#and while bitterness can feel cathartic in the moment
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As much as I might sympathize with being in a niche fandom and not having any fic to read, I can’t help but find it a little silly when people are like “I hate going on AO3 looking for fanworks for [story in a relatively niche medium like books, comics, or video games] and then there’s less when I filter out [the movie or TV adaptation]!”
Because like. That’s how that works. That’s just how adaptations into mediums with broader appeal are. Unless the niche thing was a total outlier juggernaut and the adaptation was bad, like bad bad, that’s just the way it’s going to be. It’s not automatically a reflection on people not properly appreciating the source material.
And again, I totally understand wanting more to read of the thing you love, I get that. I even get that it can feel bad if fic of the source material pulls in adaptation elements and “taints” the beloved original thing. But I think it’s crucial to remember that adaptation fandom didn’t take anything from source fandom. 99% of the time, fans of the adaptation never would have touched the original thing. They weren’t pulled away from trying to read that book to watch the evil show version, they were just watching a show based on a book they probably had never heard of and had no plan to read. That person writing “tainted” fic of the original only read the original because they liked the adaptation.
And, most importantly, That wealth of fanworks for [adaptation] wouldn’t be a wealth of fanworks for [original] if the adaptation hadn’t been made, they just never would’ve been written at all.
#this is separate from being upset with an adaptation for being a bad adaptation BTW#being upset at a big budget adaptation for not delivering on the thing you love is different from being bitter at other fans about it#like I’ve been on all the possible sides of this#but resenting or being frustrated with the other side#doesn’t get you anywhere#if and when the Murderbot show and the TQT movie happen#it’s going to see a big explosion of adaptation fandom#and I’m going to not be upset about it because again#the adaptation isn’t *taking* fans or fanworks from the original#as much as we might wish for the original to have as many fans as the adaptation#it just was never going to happen#and while bitterness can feel cathartic in the moment#it’s either going to just make us unhappy#or worse drive new fans away
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Hi!! I was wondering if you could write a fluff Melissa x reader, where R is a new teacher and shes got this sick motorcycle and everybody thinks she's super cool and badass, and Mel's absolutely head over heels and gets all nervous when R is around, and when R eventually realizes it she starts doing things on purpose to get Mel all flustered.
With like A LOT of fluff.
You can maybe make it little spicy too, or not.
Idk you do whatever you prefer.
know i’m alive (18+, minors dni)
pairing: melissa schemmenti x gn!reader
summary: request above! | 5.8k
includes: the dating but not really sort of trope, but of ooc!melissa i’m sorry, partially unedited again im sorry
warnings: sexual innuendo, alcohol consumption (brief), making out/kissing, smut (fingering, oral, mel receiving), body worship?, aftercare
note: the bike referenced is a harley-davidson 1992 daytona, one of my personal fav models. i grew up in a biker family so this was cathartic. also the temperatures referenced in fahrenheit are roughly the 10-20°c range, hope that’s helpful :)
It’s become a sort of routine: get to work, drop your things off, get coffee, make Melissa blush, teach, do prep, watch Melissa try to hide a smile, go home, repeat. You can’t help yourself, getting the woman, who will always be the toughest in any room she’s in, riled up with fluttering lashes. Shocked faces from across the room didn’t help with the ego you were steadily growing with each interaction.
The first day you were at Abbott, she pointedly ignored you, despite constantly having an eye on you. What you once thought was suspicion over a new person near the kids, though sort of true, was more of a curiosity. A new third grade teacher walked into her school, wearing an oversized denim jacket and old Chucks, how was she supposed to feel? Her harsh glares and eagle eyes softened, and you started to see a more bashful side of the woman. It was only until Ava had the balls to say that Melissa’s behavior was very not Melissa, that you noticed that only you could evoke this side of her.
Since day one, the redhead has had an interest in you, not that she would ever verbalize it. Breathlessness has become a common feeling every time you come in with the sleeves of your sweater rolled up and rings adorning your fingers, making her focus shift and half the time she doesn’t hear a word you say, just following the gold bands that catch the light as you speak animatedly. Melissa longs for the day you got close enough and she could pull you in by the necklace you wear, the same that dangles in a taunt when you lean into her space. In the brief moments you’re alone, there’s a sense of calm that comes over both of you. The need to keep up a bravado drops, and you can indulge yourself in her presence. She’s lost count of how many times you casually dropped a gorgeous or beautiful instead of using her name, and how she has to fight turning when you say either in casual conversation, not just to her. All you know is that her wide, surprised eyes are all the motivation you need to keep it up.
—☽—
It’s bitter cold as you walk into Abbott, finding yourself nearly running to the main entrance before your eyes begin to water from the nipping winds. Reprieve comes in the form of the front lobby, leaning against it to catch your breath and shrug off your jacket to let the warmer air rid you of goosebumps. With your belongings dropped off in your classroom, it’s easy to start moving towards the lounge, knowing you saw a silver car that belonged to a certain redhead.
The voice of Jim Gardener is all there is when you enter, Barbara having, no doubt, told them to shut their mouths while her ‘second favorite man’ was speaking, Gerald also ranking number one in his wife’s heart. Grabbing your personal mug from the shelf, you pour a cup of unfortunate coffee as you watch Melissa through your periphery. She used to sit in one of the chairs, no room for someone to place themselves next to her. However, once you started, you noticed she moved to the couch, where no one but you was brave enough to sit.
Walking slowly to your spot, you gently sip the coffee that threatens to spill over the sides before setting it on the table. Lowering yourself, you sit purposefully closer to Melissa than a typical coworker would. Not one shuffle away or look of discomfort comes of it, it almost makes you grin. As the weather comes on, and Jim is no longer on screen, voices start to fill the room. You throw your arm back to the back of the couch as leverage to push yourself forward, leaning into Melissa’s space as the two-week broadcast appears on screen.
Her attention on you is not missed, neither is Barbara’s, who you already know is giving Melissa a look of bewilderment. The dusty pink that paints her cheeks with every interaction between you has quickly become your favorite color. It’s a struggle and a half to keep your eyes on the screen, but the temperatures being in the fifties and sixties starting tomorrow made you so excited that it didn’t even matter. Instantly, your mind is whirling with plans for the second the final bell rings and you can run out the door.
When the news goes to commercial, you sit back, keeping your arm behind Melissa’s shoulders. The warmth radiating off of her has your mind begging for you to shift your arm just a touch closer, to wrap your arm around her, but so far playing it safe has been working in gaining her trust. She can’t help it, green eyes falling onto you as she tries to decipher your move, hoping to catch something in your eyes that tells her what this was between you. All she gets is a little smirk that is half-hidden by a sip of coffee from an orange mug.
Melissa catches on quickly to your happier mood, finding the joy you exuded, that seemingly came from nowhere, to be adorable. She can’t even believe that word dared to enter her vocabulary. Your typical flirty remarks don’t make an appearance, just a serene smile on your face and a wink to Melissa when you catch her eyes scanning over your face.
As the last kids get into their dad’s truck, you find yourself practically skipping back to your room to quickly gather your things. With the speed in which you move and the utter state of focus you are in, you don’t notice Melissa’s little smile as she sees you move with obvious excitement as you leave the building. She decidedly ignores the little thought that you may be all giddy to see someone else, and maybe she will continue to ignore it with a glass of Merlot.
Marty at the front desk of M&J’s Storage Company gives you a tightlipped smile and a curt nod as you drive past, having gotten used to you stopping by periodically over the winter. Pulling up in front of unit seventy makes your heart race, the second most beautiful thing in the world sat behind that navy metal door. The old lock takes a few tugs to loosen its hold, finally allowing you to release the latch and lift the door.
“Well, hello again,” you mumble as you pull back the cover, eyes scanning over metal. It hadn’t been long since your last little maintenance visit, meaning all you had to do was drive home and get her shined up.
After stopping at the gas station on the way home to fill the tank, you finally park and nearly eat pavement as you jump out of the car. It takes extra effort without the help you usually get from your brother to lower the bike off the trailer, but you manage, though it leaves your arms shaking while you remove the cover again.
Polish turns the piping from grey to silver, the dust off the body goes back to its original tan, and the blue on the design is restored to its proper glory. Despite checking once a month or so, you cross your fingers as you start the engine, hoping that all your hardwork will pay off and nothing will go wrong. The engine does a chg-chg-chg before it turns over and the motorcycle comes to life.
“Yes!” you exclaim, jumping in the air slightly with sheer amount of excitement running through your veins. You let the bike run for a little bit as you take photos to send to your brothers as proof you could, in fact, get it off the trailer without them.
All you can think about for the next couple hours before bed is the feeling of your riding jacket and the wind blowing against it.
—☽—
The sky is still dark when you open your eyes the next morning, impatience waking before you before your alarm. Once you’ve gained your bearings, you get up and are getting ready as fast as you possibly can. It’s impossible to sit still, you’re almost dancing in place as you brush your teeth and can’t stop yourself from skipping to the closet by the front door. Shoved in the back, next to your sandals, was a pair of black, leather, steel toe boots. After saving every penny your senior year of college, you bought them as a graduation gift for yourself, and you’ll wear them until you can feel the ground through the soles.
Once you had to turn around due to forgetting it from sheer enthusiasm, you borderline ran down the stairs to your garage space. With the garage door open, the warm air creeping in from the outside is invigorating, and the lack of wind for the first time in two weeks gives you hope that your face won’t freeze off on the ride to Abbott. The biggest pain is getting your backpack to sit comfortably over your slightly bulky riding jacket, covered in patches from states and towns you’d visited over the years.
The second the bike begins to move, it feels like all of your problems have disappeared behind you. The low rumbling and revving drives others crazy, but it feels like the calming presence around you. If only the cops around weren’t such sticklers, or you’d have left your helmet off for the fifteen minutes drive. The wind on your face is better than caffeine, but your eyes water so badly, you can’t have anyone thinking you were sobbing on your way to work. That’s a Monday activity, not Thursday.
From the speed in which you got ready to get on your bike, you’re the second person in, Janine always being first. You refrain from sitting by the TV once you’re in the lounge, just leaning against the counter and sipping your coffee until the object of your affection arrives. Gregory and Jacob come in together, talking about the next round of plants for the garden. When Barbara comes in, you can see that she’s holding in laughter, a fast-talking Melissa behind her.
“How are you not freaking out, Barb? That bike is beautiful, and it’s at Abbott, Abbott, of all places,” she almost yells, her hands waving around with disbelief in her friend’s relative disinterest.
“It’s a bicycle, Melissa.”
“Motorcycle, it’s a motorcycle. It doesn’t have a basket and ribbons, unlike yours,” Melissa mumbles that last part, but Barbara stills catches it and gives a gentle smack to her friend’s arm, despite laughing herself. You can’t lie, knowing that Melissa is fascinated by the bike, you want to speak up about it now, but instead, you stay quiet.
The spot next to her by the TV stays vacant, practically having an RSVP with your name on it. When you plop next to her, she peeks at you from the corner of her eye, and she does it a few times again during the commute report. You catch her the fifth time, raising your brows in question to not gain the others’ attention, but she just gives you a shake of the head. She turns back to the TV, but you’re persistent, propping your arm behind you like you’d done yesterday, and poking her shoulder.
Her head whips away from you, and seeing that it was your hand over her shoulder, she turns back to you with a playful scowl.
“What?” she asks with a softer tone than you had expected.
You lean in just a touch to keep your words between the two of you, “you were staring. Was just making sure you’re okay.”
God, you could survive solely off the way her eyes shine, how wide they open at your earnest. Neither of you realize the time between your words and the answer that has yet to come, just looking at each other as a tiny smile plays on your lips. It takes the internal will of ten thousand men to not jump at her emerald eyes dropping briefly to your lips.
“Right… Sure you’re not just flirting? Like a little kid annoying their crush?” she jokes, partially to save her from embarrassment, partially to hide the racing of her heart from your attention.
“Could be. But at least I’m not the one avoiding the question,” you joke back, and when she doesn’t answer again, you push, “nothing to say about that, beautiful?” Her eyes go to her lap as she shakes her head, another poor attempt to hide the clear effect you have on her. For now, you’ll just ignore the feeling of her leaning slightly closer to you and try to still your rapid heartbeat.
—☽—
In a desperate attempt to see who owns this magnificent bike, Melissa stays in the parking lot, loitering by fiddling with her purse to not raise suspicion. She immediately ignores Gregory and Mr. Morton, knowing they’re too stiff to ever consider getting on a motorcycle, let alone this one. As she sits there on her phone, after fifteen minutes of waiting, a familiar hum starts up and the bike is moving out of the lot.
That jacket. Patches cover nearly all visible space, even a little Eagles one next to a custom Abbott patch. Even with the helmet obscuring your face, without the jacket, she’d know you anywhere. Immediately, she starts to move, putting her car in drive as she pulls out of the lot the same way you did, conveniently the same direction she needed to go.
With a stroke of luck, she pulls into a lane next to you at a busy red light, rolling down her passenger side window, “aye! Why did you say shit about you having the bike?”
You push up your visor, yelling over the motor and traffic, “air of mystery!”
“Bullshit!”
“Guessing you want a ride, huh, gorgeous?” You can’t even contain your grin as you watch her eyes widen, flicking to the red light that has still yet to turn. Little do you know her mind is screaming and your cocky little smile isn’t helping one bit.
She swallows the lump in her throat, “follow me to my place.”
“Yes, ma’am,” you say as you flip your visor back down, glad to be able to cover your face as you smile so hard you narrowly avoid missing the light turning green. It doesn’t take long to fall into line behind Melissa, cutting into a tiny space that earns you a deserved honk from the old man behind you.
It’s less than twenty minutes before Melissa’s blinker directs you into her driveway. You walk it slowly next to her car, keeping the engine running as you take off your helmet. Melissa gets out of her car, abandoning her purse in the seat next to her, and stands nervously by the hood as she plays with her sleeves. Suddenly the thought of being one the motorcycle, pressed against your back, sounds so good she’s afraid she’ll ruin it somehow.
Your voice cuts off her brain’s nervous rambling, “I’ve only got the one helmet with me. So, you’ll wear that, and we’ll stick to the side streets.”
“No highway,” she grumbles as she steps closer.
Your nose scrunches as you laugh at her pout, “no highway and nothing over forty, cross my heart.” Holding out your pinky, she begrudgingly takes it while ignoring the butterflies in her stomach. “You’re gonna wanna tie your hair back, low bun, braid, something like that.”
“Ponytail?” she asks, pretending she doesn’t care that your pinkies are still wrapped around one another.
“Nope, it’ll just tangle. And we can’t have anything happening to that beautiful hair,” you subconsciously pull her hand closer and draw her in. Her finger tightens around yours in return. When her neighbor pulls into their driveway, their car door shutting loudly disrupts the quiet between you two, making you both pull away.
Instead of speaking of it, you both fiddle to get ready for a ride around the block or down to the corner store. Melissa faces away from you to tie her hair into a tight low bun, she takes deep breaths to calm herself from the sheer proximity to you. Behind her, you fiddle with the clasps of the helmet to fit her better.
When she turns to face you again, you motion for her to get closer and her eyes almost bulge out her head. Melissa slowly approaches you as her fingers tangle around themselves. You lift the helmet in silent question, and she nods. Carefully, trying to touch her as little as possible, you help get the helmet on without pulling her hair.
You open the visor before you adjust the chin strap, “feel good? Secure?”
“It’s comfier than I thought,” her voice comes out slightly muffled by the guard in front of her lips. Melissa prays you can’t hear her fast breaths, completely overwhelmed by your scent surrounding her.
“Good,” you smile, “I’ll back her up onto the street, then you can hop on.”
Once you’ve got the kickstand down so it’s as stable as possible for her to get on, you offer a hand as support. Melissa slowly places her hand in yours, the squeeze she receives tells her trust me, I won’t let you get hurt. Using the footrest, she gets herself over the seat to straddle it behind you. Manicured hands flex open and close behind your back as she becomes unsure of where to put them.
“There’s handles, slightly behind you, that you can hold onto,” speaking loudly over the motor. You turn over your shoulder to meet your eyes with hers, “or, if you wanna, you can hold onto me. Whatever’s your preference.”
To save face, she rolls her eyes, “just want my hands on you, don’t you now?”
“Can’t call you a liar for that one,” you say with a smug grin, turning back to lean the bike upright and put up the kickstand. The second you start to move, Melissa’s arms go tightly around your waist, white knuckling your jacket.
Feeling her holding you was only so pleasant until you realized it was mostly from fear. Before taking off slowly, you pat her hand where it rests on your abdomen. It only grips tighter in return. Taking your foot off the ground and beginning to move, feeling more careful in every move you make as to not make Melissa more nervous than she was. It was surprising really, that Melissa Schemmenti of all people was nervous on a motorcycle.
Her grip starts to loosen after the third or fourth turn, but her arms don’t move. Melissa almost rests her head against your back, but decides against it in a sudden judgment. When the moment comes where she feels comfortable, she releases one arm from her hold on you to push the visor back up to have an unobstructed view of the Philly streets and your reflection in the mirrors.
When you finally slow down, it’s six blocks over at her favorite corner store, they’ve got the best hoagie options. She uses your shoulders and the hand you placed out for her to get down from the bike, legs numb from the vibrations of the bike and motor against her thighs. You’re quick to get off, helping her get the helmet off and fixing the little strands of hair that stick up from static. Neither of you mention Melissa’s rosy cheeks or your lingering caress along her bangs.
The small shop leaves little room to roam about, and you stay closely pressed to Melissa’s back as you maneuver to the counter to order food to bring back to her house. With the warmth radiating off of you, she now understands how you felt the whole ride. She knows how you feel about her, it’s a mirror of the ache in her chest for you, and feeling you against her has her heart pounding in time with yours.
From around her waist, comes your arm, offering the cashier a twenty dollar bill. Your other hand rests against Melissa’s hip, holding your wallet open for the change. This has to be some sort of revenge for holding you, she thinks to herself.
As you slowly pull into her driveway, there’s an air of unsureness around the two of you. Stepping off the bike again, you fiddle with your fingers, not wanting to invite yourself into her home. Melissa tugs at the ends of her sleeves as she plans her next words.
“Do you wanna come in, have a beer with those hoagies?” Melissa offers with a hopeful tone.
You smile as you grab the helmet from you, clipping over the little strap on the seat. She takes the hint and walks towards the door with you closely behind her. Inside, without the jacket and boots on, Melissa thinks you look soft. Everything about you is so careful with her, even when you wear worn leather with chains, this dressed down version matches the treatment she always receives.
Sitting across from her at the island, you answer all her questions about how you got the bike, how you maintain it, how you learned all the tricks to keep it running.
“Seriously, that thing’s how old and still going that strong?” she asks through a mouthful of capicola.
“It’s thirty now, it’s a 1992. Harleys are just built to last longer than the actual biker at this point, especially the older models,” you take a swig of beer, “the Daytona was too good to pass up. I got it so cheap and the guy barely had miles on it.”
Melissa perks up, “how much?”
“Thirty-five hundred. Stupid cheap, he could’ve easily gotten ten.”
She smirks, “and you just let him trick himself out of the money?”
“Duh,” you say. There’s a beat of silence before you both start to laugh, leaning into one another over the table.
—☽—
The sun set some time between finishing the hoagies and the third episode of The Real Housewives she roped you into watching. She claimed it was only fair considering she willingly got on the motorcycle. What had started with you two on different cushions quickly became you being pressed against each other, your arm taking residence behind her, but never touching her as you always kept it.
In a strange moment of bravado, Melissa leans against the back cushion and your arm dips into the slope, falling gently around your shoulders. You purse your lips in an attempt to keep a straight face, adjusting your arm to have your hand rest on her shoulder. It doesn’t take long before your fingers begin to draw nonsensical patterns over her shirt. Time passes, episodes go on, and Melissa’s weight starts to fall more into you. Every passing second you become more aware that you don’t want to leave this position as long as you live.
The screen turns black, Are you still watching? appears across it, behind the words, a reflection of the two of you. Your gaze dips down, immediately meeting Melissa’s looking up at you. Green eyes flick to your lips, and for the first time, you know for a fact that you are not imagining it. Her tongue pokes out to wet her lips, capturing your attention. Eyes meet and it’s so quick, neither of you can tell who starts it.
Melissa’s lips taste like light beer and strawberry chapstick, and her tongue is dominating and soft. Her hands grip tightly at the base of your neck, keeping you close to her like you would disappear if your lips left hers. Your hands take residence on her waist, like they had hours ago, and the warmth of her skin under her shirt is screaming your name, begging to be touched.
Tongues clash against one another, sticky lips clumsy as air becomes a necessity. Barely taking your lips off her skin, you trail downwards to her jaw, placing wet kisses along it. The hands on her waist push up and make their way beneath her shirt, gently squeezing her warm, supple body. The feeling of your soft hands holding her makes Melissa groan, tugging you back to her wanting lips.
All she’s wanted since the moment she met you, to hold you, kiss you, touch you, it’s all happening and she can barely find it in her to stop. She never wants it to. With your teeth tugging at her bottom lip, a borderline moan escapes her, and she feels you smile against her mouth and it’s all she can think about. Melissa is completely putty in your hands.
Without breaking the distance between you, you pull away from her lips slowly. Heaving breaths escape both of you, lips swollen and pupils dilated from lust. Melissa’s hand traces from the back of your neck to the chain of your necklace dangling in front of her, looping it around her finger to pull you in closer. Your lips graze over hers, but her words fill the space before they can touch.
“What if I asked you to take me upstairs?”
Your thumb brushes over her ribs, “then I would.”
The door handle almost puts a hole in the wall with the way Melissa shoves it open behind her as you walk her backwards towards her room. Her hands drop from your face to the hem of her shirt, beginning to pull it up before your hands take over. As you step away to throw her shirt off to the side, your eyes drop and a soft look comes over your features.
Stepping into her space again, your fingers trace over her skin, “you’re so beautiful.” It’s barely above a whisper, she barely hears it, barely even sure you’re aware you’ve said it.
Melissa’s only response is to kiss you again, pulling you towards her bed until she topples onto it, taking you with her. Your thighs straddle her as you tug off your own shirt, bending down to continue ravishing her. You kiss down from her lips, to her jaw, to the dip at the base of her neck, then trace your tongue back up. Cold hands grab yours, pulling them down to the button of her jeans.
“Are you sure?” you ask from above her, free hand pushing baby hairs from her blushing face. She only nods, not trusting her words. You shake your head lightly, a little smile on your lips, “I’m gonna need a real answer, lovely.”
Lovely, that’s a new one. She feels her face warm under your gaze, arousal pooling. With the strength she can muster, she utters, “please.”
Without a moment to spare, your lips are on hers again, hand at her waist moving to unbutton her pants. As you help push them down, your hand passes her panties, the dark patch of wetness calling to you. It only invigorates you as you let go of her lips, kissing down to her chest. Arching forward, she makes space for your wandering hands to slip behind and unclasp her bra.
A breathless mumble of God leaves your lips, before soft kisses are pressed to her sternum, skim over to her breast. You kiss her skin with a reverence she’s never felt, teeth graze over her hardened nipple before your lips wrap around it, tongue swirling. The unattended breast begs for attention that is quickly given by your hand, rolling the bud between your fingers.
The warm hand at her waist grips down to her thigh, pushing her legs open to make space for you to lie. Your mouth and hand switch, equal, worship-like attention given to each breast. Melissa’s quiet, hidden moans become louder, hips shifting for pressure against yours. Taking the hint, your lips travel lower, licking over her abdomen and gently biting when she tugs at your hair.
One hand wraps around her thigh, the other keeps her in place as a weight against her stomach. Pressing wet kisses to her thigh, you look at her for permission to continue. The image of you between her legs, lips on her wet thighs, eyes shining with want, all she can manage is bucking her hips towards you, a whine escaping her lips.
One last kiss is placed against plush skin, Melissa’s hand tangles with yours, interlocking fingers feeling like they belong there. Your warm, wet tongue glides over her slit, up and down in slow figure-eights, her little gasps only egging you on. Flattening your tongue, you press harder against her, tasting her more fully, groaning against her in satifaction. It makes sense why Eve would so easily give everything for a mere taste of the forbidden fruit. Sweet and warm, divine heaven on your lips.
Melissa hips buck into your face, begging for more and you are more than willing to give. You lick up to her clit, the pearl demanding attention from you. Small, circular motions with your tongue make Melissa groan, slapping a hand over her mouth as she gets closer and closer to her peak.
You lift away from clit, much to her dismay, “don’t do that.” The hand on her stomach moves to pull her hand away from her mouth, “I want to hear you… please.”
Her hand drops to the sheets beside her, and your mouth is back on her. Sucking harder against her, your hand slides down her abdomen and positions in front of her blooming lips. Your middle finger presses into her slick walls, forcing a moan from both of you. With a few gentle pushes and pulls, you slowly ease in your ring finger, making her clench tightly.
Red nails dig into your hair, tugging as Melissa writhes above you. Husky moans and whines fill the room, pleas of faster and yes, yes are burned into your mind, a melody you won’t dare forget.
You pull off of her clit to take a breath and speak, “can you take more, baby?”
“Please,” she says through pants. The hand in your hair tug you up to her lips, “please.” Her desperate grasp is not willing to let you go, claw-like nails digging into your back.
Lips dancing as you shift your hand to put your thumb to her clit, lining your forefinger to her pussy. Melissa’s jaw drops as the third finger stretches her more, the moan that rips through her is felt by your lips on her neck. You keep a steady rhythm of circling her clit and pumping your fingers into her. Her moans turn to pitched whines, walls hugging your fingers, she was so close. You kiss down her neck, sucking little marks that will fade by morning, taking your time on her breasts and lower stomach. Reaching her clit again, suck it into your mouth as you speed your fingers’ pace.
Frantic hips begin to still, a whine leaving her plump lips as she cums around your fingers. Your attention leaves her clit to travel down her lips as you slowly pump your fingers, removing one by one as she comes down. Shaking thighs relax against the bed as you clean her with your tongue, nectar of the goddess being all the reward you need. She pulls lightly at your hand on her thigh, begging for your lips on hers.
Pressing a final kiss to her pearl, then thigh, you capture her lips in a slow kiss, soft and full of the love that had been hiding under every interaction since you’d first met. When you pull away, you bring your fingers to her lips to give her a proper taste of herself. Accepting the offer, her tongue swirls around the digits. You internally scold yourself for being jealous of your own hand, even the string of saliva that connects her heavenly mouth to your fingers.
You shift to cup her cheek, admiring her droopy eyes and blushing cheeks, the sheen of sweat over her forehead. Her own hand mirrors your movement, pulling you down to press a kiss to the corner of your lips.
“You are so- too good at that,” she mumbles against your cheek, feeling the vibration of your laugh.
You press a kiss to her cheek before flopping next to her, “you, you taste too good.”
Her hand comes to cover her face, but you’re quick to catch it, bringing it closer to kiss the back. Melissa chuckles as you nibble on the knuckle of her pinkie, but she frowns as you roll off the bed. Emerald eyes follow you to the ensuite bathroom, and back as you go back between her legs with a warm washcloth. The featherlike touch and soft kisses to her skin only further the blush on her cheeks.
After discarding the rag and tugging off your jeans, you lay down next to her on your side, eyes scanning over her face. Her head turns to you, enjoying the quiet between you, even more so when your pointer finger traces her features and takes special attention to her lips. Lipstick smudged around her chin, surely on your face as well, and messy eyeliner, she’s never been quite so beautiful.
The gentle ministrations and loving attention make Melissa’s eyes grow heavy, sleep grasping at her despite the fight to stay in your presence. Feeling her relaxing into you, you shift to lay on your back, arm out inviting her into your embrace. Lazily rolling into you, her face tucks into your neck, hand searching for yours.
You tangle your fingers together and whisper into the air, “I think it goes without saying, but I’m stupid in love with you. Everything about you. Just thought you should know.”
“Good thing,” she says through a yawn as she shifts more into you, “because I’m stupid in love with you, too.”
You press a kiss into her hair, “go to sleep, pretty girl. I’ll be here in the morning, if you want.”
“Of course I want,” it’s barely audible, but you can tell she means it.
The scent of sex, sweat, and eucalyptus body wash radiates from her, underneath it all is a smell that’s so uniquely Melissa that you can feel yourself sinking into the mattress. It feels easy, being with her, it makes sense. You find yourself staring at the ceiling, you recount every time you should have spoken up about your feelings. Surely there could have been a time, but none seem to come to mind. It only makes sense that this is how it was supposed to happen. In her bed, on this day, with the taste of lager on her tongue, you were meant to find your way together.
title from beauty school by deftones
one day i’ll write a shorter fic like i planned in my head
feedback appreciated as always <3
#melissa schemmenti x reader#melissa schemmenti#lisa ann walter#abbott elementary#lgbtq fanfiction#lgbtq#lesbian
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I take you like you do your tea, with lemon and with honey - Lockwood x Reader/ Locklyle
And then you’re gone, along with half my hyper heart, leaving me alone with half-formed images of soil, rich and dark, burying what’s left of me. Oh darling, I wanted to write, I fear it is the future I hear calling, and I fear that it is from no further than our garden.
a/n: it's been a while since I've been inspired to write a fic impromptu and GOD have I missed it!! this was very cathartic to write and is one of my fav pieces of writing yet :) I decided to try something new by writing it in first person, from Lockwood's perspective, to the reader/Lucy (so it could technically also be considered a lockyle fic) there's not exactly a linear storyline heheh and i hope u enjoy!
warnings/tropes: first/second person writing, love??? fluff at least, sickeningly romantic, but also a dash of angst
word count: 720
TAGLIST | MASTERLIST
I watched you make your first cup of tea on a blustery January morning. The kitchen was too bright, and with the pounding in my head, it hurt my eyes to look. But I watched you add a drizzle of honey and a squeeze of lemon.
What's the point, I asked, of adding both honey and lemon? One sweet, the other sour, only tasting whichever’s sharper in the moment. You smiled at me. You held your cup like it was home. Outside, the curtains were singing and sighing. A new day had begun, just like any other, except now I knew how you took your tea.
You are a thousand different flavours that riddle my tongue blunt all the time. How to handle the scrapbook of memories that you are, I wonder. One moment you’re pressing a flare into my hand, making me promise not to blow up in a fit of recklessness, and the next you're resting your head on my chest, and I am too terrified to breathe.
When I'm in a mood and when you're rough with your words, I burn my tongue on you. A part of me eggs me on, pushes me to be something violent and unforgiving. Another part of me is crippled, and won't move on from the deathly quiet you left behind all those months ago. Tell me how I am supposed to love you when I don't have the capacity to do anything but, I wanted to demand. I was tired. Exhausted. You exhausted me. But still I thought, oh, love is stored in the tea leaves you wrung the very life out of.
What's the point, you say, if we are dizzy with grief as we spiral all the way down to ground zero, again? Then you look at me strange, and I realise no one's spoken. What’s the point, I ask, if we’re only running this into the ground. What’s this, you ask. I leave the door ajar.
On the morning of your trip, we’re having breakfast when George looks out the window and says the garden needs seeing to. He’s right - the grass needs cutting, the weeds need weeding but for a moment I watch the dandelions toss their heads in the wind. And then you’re gone, along with half my hyper heart, leaving me alone with half-formed images of soil, rich and dark, burying what’s left of me. Oh darling, I wanted to write, I fear it is the future I hear calling, and I fear that it is from no further than our garden.
That night, I forget to sleep. I sit at the kitchen table just like I did in the morning, and continue watching their ghostly heads sway in a nonexistent breeze. I dream of you, miles away from me, and I humour myself by thinking you can feel the disease rotting away at my heart. It is some dream that you float back home, back to me, on a cloud of hope and contentment. It is some dream that I can make you happy.
I hold you close to my chest when my throat is raw, clutching you desperately like a promise for salvation. You tell me I'm hallucinating, and press a cold pack to my head, and I'm too weak to explain myself. I’m terrible and you don’t know half of it. You yell at me, wrap up my scrapes, and make my tea something bitter awful, and you still don’t know. You sit there at the corner of the table with your pencils, colouring something happy, and you don’t know that you make me half decent.
Every day, I hold you like water in my hands. You are forever slipping away and there is nothing I can do about it. I am no anchor, but rather the rough seas which capsize any hope for freedom from calamity.
There is the sweet, and there is the sour. There is the good, and there is the bad. I take them both. I take it with your palm slotted against mine, grimacing, like a bitter vitamin. I take it all. Just keep your fingers laced with mine.
Maybe love is the brew you use to irrigate my system when you get too sick of my cough. Or, maybe, love is you, and not your tea.
TAGLIST: @dangelnleif @elenianag080 @snoopyluver20 @ell0ra-br3kk3r @avdiobliss @mitskiswift99 @ahead-fullofdreams @mischivana @houseoftwistedspirits
#lockwood and co#lockwood & co#lockwood and co netflix#anthony lockwood#fanfiction#lucy carlyle#fanfic#anthony lockwood x reader#anthony lockwood imagine#anthony lockwood x you#locklyle
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Verosika Mayday was well-liked for her design and her history with Blitzo, being one of many people he had wronged in her past. However, some find her to be too spiteful and petty, having trouble feeling sorry for how Blitzo treated her.
Despite her career success and seductive prowess, Verosika's encounters with substance abuse and her history with rehab hints at a deeper struggle, possibly a search for meaning or stability amidst the chaos of her lifestyle. She is one of several individuals who have been wronged by Blitzo, as their shared history is marked by betrayal and heartbreak.
When Blitzo confronts Verosika in the recording studio she is shown to have a tattoo, a heart with the name "Blitz" written on it. Except now it has a big cross over it. It seems likely that she loved Blitzo, only for him to break her heart by stealing from her. That fact that Blitzo is so desperate to be loved and believes that no one in his life does love him makes it even sadder. He had someone that truly loved him and through his own self sabotaging antics turned that person into a bitter enemy.
In the episode 'Ozzie's', Verosika's musical confrontation with Blitzo serves as a cathartic moment for her character. Her lyrics paint a picture of a deeply hurt woman, reflecting on their broken relationship. As she sings about Blitzo, it becomes even clearer about how she was very hurt by whatever happened in their relationship. After pointing out what a selfish, unreciprocal lover he was, she describes him as "a reckless, heartbreaking freak".
It makes perfect sense for Verosika to accuse Blitzo of being a bad lover. After all, they were at a sex-centered restaurant in the Lust Ring. Regardless of what other ways he might've made a substandard boyfriend, sex is what the others there would've been interested in. She wasn't just insulting him to vent, she was insulting him to damage his reputation.
I mean, it's the Lust ring. The highest "virtue" in that ring is doing everything and anything to satisfy your lust. Therefore, helping somebody else satisfy their lust is also a virtue and expected behavior. So, doing the opposite of that, denying somebody their satisfaction is the greatest sin one can commit in the Lust ring. Add in that they are in Hell, which is looking at most things through the lense of transactions, and the behavior of which Blitzo is accused makes him look not only inattentive substandard lover but straight out thief and fraud. Because Verosika did her expected part of the deal, and Blitzo didn't do his. Nobody in Lust would care if he stole her money and car, but breaking her heart ("heartbreaking freak" part of the song) after not giving her anything in return for all the things she did to satisfy his lust? Horrible "sin" in that ring.
Despite getting to chew out her ex in a much better fashion than in "Spring Broken", Verosika still doesn't leave the episode on a positive note as she's last seen sulkily swirling a wine glass and taking a drink while Moxxie sings the rest of his love song.
#helluva boss analysis#helluva boss#helluva boss verosika#hb verosika#verosika mayday#blitzø#blitzo#helluva boss blitz#blitzo helluva boss#heartbreak#hb blitzo#hb blitzø#helluva analysis#vivziepop#character writing#character analysis
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“Dear stranger (Donna)”
Donna Beneviento x Reader (gif ©noxdivina)
cw :: smoking || mentions of self-h#rm || scars || unhealthy coping mechanisms’ more like it || height place phenomenon
howdy this gay is back in time for pride month (not really) just a little comfort fic i wrote for myself really. hugs from donna is not a want but a need rn 😭
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The cigarette smoke is bitter, leaving a pleasant burn on the back of your throat as you take a deep inhale. For a while, you hold your breath, allowing the chemicals to spread through your lungs before puffing it out of your lips eventually. Your neck, meanwhile, is bared to the sky, eyes lazily roaming over grey clouds of varying shades.
A mindless fingertip is tracing the silver lines along the length of your forearm. Another drag of the cigarette brings a chuckle to your lips, and the sound is dry and deprecating even to your own ears. Smoking is an awful habit, that you fully understand. But at the same time, it is undeniably cathartic. It was either that or a blade to the flesh. In no way do you wish to die, although you would not terribly mind dying. You cannot deny however that you do revel in the sensation of blood blooming on your skin, and in pain, you find euphoria.
With another hearty inhale, the cigarette bud slips through your fingers to be reunited with its fellow friends that have already met their untimely demise beneath your well-worn boots. You are tired, so so tired. Tired of the strangers that call themselves your family, tired of yourself for being so emotionally weak, for actively ruining yourself under the guise of release, tired for your mother’s stead for she has to listen to her brother and sister nitpicking about her daughter on top of handling incessant chores.
In this god-forsaken world, you have learnt that no one else can be as caring and tolerating as your parents, and you appreciate them for it. At least, your parents are endlessly loving which in itself is a luxury that not everyone can afford. You love them, oh how you love them, but you also hate yourself, for their only child ends up being a damaged goods.
At the moment, you do not have a clue where in the world you are, having wandered wherever your feet have been carrying you. A glance around reveals nothing much obscured as it is by thick fog. There is a rush of water somewhere below, and you conclude you must be standing atop a cliff with a waterfall. Sighing, you kick the cigarette buds off the edge, and it looks tempting, liberating: the way they plummet down the misty abyss. A sudden urge to throw yourself off the cliff comes with a vengeance, and it does not help that nicotine has you slightly tipsy, the world around you spinning as you wobble on your legs.
And then, before you know it, you are being pulled into a body, held close to a chest by an encirclement of arms around your back. A delightful aroma journeys up your nose as soon as your cheek collides with black fabric. It is soft to the touch, and smells faintly of tea that is quickly overshadowed by a soothing blend of jasmine and sandalwood. You cannot help but steal a generous inhale. The smoothness of jasmine certainly is a lovely complement to the spiciness of sandalwood.
“Don’t, please. I can’t let you.”
The soft spoken words are uttered by a voice that is charmingly deep, carried to you by a gentle breeze that tickles your exposed nape. A hint of desperation is discernible in her quiet murmur, and the gentleness of it wildly contracts with the cage of arms whose tightness around you becomes nearly unbearable. It is oddly calming, freeing despite the confinement, and the realisation is as much a relief as it is a surprise.
What you have been needing after all is to be embraced, to be comforted, to feel wanted, and how ironic it is that your salvation is found within the arms of a stranger. No questions are asked. You find no strangeness in her actions. Nor does your mind feel stable enough to deem it necessary to compose yourself. The dam breaks, and you fall apart. Burying your face in the chest of this black-cladded stranger while hugging her close to yourself, you cry, oh how you cry, loud, miserable sobs spilling forth your lips as you grab fistful of her dress.
When the body in your arms tenses in an uncomfortable way, you are too far gone to notice, and so too when the arms around your body suddenly lose their bravado. Regardless of the hesitation, you are met with no hands that are forcing you away from her. Only after a moment or two when your tears do not cease does a kind hand find the crown of your head.
Tentatively, placatingly, gentle fingers stroke your hair. You adjust in the hold of your salvation only to be met with even more dark fabric. Through a haze of tears, you regard the veiled woman with curiosity, occasional bouts of hiccuping sobs accompanying your otherwise silent scrutiny.
“You-”
A calloused pad of a thumb that gingerly follows a tear track elicits a sigh from you, and then, the same palm is cradling your cheek, the coolness of which is desirable against your feverish skin. Along with a flex of her fingers on your back, the veil goes aflutter right beneath where her nose is supposed to be when you decide to rest your chin between the junction of her collarbones. No sooner does the hand on your cheek go to cover your eyes than you go boneless in her arms. Your nose meanwhile is tickled by a saccharinely sweet scent that smells both floral and vaguely herbal.
And then, you blink.
And suddenly, the world goes dark.
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#donna beneviento x reader#lady donna beneviento#lady beneviento#house beneviento#character x reader#fanfic#resident evil donna#resident evil village#hurt/comfort#fluff#comfort#self indulgence time#self indulgence babey#self indulgence at its finest
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Spoilers for the end of the webnovel
God i still feel a little bitter on how it's never properly adressed how Javier told Lloyd he knew the situation of him not really being Lloyd bc like did he tell him??? When he came knocking on KSH's door did they chat for a while, hang out before coming back??? I need ANSWERRS like you cannot tell me Javier didn't want to gatekeep him a little, especially after knowing how Alicia feels for Lloyd
dude i know. i Know.
i understand why the author decided not to write it out, but that doesn't mean i have to like it lmao
it's just!!! i wanted to see it so bad!! this was what the entire novel was leading to, this was the cathartic moment we've been waiting for the whole time, this was the conversation that was pending from the very beginning,,, and they skipped it!!
it was a good scene but don't misunderstand me!
suho crying in his goshiwon, grieving the life and loved ones he left behind, completely devastated about going back to his horrible life only for javier to come knocking at his door, a teary smile on his face saying how much he'd missed him? dear god i think i'm having an aneurysm all over again where was i again-
oh yeah, great scene, i wouldn't actually change anything about it.
BUT WHY DIDN'T THE NEXT CHAPTER COVER THEIR CONVERSATION???
like??? hello?? this was the most important moment of the whole novel??? of the entire plot?? javier and lloyd/suho?? finally seeing each other face to face, no lies, no misunderstandings, just them together for the first time since they know each other??
and you decide to skip it?!?!?!
there were so many things they needed to talk about! about javier knowing who lloyd was for so long! about lloyd never telling javier the choice was between his or javier's life! about, i don't know, LLOYD DYING BECAUSE HE COULDN'T BEAR TO LIVE WITHOUT JAVIER? MAYBE???
y'know lloyd was a mess that entire conversation, just sobbing his heart out because he thought he'd never see any of them again, he'd lost all hope of being happy ever again, and then here's javier at this doorstep, telling him he'd missed him so much and that he was there to take him home, after probably annoying a whole ass dragon in order to cross universes just to get to him,,, like man, how do you even react to that beyond crying rivers of tears
and javier. Javier is just. staring. drinking in the sight of the person he swore to protect and failed and who died in front of his eyes and is now here, in front of him, crying yes but breathing and wonderfully alive. and he looks different, it's not the face he's used to, not the voice he's listened to as he fell asleep for years now, but it's lloyd, it's his lloyd and he's alive and javier would take him in any shape or form he could come in as long as he came back home with him.
it's like the mastodons incident but a thousand times worse and javier grabs lloyd's hand because he's afraid he'll vanish at any moment, that he'll look away and lloyd will be gone again, gone somewhere javier can't reach him once more.
and this time lloyd grabs back because he's afraid he's dreaming, that he finally cracked and his mind is playing tricks on him because it can't deal with the pain of having lost everything again. but javier's hand is solid and firm and real and it doesn't take away all the fear, but it does settle it a bit.
and they talk yes, there's so much to say, so many questions to ask and they're both trying to pretend they're not aching to grab the other and run back to the frontera estate, lloyd because he can't stand to be one second more in the place he spent so much time alone and hurt and tired and scared and javier because he doesn't trust this place that hurt his master so badly he can still see the open wounds even as lloyd pretended to be a whole another person and he just wants to take lloyd to a place javier knows and trusts and can keep him safe in (even though, a bitter part of his mind says, he hasn't done that great of a job to this point)
when they finally do leave, they can't do it quickly enough
but!! you're so right about javier wanting to gatekeep lloyd for a bit after getting him back, i can totally see him just,,, taking a bit longer than absolutely necessary to get them home, wanting to bask on lloyd's presense just a little bit longer, wanting to be alone with him just one more moment before sharing him with the rest of the world because he knows it's very unlikely they'll get another quiet moment just the two of them once everyone else knows lloyd is alive.
and lloyd lets him because he's both very nervous about finally talking to his parents with no pretenses nor lies between them (which,,, that conversation deserves its own post tbh) and because he also just wants to be with javier for a bit longer. marvel in the fact that they're both alive, that they're both ok, that neither of them has to die anymore. that things will maybe be alright now.
that maybe, just maybe, he can have his happy ending too.
it's maybe the happiest he's ever been in his entire life.
#hey i got an ask#lunacurse#LISTEN I HAVE FEELINGS ABOUT THEM#SO MANY#this got very long but i had so much to say i'm sorry i couldn't help it :(#they make me go a little insane#BK MOON ANSWER FOR YOUR CRIMES WHY DIDNT YOU GIVE US THEIR CONVERSATION#the greatest estate developer spoilers#the greatest estate developer#lloyd frontera#llojavi#long post#javier asrahan#tged
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Oh? What's that? Am I tasting some salty artificial tears? And what's that extra bitter taste? Guilt? Regret? Pain? Either way, what a great meal!
So yeah, jokes aside, it seems like we may be at the start of a crossroads, and a very important one at that. With where Eclipse's thoughts seem to be here, he really can go one of two ways. He can either accept that companionship is truly what he wants more than anything else and actually try to change, or he can plunge even deeper into his denial of his loneliness and lead himself into a blazing demise. I think this is truly the final point at which he can make that decision. If he continues down the path he's on now after this point, there's an incredibly small chance he would ever be able to come back from it.
There's certainly a lot to say here, but I can acknowledge that it's mostly things that a lot of us have been saying since Eclipse began using the Star: he's lonely, he needs Sun and Moon despite his protesting of that fact. Though, I'll admit I hadn't seen much discussion of his capability to know exactly where Lunar is. He's aware of so much, including things beyond the veil of that reality, so of course he would know that Lunar was alive and would know where Lunar was being kept.
He longs for companionship, but always avoids every chance at having it because he doesn't want to be abandoned again. I've held onto this idea since relatively early on in my note-taking for my analysis, and it's probably not a difficult conclusion to reach, but it's relevant here. I've said before that Eclipse has a knack for creating things that eventually turn against him. Somewhere deep within himself, I really think he wants that to happen. He self-sabotages in so many of his actions, but particularly in creating potential companions. I really do think that links back to his fear of being rejected and abandoned; he's so afraid of creating a bond with these creations that he, purposely or not, makes sure that doesn't happen when programming them.
Like I said, at this moment, he could still potentially make the decision to change and gradually gain that companionship he desires. It would take a lot of effort, and even more time, to make things right and gain any amount of trust from the people he wants to have in his life. I may have too much hope for him, but I very much want to see him try to be better before it's too late.
Videos like this one are always such rollercoasters for me because, on one hand, I really like Eclipse as a character and want to see him turn himself around. On the OTHER hand, watching everyone around him roast him to hell and back is EXTREMELY cathartic and fun to witness. I feel like I give so many mixed signals here because I'll really quickly go from "hey, maybe try to understand him a little bit. He has his own trauma too, and he has reasons for doing the things he's done, even if the reasons aren't good ones" to "YEAH, GET HIM!! ROAST HIM! AND KICK HIM A FEW TIMES WHILE HE'S DOWN!" I think these are thoughts that can co-exist, and they certainly do within me.
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census designated - review
//content warning: discussion of depression/suicide/self-harm/dysphoria
census designated is in my top 3 albums of all time. i would give it a 10/10, but i think that rating music with numbers is stupid.
census designated is the sophomore album of jane remover, an artist who had originally broken into the music scene in 2021 with the seminal hyperpop EP, teen week. she then proceeded to release frailty later that year, a face-melting and depressing emo/hyperpop/edm fusion, which is another one of my favorite albums of all time.
needless to say, census designated is a pretty large departure from her source material, but one of the most positive changes i've seen in an artist's material ever. it trades in frailty's twinkly, edm-inspired vibe for a more acoustic and shoegazey style, while still retaining all of the things that made jane's music amazing in the first place. it features crackling, wailing walls of noise and basslines interlaced with screams and similar digital glitching effects to frailty; the hip-hop style drums used in frailty are swapped out for more acoustic, natural-sounding drums and the synths are much more warm and organic, fitting perfectly into the atmosphere of the rest of the album.
the tracks on census designated are on the longer side, ranging from 4 and a half minutes to almost 9. normally, seeing lots of long tracks on an album worries me as sometimes it can result in a lack of substance; this was most certainly not the case for this album. the long playtime makes room for bleaker, quieter moments building up into ear-splitting, astronomically cathartic breakdowns and climaxes. census designated effortlessly weaves together bedroom pop, shoegaze, and harsh noise into a varied and oppressive but beautifully blended soundscape for the entirety of the album. walls of warm synths and glitchy audio makes way for droning, feedback-riddled guitar melodies and minimal basslines.
the way that this album is able to convey the bitterness, desperation, anger, and hopelessness that are present in mental illness and dysphoria is something that i have seen in few other pieces of media. akin to uboa's the origin of my depression and giles corey's self-titled, census designated paints a visceral and vivid picture of depression, suicidal ideation, and struggling with one's identity, through both its lyrical content and sound. as someone who personally has struggled and is struggling with these things, this album has been unbelievably cathartic for me. all of the desperation and anger that jane funneled into this album is made into this palpable, dreamily vivid experience. a great example of this is the first ~20 seconds of video, a deafening wall of guitar, screams, frantic drums, and synths. during moments like this, jane also used a noisy sort of glitching effect to convey this complete collapse, this almost inability for the music to even stay within its bounds, breaking down into a messy, roiling sea of noise; a feeling that a lot of people who struggle with mental illness can relate to. this is then followed up with a bleak and soulful buildup until the eventual climax towards the end. despite this being a common song structure and theme throughout the album, it's re-engineered and done in a different way in each song, fully different from all the others; each song also discusses different topics, such as toxic relationships, going unnoticed in life, self-harm, hopelessness, the music industry, among other things. the lyrical content is vague enough for the listener to project their experiences onto it, but still personal enough for them to relate to jane's own experiences. there's this dark twinge of body-horror/cannibalism-themed metaphors for intimacy/sex/attraction ("biting chunks out of my face", "arm candy falling into his lap / take a bite") which jane herself said was inspired by horror movies that she had been watching at the time. anyone who has ever been in love, in a shitty relationship, or been ignored by the people around them will find the lyrics immediately relatable and impactful, although it's still enjoyable regardless.
the fact that jane remover was able to transition from terminally- online, attention-deficit digicore and hyperpop (which i still love, don't get me wrong) to one of the best shoegaze/noise rock projects i've heard in years is amazing and really shows her unfettered creativity, musical ability, and capacity to blend together multiple genres into a beautiful, cohesive project.
overall, i highly recommend that anyone who enjoys this style of music gives this album a listen. in my opinion, it's a masterpiece, and if you give it a try, you might think so too.
LINKS TO ALBUM ON BANDCAMP AND SPOTIFY BELOW
(i post music reviews sometimes, if you want more of that kind of thing, you should follow me)
#electronic music#indie music#music#shoegaze#post rock#noise rock#noise#jane remover#bedroom pop#indie rock#music review#music recs#music related#Bandcamp#Spotify
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Hi! Recently I read some of your mysme fics and I totally love those! I used to write during high school but my writing wasn't that good. My lecturer once said that you need to be a good reader to become a good writer.
So, I wanna ask how does reading shape your writing techniques/styles? I want to start writing again, at least for myself first.
I am so honoured that you like my writing. I've been a voracious reader my whole life, but stories that make me feel deeply are more likely to influence my writing style. I like to analyse how authors build up emotions, paragraph structure, conversations, and personalities to deliver the impact.
When I read a funny scene, I'd study the pacing and timing before the punchline drops (watching sitcoms are helpful too!). When I cry at an emotional scene, I'd figure out the exact moment that triggers the waterworks. When I swoon at something romantic, I'd ask myself why I like the exchange. Is it the body language, words said and unsaid, or metaphors? When a character is lonely, how does the author write the loneliness and make me relate to it? On a macro level, I like to examine the themes, word choices, relationship developments, chapter lengths, character growths—or if they stagnate, see how it contributes to the plot.
For example, in Thank You for the Food, I employed a snarky narration with a choppy structure because it's a romcom with a lot of back and forths so it needs to feel quick and flirty. Secrets and Sacrifices has a camera zeroing in on the unreliable narrator's feelings to convey how stifled she feels. I took on a lyrical, somber approach for As One So Half to paint the poignant reality of grief, while the internal thoughts in Locus of Pain are full of bitterness and flashing imagery of violence.
Bad experiences with books are important too. You get to find out what you don't like and avoid them in your writing.
I'm cheering for you to start writing again! It may be frustrating at times, but writing what you want is so cathartic and freeing. Don't worry about it being bad, you're bound to get better if you keep doing it. You can experience with different techniques and figure out what works for you.
#i used to be ashamed of being studious but none of that now!#thank you for letting me ramble on about writing#xela answers
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Good Omens Fic Recommendations
This is Grim's favorite Good Omens fics to ring in the new year. A disclaimer, I am well aware that all of these are WILDLY popular, and don't need my help, but you know what? I love them, and I wanna talk about them. One thing you're gonna learn about me REAL quick is that I love a silly little AU lol.
Slow Show
This is a human AU where Anthony J. Crowley is an actor who’s burned all his bridges…Until he gets a blindingly bright second chance, co-starring in a new tv show “Warlock” with Hollywood’s favorite good boy celebrity, Avery Fell. From the moment Crowley meets Avery, he feels drawn to him. Only problem is, Avery is not only married, but he has a reputation to upkeep.
(This fic lives rent free in my head. I read it at a horrible, horrible time in my life. It’s so, so heartbreaking, and so, so cathartic. There’s this one particular bit in my head, that I can’t spoil…But the discussions around queerness, and life, and second chances this fic includes. They really saved me, in a way, I think. It’s wildly popular, it doesn’t need me repping for it.)
Pray For Us, Icarus
In this AU, Crowley has become human, and has forgotten that he ever once wasn’t human. Aziraphale finds him, but he dies. And keeps dying, through the years, through different lives, and Aziraphale keeps finding him.
(Another wildly popular fic, it had its heyday with the first season, and has recently had a well deserved resurgence with the second. This fic will rip your heart out, stomp on it, and you will thank it. The only thing I can say against it, is I don’t think the ending quite lives up to the rest of the story. But with the rest of the story being SO good, I’m not even sure that’s a mark against it. BONUS: also check out "One Night in Bangor, and the World's Your Oyster" by this author).
Can I Tempt You?
A missing scene style fic, showing more of Beelzebub and Gabriel’s meetings through the years.
(I’m completely enamored with this fic, It’s very quickly become a favorite of mine, and I tend to think of it as canon, a bit lol. I’m lucky enough to have gotten to know the person who wrote this, a bit. And it makes me feel all the luckier).
One Night Will Remind You.
Ok. So this IS pure porn, but it’s porn with plot. Set in a human world where Beelzebub and Gabriel are business partners and lovers, turned bitter rivals, they’re both food scientists, on the cutting edge of figuring out new ways to feed humanity. Brought together by Adam, a newbie to the industry with big ideas, they’re forced to be in a room together for the first time in a while…Things ensue.
(This is spicy, SPICY, with excellent world building. It kills me. Also it’s a fic where Beelzebub nonbinary, and has a vagina that is…Used…Which usually squicks me out a bit, as it tends to make me feel dysphoria. BUT this is just the good shit.)
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Hi ❤️
✨ Give you and your writing a compliment. Go on now. You know you deserve it. 😉
🤲 Would you please share a snippet of a wip?
Hello, my love ❤️
(This is my best friend who is brilliant and talented and please go follow her for the highest quality Spencer, Emily, Tara, Alex, and Ralvez fics).
✨ Give you and your writing a compliment. Go on now. You know you deserve it. 😉
Of course you would pick this one. My writing makes me very happy. It serves for a cathartic release whenever I need one most, and I am lucky enough to know that many others agree with me. My writing makes people feel things, and that's all I could ever ask for 😇
🤲 Would you please share a snippet of a wip?
Below you can find an extended sneak peek of my GradTA! Spencer/Undergrad!Reader fic titled "Extracurriculars."
I had many reasons not to trust women like her. I had been burned in the past, with ropes and blindfolds that still felt paralyzing. But in that moment, those cruel memories felt worlds away.
She had just seemed so… calm. So happy to flaunt our intertwined fingers no matter how many familiar faces we passed.
“What were you doing in a place like that, anyway?” she asked.
I laughed before I thought not to.
“Did I seem that uncomfortable?” I muttered under my breath.
“Weren’t you?”
“Yeah, I was.”
The admission didn’t seem as humiliating as I’d expected it to. The girl swaying closer with each step seemed pleased at the answer. I realized that she might’ve carried her own concern that perhaps she had overstepped bounds by assuming she was doing me a favor.
“Thanks for saving me,” I reassured her.
“Please,” she sighed, “I was looking for a reason to leave.”
It was a genuine, if not puzzling statement. Although I’d failed to realize in the moment, I would come to learn that we had both arrived at the party with the exact same motivations.
“Why’d you go then?” I asked.
The glitter on her face paled in comparison to her eyes among the streetlights. While she stared at me, I lost myself in the mesmerizing cascade of fluttering incandescence among the backdrop of her irises.
It was not the alcohol in my veins that made my cheeks tinge pink. It was not the bitter heat of the drought, nor the fear of whatever was making my shoes stick to cement.
It was the sound of her sigh and the way she looked at me like I might know the solution to the problem that landed us there together.
“Hell if I know,” she laughed solemnly. “Lonely, I guess.”
That makes two of us, I wanted to say. But it could be zero. If you wanted it to.
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Time Swap (ROTMNT)
Time Swap AU created by @teetlezhere
Chapter 10
TW: minor mentions of death, really mild chapter
Beginning / Previous / Next
( Enjoy my shitty doodle for this :D This chapter was really cathartic for me. I feel like I healed a very big hole in my heart writing it. I listened to Mess by Noah Kahan on repeat the whole time I typed it out. And I know I always say I cried while writing, but that's not true, I’m just being dramatic. It takes too long for me to write to get thoroughly emotional. However, writing the park scene for this chapter actually made me have to take a moment to cry. More at the end of the chapter! Take a deep breath with this one. )
~*~*~*~*~
In the present…
“So I went out with a bang, huh?” Splinter’s belly bounces his resting hand around as he chuckles softly. He and his now equally old son are perched atop the billboard that sits several stories high above their sewer home. Leonardo dangles his legs over the edge as he takes in the view. A half smile crosses his face bitter-sweetly.
“Of course. A total Lou Jitsu move. You were always so theatrical.” His smile fell. The mutant turtle sighed and hung his shoulders. He watched a pigeon flutter below them on the street. He sits in quiet for a minute before feeling small, thin fingers reach out to his knee.
Splinter’s voice came out gently, fatherly, “Leonardo… I’m… sorry I couldn’t prepare you all for this… And I’m sorry I wasn’t there to guide you through… you know…”
Leo gulps and releases a shaky breath, “I know it’s been five years, but I just… I don’t think I’ll ever be able to believe he’s gone, Dad. They could lay his body out right in front of me and I still wouldn’t believe it…”
The rat rubs his thumb in a calming circle motion on Leo’s leg. “You two were always very close… But perhaps it’s time to let him go?”
Leonardo wrings his hands together, “I can't. I still feel him…”
“Hm?”
“Donnie… I still feel his… I’m not sure… his presence?” The tall warrior puffs his cheeks and sets his head in his hands. He covers his tired eyes with the heels of his palms and purses his lips. “When… my husband was killed; I felt it. I wasn’t there, but I could feel his… energy… dissipate? A-and when you-“ He winces, “-died, I could hear your heartbeat fade out. I was too far away to press my ear to your chest, but I knew.” He drags his fingers across his cheeks as he looks forward again. His eyes water as he stares across the city-scape. It was early fall, and the sun was just rising. He could smell the mix of baked goods and breakfast foods wafting up from the street below. He melted into the orange light and the feeling of being here, in his home, in this timeline. He never got to see this day; It was beautiful.
“I still feel Donnie. I still hear his heartbeat and I can sense him. It’s like he’s behind me constantly.” He laughs bitterly, “It’s almost worse! It’s worse than not knowing. Mikey… He called it ambiguous grief; Since I never saw his body, it may just be difficult for me to recover and accept. But I swear, Dad! I swear I hear his stupid voice sometimes! Making jokes, telling me about some smart thing he’s working on, calling me an idiot… It's like I’m stuck in believing he’s watching us from far away or- or planning to come back, but…” He runs his hands across his scalp. “But he’s gone,” his throat scratches as he utters his words, “isn’t he?” Leo’s chin and brow both scrunch as his lips sit somewhere in purgatory between a frown and a smile. “He told me that he loved me. Don told me that before he… “ He shakes his head and looks outward. After a minute he mumbles, “I don’t want to talk about it anymore.”
Splinter moves his hand to the back of his son’s neck and leans in, “You have been through much grief, my son… You need to heal at your own pace…” He gives his boy and side-hug and smiles up at the sun, tears dotting his vision. “I know what loss is. I understand…”
The two old men stay seated for several silent minutes. They listen to the cars below, honking and humming. The people of New York wake and get to work. Children run through the park, playing with their dogs, with loving parents watching over them. A crazed man stands upon a block and yells about the end of the world, and a couple tourists watch in humor: How ironic.
Leonardo remembers dashing over the roof of the surrounding buildings with his brothers, observing the high schoolers outside the large, brick building, chatting and messing around. Donnie would always wish he could be like them, and Mikey would try to convince them that being a turtle was more fun. They’d talk about everything from movies and memories, to their futures and how they’d eventually have families and lives apart from each other; but of course they’d stay close. Leo always wondered about moving out of the city. Even in his middle age, he never left NYC. He and Raphael always hoped to go see the mountains in the west, maybe even take a trip to Japan. Mikey wanted to go to San Francisco and paint the streets orange. Donnie, on the other hand, had his sights set on Mars; He was definitely capable. They were all so capable.
Leonardo focused on a young girl who’d fallen and scraped her knee. She clutched her leg and sobbed, probably mostly in shock. Her cry was answered by an older girl- he assumed her sister. The taller girl picked up the child and brushed her hair back. He couldn’t hear them, but he knew the words like the back of his hand. “That’s why you should be more careful where you’re running…” and “You’re okay… I’ve got you…” He grins as she even manages to get the younger sister to laugh again. His heart steadies and he thanks god that they’re alive.
His thoughts are interrupted as someone approaches them from behind.
“Hey. Mikey wants to… hang out or something.” Donnie’s arms are crossed defensively over his plastron. His eyes stay focused on a pebble nearby, avoiding Leonardo’s gaze. “Said something about a park in the Hidden City. He’s getting ready so he begged me to get the other Leonardo…”
Well, it’s an upgrade, I guess. The taller of the two turtles smiles sweetly, “Oh- sure! I’d love to hang out with you guys-“
“I’m not going. Just you, Mikey, and Raph. Maybe April if she’s free. I have stuff to do…” The teen turns and disappears as quickly as he showed up.
Leonardo frowns and looks to Splinter, who shrugs. “He’s quiet. He just needs time…”
Leo nods. I know.
—
Michelangelo drags Leonardo over to a stand selling lemonade. “It’s not as good as Todd’s, but I figured since you don’t have lemons where you’re from, you’d appreciate it anyways!” He slaps some money on the counter- definitely his dad’s- and snags a strawberry lemonade for himself, and a watermelon one for his older brother. He watches with wide eyes as Leo takes a hesitant sip.
“Damn! This is good!” The older mutant’s smile takes up his whole face. “Great pick, Michael!”
The compliment gives Mikey a great sense of pride. He decides to continue the good streak and guide his brother over toward a mystic arcade. “Glad you like it! Donnie says it’s too sweet, but I think his taste buds are just wrong. Leo never came with me. He always ran off to go do whatever when we come down here.”
Leo frowns a bit at that. He slows and looks down to the pinkish drink in his hands. “Do… Does he spend enough time with you?”
Mikey stops when he notices the red eared slider’s change of pace. His confusion is replaced with a grin. “Totally! Donnie probably spends the least amount of time with me, but I don’t take it personally. He just likes to be alone. All of my brothers are great!” He lays a hand on Leonardo’s wrist, “Especially Leo! I know I might irritate him- er- you… But he still lets me follow him around. Just last week he took me to get pizza and we pranked Raph by tying a slice to a stick, and we got him to chase it around the hideout!” He pulls his hand back and continues toward the arcade, laughing and bouncing around, “He knocked over So. Many. Shelves! Splinter and Donnie were so mad about all of the stuff we messed up!”
“I remember that.” Leonardo’s smile returns and he chuckles, “Raph and Donnie paid us back by hiding fake tarantulas in our beds.”
Mikey squawks, “So gross!”
The pair approaches the arcade, finally. “Whatcha wanna play?” Mikey lets the taller mutant make a pick as they enter.
Leo smirks, “Bet I can beat you on that one game with flying pigs.”
“Super Hog Race 3?! You can’t even remember the name; I so got this one in the bag!” He playfully shoves Leonardo to the side and races toward the game.
“Hey! That's not fair, you- What?! No! Don’t pick the hardest track!” He stumbles a bit more slowly after the youngest brother, beaming from ear-to-ear.
~*~*~*~*~
( Hey guys. I just wanted to give a little PSA. If any of you are experiencing ambiguous grief, please seek out help. It honestly usually doesn't correlate with death. For me, for example, I had a horrible falling out with a girl I consider my sister. It was that feeling of having something there for so long, and then it’s suddenly gone (sometimes it feels like As If someone died.) In the longterm, if not dealt with, it can cause severe mental distress. Please reach out to someone, write it down, read about it, and remember- I’m going through it too, I’m here if you need someone to just talk to. I know that a lot of time, the characters we latch onto and build around are so important because we relate to them so much. This story is very heavy, and I want you all to know how important it is to understand why these characters mean so much to us. Make like old Leo- give yourself time to grieve, time to recover, and surround yourself with love. Anyways, I love you all, please continue to read and enjoy. <3 )
#rottmnt#rise of the teenage mutant ninja turtles#rotmnt#rottmnt movie#time swap au#mikey#leo#donnie#raph#michaelangelo#leonardo#donatello#raphael#splinter#April o'neil#tcest dni#angst#fluff#theraputic#comfort#mentions of death
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Was messing around, playing some tracks from the OMORI ost on the piano earlier ('Do you remember?' in particular) and damn, I still become an emotional mess when I play certain ones. It got me in the mood to just pour my thoughts out.
'By Your Side' and 'Dear Little Brother' are two of the three tracks that broke me. I like to think that 'By Your Side' was composed by Mari for Sunny. A little piece to show him she'll always be there to have his back. (If you've read my fic Bask in the Sun this isn't something new for you). As it plays everytime you spot Mari after entering a new “level”, the game makes it clear this song is Mari's, there's importance to it. A rather pleasant tune, with a joyful tone, perfect fitting for the image of a picnic to be honest. And then you have that heart-wrenching scene where 'Dear Little Brother' plays, only it's... the melody. It's nice to hear, but there's something cathartic yet lonely in the sound now. I've tried to figure out if this is due to the effect of the scene it plays, but no. It's so beautiful to listen to, and you feel like it's going to lead you to somewhere that's needed the more you listen to it...
'OMORI' has to be my favorite piece of music this game offers, and one of my top game ost of all time and I know it'll stay that way. A little backstory about this particular one. Before I even played the game, I put a video for background music as I studied. The video's title contained the phrase “to help you sleep/relax” so I thought hey, sounds good, that's what I need right now, something relaxing so I clicked. While I absolutely enjoyed the music I was listening to, I have to admit, the experience was really something else after I had already completed the game.
So all is good, chill tracks in general, some bitterness to some, some were a bit on the melancholy side and then OMORI plays. No joke, I had to double check if the video in question had changed – ended and another one was playing now – I just couldn't believe this music was from the same game as the previous ones were. It was just such a different sound in quality and feel that it really took me by surprise. Nothing could've been done better about this one, it's literally perfect. The distorted sounds you hear in the background accompanying it during the fight somehow makes it work even more. All the feelings it wants to convey, it does, it punches you in the gut and you can feel the dread and despair of the moment as Sunny fights to finally let go and properly go on.
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Let Yourself Feel
Sometimes you just need to listen to sad songs.
It's true. There are seasons in our life when we just need to put on a playlist of the dearest and saddest songs we can think of and let it play.
I've discovered that as long as I know that the playlist will end and I don't need to keep listening longer than I need to, it's pretty cathartic to let the sad songs in for a while and just feel sad.
While reflecting on this practice I've adopted, I realized how I generally process feelings like sadness, which led to a significant revelation I'd like to share in part.
Because of what I do for a living, I often need to compartmentalize emotions, to put them away until I have the space to deal with them.
One example of this was when I sat in a meeting in my office talking about youth ministry issues, just a couple of hours removed from holding a church member's head up in the emergency room as he was choking on blood.
That kind of whiplash is rare, but there are many other moments when I don't have the headspace to deal with my emotions when feeling them, so I have to put them somewhere until I can.
Here's where it gets tricky, though. It never ends well if I don't re-open the compartments and deal with those feelings.
Which is why I listen to sad songs sometimes. Or angry songs. Or songs that are full of joy. Because when I let the sadness in or allow myself to feel angry, hurt, and afraid (in healthy ways), I can feel those feelings, ponder them, work through them, and relearn that I am not my feelings.
Mind you, this is my process. Yours may be different, but there may be something in this that many of us need to hear.
Most of us do the whole compartmentalizing thing but keep the compartments closed. God knows, I still do more often than not. We put away our hurts, sadness, pain, anger, and all the other emotions we experience, and we soldier on like nothing happened.
Only they generally find their way out on their own, and never in a good way.
Jesus had a teaching that he offered to his followers on this very thing. He told them to let their "yes be yes," and their "no be no," which was an indirect way of saying, "let your inside match your outside."
So, if you are sad, let yourself be sad. If you are angry, let it in. Let yourself feel it all if you are hurt, wounded, grieving, or bitter. And let yourself feel happy when it comes, too.
Know that it's okay, not to be okay, if you're not okay.
And if you need to create a playlist of sad songs, do that, too. Let it play; know you don't need to stay in that space when it's over. You can feel sad without being sad if that makes sense.
Allow yourself to deal with your emotions in healthy, life-giving ways that lead to wholeness. Let your "yes be yes," and your "no be no."
Like me, you may not always do this well, and there will be imperfect moments in your journey, but as you stumble forward, keep stumbling in the right direction.
May it be so for you, me, and all of us. And may the grace and peace of our Lord Jesus Christ be with you now and always. Amen.
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Friday Five
by Vi McDonald
It's time for another installment of Heartsleeve's Friday Five playlist update! This week, we're really in our feelings. From queer covers of iconic songs to lamenting the horrors of coming-of-age, here are five new (or new-to-us) tracks that get our blood pumping.
1. "Teenage Dirtbag" – Tiiva
Wheatus' original "Teenage Dirtbag," released in 2000, chronicles feeling unseen by someone while you admire them from afar. And that feeling of pining, and of being misunderstood, is something artist and producer Tiiva wanted to infuse into the very soul of this track. They call the original "an anthem, celebrating how to just be yourself and enjoy it," but they put a dreamy spin on their version. "I wanted to cover something that I could sing about and be like, yeah that’s me, that’s how I feel. The lyrics feel hyper real, my first crush on a girl, feeling invisible in my queerness and wanting to be accepted, to be cool," they say of the track. And using playful, excited synths, grunge drum samples, and a layered, harmonic vocal, they offer their take on a classic that everyone can sing along to, but might be a little cathartic too.
2. "try again" – Cam Kahin
Photo by Fabiana Moreira
From the moment I heard Cam Kahin's "try again," I knew he was going to be one of my favorite artists of 2023. From his forthcoming debut ep, WHEN IT'S ALL OVER, we described this track as an "anthemic rollercoaster." Read more about it here.
3. "Smalltown Boy" – Orville Peck
For the first Orville Peck song I've ever heard, I have to say, this was a great choice. Bronski Beat's 1984 hit, "Smalltown Boy," grew to become one of the most classic gay anthems of the 80s, describing the deep loneliness of a boy who feels so misunderstood and ignored in his environment that he wishes he could just run away. Orville Peck's country-crooned version, recorded for his Spotify Singles in 2020, abandons the poppy synths for a guitar-and-vocal driven sound. Orville doesn't shy away from layered harmonies and adlibs, giving a new depth and desperation to the track, while still being danceable and very, very addictive.
4. "Parcel" – Grace Gardner
Photo by cassidyophotos
Grace Gardner describes herself as a "folk pop singer/songwriter," but Parcel seems to be a departure from her normal sound. Starting with a muted, almost despondent tonality before expanding into a deeply personal account of wanting someone who can't be fully there, the track feels bitter, yet still reflective, aware of how complicated romance can be. "This song was the tied bow on the closure box," Gardner wrote on an Instagram post sharing more details about the song. "I hope it's giving you some catharsis." It's part of a larger narrative on Gardner's EP, Peach, releasing today. I can't wait to get the rest of the story.
5. "LSE to LAX" – Carlie Hanson
A songwriter deeply in touch with her feelings, Carlie Hanson first caught my ear in 2019 with her single, "Back In My Arms." It was unapologetic in its yearning and its queerness, and as I delved into her discography I realized this was something Carlie does well, consistently. Her 2022 debut, Tough Boy, was described by Ones To Watch as "an album built around self-discovery in real-time." And, as she embarks on her first North American headline tour and prepares for the release of her second album, Wisconsin, just a week from now, Carlie is taking accountability. In her new release, “LSE to LAX,” she discusses how her character shapes her, and tries to apologize for the mistakes she makes in her relationship. With lines like, “Cant bring my walls down, built a fortress, that’s a sad life / I promise everything then take it back the same night,” she’s letting listeners in, trying to help her loved one understand her fear and insecurity. Wisconsin is Hanson’s home state, so I’m expecting similar themes of honesty throughout the album, and I’m excited to hear what else is in store.
Listen to these and catch up on the last Friday Five on our Spotify, and don't forget to follow us so you don't miss the next one!
#tiiva#teenage dirtbag#cam kahin#try again#orville peck#smalltown boy#grace gardner#parcel#carlie hanson#lse to lax#spotify#music#music publication#playlist#friday five#playlists#by vi mcdonald#by%20jude%20mcdonald
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Tips For Adjusting To Life With An Emotional Trauma
Every time you want to move on to the next level of life, you can't move from the same position because a bitter incident in the past is holding you back. Tragic incidents such as accidents, assaults, and other catastrophic events are something many people can't easily forget and can traumatize their lives forever. Even if the memory of such an event becomes a vague image in your mind, it can come back and strike you without warning. If you find coping with these stressful situations difficult, consider the following tips for adjusting them to your life.
Recall the incident
Sometimes you try too hard to forget one incident that ruins your life. Unfortunately, suppression of serious thought can only cause a meltdown and even self-destruction. When routine medication doesn't help, getting EMDR therapy remains the best option to bring out the whole event scene. Find a therapeutic clinic that delivers EMDR basic training online. EMDR therapists will help you put fragments of memory in the front and start to remember bit by bit. While experiencing the trauma, your therapist will prepare a treatment after examining the condition.
Accept the truth
The main reason why you can't deal with the past is that you refuse to accept it as an actual event. Memories keep returning like your shadow, no matter how pretentious you are. In this situation, those weak moments can be a potential tool to fix the issue. Let a surge of emotions flow throughout your body, and accept them as they are. Don't hold back the tears even if you want to cry aloud because you can't vanish them like a magic trick. Using a cathartic expression will help you drain some burden and gain strength.
Share your story
Another problem with rejecting the truth is letting the traumatic stress hurt you for no reason. You will only know how to convey your story when you recall the incident and feel it. When meeting the therapist, you can speak your mind or write them down in your online blogs. In the beginning, you may feel uncomfortable being open about your issue, but you will gain more confidence to narrate the story once you start sharing.
Find a coping mechanism
Some people might lean on drugs and alcohol whenever they can't handle the traumatic stress. Such a practice may give a short time of pleasure but won't heal the wound. Instead of indulging in such nasty habits, find some activities to make you feel alive and fresh. For example, playing a musical instrument can help you focus on the notes and distract you from bad memory.
When you get EMDR basic training EMDRIA, you will see a clear vision of your weakness. Eventually, you will find a way to get out of the muck and adopt a fresh start.
Author's Bio - The writer is an avid online blogger. This article is about emdr basic training online.
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