and not think about my wounds

anonymous asked:

Hey cosmic, I have a question that's been bugging me for a while. I was thinking of making two separate ask blogs. However i'm not very good at drawing. I plan on doing my own BATIM ask blog but i'm afraid to though.

Now here’s a Story all about how…me an Sun started our blog.
I found our about Bendy an the Ink machine when I saw one of my Sempais draw fan art for it. So I checked it out and fell in love with it and soon enevidably dragged Sun into the pits of hell with me. We started out just Joking around being stupid and we wound up making an AU which Sun decided “We should share this with others” which I agreed.

Now, I don’t know about Sun, But I was absolutely fucking HORRIFIED of starting the blog, and there were a lot of times that I was like “Should we really? What if its no good what if every one hates us” But now, I’m really glad that we did, because its a LOT of fun and I’ve met tons of rad people and artist.

If your afraid because you’re “Not that good at art” dude, You don’t even HAVE to draw to have an ask blog. Though if you actually enjoy drawing I DEFINANTLY Recommend you drawing out answers, I used to draw like poopy (I still look at my art sometimes and think “POO!”) but I can say for sure in the past few months that we have had this blog both me and Sun have improved INSANLY like the difference in our styles from before and now are kinda scary, haha!
If ya wanna improve ya gotta draw and I think an ask blog helps with that because It helps you think of shit to draw! Sometimes you just dunno what to draw and You go to the inbox and There is somebody asking some shit and ya like “….HEY NOW!” And its great.

It was a little weird at first because if you actually want people to see your blog you have a better chance of it happenin if you have a bit of content first, so we looked up tips and one was that You send ask to your self to just kinda show that your there. I thought that was a bit awkward but our friend Stan happily Sent in some, to say the least, Interesting, anons, and we got the ball rollin.

It was scary. I was hella ‘fraid. Because people can be jerks. I was really carful about what I said at the start. I didn’t want to accidentally offend or upset someone. Then I stopped giving a fuck at some point and though “IM JUST GONNA HAVE FUN WITH THIS!” because of the fact our Bendy, Set, Is an asshole I had some trouble with that, because I didn’t wanna be mean to people and have them think I was an asshole. But then I stopped giving a fuck. and people actually fuckin like him an I’m like “Yowza!”

Basically its got its pros an con’s, its ups an downs. But I think its really fun! I started this blog here because after interacting with @offstage-mouse and @cant-pun-on-this-demon on the other blog I was like “This is kinda fun!” And I didn’t wanna bother sun or anyone who just wanted to see ask with RP shit so I made THIS BLOG! which the events on this blog don’t really effect the other seein as this ones Modern Bendy and the others 1933. (Same Set! Different Time) and its a lot of fun. I think Its more enjoyable when you just do ya own thing though. I mean Yeah its cool to have people notice you but Its cooler where they notice you and like your shit when you’re just doin you. Drawing what YOU like sayin want YOU Want.

Haha sorry. I went off an rammbled there haha! sorry if some shit seems weird?? I’m doing this from a phone 😂 I hope this helped you out and if you do make the blog (which I say DO IT!) hmu, my dude so I can check it out!

-CapCosmic

anonymous asked:

Being demeaning to those who don't agree with you is not helping your cause. It makes you look petty. "Honey, I think you may have gotten lost and wound up in my inbox. I’m a believer, and your misguided words certainly aren’t going to change that. To quote my amazing friend @hestherewithme, “there’s people in the cc fandom that are sitting on stuff that your tiny brains could not even process” "

Anonymous said: Criss Colfer fans are very demeaning to those who do not agree with them. How about just blocking those people and ignoring them instead of trying to make them look silly. It only makes you look childish and petty!

  1. I do not have a “cause” - I believe what I believe and I stay in my own lane - the hateful anons came to MY lane.
  2. IDGAF if I look “petty”, I was actually pretty darn nice to the hater. I have the absolute right to defend myself on my own blog. Besides, I don’t have to make them look silly, they do that all by themselves.
  3. Are you trying to tell me how to run my own blog? Who to block and who to reply to? NOW who’s being childish and petty?
  4. Bottom line, my scared little friend, if you come into our yard, we will defend ourselves.
  5. If you’re so darn comfortable with your ship and beliefs, why are you here? Perhaps some pesky doubts are creeping into your subconscious?

The One That Got Away

by reddit user bookshelfghost

Lily Harrison and I met at a graduation party when we were eighteen. As soon as I walked into the house, her bubbling laughter caught my attention. I couldn’t help but grin because it was so contagious, and she’d noticed. Already a couple drinks in, she pointed right at me and shouted, “Hey. You’re cute. Come be my partner.” 

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1. I wasn’t in love with you anymore, but god, this knocked the wind out of me.

2. You were just here.

3. You were just here.

4. Do you remember? The frozen food pressed to your shoulder, the way you shook with the knowledge of a barely avoided death?

5. My mouth. Yours.

6. I had been struggling with my old poems about you. You know, you were the first one I ever wrote. I had some questions for you, Cleveland. I suppose I don’t have them anymore.

7. It isn’t even seeing you kiss her that’s the problem. It’s that you share a table.

8. Maybe “wife” bothers me, too. I know how that word sounds, coming from you. Remember? Those long drives? Perhaps I still exist as your heart when you hit the road.

9. You still exist as mine when I hit the words.

10. I couldn’t read them aloud anymore, the poems. That old pain. It didn’t exist. We had chased it away with chocolate and cherries. Still, you occupy a shelf in the bright. In the cold .

11. You always have been impossibly careless with my heart. With my new lives, all of them.

12. There’s a Smiths song – if you were reading my texts I would send you it – it goes: and I’m not happy / and I’m not sad. I’m not sad, seeing you happy. She looks as full of light as I used to when you kissed me. I am glad for her. I know what you have to give.

13. It’s the loss of our friendship. More a removal. A reopened scar, from the last time. Remember, how we were friends? We’ve been so good at it. I can’t believe you won’t hear from me now. I couldn’t believe you wouldn’t hear from me, then. You know the words. 

14. I just wanted to wish you well. I just. I just wanted to be what I always have been. Yours, in whatever form we decide.

15. Nearly two years since we met and you still find new ways to let me down. I think it impresses me more than it wounds.

16. You told me all about her, remember? We discovered we had both loved ghosts, since the last time you cried on my couch. Do you remember? The things that we allow to haunt us take root in the end. I need to change my sheets.

17. I wonder if I am the ghost now. The woman you never had the courage to keep. Do I haunt you, darling? I can hear your voice saying yes. Feel the reach of your arms as I spin out of them, laughing. Do I echo?

18. You kissed me like you used to, the last time. You will again, the next. You always do.

19. In a poem I never got the chance to read you, I said that you exist suspended in time. In flashes of white sheets. Bathed in orange light on the Golden Gate Bridge. Spinning me around on a cold February evening. One year ago today.

20. One year ago today, you laid next to me. We cried about something that doesn’t matter anymore. It didn’t matter then, either.

21. Do you remember the words? Of that last song at what we thought was the last breakfast. You sat me on your knee.

22. Your hands shook as you held me tight. I put my lips to your ear. Do you remember? The words. Say them with me.

23. In my own sick way / I’ll always stay true to you.

—  Upon Seeing Your New Girlfriend For The First Time. Charlotte Ford.

Last Love:

Four long years, but here I am writing yet again another confession about you. It’s still you anyway. Whenever I hear a song or gone to places that we just used to tell each other, it brings back all the memories of you. Everything feels like yesterday.

I almost died when you left. The pain still lingers on and everyday I would wake up praying to God to help me recover. And it helps because there are times when I don’t think of you anymore. But you know it’s never a one-night process, up to this day I’m still picking up the pieces of myself that was shattered when you walked away.

The saddest part of it all, no one ever knew how I feel. They thought I moved on easily when in reality I still cry myself at night. It’s hard whenever they joke around me about what happened to us and I just shrugged it off like I don’ care, but the truth is, it still breaks my heart.

I have proven it myself that time doesn’t really heal all wounds, it would always be a choice. No matter how long the process will be, I surrender it everything to God.

I know you have someone else right now and even if it hurts (without any bitterness) I’m at peace knowing you’ve found a reason to be happy because you deserve it.

Considering all the trauma blogs I follow, 99% of the time I see the word triggered on my blog it’s in the context of explaining why ‘triggered’ jokes are a pile of bullshit. We’ve already stopped using it.

How else do we explain why sometimes the sound of a car can make our heart stop, or why someone raising their voice can make us bee-line for the closest exit? “It got to me,” we say. “It reminded me of something,” we say. I was uncomfortable, it was weird, I don’t know what happened, don’t worry about it. “I’m fine,” we say. I’m fine now.

I say “triggered,” and react shame. I use a good word to describe the intimacy of how I hurt and why, a word that says it all without having to re-open the wound, air the dirty laundry, whatever, and now when I say, “That’s triggering,” all I can think is: I really am a walking cliche aren’t I? But that’s false, the whole thing. If someone hears me say triggered and can’t sidestep the trend of dismissing those who’ve lived through trauma, then it’s not my problem to worry about, it’s theirs.

Believe it or not, I’m pretty done carrying shame that doesn’t belong to me. I’m triggered like a gun, like an earthquake, a fucking seismic event, and that’s just nature, not something to be apologized for.

Meta Post: How did Shiro get his scar?

So a few days ago I did a post about Shiro’s prosthetic arm and the response was amazing! Many of you also showed interest in me doing one on Shiro’s scar as well, so here we are. This one took me a lot longer to make because it’s not as cut-and-dry as the arm. There’s a lot of variables and speculation. We can’t really know for sure what DID happen, but we can most likely deduce what DIDN’T happen. (WARNING–I’m going to discuss some graphic stuff, blood/gore/injuries, etc. So be aware.)

In this post we’ll go through the possibilities and see which ones are the most likely to occur. There will be one numbered point per general option, and I will narrow them down to the ones I think could happen. I would love for you to share your thoughts on the matter! At one point most of us, myself included, assumed Shiro got the scar on his face during battle, so this brings us to the first option:

1. The scar is the result of a sword or other blade swipe during battle

Let’s take a look at what would have to happen for this option to be the case. There’s an easy way to visualize this in 10 seconds or less.

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more qrow branwen shit

Okay so I’ve been thinking about volume 4 a lot since it ended and I still have several questions about it, particularly these moments.

I watched these scenes over and over again in an attempt to figure it out. A thought finally hit me. The two recurring factors in these scenes are Qrow being poisoned by Tyrian, and Jaune and/or Ruby being there. So, I took it upon myself to do a little bit of research on the symptoms of scorpion stings.

It was made very clear to me that a scorpion’s venom is highly likely to cause hallucinations that can last until the wound is treated. I thought some more, and… something popped into my brain.

What if Tyrian’s poison caused Qrow to hallucinate, and he keeps seeing Jaune and Ruby as Tai and Summer? (bonus if he thinks Ren is Raven bc hair) It would make sense in the scene where he says “Tai she’s not coming” because he’s facing Jaune when he says it, so he could’ve stolen a glance at him and hallucinated. In the scene where he grabs Jaune’s hand, he may have been hallucinating about a past battle with team STRQ and urging “Tai” to be careful. And in the scene with Ruby, he may have been imagining a time when he was injured and “Summer” was there to comfort him. Just putting it out there…

The Signs with a Broken Heart

This post is essentially based on my/my friends’ real life experiences.I’ll also try to include some advice how to get over this struggle. Your Sun & Venus Signs matter!

I think that today, after having written some love posts, I had to think about those who spent this day alone, because they are comfortable with it, because they don’t need anyone, or maybe because their heart isn’t healed enough to start dating again. And it’s totally fair. Heartbreak is way too underrated lately in my opinion, we think about those with a sickness, we think about those who are poor, we say that as long as you are healthy, have a place to sleep, have something to eat, you must be happy, but sometimes an emotional wound is a lot harder to heal than a physical one. When you love someone, they become the most important part of your life. You share your days with them, you miss them, you decide where to go for a dinner together because you want them to be happy too, you basically change your whole lifestyle to fit theirs. And then if one day, they decide to take their love away, it feels like only half of your life is left and you ask yourself questions how it’s possible to make it stop just like that, from one minute to another. This is why it’s so hard to get over a broken heart. And sometimes it’s even worse to lose someone who never even was yours. You start questioning everything, why does life play such a prank on you and makes you meet them, like them, fall in love and all this for nothing, because they don’t share your feelings. A person questioning themselves, thinking that they aren’t good enough for a person they love, that someone else is and they aren’t, is probably one of the most hurtful feelings.

So here’s how I see the signs being hurt and hopefully this will help a few of you. Not because you will read this post and your pain will suddenly go away, no way, I just want you to know that there’s always someone to understand exactly how you feel, that you’re not alone.

ARIES:

As an Aries, you can be very emotional, but real feelings don’t reach you too often. Quite careless in your young years, you might be attracted to people physically, like them in different ways, call it love, feel sadness about losing them, but only the pain of a broken heart will tell you it was real. Because 

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parkjiminbiased  asked:

hey so i know you do head canons and i was wondering if you'd write an andreil one about them adopting a kid thanks

i have this issue where i start headcanons and they end up being fics so enjoy

  • Okay so Neil and Andrew are on the same professional Exy team
  • They live in like the small urban part of Missouri or something, and they have a lot of free time because it’s the off season
  • So Andrew goes to the library every afternoon like clockwork
    • He’s studying up on law and entertaining the idea of going to law school after they retire 
    • Neil tags along sometimes and loves browsing the crime/mystery section
  • The library workers recognize them as the famous exy-playing assholes, but they’re all older women who have nothing better to do than gossip behind the desk
  • Mary, the senior librarian, runs the children’s programs during the summer and makes sure to invite all the kids from the nearby elementary school
  • It’s raining pretty hard outside when Neil and Andrew stumble in one afternoon during Mary’s dramatic reading of The Fox and the Hound
  • Andrew saunters off upstairs while Neil heads to the bathroom so he can wring out their wet raincoats 
    • (Nicky got them matching raincoats for Christmas that year, insisting that he needed to “keep up the theme”)
    • (Andrew refuses to wear the matching red rain boots)
  • Neil hears muffled crying from one of the stalls, interrupted every now and then by a small hiccup
  • He knocks hesitantly on the stall door
  • “I’m in here!” the kid shouts
  • “Everything okay?”
  • “Uh.. yeah,” he sniffles, “I think”

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Complicated

Characters:  Dean x Reader, Sam 

Summary:  Dean gets a little jealous/turned on watching reader hustle pool.

Word Count:  2200

Warnings:  Smut, Language

Tags are at the bottom.  As always, feedback is welcomed and appreciated.

Originally posted by kissabledeanw

Complicated

I watch her from across the bar, from the booth Sam and I snagged by the wall. She knows my eyes are on her, it’s part of the thrill. It’s her night to hustle pool, she insists on contributing. I know she can handle herself, but I get kinda protective watching her.  

And jealous. I mean, I know it’s part of the con, the way she leans over that table, the way her breasts press together when she lines up a shot. The way she giggles and smiles and teases her marks.  

She told me once that there were two rules for a woman hustling pool. First, make sure the guy you’re hustling feels like he can easily beat you. Building their confidence is key. Second, make them feel like they have a shot at fucking you. Follow those two rules and you’re golden, she said. Every fucking time.

Men underestimate her when she’s in the short skirt and the tank top with plunging neckline. If I’ve learned one thing in this life, it’s never underestimate a woman. She proves the rule. Sam and I always keep a close eye on her, because there’s always that one guy that pushes a little too hard, a little too fast, gets a little too handsy.

She’s never needed us for backup, but it never fails to make my blood boil when they put hands on her. She lets them, it’s part of the game. They’ll wrap an arm around her waist or line up behind her to “help” her with a shot. I know it’s all part of the hustle, but it makes me feel a little crazy. And it makes me horny as fuck.

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10

Art School | Sophie Roach (Austin, TX)

Drawing and painting her way through an imaginative landscape of intricate and visual entanglements is Austin native, Sophie Roach.  Her artwork has endlessly covered  surfaces from– guitars, beer cans, Vans, to entire rooms.  And if that isn’t already insanely rad, her organic approach and laid back attitude make her not only incredibly humble, but also a super awesome collaborator.  While finishing up one mural and starting up new projects, we had the chance to ask Sophie a few questions about her art, her career, and her approach – from finding her voice, attacking a mural, to digging the quietude one might find as a mail person hah!  

Photographs courtesy of the artist. 

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6

10. MIPHA’S TOUCH

I was thinking… this reminds me of the time we first met. You were just a reckless child… always getting yourself hurt at every turn. Every time, I would heal you. Just as I’m doing right now. I thought it was funny how, being a Hylian, you looked grown-up so much faster than I did. I was… I was always willing to heal your wounds. Even back then. So if this Calamity Ganon does, in fact, return, what can we really do? We just don’t seem to know much about what we’ll be up against. But know this; that no matter how difficult this battle might get… if you- if anyone ever tries to do you harm… then I will heal you. No matter when, or how bad the wound… I hope you know that I will always protect you. Once this whole thing is over… maybe things can go back to how they used to be when we were young. You know… perhaps we could spend some time together.

blue night radio ♡ 170208
translation: fantaemsie

listener (message): when i was a teenager i was a really gloomy child. it seemed like the whole world had turned it’s back on me. i believed i was the only one in the world. back then someone uttered these words to me: “everyone lives like that. you’re not the only one having a hard time. everyone lives in difficulty, and diligently, as much as you do.” at that time, rather than getting hurt by these words i thought: “that’s right so i’ve behaving like a child.” that’s why, from then on, i lived really diligently, only looking straight head. even though, because of my family’s circumstances, i got into college a bit late compared to other people, i pushed my own self with a rod of iron and i refused to face my own wounds since i trusted that, other than me, there are other people who are having a tough time and that everyone is living working hard as much as i do. i live diligently. then i thought: i could be even better, an even more of a good person. however, after i ran and ran diligently like that, now that i’m going to graduate i turned out to be someone who gets angry and annoyed at everything. i get angry at the words the other opponent would throw in without any meaning. i’d get angry with a: “what do you know?”. little by little i hated meeting other people and i’m just preparing to find a job while only looking straight ahead. however …, i suddenly got this thought: why am i comparing my own pain with other people’s suffering? why did i make other people’s misfortune the basis to my happiness? all of a sudden these words i heard years ago occurred to me again: “everyone lives like that. you’re not the only one having a hard time.” it seemed like i’d fall behind if i didn’t do anything, that i’d really become someone who’s oblivious to everything - casting a spell that everyone lives like that, that i’m not the only one having a tough time. i pressured and harassed myself. i couldn’t be caring to myself. i was only too strict to myself. i couldn’t love myself, the one that needed love the most. at last, i want to say this to myself: “you lived diligently. more than anybody else you lived fiercely. it’s alright. you can rest now.” today, my status message: “it’s alright even if you don’t do anything.

jonghyun: “everyone lives like that, you’re not the only one having a hard time.” these words …, i think it’s the most wrong way of consolation in the world. the comparing with the other opponent, with different people. you know how there are these words? “live with the courage to die”; well …, these words? i think it’s the worst way of consolation. comfort …, to someone who’s having a hard time, someone who’s gloomy / depressed, to an exhausted person, to say: “when you get these thoughts, think of …, when you get those thoughts, courageously, do something different …, ya, right now, since you’re having a hard time like that: you’re exhausted, tired and having negative thoughts. i think it’d be good to quickly put that energy on the move and quickly take care of the work you need to get done.” to be honest, that person was aware of this too. they already know it’ll be solved by quickly moving on. they really immensely wish for it to be that way. however, it’s not working that way. there’s another thing other than the body’s wounds that you can see with your own eyes: it’s the heart’s wounds and, because of that, when comforting someone, i think one should think of how there’s certainly another existence, something that my eyes can’t see. of course, me too, while talking about this, since there are certainly words i gave to someone and wounds i’ve received from someone, i wanted to complain and talk a bit about this to our dear listeners. when comforting someone, rather than consoling them by comparing, whether comparing them to yourself or another person’s situation, i think it’d be nice to just have a talk about that person, them solely.

Kagerou Daze Manga - Chapter 48: RED I

R E D I

Comic GENE 3月 issue (read right to left)
Manga by: Satou Mahiro
Original by: Jin (Shizen no Teki-P)
Character Designs by: Shidu, Wannyanpuu

Disclaimer: Only the scanning of the pages belong to me.

Momo: Hibiya-kun!

Ene: Didn’t you leave with the Fox Eyes-san!?

Hibiya: That…After that something horrible happened…
Please help me, Onee-chan.

Momo: …’kay!

※Permission for large use/reUP of scans is highly appreciated.
Please message (through ask). Off-anon is replied to privately.

Please support the series when you can!

Comments:

Seriously thought there was nothing news worthy on this month’s chapter while I was overseas since I heard nothing. Came back and realise Jin still have no chill.

So back in the present after Ayano’s reason on why she and the siblings don’t live together anymore! But after their talk, they realise Momo had snuck out to continue her search for her friend, Hiyori. Soon the remaining Children will realise there was a lie in what they thought they knew and they were tricked. 

Going to try some translation again. Shout out to @fuyuyuu for talking to me with this and explained some parts on what happened. Oh! And I try to scan it in a new way, thinking this way the quality of the scan is better

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anonymous asked:

Well that post about kisame and shark characteristics said the hoshigaki females would be generally bigger, more muscular etc. So just, kisame sees the pink headed blob from behind and like ew a weak one but then she turns around and bam memories of his mother accidentally breaking tables/doors/walls come to mind bam he's in love

I should absolutely definitely totally be finishing the next chapter of reverse right now what have you done

Nagato looks like he’s about to start stabbing people, which Kisame thinks likely isn’t the best way to walk into a peace conference with Konoha.

“Obito,” he says tightly, as the volume of Konan and Yahiko’s bickering increases. “I am very fond of you, but if you don’t stop complaining I won’t be held accountable for my actions.”

Obito rolls his eye, but he does stop fidgeting with his shakujo, sinking back flat on his feet rather than poised on the balls of his toes, and Kisame allows a fraction of the tension in his shoulders to ease. Having their resident powerhouse to slightly wound isn’t good for the nerves.

“Fond,” Obito says instead, pulling a face. “Gee, thanks.”

Nagato looks exasperated, and turns to his partner with a huff, but Kisame has been walking between Konan and Yahiko and Sasori and Deidara since they left Ame; he’s had more than enough of couple quarrels for the next lifetime and change, so he squeezes past their honorable(-ish) leaders and makes tracks for the clear field they agreed on for negotiations, figuring he may as well scout the area. Nagato will likely do one better as soon as he gets his head out of his ass, being a sensor and all, but for now Kisame steps out of the trees and takes a quick glance around the field. It looks like it would make a good battlefield in another life, open and free of most obstructions, but as it is there’s only a single other figure visible.

Deciding he may as well be friendly, Kisame puts on his best smile, trying not to show too many extra teeth, then slings Samehada over his shoulder and wanders towards the kunoichi inspecting a lone outcropping of boulders. She’s small, lean, with short pink hair held back by a Konoha hitai-ate. Almost despite himself, Kisame feels a flicker of resignation, expecting another weak, stuttering, flailing girl. Objectively, he’s well aware that most kunoichi can’t be held to the standards of the Hoshigaki Clan, but Kisame grew up with women who were a good two heads taller than him and twice as broad, all muscle, and able to break a table in half without a thought. Anything less invokes an instinctive distaste, and—

The small, pretty kunoichi makes a sound of deep frustration, rears back, and punches the boulders hard.

It’s probably upwards of six tons of rock, and with one direct blow the entire formation shatters into dust.

Kisame’s jaw drops, and he practically trips over his own feet. Oh, he thinks, and then Oh! And maybe she’s not quite as tall or broad as his mother and sister but as she spins to face him he realizes she’s nowhere near delicate. Those are thick muscles, just as honed as his own, and the way she balances herself says she knows exactly how to use them.

“A kunoichi!” Kisame says, utterly delighted.

The young woman eyes him like he just said something dumb. “Haruno Sakura,” she says, like it’s a warning.

It might be, but Kisame’s been so focused on Ame and helping rebuild Akatsuki after Madara’s attempt to corrupt it that he hasn’t had time to leaf through the Bingo Book lately. Now he wishes he had, because wow.

“You!” he repeats. “You’re a real kunoichi!”

Sakura blinks, taking half a step back as she falls out of her fighting stance, and she looks startled and just a little flattered. “Um?”

“Could you bench press me?” Kisame presses, already advancing in anticipation.

Baffled, Sakura blinks at him for a moment, then snorts, tugs up her fingerless gloves, and cracks her knuckles. “Why not,” she asks in bemusement, and Kisame wastes no time leaping for her.


(“Oh gods, really?” Nagato demands, pressing his hands over his face in clear despair as the remaining members of Akatsuki file into the meadow.

Obito just snorts. “At least he’s having fun,” he says dryly, and a surreptitious glance across the field shows that Kakashi is watching his student toss around a deadly, homicidal missing-nin with no small amount of horror.

Obito would absolutely be lying if he said that didn’t factor in to the way he catches Nagato’s arm and keeps him from marching over to corral their wayward swordsman. When Nagato shoots him a look of deep betrayal, Obito offers him a smirk, tipping one shoulder in a shrug. “I thought you were the one who was so invested in peace by any means, Nagato.”

Nagato groans, and the hands go back over his face. “She’s using him as a weight, Obito! And he’s letting her!”

“True love comes in many forms,” Obito says, mock-wisely, and doesn’t even try to dodge the smack that Nagato aims at his head.)

Is This My Shirt?

Peter Parker (Marvel):

Summary: Tony Stark’s daughter Y/N and Peter became good friends after Peter got recruited by Tony and Y/N always clean Peter’s wounds after a rough fight.

A/N: This was neither requested nor planned but I wrote this a few days ago because I just love the combination of Peter Parker and Tony Stark. Maybe I’ll write a second part… so tell me if you like it.

Feel free to send in requests! :)

×××

I woke up to a knock and snuggled my face into the pillow, groaning. I heard the knock again, quicker and louder this time.
I groaned again, stretching my limps before looking to the glass door to the balcony.

I saw Spiderman leaning against it, waving slightly and taking off his mask to reveal his beautiful face. Standing up, I realised that I was only wearing my father’s shirt that covered most of me.

I hesitated but went over to the door, shoving it to the side to open it and Peter fell into my arms, groaning loadly before I could greet him.
“Peter!”, I gasped quietly as I tried to hold his body with my small arms.

“I’m awfully sorry, Y/N. It’s just…”, he began rather loudly, as he pulled himself back, “I, uh, was… there was this guy again…”
“Shhh. My parents are asleep.”, I explained quietly and while he rambled on, my eyes found his black eye and the cuts in his face which I hadn’t noticed before. My hand reached up to his face, my fingertips carefully drawing over the cuts. He shut up the second my fingers touched his skin.

“Oh, God, Peter… are you hurt somewhere else?”, I asked him and he nodded, his hand tracing over his chest down to his stomach.

Without hesitation I pressed the metal spider on his chest making the fabric go loose and sliding down his shoulders. “What the hell? How do you…?”, he exclaimed quietly, grabbing the suit and holding it, not wanting to stand in front of me with only his boxers on. My eyes instantly shot a brief glance on his abs before I looked him in the eyes.

“Come on, Peter, I helped dad while he worked on the suit. I know more about it than you do.”, I laughed softly, but got quiet when I took a closer look to his chest. There was a huge cut over his whole chest and several smaller ones over his stomach.

“Shit.”, I mumbled, pulling him towards my bed and pressing him down, “Let’s take this off and then I’m going to-” “No, wait.”, his hands firmly grabbing mine which were about to take off his suit completely.

“What are doing?”, Peter wanted to know,his voice shaking slightly. “Don’t be so shy, I’ve seen you shirtless before. And honestly, Peter, I’m not wearing a lot more clothes than you.”, I grinned at him but he only looked more shocked.

“That’s not helping…”, he muttered and sighed, “I… I can take it off myself.”

I only nodded, leaving him in my room and quietly wandering through the hallway to get to the bathroom and take a wet cloth.

Getting back to my room, Peter still sitting on my bed, I closed the door. His head turned to look at me, giving me a cute, little smile as I approached him.

Neither of us said a word as I pushed him down on my bed, laying on his back. Neither of us said a word as I cleaned his wounds.
I was hovering above him, being really near his face while I examined his black eye.

He shut his eyes while I traced over the cuts on his face and he flinched everytime, suppressing a groan and probably thinking about how he got all the cuts.

I couldn’t help but let my fingers roam through his brown curls, feeling him tense up. “It’s fine, Peter. You’re safe here.”, I whispered before pressing a long kiss on his cheek. His brown eyes widened instantly, staring into mine but his expression softened as I smiled at him before taking care of the cuts on his chest.

The only sounds that filled my room were his soft groans while I cleaned the huge, deep cut on his chest. It took me a while to finish my work and Peter’s chest had lifted and sank about a thousand times due to his heavy breathing.

But when I finished cleaning his wounds I wasn’t able to look away from his muscular body. I felt the unbearable urge to touch him and my hands reached out before my fingertips danced over his stomach and traced over his abs.

He was so beautiful, I was wondering if this was the body of a god. But one thing I knew for sure: this body took my breath away.

“What are you doing?”, I suddenly heard Peter’s deep voice and I jumped, pulling back my hand. I looked at him, feeling the heat in my face and opened my mouth to say something but no word left my lips.
I just hoped that he wasn’t able to see me blushing due to the dimmed light.

I cleared my throat when he sat up, looking at me with a flirty smile.
“Is there something else I can help with?”, I wanted to know, my voice even higher than usual.

He wanted to shake his head but then stopped, looking into my eyes all the time.
“Actually…”, he began, “I, uh, was- you know, wondering if I could… maybe stay here? I-I need… uh, I need cuddles. No, I’d like to… cuddle with you… if it’s fine.”

“Yeah, it’s fine. But you have to leave in the morning as soon as possible.” , I responded calmy, though I was a excited mess on the inside. I gave him a slight smile before standing up. “You want a shirt?”, I continued, making my way over to the wardrobe and turning on the light.

“Yeah, that would be nice.”, he said and came over to me into the wardrobe, where I had taken off my father’s shirt, not expecting him to follow me and now standing in front of him with only my underwear.

“Jesus Christ! I’m so sorry!”, he exclaimed, stumbling back against the wall. I randomly picked a shirt before pulling it over my head and took a comfy pair of shorts, putting it on as well.

Peter was still shocked but his gaze was glued to the ground, his face as red as his suit. “Here, put this on.”, I mumbled, ignoring the embarrassing scene and pressing my father’s shirt that I had worn before to his chest.

I turned off the light of the wardrobe, laying down in my bed and waiting for Peter to join me. I watched him, putting on the shirt which was a bit too big for him, as well. “This is weird. I’m wearing Mr. Stark’s shirt…”, he mumbled as he laid down next to me, staring at the ceiling. “Would you prefer sleeping naked?”, I chuckled and he smirked. “Maybe.”, he flirted and looked at me briefly but turned to look at the ceiling again.

I watched him from the side, admiring his facial features “What?”, he breathed, noticing my staring. “I thought you needed cuddles.”, I whispered back and a smile formed on his lips.

There wasn’t another word spoken. He just wrapped his arms around me, my head on his shoulder, my forehead against his head and my hand on my father’s shirt that hid his abs.

My heart beat quickly, while his fingertips traced over my upper arm and I tried to stay awake, wanting to live every second of this. But I was surrounded by his intoxicating scent, the warmth coming from him and our comfy position made me fall asleep almost instantly.

I woke up to the light getting turned on and Peter sitting up but I only groaned, not being awake enough to process what was happening. “Uh, Y/N?”, I heard Peter’s rough voice.
“Peter, it’s too cold without your hot body.”, I mumbled, “Why did you turn on the light?”

I felt him shake my arm and I sat up now, as well, my arm brushing his. I wanted to snap at him but then I noticed my father standing in the door frame. My eyes widened and I quickly looked at Peter, his eyes filled with panic.

“I repeat: What the hell is going on?”, he wanted to know, his arms folded in front of his chest, a strict look on his face.
“Mr. Stark, I swear, we didn’t-”, Peter started and my dad scoffed, “Don’t bullshit me. And hands off of my daughter!”

Peter scooted away from me, taking his warmth with him. “Dad, we were only-”, I began but he interrupted me.

“From this moment on, there’s a line.”, he said after a deep sigh, approaching us. “Dad.”, I moaned but he ignored me.
“Talking, hanging out, hugging. All fine with me, but that’s it. Nothing more than hugging. Understood?”

Peter nodded quickly, “Of course, Mister Stark.”
“Now, get out of this bed, kid.”, my dad sighed and Peter did as he was told, picked up his Spiderman suit and stood in front of him, ready to leave.

“Wait, is this my shirt?”, my dad wanted to know and Peter nodded slowly. “Do you want me to give it back?”, Peter’s hands grabbed the hem of the shirt, ready to take it off.

My dad shook his head, “God, no, just keep it.”

Part 2
“Cry Followup”, or “See A Doctor! The Musical”

I got sad. A doctor recommended that I go off my anxiety meds because they might be interfering with a bunch of other health issues. I did. It wasn’t good.

I tapered off for months and dealt with the withdrawal symptoms. When they were gone, I felt ok for a few weeks. Then I was easily irritated and sometimes angry. Then weird feelings started to creep in. I guess it was just dread. Maybe it was weird to just be feeling anything after being numbed on meds for so long. I started crying watching movies sometimes or thinking about whatever the fuck. I started getting really sad. Eventually I would cry everyday, sometimes for multiple sessions. It’s strange to think back on that now that I’m safely numbed to fuck again.

My grandfather had died about 8 months earlier and I thought I had emotionally exhausted that, but now it was back and I dwelt on it constantly. I thought of dying with an urgency that I couldn’t distract myself from. I thought of everyone I knew dying. It felt like time was an illusion and it wouldn’t be long until I’m standing beside their open coffins, reflecting on how quickly time had passed and now they’re gone and I’d wasted time not spending more time with them.

Most days I’d just wake up and lie there for hours. I’d try to look at things on my phone to try to distract myself. Snapchat was fun for that. Christ, so was Miitomo. I wouldn’t get any work done. It was difficult to focus and overcome the feeling in my gut of being pulled down and the constant present terror feelings of death and knowing this whole experience will be gone some day, but before that, I’ll watch everyone I know leave too. For a long time, I don’t think I really connected that it was my absence of meds that was doing this to me. I thought maybe it was just circumstances and some kind of Holmes-Rahe scale thing where a bunch of life events happening at once were stacking and compounding my depression feelings. There was no way to win against it and this kind of thing encourages you to not to the things that will typically pull you out of a depression. It makes you want to seclude yourself more and work on further diminishing your self-worth mentally. Instead of seeing friends or doing activities you enjoy, you convince yourself that you’re a burden to them, they don’t really want to see you anyway, and that something bad is going to happen if you go out and do anything. For so many fucking days I just laid there. That makes your depression even worse; your lack of productivity frustrates you and makes you hate yourself. All that wasted time boils your living asshole. It’s a paralysis and you don’t know why you can’t break out of it. You can’t just go into the other room and sit at your computer and do your work. Brains are incredible. Just a bit of absence from a certain chemical changes everything. Of course, you tell yourself things like this, that it’s not really you and that it’s just a biological ineptitude temporarily and that everything will be fine soon enough, but that doesn’t help at all.

That’s the other thing: you don’t feel like this will ever end. This is who you are now. A fucking shrivelled terrified cryhole. I did feel terror quite a few times during all this. It usually gets you when you wake up or try to go to sleep. Everything is still and You are going to fucking die someday, sooner than you think and You have wasted every moment of your life so far blast in your mind and your heart pounds, you can barely breathe, and you might even suddenly groan as panic waves hit your brain in an instant. There’s a terror in knowing there’s no relief from this; that all of these things are true and for some reason you believed the illusion your whole life and weren’t always in the perfect terror about it that you are now. Still, you beg for that trick to come back, to be able to put this mindset away and believe in the stupid shit we tell ourselves just to keep existing in some kind of calm. All these thoughts keep assaulting you with some kind of biological urgency, like you need to figure this problem out immediately or you die. This is what being on chemicals to help your brain for years and then suddenly going off them is like. Your body doesn’t know what the fuck. It’s weird to not give a shit about any of this and then suddenly imperatively have to give a shit about it and be unable to escape it. Even now when I’m in the clear, I still feel its background noise. Maybe I always will from now on. This whole thing has been a Paul on the road to Damascus type ordeal.

I fucking cried watching the new X-Files episodes, my dude. Probably during each one. That’s what it was fucking like. Imagine being in your late ass twenties and something in the X-Files makes you cry because you think of a squandered opportunity, or what you should or shouldn’t have done as a kid, or wishing you had put more effort into certain relationships with family or friends. It just finds anything to grab onto and get you with. You just have a dragging feeling constantly present and looking for things to attach to and convince you you’re sad about. Frankly, it’s fucking annoying. I cried one time because a nintendo phone app was enthusiastic about sharing my character’s picture with others. Just the fact that someone would have an interest in who I am and treat me like a normal person and want to share something about me with other terrible avatars made me cry as I was playing this thing and trying to take a shit. It made me think about my own self-worth and how long I thought there was no reason anyone should give a fuck. Cripe, one time I was almost screaming crying about my best friend who died when we were 11. It was like a fresh wound again and I was lying facedown on my bed wailing like an asshole. Depression can fuck with you.

So, this got pretty bad and I decided I had to see my GP about it. This can become a battle in itself, because past a certain point, you are convinced you aren’t worth the effort and that you’re a burden to have to deal with, and someone else could use that time to see the doctor instead. It gives you any reason to turn yourself down. I cried right away talking to my doctor. All this is really weird to reflect on; I was an entirely different person then. It was like a frantic sadness, an inability to just hold your shit together for even a few minutes. The impending terror was really pressing; a constant urgent anxiety that something bad is going to happen really soon, or that I’m about to get a call that someone I know just died. The doctor recommended seeing a therapist and going back on meds. Now I remember that the reason I finally did something was because my neighbour’s son killed himself. Fuck, that really bothered me. Hearing about any death at all was bad enough, but I think that week I was reading about Edgar Allan Poe’s death and then Vincent Van Gogh’s, and I just got really fixated on vividly imagining their final moments. I think there were others, too. See? Just a stupid thing to waste your time on but in the moment, you think this will help for some reason. Maybe the gravity of that kind of thing hooks you and you can’t help but look into it. So when my neighbour’s son also committed suicide, that was a pretty strong blow. I hadn’t even talked to the guy in over ten years, but I couldn’t help but fixate on having seen his father maybe 3 days prior as he joked in my mom’s backyard and borrowed a ladder. Now his life was ruined and the son he struggled to try to get mental help his whole life had killed himself. He was only 37 and he had a son. I think I spent a few days of weeping out my stupid ass over this, then made the decision to see my doctor.

I started seeing my therapist and cried within 6 minutes of entering his office. I wish I went to see a talk doctor when I was recommended it as a teenager. It’s good shit. Beyond that, I started seeing my friends again. Before this, I think 2 years had passed between us spending time together. I had talked myself into feeling like they were better off without me anyway and had their own real friends and lives that I didn’t have anything to do with. I started to exercise and even just take walks around the block. Sometimes, if I was just lying awake staring at the ceiling, I’d get up and go for a run. I started being able to work on videos again and looked forward to it. Thinking back on it now, I realize I kept streaming during the whole time. That would become the only thing I’d do or look forward to for most of this stretch. SO THANKS IF YOU LOOKED AT MY TERRIBLE STREAMS DURING THIS ERA I WAS QUITE WOUNDED AND I’M HOPEFUL THAT I WASN’T TREMENDOUSLY OBVIOUS ABOUT THIS, YOU HELPED KEEP ME STABLE WATCHING ME PLAY WITH CHILDREN’S TOYS. Beyond this, I’d just sleep until the afternoon and try to find a way to kill time until the streams started. This is why there were even less videos than usual. I was sad.

So, these things helped pull me out of the shit. A lot of it is self-examination and discovering why you feel this way in the first place. I’ve talked to my therapist about whether or not this whole thing was because of being on meds for so long and then going off them and feeling a withdrawal, or if that’s who I am underneath the medication.  He said that it is probably both, but more that that’s who I am. Fuck. He categorized this as a major depressive episode. It was weird to just hear the words. That is the kind of thing that happens to people in their mid-30s in office jobs who are getting shit on by everything in their lives. I guess it can also make you feel like a diva asshole; that you feel you’re so important that you had to have this major crisis about yourself. Writing this makes me realize how stupid it is to think like this, but that’s the kind of trap you get put into. Anyway, let me emphasize how important it is to see a therapist if you are depressed. Do it. It can change everything. Also talk to a doctor and see if meds are part of your solution. See a doctor. Do not just let it go. This is like if you had cancer and you just wanted to wait it out or hoped it would get better on its own. A lot of people let it go until it’s overwhelming and consumes them completely and just kill themselves to end the pain. Don’t!

I got better. I went on meds and in just a few weeks I made a drastic improvement. Plus the therapy, and plus feeling like I was doing anything with my life again. I hear a lot about hesitation to go on meds because you feel like they may change the foundation of who you ever are. This doesn’t happen. For me, it made me feel more free to be who I felt like I really was. That said, it may numb your emotions if you are a person who typically feels a lot of things. Just talk to a doctor about any concerns you have and don’t let these build up and become reasons you don’t get help for yourself. You are worth it. The doctor isn’t angry to have to deal with you. If it will cost what you can’t afford, don’t let that become an excuse not to do it. Save up or find a way to make it work. Again, it’s like if you couldn’t afford cancer treatments so you just let it kill you instead of finding out how you can make the situation work financially. What you’re dealing with is serious! Do something about it!

I almost forgot to mention that a lot of getting better was having something to look forward to. Knowing I’d see my friends and we’d have a good time was part of it. Another was spending all of my fucking money to go to as many conventions as I could. They were something I enjoyed in the past but didn’t bother with much anymore, so I decided to get back into them. It was the best choice. Thanks for coming to drink a lot of beers and talk shit if I saw you at a PAX or TwitchCon or Magfest! They were sincerely some of the best times of my life. Knowing that it wouldn’t be long until I’d be at another convention helped a lot with otherwise feeling complete dread. The power of giving yourself something great to look forward to is really strong! Do it! Find things you like and make time for them. Reward yourself! At one point, I got into a really unbalanced lifestyle and would spend maybe 60 or 70 hours a week editing videos and I burned myself out to shit. All I would think about was the job and let my health and relationships go to shit. You’re not supposed to do that. Give yourself good things and make it a habit. Anyway, PAX East soon, my man.

When I wrote my last crypost, a lot of people responded it it. I was in a daze for the rest of that day as I heard from a mountain of individuals. A lot of you deal with issues like this and a lot of you feel hopeless about it. It’s fucked up! This is your life! You’re entitled to a good one! Doing something about it will take a lot less than you may think, and will help you in a lot more ways and probably faster than you may think. A lot of you also said since that you’ve decided to finally get help. So yeah motherfucker I had a cool cry about your messages several times. What was also helpful was anonymous tumblr questions saying they got help so others could see your experiences and know I’m not just yelling out my dick about this. Thanks! You helped people!

Ok I think I have to cut this short now, it got late and I try not to stay awake until fucking 7 AM these days. I feel like I missed a few of the main points I wanted to make but by now I think you get the point that you can feel like you are going to face total annihilation within the next few moments and still get back to normal in very little time. I almost just wrote “Hopefully talking about my own cringe-ass experience helped you with…” and so forth to end this on a light-hearted self-shitting, but that again is part of the problem. Feeling as if your issues are embarrassing, not worthy, juvenile, or to be written off as not serious is no good. I know we joke about this kind of thing to help deal with it, but don’t feel that way for real. AGAIN, YOU’RE WORTH IT. YOU’RE GOOD! YOU’RE WORTH DOING WHATEVER IT TAKES TO FEEL NOT FUCKED UP! GO! 


Go!

yes, i can take comfort in the sun shining
fistfuls of optimism on my face,
i can smile when good things happen
and think the world isn’t such a bad place but
my mind is much scarier than most things
i’ve seen in this world: it’s dark and
dreary and not at all comforting and
what i want to know is how people
can say happiness depends on mindset when
the only thing trying to make me unhappy
is my mind? it’s a siren screaming “not good enough”
at the top of its lungs, it’s a never-ending loop
of the mean things people have said to me,
it’s that people never have sympathy for these kinds of things
because i haven’t gone through enough for their comfort
and they brush me off as sensitive when they hurt me but
then everybody thinks it’s a character fault that
i never say what i’m feeling but
my feelings don’t make sense and i am so tired
of people trying to talk me out of them,
i am so tired of everyone always thinking
they know what’s best for me, i am tired
of them asking me why i keep doing things
that are not good for me but
the thing about destruction is that it’s not always ugly
but the ugly parts are the only parts people can see.
they can’t see the way it makes me feel like
a work of art. i guess what i’m trying to say is
i need it for my poetry. i guess what i’m trying to say is
i’d rather feel bad for a reason
than feel a numbness taking over me.
—  exit wounds
Just in case you’re wishing there was more Downton Abbey

I’ve got a few recommendations:

The Bletchley Circle: A group of former WWII code breakers take a series of unsolved crimes into their own hands, seeing as how no one will listen to them. Just being women and all.

Call the Midwife: How many different words for “amazing” can I use before they start to lose meaning? I love this show SO much! The characters are so engaging and this snapshot into 1950s-60s Poplar life is endearing, heart-breaking, and eye-opening.

Also, definitely read Jenny Worth’s memoirs on which the series is based, titled either The Midwife or Call the Midwife (after the TV tie-in).

Home Fires: Series two is airing now in the US and it is a lovely series with the same dosages of scandal, small-town life, classism, and fabulous costuming as Downton Abbey, only in the 1940s.

The Crown: A truly great Netflix original about the young Queen Elizabeth II which offers a fascinating insight into her young life.

Pan Am: Oh, Pan Am! What a fabulous show! Beautiful costuming and soundtrack, as well as a pretty good plotline. But beware of watching on-demand - ABC aired the series out of order because they thought that would be a good idea for some reason. The story-line straightens out about half-way through,and by that time you will probably be hooked.

Rebellion: Haven’t watched it yet, but it seems promising. From Netflix, “As World War I rages, three women and their families in Dublin choose sides in the violent Easter Rising revolt against British rule.

Victoria: Jenna Coleman is an absolute vision as young Queen Victoria. The first season shows Victoria’s ascent to the throne, her young love with her advisor, Lord Melbourne, and then eventually her husband, Prince Albert, as well as the mine-field of intrigue and ulterior motives from her family and household. Spectacular!

The Paradise: Not as great as some of the others, but still a pretty entertaining look into the birth of the “one-stop-shop” in Edwardian England.

Mercy Street: I think this show is pretty amazing, although it is not for the squeamish (like my husband) who gag at the slightest sight of a putrefied wound. As a southerner - a Virginian, no less - what I love about this show is that it shows that there are good and bad people on both sides of a decidedly horrible issue, meaning not all Southerners are evil bigots, and not all Yankees are heroes in blue. Still true today, keep that in mind. Rant over - watch the show.


And last, but not least,

Vikings: A delicious mix of The Tudors and Game of Thrones. Quite a bit more violent and vulgar than Downton Abbey, but I still can’t help myself from recommending it to anyone who will listen. I find myself rooting for people who, if I met them in real life, would make me run for cover. Prepare to spend several hours at work looking up awesome braided hairstyles on Pinterest!


All that being said, I would also love to hear some others’ recommendations for fabulous period dramas. Can’t stop, won’t stop!