at him:

[terrence-silver]

Diverse Bedfellows.

―

private COMMISSION for @fairyjane 🏳️‍🌈❤️

Terry Silver x (OC) x Caroline Silver ― (feat. an abundant and bisexual variety of partners).

---

Stepping over the threshold of the mansion, he already knows to anticipate it:

In fact, he smells it in advance, the whiff of the lulling aroma.

Cinnamon, roses and something dark, almost leathery.

Burned incense and scented candles drenching the long foyers and corridors of his Mayan renewal 1920's manor like a heavy, heady musk that lets him know that he wasn't alone --- staff dismissed, maids, gardeners, chauffeurs and secretaries on hold, with only his Rolls Royce parked outside in the lonely stone courtyard encircled by a colossal metal gate and a trimmed verge fence --- when the red lanterns come up, lining the empty, echoing hallways seductively like a yellow brick road he follows in eager, striding steps, Terry Silver always understood with absolute, well managed certainty that there was company to be had. That Caro, his Caro, brought someone home in his absence, plucking them up and bringing them to the fold like an acolyte willing to serve and learn, and he feels the seams of his mouth press into the precipice of his cheeks in the shadow of a smile as he practically rushes, a pep in his step, the heels of his Salvatore Ferragamo's click against the marble tile flooring --- diverse bedfellows, as Margaret would so aptly put it, were always the flavor of the day and the cock beneath layers of fabric and his trousers instinctively twitches mid-movement just remembering it all. Last time, it was an actress form one of the sets she was working on, the make up girls dolling her up to look like those 1950's starlets on the type of posters the boys back in 'Nam would salivate over in locker rooms; before that, a pair of twins --- some tourists from Sweden very eager to be given a tour of the finer part of LA only to end up in an extremely friendly wrestling match on the floor of Caro's powder room where he found them all in a pile of tangled limbs and blushing giggles. He nearly feels the chuckle bubble up from the back of his throat at one particularly jubilant occasion where he was greeted by the sight of a naked Paula Abdul sprawled over the California king size black satin bed peppered with red petals, emptied champagne glasses on the side and a half drained bottle of Perignon, her well manicured caressing the nude expanse of his Caro's pale thighs like they were expecting him.

In fact, he knew they were.

And sure, he had his own fair share of dabbling into experimentation.

Variety being the spice of life --- a proverb by him.

He figured he wasn't nearly as picky as his wife was, in fact, to him, sex was akin to sport, no different from honing a muscle or practicing a stance, there were times where he brought in participants like contestants into a ring, sometimes Johnny, sometimes Johnny's wife, yes, much to his delight, his two favorite guests --- but beyond that, he was partial to everything; from fresh faced college boys partying downtown to aged, bored Beverly Hills socialites who were pushing their seventies and everything in between, feeling his own teeth on full display in his mouth once he finally reaches the double door of the master bedroom left discreetly ajar almost as a wordless, silent invitation, the sheer size of the manor's interior both a blessing and a curse as his fingers momentarily linger on the carved handle, a pair of red lace panties hanging from the edge as he inspects the dewy fabric, pressing it to his nose and inhaling deeply, recognizing his wife's scent and undergarments, his shoulder pressing against the heavy, ornate bronze design for a second, smiling as he eavesdropped, taking in the aroma. An unfamiliar perfume, the undercurrent of something sweet and fruity, a knowing nostril deducing it as strawberry and cream. What? Has Caro been feeding someone, huh? Licking the residue off of a pair of perfect tits as foreplay? He throws his head back in glee and smugness, sensing his own nostrils flaring, stepping over the threshold, catching sight of two forms beside the bed meeting his gaze, eyes twinkling --- Caro behind a voluptuous ginger that could've easily been the spitting image of Rita Hayworth, fingers tangled in the straps of a corset, the bony, structured fabric tightened at the waist in a way that made the space in his pants feel smaller and smaller once he spots the presence of an array of feathers, decorative riding crops, cuffs and paddles. Good girl. All prepared. Having displayed the entire inventory of her intimate boudoir. Even brought along a friend. The perfect wife, he thinks, playing dress up, causing him to instinctively unbuttoning the button of his blazer, loosening his silver cufflinks, stepping into the red room adorned with crimson wall papers and a trimmed scarlet carpet.

He tucks the rosy underwear into his pocket for later.

He never threw anything of Caro's away, not even by a long shot.

-"Busy at work, huh?"-

He tilts his head to the side in greeting, taking the sight of Caro in black lace in.

The woman in lingerie accompanying her, whoever she was, dressed to match.

If only every CEO in this country came home to a brunch break like this.

But, if it was only him, that was perfectly appeasing to him.

The rest of the world could go fuck itself.

-"We've been waiting for you."-

Caro, oh, sweet Caro, the way she teases, her breasts heaving as she spoke.

The way the sinfully red lipstick on her mouth boldly curves into a grin.

The woman in her company throwing a sultry look over her shoulder.

As if looking for the woman of the house's approval to smile at him.

When Caro nods tenderly, she does --- by then, Terry's already kick off his shoes.

The bedroom door half open behind him, not caring if someone spots them or not.

-"Yeah. I can see that."-

He practically purrs, leaving a trail of discarded clothing behind him.

Joining them in their game.

Next time? Next time it would be his turn to choose their illustrious company.

Those were the rules --- whatever they made them out to be.

[terrence-silver]

private COMMISSION for @fairyjane;

🖤

(OC) Caroline Silver x Terry Silver Femdom Headcanons.

---

― In general, as a prelude, it could be said Terry Silver has a 'thing' for control as a foundation of his whole life philosophy and the way he lives life in general; self-control to be precise and this penchant for discipline and mastery of the self can in some sense manifest in such a way where he deliberately strives to push his own limits purely to check and reaffirm how much he can take for lack of a better word, either through excess exercise, rigorous training regimens, an astounding handling (and even relishing) of bodily pain and yes, in a sexual connotation he could very well turn to being on being on the receiving end of erotic domination purely to, in a sense, laugh, snicker and taunt in the face of it and show how completely and utterly unfettered he is. In layman terms, Terry Silver might purposefully like to and even seek out getting tied up, whipped, stepped on or indulge in any number of sado-masochistic depravities purely showcase how above it all he is. How in charge he is regardless of anything. Slap him, hit him, spit on him, and he'll just cockily grimace at it all, like pain is less so an enemy and something he fully embraced a long time ago.

― That is to say, if Caroline Silver, his wife and partner in these endeavors, brandished a riding crop, dragged her heels along his bare spine or dripped hot wax on his skin (as one of the many example of the type of play they're into) it is highly likely Terry himself is the master architect of every scene and the ringleader of it all and that he has a direct hand in encouraging her even as she does it, egging her own vocally, cheering on her, downright cackling and shouting for her to go harder, put her back into it, give him more of the agony and the discipline like someone who's an adrenaline freak or a junkie for sensation, meaning that he is by no means a passive submissive simply because it is not in his nature to be. if anything, he is the submissive with all the power even when he is gagged, blindfolded and entirely restrained --- a scene that could be his idea in its entirety, the manic being such a manic for pain that he can be spotted outright grinning around the ball gag in his mouth to signal he wants more or his entire body lurching up against his restraints to showcase he can handle far worse and intends to.

― Regardless of being an unhinged pain junkie through and through, the items and equipment he demands are the absolute best and the greatest, most lavish tools money can possibly buy, as is the case with all things surrounding Terry; specifically commissioned leather, straps molded after his own measurements (so, he can in an egoistic and extremely perverse and narcissistic sense feel himself), handmade import wax, bejeweled plugs (and the bejeweled part being no understatement), genuine silks, gold, silver and diamond chokers, piercings and the like. His standards are high. Extremely high. Genuinely going into the territory of sheer excess. Furthermore, the toys he has Caro using on him are some of the best on the market to the degree not everyone can buy them, even if they could technically afford them, on par with the elegant suits, tuxedos and clothes he wears; in fact, he might just go to work at his Dynatox offices plugged up with a red ruby or train martial arts with his private sparring partners without anyone knowing what hides underneath his white satin Gi; fact is, the presence of a silver cock-cage might just exhilarate him, making him more aggressive and manic.

― Sweetly degrading nicknames and endearments. Fact is, Terry finds a certain something in being called things that are slightly infantilizing and adorably demeaning at times, like Twinkie, Tan Twinkie, or just flat out any variation of Twig or Twiggy precisely because that's a side of himself he long since outgrew, left behind and buried and precisely because he is the opposite of a Twig currently, both mentally and physically, making the moniker somewhat taboo and by extension, titillating; not unlike a strong man being tied up and called weak for it, meaning that he loves the nickname tactically rubbed in when he's on his knees, when Caro rides his cock, when he is going through sensory depravation and can't snipe back (the perceived helplessness making him even more feral) when he's kissing along the length of her stocking clad legs or licking and sucking the heel of her stiletto footwear, when he is looking at Caro dominating him in the reflection of the mirrors that adorn the walls, the ceilings and even the floors of their master bedroom --- anything that heightens the point of him being on the receiving end of someone else's control because he is specifically allowing it. Because he now has the power to allow and even organize, coordinate and even facilitate these things.

― Caro personally chose the safe word 'Versailles' for the two of them, but in true Terry Silver fashion, he accepted the gesture solely to appease her, as a token of his love and worship towards her and all her wishes, and not because he believes he needs a safe word as such, throwing, in part, what could be referred to as commonplace BDSM etiquette out the window along with all moderate caution, believing, no, being convinced that whatever is dished out, he can and will take because he knows that he has already handled pain, both mental and physical beyond what most people could possibly endure, rendering adventures in bed by default a light touch by his standards even at their roughest playtimes, truly not believing he can ever really be hurt beyond what he can take, and if he is by happenstance, he is only more keen to take it precisely because it is pushing a boundary and testing his limits, and in true control freak fashion, he doesn't wish to have any limits. That's what the three D's, desire, devotion and discipline are all about to him. The fact he will quite literally dedicate his entire being to pleasure and pain, his motto being that one should go all the way or not do it at all.

― Bedazzled snake motif cock rings, cat burglar home invasion fantasies and roleplay, dress up, tit jobs, toe sucking, body worshiping and even getting down and applying polish to Caro's toes after a mutually long and hard day with a precision and attention to detail only a micromanaging, obsessive perfectionist like Terry Silver can achieve; these are all kinks and fetishes near and dear to his heart (and so many more that can hardly be listed because it is safe to say he is a purveyor and enjoyer of everything; quite literally everything) --- whenever a good job is done at the end of each session, he is rewarded with nicknames like 'My pretty boy', 'good pet' and 'obedient beast', the last of which is to Terry's absolute satisfaction, to which he always responds with smilingly gritted shark like teeth and a growling, satisfied cackle because both he and Caro know it is undeniable that if he truly wished to, he could break his bonds, wrench himself out, crack his own wrist to get out of cuffs, unhinge his own shoulder to liberate himself from bonds and that the power he gives up is merely an illusion, truly rendering him a beast that is only obedient because he chooses to be.

[terrence-silver]

After part three it just made me want Terry even more and be his baby mama

We're all there with you.

[terrence-silver]

Beloved and 80s terry date night at a skating rink 😌 terry would probably buy the whole place for only he can look at beloved while they skate

Buying out property and real estate for those he loves is a classic Terry move.

[terrence-silver]

https://m.youtube.com/watch?v=o1efi8Qpxrk

I love how this is 90% Terry lmao. Also, it does raise some interesting questions, like is Dynatox a waste disposal company or is the toxic waste a byproduct of…whatever it is the company produces ??? Which was what ?? Also, assuming the business was passed on to him by his dad (which is confirmed in ck) what was it originally? I get the vibe he changed the company (and named it), because if he’s really Old Money the company presumably involved something else originally. I think there was an article on him briefly shown in ck but I don’t remember what ep it was in or what it said.

---

Companies evolve and expand. 🤷‍♀️

Really, it isn't that complex of a question to answer; they might start out as one thing and in the decades to come, they branch out to something else on a starter foundation; kind of like inheriting a home from your family and re-modelling it to your particular liking; the walls and the scaffolding are still the same, the basic skeleton of a building, but the coloring is all you --- could've been your basic waste disposal company sometime in the midcentury that went bigger and bigger until it started to dabble in the very exact pollution and toxic practices (quite literally) that they were initially pushing against, or perhaps they were always somewhat unethical because a smaller business doesn't automatically mean it is also an admirable one, but the medium size of the company inherently ensured it wasn't as noticeable. Perhaps Dynatox was always big, though? I mean, we can only speculate. Once the billions started rolling in? Became abundantly clear that it is simply more profitable to be bad than good.

[terrence-silver]

https://youtu.be/dgUHE8wWhiE?si=qsJjCKw2C7hrinpo

like him by tyler the creator gives me so much ponytail/twig vibes

Perfect.

[terrence-silver]

Excessive Force (Jon Hess, 1993)

[terrence-silver]

good LORD john kreese i fear you chose the wrong army picture to hang up

[terrence-silver]

How do Terry and the kids spoil beloved on mother's day?

I would like to hear about twig, 80s terry, and old man terry. But if you only want to do one, I would like to hear about old man terry's perspective. Thank you!

---

See, about these 'what would Terry do for holiday x and y in relation to his beloved' asks; I don't think he would need a specific date, whatever that date may be, to lavish his people. People he considers his.

No, with Terry Silver devotion and his penchant for the love language of acts of service are both so aggressively overpronounced and unbelievably overwhelming that in layman terms...every day could effectively be Mother's Day. Or Valentines. Or Christmas. Or Easter. Or whatever else. You name it. He doesn't strike me as the type of person limited by a calendar or an individual who would wait all years 'round to do something for someone that belongs to him; no, the lavishing, the dinners, the presents, the luxury --- all of that happens here and now, this very instant, whenever and however the whim and fancy strike him (which could be always and constantly) on this regular Wednesday or Friday or Sunday. Or all week, really. It could be midnight. Could be three in the morning. Could be the dead of night. It could be early dawn. Could be the middle of the work week. Could be a blizzard. Could be midday. Could be pouring with rain and the Santa Ana winds could be storming through California as we speak. He takes control of the narrative because control is what he feeds off of. Terry Silver is literally the type of guy who'd phone you up from your sleep, regardless of circumstances, to tell you he has an overseas jet waiting right along with a chauffeur already parked in front of your doorstep, because he has something special planned for you in (throws dart) Tokyo, several timezones away, suits, dresses, footwear, jewelry and all the accompanying knick knacks included and if you ask what's the occasion drowsily he might just cackle into the phone and explain he needs no occasion. He is the maker of occasions and occasion is when he says it's an occasion.

And that's now.

This is literally the approach he took with John at the drop of a hat.

Johnny, my man, feeling blue?

You're going to Tahiti. Yes, right now! I don't wanna hear any arguing.

Heck, wait, I'll drive you there myself!

Man is generally so manic and high on life that you probably hardly even notice holidays as a concept anymore after a while because you're completely and utterly desensitized to the feeling of being spoiled and splurged on non-stop, randomly and to almost unhinged levels where overspending is concerned and to the degree you might be flown out to exotic locations on a whim, you end up presented with million dollar jewelry over breakfast, you're wearing custom-made couture he had specifically commissioned for you purely to lounge around in, he's buying priceless properties and antiques for you while he's in the bathtub and to him it is the equivalent of playing with a rubber duck while washing up or you wake up to a hundred red roses carted in by the staff every day, making all of this your new reality and the norm you become used to, instead of something unprecented that only ever happens every once in a while and something you specifically have to wait on, like, you know, a pleb.

With Terry Silver, you are like a prized cat bloated on excess fat and infinite attention.

That's Mother's Day to him.

And every other day as well.

It is a way of living.