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nastyaromatherapy · 6 months

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Brat (18+)

Ethan was sick of your bratting and decided to punish you.

For (this) request!

pairing - dom!ethan landry x brat!reader

one shot length, 1.3k+ word fic

warnings: dom and sub dynamics, name calling, anal, anal to vaginal (this fic won't be for everyone and don't actually try this i beg of you 😭)

You had been ticking Ethan off all day. It first started in the morning, when you refused to eat the breakfast he bought you and eat ice cream instead. You sat atop the counter and slurped the treat straight out of the tub with an ignorant smirk as Ethan put a thumb on his cheek, and walked away, annoyed.

The next time was when he was on the phone with Chad and you blasted the tv after he told you to turn it down. “What’s up with you?” He mouthed at you while simultaneously listening to Chad, his voice confused and pissed. “Nothing,” you said sweetly. Instead of retaliating, he decided to just go to another room.

But this time, he didn’t let you off that easy. He was studying for Econ and you wouldn’t stop annoying him. Calling out his name to ask him stupid questions,

“What time is it?”

“When are you gonna be done?”

“Am I being annoying?” “Yes.”

Kissing him on his cheeks, neck, and bare back, and scrolling through TikTok after he repeatedly asked you to stop. “Ethan,” you called out to him for the millionth time. He turned around in his chair. “What?” He asked, pissed off at this point. “I miss you are you almost done?” You said, voice innocent like candy, but that never worked on him. He stood up, towering over you as you sat at the edge of the bed.

“You miss me?” He queried, tilting his head. “Mhm,” you nodded. He took his hand to your chin, tilting your head up for better eye contact. “You’ve been with me all day, pissing me the fuck off all day,” he snapped, making your smile droop. “Ethan-“ “Don’t fucking ‘Ethan’ me. You’ve been fucking annoying the whole damn day. So what’d you want? Huh? My attention finally?” Tears welled in your eyes from his yelling. “I don’t know,” you said finally.

“You don’t know?” He repeated. “You said you ‘missed me’ all day, and you don’t even know what you fucking want? Well how about this," he started. "I give you what I want, that way you don’t have to think about it.” You whimpered as Ethan spread your legs, causing your shorts to hike up, exposing a bit of your inner crotch. “Take this off,” he demanded, tugging at the waistband. “Matter of fact take everything off.” He stood above you and watched as you slipped off every article of clothing you wore. Now you just sat on the bed completely naked and vulnerable. He dropped his sweats to his ankles, leaving him in just his boxers, and you eyed his twitching cock awaiting release from the cage. He grabbed your head and slammed it on his crotch, your face making contact with his boxer covered erection. You licked him through his boxers, looking up at him with glossy doe eyes as you kissed his aching length.

He groaned as he felt your saliva seep through the fabric onto him. “You want it?” He asked, to which you eagerly nodded. “Say it.” He demanded. “I want it,” you whined, hands reaching up to palm him. He pulled down his boxers, causing his cock to spring free. He took it in his hand and guided it towards your mouth. “Open,” he said, tapping his tip against your plush lips. You opened your mouth, but it wasn't large enough to accommodate him. “Wider,” he growled, making you open up all the way, although it ached. He pushed his length into your mouth, and he could see the way your eyebrows and eyes contorted as you tried to not gag. He slowly pushed in and out of you as if your mouth was a fleshlight. “Fuck, I like this more than listening to you speak,” he groaned, pushing a little deeper, forcing you to swallow his girth. You looked up at him with twisted eyebrows and cheeks stained with tears, he could practically cum at the sight.

“Get on all fours bitch,” he demanded. You pushed your knees back and stabled yourself on your hands, so now he got a view of your ass as he fucked your mouth. “How about I fuck you in the ass today, yeah?” He could see the worry in your eyes as you tried to shake your head no. The last time he tried anal with you it was more painful then pleasurable. “Yes? Okay good,” he teased. You whimpered with fear against his length before he finally pulled out of your mouth, giving you a chance to catch your breath. He walked over to the bedside table to get lube and a dildo. “Turn around,” he stated when he walked back to you. You were now still on all fours, but your ass was facing him. He slapped your ass making you yelp. “Face down,” he demanded before pushing your face down onto the mattress. He got the dildo and guided it to your opening, eyeing how much it glistened and the sticky noises it made. “You’re so goddamn wet, fucking slut,” he said before pushing the dildo in balls deep. You moaned as you were filled and stretched. Next he got the lube and squirted it onto his fingers before sticking his fingers into your ass. You whined at this more dreaded stretch. When you were perfectly lubed, he lined his cock up with your tight hole. He pushed in making you scream, “Ethan!” He thrusted in and out of your hole making you squirm uncomfortably. “So tight,” he whispered to himself. “It hurts,” you whined annoyingly making him thrust himself all the way in and slap your ass.

You hollered when he was balls deep, tears staining the sheets below you. You were filled all the way by both the dildo and his cock. “Well maybe next time, don’t act like a fucking bitch all day, yeah?” He continued the pattern, pulling out then slamming his entire length in, abusing your hole, making you sob. With each thrust he groaned louder, throwing his head back in ecstasy. “Gonna cum in your ass, it’s gonna leak out for weeks,” he moaned. He growled and grabbed your ass for stability, spreading your cheeks open to witness your hole being ripped apart. He watches your cunt fluttering around the dildo, growing hungry at how warm and wet it looks. “Or maybe I cum in your pussy instead? Pull out and switch to another hole.” Your eyes widened and although you didn't want to do it, you tightened around the dildo at the idea of being fucked there. He pulled out and flipped you onto your back, once again spreading your legs. He pulled out the dildo, all creamy and wet, before sliding himself in. You both shared a synchronized moan at the feeling of his erection in your dripping pussy.

"Ethan," you moaned out breathily as he thrusted in and out with ease. "Yeah, you like that, slut? Like when I fuck you ass to pussy?" You eagerly nodded.

He quickly started to grow close, his movements became less coordinated and sloppy, and his breathing was more jagged. You grew close too, tightening more around his base. You bit your lip as you felt the knot in your stomach. "Can I cum Ethan, please?" You pleaded, to which he shook his head. "After being a brat the whole day? I don't think so." "Please, please, please-" "Shut the fuck up, you're not cumming." To prevent you from accidentally releasing, he pulled out and came all over your stomach, groaning as he jerked himself. He shot ropes all over you, eyes becoming less dilated with his disheveled frizzy hair covering them.

He panted and laid beside you, cock now softening. "Ethan, I'm sorry." You apologized. "That was your apology," he said, pointing at your throbbing cunt. "I promise, I won't brat out again." You stated, looking into his brown eyes. He kissed your forehead, "Good girl."

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fridaypls · 19 days

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Scars & Secrets; diving into this Astarion & Raphael interaction

A deep dive into bravery and resilience in the face of humiliation and manipulation.

Hopping right in with the first interaction of this scene; Astarion stopping Raphael from leaving to open a negotiation of his own.

Astarion: “Wait! Before you go, I have a proposal of my own.”

And the snide response from Raphael: ”A proposal? If you’re hoping to taste my blood, little sampling, think again. It burns hotter than Wyvern Whisky.”

First, Astarion's side:

I love the split-second emotions Larian feeds us in this game; this scene is no exception. Look at his face on those first couple frames as he says "Wait!"

It takes courage. For two hundred years under Cazador's compulsion, he had little choice other than to obey... to be passive. He's not being passive now; he's taking his courage in both hands and being proactive.

As we see Astarion start to wrestle with the meaning behind his scars in game, he's started his arc towards finding autonomy and his own identity. He's taking steps towards reclaiming his story - but he can't see the scars or read them. He needs help.

And he knows better than to ask Raphael outright for help. That is a dangerous proposition; he knows Raphael is every bit as dangerous as he is cunning—but he can be useful, if the game is played right. Our rogue is clever; he's meeting the cambion on his own playing field; bargaining.

"I have a proposal of my own.”

Look at the disdain and disgust on his face in the second two frames above as he speaks the words. He doesn't want to make a deal with the devil—but he recognizes that he has little choice.

Now look at how Raphael was leaning forward to listening while Astarion spoke, with the same seriousness an arrogant adult listens to a child. There are a few incredible layers in his response.

”A proposal? If you’re hoping to taste my blood, little sampling, think again. It burns hotter than Wyvern Whisky.”

Raphael’s response immediately asserts dominance. By deliberately and mockingly dismissing Astarion’s proposal as a potential ploy to taste his blood, Raphael positions himself as the one in control. He sets the power dynamic for the rest of the conversation with the ease of much, much practice.

With "little vampling" and "hotter than Wyvern Whisky" he simultaneously takes Astarion down two pegs ('you can't handle it, child') and himself up one, remind Astarion and the listening Tav of his own nature. He mocks and belittles Astarion while lightly lauding himself, all in a sentence.

And Astarion, understandably, does not enjoy that.

"This is serious business, devil!"

There is desperation and vulnerability for him in this entire conversation and they both know it. Despite that, he fires back with assertiveness, refusing to be dismissed or spoke down to.

"Little vampling" is met with "devil!" - a seemingly simple response that is a truly a beautiful parry. If Raphael's "hotter than Wyvern Whisky" jab about his blood being too hot for Astarion to handle was a reminder of his latent power, this is Astarion acknowledging that power head on - and refusing to back down.

He doesn't give Raphael a chance to bandy back, but launches into opening steps of the dance; what he needs out of this negotiation.

”My old- well, a long time ago, someone carved some runes into my back. I’d rather like to know what they say.”

His quest to translate the runes is a symbolic step of his broader journey to reclaim his life from Cazador; he stays true to that now by refusing to mention his abuser.

Raphael, of course, is eager in his own not-entirely-subtle to assure him that he already knows all about Cazador.

”It’s something of great importance to your master. But is it a love letter, a warning, or a deep of ownership? I can give you all the gory details.”

Raphael lives to tease and torment; he has absolutely no interest in negotiating cleanly here; knowledge is power and he has it all.

By dangling that lure, Raphael positions himself as the gatekeeper of truths Astarion desperately seeks, deliberately reinforcing the power imbalance between them.

”And I will - once the beast that lurks below is vanquished, and sent back to the Hells.”

The price for the knowledge Astarion seeks; the death of the Orthon.

Also, how many of you guys caught this;

One of many fourth-wall breaks in which Raphael glances at us. I like the ?theory? that original Raphael was supposed to have the hots for the player themselves, rather than their Tav. We're left with a handful of beautiful, deliberate glances like this one.

Hurt and powerless hate on Astarion's face. He's got no recourse other than to agree and it can't be a great feeling. Then, it gets worse...

Tav: "What are you talking about, Astarion? What scars?"

And Raphael is instantly delighted.

"You haven’t told them? And you’ve kept your clothes on this whole time? How unlike you… Why not let them see? Don’t be shy.”

Raphael's interactions with Astarion are not mere casual cruelty; they are calculated moves designed to exploit Astarion's vulnerabilities.

"You haven’t told them?" He's already demonstrated he knows about Cazador. With the new knowledge that Tav doesn't know about Astarion's past, he makes a two-fold attack.

"You’ve kept your clothes on this whole time? How unlike you..." He mocks Astarion's loss of autonomy and weaponizes his vulnerability with a comment designed to come across as slut shaming to Tav...

...but a reminder of his past humiliations to Astarion, one that deliberately insinuates that his struggle to maintain his privacy and dignity are futile, or out of character. It's a cruel and careful jab.

For Astarion, every moment he is allowed to decide for himself, to keep his clothes on or take them off, is a step away from his past and a step towards autonomy and recovery. Raphael deliberately belittles that, as he has belittled him this entire conversation.

"Why not let them see? Don’t be shy."

Raphael's flippant comment entirely dismisses the deep trauma carved into Astarion along with his scars—trauma that is both physical and emotional. The scars are physical markings that represent a bloody, dark history of abuse, subjugation, and exploitation... and Raphael knows that.

"Let them see?" implies a choice, but Astarion is given none. It's a specifically calculated reminder of his past, where his body was not his own. By exposing Astarion’s scars to his companions, Raphael not only forces him into a moment of vulnerability, but also subjects him to deliberate public humiliation. "Don’t be shy" is a taunt, a laughing mockery of the situation Raphael has orchestrated.

The movement itself is gentle, almost. Not a snap of fingers or casting of a spell... just an airy wafting of a hand. Astarion realizes what's happening quickly and recoils - he takes a step back and half turns as though he's considering running, then stops himself.

The abject sadness as he turns back, just the miserable 'why?' in his eyes as he turns back to confront his tormentor. He steps exactly back into where he was standing before - doesn't cover himself or cower, but stands tall and faces the humiliation Raphael is forcing on him with his head high and shoulders squared.

Watch his face change. He already knew Raphael was a devil and an untrustworthy bastard, but one he'd have to deal with to unlock the meaning behind his scars.

Now, he knows exactly what manner of person he's dealing with.

”Gods damn it.”

The slow glance over his shoulder at you/the camera is a stab in the heart. Tav's standing to the side of him, so this additional piece of artistry is just cinematic loveliness, a truly spectacular reveal.

But also symbolic. He turns from glaring at his tormentor to check Tav's reaction. The slow glance reads to me as a moment of profound vulnerability. After being forcibly exposed, both physically and emotionally, he's seeking connection—an understanding, or perhaps even solace in Tav's reaction.

Raphael doesn't give him even a moment.

”Don’t pout, spawn. Just destroy the beast and I’ll happily reveal your secrets instead of your skin.”

Every word is laced with manipulative intent; he belittles and exerts control, dangling the price in front of his face again. The directive "Don't pout" puts down Astarion's legitimate grievances of the moment, reducing his concerns and traumas to nothing more than childish sulking.

With "instead of your skin", Raphael (who has appeared several times at this point) reminds him that this sort of humiliation is on the table at any time. It serves as a pointed reminder of the control he holds over Astarion, as well as the potential for further humiliation in the future, a calculated move designed in a state of unease and subjugation.

Astarion, for his part, his exasperated and done.

”Yes, fine, we’ll kill this damn creature of yours.”

It’s a concession, but one that's loaded with frustration and a pragmatic recognition of the immediate need to comply with Raphael's demands to achieve his own ends.

Despite being spoken down to, belittled, intentionally reminded of his traumas, stripped naked, humilated and taunted, he faces his tormentor with head high still and shoulders squared.

He's used to a master that reveled in his humiliation and hurt; he's giving Raphael nothing.

Not content with this, Raphael moves to bring the interaction to a close, with a few last jabs.

”Then we have an understanding. I look forward to our next meeting. Scars often tell such wonderful stories - I think yours might be truly exquisite.”

Raphael sees Astarion’s scars not merely as physical remnants of past trauma but as narratives ripe for exploitation. By calling them “truly exquisite”, he intentionally objectifies Astarion's suffering, posing it as something to be utilized rather than empathized with.

His macabre fascination is not just creepy in its voyeuristic appreciation of another's trauma, but... deeply unsettling, intentionally so.

And then he's gone, until the next confrontation. But Astarion's confrontation with his own past isn't over.

Astarion turns to Tav with "Well. Now you know.”

Except... he doesn't actually turn to Tav. Can't seem to bring himself to turn all the way—he faced Raphael head on, but facing Tav? Whom he trusts and cares about? Look at how hard it is for him to drag his eyes to your/Tav's face—the way he checks your reaction before turning his face all the way towards you.

Even then, he starts turn away once more, to angle his nakedness away, but his eyes stay locked on your face. There's openness there; vulnerability heavily laden with resignation. His his carefully guarded secrets are now as exposed as he is.

Tav: "Gods… the carving must have been excruciating.”

The response is immediate and bluntly empathetic; it recognizes the severity of Astarion’s pain without needing a detailed explanation. Raphael belittled his trauma and reveled in his scars—Tav sees his suffering for what it is. It's a beautiful move to intentionally normalize emotional vulnerability between them.

"Cazador worked on it from dusk until dawn, all with an ancient blade he called his ‘needle’. Cutting and tearing, starting over it I screamed or winced too much."

Midway through, the genuine hurt we see in his face is replaced with a forced smile. A tiny, non-verbal declaration of resilience... but perhaps also a long-ingrained habit of trying to inject normalcy into any moment too weighty. In two hundred years under Cazador's thumb, he didn't pull a thousand marks by letting conversations get heavy.

But the smile can't hold. It simply hurts too much. It slips away and vulnerable hurt takes its place once more instead.

"An ancient blade he called his 'needle'" is such specific language... from the Astarion Origin play-through, we know he relives the carving in his memories, to the point of feeling the pain as though it's being carved again.

"Cutting and tearing, starting over it I screamed or winced too much" is something he remembers in excruciating, perfect detail.

”It was a rough night... But what’s done is done, so how about we stop discussing it and just kill this beast?”

The moment for emotional vulnerability is coming to a close for him; He's still standing there naked, the scars he has so carefully hidden on display and so much of his vigilantly guarded trauma poured out at your feet. He takes the moment to reclaim his agency, if only a little bit, by signaling that the conversation is over. It's time to go get the job done, instead.

The transition beautifully underscores a key aspect of his character and, I suspect, yours: the capacity to compartmentalize suffering in order to deal with the immediate demands of reality.

He's acknowledging the past, but not allowing it to wholly consume or immobilize him. And we're proud of him for that.

#and I'm proud of you ♡#scars tell the tales we dare not speak #beneath the bravado a vulnerable heart beats #the unseen scars carry the deepest stories #he silent strength of enduring spirits #the quiet courage of bearing one's past #scars as silent witnesses #bg3 astarion #astarion ancunin #astarion #baldurs gate astarion #gif analysis #bg3 gif analysis #thanks larian #raphael the cambion #raphael bg3 #raphael

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freesia-writes · 6 months

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Okay I have a request 😌

"someone's hair ending up getting caught in the others glasses/jewelry" with Tech ❤️

Hah! This one is a twofer! Requested by you as well as @littlemissmanga. What good taste you both have! ;) Thanks so much for the request; I love writing our dear sweet Tech! Also, adorable reblog divider artwork down below by @vimse!

Tech x GN!Reader Word Count: 1.6k

Tech’s breath caught in his throat. He swallowed hard, furrowing his brow and analyzing the components of the current situation. You’d been working together for quite a while now, and it had been increasingly difficult for him to compartmentalize or deny the feelings you created simply with your proximity, your thoughts, and your humor. Now, crammed in the maintenance corridor with barely a few inches between you, he was nearly overcome with the rush of sensations that were occurring.

Your face was scrunched in your look of intense focus that he’d noted as remarkably endearing. The wires and conduits normally held his full attention, but as he stood in the narrow space with his shoulder brushing against yours, he was struggling to focus on the task at hand. There was a light fragrance that he could just barely catch a whiff of, and it was as alluring as it was pleasant. The sound of your muttering gave him a warm and fuzzy feeling in his chest, and as a small shower of sparks cascaded from your soldering hands, he felt the same in his stomach.

Pausing in your work, you lifted the face mask above your head, regarding him with fond curiosity. His owlish eyes seemed even larger than normal, and he had been uncharacteristically quiet this time around. You were slightly concerned, and also somewhat humored as you realized you honestly missed his steady stream of information shared while working, whether it pertained to the current assignment or not.

“Everything alright?” you asked, shifting slightly to ease the soreness where one durasteel panel had been digging into your shoulder as you’d hunched over the circuitry. His eyes flitted to yours before returning to the wires, although they didn’t seem to be focused.

“Ah… yes,” Tech said after a pause, clearing his throat and pointing vaguely at the work area. “The adjustments so far appear to have been in order, and the final few steps shall complete it satisfactorily.”

You smiled, tilting your head but accidentally banging the bulky face cover into the panel. You pulled it off your head for a moment, sliding your arm down the narrow space and dropping it near your feet. “I meant with you,” you clarified, reaching out to touch his arm. He wasn’t watching, and he visibly jumped at the touch, causing you to pull your hand back apologetically. You hadn’t complained when he insisted on joining you for the repairs, and the fact that he’d foregone his full armor kit in favor of his blacks had been quite the perk. It made it easier for you to steal glances at his toned physique from behind the dark lens of your protective gear, and the “accidental” brushes against one another felt ten times more enthralling without the bulky plastoid between you.

“I am also in satisfactory working order,” he replied pertly, and you chuckled at the quick reply.

“You’re unusually quiet,” you pointed out. “It feels weird without your informational accompaniment.”

“Apologies,” Tech answered, still refusing to meet your gaze. “A numerous variety of concerns are vying for my attention and while I am able to entertain many simultaneously, there appear to be significantly more than usual.”

“What’s on your mind?” you asked, squeezing yourself a little closer. You loved the chance to hear him open up a little. He spoke often of anything and everything in the galaxy, but spoke little of his internal world. When he did let you in, it was enthralling and enchanting, always leaving you wanting more. But you didn’t want to press, so you waited and watched for the occasions where he was willing to respond to your invitation to vulnerability.

“I have no wish to burden you as well.”

“Tech,” you said softly, touching his arm again but leaving your hand on it this time. His golden eyes finally lifted to yours, sending a thrill down your spine. His mouth was in a thin line as you continued, “It’s not a burden… I really enjoy hearing your thoughts.” You were always soft with him, but something about this sudden fragility made you want to cup his face in your hands and whisper affirmation and affection. You’d long since stuffed down your little crush on him, realizing it wasn’t something he would ever reciprocate and therefore would only lead to disappointment. But you still took whatever you could get, relishing any sense of closeness with the intelligent engineer.

“While I am appreciative of your desire to be supportive and attentive,” he began, awkwardly fidgeting with his hands at his sides, “I would prefer to have them a bit more organized before sharing.”

Now you were really curious. And equally obligated to respect his privacy and wishes. But somehow it made your heart yearn even more. Whatever this was, this moment of being suddenly off-balance, it felt like the space between you was electrically charged… And the magnetic pull you felt toward him was amplified beyond anything you’d felt before.

“I understand,” you said, idly brushing your thumb back and forth across his forearm as you looked at his gloved hands. You edged a little closer, drawn in by the way he studied you with a new curiosity, as though there were a new facet he’d just discovered that he was eager to explore. He was simultaneously alluring and cautious, and you were thoroughly hooked. “Does this bother you?” you asked, nodding toward your hand on his arm.

“No.”

A small smile ghosted across your face and you hummed contentedly in response. An invisible force was pushing you, encouraging you on, and you looked back up to his face, turning slightly in the narrow corridor to face him fully. Clearly and slowly, so he could stop you at any moment, you lifted your other hand to his cheek, trying to steady your shaking fingers as you brushed the backs of them across it before opening them to stroke it with your thumb. He was frozen in place, eyes now moving rapidly from yours to the ground to the wires to anything and everything else he could spot.

“Does this?” you whispered, irresistibly leaning in a little closer.

“No,” he breathed, closing his eyes in an attempt to focus his swirling mind. It was a shockingly new sensation that felt like it deserved significant time and attention to process appropriately, and yet he found himself simply wanting to commit it all to memory, to be fully present and soak it all up. The vulnerability on his dashing features made your heart swell in your chest, and you continued on, propelled by the momentum and the thrill of it all.

You left your hand on his cheek, breathing through your mouth as you tilted your head and lightly rested your forehead on his. His sharp inhale was the only response, and he left his eyes closed. It hit you like a ton of bricks suddenly – he trusted you. For someone who always had as complete an understanding of any situation as could be attained, he was wildly out of his element here. Yet he wasn’t frantically searching for the right answer or trying to escape, and you were thoroughly enamored.

He kissed you.

Tingles washed over you from head to toe and it took you a second to realize what was happening. With a quick tip of his chin, his lips had met yours, pressing gently and precariously. You snaked an arm around his waist, lightly resting it on his hips, and snuggled a little closer, never wanting it to end. You were both uncomfortably cramped, shifting around each other in attempts to get arms and legs more comfortably nestled together, but it was fruitless.

When he finally did pull away, taking an immediate deep breath, your absolute bliss was interrupted by a sharp tug on your head. You gasped as he made his own sound of surprised distaste, and you peered through your hair to see his goggles crooked on his face. He was trying to get his arms up to his own face, impeded by both your body and the wiring panels, and you unsuccessfully tried to suppress a chuckle as you realized what was going on. The small instrument on the side of his goggles had somehow snagged a decently-sized chunk of your hair, and the slightest of motions the two of you had made together had thoroughly tangled them together.

“Oh my gosh,” you laughed, flushed with excitement and embarrassment and everything else all at once. “Sorry… Here, let me get my…” you drifted off, trying to get your own hands to your head for an assist. Somehow that made things worse, and you accidentally smacked his wrist against his goggles, pushing them further to the side and jabbing them into his nose.

“This is not ideal,” Tech muttered, attempting to unwind the hairs warped around the tiny space between the goggle strap and the recorder. His fruitless endeavor finally led him to pull the goggles off completely, giving you the freedom to stand up straight again. You rubbed the back of your neck, heart still fluttering in your chest as you smiled at his peevish squint.

“Not ideal, no,” you agreed, reaching a hand over his to free the goggles from your hair. “But certainly memorable.”

“I posit that it would have been memorable with or without the unnecessarily distracting interruption,” he said, taking his goggles from your outstretched hand and pulling them back into place. As he blinked at you with a mixture of embarrassment and uncertainty, you diffused the situation with a comical little eyebrow waggle.

“Why don’t we test that theory?”

#the bad batch #tbb #star wars fanfiction #bad batch #star wars the bad batch #tech fluff #tech x you #tech x reader #x reader #reader insert #tech romance #first kiss #clone fluff #bad batch fluff #tech

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theres-a-body-here · 6 months

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Scumtober- Day 27 (Breathe Play)

Alexander Nox x Male!reader

Alexander couldn't help but feel irritated by how needy you seemed today. Yet, despite his frustration, your constant teasing had managed to arouse him — something he hadn't expected to feel in the middle of a game.

Now, here you both stood in one of the buildings at World's Edge; him pinning you against a wall while trying to hide his obvious erection beneath his pants. You could tell he was irritated behind his gas mask as he held his gloved hand to your throat.

"Aww, come on, Gas Daddy. I was just messing with you," you cooed playfully, referring to that little incident involving a cheeky slap on his rear earlier. Hearing those words sent chills down Alexander's spine – not because they were endearing, but rather due to sheer annoyance. His grip tightened around your neck as he let out a low growl.

A soft moan escaped your lips as you felt his hold on your neck increase. Watching your reaction brought forth a mix of discomfort and pleasure within Alexander – causing him to grit his teeth while simultaneously feeling his member twitch inside his pants.

Noticing his conflicted demeanor, you smirked before whispering softly, "You like treating me like this..." Pausing for effect, you added, "...Alexander?"

At the sound of his name spoken so intimately, he reacted instinctively by slamming you harder against the wall, eliciting yet another moan from deep within your throat.

Frustrated beyond belief, Alexander muttered a series of profanities underneath his breath while roughly tearing away the clothing that hung past his pelvis using his free hand. With the other still firmly grasping your neck, he quickly undid his buckle and pulled open his pants.

Alexander reveals his hardened member, its pale color standing out starkly against the dim light filtering through the windows.

Unable to resist taunting him further, you manage to choke out a sarcastically flirtatious comment, "Oh, what a pretty white cock!" This only fuels his frustration even more, resulting in another violent slam against the wall.

Alexander snaps back at you, "Keep it shut!" His voice sounds menacing even through the muffled filter of his gas mask. Complying with his order, you remain silent as he continues to apply pressure on your windpipe. Meanwhile, he presses his head against the wall beside yours, letting out quiet grunts of pleasure as he starts stroking his erection in earnest.

Determined to take control of the situation, you beg him, "Come on, let me help!" However, Alexander refuses to relinquish any power over the scenario – instead choosing to keep his grip firmly on your neck as he continues furiously stroking himself.

Through ragged breaths, Alexander informs you, "Consider this punishment for being such a pest throughout our entire game." His tone leaves no room for argument, making it clear that he won't tolerate any further interference from you.

Ignoring his warning, you continue to squirm and buck your hips into the air, desperate for some relief from the building sexual tension. But Alexander remains unfazed, focusing solely on achieving his release while maintaining his vice grip on your vulnerable throat.

In the silence of the abandoned building, the only audible sounds are your strained, moaning breaths and the wet, squelching noises emanating from Alexander's rapidly moving hand upon his swollen cock.

Unable to resist touching him, you gently caress the hand wrapped around your neck. This small gesture sends shivers down Alexander's spine, causing him to groan deeply and pick up the pace of his already frenzied strokes.

Summoning every last bit of strength left within you, you call out his name. "Alexander....". You sounded both strained and intimate.

Without hesitation, he lifts his head from the wall and presses his body flush against yours – ensuring every curve and contour align perfectly together. Then, he leans in closer, pressing his gas mask against your face.

Finally allowed some reprieve, you let out a whimper of relief and immediately start to buck your hips against the solid warmth of his body. Alexander obligingly adjusts his position, turning slightly to the side so he can continue stroking himself while gazing upon your beautiful, struggling expression.

Granting you a brief respite, Alexander releases his hold on your neck just enough for you to catch your breath. "Breathe," he orders, his voice low and commanding. Obeying without question, you suck in several deep breaths before feeling his hand constrict around your throat once more.

With renewed vigor, you resume thrusting yourself against Alexander's body while simultaneously battling for air as his hand tightens its grip on your throat. All the while, you fixate your gaze on the erotic sight of his slick, pulsing cock gliding across your trembling, clothed thigh.

Reaching the peak of his arousal, Alexander releases a guttural groan as he ejaculates onto your clothes, his gas mask remaining firmly pressed against your now teary face. As he reaches his climax, his grip on your throat tightens almost unbearably, threatening to cut off all oxygen supply completely. Just when you think you might pass out, he finally relaxes his hold, allowing you to regain consciousness and draw much needed air into your lungs.

Silence descends upon the two of you as you both recover from the intense experience. Still panting heavily, you lock eyes with Alexander, unable to look away from the intensity burning within his cold gaze. Suddenly, he reaches down and cups your swollen erection through the fabric of your pants.

Before anything can happen, the sound of footsteps echoes through the building from somewhere below. Startled, Alexander quickly withdraws his hand and begins tucking his spent penis back into his pants.

Frustrated by the abrupt interruption, you emit a frustrated whine, still desperate for release. Hearing your disappointment, Alexander grunts in annoyance before gruffly speaking, "I'll deal with you after the game is over."

Accepting his words as a promise, you allow yourself a triumphant smirk as you retrieve your Alternator. "So, it's a date then?" you teasingly ask, relishing in the slight blush that creeps onto Alexander's cheeks from behind his gas mask.

Briefly thrown off by your bold declaration, Alexander regains his composure and scoffs dismissively. "Insect," he mutters, though this time his usual derogatory term seems laced with something akin to affection.

Seizing the opportunity to escape the awkwardness, he snatches up his Nemesis and storms out the door before you can respond.

You shake your head and laugh before following him to face who's downstairs. You wonder what he'll do to your in his bedroom. No point in imagining now. Its time to win this game even if you have a rager the whole time.

Scumtober 2023 Masterlist

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liyazaki · 2 years

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honesty as a burden, a blade & abatement

for all his airy irreverence, Aye is incredibly serious about the code of conduct by which he lives his life.

at the core of that code is honesty- it's foundational to who he is as a person. it may have been the character trait he admired most in his uncle, aside from his warmth and kindness. Aye jokes; he's the king of saucy, sarcastic commentary- but he never lies (not to the people who truly matter, anyway).

and it's easy to understand why: Aye strives to honor his uncle's memory in everything he does. he's trying to emulate the man who had such an enormous impact on his self perception- on the entire trajectory of his life.

even the way Aye loves is a bittersweet nod to the man who taught him how to love himself first. when Aye meets Akk's constant rejections with empathy, he's honoring him. when he refuses to take the easy route and go on the defensive, he's honoring him.

Aye always, always takes the higher, harder road- away from the well-worn path, choosing to lean instead into what's tender and true.

that commitment to being so authentic, self-preservation be damned has to feel like a metaphorical blade he's turning on himself at times. I like to think I'd be strong enough to be so emotionally naked and vulnerable, but Aye makes me second-guess that notion.

the pain doesn't stop him, though- Aye's been through hell and back. he's used to carrying great and terrible burdens, and normally he bears up under the incredible weight of them just fine. Aye is enormously and consistently selfless in the thing that matters most: his actions.

but we're different with the people who know us best, aren't we? with the people who raised us, or who have seen us at our worst, our best and love us anyway. they have clear line of sight into what makes us tick, what makes us happy- and what makes us ache.

Aye and his mother clearly have an open, compassionate relationship, from the little glimpses we've gotten. in episode 8, she gently confronts him about leaving this quest for answers about his uncle behind, for his own sake.

she soothes his guilt and fear that they could've done more to save his uncle before asking the terrible, necessary question to her son who's clearly, deeply hurting:

and it's because of his commitment to honesty that we get to witness Aye in a rare moment of awful vulnerability.

he looks gut-punched by her question. Aye knows he excels at understanding the people around him, and anticipating what they'll say and do by proxy. as much as he tries to live as transparently and authentically as he can, he keeps the exhaustion and grief he carries close to the chest.

he didn't see that question coming, or that his mother was aware of how much he's actually hurting; how achingly lonely it is to carry what he carries.

the initial shock wears off, and Aye hangs his head as he struggles to answer. his tiredness has to feel bone-deep and never ending- but he won't lie to his mother, he just won't. I don't think he's sure he can answer "no" honestly.

so he ruminates, and he hesitates. his mother holds her breath and looks horrified, but she gives him time.

and then Khaotung serves a masterclass in micro-expressions as we watch Aye muster up a little of his signature lightness to give her the brave answer: "no. I won't leave you, Mom."

and here's what simultaneously breaks my heart and makes me fall that much more in love with this gorgeously-nuanced character: he's not lying (not in my book, anyway).

we're watching Aye pull from an internal well that's obviously near-dry. he has to be honest, and he has to answer in a way that won't devastate this person he loves so much- so he digs deep and he just does. he finds a way- a spark of the fire that keeps him going.

this is how Aye shows love: by always authentically showing up, always- no matter the cost to himself.

if there's ever been a character deserving of rest, of care, of love given freely without reservation or hesitation- it's Aye.

#the eclipse #the eclipse the series #khaotung thanawat #every knee better be bowing to khaotung on this here frigay #(don't be fooled if this meta sounds put together- i rarely cry in dramas but this scene made me a MESS)#the eclipse meta #tonanons #tosnimeat #userconcrete #mjtag #asiandramanet #asianlgbtqdramas #mor gifs the eclipse

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justafriend-ql · 1 year

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"i can't breathe" - the privilege paradox (never let me go, ep. 4)

nuengdiao has "everything," except for what he really wants. the paradox is that although he occupies a position of privilege, that very privilege is what most prevents him from achieving happiness. his privilege comes with expectations that constrict around him and limitations on his ability to form meaningful relationships with other people. nueng is incredibly skilled at maintaining a confident, unbothered mask. but as the pressure on him mounts and his feelings for palm grow increasingly uncontrollable, the mask fractures - and as he shouts at palm at the party, it shatters.

the first 15 minutes of the series set the tone. nuengdiao's parents prioritize work over him. his dad pressures him to take over the family hotel business (despite his lack of interest in it) by saying he's "the only one" who can be trusted to do it. his dad is murdered in front of his eyes, launching him into the limelight as the company's heir apparent. he must face a crowd of hungry reporters fishing for dirt on his family and the greedy parents of his peers with a steel gaze, betraying no weakness.

the color palette is all midnight blue and velvet red - decadent, heavy, and suffocating. you subconsciously feel nueng's unwanted future closing in around him, so much so that you don't realize you're holding your breath until it cuts to palm on his fishing boat. there, it's all bright sky and open air, complemented by relaxed, breezy music. of course, this too, is a prison (palm himself says he has "no future here"), but in contrast to the darkness and formality of nueng's world, it feels like freedom.

nueng takes it pretty well, all things considered. he swallows his desires and tells his parents he'll do his best to take over the family business. when an english-speaking reporter asks him about concerns that the company's profits will decline in his father's absence, nueng masks his uncertainty about the future with a confident tone and elegant accent, telling the report everything will be "absolutely fine."

nuengdiao wears the same mask at school, proclaiming he doesn't need friends and refusing to give his bullies the satisfaction of seeing him upset. instead, he leaves the room calmly, only folding in on himself when in the safety and privacy of his beloved music room.

because everybody approaches him for personal gain, he can't allow himself to trust anyone. perhaps the most powerful example of nueng's masking ability is when he acts friendly with phum in the pool, all while suspecting him of being his bully and simultaneously executing a plan to catch him in the act. even when he does, nueng exercises self-restraint, attempting to first negotiate with phum to get his necklace back rather than rely on violence.

palm is the only one with whom nueng's mask falters, perhaps because he is the only person nueng has any real power over (or, perhaps, because he actively wants palm to see and love his true self). again and again, we see nueng show extreme vulnerability to palm in a way he doesn't let anyone else (even his own mother) see. he shares his grief and bitterness at the condo rooftop in episode one ("my father died on my birthday"/"we are our father's puppets"), invites palm to touch his neck in episodes two and three ("pengyou"/"can you put it on me?"), and shares his anxieties about his mother's response to his sexuality in episode 4 ("i'm afraid i won't fulfill her expectations").

nueng's inability to be with palm (as a friend and a romantic partner) is yet another instance of nueng's privileged position getting in the way of what he wants. each time they take a step closer to becoming something more than boss and subordinate, an external factor comes and reminds them that doing so is not allowed. this is clearest in episode 2: they agreed to be friends, but aunt nid asks palm to bring palm breakfast like a servant; nueng invites palm to eat with him, but chanon scolds palm for doing so; palm must take the bus to school, while nueng rides in the van; the teachers exempt nueng from doing push-ups when he's late, while palm must do double; and so on...

because being with palm seems impossible, nueng accepts ben's advances, mostly because he is willing and able to shower him with the love and affection he so desperately craves (side note: at least for the time being - i haven't forgotten chopper's warning). when ben confesses his feelings for him, nueng admits that "no one has said those words" to him before. as he tells palm later, it feels good to be "wanted."

but nueng cannot mask or repress his feelings for palm for long. two scenes are critical to nueng making the decision to continue to pursue palm and slow things down with ben. the first is when palm says he doesn't like maggie during their conversation by the pond. nueng looks confused and asks if it's possible that he'll like her in the future (perhaps an attempt at figuring out palm's sexuality?), to which palm gives an ambivalent response. previously, nueng had assumed palm liked maggie, and that assumption drove his jealousy. now though, there's a possibility that all of those lingering looks and soft touches and caring words he's exchanged with palm meant something to palm too.

the second critical scene is when nueng is in the bath, thinking about his kiss with ben. he touches his lips contemplatively, remembering the sensation, but the memory of ben is quickly replaced by one of palm wrapping his arms around him at the shooting range. just like in episode 3, when nueng danced with ben but wanted to dance with palm, nueng kissed ben but would rather kiss palm. he sits up and leans forward abruptly, as if coming to a decision. he's not giving up on palm. he looks slightly resigned, acknowledging how difficult it will be for them to be together.

nueng's conversation with ben at the dance hall, in which he suggests they not rush to date and take time to get to know each other first, illustrates his decision to pump the brakes with ben in hopes of being with palm instead. throughout their whole conversation, he wears a happy, flirtatious, confident mask. but as soon as ben leaves, the mask drops, replaced by a forlorn, jealous expression as he heads to the bar to drink while stewing over maggie and palm from afar.

more than anything else, i think nueng is jealous of how easy it is for maggie and palm to be with each other. when he storms over to them, demanding to know why palm can dance with maggie but not him, he is acutely aware of why. he spells out all the reasons as he derogates palm, calling him his servant, his running dog, his lackey. he doesn't really see palm this way, but everyone else does. and when has what nueng thought mattered? when have his feelings made a difference?

despite his privileged position in society, nueng is powerless in his own life. at the dance, he takes out this helpless anger on palm, the one person he can exert power over. (it reminds me a little of vegaspete's dynamic on a smaller scale, with one taking out their frustration about the impossible expectations they've inherited from their fathers on the one person they can control.) it's almost like nueng is grappling with the impossibility of being with palm aloud, angry that their status difference will always keep them apart. maybe he's angry with himself, for thinking things could be different.

while the moment is certainly devastatingly painful for palm, i want to suggest that it is also painful for nueng. when palm is knocked to the ground, gasping for breath, nueng falls to the floor too. despite the harsh words nueng just said, they reach for each other in mutual anguish. nueng cries palm's name, begging for help as he repeatedly says, "i can't breathe."

it's a confession. i can't breathe. maybe he stopped breathing when his father died, bleeding out in a back alley and releasing one last breath into the night air. ever since, he's been suffocating in slow motion, denied oxygen at every turn. palm is the only one who gives him air, the only one he can let the mask slip for. but now, the mask is altogether shattered, and nueng is as vulnerable as he's ever been. he's reaching a shaky hand out toward palm, telling him, i can't breathe without you.

and sometime soon, palm will take him to the ocean, where we first saw palm against a background of bright sky. where it felt like freedom. and they'll be able to breathe once more. together.

#trying to get inside nueng's head with this one #and surprise! it's sad in there #never let me go #never let me go the series #palmnueng #nuengpalm #pond naravit #nlmg #phuwin tangsakyuen #pondphuwin #never let me go meta #thai bl #bl series #bl drama #thai drama #asianlgbtqdramas

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moontrinemars · 1 year

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The Water Houses: Unseen and Unknown

Recorded for myself, posted for others to reference. Read my blog bio or refer to my masterlist for more detail.

The 4th House: What You've Hidden

The 4th house rules the distinction between the private and public, in favor of the former. It's the house of domesticity, nostalgia, and the past, where we take shelter and tend to our foundations, which are critical to us and who we are, but are unseen by everyone else. Placements here are guarded and tender, and we only ever share them with those that we share our lives.

Because of this, there are parts of individuals with natal 4th house placements that they don't feel comfortable expressing in public or around those they don't know well. They may imitate those who raised them rather then risk revealing the skills, beliefs, and other aspects that they get from a planet in 4th, and they sometimes get offended if people expect them to be vulnerable about something they feel is reserved for those they are closest to.

The 4th house is counterpart to the 10th house. Together, these two houses form an axis of recognition.

The 8th House: What Others Have Hidden

The 8th house rules how our self, life, and world intersect with the value and values of others. It's a place of intimacy, transformation, and trauma, where we keep each other's secrets, and any secrets shared between us. Placements here are magnetic, intoxicating even, but we avoid acknowledging them in the open because the power they hold over us is terrifying.

Because of this, there are parts of individuals with natal 8th house placements that make others weirdly uneasy. People may refuse to acknowledge certain achievements or celebrate certain talents if they come from a planet in the 8th house, and they can react with much more hostility than is warranted to related mistakes or flaws. Even those you love and those who love you may find it deeply uncomfortable to witness this part of you.

The 8th house is counterpart to the 2nd house. Together, these two houses form an axis of worth.

The 12th House: What is Hidden from You

The 12th house rules the uncertain, in ourself and in the world. It is a void - simultaneously a place where we can hide, and a place that hides so much from us. Placements here are elusive and alluring, often inspiring as much fear and awe in us as they do confusion.

Because of this, individuals with 12th house placements may find themselves difficult to define, or even difficult to control. These natives may search for clarity on these parts of themself in others, but this rarely gives them any satisfaction. Only by accepting some level of mystery in themselves and in the world can they find peace with these placements. Otherwise, they risk falling into certain comfort traps like escapism, cults, and codependency.

The 12th house is counterpart to the 6th house. Together, these two houses form an axis of growth.

#house system #astrology #4th house #8th house #12th house #water houses #water #elements #mine #authored #western astrology #vedic astrology #reference #astrology reference #guide

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sunflowerabyss · 4 months

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Crescent Resurgence

Pairings: Older!Remus Lupin x Reader

Bitten by Remus Lupin after an attempt to comfort him many years ago, you are left to navigate the challenges of lycanthropy alone. The resurgence of Voldemort brings you back together in the Order of the Phoenix, forcing Remus to seek redemption after all those years.

Warning: Angst. Slight comfort?

____________________________________________________

The night hung heavy with the weight of secrets and regrets as the moon cast its silvery glow over Grimmauld Place. For fifteen years, Y/N had lived in the shadows, mastering the art of solitude and survival. The scars, both physical and emotional, bore witness to a life shaped by the bite of a werewolf, and the absence of the one who had inflicted the wound.

The transformation was always a dance with pain, but that fateful night, a month after the tragic events that had torn apart their world, it became a brutal confrontation with the demons that lingered within Remus Lupin. Y/N, in her panther form, had watched over him, determined to be the support he so desperately needed. Yet, the trauma of loss had rendered him careless and hostile. In a moment of unbridled aggression, he bit her, causing her panther form to shift back into a vulnerable human.

Acceptance of death had washed over Y/N as she slipped into unconsciousness that night, only to awaken the next morning in a haze of agony. Survival instincts kicked in, and she learned to navigate the torment of lycanthropy on her own, crafting a modified Wolfsbane potion that not only eased the pain but hastened the healing process.

The rage within her burned like an eternal flame, fueled not only by the pain of the bite but by Remus's inexplicable disappearance. He was a ghost, a memory, and for years, Y/N wrestled with the love that refused to fade and the fury that refused to be silenced.

The Order of the Phoenix, in its desperate search for allies, found Y/N. Moody tracked her down, relentless in his pursuit of warriors. Driven by a desire for revenge for the friends she had lost, Y/N agreed to join the cause. The journey led her back to Grimmauld Place 12, a place steeped in memories both bitter and sweet.

Sirius Black, alive and well, greeted her with open arms. The warmth of his embrace contrasted sharply with the chill that swept through her when she saw him – Remus Lupin. More scars adorned his tired face, his hair graying, and a visible weariness etched into his being. He was a reflection of the years they had spent apart, the years of silence that screamed louder than words.

The meeting began, a gathering of familiar faces and strangers bound by a common enemy. Harry Potter, the spitting image of his parents, entered the room, and Y/N couldn't help but marvel at the echoes of a past that seemed simultaneously distant and achingly close.

As the meeting concluded, Y/N made a swift exit, her heart pounding with a mix of emotions. The night air offered a temporary reprieve, but Remus followed her outside. The tension between them crackled like electricity as words, long unspoken, spilled into the air.

"You left without a word," Y/N accused, her voice steady but laden with years of hurt.

Remus, a shadow of his former self, nodded solemnly. "I couldn't face you. I couldn't face what I had done to you."

The confrontation escalated, a whirlwind of accusations and admissions. Remus, burdened by guilt, conceded to the pain he had caused. Y/N, refusing to be swayed by words alone, stood her ground, her heart torn between love and resentment.

"I will never forgive myself for the pain I've caused you," Remus confessed, his eyes reflecting the depth of his remorse.

A heavy silence hung between them before Y/N, her voice edged with sorrow, admitted, "I loved you. I never wanted to be apart."

The admission hung in the air, a fragile bridge between past wounds and uncertain futures. Remus, understanding the gravity of his sins, asked the question that loomed over them both. "Do you still love me?"

The answer, honest and raw, escaped Y/N's lips: "I don't know."

A nod passed between them, a silent acknowledgment of the fractures that time had failed to heal. Remus bid her goodnight, his figure disappearing into the shadows of Grimmauld Place.

_______________________________________________________

Weeks passed since that night and Y/N found herself standing alone in the courtyard of Grimmauld Place, a burdensome storm of emotions raging within her. The confrontation with Remus reverberated through her mind, and the weight of uncertainty pressed heavily on her chest. Sirius emerged from the dimly lit entrance, concern etched on his face as he approached her.

"Y/N," he said, his voice low and empathetic. "I know that seeing Remus again is difficult. He's been through a lot, and so have you."

She looked at Sirius, gratitude flickering in her eyes. "It's just… it's been so long, and I thought I had moved on, but seeing him again brought back everything."

Sirius placed a comforting hand on her shoulder. "You don't have to have it all figured out right now. Give yourself time."

Feeling a mix of gratitude and sadness, Y/N nodded. She retreated to a quiet corner of the courtyard, taking deep breaths to steady her racing heart. The night air was cool, but the turmoil within her was hotter than any flame. It was a blend of love, resentment, and the jagged edges of memories that had never quite faded.

As she stood there lost in thought, Remus emerged from the shadows, his footsteps hesitant. He approached her, his eyes reflecting a myriad of emotions. Y/N steeled herself, preparing for another round of the emotional storm that seemed to follow him.

"I… I know I hurt you," Remus began, his voice filled with regret. "I can't change the past, but I want to make things right. If that means staying away, I'll do it. I just… I can't bear to see you in pain because of me."

Y/N met his gaze, her eyes a mixture of sadness and determination. "Remus, you don't get to decide what's right for me anymore. I've spent years learning to live with the consequences of your actions, and I've become stronger despite it all."

He sighed, a heavy acknowledgment of the truth in her words. "I never meant to leave you alone, to make you bear this burden on your own."

"And yet you did," Y/N replied, her voice firm. "You left without a word, and I had to learn to survive without you."

Remus ran a hand through his graying hair, a gesture of frustration and remorse. "I understand if you can't forgive me. I don't deserve it."

The air was thick with tension as Y/N considered his words. "Forgiveness is a process, Remus. It's not something that happens overnight. I need time to figure out what this means for both of us."

He nodded, a silent acceptance of the reality they faced. "I just want you to know that I never stopped caring about you."

Y/N looked away, a mixture of sadness and longing in her eyes. "Caring is not enough, Remus. I needed you to be there for me, and you weren't."

The conversation lingered, suspended in the night air like the unspoken words between them. Eventually, Y/N turned away, her resolve unwavering. "I need some time alone. Don't follow me."

Remus watched her retreating figure, a heavy heart filled with remorse. The courtyard remained silent, shadows playing on the stone walls, as both Y/N and Remus grappled with the ghosts of their shared past.

Days turned into nights, and Y/N navigated the war-torn world with a heart heavy with conflicting emotions. The Order of the Phoenix, bound by a common purpose, continued their fight against Voldemort's forces.

One day, as she stood by the fireplace at Grimmauld Place, watching the flickering flames dance, Remus approached her. The lines on his face spoke of battles fought, both internal and external.

"Y/N," he said quietly, his gaze searching hers. "I've been thinking a lot about what you said. I understand that I can't change the past, but I want to be there for you now. If you'll let me."

The room fell silent as Y/N considered his words. She saw sincerity in his eyes, a glimmer of the Remus she had once known. The wounds of the past still lingered, but perhaps, in the midst of the war, there was room for healing and reconciliation.

#remus lupin #remus x reader #remus lupin x you #remus lupin x reader #remus lupin x y/n #older!remus lupin #older!remus lupin x reader

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woso-fan13 · 2 years

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NO. 7 THE WAY YOU SHAKE AND SHIVER

Silent Panic Attack

It was too much. Everything was simultaneously blaringly loud and deathly quiet. You were sucking in air, but none was making it to your lungs. You were on dry land and it felt like you were drowning. As it gets harder and harder to take a deep breath, you begin to panic more. The nasty cycle that you thought you had outgrown was taking hold of you once again.

You become aware of yourself enough to realize you need to get off the pitch. You half run, half stumble through the tunnel, pushing the first door open that you find. You back into the corner, sinking to the ground. Your knees come to your chest, your arms wrapped around them, as you struggle to breathe. You felt like you were going to die.

But then the door cracked open. In your distressed state, you didn’t notice. Nor did you notice the clicking of cleats making their way to you. You barely knew that a person was in front of you until they sunk to your height and grabbed your hand. You squeezed with all the strength you had left in your body: a silent plea for help.

The person sat like this for a minute, but you didn’t seem to be calming. They decide to take it a step further, pulling you into their lap. They press your ear to the chest, forcing you to listen to their heart beat and lungs filling.

You try to follow the breathing of your mysterious savior. You stumble somewhat, your breath hitching and your lungs refusing to fill fully, but you manage. About 5 minutes later, you had come back to yourself enough. Your vision wasn’t fuzzy anymore, and you could make out your surroundings. A mop, a bucket, bottles of cleaners- you must have found your way into a janitor’s closet. You continue trying to focus on the world around you, relaxing into the body behind you. It was probably one of your teammates anyway, they had seen you in worse positions. You had seen them in worse positions too. You lean your head back, locking eyes with the person holding you. It was not your teammate. It was the captain of the team you had just lost to.

It was Jessie Fleming, one of the last people that you wanted to see you in this position. But it was far too late for that, so you struggle to catch your mouth up to your brain, managing a quiet,

“Sorry.”

She instantly starts protesting, assuring you that you have nothing to be sorry for. When she can tell that you are starting to believe her, she continues. It’s very clear that you are not comfortable with the Canadian, especially with her seeing you in such a vulnerable state.

So she stands up, you still wrapped in her arms. She makes a few long strides across the room and opens the door to the hallway. Walking with purpose, she swiftly makes her way through the hallway. She pushes a door open with her hip and you are met with a beautiful sight, your team. Lindsey happens to be closest to the door and pulls you into her arms. The others instantly start questioning Jessie.

She explains the situation quickly, then heads towards the door. Stopping in her tracts, she walks over to where your head is resting heavily on Lindsey’s shoulder. You would have been tired from either a game or a panic attack. Putting the two together left you exhausted.

“Feel better, Y/N,” she simply says, patting your leg gently.

She leaves the room after this, likely to return to her own locker room.

Your teammates continue getting ready to leave, wanting nothing more than to surround you but knowing that would just overwhelm you. Instead they said a silent thank you to a certain Canadian for saving the day.

#uswntsoccer #womens soccer #woso x reader #woso community #uswnt imagine #uswnt players #uswnt woso #uswnt x reader #woso imagines #woso imagine #reader insert #jessie fleming

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fairest · 2 months

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AGAINST AUTOTHEORY aka THEORY TEXT AS WILLING DILDO

As this confluence with autofiction illustrates, the reduction of theory’s mediations down to amiable oozing incorporates the niche of academic knowledge production into the booming personalist genre industry. Moreover, autotheory comports as dexterous academic labor, projecting a fantasy that courting extra-mural audiences can make up for downsizing in the intellectual professions. Its vulnerability enkindles senior academics bored of theory’s many funerals, imagining eager readerships in a great beyond, and ignites younger academics searching for openings in an economic and professional landscape of foreboding foreclosure; its elasticity bodes a space for young academics to create work and find recognition even though the university as an institution has largely expelled them. Gigification of academic labor crams academic production: manifest your individual take in your individual style with this short-term teaching contract here, this Substack subscriber there. In this way, autotheory must be seen as efflux of a context in which theorists with fair labor conditions like tenure encounter their dire lack of peer audience, and theorists without fair labor conditions hustle for crossover appeal to eke out a living.

Aphoristic form props many of these texts thanks to its elliptical dance of vaporescence and glut, simultaneously pausing and flowing, at once crystal and aporia, snubbing and solicitous. They disrupt linearity, argumentative progression, and academic citation, boarding tiny theses absent plodding hallways. Pushing prose poems like other writers in the literary milieu, these genre melds are charming, accessible. We are drawn out of the realm of abstraction and solicited into a lyrical presence, a seductive proximity that subtracts the medium of theory’s abstractions and generalizations, achieving immersion. Reclining into life-writing, recoiling from argumentation, such retreats attain great resonance and beauty even as they whittle away theory’s distinct value, and recode theoretical knowing from revelatory to idiosyncratic. Immediatist theories posit a smooth continuum of body–experience–knowledge; bolster reflexive, passionate attachments as more legitimate than reason; refuse “symptomatic reading” in order to immanentize content. “It is what it is,” immediacy theory incants.

Such frolicking provocative insurgence of sensuous stimulation against linguistic or conceptual sense erects the theory text as willing dildo. It is bold in its shedding of academic composure, compelling in its self-disclosure, and titillating in its seductive posture—although decidedly unsexy. These are acute and perhaps even vulnerable performances, insuring in advance that assessing them critically would amount to some kind of mean violation—and that seems indeed to be the very point: to be so effulgently bare and corporeally vivid as to preclude distance-taking or concept-making. Immediacy as the unambiguous transmission of affect from author to reader, autonomic responses imagined untainted by the symbolic.

— Anna Kornbluh, from Immediacy

#autotheory #autofiction #McKenzie Wark #maggie nelson #Anna Kornbluh

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shadowstarion · 3 months

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thinking about shadowheart astarion + karlach and their specific relationships with sexuality and intimacy… gets spicy below the cut

i think shadowheart and astarion would be very big on nonsexual intimacy. obviously astarion wants to be loved for more than just his body and treated as more than just a sex object, and shadowheart’s been trained to deny herself pleasure or gratification to the point where it’s scary. with her memories wiped, she has essentially no experience so it’s not something she’d immediately prioritize. she wouldn’t expect anything from him and astarion adores the fact they can kiss, lie together, touch each other, twist their fingers in hair and whisper sweet things with the knowledge that it won’t eventually become something that makes him feel used or exploited

and of course we KNOW shadowheart isn’t 100% pure and virginal, we know she’s essentially the repressed catholic girl who reads smut and has wild fantasies, but when it does happen? she’s gentle and trusting and willingly gives astarion control. he calls the shots when he wants to, gets to bask in the feeling of not being used, but having shadowheart give him anything he wants, give herself to him entirely. not necessarily letting him use her, but she wants to please him, focuses on how much she can give him, wants to be so good for him. it’s about so much more than just getting off when it’s shadowheart, being so diligent while giving him her mouth or hands, holding him tight and whining out her admiration while she’s under him, saying his name over and over like a prayer

i could go on about how they fuck for hours but alas, we need to talk about karlach. oh god the poor thing, just as repressed as shadowheart and immensely eager/touch starved in a way that astarion can’t comprehend is even physically possible. her engine making intimacy dangerously impractical would drive shadowheart crazy; we know shads was down horrific the moment she saw her for starters. it’s another comfort to astarion, knowing that karlach’s kindness toward him has no ulterior motives, that being open and vulnerable with her won’t lead them to bed because she cares more about his wellbeing and safety than she does her own wants. watching karlach politely refuse any of shadowheart’s attempts to escalate their relationship would make astarion genuinely swoon, because gods does that woman care so deeply and love with all her heart, maybe he can grow to trust her too…?

once her engine is repaired enough for physical touch to be safe, karlach is an entirely different story. while shadowheart gives herself up in a way that’s inexperienced and submissive, karlach’s whole “care for __’s wellbeing” complex translates to her being the service top of the century. anything shadowheart wants she’ll get x10, anything astarion doesn’t want is completely out of the question. she’d never push boundaries, asks for consent and won’t keep going if it isn’t enthusiastic, is constantly checking in to make sure she’s not going to hard or too fast, while simultaneously being sooo brutally needy. astarion could have her on her knees begging and pleading for permission to touch him, to make him feel good, to show how much she loves him, and she wouldn’t move a muscle until he gave her an explicit yes, dear, you may

now with shadowheart it may be a little different in the sense that she, to put it plainly, doesn’t have immense sexual trauma but moreso apprehension and curiosity about sexuality. she wants it all, hard and fast, unhinged and unrestrained and karlach is more than able to provide that. karlach wouldn’t let her beat around the bush, would wring every last fantasy and fetish and desire out of her in verbal conversation and remind her it’s nothing to be ashamed of. she wants bent over the the table and fucked until she cries? wants karlach’s hands around her throat and her tail prying her legs apart? wants to be hit and degraded and hauled off to gods-know-where over a barbarian’s shoulder? all she has to do is ask for it and mama k will provide.

on that note, something can be said for karlach and astarion’s dynamic together with shadowheart. they’d absolutely team up every now and again, because sometimes astarion wants intimacy but can’t handle being touched, or because shadowheart is being indecisive and cagey about what she wants, or because there was a close call and karlach needs them both to know how cherished they are.

astarion watching from his comfy seat with a book open in his lap while karlach completely takes shadowheart apart, having her look at him and tell him how good it feels, occasionally letting astarion give instructions so that he can feel the closeness without having to confront physical touch

karlach having trouble getting shadowheart to be open about some kink or fetish because she doesn’t understand it well herself and Shadowheart is too embarrassed to explain, so astarion is the phone-a-friend who knows Everything and can translate shadowheart’s awkward explanation of wax play or whatever and mercilessly teases her with the most explicit unashamed dirty talk

shadowheart getting downed in a fight while trying to heal astarion and karlach raging, absolutely obliterating their enemies because she’s had enough taken from her. how dare anyone threaten what’s hers? for a split second she thought shadowheart was gone and astarion would follow without her healing and her engine is running hotter than ever with pure fury. of course, they make it out alive and are able to recover quickly back at camp, but the fear of losing them sticks with karlach. she wants them close to her as soon as they’re back in good shape, holding and touching and squeezing and kissing every inch of them she can. keeping shadowheart pressed in between them with astarion at her back, karlach’s hands around his waist, just a panting mess of i love you and i was so scared and please don’t ever leave me and need you need you both so bad

my brain is full. i need them to fuck so bad

#shadowheart #astarion #shadowstar #bg3 #shadowstarion #writing #headcanon #karlach #nsft #shadowlachstarion #shadowstarlach

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heartlandians · 5 months

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Filling Empty Spaces (Amy/Mitch), part 219

Mitch and Amy find an unexpected connection due to absent lovers. Set around season 11->.

A/N: I didn’t have a beta for this story, so hopefully there won’t be too many grammar errors.

****

Mitch glanced at his laptop's screen where he still had the Facebook tab open as he held onto his cellphone. Just few minutes ago he had been lost in the world of finding Leah, but now after Lou's call all he could think about was Amy.

If the call from Lou had felt awkward and uncomfortable for him, he couldn't help but wonder how it had felt for Amy, who was - after all - in a much more vulnerable position with this.

Slamming the computer's top cover close, Mitch turned around and walked into his living room, simultaneously looking up Amy's number from his phone.

After pressing the phone against his ear, he could hear the call trying to connect.

Mitch's gaze was directed at the line of cottonwoods at his backyard, drinking in the beautiful sunlight, and among them were deer, following a narrow path to cross his property.

Any other time, it would have been a fascinating watch, like nature's own screensaver, but right now all he could think about was the possible damage Lou had been able to impose on her sister.

"Hi", Amy answered after a click noise.

Mitch could immediate tell she had either been crying or was about to, as her voice trembled a little bit. It only made him more concerned.

The distance between them wasn't much, as they were at neighbouring ranches, but it felt like she was on the other side of the world right now as he couldn't just go over to Heartland and hold her.

"Hey. Are you okay?" Mitch asked right away.

Amy let out a sigh.

"Not really", she admitted. "But how did you know to call me right now as I'm about to crumble...?" she wondered, thinking it was almost like it had been scripted.

"Lou called me too", Mitch shared. "I suspect right after you ended your phone call."

Amy scoffed.

"She told me she had to go because she had something else to do, but... she called you instead", she recounted for herself, somehow feeling even more stupid than before. "Why did she call you, anyway?"

There was no jealousy or animosity in her voice, just pure curiosity.

"She tried to ask me to keep my distance, and when I refused, there wasn't anything she could really do. I mean, it's our life", Mitch said, aimlessly walking around the living room. "Do you want me to come over?" he asked, even though they had decided that he would not drop by to see Amy until people were aware of them.

But it didn't hurt to try.

Maybe situation had changed now that Amy was feeling the way she was.

"No", Amy refused, as expected, "not that I wouldn't want that but... it's just... I feel like I don't have the energy to explain everyone here why you're coming over exactly, especially when I'm a mess like this..."

"I don't want you to be alone, Amy", Mitch said.

There was a brief pause on the line before Amy continued.

"Meet me at the meadow. I'll take Spartan for a ride", Amy planned.

"Okay. I'll be there", he promised.

****

Mitch had laid down a blanket on the grass, next to an old fallen log, on top of the hill where they could look at the scenery, but also have some privacy for a conversation.

Maverick was standing close-by, swishing away flies in the shade of the trees, while they waited for Amy and Spartan to join them.

The man checked his phone, wondering if maybe Amy had texted him that she'd be a little late, but when he saw no message notifications, Mitch tried to just trust that she'd be here when she'd be here.

For some time now, Mitch had learned that patience wasn't his strongest quality - but it was something he was actively working on. Instead of pacing around, like his body almost demanded, Mitch decided to sit on the log, to try and focus on enjoying the moment; the scenery, the weather, this nice summer day.

He had to stop doing this, going at every chaotic moment like he had to be able to save everyone from whatever they were going through. He could be there for Amy, offer his support, but that was it. He didn't need to be some type of hero.

He was good enough like this.

Breathing in, breathing out, Mitch tried his best to relax.

As far as places to relax were concerned, he couldn't have picked a better spot than this.

"Hey", Amy's voice said behind him after a while as he was still sitting on the log, grounding himself.

Mitch turned his upper body toward Amy, still having the worry over her, but now feeling more rejuvenated just from that small moment of centering himself.

She looked like an angel, with the way the sunlight beamed behind her and lit her outlines on fire.

"Hey", he said, getting up just as Amy unmounted Spartan and brought the horse closer to Maverick, tying him loosely so he wouldn't wander off. "I'm glad we were able to still meet up."

Amy nodded, then stumbling toward him in the long grass, and without saying anything, sought his cover almost like it was the only way she could breathe out the ache within her.

Mitch wrapped his arms around her, pressing his cheek on top of her head, allowing her to take her time. Her warm breath seethed through his t-shirt and onto his skin, sending a signal of connection through his body.

Now he was fully grounded.

"So..." Mitch said after a while when he felt Amy leaning back, "do you want to talk about it?" he asked, gesturing toward the blanket he had rolled over the grass.

"Yes, I do, actually", Amy nodded, sitting down.

Mitch sat next to her, leaning onto the log just like she did.

"I just feel like... the more I talk about my feelings - the more I explain myself - the more I'm being... misunderstood or misinterpreted, almost like on purpose", Amy sighed, shaking her head and blinking off the tears that she couldn't hold back.

Her tone was worn out, as if she was carrying the weight of the world on her shoulders.

"And after a while it just gets exhausting to even try to be heard. Because what's the point? No one listens, anyway... No one wants to hear me", she continued, sounding drowsy.

Wrapping his arm behind Amy's shoulders, Mitch pulled her closer gently.

"And there's just something so cruel about the way sisters know how to inflict pain on each other. It's psychological... Something about the intimacy of it all", Amy scoffed, almost shuddering. "Or that's been my experience, at least", she added, clenching her jaw.

"I'm sorry", Mitch wanted to say. There was a part of him that wondered if he had brought in some of that pain, but Amy's last sentence made it sound like maybe it ran deeper than here and now. "Do you feel like you at least could say everything you wanted to say to her?"

"I did, but... I don't know how much of it she heard", Amy's voice trailed off into a mumble. "But... whatever. I tried. I can't put my energy into that anymore. It's too draining. At some point I just gotta live my life", she sighed heavily.

"Well, you have a right to live your life like you want", Mitch said, figuring maybe Amy needed someone else to say it in order to feel validated. "Not just with this, but... whatever it may be."

"I know... but I just feel like my feelings have been weaponized against me. I've shut down and not expressed my needs, because it's been safe, but I don't want to do that anymore. Especially not with you, when this feels so right and when you make me feel so alive", she said, looking at Mitch.

Mitch kissed her forehead gently, hoping it would let her know he felt the same way.

"But I feel like I'm not allowed to, for some reason. Like everyone else has a plan for me that I should follow. But I don't want that. I want this. I want my life", Amy went on.

Mitch nodded, then kissing the top of Amy's head again and caressing her shoulder.

"And if I don't do that - if I don't live my life - I'm afraid I become sad again. Like everyone else will be happy, but I will be sad", Amy was hardly able to push the words pass her vocal cords. "And it's so terrifying to feel sad..."

The man next to her tilted his head back, trying to see her face. He could sense this was a big reaction for her - and maybe there was even a bigger one coming.

"Why?" he asked, as for him sadness was a thing that always passed, just like every other emotion. It was part of life, something that people felt in order to then appreciate the good times.

"Because I've finally been able to find a little bit of happiness for myself, but... if I allow myself to feel sad again, it's scary to have no idea if this just... a bad day or another dive into darkness", Amy said, holding back a sob.

"Hey..." Mitch said softly, his brows furrowing out of worry.

"I don't want to feel like I've felt for years; taking turns feeling sad or numb. It almost destroyed me the last time, I don't know if I'm able to do it again. I don't know if I have any fight in me anymore. I just want to feel happy. I just want to feel happy..." she continued, crying now and turning herself against Mitch, clutching his shirt in her fist.

It was becoming hard for Mitch to convince himself that this moment didn't need some sort of hero to know the right words, but since he didn't have the right words, as he didn't know what there even was to say to make it all go away, all he could do was the best that he could in this moment.

He could listen.

That was what Amy wanted - and needed - in this moment.

And so, he did.

#heartland #fanfiction #filling empty spaces

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mariacallous · 9 months

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With its abundant natural gas supply, Russia has long wielded its resource riches to bludgeon Ukraine, Europe, and other dependent customers. By continuously threatening the future of the Black Sea Grain Initiative, the landmark wartime agreement designed to open up Ukraine’s key farm output for export to world markets, Moscow has also found a way to strangle Kyiv’s agricultural sector—and weaponize resources that aren’t even its own.

Those tactics were on full display this week as negotiators raced to broker a full extension to the grain deal before its scheduled expiration on Monday, the latest scramble to save a key deal that helped ease pressures on vulnerable markets in the wake of Russia’s invasion of Ukraine. Since the deal took force in July 2022, Moscow has repeatedly attempted to upend the agreement to extract key concessions, intensifying concerns about the future of Ukraine’s hard-hit agricultural industry and the global food insecurity.

“This continues to be very much an issue not just for Ukraine producers but also globally,” said Joseph Glauber, a senior research fellow at the International Food Policy Research Institute and former chief economist at the U.S. Department of Agriculture. “Ukraine has been a very important supplier, and if they have to continue with diminished production over another year, that means that the world will have to find wheat and corn from others to replace that.”

It’s still not clear if Russia is ready to blink again and continue allowing exports or if this time it will try to scupper the deal. Turkish President Recep Tayyip Erdogan said Friday that Russia had agreed to extend the deal—before the Kremlin said it had decided no such thing.

With just days until the deal would expire, Russian President Vladimir Putin continued to press for concessions and extract leverage. For months, the main sticking point in negotiations has been Russia’s own food and fertilizer exports: While excluded from Western sanctions, Moscow says its exports have been hampered by sanctions targeting insurance and payment companies over its invasion of Ukraine.

On Thursday, Putin warned that “not one” of its demands had been met. The grain deal is a “one-sided game,” he said in a television interview. “We can suspend our participation in this deal. And if everyone reiterates that all promises given to us will be fulfilled, let them fulfill these promises. And we will immediately join this deal. Again.”

Western officials and agricultural analysts have pushed back, accusing him of deliberately stymieing the outflow of agricultural exports and driving up prices. Barbara Woodward, the U.K. envoy to the United Nations, said Russia was engaging in “cynical brinkmanship.”

“In Istanbul, they slow-roll the inspections of the grain ships, bringing down the amount of grain that goes out. Then, by signaling that they are considering refusing to renew the deal, they are also affecting global grain prices,” she said.

In this game of brinkmanship, diplomats have been scrambling to carve out other concessions to secure the extension of the deal. On Tuesday, U.N. Secretary-General António Guterres wrote Putin a letter offering to connect a Russian agricultural bank subsidiary to the SWIFT international payments system, in exchange for the continuation of the Black Sea Grain Initiative; the European Commission also indicated that it was willing to “explore all solutions.”

“The objective is to remove hurdles affecting financial transactions through the Russian Agricultural Bank, a major concern expressed by the Russian Federation, and simultaneously allow for the continued flow of Ukrainian grain through the Black Sea,” U.N. spokesperson Stéphane Dujarric said.

Russia has yet to respond to the letter, although Erdogan, a strong proponent of the grain deal, expressed optimism on Friday that Guterres’s effort would help secure the grain deal’s extension. Both Putin and Erdogan are “of the same mind” in extending the agreement, the Turkish leader added.

Known as the breadbasket of Europe, Ukraine once supplied 10 percent of the world’s wheat exports, 20 percent of corn exports, and 40 percent of the global sunflower oil supply. After Russia’s invasion in February 2022 throttled harvests and disrupted those exports—thereby skyrocketing global prices—diplomats rushed to ink an agreement to avert an international food crisis. Since its inception roughly a year ago, the U.N.- and Turkey-brokered initiative has unlocked more than 30 million metric tons of goods, nearly one-quarter of which have gone to China. Almost half have reached developing markets that had been under immense strain.

Failing to renew the deal would jeopardize those exports—which would be bad for Russia’s ongoing efforts to woo the global south and especially its need to stay in good graces with Beijing. China has been one of the major beneficiaries of the grain deal, even naming the initiative in its 12-point peace plan, and has a vested interest in the agreement’s success. The timing of the latest extension fight also matters: The overwhelming bulk of Ukraine’s wheat crop is harvested in July and August, making this extension even more critical than previous standoffs.

But even without suspending its involvement in the Black Sea Grain Initiative, Moscow has done what it can to pressure Kyiv, including by shortening the lengths of extensions and exacerbating shipping challenges. As long as Russia works to squeeze Ukraine’s agricultural sector, Glauber said, already hard-hit producers will be the ones who are hurt the most.

“The real problem with all these increased costs and reduced exports out of the Black Sea [is that] the direct cost of that is being felt by Ukraine producers,” he said. “And that’s sort of the bottom line.”

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isfjmel-phleg · 7 months

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For someone who is outgoing and socially skilled, Psmith has surprisingly few substantial relationships. He's not close to most of his family--we hardly know anything about any of them except his father. He doesn't seem to have any old friends from before he met Mike. He makes very few real friends over the course of the series, and the only one of them to whom he has a strong attachment is Mike. He generally doesn't seek romantic relationships either. Eve is the first and only one whom he falls in love with.

Very few attachments, but when they happen, they are intense. Once Psmith bonds with Mike, he's willing to go to great lengths to keep his "confidential secretary and adviser" close to him all the time. He resorts to out-of-character behavior and elaborate machinations to keep Mike out of trouble at school. He invites Mike to move into his London apartment while they're working at the bank and convinces his father to pay Mike's way through Cambridge and later set him up in a job on the Smith family estate so they can continue to stay close. When Mike's cricket team takes a tour of the US, Psmith comes along. He's willing to commit theft as part of a scheme to raise money for Mike and his wife Phyllis. Likewise, with Eve, it only takes one encounter for Psmith to decide that she's the one for him, and he impersonates a poet to get the opportunity to be around her. He's intent on getting to know her, and about a week into their acquaintance, he proposes.

Yet at the same time, he seems reluctant to open up too much to the people he loves most. A lot of his past is a mystery. He tends to conceal his feelings and vulnerabilities behind his flippant and unflappable persona, even with Mike. He doesn't like to offer explanations. He fails to let Mike in on one of his schemes to get him out of trouble and thus accidentally creates more problems.

So I'd say that Psmith has attachment issues. He's got the avoidant attachment style's tendency to hold everyone, even loved ones, at arm's length and refuse to open up. But he also has the anxious attachment style's clinginess, dependency, and fear of being alone. Psmith might have a disorganized attachment style, which has features of both the other insecure styles. Although this is often associated with an abusive or high-trauma upbringing (there's no evidence of that in what we know of Psmith's past), it comes from having caregivers who exhibit inconsistent, unpredictable behavior. A child who grows up in these conditions never knows what to expect and thus never really feels safe. They simultaneously crave love but are afraid of getting hurt. This then translates to how they approach relationships as an adult.

We know nothing about Psmith's mother. She's mentioned only once, in a hypothetical remark. Her absence suggests that she's probably dead. If so, we don't know when this happened or how old Psmith was at the time. But we do meet Psmith's father, whose most prominent characteristic is his changeability. This is played for laughs in how often he picks up passionate hobbies and obsessions only to toss them aside at a whim. But it's likely that this is how he approaches everything in life, including child-raising. And if that's the environment that Psmith has grown up in, it explains a lot. His father was unpredictable. It was probably very difficult to get and hold his attention. But at other times, such as when Mr. Smith is obsessed with finding just the right career to set up his son in, he's more attentive to the point of being overwhelming. Being ignored is bad enough, but if this is interspersed with unpredictable instances of attention and affection, it keeps one hoping futilely for a chance and therefore wavering between opening up and holding back.

Psmith's desire for people to be close to shows that he knows it can happen. But he has also (presumably) experienced enough dismissal to have developed a fear of intimacy and thus keep himself closed off even while clinging to the people he loves. And this does create problems--the Wodehouse-novel type of problems, of course, but still issues that negatively affect his relationships. He's sometimes thoughtless toward Mike. He's initially not honest with Eve.

It all works out. He does take steps toward getting better. By the end of the series, he chooses to be honest and communicative and vulnerable with Eve, which allows them to address their problems and move forward. But for most of the series, his approach toward relationships, fervent though it may be, speaks more to his usually-concealed personal struggles than it does his ability to charm and connect.

#Psmith Pseptember

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a-shape-changer-in-winter · 1 year

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On The Duff Between Us

Because in trying to articulate what, perhaps, joy is, it has occurred to me that among other things–the trees and the mushrooms have shown me this–joy is the mostly invisible, the underground union between us, you and me, which is, among other things, the great fact of our life and the lives of everyone and thing we love going away. If we sink a spoon into that fact, into the duff between us, we will find it teeming. It will look like all the books ever written. It will look like all the nerves in a body. We might call it sorrow, but we might call it a union, one that, once we notice it, once we bring it into the light, might become flower and food. Might be joy.

Ross Gay, The Book of Delights

One of the great joys of my life is talking with my friends who are [also] writers and poets, individually and together. I love when someone sends me a draft or a poem they haven't shared with anyone else. I have this folder on my desktop full of rough drafts and voice memos from friends. It's communion for me. I treasure the simplicity of "I want to share this with you - directly." I know that takes a lot of guts. And it feels cringy the first time you do it. But that's because we've gotten farther and farther away from the sound of what's genuine in each of us. Part of that is because we're bombarded with [horrible] news, reels, and click-bait, anything that will keep scrolling or fuming - as long as we stay on our phones.

In a clip from a 2019 panel on "Self Esteem in the Age of Social Media," comedian Bo Burnham describes how social media companies are out to colonize "every second of our lives": ~ "They're not even doing it consciously. It's because these companies, like Twitter, YouTube, Instagram, and everything, went public. They went to shareholders. So they have to grow. Their entire models are based on growth. They cannot stay stagnant. [They have to] get more of you."

So the glaring sound of what used to/should be white noise is always in the foreground, and what will heal us, bring light to our work/art, and foster connection and intimacy is something we have to listen to/for actively. We are made in and through these intimacies that we've forgotten how to engage in. So maybe the question to start with is: what are your intimacies? Or, what do you carry that you wish you could share? That's a genuine vulnerability and fear because we have been brainwashed to idolize hyper-independence and self-made[ness], which is just refusing to acknowledge that we are made of one another, of particular familiarities as opposed to these lavish achievements. So there's this sponge-like quality of being permeable in our vulnerability. We must be willing to let someone else's light and darkness enter our lives. [see Mikko Harvey’s: The number of hours we have together is actually not so large. Please linger near the door uncomfortably instead of just leaving. Please forget your scarf in my life and come back later for it.]

The hardest thing about welcoming difficult emotions is that we're [ culturally] condemned to try to deal with them privately. On our own, we will never open that door fully because they're too difficult a guest. So I think it's my job not just to be a good host to my sadness, joy, and despair - but to your sorrows, happiness, and grief. I think that’s everyone’s [true] task - to help others touch the heart of things. Otherwise, none of us can establish a form of intimacy or faculty with that simultaneous presence and emptiness without the others' hands holding us up. When we try to do it alone - we're left with that thin veneer of survival, performative vulnerability without transformation, just getting by - we’re basically pouring salt into the same wound over and over until we become septic from hypernatremia. The problem is we're taught we should endure grief but not that we should allow it to ripen and transform us. Either we engage it or try to outrun it - but of course, the trick is that it's impossible to outrun! It's got more feet [and teeth] than we do - it's much faster, and there's no way to avoid it in our lifetime. The psychologist James Hellman said the issue is never about resolution but spaciousness. It's about how large we can become by trying to get our arms, and perhaps when our arms can’t reach any further, our wings around these impossible questions. It’s not about having answers, but our ability to hold and touch difficult things without having a perfect solution or offering a trite platitude.

I'm coming to realize there's a direct relationship between the breadth of our sorrow and the capacity of our joy. If we mitigate - if we silence that grief, we also collapse the register of joy - which I can't live without. And joy is an imperative faculty in my life. Which is really what this essay is about. And I'm sure some of you are asking, how can you be talking about/pivoting to joy right now? Perhaps that's because we were conditioned to believe that joy and delight are not deep emotions. It's impossible to imagine, much less comprehend, the rigor behind those skills until we attempt to bring them into our lives [out of necessity]. In his Catalog of Unabashed Gratitude, Ross Gay offers a more enlightened version of joy that I have exclusively found in communities of recovery: which is the light that emanates from us when we help each other carry our sorrows. We're porous beings. Beauty hurts [Rilke believed this so much that he said we're barely able to endure it]. Attachments are painful. But they both transcend time and space so that we can meet in the intersection of eternity and the here & now. I believe every gesture happens within that fullness, the kind Weil was talking about with "The divine emptiness, fuller than fullness, has come to inhabit us." & "Grace fills empty spaces, but it can only enter where there is a void to receive it, and it is grace itself which makes the void." In his latest book, Inciting Joy, Gay skillfully grounds Weil's inquiry like he was fielding it with a baseball mitt and asks: "What if joy is not only entangled with pain, or suffering, or sorrow, but is also what emerges from how we care for each other through those things?" Such revelations invite a "soft, mutual, curious, groundless witnessing" of grief as the "metabolization of change."

Gay believes, as do I, that joy can, and perhaps only truly emerges" [...] from our common sorrow—which does not necessarily mean we have the same sorrows, but that we, in common, sorrow—might draw us together. .[..] It might depolarize us and de-atomize us enough that we can consider what, in common, we love. And though attending to what we hate in common is too often all the rage (and it happens also to be very big business), noticing what we love in common, and studying that, might help us survive."

Obsession, isolation, and addiction all orbit a singular point or fixation on shame, loneliness, depression, hopelessness, or grief - and the tighter our orbit, the harder it is to escape that trajectory. At some point, everyone has found themselves unable to escape the gravity of immense loss - and all we can do at this point is hold on for dear life and pray we will end up on the other side of it. Of course, despite our best efforts, we will always return to the thing, but that gravity can only rip us apart if we remain untethered from each other. And I'm discovering that while it might be a little uncomfortable, these small needful acts of paying attention, asking questions, delighting in and with each other, and being a little cringe can and will stitch us together. Like this small gift of a text from my friend, Leah live quoting Ada Limon's Q&A from Transylvania University earlier this week: "You love this world. You are in it. Don't miss it."

The deepest joys are those we share, and I don't want to miss them. I love you. Our friendship is a gift. As Rilke wrote, I yearn to be held in the great hands of your heart; just as I hold you in mine.

PS: please send me your favorite poem.

#blog

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