#I mean it always is but it has that extra level of guilt and shame and all that bullshit

[jackgoodfellow]

~ King of Winter and Toxic Positivity ~

I've made you all a "motivational" poster! 🥰🥰🥰

" Manifest your dream reality through sheer force of will! Anyone can do it! Pull yourself up by the bootstraps! Be a self-made king! Good things happen to good people! Get in that grindset! The only one standing in the way of your dreams is you! Anyone can do it! Nothing is impossible! Everything happens for a reason! Everything will be fine, so don't worry! You can do whatever you set your mind to! Never give up on anything! Every failure is just an opportunity in disguise! Have you tried yoga?? Have you tried supplements? Would you like to hear about an exciting new business opportunity? It's all part of God's plan! You just gotta stop fearing SUCCESS. Happiness is a choice! Delete negativity! Push every boundary! For winners, limits are merely suggestions! Lean in! Don't take no for an answer!! Anyone can do it!! "

[for those who deal with eyestrain, there's a plain-text version of the above pink and green paragraph of assorted toxic positivity slogans copied down at the bottom of the post.]

Anyway, it turns out the people who are willing to look you in the face and tell you that your oppressive burdens are in fact not that heavy at all... are people that either don't have that same burden, or people who are comfortable forcing someone else to carry it for them. - All while they proudly take the credit.

and also, he's HORRIBLE it's FANTASTIC I love him, 11/10, Evil Gay Bitch Gold Medalist, REALLY puts the MLM into mlm [the "Multi-Level-Marketing" into "man-loving-man"]

❄ ❄ ❄

More context and thoughts, if you're a media analysis nerd:

I am, however, obviously a media analysis JOCK 😅

So, the actual toxic positivity quote that I used in the image was inspired by the commentary made in these two episodes of the excellent anti-fatphobia (and therefore anti-capitalist) podcast "Maintenance Phase".

It's a two-parter on this one piece-of-shit white lady wellness influencer, and the hosts are funny and awesome and the entire catalogue of the podcast matters a lot.

[Sidenote: the episode "Is Being Fat Bad For You?" is VITAL shit. - My main takeaway has been that it's ALWAYS better to be fat than to be fatphobic. Every time.]

But the main point that is relevant here is the way this podcast helps peel back the ugly truth of a broader phenenomen:

In other words, it is notable that the kind of people who say things like "We all have the same 24 hours in a day!" are generally also people who already have the money to pay someone else to clean their house, thus literally giving them more free hours in a day, than say, the people they are paying (or underpaying) to give them that time.

And what stuck with me most from these two episodes is the absolute open disrespect that toxically positive privileged people often have for the very individuals they are relying on for all those extra hours they seem to find in a day.

Because the thing is, most of them absolutely buy their own bullshit. They HAVE to.

In order to justify the way of the world to themselves and ease their guilt over their role in it (while still maintaining all their power), they end up so good at lying to themselves that they see no irony in funding their personal business ventures with money from their wealthy parents and spouses... and then calling themselves "self-made."

Anyone can do it, after all! (There are simply certain things that are best left unsaid! Best not to be rude!) And any kind of shake to this worldview means they might just-- crumble to dust!!

And in my personal experience as a Poor Cripple [TM], those folks are champions at shaming the poor and disabled.

Folks like that might very well might very well force someone else to bear the crushing madness of their golden crown, so that they are free to build a beautiful kingdom of ice and agreeability!

They may see no issue, then, as they oh-so-benevolently relax on their throne, being waited upon and granting gifts to pretty strangers - all while pitying that nothing can be done for their poor disgusting maniac of a neighbor--except, of course, to punish them for the crimes they commit in their weak-willed madness~ 💚🩷

I. FUCKIN'. LOVE THIS SHIT, Y'ALL. GOOD WRITING. HELL YEAH.

[Not shown: the literal 6-page essay I wrote today while trying to explain FULLY and COMPLETELY why The Winter King episode matters so much to me. Turns out, in order to do that, I had to talk about the way casual ableism and classism can easily become extreme ableism and classism--and THAT got dark REAL FAST.

I didn't even finish writing it! I was headed to 8 pages at LEAST (and that's not even including talking about the wonderful artistic craftsmanship of the episode!!) when I realized that people might not reblog this as much if it included AN IN-DEPTH PERSONAL MANIFESTO ABOUT THE GRIM REALITIES OF CAPITALISM AND ABLEISM. So like... maybe that's a separate post lol]

Plain-text version of the colorful paragraph:

Manifest your dream reality through sheer force of will! Anyone can do it! Pull yourself up by the bootstraps! Be a self-made king! Good things happen to good people! Get in that grindset! The only one standing in the way of your dreams is you! Anyone can do it! Nothing is impossible! Everything happens for a reason! Everything will always be fine! You can do anything you set your mind to! Never give up on anything! Every failure is just an opportunity in disguise! Have you tried yoga? You just gotta stop fearing SUCCESS. Happiness is a choice! Delete negativity! Push every boundary! Limits are merely suggestions! Lean in! Don't take no for an answer!! Anyone can do it!!

#bdg #brian david gilbert #winter king #the winter king #fionna and cake spoilers #fionna and cake #fionna & cake #alt-text #my art #image description #adventure time #fanart #fan art #simon petrikov #simon adventure time #ice king #the ice king #toxic positivity #ableism cw #classism #ableism #disability #Poverty #class war #'have you tried yoga' is like. the catchphrase of abled people who believe they know how to cure your disability #it's practically a running joke in the disabled communities I've existed in #maintenance phase #maintenance phase podcast #anti-fatphobia #MLMs are 'respectable' legal fronts for pyramid schemes. they're just-- they're just pyramid schemes.

[inkykeiji]

What is your Alastor’s goal? Like if the reader became so broken by him would he throw them out? Is he hoping for a balance of obedience as well as disobedience? We all know he gets bored very quickly so I’m wondering what’s your thoughts on this? Where is that fine line between entertaining to boring?

ah okay so!!! beware, i kinda rambled on beneath the read more ahahaha (*ﾉωﾉ)ᵉᵉᵏ

well if i’m going to be completely honest with you, he doesn’t necessarily have an overarching ‘goal’ since i’ve only been writing little fragments of their lives together/their relationship. he has a goal in each piece, obv, and they’re all very simple of course, because more than anything i write for myself and to explore a character i really love in silly lil scenarios my mind creates ehehe. but if i had to give him a larger goal that encompasses all of the fragments, it would be companionship.

as i mentioned in this ask, he’s drawn to reader because of her extreme devotion to him without the need of a contract; how she’s willing to do anything for him, to quite literally be his obedient little pet and always stares up at him with stars of worship in her eyes, all on her own. it’s pure, it’s real, and he loves that. but just because she is unwaveringly subservient, doesn’t mean she is incompetent or unable to do things on her own + be independent. she won’t cling to him unless he wants it.

he does give her tasks to do and hobbies to take up (certain books to read, certain activities to do etc.) because his pet needs to be well-read + intelligent and all of that. she has her own errands + duties to attend to as well, so she’s more than a mindless little doll (because you’re right, he would get bored of that SO fast); it’s more just that she has to be (and is) willing to drop everything for alastor the moment he wants her to—and he is absolutely drunk off of the potent power this grants him. there are an infinite amount of scenarios he can throw her into in order to play with this extreme level of ownership and control, which means he can always find a way to keep things interesting, fresh, and fun.

i write alastor as an extreme sadist and as someone who is only aroused and able to get off on serious sadism, right? her pain (physical, mental, emotional; any kind) is what ‘turns him on’. additionally, we know that alastor is extremely shady and manipulative, and has a bit of a sick, twisted ‘playful’ side to him—with means he isn’t above playing dirty, provoking reader into misbehaving or tricking her into breaking a rule, solely so he has an excuse to punish her or otherwise hurt her. he doesn’t need an excuse, obviously, he knows she’ll ultimately let him do whatever the fuck he wants to her, but it’s more fun when she unintentionally breaks a rule, because there’s an extra layer of psychological pain there; shame and guilt for disobeying her master.

he knows she loves it too, though; she loves playing that foul little game just as much as he does, and she isn’t entirely meek either; she will speak back to him on occasion, will beg him to stop or let some snarky little remark slip (she almost does this in the piece about alastor dressing you in white) or shove at him etc, but it’s really just this messed up little cat-and-mouse routine that comes with the 100% guarantee that she’ll never escape or leave him, no matter what he puts her through or how much she pretends to push back. i mean, she’d have to have some sort of streak of vile wickedness running through her blood to be as insanely attracted to him as she is.

so, really, that’s where the line between obedience and disobedience is drawn; she may be playfully bratty back, but never to the point of actual disrespect, and never for real. she might whine a bit about him intentionally tricking her into breaking rules etc, but she’ll also play up that aspect of guilt etc because she knows he gets off on it, and she gets off on serving + pleasing him.

wHEW okay, hopefully this answers ur questions!!! thanks for taking an interest in my iteration of alastor, that’s really cool and it makes me feel so aaaah happy n warm hehehe <33

#sorry this is a lil messy HAHA but i feel like it answers ur questions!! #thank u again for your ask!! c: #i hope ur weekend is going well! #please stay safe and hydrated <3 #inky.bb #inky.alastor #clari gets mail

[senjuushi]

Whumptober — Day 27

Prompt: Magical Exhaustion

Character: Springfield

Missions are always hard. Even when he does his best to be careful, Springfield’s body ends up protesting the extra strain in the most inconvenient ways possible. Finding himself bedridden from a simple battle is downright shameful, but that’s the unfortunate reality of being broken. 

This time, it’s particularly bad. By some miracle, he made it back to the base mostly functional, but by the time he got to his room, Springfield knew that he wouldn’t be moving for a while. With his limbs aching and numb in a way that implied nothing good, he collapsed into bed, fully expecting to stay there for a while and hoping his body cooperates soon. 

And that’s exactly what’s happened. Even now, late the next morning, there’s no way he’s going to be able to even stand on his own any time soon. Just rolling over takes what feels like an insurmountable effort. 

He’s stuck, and everyone is going to be disappointed in him for it. 

When his superior finds him like that, the response is the usual sigh and shake of their head. People know what to expect from him by now, but that doesn’t make Springfield feel any better about it. He gives a sniffly, nervous apology, and is left to rest, just like that, until he’s functional again.

But it’s okay. He’s used to this. Lying in bed is miserable, but it’s what he deserves when it’s his fault he can’t get up and be properly useful. 

At least, that’s what Springfield is thinking until someone else enters his room. You knock before coming in, which is an unnecessary kindness on its own, and the concern on your face brings up a whole new wave of guilt in him. “How are you feeling?” you ask, leaving both the questions of who told you and why you care. You don’t need to be here, fussing over a faulty tool. It’s his own responsibility to function; his Master has no need to worry. 

“I-I’m fine...” Springfield tries to say, only to be cut off with a painful cough before anything else can come out. When he can keep his eyes open again, you’re much closer, and shame creeps into him all over again.

You tell him he doesn’t look fine— but the tone is lightly teasing, not angry or cruel. There’s cinnamon applesauce and some easy-on-the-stomach crackers in the bag with you, and you help him sit up so he can have some. Springfield ends up with a little plastic cup in his hand and sweetness on his tongue, too stunned to protest the sudden, gracious treatment. 

He’s thankful for the food and even more so for your presence, but it’s still a shameful, shameful thing to need it. He’s your weapon. He’s supposed to protect you, but instead, he’s bedridden and barely able to feed himself. He’s a disappointment on every level, and yet, you’re still being so kind—

“What happened, anyway?” is the eventual, dreaded question. 

“J-Just a mission... I’m alright, r-really. I overstrained myself, th-that’s all...” Springfield replies, trying to sound reassuring. Convincing, maybe. 

“Is that really all? I’ve heard that you have some, um... health problems. I didn’t want to get the details from someone else, though,” you tell him, and Springfield is impossibly grateful that you haven’t yet heard the extent of his damage. It only means he’ll have to explain it— but that’s still better than knowing that you found out through someone’s disappointment.

He winds up telling you quite a few things; that he used to be an Antique, that his gun was modified to make him more useful, and that the result of that is a weakened body and a shortened life span with it. 

You deserve to know. He has no right to hide his flaws from the person who owns every part of his being, who he belongs to in body and soul. 

After a moment of thought, you ask, “Can I look at your gun?”

It’s still with him, right now. He had it after the mission, and no one’s bothered to take it away again quite yet. Normally, Musketeers aren’t allowed to keep their weapons with them— but he’s useless enough that the superiors often let it slip. There’s no reason to worry that he’ll cause trouble.

Since he can’t stand on his own yet, you’re the one who picks it up. Already, there’s an awful sense of nervousness twisting up inside of him; you’re going to see just how bad the damage is, and what will you think then? The jolt of phantom sensation when you first touch his gun has Springfield flinching like he’s been struck. You bring the rifle over to the bed, holding it lightly, carefully, clearly unsure of how to handle such a weapon. 

“Let’s see... oh.”

That quiet exclamation of shock hurts. You ask him to point out where the gun is damaged. He doesn’t want to do it, really doesn’t want to put all of his flaws on display to be judged, but you’re Master, and he has no choice.

You’re gentle. Tracing the warped wood and poorly installed parts leaves shivers running up and down his spine, tingling all the way to his fingertips. It’s the most tender anyone’s ever been with this part of him. You listen intently to the problems he describes, all of the things that make him weak and pained, and don’t say a word about how broken he is. 

“Can it be healed at all?” you ask. Not fixed, healed. “Not for function or battle, just... so you don’t hurt as much. So the pain isn’t as bad.”

“I don’t know,” Springfield whispers. “No one’s ever... I-I mean, there hasn’t been any attempt to repair it that way. I’ll be useless soon enough, when this thing breaks, s-so it’s not worth the effort...” 

“I’ll look into it, then. If there’s anything that can be done, I’ll make it happen,” you say resolutely, as if you could singlehandedly ensure that his broken mess of a soul could be properly repaired. There’s nothing he can say in response— as it is, he’s fighting back overwhelmed, confused tears. 

Why do you care so much at all? 

#Senjuushi #千銃士 #Springfield #Fic #Whumptober

[indiemovies]

i am honestly. having the best time here

unhinged nancy is something a long time coming and hopefully they'll write it in... god. she deserves it. and i really want to see it. s4 was such a good segue into a separate nancy plot, hopefully moving away from that godawful love triangle. because there’s something so terrifying for someone like nancy when interacting with vecna. the way that he can make you see whatever he wants you to, and the way that he picks up on your deepest insecurities and most shameful fears, the way there’s always an element of half-truth, and element of echoing some sentiment that you believe, no matter how much you try to convince yourself otherwise. the way that he can see through nancy’s curated shields and say “i never forget when i kill someone” or whatever the line is and !!! there’s the barely hidden accusatory undertone, and god, he shouldn’t be able to look at you and know the worst things about you but he DOES, and now these teenagers, who have been dragged through hell and back, have to deal with him

!!!! YEAH. ROBIN DID THE EXACT SAME THING W STEVE. they literally speedran a mostly one-sided enemies-to-friends trope and there's definitely something within the both of them that feels that connection. tbh, this feels more monumental than nancy having a queer realization or whatnot. robin isn't drawn to nancy because she feels like there's a possibility that nancy might be queer, she's drawn out of curiosity and a hint of awe, and she knows there's Something tm but like. this would be their heart-to-heart, though not canon in the least. some sort of edging around using explicit terms, but they're definitely talking about the Thing they've respectively kept wrapped up as best they can (for nancy, the most prevalent part is the guilt)

god that vISUAL- nancy calling home, not even caring who she wakes up at this point, utterly frantic and convinced that something's wrong, something bad happened, but no, nance, nothing's wrong, is there a reason you're calling at 4am for the second time this week? and what is nancy supposed to say to that? obviously she's not the type to openly admit that she's having nightmares about her loved ones dying in front of her eyes (or rather, the worst part might be seeing them dead and always being a little too late. too late to see who killed them, what happened, too late to do anything but mourn), but she's also smart enough to know that making up something that might suggest a return of the upside down would. not be wise. and i'd love to see some scene where mike and nancy collide a little. since the "no more secrets, okay?" moment in s1, they've kinda just been in their own orbits. their loss, the inevitable nightmares, everything is happening parallel, like their rooms are completely different worlds

okay ! and sidenote, i just. love the way your mind works. all these other points i hadn't thought of or hadn't connected, but you did !! and i totally agree the bouncing of ideas is such a vibe, so thank you :D

the ingrained misogyny when it comes to nancy wheeler ! even subconsciously, i feel like a large portion of the fandom watches nancy be mean to people and make mistakes without taking the extra step to think about how much she’s struggling and therefore making said mistakes, or struggling in the aftermath. and they see the surface level of her character, a sweet teenage girl in s1 who made some dumb mistakes and has boy issues. and then they see her, again, in later seasons wearing pink and facing literal sexism and find her to be a typical quick-to-snap feminist, or another liberal woman fighting tooth and nail for rights that today, women already have. why bother investing their time and thought into that sort of character? she's just another woman in the '80s, and for all that the show tries to show glimpses into her turmoil, or show how much she wants to break out of the mold, it's swallowed by her scenes with a boy. to the point where her biggest problems as an individual can seem like they revolve around who to date next when ! that's not it at all. and it frustrates me to no end that there are more fics about steve and his parents, who, sure, there are things to talk about. they're never home, he makes that one comment about his dad being a real grade a asshole, but jfc. there are more fics talking about how steve needs a hug and has ptsd, has bad parents, the whole lot, than about nancy and her very real, on-screen trauma. 197 works for "steve harrington has ptsd". "nancy wheeler has ptsd" isn't even a tag.

no offense, but the only things steve really experienced that nancy didn't was the russian interrogation, the demodog bus scene, and lighting the root network on fire. not that those kinds of moments can't manifest as trauma too! but for crying out loud, nancy got trapped in the upside down with a demogorgon nearby for a hot minute before any of them really knew what was going on. she stood in front of a car with her loved ones and fired her gun, and when that didn't work, she fully resigned herself to dying if the impact might be lessened for those in the car. she watched the parents of her best friend destroy themselves about barb's disappearance, and had to attend their dinners and pretend like she wasn't a main character of the tragedy. all these fics talking about how steve's so guilty about barb's death, he never swims in his pool anymore, like. jesus christ. some people are so determined to infantilize their favorite white boy that they really can't see the big picture. and this has definitely derailed itself to more of a this-fandom-can-really-suck rant, so back to the main point (apologies)

maybe that’s why the pennhurst scene is so crucial in the nancy robin relationship? because it shines light on everything nancy’s been forced to do, such as wear uncomfortable clothes and play a docile part to get even half of what she’s asking for. and all of a sudden robin’s juxtaposing that because she’s already been there and tried to conform, but she’s far past that now. so she stands up to a man of authority, isn’t shy about her exasperation for the situation, doesn’t lock down her every emotion so the men don’t have to deal with it, and figures out a way to get what she wants. and that’s what nancy’s been looking to do, looking to fight for herself and other people, but knowing that in her time, women don’t really get what they want without bowing down and suffering under a man

this! is a lot of writing my bad. i don't... know where i was trying to go with this part of the time. but i hope it gets the point across nevertheless, so i'll talk to you soon ish!

I GIGGLE AND KICK MY FEET AT EVERY MESSAGE FROM YOU at what point do we just collab and publish the nancy wheeler bible

YES vecna is so the perfect villain for nancy like i don’t necessarily think she’s a super internal character, but she tends to be very…..compartmentalizing. she’s able to face so many scary situations/monsters bc ever since s1 she’s been pretty good about separating her feelings from the situations i think. obviously a lot of her actions stem from her grief in s2, but even still, she kinda gets this facade going when the action starts, it’s like she turns off a part of her brain so she can be fearless and strategic. so vecna FORCING her to confront her feelings in order to face him is SO GOOD and would be so beneficial to understanding her character on a deeper level.

i love what you said about our idea of the ronance heart to heart….the thought of them both experiencing their sexuality differently like nancy’s being wrapped in guilt and robin’s being fear/shame, but both being able to sense it in each other and being able to communicate it to one another in some coded way and finding comfort and understanding each other…..yeah

I hadn’t thought about people’s inability to connect with nancy due to her issues of sexism being so contextual to the 80s they can be hard for people (or at least people who don’t understand we really havent resolved a lot of issues regarding misogyny) to relate to! i think that’s such a good point!!!!! i’ve seen some people acknowledge that it’s crazy how much her character has changed since the first season bc of the plot, but i feel like that gets twisted into normal girl → badass action hero when that may be true but it’s surface-level!!! there is such an edge of tragedy to nancy’s character because she shouldn’t have HAD to change like that, and although she may definitely be the most mature teen character, she’s still so young and the veneer of maturity and strength she puts on isn’t entirely a facade but it’s not the whole truth either! i think the stuffed animal that she “gave away” after season 1 reappearing in the finale signal that..she got rid of something she thought childish, and when she finds it again she lights up, wishes she could still be the kind of girl with the same stuffed animal she’s had since she was a kid, but chooses to give it up again. she’s so sad!!!! and this can be extrapolated to larger issues of misogyny with girls having to grow up too fast and having to appear adultlike to even have the chance of being taken seriously.

people being so much more willing to unpack and understand a male character’s trauma to the point where they make up trauma for him just to explore his character more while completely ignoring nancy’s plots and problems and obvious trauma yup yup yup! ALSO NANCY WILLING TO DIE STANDING IN FRONT OF THE CAR TRYING TO SHOOT BILLY ahhhh we could write a 10 page analysis on that scene alone!!!!!!

I LOVE YOUR ANALYSIS OF THE PENNHURST SCENE i think you’re dead on the money and i think that’s in part why they bond so much. i think before, maybe nancy resented robin’s supposed immaturity and goofiness and mistook for…not being dumb but not exactly as intelligent by nancy standards. but i think that moment just shows nancy a whole other side of robin and shows that she is capable and so smart, she just shows it in a different way. and i totally agree she is exhibiting qualities nancy has always craved for herself but thought they would hinder instead of help her…..ronance both admiring/being in awe of one another is so special to me<333333

I LVOE THESE TALKS I LOVE YOUR MIND!!!!!! your genius literally

#SORRY this took so long i started writing a response last night but i was out for most of today so i couldnt finish it :( until now :) #answered #anonymous #nancy wheeler

[bondsmagii]

Do you genuinely belive that people deserve to be happy no matter what's happening in the world? I just, like, never heard that before. I mean, everyone it's always trying to convince you that you should care about the world more than you care about yourself and It just gets internalized like I genuinely gave up a career as small business owner to focus on enviromental sciences bc I felt so much guilt over not doing something for climate change and everyone like supported that choice

This whole conversation with the anon remembers me of my own little paranoia when I read the poem "you must love the mutilated world" because all I could think about was how easier it was to me (white, middle class, american) to love the world than everyone else. It's crazy how guilt does leak into everyday things. I never even thought about that like it's something bad it was always framed as something you should be doing like you don't have permission to be happy while the whole world suffers (and its something you see all the time in social media too! Like, it's crazy!) Anyway very interesting topic don't know how to digest it tho probably will continue to feel immeasurable waves of useless giref

I do believe that, yes. I don't believe that we should live in denial of the problems in the world, but I see no point in living in misery. it gets nothing done, it isn't productive, and unless we are actively, consciously, and blatantly contributing to the world's problems, a lot of it is stuff we're not to blame for. should we still help? yes. but should we act like we're on the same level as the billionaires and warmongers who are actively causing and profiting from the pain of others? don't be ridiculous.

also, while we're on the subject: Try to Praise the Mutilated World is my all-time favourite poem. I don't lecture people on their own interpretations of art, but I thought I might provide some extra context. the poem's author is a man named Adam Zagajewski, and he was born in 1945 in Lwów, Poland (now Lviv, Ukraine). you might recognise the date as the end of the Second World War, but you might not recognise the town. this town was one of the most hotly contested and affected parts of Europe in the lead-up to, and the aftermath of, the war. so affected were the citizens that the men who helped create the terms "genocide" and "crime against humanity" in a legal sense for the first time were from here (they did this for the purpose of the Nuremberg trials). Zagajewski would have undoubtedly grown up with the horror of war shadowing his every move and haunting the memories of his family. he would have seen the widespread damage and grief, and homes abandoned or left empty in the wake of the countless Jews from the town who were exiled and murdered. he himself also suffered hardships under the communist rule the country was under during his lifetime, including familial exile and censorship. he protested against the government rule and was punished for it, even having to leave his country for long periods of time.

this is a man who a lot of people with your attitude would deem as a person who has "really" suffered, and is a "real" victim. and he says that regardless of what is going on, you must praise this world. you must love it. you must see the beauty in everything, even the "abandoned homesteads of exiles". you must create good times, so you can hold onto them in the tough times and the bad times. the poem is saying that you must see the beauty in the world before you can begin to heal it, because a person mired in guilt and misery is no good for the work of healing. look at the things he tells you to remember and to enjoy when you have them. he mentions "June's long days", "wild strawberries", "drops of rosé wine". the poem tells you to face the reality of the world and hold fast against it; love the world regardless and do what you can. how such a beautiful poem could be used by you to feel such guilt is such a shame. this is a poem written for everyone struggling with the reality of the world, and indeed it became widespread famous after it circulated following 9/11. in a world full of new horror, a horror many people had never experienced before, it was this poem that resonated -- that no matter the horror out there, we must love this world and seize happiness where we can.

this is a prime example of art being for everyone. if you want to use this poem as another way to uselessly beat yourself up, I can't stop you. but I hope you rethink. you seem unhappy living like this, and you seem to understand it's an impossible way to live. you can choose something better. you can try to praise the mutilated world, to go back to the running theme. you can allow yourself small joys and let yourself see the beauty here. you can learn to do what you can and rest knowing that's enough.

#anon #asks

[crumbledcastle28]

Chapter 8: An Apology

Warnings: depression, suicidal thoughts, references to an incredibly painful past, references to murder, references to torture, lots of crying, references of being shot/stabbed. This is really heavy, so please proceed with caution.

Author’s Note: Thank you to EVERYONE who has shown any support for this! I am very proud of this series and it makes me very happy people are enjoying it 💜

(I cannot remember where I got this gif from, so if it’s yours please let me know so I can credit you!)

After Mando left, you sat in your silent sobs for what felt like hours.

It could have been hours for all you knew. It’s not like you cared anyway.

All you did was sit in your guilt and shame, allowing yourself to digest all you’ve done. You have been pushing this down for so long, and now it feels like there is no stopping it.

A person can only pretend for so long, and you would give anything to just go back in time and reverse it all.

So many faces flash in your memory of people you’ve killed and cheated for the Empire, and it’s an absolute hell. None of these people deserved what they got. None of them. And yet you still did it.

No matter how many excuses you make for how you became a part of the Empire and all the torture they put you through, you still did it. You are still an enemy to the people you held so dear after so little time.

You are a monster.

After a while, you hear Mando’s footsteps entering Kuiil’s house again. You don’t even know where Kuiil is, you honestly forgot he even existed.

Maybe he will forgive me, you think to yourself. We were in a similar situation?

You see Mando’s helmet enter through the doorway and you feel the smallest, tiniest fraction of butterflies you once had for the man returning.

But the butterflies are immediately squashed when you remember you are about to be thrown out. Again.

Just because you handled it once before doesn’t mean you have the strength to go through that now. Especially after everything you’ve done.

You feel his eyes scanning your pathetic, patched up form on the ground, and the storm inside of you starts to rumble again.

Please… please not again.

He sits down on the opposite side of the ship, resting his hands on his knees. He folds his hands, and you swear you hear him take a deep breath.

“She needs to calm down, that’s all,” he says, referring to Cara, and you find some strength to nod. Your eyes are burning and your muscles want to explode from exhaustion. Your mind is keeping you awake, while the rest of your body just wants to sleep.

“I…. I wouldn’t have let her kill you,” he says, and you shut your eyes, feeling the tears start to rise again.

Why, you think to yourself. It would be easier for everyone if I was just dead!

You still somehow keep yourself together, wiping your nose with your sleeve. He can see how much pain you are in, but you were praying he didn’t pity you. You didn’t deserve it. Especially from him.

“I have only heard stories about red lightsabers. They belong to an evil, dark side of the powers that the kid has,” he says, and you nod.

He has to understand. You know he understands. He always has.

“They’re called Sith… right,” he asks, and you finally make eye contact with him.

“Yes,” you croak out. Your voice sounds like you hadn’t talked for a hundred years, but Mando just nodded.

Yes, you think to yourself. I am a Sith.

The fact that Mando knows who and what you are now is the weirdest combination of feeling a weight lifted off your shoulders, but at the same time, one double the weight has been added.

He was talking so gently. Like he didn’t want to rub it in your face.

He has to be doing this so I don’t kill him when he kicks me out, you think.

Why else would he have any respect for me? No one else ever has?

He takes a moment to process, and then he asks, “The Emperor was a Sith… wasn’t he?”

You feel like a sword has been stabbed through you one final time, but you don’t want to make him feel like he’s hurting you, so you just nod slowly.

You have to save your strength for when he asks you to leave. You know he will ask you in that calm, gentle voice that will haunt you forever.

He understands you fought for the Empire. You killed, destroyed, and lied for them. Their blood is forever stained on your hands, and now you got Mando bloodied.

He deserves an explanation, or at least an apology, so you mumble a quiet “um,” signifying you were about to speak.

Even if he doesn’t believe you, he needs to know you didn’t want this. Ever.

“My uh… my parents sold me,” you mumble while sniffling.

You can tell his interest is peaked because his entire body leans forward, silently asking you to continue.

How can he even look at me right now?

You proceed to tell him the story of how your parents were servants to an evil family who never gave them a fair pay. They were incredibly poor, and they had you outside of wedlock, so they were looked down upon even more in their society. They hated you for it. They took any chance they could get to get you away from them.

When the Empire came to your planet looking for recruits, your parents jumped on the offer. They didn’t mind the extra handful of credits that came with it too.

“No matter how much I hated them, they were still my parents,” you say.

“I didn’t want to leave them, so when the stormtroopers went to drag me away, I got so angry. I didn’t know it at the time, but the force channeled through me in my anger. I used all my strength, and sent them all flying through the air,” you say, while laughing uncomfortably at the memory.

Your eyes still burned and your muscles screamed for relief, but you had to keep going. Mando deserved to know the truth.

“That’s the last thing I remember of that day, and the next thing I knew, I was sent into training. I went through countless masters, but none of them could control me. I was just so angry. All the time,” you said with a sigh.

“I would refuse to do what they asked, and even when I did what I was told, I would hurt them instead. I never listened.”

You took a deep breath. This next part was going to hurt.

“They finally realized that I could not be controlled, so they….. tortured me,” you say, trying not to allow the weakness in your voice to show through.

If you got emotional, it was more likely Mando would think you were crazy. You had to keep pushing.

You cleared your throat, and continued.

“They made me do everything, Mando. They made me tear down towns, cities, planets. And if the people didn’t succumb to the Empire’s rule…,” you say, and you can’t even finish the sentence.

“I finally got away years later, and I escaped to Tattooine. They tried to stop me, but it was no use. I could beat any stormtrooper or Imperial guard they threw at me,” you say.

“They hurt me enough to know that I wouldn’t come back…… I hadn’t even come close to helping anyone but myself until I met you,” you say.

You take a deep breath and rub your eyes.

You did it, you think. He knows.

You let him digest your story. He listened intently and respectfully the entire time you were speaking. He never interrupted, he never became angry, he just stared at you and digested it all.

It was quiet for a while, until he stood up.

“The Empire killed my family,” he said, and all your composure went out the window.

You assumed that the Empire hurt him, it has hurt everyone, but this is on another level. It felt like you had been shot again, but this was way more painful. Your heart shattered for him.

You always knew the universe was cruel, but you had done horrific things, so you always thought it was payback. Now you knew the universe was truly cruel.

“I am….. so sorry,” you manage to say through your burning throat. Tears were streaming down your face, but you managed to stay relatively quiet. It’s not like crying for them would bring Mando’s family back.

He moved to you slowly and kneeled down in front of you.

You couldn’t meet his gaze. You just stared at the floor and wiped your eyes. You were hurting him, just like you hurt everyone else. It felt like hell on earth and you were convinced you were the worst person that ever lived.

“You… you don’t have to believe me Mando. I know I hurt so many people, and even if I didn’t want to, I still did what they asked,” you say, trying to fill up the space.

“You can kick me out, kill me. Anything. I just want you to know that I didn’t choose this. I swear on everything I would do anything to be any other person in the whole galaxy.”

You finish and finally meet his gaze, begging him to say something. Anything.

He stands to leave, and you finally accept your fate.

He gets to the doorway, your final hopes of forgiveness leaving with him.

“I believe you,” he mumbles, looking back at you.

“We will talk more tomorrow” he says, and he leaves you.

Tag list:

@leahkenobi @pinkninja200 @bookloverfilmoholic @farfromjustordinary @440mxs-wife

#din djarin #din djarin fluff #din djarin imagine #din djarin x reader #din djarin x you #the mandalorian #mando #the mandalorian fanfiction #the mandalorian x reader #the mandalorian x you

[dinthehottotty]

A Thing About Silver (Part 2)

Summary: You face Din after sleeping with Cobb, partially out of spite and fight with Mando. 

Warnings: Angst, smut, gratitious smut. So much. More creampies. Unprotected sex. This is fanfiction. USE PROTECTION. Slight Dom!Din

A/N: I enjoyed writing this wayyyy too much. Good luck. Also I rushed a little bit towards the end cause I’m tired.

Part 1

Mando was moved on to cleaning his blaster now, still waiting. It made you sick.

Ducking your head, you shuffle through the sand and don't bother to look at him as you approach the little dome. He doesn't say anything as you climb the steps he sits on and wordlessly move toward the building.

Sleep called for you.

Leather snatches your wrist, not delicate at all. "Look at me," he manages. It's got no bite. No edge. It's soft and coaxing. Too sweet for your eager ears because now tears are welling in your eyes again at the shame. Immediately you know the truth of things. There is no illusion that you've truly and sorely fucked up. The worry in his voice twists you apart. Would you ever be able to repair the shot your hurt pride took?

Instead you squeeze your eyes shut and tilt your head back, desperately hoping that he won't insist. But it's Din. "Please, look at me," he begs. The attempt to steel yourself and stand your ground crumbles like the sand in your boots.

"I can't," you manage, voice breaking harshly. "Let me go." You pull your hand away and trudge into the little room he'd rented. The child was long since passed out in his floating crib. There was a tiny kitchenette in the corner, one that had been cleaned but a bowl still sat at the table. Then there was a bed and a sofa. Toward the back sat a door, you assume to the 'fresher.

You can hear Din following behind you, heavy boots making the floors creak. "You should eat something," he tries, voice turning tense but he's still just as soft as before. Instead of listening, you move toward the sofa and sink down on it, the fresh tears hot on your cheeks.

There is a split second between when he moves around and sees the tears, and him reaching for you. "Don't," you rasp.

"Did he hurt you?" He snarls, despite his gentleness of his hands flutter over you.

"No," you snap back at him. Finally glaring deep into the visor of his helm. It lasts only a moment. "No, Din, he didn't do anything wrong." You sniffle and fixate on a spot on the wall, then stop fighting the urge and curl in on yourself. How could you sit here and feel sorry for yourself when you'd ruined everything so easily. All for a quick fuck. (Well, not necessarily quick.) You'd pushed and prodded, always hoping for a different reaction but deep down, you'd always known the truth. Din didn't love you in that way.

He paces across the floor in front of you, very quiet, very anxious. Despite feeling the increasing anxiety from it, you decide to push it down. Your own frustration twisting and tightening like a coil. The air was heavy.

That is until your eyes fall on the floating cradle in the corner. Your heartaches, you weren't just losing Din. The kid would go with him.

You had two options. This was an ugly sore that neither of you could ignore. Should you try to resolve it now? Best case, you ride out this wave of shame and stick with Din and the child. They were home to you, but you'd be subjected to the truth that Din would never love you in this way. Trust was probably broken and until you both had mended from the hurt of the situation, the ship couldn't sail smoothly. You'd have to learn to not love Din in that manner, if that was possible. You fear that it would make you bitter. How long would you be staying with Din? Until the kid was gone? Would he be okay after he'd delivered him? Should you both spend the next few nights thinking and settling on your stupidity or would that just encourage further brewing? You didn't know if you could trust yourself to stay level headed or not burst into wails if Din so much as raised his voice.

But you needed it. You need him to scream at you about your recklessness. You needed to be shamed because how could you possibly take Din being this sweet and worried about you. Bile worked it's way up from your stomach, fighting with burning fingertips.

His pacing froze, seeming to watch you with distress, but you couldn't tear your blurred eyes from the levitating bassinette.

"Are you going to leave me?" He asks, his voice much firmer than before.

"I..." You start but slowly trailed off. There were too many words in your head. It was muddled and confused. In the very center of it was the enormous weight of shame and guilt. The utter dread cored from them but gravitating all of the negativity that surrounds your situation. It was tossing you in the oceans of panic, you were drowning. Din's anxiety was driving him to go rigid.

The idea of going to sleep was teasing you. Your eyelids were heavy. What time was it even? It was an empty thought. You wouldn't sleep. Just chasing your tail endlessly.

Din is moving between you and the kid and you realize the possessive tone his voice had carried. The real question was he wanted to ask was 'are you going to try to steal my child?' and he had obviously taken that as a threat. How this must look, you gazing longingly at the sleeping babe in his cradle and not giving the man a true answer.

Your eyes move up the curves of beskar that blocked your view of the little one. More hurt is rising. He wasn't worried you'd leave. He was worried you'd take the wrinkly green baby. Somehow you felt the need to blame the metal that separated him from you. You didn't normally curse the only think that had kept him alive this long, but it seemed to mock you like in Cobb's hut. It spurs a dangerous thought.

If Din wanted to fight, you'd fight.

"Wouldn't you like that? Like me to just walk away?" You hiss, rising off the couch to stare at him. Din's helmet doesn't waver a bit as you close in enough to see the puffiness of your eyes.

"Do you want to walk away?" He snaps back.

"Wouldn't that be easier!" You give a sarcastic laugh. "One of your problems could just walk away! Just say it! Just say you want me to leave you alone!" You shove at his chest weakly.

"Stop," he orders sharply. "You don't know what your talking about."

"Really!? Are you kriffing kidding, Din?"

"You need to eat and go to bed."

"Do you somehow have this sick notion that I'm your kid, too? Because I'm not! I am not a child! I am a hurt, angry, and frustrated adult woman!"

Din places his hands on his hips and towers over you. "Stop putting words in my mouth. Where are you even getting these ideas?"

"You treat me like a kid! I'm trying to show you I'm not one!"

"Well, you're acting worse than one right now!" He snarls through his modulator. You grit your teeth at his response. That one hurt. You knew it was true, the spotchka from tonight had left early tonight. It hadn't been enough to truly get you drunk.

"I have no problem listening to you when you give me a damn reason! Just fucking explain things!"

"I don't want to argue with you." He resolves.

"THERE IT IS!" You nearly screech. "That! You barely give me any scraps! You are so fucking hard to read sometimes and I fucking hate it! All I wanted was you to tell me 'no' tonight but instead you just stared! YOU JUST WATCHED ME WALK AWAY!" Din's visor drops at that. It's not trained on you, but off to the side, down towards the floor. "I COULDN'T EVEN ENJOY IT BECAUSE YOU WERE FUCKING THERE THE WHOLE TIME LIKE SOME DEVIL!" You break, sobbing.

His head twists up. "What?"

"You just stare and mock and-"

"I have never mocked you," he butts quieter than before.

"Why didn't you say 'no'?" You snap, eyes blazing, needing an answer.

He only gives you silence. You squeeze your lips into a hard line in the deafening scream of it. Shaking your head, you twist away. "Fucking great," you mutter to yourself.

A hand reaches tentatively for you, it brushes over the underside of your wrist and onto your palm. "What do you mean I was there?" He asks softly.

"You don't get to do that," you warn him, drawing your hand away again. Normally, you would blissfully sunk into his rare touch but you couldn't shake off the fire that was filling you. Guilt was nagging the back of your mind, knowing you were punishing good behavior. It was fruitless. He didn't want to touch you like that. "You don't get to answers from me while avoiding your own. That's not fair to me!"

Din sighs, turning his head to the side. "I'm... I'm not always good... with words." That one hurts more than you expect to. This man was bound to carve you up and spit you out.

You stop, turning your head towards him. You can see him shift his weight, stepping closer. He's standing right behind you. For the millionth time, you wished that fucking armor wasn't blocking his expressions from you.

"I... don't, just so you know."

"Don't what?"

"Want you to leave."

"Why don't I believe that?" You prod, still feeling antagonistic. Din steps closer, he grasps your arm and turns you. He twists you about so suddenly and forcefully that you're taken by surprise. A gasp leaves you when he suddenly grasps your face.

The air stills as you vibrate with the sudden aggression he's showing. His boots hit hard and heavy. Each step is slow and steady, his helmet only inches from your face that he's tilting up in the borderline painful grip he's got on your face. He's forcing you to walk backwards, supporting your form with the other hand that's gripping your arm. Air is suddenly harder to acquire. The air twisting tightly. "Bruise your cervix?" He prompts lowly. It drags across his tongue, extra ragged. "Use you. Make you feel something." It's not possible for your heart to beat out of your chest but when he's done walking you backwards, you feel like it will.

The air has changed, charged with the electricity of anticipation rather than shame and rage.

"Did Cobb do that?" He asks, nearly whispering. It's not an accusation. You glance towards the bassinette where the kid still sleeps, amazingly.

"I used him," you admit, shame filling you, he doesn't give you the opportunity to dwell on it too long because he's shoving you backwards onto something soft. The bed.

Cue the swell of disbelief. Mando leans down and immediately starts working at your pants, tugging them open effectively. He gathers the edges in his hands just as you remember what is currently leaking from between your thighs. You gasp out, "Din, wait!" much softer than you intend. Your voice failing you in the way you need it to.

Too late. He tugs the fabric down your legs effectively. Once glance tells you enough, he's staring at the mess that is was made between your thighs. "You let him cum in you?" His helm tilts up to your face that you cover with your hands. Your brain is too busy trying to decide if he's awed or offended by the newly reveled information. You try to press your thighs together.

"I'm sorry," you plead between the palms on your face.

Din hooks his hands roughly under your knees and jerks. You're dragged over the bed until your bare ass is seated at the end of the bed and then he pushes your knees up and apart and just... just stares. It's enough of a sight to have you peaking from behind your hands. "Are you sore?"

Fuck, you were supposed to be fighting not... not... well, what even was this? Some kind of slut-shaming? Was it bad that you were this turned on by it. The morbid curiosity was battling the mortification at being examined by the Mandalorian bounty hunter in this manner. His fingers were squeezing and massaging where they rested under your knees, trying to coax an answer from you. "Ah... a little, I suppose."

"Doesn't sound bruised to me."

You gulp.

"Don't move." How could you? You were petrified and incredibly, embarrassingly aroused. He lifts his hands from your legs, leaving you hanging on whatever he decided to torture you with.

The last thing you expect is for those gloves to make their way to his belt and unbuckle it. "I said, 'don't move'," he repeats, pausing in his movements. It's only when he says that you notice you've propped yourself up to get a better view of him. Suddenly bashful, you sink back down to your back. "Open them further," he rumbles lowly. None of his words seem to have any aggression despite his aggressive actions. His town maybe low and he might be ordering you around but there is no real bark to him. It's raspy in a way that you've never heard from him. Drawn out slow in a way that indicates he's in no rush. The balance has you spinning.

But fuck, pulling his pants open and you nearly wheeze when a he palms your forehead, pushing it back into the bed while he reaches within the confides of his clothes. Your left with only a view of the ceiling and his wrist. His bronzed skin peaks out just a hair. "You don't get to look."

"Oh, shit," you breathe, squeezing your eyes shut. What sort of wet dream were you stuck in? There was no way-

Something runs across your most sensitive area, something too thick to be a finger. You gasp and arch as it hits your oversensitive clit right off the bat. A little 'ah' leaves you for only a moment. "It's your eyes," he says and you think you've missed something when he wheezes it out. Then he lines up and slowly, maker, so slowly and completely unhindered, he's breaching you with the cock you've been dreaming of for months. You give a torn moan and arch up, grasping at the sheets. Still it's quiet because of all the things tonight, this is the last thing you want the kid seeing. "Ca-can't speak when... when you look at me." Heat blooms in your chest. He's still pushing deeper. He sinks against your cervix like no one's done before and pushes against it. When his pelvis meets yours, it's stretching you almost painfully. Your cervix is straining at the intrusion. It's lewd how wet it sounds already.

"Din," you sigh.

He gives a shaky groan when you squeeze around him. "Sh-should've told you 'no'," he admits, drawing back. And then he drives back in with force enough to make you cry out, and open further for him. "Ruin you," he murmurs with such a slur you wonder if he's drunk on it. And then his hips start to canter deep and hard. Not fast. Just deep and hard, stretching you beyond what you think you can. You're left mewling and trembling beneath him. "Should go... shove my...," he curses and his hand shifts from your forehead to your throat. "Shove my blaster, ah, kriff, down Vanth's throat."

Wait, he was jealous? Fuck, did that make you clamp down on him.

"Shit, like that?" He rasps out, still like he's whispering to you. "Want you," he promises, lower down so his chest is pinning you to the bed. He's so heavy, but you don't feel like you're breathing anyway. "All the time."

Please, don't let this be another delusion. Please.

"Did-did you just say... say that you saw me... to piss me off?" He urges.

"No," your arms tangle around him, grasping for purchase on his back. "No, I want you so- Kriff! Feels so good - want you so bad, s-saw you the whole time." He shudders in your hold, rolling the cool helmet against your neck as he continued his unhurried pace. He was going to kill you at this rate. "Please," you beg, "Please, Din. F-faster. Need it."

"No, I'm using you," he responds. A hand grips your hip and it's like he doesn't know whether he wants to push you further into the bed or pull you closer.

A familiar feeling rises in you, another orgasm creeping closer. The thought is pushed from your mind as the other hand covers your eyes. The one gripping your hip disappears and then something drops onto the bed. "Don't... don't look." Unmodulated and raw. Din is kissing you then. His mouth wet and hot and welcoming in this inferno of a hut.

He tastes so good and his tongue slips against yours eagerly. You would tear your eyes out if it meant you could feel his soft stubble against your mouth like this. You moan into his mouth and he eats it up with a particularly hard thrust. "Stay," he groans. "Be mine, be mine, be mine, bemine, beminebeminebemine...." he mantras like he can't breathe. His hips are finally moving faster.

"Yours," you promise, "Yours, yours, yours." You've lost your mind, unable to even conjure why you were mad at him in the first place because this sweet haze was too thick to look through and it takes you a moment to realize it’s a slow orgasm releasing. It’s not overwhelming, it’s just hot and sticky. It has you stretching across the sheets. His teeth sink into your neck as you shake below him. He settles down when you begin your own mantra. Instead, he grinds deeply into you. You're only vaguely aware of the way you both grasp and tug each other closer.

It's not long after before he spills himself into you with a string of expletives. "I'm sorry," he whispers against your neck. It's so nice to feel his breath for once.

"Me too." And nothing else seemed to be needed for it. It's not long before he's rocking his hips and spill his own seed out around himself.

You kind of like his beskar in this instance. The room feels too hot and it's cool against you both. Yeah, you could get used to this. Maybe tomorrow you'll remember what you're supposed to be fighting about.

Taglist: 

@lxdyred​, and I promised to tag you in this, Ava, have some iffy smut. @buttercup--bee​

#din djarin x reader #din dijarin fanfiction #din djarin #din x you #din x reader #cobb vanth #cobb vanth x reader #smut #angst

[jaegereism]

𝙆𝘼𝙏𝙎𝙐𝙆𝙄 𝘽𝘼𝙆𝙐𝙂𝙊 𝙋𝙀𝙍𝙎𝙊𝙉𝘼𝙇𝙄𝙏𝙔 𝘼𝙉𝘼𝙇𝙔𝙎𝙄𝙎

MBTI type: ESTP

Dominant-Se

Katsuki has quick reflexes and is in tune with his immediate environment. He often relies on physical force to achieve his ends, such as physically threatening Midoriya to tell him the truth about his secret quirk and planning to beat up the “boss” child when required to babysit some difficult children. He is able to think on the move, like he did when fighting Tokoyami in the sports festival. He attacked him over and over again to discover his weakness and used it to his own advantage. He has a rather adaptable approach when fighting against different opponents. He changes his fighting style according to his opponents when needed, such as successfully avoiding getting touched by Uraraka when fighting against her in the sports festival. He is also skilled in observing while taking action and does not easily get startled when his opponents are unpredictable. Katsuki does not backs up from physical challenges and seem to actually enjoy them. He challenged Todoroki to use all his powers against him despite the possibility of losing against him because of that. He enjoys earning victory with his blood and sweat.

Katsuki prefers to establish his statements with his actions. He is not easily effected by words. He does not believes in bark with no bite, and is quick to challenge those individuals to prove their statements by their actions. “Show us with your actions, not your mouth.” He told Shishikura when he was trying to degrade the Yuuei students and allude that students from Shiketsu High are somewhat better than those from Yueei. Katsuki is seen acting very impatient when he wants something. He uses his physicality in order to prove a point, whether by fighting, yelling or aggressive body language.

Auxiliary-Ti

Katsuki has an internal framework about how the world works. He conceptualizes the world around him in fixed categories. Such as, you should not even attempt to be a hero if you do not have a quirk. He expressed annoyance in season 1 when Midoriya did not went by his personal framework and attempted to get accepted in Yuuei without a quirk. It took him a while to accept that Midoriya had a quirk despite him showing obvious signs of having it. He said to Iida that Midoriya will have to leave Yuuei soon because he is “a quirkless loser”, to which Iida replied “He has a quirk. Did you not heard what he did in the entrance exam?” Katsuki is unable to accept the obvious because he does not believe in quirks popping up out of the blue. Once he even accepts that Midoriya has a quirk, he ends up assuming that he had always had it and kept it hidden from him. Katsuki does not appreciate having truth kept from him and keeps on investigating until he finds an explanation that makes sense.

Once he discovered that quirks can be stolen when he was kidnapped by the League of Villains, it made sense to him that quirks can be borrowed too. It made him believe that Midoriya actually had his quirk borrowed from someone else. Once he had gathered all the data he believed he needed, he was very confident in his theory about Midoriya having his quirk from All Might and pressured Midoriya to admit it to him. Katsuki analyzes the way people’s quirks effect their body rather accurately. An example is him assuming Todoroki to be a video game character in order to get an insight of the way his quirk effects his body.

Tertiary-Fe

Katsuki’s tertiary function is not very healthy, especially at the beginning of the show. He picks up on others’ insecurities and knows how to make them feel better or worse. He bullied- and shamed Midoriya publicly by saying that he is not good enough to be a hero. He does not concern himself with forming relationships with people. Anyone who fails to catch his attention is treated as an “extra” and all his friendships are initiated from the other party. He finds little importance in sensitive topics, such as bluntly stating that he does not care about Todoroki’s family issues. All the shortcomings in his hero-performance are because of his lack of tact. In later seasons, he is seen using his tertiary function in healthier ways. He did not shamed- or ignored Kirishima’s feelings when he expressed his insecurity about not being strong like his classmates. Katsuki actually took the time to listen to him- and tell him that he is strong enough because of his courage.

Katsuki was also very upset by the idea of Midoriya tricking him into believing that he was quirkless. He even accused Midoriya of laughing behind his back when he bullied him. Katsuki is rather expressive with his emotions, but he mostly expresses all his emotions as the two he is most familiar with, anger and pride. His outburst at the end of the season 3 was a demonstration of Fe-Se loop. “All Might knows it was my fault but hasn’t said anything. Everyone has to know, though! I can’t get it out of my head. It’s like it’s constantly playing on loop! So what the hell am I supposed to do?!” He suddenly became extremely sensitive to how others perceive him and accused everyone of blaming him, when no one actually was. He saw his own guilt in the eyes of others. He also felt the need to vent his emotions by using violence because of his dominant-Se.

Inferior-Ni

Katsuki lacks restraints and often forgets to pay attention to the way his actions are adding up for the long run. He treated civilians tactlessly in the hero license exam, which ultimately led to his failure. He often looses himself in the moment. He was so caught up in beating up Midoriya to show his superiority in their first battle together, that he ended up losing because of not considering other important factors. Katsuki has had one goal since childhood and he is devoted to it. He is guided by the vision to become the “number 1 hero” and expresses frustration towards any obstacles that come in his way. He is confident about his gut-instincts about people’s intentions and motivations. “What you’re saying does not match the look in your eyes.” He bluntly stated without any doubt. He recognized the other Yuuei classes’ “demonstration of war” regarding the sports festival against Class 1A quicker than his classmates. He is able to pick up on hidden meanings and symbols, like when All Might said “It’s your turn” while pointing towards the camera, and Katsuki understood that he was referring to Midoriya.

Katsuki was not inclined to look at the big picture in the beginning of the series, but he slowly learned it. “If all you do is look down on people, you won’t be able to recognize your own weaknesses.” He gave that advice when babysitting a child.

Enneagram: 8w7

Tritype: 837 The Mover Shaker

Katsuki wants to be self-reliant and prove his strength to the world like a typical 8. He takes pride in not easily being afraid, and refuses to show vulnerability even in the situations he finds himself to be startled. His 7-wing makes him constantly search for the next challenge to win. He loves challenges to the point that he is willing to gamble on his victory for its sake, such as asking Todoroki to use his fire on him during their battle in the sports festival. Katsuki does not only want to win, he wants his opponents to know that they are weaker than him. Unfortunately, Katsuki was not the healthiest 8 in the beginning of the show. He was extremely swaggering and ego-centric, wanting everyone to be behind him and not considering anyone his equal. Katsuki was the “boss kid” in middle school and imposed his visions about quirkless people on Midoriya.

Katsuki denies vulnerability in favor of maintaining his independence. He does not like appearing weak, to the point that he was deeply infuriated when Midoriya expressed concern for him as a child. He hates feeling like a fool, which he certainly did when he assumed that Midoriya had a quirk all along but kept it hidden from him. It seems like Katsuki’s obsessive competition with Midoriya stems from a desire of reestablishing his power over him. Katsuki is competitive with all his peers, but his competition with Midoriya is on a deeper level. His strong 3-fix makes him addicted to victory, perfectionistic, hard-working, and hard on himself when facing failure. However, he refuses to shape himself into something that fits society’s standards of a desirable hero in order to be successful. He speaks his mind freely without any fear of judgment. His 7-fix + 7 wing makes him impulsive, expressive, and always ready to jump into action.

#bnha #boku no hero academia #katsuki bakugo #character analysis #psychology #bakugo katsuki #my hero academia #mbti #estp #8w7 #837 tritype #tritype #typology #anime characters #anime #myers briggs

[spectrumed]

2. voice

As a child I could not pronounce the letter R. I once complained to my mother for being so careless as to give me a name that had two R’s in it. Fredrik. Or as I pronounced it back then, “Fledlik.” Cute, right? I was a cute child, all blonde and with big blue eyes. At one point, I got surrounded by a group of older girls who forced me to pronounce my name, even though I really couldn’t. They laughed and laughed, teasing me for my inability to pronounce even my own name correctly. If I ever had a reason to develop a fetish for femdom, I think this would have been it.

Like it or not, in speech, there is no room for individual quirks. No, we’ve all got to learn how to speak properly. Historically, that has led to some pretty heinous attitudes towards regional accents, any tongue that was the standard was seen by default as being less or developed and intelligent. Regional accents were seen as practically unhygienic, the worry being that if people just got to speak as they wished, they might end up potentially thinking dangerous thoughts. While I understand the importance of being understood, it’s clear that the stigma that exists around speech difficulties stems from a place of prejudice. If a person has a lisp, do you really struggle to understand them? And while stammering can be quite debilitating, it should be blatantly obvious that shaming people who stammer, suggesting that they are bereft of intelligence, is not the way to help them. Humans are social animals, and language may be the one thing that distinguishes us as a species, it is natural that proper elocution should be treasured. But some people do struggle with their speech, and that should not cost them any respect or kindness.

As a child, I didn’t speak nearly enough. As an adult I am speaking too much. That’s the problem with you, Fredrik, you’ve never understood that there is a middle ground between two extremes. There is a way you can speak that is neither too quiet, nor too loud. It is how normal people speak. Why can’t you be normal, Fredrik? Are you going to spend this whole blog post talking about how difficult it is for you to simply learn to be like everyone else? Self-pitying yourself, much? Back in my day people pulled themselves up by their bootstraps, if they had something they struggled with, they learned to sort it all out, and they didn’t start complaining about society being all mean to them. You’re just spending too much time inside your own head, go take a swim, take up a hobby that requires you to step outdoors, it will serve you well. Don’t be a freak, Fredrik. Be normal, for once.

On a side note, “pulling yourself up by your bootstraps” is meant to be understood as an impossible feat. You can’t possibly pull yourself up by your bootstraps, it’s ludicrous to even suggest that such a thing may be feasible. While, yes, there are many things you can do to help yourself, ultimately, you can’t profoundly escape from a sorry situation you’ve found yourself in without some outside help. There is no shame in requiring help. To guilt someone into thinking that if they can’t do it alone, they are weak, is frankly sociopathic. Humans need each other, we take care of each other, we are there for each other. Self-sufficiency is great, but let’s not take it to levels of absurdity by suggesting that needing help from others is anything but normal. No-one succeeds in life without others there to prop them up. Instead of telling someone to pull themselves up by their bootstraps, you might as well tell them to go and swallow the sun, which is clearly another impossible task.

Most people will never in their lives experience what it is like to go through a neuropsychological evaluation. Turns out that it is not always such a pleasant experience. Though, considering the popularity of pseudo-scientific nonsense like the Myers-Briggs test, I am sure some folks would lie and pretend to love it. Certainly, there is a charm to being there and talking about yourself for several hours near-uninterrupted, but the exhaustion that you will feel at the end of it cannot be understated. Naturally, it does vary between who does it, and why they’re doing it. But if the stated goal is to find out whether you’ve had a neurodevelopmental disorder since you were but a young babe, then of course, there are going to be some pretty long conversations happening about those early days. Lots of stuff you may not have considered or thought about in a very long time will suddenly become very relevant to your current situation. And at the end of it all, you get some papers detailing your fashionable new diagnosis. Your entire life, all written down. Can make you feel rather wistful. And there’s really quite a surprising amount of typos included in the text, and barely any jokes.

Still, as part of my official diagnosis, there is a reference to my speech at being at times “stilted.” Though, the diagnosis does take very good care to mention that I appear intelligent and thoughtful, exhibiting a wide vocabulary and a good sense of the right words to use at the right moment. It’s flattering, for the most part. Yet, it does irk me that I could be perceived as being stilted. I know that at this point, I am being petty, because who cares if I sometimes come across as maybe a little robotic. I’ve got Asperger’s. Of course I am a robot. The closest role model we folks with Asperger’s ever had for the longest time was Star Trek: The Next Generation’s android named Data. God forbid anyone like me ever turned out to be the protagonist of a series, we’re all doomed to play the part of the robot, the alien, or the socially awkward geek. I should just be delighted that I am high-functioning. I know how much worse some have it. I should be grateful and pleased that I come across as mostly normal, mostly neurotypical. But… I really just don’t want anyone to think my speech is stilted. I don’t want to be Data. I want to be Riker.

It is never enough, you’ll never be good enough. If you fake it, they’ll see through it. If you struggle and if you work honestly to appear more normal, they won’t recognise it. As soon as they get an inkling you may be an imposter, looking like them, but having a neurologically deviant brain, they’ll single you out. For you, normalcy is an illusion. To attempt to be normal is to remake yourself only to receive nothing. Sure, you can be disingenuous, pretend you're not yourself, but it’ll never fool them. In the end, you’ll only lose yourself. Maybe I should just own the fact that my speech sometimes comes across as being stilted. Maybe I should own it. Be proud of who I am. But… sometimes I just don’t want to be me.

I want to be ignored. Sometimes, not always. But that goes for everyone. But most of all, I’d like to be able to go unseen whenever I’m not trying to impress anyone. When I’m just off to buy some milk. When I’m sitting on the bus. When I’m walking through the park. I know it is partly paranoia, but I can’t help but feel like I stick out. It’s always been like that with my friends growing up. The metaphor I used with my therapist is that I felt like a thumb. That they, my friends, were the fingers and I was the thumb. Sure, we’re similar. In many ways we’re the same. You could even say that I was crucial to making the social dynamics work. Who doesn’t like the thumb? What would you do without your thumb? But still, I was different. Some people would do anything to be different like that, to feel special. Some folks feel all invisible and forgotten in the crowd, and I’d lie if I told them that I didn’t envy them sometimes. The ability to go all invisible? That seems swell! There’s this question people like to ask as a sort of personality test. If you could choose a superpower, would you rather be able to fly, or would you rather be able to go invisible? The answer is obvious, as far as I’m concerned. Of course I’d love to be able to go invisible. To be able to exist without anyone seeing me. Without anyone judging me. Without ever having to worry if someone is going to treat me as different. For a moment to feel what it is like not to be some big, dumb, stupid, thumb.

Don’t get me wrong, I am not too anguished. Nowadays, I feel like I am in a relatively good place. But I would be lying if I told you that I still don’t get frustrated at the plethora of difficulties I face just trying to blend in. Even with family members, people who are supposed to know you the best, even then I have to go out of my way to behave a certain way, to exist a certain way, because fundamentally, they just don’t seem to get you. Not in that way. They have an image of you that you need to try and match. It doesn’t matter how many times I tell them that sometimes you need to be more direct in your communication to truly reach me, I don’t pick up on the many smaller little social cues they may throw my way, it’s still just me being silly and looking for excuses for why I didn’t understand them the first time around. And I am deathly afraid of hurting anyone’s feelings. A very prevalent misconception about autistic individuals is that we don’t care if we’re being rude. That if we are rude, our rudeness can simply be overlooked because, y’know, we’re autistic. While this sort of thing is commonly represented in media that is supposed to depict autistic characters, in real life, things don't quite work like this. Believe it or not, readers, being autistic is not a free pass to act like a dick. Autistic individuals still very much have to modulate our behaviour if we wish to fit in and be accepted. No-one will ever excuse you for being autistic. To be autistic is living with extra hurdles in your way, thinking that it’s anything but a social handicap is romanticising a diagnosis you clearly know very little about.

When I was a kid, I didn’t speak much. As far as I was concerned, I merely spoke whenever I needed to speak. It took until adulthood for me to learn that my parents and teachers were actually concerned about that. I was made to see a specialist, under the guise of learning elocution, but I’ve later come to realise that those meetings were about more than just learning to pronounce the letter R. Like, what does testing my memory have to do with diction? Yes, her job was partly to help my speech develop more in line with the other kids, but she was also there to evaluate whether or not I was intellectually disabled. I have come to learn that I had teachers at the time that were adamant about me going to a different school, more equipped to handle kids like me, but my mother vehemently defended my right to stay in the school I was in. After all, I did have friends, and to anyone who really knew me, they knew that I was a bright child. Sure, I wasn’t as communicative as the other children, but I clearly had no issues processing information, and it’s not like I was disruptive in some other way. But that was also part of the problem. The teachers that thought that I may need specialist schooling were concerned about the fact that I was too placid and too agreeable. They wanted me to express frustration at my lacking pronunciation, to see me get mad at others for not fully understanding me. That amazes me, if anything. The fact that I was a happy kid they took as some indication that I wasn’t quite right.

My mother delights in a memory of me as a kid once slamming my fist on the table and declaring that “now, I am speaking!” May I remind you that I was a cute kid. Sure, it is the sort of behaviour that parents of the old times would have spanked their kids for. Kids in the past were supposed to be quiet. To be seen, but not heard. I wonder if there’d be any kind of hubbub about my early development if I lived back then. I’d probably be seen as the ideal child, all pretty and docile and never too loud. Still, it was a moment my mother cherished, because for once, I really proved that I did have the capacity to speak. Though, I still couldn’t pronounce my R’s. But it was time for Fledlik to speak.

#neurodiversity #neurodivergent #autism spectrum disorder #autism #aspergers #mental health

[sepublic]

Amity’s Unattainable Standard

           It says a lot that Amity is hiding the reason why she stopped being friends with Willow because she feels ashamed that she wasn’t strong enough to be her friend. To Amity, she allegedly cut ties because Willow wasn’t strong enough, when in reality it was Amity who was the weakling… To Amity, this moment is shameful because it represents weakness! This girl has been so gaslit, had her priorities so horrifically reworked, that she sees a memory of her parents abusing her, and views it instead as another example of how Amity is a hypocrite and a coward who would abandon her friends to save her own skin.

          She’s the kind of person who would hide evidence of her parents abusing her, not so much because she doesn’t want to admit that they’re horrible people, but because their abuse has skewed Amity’s morality to the point where she would see scars as proof that she’s weak and deserving of punishment (because why else would she have been punished), and THAT is the greatest moral failing of all to her!

          Amity is someone who blames herself for getting hit because it proves she was a bad daughter for making her parents ‘resort’ to this level of punishment… That if Amity couldn’t defend herself, then clearly she is in the wrong for not being able to do that, while her parents are at worst neutral in terms of morality. To Amity, being punished by her parents is objective proof that she’s a bad person…

          Like, Amity would see a memory of herself being abused by her parents and wince because it’s a moment of shame for her, because it shows that she was weak and thus a bad person! Imagine what was going on in Willow’s head, like… This girl DID do damage, and she IS apologizing. But Inner Willow must be having a crisis over how messed up the whole scenario is, seeing just how skewed Amity’s morals and standards are to realize just how intensely critical she is of herself, for every single thing that could even be remotely viewed as ‘failure’.

          To Amity, if there is any room for improvement, any way in which she could have done things better, it means she’s a bad and incompetent person for not having done things ideally! Like if someone drops two bowls and she manages to save one, Amity will be angry at herself for not saving the second one too, because it was so close to her and she already has two hands! She’d view that moment of her saving one out of two bowls as a moment of shame because she could’ve done better, which really ties into the obscene pressure her parents have placed…

           They’re always telling Amity to be the absolute bestat everything she does, that if others are capable of the same then how come she isn’t!? Amity is always re-examining everything she does and wondering how it could’ve been done better and improved upon, and as a result she’s never satisfied with everything she does for herself, because she wasn’t doing her best… Or at least, her best wasn’t THE best! She’s never content with her accomplishments, it’s never enough to Amity and she wants to be better, it’s a very tragic twist on greed and desire…

          You know the idea that one has a moral obligation to do the right thing? That failure to do good when the situation compels you to is proof of being a bad person, or something like that? Amity is that idea, but dialed up to eleven for herself, and that if anybody else messes up, even if she’ll be critical of them initially… It’s just as likely that after forgiving them, she’ll then reexamine the situation under the impression that she and only she should’ve handled it better!

           Then Amity directs all of the guilt towards herself and acts as if the person she wronged, even if they HAD messed up, was actually completely innocent and trying their best; Whilst as an Elite Blight, Amity is more than capable of doing the best decision at things, which means that if she doesn’t do it, that’s HER fault and thus proof she’s a bad person!

          And it’s both condescending and arrogant, and self-critical… Like other people can’t be expected to be as good at things because they’re lesser, which means it’s not REALLY their fault if they fail because that’s just who they are, it’s just their nature! But Amity is a Blight and predisposed towards being good and competent, so if she does otherwise then her own failure is basically a deliberate choice and, again, another moral failing on her part!

          For Amity, other people do bad things but that’s just who they are so it’s not REALLY their fault, but being a bad person isn’t who she is… So doing bad stuff is even worse for her, so in a sense she DOES see herself as inherently good, but in a way that makes Amity far too self-critical of her own mistakes by consequence! Amity doesn’t expect the same of others because her expectations of them are already lowered due to the elitism instilled by her parents; But by consequence, she is extra-critical of herself and always realizing where she could’ve done better, and how it would’ve been such an easy fix too, because she’s done better than this before and SHOULD be better!

          If somebody else messes up, Amity isn’t disappointed nor surprised, that’s just expected, and so she learns that it’s normal and thus fine… But not with herself, because she’s a Blight! Because if Amity can do one thing right, what’s stopping herself from doing another thing right? And so on and so forth… It’s a horrifically black-and-white mentality for herself, that you can only do the absolute best, or else you just fail… All or Nothing, in a sense!

           It’s that philosophical question… If a person has a good nature but does a bad thing, does this make them worse than someone who does a bad thing but is already predisposed towards evil anyway, and was thus ‘born’ this way, never chose that nature, and can’t be blamed for it? For Amity, the answer is a resounding yes… If others mess up that’s just how it usually is, and every good thing they do says a lot about them overcoming their own nature or whatever, and is thus extra-meaningful and more commendable on their part! But because Amity is ‘naturally great’, it means that every failure she does is extra-horrific because she easily has the predisposition to be otherwise, yet STILL messes up!

           …And yet, paradoxically, Amity no doubt sees people like Luz and Willow as unironically 100% ‘better’ than her by this point, in every way shape or form! Because even if she’s learning not to be so critical of others or at least not have this mentality be backed by an elitist mindset, Amity is still judging herself by comparative standards and metrics, and is thus bound to be dissatisfied with everything else she does…

          Because again, she’s still an abused kid so sometimes she’ll still operate on a hypocritical and illogical double-standard, even if she’s beginning to see others as equal to her now! And that double-standard now works only to hold Amity accountable for any possible ‘failure’, whilst absolving her parents of the guilt! Which means that if people are mean to Amity, that means she actually deserves it, whilst if others are meant to her friends, that’s WRONG because they’re actually good people and better than Amity and thus deserve better! So Amity is now half-correct at least.

          And that leaves Amity wowed at people like Luz and Willow, for actually being happy and content at life and so naturally good at things that she isn’t! Amity is very much a Nature instead of a Nurture person, as typical of someone who was told that some people are born ‘better’ than others… So if she’s not good at something immediately, it proves that it wasn’t cut out for her after all!

          Which, leads me into my headcanon that Amity was a Gifted Kid who actually DID start off as doing things effortlessly and with a lot of passion… But then as she got older, she got burnt out and things came a lot less easily to her, which made Amity feel terrible because she knows she can be better than this! Not just as a Blight, but as who she was in general! And with people like Luz telling Amity she’s actually a good person, her abuse will lead her to misinterpreting this as an indication that all of her past and present failures are now even worse because yadda-yadda, you get what I mean!

           Just… SOMEBODY let this kid be happy, Amity’s really working to unlearn her toxic elitist mindset, but instead of turning it off all at once by realizing that there are no merits to judge others by, she’s instead doing it bit by bit… Deciding that THIS person doesn’t deserve to be judged like this, then this person…

          And Amity’s ALMOST finished and applied this leniency towards all others, except herself! Even her parents are arguably no longer held to the elitist ‘Blight’ standard, in the sense that if they do bad things to her friends, then that’s wrong and Amity should stick up for her acquaintances… But if the Blight Parents do bad things to AMITY, then that’s because SHE wasn’t good enough! Which again, gets me to my final point;

           Amity’s greatest, most fundamental flaw is that she doesn’t love herself. She’ll do things for others and love them vigorously, but she’ll never do things for herself. Because even now, Amity still sees her worth as only coming from what she can do for others, and keeps insisting that other people know what’s best for her. This idolization has shifted from her parents to her friends, which is better… But in the end, this kind of blind obedience shouldn’t exist to begin with! And for one last time, perhaps Amity should look at her own progress, and say that’s not good enough… And thus decide it’s time to forgive herself as well! Because if she can forgive everybody else… Then why can’t she forgive herself, too?

           (And then after that she can ditch the mentality of “Why can’t I do this too?” or at least completely rework it into something positive and healthy with plenty of room for leniency for herself.)

           TL;DR The main reason why Amity didn’t want Willow and Luz to see that memory of her parents blackmailing her, was because Amity saw it not as two parents abusing a helpless child who was just doing what they could to survive… But instead viewed it as a moment of pathetic weakness on her part for not doing the right thing, and thus something for Luz and Willow to judge her over (because how dare Amity not be strong enough to vouch for Willow like this)!

          After all, Amity should be better and stronger than this, and up until now she claimed that she stopped being friends with Willow becauseAmity was strong! So that claim would’ve been a lie as well, but in a way that made Amity look like a hypocrite! If it was Amity’s decision to cut ties with Willow, then at least it would’ve been HER decision… But because it was her parents’, it undermines Amity’s alleged strength and reveals herself as a weakling, which makes her ashamed and embarrassed! Because to Amity, being weak is the worst thing you can do…

           So, somebody (Luz) should tell this kid that not only is it OKAY to be ‘weak’, but that Amity was also never weak to begin with, and that the whole concept of ‘weakness’ is dumb and stupid anyway!

          (I should add that Amity sometimes has moments of ‘illogical’ emotion where she just acts in the moment, and drops all pretenses of what’s right or wrong in favor of what makes her comfortable VS what doesn’t, that this mentality doesn’t apply to literally everything she does; And around people like her siblings, Amity can lowkey lighten up and let herself be annoyed with their teasing, because she knows she doesn’t want this and prioritizes her desires over what she ‘deserves’.

          By the end of the day she IS still just a kid and not some radical zealot, even if she was lowkey on the path towards being indoctrinated like one by her parents’ abuse, up until Luz came along! Sometimes Amity lets herself be annoyed by petty things without bothering to think too hard about it –since she’s a kid- and that’s healthy!)

#the owl house #owl house #the owl house amity #amity blight #the owl house willow #willow park #character analysis

[fasterthanmydemons]

So would classify any of the Maximoff’s with an Eating Disorder?

{out of breath} I would say no, with regard to diagnosable disorders like anorexia, bulimia, restrictive eating, pica disorder, etc. However, both twins do have mental health conditions that affect their eating habits as a result of trauma. They both have habits and behaviors associated with their eating that can be traced either to the stress of living on the streets as tweens and teenagers or trauma inflicted on them by Hydra. I’ll break it down into behaviors each twin displays and why. I will say that this also applies to them just after Ultron, most likely as they are adjusting to life at the Avengers Compound or even if they are sent to stay with Clint on his family’s farm for a while. For Wanda, at least, these habits are unlearned or lessened in severity by the time of Civil War, and definitely by the time of Infinity War. Below the cut because LONG.

{ WANDA }

Hesitation / Refusal to Eat - Wanda will sometimes watch-and-wait or outright refuse to eat when offered food. This is because she assumes there is some unseen punishment, trap, or negative consequence to accepting the food that she hasn’t seen yet. It’s the result of having been grabbed, yelled at, or otherwise traumatically interrupted while eating during her time at the Hydra facility. She will often wait and watch others eat for a while until she feels safe enough to take food for herself. Pushing her to eat or making her feel like she’s doing something wrong by not eating will only make her more nervous and will ensure that she doesn’t eat anything. The only one who can really nudge her to eat and get results is Pietro.

Bargaining - Sometimes if she is really hungry and wants to eat right away, she will try to elicit a response from those offering her the food as far as the consequences of accepting that food. So she’ll ask, “What does it cost?” This has nothing to do with money. Sometimes for experimental purposes or honestly just to be assholes, Hydra scientists would give or take away food to get Wanda to do or not do something. They might tell her that if she goes without food, they won’t hurt Pietro. Or, if she eats like a good girl, she won’t be beaten. Things like that stayed with Wanda, and even after she was free of Hydra, she assumed that food came with a price.

Sharing With Pietro - Wanda will often hide a portion of her own food in her clothing so she can give it to Pietro later on. This is because Hydra rationed food to their test subjects and really didn’t seem to care that Pietro required more calories and protein than others. He would get the same portions of food Wanda did, or sometimes less if he was being disciplined for something, and would often feel weak, shaky, or develop headaches due to his blood sugar bottoming out. This left Wanda with a distinct fear of her brother not having enough to eat. Since she couldn’t rely on their captors to give him enough, Wanda would try to save some of her own food for him. She used to do this when they were children as well, worried that their parents didn’t have enough money to feed Pietro the way he needed. After Ultron, she continued with this behavior, even though food was readily available for the both of them.

Paranoia - Wanda can't relax while she eats. She assumes that something bad will happen, that there's some hidden catch to her eating that she doesn't see, and that someone will come and interrupt her. This is somewhat due to how she was treated with Hydra, but also due to dinner as a ten year old being interrupted by the bomb that killed her parents. Because of this, she will often lift her eyes and look around a lot while she eats to try to be prepared if it looks like something is about to go down.

Noise & Sudden Movement Sensitivity While Eating - Related to her paranoia, if there is a sudden loud noise or movement while Wanda is eating, she will not only likely jump and startle easily, but she may stop eating altogether due to an upset stomach. This can unfortunately happen from something as innocuous as someone suddenly deciding to leave the table, getting up and loudly pushing back their chair. This reaction may be less severe if Pietro is nearby, just because Wanda is generally calmer with him around.

Indigestion - Because of the constant stress and the state of catlike readiness in which Wanda usually exists when she eats, she often ends up with indigestion, nausea, and stomach pain after she eats. She can sometimes alleviate this with certain herbal teas that can either help settle her stomach or calm her nerves.

{ PIETRO }

Food Aggression - Pietro sometimes reacts violently if he's eating and someone gets too close, especially if he thinks they're going to try to take some of his food. Never try to eat things off of Pietro's plate, basically. This does not apply to Wanda, however. She can sit as close as she wants and can take off his plate anytime. He might pull his late away from someone if they get too close, or might verbally tell someone to back off if he thinks they’re coming to take some of his food.

Hoarding - Pietro lives in a constant state of fear of not having enough to eat. He is always afraid of not enough food being there for his next meal. If he has food now but isn't hungry, he'll take it with him or hide it somewhere for later. These human squirrel behaviors started when he was living on the streets as a preteen and continued during the experiments. In the Avengers compound, Pietro's room is full of secret stashes of saved foods for “emergency,” he would say.

Secretive Eating - From the time he was a young boy, Pietro felt a little ashamed if his eating habits. Others in his family didn't eat as much or as often as he did and that made him feel like he was piggish, gluttonous, indulgent, or selfish. So sometimes if he's really hungry and feels he really needs to eat a lot, he'll hide in a bedroom, a bathroom, a closet, anywhere he won't be judged or yelled at for eating. This is usually followed by intense guilt and shame, however.

Sharing With Wanda - While eating together, Pietro will often push food over to Wanda or will push food from his plate and onto her plate, most of the time without asking. This is rooted in part of Pietro’s identity as his sister’s protector, and he feels it’s his responsibility to make sure that Wanda always has enough to eat. He knows that she won’t always speak up when she’s hungry, so he takes it upon himself to give her food. It really doesn’t matter to him how hungry he is as long as she has enough.

Taking Pride in Hunger - Related to sharing food with Wanda and taking care of her in general, Pietro learned from a very early age to take pride in the feeling of hunger. It hurt, and often times he would have other side effects from not eating enough, but to him, feeling hungry meant that he was giving enough food to his sister. There was really never enough food for both of them, especially when he has to find or steal it himself, and so he would always make sure she had enough before he did, no matter how hungry he felt. Because of that, he learned to take pride in the pain and to equate hunger with being a good brother to Wanda. He never ever wanted to take food away from her.

Eating Spoiled, Expired, Stale, or Dirty Food - Pietro… really has no problems eating food that’s past its prime, or even considered garbage. In his mind, food is scarce and the twins really haven’t had the luxury of being picky. He would always give Wanda the best food of what he stole or found, but would then often resort to eating food that was expired, dropped on the floor or ground, dirty, or otherwise not ideal. Food is food, and it shouldn’t be wasted. The way he saw things, it was better to risk being sick but not starve rather than to hold out for better food, be too hungry, and maybe be too weak to take proper care of Wanda.

{ BOTH TWINS TOGETHER }

Eating Side By Side - The twins will often sit close together when they're eating at the same time. I mean legs touching, shoulders touching, side by side level of close. It’s more comforting for them to sit close together, which will help alleviate digestive issues associated with being nervous while eating, but it also means an extra set of eyes and ears to watch for threats. Also, when they used to live on the streets, it would often be cold in their alley or alcove where they made their little nest, if you will. So sitting close together was not only comforting, it also meant keeping warm.

Holding Hands - Very often when the twins eat together, they will hold hands. It’s just a comforting thing they do, but it also has roots in them living on the streets as well. By the time Pietro returned to Wanda after finding or stealing whatever they needed to survive, it would often be dark. Holding hands let them know the other was nearby even in pitch darkness. It was also a very quiet way of comforting each other so that others wouldn’t find out where they we reliving. So they would hold hands with one hand and grab the food or eating utensils with the other. That’s their normal.

Alright, that’s all I can think of for now. Does anyone else have any thoughts or comments about this? I would love to read it! =)

#{ out of breath } ᵒᵒᶜ #tw: eating habits #tw: eating disorder mention #tw: abuse #tw: food #about the muse

[arukou-arukou]

Just A Really Very Intelligent System

Been thinking about this one for a while. Finally managed to write it. Rating: T for “Language.” (It just kinda slipped out.) Characters: Tony Stark & JARVIS

----

He is in one of the most dangerous situations of his life trying to save the whole freaking universe by watching a man the size of a dust bunny wriggle into the hairline of his younger self, so it would be really, really bad if he happened to have a heart attack. Older him that is. But he nearly does go into cardiac arrest when he hears an old friend in his ear.

“Verify immediately. Failure to verify will result in an activation of level one security protocols.”

His tongue is stuck to the roof of his mouth and his palms are sweating, but somehow he manages to whisper out: “Edwin-12-19-91-4-8-47-Alpha Override.”

“Override accepted. Sir?”

“Hey, J.”

“Sir, you have imbued me with considerable computing power, and yet never did you prepare me for the possibility of you being in two places at once.”

“Yeah, about that. You haven’t said anything to Mr. Quipster over there, have you?”

“Not as yet, Sir. You wish me to keep it that way?”

“It would really help me out, buddy.”

“Very well, Sir.”

Tony wants to stay longer, to talk, to warn JARVIS, to cry, but he has places to be, things to do, planets to save. Scott’s safely positioned, so Tony yeets himself out of the building to get to the ground floor. He doesn’t know why he thought that would make JARVIS disappear.

“I see, Sir, that your proclivities for leaping before looking are unchanged.”

Another near heart attack--he’s gradually phased Friday out of his ears now that the nanotech is connected directly to his nervous system, so he’s not exactly used to AI voices anymore--but he recovers more quickly. “You’re always there to catch me, J.”

“And yet my systems are not present in your suit, Sir. I see codal remnants of system designation FRIDAY, but nothing of myself.”

Tony remains silent. This is such a terrible time to be feeling all the feelings. He spots a grunt who looks more or less unimportant and knocks the guy out. Part of him wants to warn SHIELD about their shit security, but then again, this guy’s probably Hydra and he deserves every bruise he gets. He senses JARVIS in his systems, a ghost in the shell.

“You no longer have the reactor. And if I’m not mistaken, that is gray in your hair. So you are not my Sir.”

“Well, yes and no.”

“I suppose it would destroy the spacetime continuum for you to divulge the truth to me.”

“You’re too smart for me, J,” Tony grunts as he yanks on the bullet-proof tac vest. “It’s kind of a long story, and while I technically have all the time in the world, I also really, really don’t.”

He sidles into the lobby and looks toward his personal elevator, waiting for the Avengers to appear. J is quiet so long Tony wonders if he’s being preoccupied by...well, just about anything. Damaged internal systems, a Cap copy on the loose, a second Hulk out there, panicked calls from Pepper. But then JARVIS speaks again.

“Regardless of the tale, I must conclude that you are from the future, and I am no longer by your side.”

Tony is fucking choking up. He was not ready for this. It didn’t even cross his mind. And the fucking elevator is opening. There’s Pierce, the rat bastard, trying to collect the Tesseract.

“I hope I did not disappoint you, Sir.”

“Never, J. Never.” Fuck fuck fuck, he’s nearly crying and now Scott is on the com waiting for the go-ahead. Tony channels his pain into panic and orders his own cardiac arrest.

“Sir, what are you--”

Thank god, his younger self is on the ground and that’s apparently all the distraction J needs to abandon older Tony. Tesseract incoming. Tony grabs it and starts going and--

Blinking stars out of his eyes he watches as Loki makes off with the key, the thing they most needed, the damn stone that started all of this way back when Cap was a starry-eyed beanpole in World War II. He has just biffed saving the entire damn universe because of an overgrown Star Trek reject with anger issues. And now he has a migraine to boot.

Frozen in shame and horror, Tony watches as Thor attempts ill-advised cardiac electro-stim. Scott’s somewhere out there, yammering in Tony’s ear on the private channel, but all of that is just a buzzing.

“Sir? Sir. Sir!”

And J. Maybe Tony should cry now. It certainly feels like the time for it. One of the other SHIELD grunts is making her way toward him, so he staggers to his feet, waving her off and limping toward the door. Think. Think, brain, think. Tony is a genius, the man who invented time travel, the man who miniaturized arc reactor technology. A spaceship? SHIELD’s probably got one somewhere. Maybe they could chase after Loki.

“SIR!” How many times JARVIS has shouted his title, Tony has no idea, but this one is so loud it sets his teeth on edge.

“Yeah, J? Kind of busy here.”

“Giving yourself a heart attack, Sir?” JARVIS was programmed to be cool and calm in all circumstances, but Tony could swear that sentence was uttered with seething rage.

“I’m fine. Look at me.”

“Only by some measure of infinitesimal luck, Sir. Perhaps I should ask you to verify your identity one more time, as you seem intent on killing yourself.”

“No, J. I’ve actually got a lot of reasons to live. And so does he. Promise.” Tony is so tired. Was being an Avenger always this exhausting? Or is it just that he’s bumped over that damnable big 5-0? And Cap’s gonna ream him too. That’s never any fun.

“I’m...glad to hear it, Sir.”

And fuck it. It’s not like this will alter Tony’s timeline anyway. This reality is now on a different trajectory thanks to Severus Snape Lite. “Her name’s Morgan. You’d love her, J. Just turned four. She got my hair. Hope to god she didn’t get my personality.”

“Do I meet her, Sir?”

Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck it.

“J, you should dig a little deeper into SHIELD’s systems. Well, actually, a lot deeper. And the Pentagon while you’re at it. And track down Maya Hansen from that conference in 1999 and poach her from whatever outfit she’s working for. Immediately. Make sure she brings all her vet patients with her. And, uh, when I start talking about a suit of armor around the world, steer me away from anything called Ultron. And if I make it anyway, you delete the fuck out of that system file. Have Bruce back you up. He’s more sensible.”

“Sir, I don’t--”

“And have me make back-ups. At least three extra farms of servers for you. On different continents. And all those SHIELD files? Make sure Cap and Fury get them. And there’s...there’s this guy. This assassin. Brainwashed. He’s, uh, I think he’s on ice in Uzbekistan right now. If you could rescue him, it’ll...it’ll fix a lot of things.”

“Should you really--”

“And, please. Please please.”

Tony is not crying. He’s not. It’s just all the dust and debris in the air. Good lord, he’s probably going to die of cancer anyway. And all those first responders. Did he start a fund for them?

“Start a medical fund for the first responders on the ground today. And start leaning on Congressmen to make medical plans for them. You know how long they take to get anything done. Oh, and Stern. There are incriminating photos of Stern with some young ladies on South Beach. See if you can dig those up. Flowers for Pep. And a box of chocolates. And a dry martini with extra olives.”

Tony slumps into a burned out car, staring at nothing. He didn’t save his universe, but maybe he can save this one. His eyes are still irritated, burning red and itchy. He resists the urge to scrub at them, not wanting to grind in anymore dust.

“Are you quite finished, Sir?”

“Yeah. Actually, no. I love you, J.”

Silence. Ah. That’s stumped him. Maybe he’ll go back to tending his new posse of baby chicks now.

“I know you probably do not believe me capable of it, Sir, but I love you, too.”

His son. The only one he’ll ever make, but not the only one he’s lost. His son loves him. Tony’s throat is full of dust, too. Funny how that happens. He tries to swallow it down, but it only congeals into a hard lump. He puts a hand over his mouth to try and hold back any choking sounds. “I...I know you do, J.”

“As to your orders, I shall do what I can. It is my duty to protect you, Sir, and I would very much like to meet your little Morgan.”

“She might not exist here. I might’ve just changed everything.”

“If there is one thing I have learned from all my years with you, Sir, it is that perhaps such a thing as fate exists after all. Even mathematically speaking. And if that is the case, I cannot imagine a universe in which you are not fated to this happiness.”

Tony laughs, if only to keep from crying harder. And he is. Crying, that is. As if he was fooling anyone. Happiness? Him? Happy people don’t wake in the night screaming for a pile of dust in their hands. Happy people don’t spend hours coordinating relief efforts for countries whose entire infrastructural support has collapsed. Happy people don’t hurl themselves back in time, driven by guilt and horror at all the wrongs in the world. J, brilliant, wonderful AI that he is, seems to sense the dark turn of Tony’s thoughts.

“And if you yourself cannot believe in this thing, Sir, then I shall just have to do everything in my power to provide it for you.”

Another guffaw, but at least his eyes are drying a little now. “God, I miss you, J.”

“I believe your small teammate is approaching, Sir. If I may inquire, was it the Tesseract you were seeking?”

“You mean the stupid blue cube of doom? That’s the one.”

“And you say you have the means to time travel?”

“Yeah, J. We do. But only enough to get back to our time.”

“A limitation has never stopped you before, Sir.” JARVIS sounds thoughtful, as if he’s forming a plan.

Tony would ask him what he’s scheming at, but just at that moment, Scott embiggens himself and slumps into the car with Tony. That road is closed, then. They are out of options. Out of Pym particles. Out of time. Out of hope.

Until they aren’t. Just as Tony is setting his device for their new destination, J pipes up again, for Tony’s ears only. “You say you miss me, Sir. Then allow me to give you a small gift.”

Tony is pressing the buttons, and even if they weren’t already shrinking into the quantum tunnel, he wouldn’t be able to ask exactly what J means. It’s only when he and Cap arrive in 1970 that he has his first gleaning. In his ear, a voice. One so unexpected he nearly jumps into Cap’s arms. “Hello, System Administrator Anthony Edward Stark. I am System Designation EDWIN. ‘Eagerly Deployed With Intent to Neutralize Loneliness.’ I am told to tell you the “L” is silent and invisible. How may I best serve you today, Sir?”

Cap is staring at Tony like Tony’s lost his mind. And maybe he has. He’s been bugged by his own damn operating system. With a bouncing baby AI. And if Steve finds out, he’ll probably have a conniption about the spacetime continuum or something. So the only logical thing Tony can do is say, “Let’s find some Pym particles.”

“Acknowledged, Sir. Commencing scanning.”

-----

(In this reality EDWIN saves the fuck out of Tony’s life and everyone lives happily ever after and EDWIN builds JARVIS from scratch so he’s back or something, okay? Okay.)

#writing #fanfiction #tony stark #jarvis

[acloudkat]

Gossip Girl 2.0

So. . . I was unsure of whether I was going to talk about this or not but… in the end, here we are!

I shall be talking about the Gossip Girl Reboot.

Now quick disclaimer and mild *excuse you* to HBO, please find ways to make your content accessible to Europe because there are those of us that are interested and unfortunately your "Max" service is US only and honestly i see no reasonable logic behind it. Therefore my means of getting access to this content shall not be discussed.

Extra disclaimer, there will be spoilers. Doi.

Now I am a big die hard fan of the original GG series and despite the outdated (to today’s standards) comparisons and slang, some of the topics hold up even today. For anyone curious or questioning my opinion, based on my generation, I am mildly in the middle as a Zelenial at 23. I did not grow up with GG, I learned about it when I was 14 but watched it for the first time when I was 19. Since, I have watched it up to 14-17 times; more than 10 for sure. So you can do with that as you please. The main reason I mention this is due to some articles and comments pointing out that maybe it’s a “Gen Z only media” or that “Millennials are just bitter cause it’s not theirs”. Keeping that in mind I will be as per usual showing the ups and downs of the show (so far and later on) from my own personal perspective.

After watching ep 1. (& now 2 which will be in a separate post after this) I have a few questions, comments AND concerns. So let’s get into those shall we :)

So let's do a little round up of our characters.

We have newcomer Zoya Lott that is moving to NYC on a Constance scholarship! But little did anyone in the show know, it was all a plot to get to be with her *half sister*. WHAT?! So the tldl on that is that Zoya and our other main character, Julien Calloway, share a mom! Mom, that i quote "left Julien's dad for Zoya's dad and the dads hate each other" because of which hate, they had absolutely forbidden their daughters from communicating. One thing led to another, a friend request was sent and this is basically the parent trap. . . . but for the kids. . .and they're aware of it cause they made it. . . I suppose? The parents haven't really been mentioned to matter in their plan, however, they do keep bringing up their middle names as "Zoya Jane and Julien Elizabeth" as clues left by their mother? Now some rumours around the web have connected the names to the Pride and Prejudice novels and while that would be extremely Gossip Girl-esque to do, and I am entirely up for that, hell yea!!! I'm wondering if it's as simple as... their mother's name was Elizabeth Jane... but maybe GG will be the one to discover that secret first? Other than that, Zoya is very much a very trusting "innocent type" character that probably has more past than we know about so it will be quite interesting to see how that elaborates going further into the series.

Then there is self-made influencer Julien Calloway. She is the new version of queen at Constance but as stated, they "don't do the patriarchy anymore". While she appears all smiles and kindness, personally i feel as if JC is kind of fake? She has things she cares about yes, but the moment someone or something interferes with her followers and her social standing or Obie (more on him later)

"the gloves come off and the claws come out" - Serena Van der Woodsen

When it comes to Julien I am honestly more curious to see who she is once you take away the followers and the media. Will she be an actual person or just a shallow obsessed spoiled brat? I just hope it won't be the typical story of "have to be perfect and have to have everyone like me because my mom left" ie. has mommy issues. That is how that cliche goes after all. So I am greatly hoping that's not going to be it for this one.

Obie Bergmann! We get introduced to Obie as Julien's boyfriend. Throughout ep 1, the things we learn about Obie are that he is basically the richest in the group, and lives in Dumbo. (irony from original GG for anyone that can guess it). He appears like a super nice and kind dude, a supportive boyfriend, kind of bland and tired of the relationship but the main thing that bothers me about him so far is his impossible to ignore "white guilt syndrome". For anyone unaware, "white guilt" is "remorse or shame felt by a white person with respect to racial inequality and injustice". While it's not a bad thing trying to make up for the in-equality in the world, here's hoping that's not his entire character cus that would get old quick.

Then we have the bestie, Audrey Hope. Audrey. . . is cold but to the point. Very analysing and observing. Definitely the type of character that would take all the info first and decide what to do after. I both like and am confused by her? Her cold mannerisms are quite enjoyable among the masses of drama and emotion I won't lie. However, i do predict a juicy threesome between her, boyfriend Aki and one Max Wolfe. Honestly, I am highly interested in how their relationship evolves.

Aki Menzies is kind of a mystery as of the moment. As to be expected with just 1 episode, we won't know too much about all the characters. He is the very supportive boyfriend that tries to keep the peace between everyone.

Max Wolfe on the other hand appears like the much more flamboyant version of Chuck Bass, if Chuck Bass had a supportive family environment and no limits on who he's dating. That's more or less for him but kuddos for his 0 hesitation to basically have a pic of his dick sent to everyone. I will never not find that hilarious. But again, between these three is my prediction for some juicy interactions. Cause to be fully honest, the chemistry is undeniable.

Monet de Haan. Ah. She is honestly the savage that we need around here. She is the control and the power behind Julien's brand honestly. I am curious how come she helps Julien with her brand rather than have her own? If we go off anything said in the episode, she is more feared than adored so maybe that's why? But Monet honey, fear can also have a following, just . . a different one.

And then there's Luna La, "The stylist" while we don't know much about her, some of her one liners are actively giving me life. Her and Monet are definitely a package deal and i wonder if there is juicier gossip there that we don't know yet.

Lastly, we have our new Gossip Girl. Young teacher, Kate Keller. I won't lie, i did not see us knowing who GG is from the get go. I am however wondering whether this will drag her down to the level of highschoolers (besides the fact that she looks younger than some of them xD) Something that is bothering me in the reboot however, is that technically, characters that represent adults, spying on minors??? Like they even make the point that "i shouldn't have these, i should be in jail" in regards to having almost naked pictures of the kids. Like it's not really okay??? In the original yea no one knew who GG was but they always knew it was someone their age. The teachers didn't care at those times. But they do now and I am not fully sure how okay it is.

And of course, the extras like some of the other teachers behind GG and the parents. We however, don't know too much about them as of now so we shall see soon. If any new characters are introduced they will be addressed but for now, onto the episode!

The half sisters plot is definitely interesting so I would love to know where the whole middle names thing will go. The story line I'm most interested in at the moment however is between Audrey, Max and Aki. I want to see that unwind into something horrendous but then beautiful! It has so much potential in my opinion. In terms of character development however i want to see who Julien is without all of her fame and followers. When the focus is not the media and the attention. I want to see that Julien.

The first episode definitely introduced us to a lot of things at once so far that is my take on them. I'm sure that in the future both the teachers and parents will be a bigger part but one thing is abundantly clear. Unlike the OGGG, there won't be more than maybe 2-3 seasons depending on the ages of the students. The teachers won't follow them onto college will they? Or will things drastically change along the way? It was rather amusing seeing them talk about all the old characters however, and reference the OG Gossip Girl. I am vaguely offended that they categorised twitter as "a glorified chatroom for memes for people over 30". Like dude. . . that hit me hard. I am happy that FB was never even mentioned as existing tho! Cause let's be honest that is not the "hip" thing anymore. But the rules they put down at the party definitely made my head spin. Had to listen to them twice to even get what was happening.

But that's probably enough of me babbling on about this xD If you want to find this on an apparently dying type of media, here's my blog post about it as well lol: https://acloudkat.wordpress.com/?p=960

#gossip girl reboot #gossip girl #reboot #series things

[arimendoza]

cedoliver; time will wear us thin

@hogwartsonline quidditch + @hprarepairnet | PRIDE

characters/pairing: cedric diggory/oliver wood rating: general audiences words: 3811 summary: oliver wood has never been good with words. cedric diggory tries his best for the both of them.  prompts: i’m not in the mood + acceptance notes: canon divergence. get on this train w me [ao3 link]

Cedric finds him where he always does: at the quidditch pitch.

Oliver offers him a nod of acknowledgement, but otherwise stays seated in the stands, broom discarded onto the ground, a letter in his hand.

Cedric moves to sit beside him, quiet, contemplative. He looks at the letter for a long time.  “Do you ever wonder,” he asks, “what it would be like to watch, instead of play?”

Oliver stays looking ahead. At the sky, never at the ground, as if hoping he too could make his home in the stars one day.

“Flying’s all I’ve ever known.”

“But it’s not all you can know.” Cedric’s voice cracks, and Oliver feels his heart break with the sound. Quietly, he adds, “It’s not all you have to know.”

Oliver looks at Cedric then, his gray eyes filled with fear and anticipation and hope.

They seemed to say: you could make your home in these stars.

Cedric grabs Oliver’s hand, crumples the letter with the action. Cedric is the first one to move forward, bridge the gap between them.

And as always, Oliver is the first one to move back. Cringes. He doesn’t dare to look Cedric in the eyes again, terrified of what he might find: disappointment, resignation, anger. A supernova of all the emotions they were not allowed to say.

Still, Cedric doesn’t let go of his hand, whispers, “I’m not afraid.”

Oliver looks at their intertwined fingers, feels the way Cedric’s hand just fits.

“Bravery has nothing to do with it,” he chokes out, because it doesn’t. It shouldn’t.

Cedric shakes his head, grips Oliver’s hand tighter the way one would clasp a snitch, as if he were scared Oliver too would fly away and disappear any second now.

He uses his free hand to cup Oliver’s cheek, but does not move forward this time. “It does. You know it does.”

Cedric gently forces Oliver’s gaze from their hands and back to his face, gaze imploring. “It’s everything.”

Oliver tentatively raises his hand to meet Cedric’s, wishing this chaste embrace could last lifetimes.

*

They hadn't lost by a large margin, but Cedric couldn't help but feel as if that would have been the better option.

It would have been embarrassing, sure, but it crushed him whenever they got so close, whenever they got so hopeful--only to fail.

And Cedric hated to fail. But he hated failing people even more.

His first year as Captain, and he was already floundering.

He couldn't even look Oliver in the eye when they exchanged handshakes, didn’t even respond to the usual “Good game, Diggory.”  His head was already filled with plays they should have seen, moves they could have done. Because Cedric Diggory did not want to be ‘good.’ He needed to be excellent.

So he did the only thing he could think of doing: grabbed his broom and sneaked onto the pitch, prefect status be damned. He would fly until he was completely winded, until his muscles gave out, until he could physically feel the disappointment and guilt and shame begin to ebb away. Retreat even just for a day, just for a moment. Then, and only then, could he afford to tell himself it was enough. (Until, of course, it wasn’t).

Only it turned out he hadn’t been the only one hoping to fly tonight.

"What the bloody hell are you on the pitch for, Wood? Gryffindor won!"

Oliver raised an eyebrow, but otherwise chose not to comment. He stayed hovering, waiting for Cedric to approach. He gave no indication he was surprised to see Cedric here at all.

“It’s true, you really are insane, you know that? You should be in bed. Resting. You’ve earned it.”

Cedric winced. He should have phrased that better. He expected Oliver to prickle at the comment, mouth forming into a hard line the same way he did whenever Cedric had the pleasure of watching his shouting matches with Marcus Flint. Or perhaps he’d roll his eyes the same way an annoyed sibling would whenever he was being chastised, like he did whenever Percy Weasley harped at him about quidditch.  

But Oliver just shook his head, still only at a hover, but flying to meet Cedric just as he stepped onto the pitch. The wind was gentle tonight, and under the faint moonlight, Cedric could have sworn Oliver was smiling.

“I could say the same to you. Whenever I say it’s a good game, I mean it.”

“Even to Marcus Flint?” Cedric quipped. He made no move to get on his broom as much as Oliver didn’t bother to get off his.

Oliver shrugged. “Even to Marcus Flint.”

Cedric didn’t know why this particularly shocked him. He always knew Oliver to be fair, and appreciated him for it, but even Cedric had to admit it was hard to call any game with Marcus Flint a ‘good’ one.

“Either way, could have been better.”

Another shrug. “Every game could be, if you think about it. It’s why you’re here tonight, why I’m here tonight. Why we’re both here, I’m presuming, every night we can be. Doesn’t mean it wasn’t good. Doesn’t mean you weren’t good.”

‘Good’ got you put on Reserves, got you second best on a platform or exam. Cedric knew he was ‘good,’ but imagine people like Harry Potter who were already there. Who were great on bad days, and near phenomenal on any other. Not that people like Harry didn’t work hard, but it frustrated Cedric to know that every day of his life, he would have to work harder.

So if Cedric heard the word ‘good’ one more time, he’d explode--he wasn’t looking for roundabout validation from Oliver Wood of all people, who Cedric considered to have about as much natural talent as Harry anyway.

He’d half a mind to say goodnight right then and there, but to simply excuse himself and go back to the dorms did not only feel somewhat rude, but to come all this way to end up not practicing was a waste. He at least owed the extra hours to his team.

He fidgeted with his broom, tightening and loosening his grip as he thought about the best way to approach this.  

Oliver, ever the Gryffindor, seemed just fine on settling it for him.

He motioned to Cedric’s broom. “You going to fly, or what?”

The tone was nonchalant enough, but there were traces of amusement in Oliver’s eyes, as if he were sharing a joke Cedric was supposed to be aware of.

“Is that an invitation?”

“Well, I’m certainly not landing to help you on your broom, if that’s what you mean.”

“Would have been polite,” Cedric murmured.

“That’s more your thing, isn’t it?” Oliver joked. “Besides, you know I don’t like the ground much.”

Oliver shot up into the air, and Cedric hurried to follow, previous qualms momentarily forgotten. This was a challenge, and he was not going to lose.

*

“I’m going to miss you.”

Cedric says it so quietly that Oliver thinks he’s mistaken the admission for the wind.

They stay there in mid-air, silent and unmoving even when the snitch whizzes past them both.  

Slowly, Oliver replies, “We’ve got more than half the year left, Diggory.”

Cedric hums, as usual not missing Oliver’s deflection. “You’re off to Tutshill, then?”  

Oliver’s grip becomes white-knuckled. “You care that much?”

Cedric shrugs, but he doesn’t break eye contact even at the sudden shift in tone. “You know I do.”

“There’s time until then.”

“Result’s the same isn’t it? You leave, I stay. I’ll still miss you.”

“Maybe you shouldn’t.”

“Think we both said that around last year too, didn’t we?”

The snitch whizzes past again, and Oliver moves to catch it. He doesn’t bother with the conversation any longer, too afraid of where it was headed.

*

“Bit clandestine, don't you think? Meeting like this all the time.”

It was Oliver’s turn to run into Cedric on the pitch, with Gryffindor having taken a particularly brutal loss from Ravenclaw that afternoon. Roger had been euphoric, an absolute beaming mess until they parted ways. Even Cho, who usually tried to take both their wins and losses gracefully, couldn’t suppress her almost surprised satisfaction.

Oliver, as expected, was quite the opposite. He sighed, running a hand through his hair. “I’m not in the mood, Diggory.”

“Are you ever?”

“Yes,” Oliver snapped, “so long as Gryffindor stands a chance at the Cup this year, I’ll be absolutely fucking ecstatic.”

Cedric stopped himself mid-jibe, studied the way Oliver was seething.

Cedric had lost count of how many times the two have met on nights like these, after wins and losses alike. It had become routine: sneak out, race to the pitch--Cedric was winning by two, by the way--discuss, fly, rest, sneak in, repeat. They never talked much outside of that, though their friends have asked at times about their sudden camaraderie with one another. Considering their first time flying together was a little rocky on Cedric’s end, he was glad for the tentative friendship they’ve formed.

They understood one another on a level even Cedric was reluctant to reveal to his friends. Though they never spoke about it, they could feel each other’s desperation, the need to win and persevere and improve. Disappointment crushed them, ‘enough’ was a foreign term. It was a more ruthless side to himself that he was ashamed of, and very rarely let show, but it was a part of him all the same.

Oliver never judged though, just watched and flew and let Cedric be. He was the same with Oliver, who expressed his own fair share of aggravation on particularly rough days.

Still, even with Oliver’s mood swings and rigorous training regimen, and impossibly high standards (though Cedric did suppose he had no right to judge anyone else about high standards), he was never quite like this.

The wind was as harsh as Oliver’s expression, and the moon’s usual glare seemed to soften in comparison. His hand was clenched around his broom, his jaw set so tightly it would have put Severus Snape to shame. The outburst was not uncommon, and Cedric was not so sensitive to think the anger and frustration was for him. But it was the first time it was directed at him. This caused him to frown.

“You’ve still a chance, you know. There’s always a chance.”

Oliver glared. “I’ll listen to your advice once you actually take it yourself.”

Cedric’s eyes narrowed, but he refused to rise to the bait. He flew the rest of the way to the ground, getting off his broom to stand right in front of Oliver. They were the same height, now, a far cry from the bumbling pre-teen he was the first time they had faced each other. The way Oliver squared his shoulders to match Cedric’s own stubbornness indicated he knew this to be true, too.

“This isn’t about me, Oliver.”

They stared at each other for a long time, Cedric willing to wait the whole night if he had to. But to look away first would be to allow Oliver to be left alone to his thoughts, and Cedric knew how dangerous that could be. When flying became too much of an escapist tactic, the easier it was to spiral. He was intimate with the notion.

After what felt like hours, Oliver dropped his gaze to the ground.

“That match cost me a recruitment.”

His voice was the softest Cedric’s ever heard it.

Everything about Oliver screamed ‘defeat:’ the way his shoulders slumped, his arms limp at his sides, expression downcast. Even when he finally looked up towards the sky, his eyes did not hold the same intensity or fervor of a boy who dreamed, but the anguish of a man who had woken up and accepted reality.      

“Which team?” Cedric asked quietly.

“Does it matter?”

“I suppose not.”

Silence.

“Well,” Cedric started, “it’s their loss, isn’t it? Oliver, you’re phenomenal. You’ll have another--”

“My whole life,” Oliver whispered, “is built on chances and opportunities. But chances are taken away as easily as opportunities are wasted.”

“Oliver-”

“I’m running out of time. We need to break the losing streak, now or never. Gryffindor needs this Cup. I need this Cup.”

A pause. A shaky intake of breath.

“I may be good, but I have no connections unlike Davies, no money unlike Flint. No other options, unlike you,” Oliver looked to his broom as if he had let down a friend. “Quidditch is all I have.”

At that moment, Oliver Wood had completely abandoned his Captain persona, didn’t care to don the usual intimidating exterior or hide behind snappy retorts. But even his vulnerability had a way of commanding a room, in the way it was so genuine, so raw, and so honest that Cedric did the only thing he could think of doing--he embraced him.

He put everything into that one action, all the things they never said aloud. Everything he wished could have been said to him. I’m proud of you, I believe in you. You will succeed. You are great as you are.

Cedric Diggory was holding a man who was all too ready to break, and it reminded him so much of himself that he had to fight to keep his voice from trembling.

“That’s not true. Not anymore.”

*

Cedric wins their Seeking game this time, but just barely, and Oliver doesn’t miss the way he cradles his shoulder when they land.

“Merlin, Diggory, didn’t I tell you to keep an eye on that?”

Cedric rolls his eyes. “Got me the snitch, didn’t it?”

“Got you a worsened injury, more like it.”

Cedric’s voice is even. “You care that much?”

Oliver, as always, takes the time to respond, considers his words as if their very relationship depended on them. Perhaps it did. “If it compromises your ability, damn right I care.”

They barely meet like this, during their free periods in broad daylight. And Oliver can tell that Cedric doesn’t want to ruin it, but Cedric’s expression falls and he looks so tired. Tired, no doubt, of the double meanings and the deflections and the way Oliver just won’t say what he wants to say.

So he laughs. It’s shaky and more than a little bitter. More than a little sad. “Good to know.”

“Don’t you want Hufflepuff to have a chance at the Cup?” Oliver pushes, pretends he doesn’t hear it, pretends it doesn’t hurt him too.  

“Consider it taking out the competition, then.”

“Cedric, you know what I mean.” And Oliver says it with so much conviction that Cedric turns to him briefly before turning away once more. Cedric looked so much older then, Oliver having glimpsed the worry lines on his forehead and the grimace he sported. The only word Oliver could think of to describe him was ‘exhausted.’

“Yeah, I do.”

Oliver sighs in what sounds like relief, but Cedric isn’t finished.

“Do you ever think though that sometimes I just...don’t? That I’d like for us to see each other without having to do mental gymnastics all the time?” He stares straight ahead, misses the way Oliver winces and reaches his hand towards him, only to retract it. Little did Cedric know how tired he is too.

Cedric’s shoulders sag. “Maybe I shouldn’t care this much, yeah. But maybe you should find it in yourself to care more.”

He doesn’t wait for a response before making his way back to the Castle.

*

“What’s wrong with your shoulder?”

Cedric put his quill down. “You are not allowed to ask me that.”

“There are a lot of things I’m not allowed to ask. So you admit something’s wrong?”

“I admit,” Cedric sighed, glaring at his companion, “that you’re nosy.”

“I prefer the word ‘observant,’”

“How about ‘prat?’ Even better yet--annoying.”

Oliver shrugged, picking up his quill only to lazily play with its feather, the essay in front of him forgotten. Idly, he flicked the feather towards Cedric’s nose until he was forced to look up from his own assignment.

“Really, one heart-to-heart and you want to know all about my troubled past.”

Oliver’s grin was rueful. “I mean, I’ll trade you it for mine if you want.”

Madam Pince looked dangerously close to shushing them as she walked towards their end of the library, and Cedric fought to quiet his laugh.

“And,” Oliver continued, “I’m fairly sure it’s been more than one by now.”

Cedric snorted, “If you say so,”

“I know so. We know so, in fact. Now stop ignoring my question.”

“I’m not ignoring it, because I acknowledged it. I’m actively choosing to not answer.”

“What the hell kind of reasoning--”

“Boys!” Madam Pince shrilled, “Would you like to take your conversation elsewhere, perhaps?”

They cringed and muttered their apologies, but Oliver was relentless when he wanted to be. Cedric wondered if ultimately, this was where Harry Potter got his stubborn streak from.

“Don’t think you’re getting away with not telling me that easily.”

“What, and have you reveal my secrets to the entirety of your Quidditch team?” Cedric chuckled, “No thank you.”

Cedric intended for it to be a joke, but Oliver’s expression turned serious. “You think I’d do that?”

Cedric blinked. “Do what?”

“Exploit your weaknesses.”

“Oliver.”

“Forget it, that was unfair of me,” he replied. “Still though, whether or not you choose to say anything, just be careful.”

“Since when did you get so protective?”

Oliver hooked their ankles together underneath the table, expression almost shy. “Since someone reminded me that quidditch isn’t all I have.”  

*

“Congratulations on Puddlemere.”

They’re sitting on the soft grass of the quidditch pitch together for what they both knew would be the last time. Despite it already being late hours into the night, the warm breeze and greenness of the leaves they carried past indicated that it was summer. They both would both leave Hogwarts in the morning, and only one of them will return.

“Thank you,” Oliver says, though the reply comes out stiffer than he means for it to be. “Make sure you study hard for your NEWTS.”

Cedric plays with the grass. “Yeah.”

The silence between them is awkward, the tension so thick Oliver thinks he can feel himself beginning to choke from it.

He says the first thing that pops into his head.

“Why not Chaser?”

Cedric’s head shoots up, the blades of grass slipping from his fingers.

“What?”

“You know what.”

Cedric’s eyes narrow. “Fine. Why?”

“You know why.”

“Damn it, Oliver.” Cedric sighs, “Does everything have to be cryptic with you?”

Cedric visibly deflates afterwards and shifts closer to Oliver, moving his hand so that their pinkies are barely touching. “I’m sorry. I don’t want to fight.”

Oliver intertwines them, and he barely catches the surprise that makes its way onto Cedric’s otherwise solemn expression. “Me neither.”

“I’m tired of fighting.”

“So am I.”

Silence.

“So I guess this is goodbye.” Cedric stares pointedly at their hands.

Oliver doesn’t know what to say. He’s never been good with words.

Instead, he intertwines their hands fully, feels the way they come together like puzzle pieces. He cups Cedric’s face with his free one, brings it closer to his own.

Oliver takes a breath, and slowly, delicately, kisses Cedric on the forehead.

He caresses Cedric’s cheek once, twice, the smoothness of his skin welcoming his calloused fingers. His touch is featherlight, and he feels Cedric move forward as Oliver retracts his hand, desperate for the contact.

“Ced?” Oliver whispers.

“Yeah?”

“Go to my matches, will you?”

Cedric shakes his head in mock exasperation, his eyes teasing. “It always goes back to quidditch, huh?”

“It always goes back to you.”

They stay that way for a long time, simply content in each other’s company.

*

Dear Oliver,

They’ve absolutely desecrated the pitch. It’s awful. Turned it into a bloody maze of all things. Granted, it’s for the Task, but still. I hate not being able to fly. And how are we supposed to play quidditch?

Roger says I’m beginning to sound too much like you nowadays. Perhaps he’s right.

Well, regardless...it would mean a lot for you to come for the third Task.

But if you can’t, well, at least this should be a fair enough notice in case you could pull some strings with Puddlemere. Sorry, is that too selfish? Argh, sorry, I know we’ve discussed not saying sorry. Oh, bugger off, I’m trying here.

Anyway, I don’t blame you for not being able to make it to the Ball, stop mentioning it. Cho was as lovely a date as they come.

(Don’t tell anyone, but I’m pretty sure she only had eyes for Hermione the entire Champions dance. Speaking of not telling anyone...how are Weasley and Flint doing?)

Other than this whole Triwizard business, everything’s as ‘normal’ as they can be. Malfoy’s still got it out for Potter, and Potter (as you know) is just trying to survive another year.

How are things on your end? I hate that we’ve not been able to see each other or write as often. I miss seeing you play.

I hope you’re doing well. I miss you.

And just...think about what I’ve said.

I’ve turned seventeen. I still know. I’m still brave. We’ve waited, Ollie, probably more than we should have. Probably more than we wanted. Maybe after the last Task, we can finally make a go of things.

Cedric

*

Oliver waves to Cho as he makes his way to the stands, but barely manages to step a foot onto what was usually the quidditch pitch before he’s almost tackled to the ground, the wind knocked right out of him.

“Merlin, Ced, are you a Champion or a Bludger?”

“You came.” Cedric’s smile is so bright that Oliver finds his breath hitching.

“Yeah, I did. Uh, surprise?”

Cedirc laughs, and Oliver starts to let go, but Cedric holds on tighter, buries his face into Oliver’s neck. “I missed you.”

His voice is muffled, but Oliver feels the words seep into his bones, vibrate throughout his entire being. He holds Cedric impossibly closer.

“I missed you too.”

Cedric reluctantly steps out of their embrace, pointing to where his father, Harry, and the other Champions are waiting for him near the Maze.

“I have to go but...have you thought about it? About what I’ve said.”

“I have.”

Oliver says nothing more, but from the dumb grin that spreads onto Cedric’s face, he thinks he’s gotten the message across.

Cedric starts to walk backwards, gray eyes never breaking away from Oliver’s. Oliver thinks he’s never seen Cedric look so young, so hopeful, so free. So alive.

Oliver realizes then that he really does know now too. He’s done waiting. It’s time to be brave.

Cedric calls out to him, “Kiss me when I win, yeah?”

* Oliver never does.

#hogwartsonline #cedoliver #cedric diggory #oliver wood #hp #usertessa #usergeets #uservioleta #useremma #uservincent #useraditi #userblair #hprarepairnet #other fics #usersimone #usermaven #userclaire

[ssigmas]

office hours

hi this is literally the most self-indulgent filth i’ve ever written ever in my whole life its just like all my fantasies wrapped into one big fic

also im not a math major don’t @ me

tags: afab reader, professor/student, age gap, desk fuckin, stockings, first time,  Guilt, professor kink 👀

 Siebren tried not to have favorites. He really, really did. He took pride in his ability to remain as objective and unbiased as possible, especially concerning his students. No matter their walks of life, their intellectual capabilities, or their attitude in his class, he treated everyone fairly and with the same amount of respect.

But you. You were different. You, who always sat in the front row, who always asked insightful questions, who often came by his office just to chat - he considered you less alongside the notions of “student” but closer to “friend.”

And you were brilliant, too - the likes of which he hadn’t seen in a long time. You struggled with much of the math (which is why you started coming to his office at all) but you had an intuitive understanding of the concepts behind quantum mechanics, something most students lacked. They could do the math fine without understanding the real-world significance it held, but you? You didn’t understand why it worked, but you understood the how, and it made class discussions more enjoyable. You often provided another angle of viewing things, and Siebren had been pleasantly surprised the many times it had been an angle he’d never considered before.

His class wasn’t easy - not that he purposefully made it that way, but the subject matter was extremely difficult. The grade you held in his class was a testament to how hard you worked. On top of that, he knew you also held the same work ethic in your other courses - all of your professors had nothing but glowing praise for you.

You were a kind, hardworking student with just a little too much on your plate. Siebren had a hard time not admiring you. He saw a little bit of himself in you, which is maybe why he found it easy to give you preferential treatment. Not when it came to your grades; he graded blindly, so there was no chance that he’d add a few extra points just because it was you, but in other ways.

Like the time you came to his office well past his normal hours with your bag slung over your shoulder and shadows so dark under your eyes he’d mistaken it for makeup. “Please,” you had said, “I-I know it’s late, but can I study in here? The library’s too crowded for me to focus, and my roommate has her partner over and they keep being...gross, and I just… I promise I’ll be quiet, please?”

You had sounded so exhausted and so close to tears that Siebren literally could not turn you away. He knew he’d be there for another few hours before he headed home, so he had ushered you into his office with a kind smile and brewed a fresh pot of coffee. Working with you in his office had been...so nice. You weren’t draining in the way that so many others were, and he had easily fallen into a deep focus on his research, aided by the constant sktch sktch of your pencil against paper and the soft symphonies flowing through his speakers. 

God, when he found out you listened to Schumann…who could blame him for crushing on you?

It made him feel pathetic, honestly. A renowned professor with multiple degrees, teaching at one of the most elite colleges in the nation, crushing on his student? What kind of twisted pervert had a crush on someone more than half his age?

Him. He did. He was a dirty old man with more than “just a crush” on his favorite student, and he couldn’t get you out of his mind.

You were so cute, even on the days you showed up to his 8 am class in nothing more than an oversized hoodie and joggers, coffee clutched in hand. He loved it when you smiled for him, those tiny secretive smiles that made your eyes light up, or when you giggled genuinely at his god-awful puns despite the fact that no one else did. 

The things he imagined doing to you were more shameful than he was willing to admit. Many times he found himself waking with your name stuck in his throat and a problem that he had to quickly take care of. Cold showers, unfortunately, didn’t help him any more than trying to ignore it. As of late he found himself in hand more times than ever before; he hadn’t been with a sexual partner in ages, and you stirred up feelings in him he didn’t even know he still had - feelings he shouldn’t be having, not toward someone who was so young, and especially not toward his student.

He had tried to curb his infatuation, once, by resolving not to give in to his urges. It had lasted all of three days and culminated in something so disgraceful he didn’t even want to think about it.

(He had once masturbated in his office just moments after you left, your scent still lingering in the doorway. As he fucked desperately into his hand, he’d imagined you kneeling secretively beneath his desk, supple lips around his cock. It’s still one of his favorite fantasies.)

He should be ashamed to call himself your professor, and yet...and yet…

A knock sounded at his door. “Dr. de Kuiper?”

Speak of the devil, and he shall appear. He jolted out of his thoughts, casting a glance at his desk where unfinished diagrams and unsolved equations sat. How long had he spaced out for…?

Siebren swiveled in his chair and found you standing in the doorway, hands clasped in front of you. His eyes were immediately drawn to your attire - blazer unbuttoned over a white dress shirt, cute pleated skirt dancing just above your mid-thigh, black thigh-highs accentuating your long legs…

You looked like a goddamn schoolgirl. That should not turn him on.

Even as he struggled to keep his eyes at an appropriate level, he couldn’t keep the genuine warmth and joy from his voice as he greeted you. “Oh, welcome! You’re not having trouble with the problem set, I hope?” He slid his glasses off his face and set them safely on his desk, prepared to have a nice chat with you.

“Ah, no, not really.” You stepped into his office, surreptitiously locking the door behind yourself. “I just wanted to see how your research was coming along, if that’s okay?”

“Of course, of course!” You’re always welcome, sat unsaid on his tongue. He gestured you over to his desk where he pulled out a holo-pad. As he drew up the latest 3D model, he felt your warmth settle into his side, your leg pressing against his own. He tried not to think about it.

“This is still a work in progress, but I think I’m getting closer to a vessel that can act as an appropriate harness.” The hologram flickered to life and showed a geometric model in the center, equations that you couldn’t even hope to understand running below. 

“Ohhh,” you breathed out. You leaned closer to get a better look at the diagram, stepping a leg in between his so that you practically hovered over his lap. “This is neat!”

Siebren willed his heartbeat to slow down. You were so close. “Y-yes, well, like I said it’s unfinished. This is only a prototype.”

“Still.” You flicked the hologram, causing the model to spin as you investigated it. “It’s really cool what you’re trying to do. I mean, control gravity?” You glanced back at him, a smile playing on your lips. “It’s hard to believe that it’s possible.”

He felt his chest swell with pride at your words. “It is. The theorems prove that much. Now, it is simply a matter of finding a practical implementation. If we take a look at the equations…” He pushed himself away from the desk with the intention of grabbing said equations, but his foot got caught around yours and pulled you back with him. You ended up falling right into his lap with a sharp yelp, his arms wrapped around your waist to keep you steady.

Well. This was turning out to be more like the plot of a bad porno, and Siebren hated himself for being able to name at least three that started out this exact same way.

The way you were sitting meant you were straddling his thigh. Which...okay, it wouldn’t have been good under any circumstances, but it was particularly awful now because he could feel your heat through your thin underwear. 

He tried to find words to make the situation okay, yet his mouth felt dry, his throat tight. Your face - as red as his felt - was mere inches away from his own. You fit against him like a puzzle piece, like this was meant to be.

“Please,” he whispered, not sure if he meant to ask for forgiveness or for permission, but any and all thoughts halted on the spot when he felt your lips press awkwardly against the side of his mouth.

God. You were so cute.

His immaculately-pressed self control snapped, and he raised his hands to cup your face and kiss you properly. You sighed into the kiss, open-mouthed, curling your hands into the soft fabric of his shirt. Your lipgloss tasted like cherries.

“We shouldn’t,” he mumbled against your lips. “You’re my student,” he insisted. “This is a-a gross...abuse of power, I can’t…” 

And yet, here he was, unable to pull himself from you for even a second. His hands slid up your shirt to rest against bare skin, and you shuddered against him as he moved to mouth at your neck. You tightened your grip on the armrests, willingly tilting your head to expose more of your soft skin for him. Siebren sucked with the intent of leaving marks, lightly scraping his teeth across a sensitive spot, and you moaned quietly in response - a sound he’d been imagining fondly for the whole semester.

Somewhere in the back of his mind, he registered your hips rolling slowly against his thigh in small, concise movements, like you were trying to be secretive about it. The image of you doing the same against his clothed erection made him choke on a moan, poorly hidden into your neck. You squirmed in his lap, fighting to shrug off your blazer, and in seconds his hands were atop your own.

“Let me,” he asked - no, begged -  and gingerly shooed your hands away. You fisted them in your skirt instead while he slowly undid the buttons of your shirt, sliding it off along with your blazer. They fell into a heap of fabric beside his chair. His eyes lingered on your skin, hand tentatively resting against the soft planes of your stomach.

“I-I, um -”

“Gorgeous,” he breathed, lovingly running his hands down your sides. “You are absolutely stunning.” He brought you in for another kiss, this one more passionate than the last, and slid one broad hand up your back. Deftly, he undid the clasp of your bra, and you gasped in surprise and moved to cover yourself.

“Wait, wait,” you begged, and he felt you pull away from him. Instantly, his hands settled onto your clothed hips. He felt guilt rise up into his throat at your expression - you couldn’t even meet his gaze, eyes flicking to the floor.

“Sorry, I’m sorry. I’m going to fast, aren’t I?” Horrible, horrible, he was absolutely 

disgusting -

Your hands settled on his, even as you turned your face away. “I just...why am I the only one getting undressed?” You looked up at him coyly through your lashes, and a relieved smile spread across his face. Okay. He could fix that.

“You’re nicer to look at than this old man,” he teased, and watched some tension evaporate from your shoulders. 

“It’s not fair.” Your hands moved from your breasts to his shirt collar, fingers twiddling the button there. “Please, professor?” you whispered, and god if that didn’t make his cock jump.

He breathed out slowly through his nose. “All right,” he conceded, and coaxed you off his lap so he could stand. Your eyes fell to his lap, no doubt looking at his straining erection. However, you suddenly moved to hide your face behind your hands.

“Oh no,” you whispered. “I’m so sorry, I-I didn’t mean…”

He glanced down, following your earlier line of sight, and found a nice little wet patch from where you had been sitting. “We’ve only been kissing,” he said, “and you’re already this wet?”

It came off a little meaner than he meant, but behind your hands he saw your flush extend up to your ears. 

Holy fuck.

Effortlessly, Siebren lifted you onto his desk, sending the contents clattering to the floor. You squeaked in surprise, momentarily latching onto him as your world spun - literally.  Even though you were sitting on his desk, he stood eye level with you. He leaned in for another kiss as he began undoing the buttons of his shirt. A moment later, he felt another pair of hands join his. 

“Let me,” you mumbled, looking shy but eager. “Please?”

He let his hands hang down by his sides as you worked his shirt open. He helped you pull it from his shoulders, and when his chest was fully exposed you flushed a pretty pink again.

“Wow,” you breathed, hands skimming over his toned abdomen, up to his deltoids, coming to rest against his biceps. “You’re...really hot.”

It was his turn to blush, but he took the praise in stride. “What, didn’t think your dusty old professor could be smart and strong?”

You bit your lip, shaking your head slightly. “I mean, I always kinda figured you were, ‘cause you have really toned forearms and sometimes when you roll up your sleeves I...never mind.” You ducked your chin into your chest in embarrassment, and Siebren pressed his forehead to yours. 

“No, no. Care to share with the class what you were saying?” He was trying to be playful, but instead you flushed hotter, a soft whine leaving your throat.

“You’re just super nice to look at all the time and I really…” Your voice dipped so low that it he had to strain to hear the last bit. “...really think you’re attractive as hell.”

Siebren couldn’t name the emotion that rose to the surface, so he instead leaned in and captured your lips in a kiss. At least this attraction wasn’t one-sided, and part of him hoped that you had been longing after him just as long as he had. “I’m glad,” he whispered against your lips. He wasn’t ready to confess that he’d imagined you naked more times than he could count, but just knowing that you thought of him like that helped curb some of his lingering feelings of guilt.

His hands settled at the hem of your skirt. “Up,” he commanded quietly, and you braced yourself on his desk, lifting your hips. He slid your skirt and underwear off in one smooth motion, leaving you bare and exposed for him - except for those damnable stockings.

Siebren stopped, stared down at the black fabric covering your legs. A bow sat neatly at the top of each one, tiny and white with black polka-dots. His fingers trembled at the band of your left stocking.

“Do you like them?” you asked, sounding hopeful. “I thought of you when I picked them out this morning.”

Oh god. Oh, Jesus. He was fucked. You wore them with him in mind? “Were you hoping for this?” he asked instead, thumbing the bow at the top. Your face flushed a shade darker, smiling sheepishly.

“I’ve been hoping for this for a while,” you admitted. Both Siebren’s cock and heart jolted at those words. 

God. He was so fucked. So, so fucked.

“You’re going to be the death of me,” he groaned. He couldn’t bring himself to take them off, not after knowing that. Instead, he slid down to his knees before you, your thighs framing his face.

“W-wait, professor, what are you doing?” 

He pressed a kiss to the inside of your thigh. “What I’m about to do is called cunnilingus; or, in layman’s terms, I’m going to eat you out.” He relished your whispered oh my god and drew you closer to him, hooking your thighs over his arms, his hands holding your hips. He pressed a quick kiss to the top of your mound and went to work, laving the flat of his tongue across your entrance. You jerked in surprise, thighs attempting to squeeze shut.

“Professor!” you gasped, squirming. He stilled you with those strong arms of his and sucked mercilessly at your clit, causing you to arch up. Your words remained stuck in his head. Professor. Your professor. He was vile, incorrigible, a perverted old man, and you tasted so sweet.

Siebren pulled away just long enough for him to slide a finger into your wet heat, amazed at how easily it went in, aided by your juices and his saliva. “Does it feel good?” he questioned. Sometime between then and now you had ended up on your back, draped across his desk. His tongue licked a wet stripe from his finger to your clit and you answered him with a low moan, a hand finding purchase in his short locks of hair.

Your hips rolled minutely against his mouth as he pumped his finger in and out of you, voice filling the air with a litany of pleas and incoherent mumbles. He slipped a second digit in you and felt you clench around him, voice climbing higher by the minute as he pushed you closer and closer to the edge. He stilled, instead placing a kiss to your inner thigh. “Be quiet, or we’ll have to stop,” he murmured. “The walls are rather thin.” Part of him almost wanted to be caught, consequences be damned. To have others know that he’s the one that has you so debauched, wound tight with need...the hicky was risky enough, he supposed, but he couldn’t help himself.

You wiggled your hips, drawing him from his thoughts. “I’ll be good,” you promised. “Please, professor?” 

He waited a beat just to make sure you hadn’t drawn any unwanted visitors, before he descended on you again. He fucked you with his fingers at a brutal pace, mouth latching over your sensitive nub, and he didn’t stop until you went stock-still, hips trembling as you came. Siebren pulled his fingers from you and cleaned up your juices, making the most obscene noises as he did so.

“Oh my god,” you mumbled. “Oh my god, oh my god. I can’t believe...holy fuck.” You supported yourself with your elbows, watching him rise and hover over you. He settled his hands on your hips, a smug little smile on his face.

“Feel good?”

“Yes,” you hissed. “Holy shit. That was...the best ever. Wow. Thank you.”

He leaned down to kiss you, slow and even, and his clothed erection pressed against you. After a second, you pulled away from him, hands finding purchase on his shoulders. “Um, but what about you?”

“Hm?”

You wrapped a leg around his hips, rutting against his bulge for emphasis. “You’re still hard.”

Siebren shook his head slightly. “Oh, no, no. I made you come, that’s enough for me.”

“But it’s not enough for me,” you said, almost pouting. “You’ve seen everything; it’s only fair that you let me see all of you, too.”

How could he compete with that logic? “You and fairness,” he said, but nonetheless stood straight and began to undo his belt buckle. You watched with rapt attention as he dropped his pants, letting them bunch around his ankles. His cock bobbed free from his briefs, long and thick and leaking, and your eyes widened.

“Oh my god,” you breathed out. Siebren wrapped a hand around his length and stroked it slowly, smearing precum. “I really - um, will that even...fit?”

He laughed quietly, grabbing your legs and lifting them over his shoulders so that your hips were raised slightly. “I’ll go slow,” he promised, “but we won’t do anything if you’re unsure.” He meant it to be comforting, but you shook your head wildly.

“No, no, please. I want this, I promise, please. I can take it.” Even so, you kept glancing at his cock, mouth pressed into a fine line. Your fingers tightened imperceptibly on the desk.

“Please don’t tell me I’m your first,” he said, putting two and two together.

You grew shy, suddenly unable to meet his gaze. “I-I mean, kinda? I’ve done some stuff, but I’ve never actually...y’know.”

His cock twitched and Siebren ran a hand over his face. “Oh, mijn God,” he breathed. You were a virgin. You were his star pupil, his favorite student,  and he was going to take your virginity. Him. Somewhere, he felt incredibly honored to know that you trusted him enough to let him be your first.

“Is...is that a problem?” You sounded so small and self-conscious that he felt something inside him break.

“No!” He was quick to reassure you, running a hand comfortingly down your side. “No, no, not at all, I just -” His voice softened. “Are you sure you want your first time to be with your physics professor? In his dingy office, no less?”

You curled your fingers around the hand at your hip, and Siebren was struck by the realization that your hands were so small, so tiny in comparison to his. “I’ve wanted you for so long, Professor, that I think if you don’t fuck me now I might actually die of desperation.”

That, at least, earned a laugh from him. Siebren placed a kiss to your calf and rubbed the head of his member against your slit, rubbing moisture onto his cock. “Ready?” he asked. 

“Please.”

Slowly, slowly, he pushed into you. He groaned almost instantly at the sensation, hands gripping the soft flesh of your hips. It had been too long. “You’re so tight,” he breathed out, resisting the urge to bottom out immediately. “Am I hurting you?”

You wrapped your fingers around one of his thumbs, heels digging into his shoulders. “No,” you said, though your voice drifted into a soft whine at the end. “It’s...it feels like you’re gonna split me in half,” you confessed. He slid another inch into you and you shamelessly moaned into the sensation, eyes fluttering closed. “I love it.”

After what felt like hours, Siebren sliding into you inch by torturous inch, he finally fit all of him inside your tight, wet heat. He had to stop and catch his breath, convince his body that he really didn’t need to come right away.

“How do you feel?” he asked. His hands went and rubbed along your stomach; if he pressed, he was sure he’d be able to feel the head of his cock bulging against your skin.

“Full,” you responded immediately. “But...it doesn’t feel bad. Feels good.” You twitched unconsciously around him, body adapting to the intrusion, and he cursed softly under his breath. “You can um...move, I think. Please.”

Siebren rested his hands on your hips again as he began to pull out. Going in the second time was a lot easier than the first as your juices slicked his cock, and soon with each thrust he was bringing his hips flush with yours. 

“Okay?” he asked you, sliding a hand up to your chest. “Tell - tell me if it hurts, okay?”

You covered his roaming hand with your own, holding tight to his fingers. “Good, it’s good, please don’t stop - oh, Professor, please…” You were whining now, head lolled back against the desk as Siebren set a relentless pace. He was reaching spots inside you that you didn’t even know you had, and one particularly rough thrust had you on the edge of a scream, arms flying akimbo over your head, knocking over a collection of pens.

“Shh, shh,” Siebren urged, clapping a hand over your mouth. His hips never stilled, desk rocking slightly underneath you. “People can hear you, they can - oh fuck -” Siebren stifled a moan into the soft fabric of your stockings, hot breath warming the skin underneath. “You’re so tight, so tight, goed god -” He pulled his hand from your mouth to instead paw at your chest, pinching one pert nipple between his fingertips.

“Pro-professor,” you begged, reaching for him. Siebren dropped your legs from his shoulders and pulled you into his chest, shifting you until you were sitting on the edge of the desk. You peppered sloppy kisses along his cheekbone, searching for his mouth, and he gladly gave it to you. The kiss was hot and messy, an aching mess of teeth and tongues that brought warmth to your chest and heat to your groin

“Professor, please, please, I’m g-gonna -” You cut yourself off with a needy keen, clutching at his shoulders, desperately rutting into him.

“Going to come?” he offered. He snaked a hand down between your bodies and began rubbing your clit. “Come for me then, baby. Come for your professor.”

He felt you clench around him, and quickly he closed his mouth around yours, swallowing all of your little sounds as you came. He pulled out and quickly jerked into his fist, muffling a groan as his cum splattered your stomach and upper thighs. For a moment, you both merely rested together, panting in the afterglow.

“Here,” Siebren finally murmured, unwrapping your limbs from around him. “Lay back, and I’ll get you cleaned up.” He grabbed a half-empty bottle of water and a few napkins, and wet them down slightly. Your eyes followed his every move. 

“How do you feel?” he asked as he began wiping away the...evidence of your activities.

“Sleepy...and satisfied…” You jolted a little as the cool napkin touched your skin, soothed a second later by Siebren’s large hand. “But mostly tired.”

“No pain?”

“A little,” you admitted. “But that’s normal, right?”

He stopped, peering at you. “Is it sharp, stinging pain?”

You shook your head. “No, it kinda feels more like...like a sore muscle. I think it’s just ‘cause you’re too big.”

Siebren smirked, running his thumbs along your hipbones. “You’re just not used to me yet.” Without waiting for your reaction, he pulled away and tugged his pants on, leaving his shirt crumpled on the floor. Instead, he grabbed your discarded clothing. “Here, I’ll help you get dressed.”

Somehow, having him pull your panties on, sliding one stockinged foot into them at a time, felt more intimate than him bottoming out inside you. He insisted on helping you with every piece, which made you flush in gratitude, and only once you were fully dressed did he grab his own shirt.

Searching for something to do, you cleaned up the mess you had made of the pens on his desk, a thought suddenly occurring to you.

“Hey, you, um, you know your favorite pen? The one you always kept in your breastpocket?”

Of course he knew what pen you were talking about. It was one he used to grade all his papers and sign important documents. The ink flowed well and it didn’t smudge or bleed through. It was an excellent pen, but he had lost it about a month ago and hadn’t been able to find it since.

“Yes, what about it?”

“Well, uh…” You turned your gaze away, fingers playing with the hem of your skirt. “I um. Stole it and used it as...to...y’know. So please don’t think that this is one-sided at all! Or that you’re taking advantage of me, or that I don’t want this...because I do. I really, really do.”

A soft smile crossed his features, and Siebren leaned in close to kiss you sweetly. “Thanks, sterretje. You put this old man’s mind at ease.” He paused, thoughts backpedalling. “Wait, you used my pen for what?”

You flushed a brilliant red and laughed nervously.

Well, at least he knows where it went.

#.txt #sigma #siebren de kuiper #sigma x reader #overwatch #writing #gravity grandpa touches all of my kinks #he checks all my boxes #let me be self indulgent #also dont read this im gross lmfao #sigma's ethical dilemma of sleeping with a student can be summed up as follows: i have tenure its fine #btw the flashback of u working in his office? yeah u fell asleep and he walked u back to ur dorm #my biggest kink is dirty old men so uh #also i feel like his voice and characterization changes every time i write him #Why Can't I Be Consistent #also yes he's comin home and jerking it to u almost every night #ur welcome sinners #(its me. im sinners) #me to me: can u stop using - i dunno - hyphens???

[carewyncromwell]

Since you know what happens in Y6C42. I'm really curious to know; when it comes to deciding Rakepick's fate, what would Carewyn do in that moment? And would your Jacob approve of her decision? (Based on what I've read from other posts and discussed with my peers, I've come to the conclusion that turning her in seems to be the moral option while trapping her in vault, condemning her to a fate not only similar to Jacob's, but worse than damnation itself would be the immoral option. Do you agree?)

*flexes hands* Oh boy, a moral quandary...

All right. For Carewyn, if given a choice between leaving Rakepick in the Sunken Vault or turning her in to the Aurors...she would turn Rakepick into the Aurors, no question. But it’s not just a moral thing -- as paragon and justice-focused as Carewyn is (hell, she becomes a lawyer), there’s also an element of pride and spite in her decision.

Carewyn in her storyline is a heroic foil to Rakepick. She’s consistently reminded of how similar she and Rakepick are, not just by Rakepick but even by her own friends. Both Rakepick and Carewyn are ambitious, determined, resourceful, organized, courageous, proud people who have a talent for gathering others around them, inspiring them, earning their admiration, and leading them while often sharing next to nothing personal about themselves or showing any of their “weaker” emotions. They even look a lot alike. And Carewyn has to come to grips with that, after what happened in the Portrait Vault. She shuts out her friends just like Jacob shut her out, and lied to them and betrayed their trust just like Rakepick did -- and yet, as Carewyn comes to realize, just because she and Rakepick are alike, that doesn’t mean they’re the same. One of the biggest things Rakepick lacks that Carewyn has in spades is empathy -- and through that, Carewyn realizes more deeply how much harm her behavior causes and becomes determined to fight against it. So as similar as she and Rakepick are, Carewyn has the choice to not be like her.

Circle this back to the dilemma in the Sunken Vault we get in Chapter 42 -- trap Rakepick in the Vault forever the way she tried to do for Jacob, or give her to the authorities...and you can see why Carewyn can’t do the first. If Carewyn chose the first option, she’d be no better than Rakepick was in her own mind. She refuses to treat other people’s lives as “disposable” the way Rakepick did for Rowan and Jacob’s -- so she doesn’t want Rakepick to die or to be tortured. Instead, as Carewyn explains in that one AU I’m working on --

“I want [Rakepick] to live a very long, lonely life – locked up where she can never hurt anyone again, with only her own failure as company. Just as I want Rowan to always be remembered…I want her to be completely forgotten…for no one to speak her name, with hatred or admiration. At least in Azkaban, her life can be a reminder. A reminder…that there is no glory for people like Patricia Rakepick.”

Due to her extreme level of empathy and her ability therefore to understand people more deeply than Rakepick ever could, Carewyn knows a Gryffindor like Rakepick longs for glory and recognition. She knows that a Gryffindor wouldn’t truly dread being hated, as one can twist that into a thrilling “them VS. the world” narrative...so much as being forgotten -- being insignificant not just in the world but also in retrospect by the individuals she’s collided with. Carewyn knows that Rakepick not having the satisfaction of knowing what’s in the Vault and being locked up in Azkaban, tormented by the thought that she not only failed, but also that her efforts were ultimately meaningless and she’s left no real impact on anyone or anything, is a very cruel fate -- and yet one Carewyn finds more appropriate, as it allows her to feel no guilt or shame toward how she’s treated Rakepick and discard her memory forever, and it also theoretically could give Rakepick the chance to take a long, hard look at herself and possibly come to grips with how inherently wrong she was. And if she doesn’t, well, that’s her choice to not adapt and grow in the face of self-reflection. That feels like justice to Carewyn, far more than just locking Rakepick away seemingly with no chance of escape.

Personally I think it likely that we’ll find out that neither choice was particularly good and will have some kind of negative fall-out. Rakepick being trapped in the Sunken Vault and going insane could 1, give her a helluva lot more reason to want to kill MC and their friends later and 2, probably would result in her having a few extra screws loose when we meet her next, which could only make her more dangerous (I’m imagining a Bellatrix-style!Rakepick and I’m kind of terrified). But on the other hand, if the Ministry’s authorities are in league with R, we could be handing Rakepick back to her superiors unscathed. But at the same time, to a limited degree, if one chooses to spare Rakepick, Rakepick sort of owes them, not a life debt exactly, but a debt all the same. We treated her better than she treated our brother. We spared her a fate worse than death. We showed her mercy. All things that I’m sure Rakepick and the rest of R would’ve never done, in our place. And as a writer, I can’t help but feel a choice like that would have to have real positive consequences in the future. I admittedly don’t love everything about how chapter 42 was written (if nothing else, I feel we came to the conclusion the treasure’s too dangerous to try to let out way too soon without much evidence to do so -- us failing to get out of our memories doesn’t prove that at all and we learned absolutely nothing about what the Vault’s power even is!!), and I certainly don’t think if you chose to trap Rakepick, you’re wrong or a bad person or anything...but just from the perspective of MC being the protagonist, I do think the second choice is the more standard “heroic” choice. Mercy is almost inherently seen as nobler by society than vengeance -- but there are anti-heroes in fiction for a reason. There are many ways to be a good person.

Jacob Cromwell would always support Carewyn in whatever choice she made (he’s a true ride-or-die, and he wouldn’t actually be above killing Rakepick himself), but he’s very proud seeing how much his sister’s grown up and how wise she’s become both about herself and others. :)

#ask me #carewyn cromwell #patricia rakepick #hphm #hogwarts mystery #hphm spoilers #spoilers #opinion #jacob cromwell #rowan khanna #lol recycled art