#I’d hug him if I didn’t have a similar touch aversion | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

radiant-reid · 3 years ago

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Touched starved

It was no secret this case had been extra hard on Spencer. Even Y/n, the newest member of the team, knew some bad things happened when he was kidnapped by Tobias Hankel. Most of the details were covered up though.

Spencer didn’t talk about it much. Only a few words when he felt strong enough. With having only been at the BAU for two years Y/n knew the least of what happened.

Then again, she was a profiler. She could tell this case was having a more-than-usual bad effect on Spencer.

It was because of the parallels, she figured. This unsub had been kidnapping and torturing victims. Having to solve it and, more importantly, knowing there was someone out there just like him, was hard on Spencer.

His brain almost didn’t work as it ran constant flashbacks of what Hankel did to him. Like a horror movie with no ending.

Everyone noticed, not just Y/n.

She just didn’t understand why they wouldn’t help him. They were all far closer to him than Y/n was. Prentiss, Morgan and JJ didn’t seem to be doing anything to help him but Y/n just felt like she couldn’t let him suffer in silence. She knew Garcia had tried to ask him how he was on the phone but there was only so much she could do from so far away. It wasn’t any of the team's fault though, they knew how Spencer operated.

That was how she found herself outside his hotel room on the 3rd night of the case. After seeing his condition slowly deteriorate throughout the hours they’d been on the case, she couldn’t just sit by. So dressed in a hoodie and sweatpants, she knocked on his door.

“Y/n... what are you doing here?” Spencer asked as he opened the door to see who it was. It was very obvious that in the 4 hours since Hotch had sent them to get some rest, Spencer had not slept a second.

“I...” Y/n didn’t actually know how to answer his question. Instead, she just walked into his hotel room which caused him a lot of confusion. The puzzled look on his face didn’t stop. “I’m here for you, Spence.” She told him as she sat on his bed.

“Obviously, you’re in my room but I don’t understand why.” He replied. His brows were furrowed and his arms crossed across his chest. At least he’d changed into a hoodie and pants. Y/n didn’t think she’d ever seen him in a hoodie.

“Come here.” She instructed and he obliged, walking over to her so he was at the foot of the bed. “I’m here so you can have someone to talk to. Or not to talk to.” She explained. He still, very obviously, didn’t understand. “You haven’t stopped working on this case for almost 72 hours straight, that’s unhealthy. Now, you’re going to relax and just stop thinking about it.”

Spencer huffed out a sigh. “I can’t just stop thinking about it.”

“Why?”

“There’s someone out there who can’t stop thinking about it. He’s scared, terrified. And he’s just hoping that we can save him. But everything is telling him that there’s no one left. That they’re going to get there and be left with just his body.” Spencer hunched over as he talked, feeling as small as he looked. Tears were forming in his eyes and he was desperately fighting them. “I can’t stop working on this because we need to find out where he is. I can’t stop working on this because he can’t stop thinking about it. He’s living through the torture but he’s going to give up and want to give in to death.”

“What happened, Spencer?” Y/n softly asked as the tears started spilling down his cheeks.

He just stood there blankly. “I can’t.” He sobbed out.

Y/n knew about his aversion to hugs but she pulled him in for one, wrapping her arms around his slender waist. To her surprise, he leant into the embrace.

They stayed like that for a while before she pulled back, picking up his hand. She moved back so she was sitting against the headboard and pulled Spencer over, patting her lap. He didn’t even give a second thought to lay his head on her lap. His brain could almost stop spinning as he laid there.

Y/n moved her hand to his hair, threading it through her fingers. It was remarkably soft and fluffy.

“What happened to you, Spence?” She asked him again.

With tears still streaming out his eyes he could answer. “It hurt so much, Y/n. He wouldn’t stop it, no matter how much I begged. I was so helpless there.” He choked out, in a broken sentence due to his heavy breathing.

“Hey, it’s okay. I’m right here.” Y/n comforted again. She tested out the boundaries by running her hand over his cheek and when he leant into her hand she continued to brush the tears off his cheek. “Let it all out.”

“I couldn’t do anything!” Spencer cried. It was the most painful sound she’d ever heard. Someone so composed and always perfect falling apart. He was broken. “I just sat there while he beat me. I can still feel it. When I close my eyes sometimes I see him. It’s so stupid because I know, scientifically, I’m experiencing PTSD but sometimes I feel all the walls coming down on me.”

Y/n’s heart broke for him. “Spencer, it’s not stupid.” He cried even harder at that.

“I just need to crack the case and save him, Y/n. I’ll never forgive myself if I don’t.”

Y/n moved her hand to rub his back. “I know you feel that way.” She didn’t really know what to say to comfort him. He was so often the one helping everyone else out.

“I feel so silly for still being scared too.” He mentioned.

“Oh, Spence, it’s okay. Hankel is dead and you’re safe now.” She soothed him, still rubbing circles in his back.

He was still bawling his eyes out, feeling unbearable sadness. “I know that. But I still see him and I can still remember every second of it.”

“You didn’t deserve any of that.�� She told him firmly. “He was sick, I know you know that. You went through the worst things imaginable and you’re so strong.”

He lightly nodded. “Will it get better?”

“Yes, if you keep talking about it. To anyone. JJ?” Y/n suggested.

“I like talking to you.” He mentioned it, quieter than before. Y/n could finally smile at that. Despite everything, Spencer was still so kind.

“Good.” She told him as she moved her hand back to his hair. “I could see it was getting to you. With all the similarities in him drugging and abusing his victims. I can’t imagine what you went through but I’m so proud of you.” She continued, meaning every word she told him.

The tears had stopped coming so fast now. They were still constant but a weaker flow. “I just felt so helpless when I was there.”

Y/n almost chuckled at that. “Spencer, from what I’ve heard you were the one who told the team how to find you. I think you were so brave and I know they’re all so proud of you.” She told him.

“Thank you.” He murmured as he moved his head in her lap. She continued to comb through his hair.

They stayed in the exact position for a while. Until, eventually, the tears stopped.

Spencer then sat up. His cheeks were flushed red as he made eye contact with Y/n. “I’m sorry I completely freaked out.” He nervously rambled out an apology.

Y/n couldn’t have shaken her head faster. “Spencer Reid, you don’t have to be sorry for anything. Everyone needs someone to talk to.”

“I’ve got to save him, Y/n,” Spencer told her as he moved to get up off the bed, no doubt to go to his makeshift workspace.

Instead, Y/n tugged on his arm, not letting him move. “I know you’ve got to, Spence. But you can’t do that if you haven’t slept or relaxed in days.” She informed him. He was smart enough, and he had read at least 300 articles on the importance of sleep, to not argue with her.

“Okay, I’ll sleep. Thanks for coming to see me.” He told her, trying to get her out of the room.

Y/n noticed. “I don’t think so. You’re stuck with me for the night, buddy.” She told him as she pattered her lap again.

He looked like he was thinking about putting his head on it but he stopped. “Then you won’t sleep.” He realised.

“Okay then,” Y/n said as she pulled the covers of his bed up and got in. “I hope you’re okay with cuddling.” She was a little worried he wouldn’t be into it, just because of his germaphobic nature. But her worries subsided when he got in next to her and quickly put his head on her chest,

Y/n moved so she was lying flat on her back with her head on a pillow. Spencer put his own head on her chest and wrapped his arms around her waist like a baby koala would its mother.

She moved her arm so she could wrap it around Spencer’s torso and pull him closed but he stopped her. “Can you, uh... could you do it to my, um, hair?” He nervously asked.

Happy to oblige, Y/n moved her hand to his hair and started to run her fingers through it. “If you just want to lie here it’s fine but we can talk too.” She offered him, still unsure of what he needed. Spencer was so used to closing up that he decided to go against what his brain was telling him.

“My parents,’ He started, “When I was little we didn’t really do touching... no one’s ever hugged me like this.” The thought of a little kid Spencer not getting hugged broke Y/n’s heart again.

“Is this okay?” She asked, cautious of where his boundaries might lie.

“Yes.” He hurriedly answered, not wanting her to stop for a second. “I like it. I just didn’t get hugs as a kid from anyone. And as I grew up I learnt more about germs and figured that’s why my parents repealed me.” He spoke slowly and softly like he was half asleep. Maybe he was. “But I like this. It makes me feel better.” He figured.

“That’s good.” Y/n hummed. “I’m always here for you if you want to talk or just cuddle.” She told him.

The smile she could feel against her chest warmed her heart. “I’d like that and please don’t stop stroking my hair.”

She smiled at that. “I won’t.” She meant it as she leant down to place a kiss on his forehead.

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bitsandbobsofwriting · 4 years ago

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Kilgharrah: “Kill that child, Merlin.”

Merlin (like a normal person): “No?? What the fuck???”

And with that, everything changed.

Part 2 Part 3(final part)

“You must let the boy die.”

Kilgharrah’s voice echoed incessantly through Merlin’s head for days after the Druid boy’s appearance, and subsequent disappearance.

Merlin had, of course, ignored the scaly old bastard, and hadn’t once questioned if he’d done the right thing by hiding Mordred away in his tiny bedroom.

If the boy truly had such a terrible destiny, then the best thing for Merlin to do was to keep him close, if not to steer him away from his fate, then to at least be able to see it coming if it was indeed inevitable.

Currently, Morgana was the only one aware that Mordred was still here (other than Gaius of course, who was somehow disapproving and proud at the same time). As far as everyone else was concerned, Arthur and Uther included, the boy was never found, and must have slipped out of the city somehow (going by the extra patrols in the woods, as opposed to the castle and town).

The Warlock was nervous about anyone knowing at first, but when Morgana had tearfully thanked him for saving Mordred, and proceeded to sneak in spare blankets, food, and money for clothes, Merlin was glad for the co-conspirator.

The boy was currently curled up in the corner of Merlin’s room, a pile of blankets and pillows organised like a bird’s nest around him, wearing a soft shirt and sleeping the night away.

Merlin watched him from his bed, realising with growing horror just how protective of Mordred he had already become. He was so young. How could Merlin even consider punishing a child for some stupid destiny he didn’t even know about?

He had to think of a solution quickly. He couldn’t risk sending him away, not even to the Druids, they were as much slaves to the so-called prophecies as Kilgharrah was, and Merlin had once been (”Gods. Sounds like I’ve been dealing with destiny for years. It’s been like six months. I’m too young for this shit.”). But equally... what could he do with him??

Thankfully, no one had really gotten a good look at the boy, so hopefully with a change of clothes and a haircut, he wouldn’t be recognised, at least not if Merlin came up with a convincing enough story.

To be honest... the cover story worried him far more than the prospect of someone recognising him. Uther hadn’t recognised Nimueh, the woman who had been his court sorceress for years... the man was apparently not very observant.

In the end, it was a throwaway comment by Morgana a few days later, about a week after the Druid boy had “escaped” that gave Merlin a very stupid idea. So stupid, that it might just work.

Morgana had once again snuck away from the main castle to sit with Merlin and Mordred in the servant’s room.

Gaius had said nothing as she’d entered the Physician’s chambers, enough food for four hidden away in the picnic basket she carried, just raised his eyebrow slightly, and thanked The Lady for the food offering that was definitely-not-a-bribe.

She gave him a quick wink, and the old physician rolled his eyes fondly as he set an overturned bucket in front of the door; if anyone came in, they would come in loudly.

Mordred was happy to see her, and Merlin hid a fond smile at the boy’s quiet giggles. He still didn’t speak much, so it was a relief to see him finding joy in something, even if it was clandestine visits from Uther’s ward.

She ruffled his hair slightly, resisting the urge to pull the touch averse boy into a tight hug, and set the basket on the bed. Merlin sat against the pillows, and Morgana sat down opposite him, the basket in between them as Mordred clambered up to sit just in front of Merlin.

Morgana and Merlin talked quietly as they ate, Mordred staying silent as the adults (or...as adult as they could get. Like Merlin kept thinking to himself, he was too young for this shit at sixteen, and Morgana was only two years older than him) avoided the elephant in the room.

The elephant being that they couldn’t keep this up forever. Arthur had a habit of bursting in whenever he so pleased, and it was a miracle he hadn’t done so already. Plus, it would be cruel to expect Mordred to stay cooped up in here for much longer. He was a child, he deserved to play outside and explore and do all the other things he couldn’t do in Merlin’s bedroom.

Once they finished eating, Mordred moved to his makeshift bed in the corner, tightly clutching a book that Morgana had bought him, and furrowing his brows in concentration as he read.

Morgana stared at him with a soft smile, and Merlin sighed, once again worrying about his new ward’s future.

Morgana tilts her head, as if a sudden thought had occurred to her, and looks slowly between Merlin and Mordred as the servant raises a questioning eyebrow at her.

“You know Merlin, the two of you look remarkably similar.”

Mordred is engrossed in his book, and doesn’t react at all to Morgana’s quiet comment, but Merlin’s eyebrow goes even higher as he huffs out a laugh:

“You think? I don’t see it.”

Morgana looks at him with a deadpan expression:

“Merlin, you don’t have a mirror in here. I’m fairly certain you have no concept of what you look like.-”

Merlin looks indignantly offended for all of two seconds before he sighs and nods, she’s right to be fair. He’s tall-ish, with pale skin, and he thinks he has brown hair. That’s about all he knows.

Morgana chuckles as she once again looks at Mordred:

“You both have very dark hair, bright blue eyes, pale skin. You know...-”

She looks back at him with a thoughtful frown on her face:

“-if someone told me you were brothers... I’d believe it.”

Merlin raises an eyebrow:

“Really?”

She nods decisively:

“Yeah. I mean, the more I think about it, the more I look between you, yes. You could definitely be related.”

Merlin nods his head slowly, thinking. He takes in a deep breath and tilts his head slightly:

“It could work. I haven’t really talked to anyone about my family so... we could say that... he came to live with me? Because life here is... good?”

Morgana snorts slightly, rolling her eyes before looking back at him seriously:

“You’d have to be more convincing than that. You could say that the harvest was poor in your village? That Mordred was better off coming to stay with his big brother in the big city?”

Merlin nods at her words, grimacing slightly as he mutters:

“If we’re running with the whole... brother thing, I need to write a letter to my mum, just in case. Gods she’s going to laugh so much.”

Morgana laughs at him quietly, but the noise finally catches Mordred’s attention and he looks up in confusion. Merlin moves the basket to the floor, and gestures to the boy to come over.

He walks over wordlessly, climbing up to kneel between them, biting his lip nervously.

“Is it time for me to leave, Emrys?” echoes through Merlin’s head, and he gives the boy a comforting smile, shaking his head slightly, before saying out loud:

“You’re staying with me, Mordred-”

The boy smiles slightly as he stares at Merlin in reverence, and Morgana quickly hides her questioning gaze. She could see that there was more between them than simple protectiveness over a child, and thankfulness for being saved, but she kept her thoughts to herself as Merlin continued:

“-but we can’t keep you hidden in here forever, so we’re going to tell people that you’re my younger brother, come to live with me. Is that alright?”

Mordred nods his head vigorously, and Merlin chuckles slightly as the boy’s grin grew:

“Ok. We’ll get you a haircut and tell Gaius the plan. Probably wait a few more days for things to settle down further, and then see how it goes, ok?”

Mordred nods once more, smile not leaving his face. Morgana bites her lip to stop herself from laughing at Merlin’s shocked face when the boy threw himself into the servant’s arms for a tight hug.

Merlin spends the next few days teaching Mordred all about Ealdor and his mother and Will, so that the boy could have at least a little knowledge on what was supposedly his home and family.

The next time Morgana came to visit, she brought a comb and a sharp pair of scissors, as well as a few more changes of clothes that looked less... Druid. By the time she left that evening, Mordred had much shorter hair, and a wide grin on his face at the prospect of finally being able to go outside (he was Druid after all, he needed trees and fresh air).

The letter had been sent home, and Merlin was expecting a reply any day now. The only thing left to worry about was how to hide Mordred’s Druid marking. It would be easy to cover with clothes, but Uther’s increasing paranoia meant that it would be best if they could find a more permanent solution.

Gaius suggested some sort of glamour spell fairly quickly, but Merlin was unwilling to cast one on the boy until he’d mastered it.

And THAT meant showing up to serve Arthur with ink all over his hands that he had tried and failed to cover.

Merlin had also realised with dawning horror, that he would have to tell Morgana the truth. She knew about the marking, and she was smart, there was no way that hiding it wasn’t something that had occurred to her. She would bring it up eventually, and how could Merlin explain without having to... explain??

Morgana was already risking her favour with the King, and frankly, her life, by protecting a Druid... she would do the same for Merlin, right? But Mordred hadn’t actually done any magic... BUT she’d always spoken against executions... BUT Merlin had lied and hidden it from her, his friend...

Hmm...

In the end, he’d decided he would just have to suck it up, and tell her. Fuck whatever that dragon said. After Kilgharrah’s last round of... advice, Merlin had been ignoring his calls. If there was an emergency, the cryptic bastard would tell him, and until then he could just sulk in that cave on his own.

That two weeks was also enough for Uther to become convinced that the mysterious Druid boy really was long gone, and to just forget about it. He was pissed of course, but talking about it and extending the search just highlighted that a child, barely eleven summers, had managed to evade all of his forces and that... did not cast him in a good light.

It took Merlin about two weeks to fully master the spell, which was longer than the three of them were hoping, but he was adamant that he perfect it before he cast it on Mordred, and Gaius was incredibly impressed at his ward’s determination.

Morgana was of course confused about why they kept pushing it back, she thought they were only going to wait a few days before they started introducing Mordred, but she trusted Merlin and saw no harm in waiting a little longer.

When Morgana arrived that evening, she could tell that Merlin was... anxious. They’d agreed on a specific day to make introductions but it wasn’t until the end of this week, it didn’t make any sense for Merlin to suddenly be nervous about it.

Mordred wasn’t quite as good at hiding his emotions, and didn’t even giggle like he normally did when Morgana came over, just stared at his “brother” anxiously.

Morgana rolled her eyes and huffed as she shut the door:

“Alright, Merlin. What is it? Spit it out.”

Merlin opened his mouth, about to come out with an excuse, before he snapped it shut again and took a deep breath.

It worried him, how easy, how automatic it was for him to lie, but that was a worry for another time.

Mordred reached up and took his hand, squeezing it, and Merlin looked down at him with a weak smile before sitting on the bed and gesturing that Morgana join him.

She looked at him worriedly, but settles where he gestures, and doesn’t acknowledge the way Mordred sits defensively between them.

The boy looks back at Merlin:

“Are you sure, Emrys?”

Merlin gives him another smile, and squeezes his shoulder slightly as he raises an eyebrow:

“I’m sure. And you need to get used to calling me Merlin at some point.”

Mordred pouts slightly, and Merlin ruffles his hair as he laughs, before looking back up at Morgana’s questioning stare.

He takes another deep breath, before slowly speaking:

“I... we’ve found a way to properly hide Mordred’s marking.”

Morgana looks taken aback, but relieved:

“Oh. Is that all? That’s good isn’t it? I have to admit, it was worrying me.”

Merlin gulps:

“Yeah it... it is good... it’s just, it involves... magic.”

Morgana raises her eyebrow, and nods slowly, as if it were obvious:

“I figured it would be. It’s not like it would be easy or reliable to cover it with make-up every morning, or hide it with clothes.-”

It’s Merlin’s turn to look taken aback now, and Mordred fixes her with an unreadable expression. Morgana continues:

“-The problem, lies in finding someone willing to do whatever spell it is. Someone we could trust wouldn’t share the secret, no matter what.”

Merlin grimaces slightly, more gulping, and taking yet another deep breath:

“We already have someone. Me.”

Morgana gasps slightly, and she’s vaguely aware of the brothers in front of her tensing up, but all she can focus on is the gold of Merlin’s irises.

The gold fades, and Merlin clears his throat, breaking her out of her stupor. She reaches over and punches Merlin harshly on the arm before getting up and beginning to pace, speechless.

Merlin and Mordred panic at first, but when she makes no moves towards the door in her pacing, they relax. That only lasts for a moment or two however, before she looks back to Merlin, furious:

“Are you thick Merlin? Why on earth would you learn magic in Camelot of all places?? Do you have a death wish!?”

Merlin laughs slightly, cheeks turning pink as he rubs the back of his neck:

“Actually uh... I was born with magic; I’ve always had it. My mother sent me here because she thought I would learn to control it better.”

Morgana looks incredulous as she continues to rant:

“What? With the fear of execution hanging over your head?! That’s not control, that’s terror.”

Merlin shrugs:

“It works though. My magic is mostly instinctual, the threat of torture by pyre sure as hell stops me from losing control when I’m angry or scared or whatever...”

Morgana huffs, crossing her arms and fixing him with a glare. Both Merlin and Mordred cower slightly as they are reminded of angry and disproving mothers; as if they were about to be scolded for getting their clothes dirty, or ruining their dinner with too many snacks.

She just stares at him for a minute, before she sags slightly, and begins chuckling at the boys’ fearful faces:

“You are ridiculous. But it’s far too late to persuade you to leave now. Does Arthur know?”

Merlin’s face morphs into a mournful frown, as he looks to the floor and mumbles:

“No. I wish I could tell him but... with Uther...”

Morgana sighs, putting a comforting hand on his shoulder:

“Uther won’t be here forever. We’ll just have to keep Arthur from turning into too much of a prat before he becomes King.-”

Merlin laughs at that, and looks up to give the woman a grateful smile. She returns his smile before continuing:

“-So, you can do the spell?”

Merlin winces slightly and gestures for Mordred to pull the collar of his shirt down, to reveal a blank patch of skin:

“I’ve actually already done it. It’ll stay there permanently until I take it off. Though we should keep checking, just in case.”

Morgana looks surprised, and smiles:

“What’s the problem then?-”

She rolls her eyes when Merlin looks at her incredulously:

“-Oh, come on Merlin. I’m not going to turn you in, you’re safe with me. You both are, and you always will be.”

The servant jumps up to give her a tight hug, which she quickly returns as Mordred nervously joins in. Morgana smiles to herself, and squeezes her boys tighter.

She may love Uther and Arthur, and she knew they loved her back, in their own way, but this? This was family.

The time finally came for Merlin to introduce his baby brother. Hunith had supposedly dropped him off late last night and left immediately, having to get back home quickly.

Morgana had gone to gather Gwen and Arthur whilst Merlin and Mordred waited in their room (it was definitely their room now, instead of just Merlin’s).

It was early in the morning, and to say that Arthur was grumpy at being woken by Morgana instead of Merlin, was an understatement.

But he eventually caved, and dressed himself as he grumbled, allowing Morgana to drag him to meet Gwen (who was equally confused) before the three of them made their way to the Physician’s chambers.

Gaius was suspiciously absent, and Morgana knocked on Merlin’s door, before slowly opening it and walking in, Arthur and Gwen following her quickly.

Gwen was surprised at the sight of Merlin stood behind a child, hands protectively on his shoulders, but smiled and gave Mordred a soft wave in greeting.

Arthur however, froze, and stared at the boy with a shocked expression.

Morgana moved to stand next to Mordred, and took one of his hands as Merlin began to speak:

“Gwen, Arthur, I want you to meet my baby brother, Mordred. He’s come to live with me.”

Gwen waved again, and bent over to Mordred’s height:

“Hi Mordred, I’m Guinevere, but all my friends call me Gwen. I didn’t know that Merlin had a brother, but it’s lovely to meet you.”

Mordred gave her a small smile, and Merlin suppressed a chuckle as-

“I like her, Em- Merlin.”

-echoed through his head.

Arthur’s gaze moved away from Mordred finally, up to Merlin.

Merlin stared back at him blankly, but Arthur saw the way his jaw clenched as he moved a protective hand down, to pull Mordred closer to him.

The Prince let out a deep sigh, growling slightly as Gwen looked at him in confusion, and Morgana and Merlin stared at him challengingly.

He shook his head as his shoulders sagged, and he rubbed at his eyes with the palms of his hands before looking back to Mordred with a strained smile:

“It’s nice to meet you, Mordred. My name’s Arthur.”

With that, Morgana smirks slightly, and Merlin relaxes. Gwen just rolls her eyes:

“Sorry about him Mordred, he doesn’t spend much time around people your age.”

Mordred gives her another smile, and Merlin glances to Gwen, before looking down at Mordred:

“Why don’t you go with Morgana and Gwen to see the city a little? Me and Arthur need to talk, I’ll catch up with you later, ok?”

Mordred turns around quickly, and grabs Merlin’s hand tightly:

“You promise??”

Gwen holds in an “awww” and Morgana hides her smile. Mordred rarely talks aloud (she’d been told of the mental link), but she’s glad to see he was feeling at least a little more comfortable.

Merlin crouches down, and pulls the boy into a tight hug, stroking his hair slightly as he stares straight at Arthur:

“I promise. I’ll never leave you for long Mordred.”

Arthur gulps at Merlin’s hard stare, but gives him an almost imperceptible nod, which Merlin returns as he stands up. Mordred gives him one more look as he takes one of Morgana’s hands, and one of Gwen’s, and follows them out of the room.

Morgana shuts the door quietly, and Arthur sighs again before looking at Merlin:

“What are you thinking Merlin?? You just thought I wouldn’t notice?”

Merlin crosses his arms, his glare still hard:

“No, I knew you would notice, I just had faith that you’re a better man than your father.”

Arthur is still deep in his “my father can do no wrong” faze, and takes great offense at that, taking a threatening step forward and growling:

“And what’s that supposed to mean?”

Merlin just huffs and raises an eyebrow slightly:

“I had assumed that you were not the type of man to have a child executed, just for existing.-”

Merlin copies Arthur’s step forward, raising his chin and continuing, his voice low and dangerous:

“-Did I assume correctly? Because there is nothing I wouldn’t do to protect that kid, Arthur. Nothing.”

Arthur stares at him incredulously, only managing to hold Merlin’s surprisingly confident stare for a few moments, before nodding and stepping back:

“Of course. He’s a child, Merlin, I won’t see him hurt, if I can help it.”

Merlin nods slowly, not looking away from Arthur as he softly says:

“I’ll hold you to that.-”

He walks around The Prince, opening the door and stepping halfway through before looking over his shoulder, and quietly saying to a confused Arthur:

“-If you truly believed that all magic is evil, and always corrupted, no matter what, then you wouldn’t care that he’s a child; you’d want him dead anyway. So perhaps think about your... prejudices, a little more deeply, maybe you’ll discover you are different to Uther in other ways as well.”

Before Arthur can even really process what Merlin said, the servant is shutting the door behind him, and rushing off to find his new brother.

OK SO!!!

I really LOVED writing this, there will definitely be more parts, I just figured I should end it here before I got carried away

This series is finished!! (Links at the top <3 )

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thedelusionreaderbitch · 4 years ago

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Kaz Brekker x fem! Reader - If You Dare

A/n: I should hopefully have some more stuff out soon so... yay! And this request was great, I had so much fun writing this!

Warnings: Possessive/jealous Kaz, language, mentions of murder, I think that's it? You have been warned!

Request: I'd love to request a Kaz Brekker x reader! Maybe one where Kaz and the reader like each other, but haven't said anything yet. One day, Y/N’s brother visits the crow club, (nobody knew she had a brother) and her brother kisses her on the cheek and greets her and everything. Just some jealous/possessive Kaz not knowing the context of the cheek kiss, maybe some fluff too where Y/N and Kaz admit their feelings in the end :)) Tysm for reading❤️❤️

I do not own Six of Crows or the grishaverse!

Everyone knew that Y/n was Brekker's girl.

It was funny because any possible 'suitors' for Y/n magically disappeared but no one said anything. Of course, they didn't, if they wanted to keep their lives then they wouldn't dare.

That was fine, everyone just kept to themselves and prayed to the saints that they weren't a possible threat to Dirtyhands. What frustrated the Crows is that neither Y/n nor Kaz would admit their feelings towards each other.

The Crows (for once) were all down in the crow club not planing one of their evil heists that usually mess up the world, today they were just relaxing.

Well, maybe not Kaz. Kaz never really fully relaxed, at least not with so many people around.

He saw Y/n laugh with Inej and Nina and he couldn't help the way his eyes travelled down her body or the way that he wanted to keep hearing that laugh on repeat for the rest of his life.

He also couldn't help the fact that he wanted to be the one to make her laugh like that.

Kaz sighed internally, even he knew, the bastard of the fucking barrel is head over heels for Y/n L/n. The girl who would make him dance in the rain with her, the girl who he would gladly kiss if it wasn't for his touch aversion.

She perched her head up a bit and scanned the crowd seemingly looking for something.

Or someone.

Kaz felt something boiling bubble up in his gut but he couldn't quite put his finger on it. Why would Y/n be looking for someone? It better not be for a date...

Okay, maybe he did know what he was feeling at the moment because he felt it almost every day when another person was around Y/n that wasn't him.

And fuck, he knew it was because he was no good. She deserved so much more than someone who couldn't even brush his hand up against someone without getting near to a panic attack. But he couldn't, he really couldn't get out of the mood he was in now till the situation was over. Trust him he tried.

A man who was fairly good-looking comes up behind Y/n and tackle's her into a hug. He nearly goes up to stand but she starts laughing and embracing the boy like they haven't seen each other in years.

He grips onto his cane harder than he ever has in his life. Don't make a scene, don't make a scene. Please, don't make a scene.

Y/n giggles and kiss's the boy on his cheek and all his self will goes out and dies in the harbour.

He shoots up out of his seat and walks faster to Y/n and the terrible man than he should with his bad leg and slams his cane in between the two. He glares his worst glare basically seeing red when he looks at the man and all of him wants to bash his head in as an example to everyone. His mind doesn't even think it's a bad plan but he knows Y/n would not like whoever this was to die like that so he would have to somehow come up with another plan.

"If you dare look at her again you won't ever see again," Kaz says lowly and icily calm contrasting to what he's really feeling inside. Red hot rage burst's inside him becoming an ugly green that grows and infects him.

"Kaz!" Y/n semi-yells trying not to make a scene, but he was sure eyes were already on him. He was Dirtyhands after all.

He turns to her sharply knowing his expression isn't one that even a spider would want to see but it sits on his face all the same.

"What." He growls out trying so hard to not snap at the angel before him.

Without thinking his gloved hand goes to lightly touch her neck and he doesn't feel nausea and sickness. He only feels the warmth of the girl that he loves even with the gloves on. Fuck he loves her, and he had to admit it to himself right now?

She visibly shivers at his touch like she enjoyed it but her face quickly turns back to the angry one that she was wearing before.

"He's my brother!"

Now that he thinks about it he did look similar to Y/n, and the context of everything looked more sibling-like more than anything. How the hell did he not see it? He groaned on the inside, he was never doing anything without thinking it through first again. He guessed that plan was shit though because he could barely think around Y/n.

Speaking of Y/n...

The young woman growl and he feels his eyebrows raise. Oh shit. She balls her hands into fits and stomps off. He tries not to run after her but because of his leg, he can't go nearly as fast as she can and he quickly falls behind.

"Y/n!"

He gets to her room and she slams the door in his face.

Great.

He picks the lock of the door for a few minutes as he curses himself for letting her use one of the harder locks to get into. But after just under a minute he hears the familiar click and he slides open the door.

Luckily the girl is in her room and he's happy that she didn't run off right away. Though her arms are crossed around her chest and even someone standing two buildings away could tell this girl was pissed beyond hell.

"What the fuck were you thinking?" She says lowly trying not to yell at him.

He wasn't thinking, all he could see were his arms around her and her lips on his cheek. Kaz was surprised he managed a sentence when he decided to make a 'scene.'

"I haven't seen him in years! Kaz, years! All I wanted was a happy reunion but you had to screw that up too!" She throws her hands in the air in exasperation.

Kaz knew that she wasn't planning on staying in Ketterdam at first and he didn't even know why she did stay, but his friends (or the closest people he could call friends) told him it was because of him. Brushing off that topic before was easy, but now look where it got them.

"I wasn't thinking." He finally finds the right words and breaks the silence that was washing over them both.

Don't screw this up Brekker.

"I didn't think he was your brother."

"So what? I was just another investment you had to protect because you thought I was stupid." It wasn't a question, it was a statement. He swallowed trying to find the right words. But he couldn't, there were just no words how he could describe how he feels for her.

So show her dumbass.

Slowly taking off his gloves he place's a hand on her cheek. It's feather-light and barely there, but he doesn't feel the cold or the waves and he doesn't feel like he's drowning. Her skin feels warm and it makes him feel alive, he hasn't felt like that in what seems like forever.

"Oh." Is the only thing that comes out of her mouth and she smiles a bit?

He rolls his eyes at her and takes his hand away. "Ya, oh." He rasps.

Y/n reaches out and carefully takes his left hand in hers and slowly but surely they intertwine their hands together.

Her smile slowly fades away as she looks at their hands.

"What are we?" The question hangs in the air creating more space in between them than ever before. Kaz close's his eyes for a second and lets that hungry feeling wash over him. The feeling of jealousy and the feeling of possessiveness when he thought she was with another man.

But then he lets the little moments warp him in their warm embrace. The moments when she offhandedly mentioned that what her favourite flower was, so then those flowers would just appear in her room. Or when she saved him and he couldn't think of any moment where she looked more beautiful, more saint-like, more like herself than ever. He sucks in those moments never letting them go.

"You are mine." His other hand goes to her neck again. "And I am yours." He lets his eyes rake her body committing every single little detail to memory and he sees her blush faintly a bit as he drinks her in.

They stand there in silence just enjoying each other's presence till Y/n looks up at him an oh shit look in her eyes.

"How the hell are we going to explain this to my brother!?"

Words 1480

-thedelusionreaderbitch

Shadow and bone taglist: @kaqua @rika90 @thefandomplace @musical-theatre-obsessed-dumbass @gallysonegoodlung

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iridescentjin · 4 years ago

Text

A Dash of Magic

Pairing: Cedric Diggory x reader x Taehyung

Genre: Smut

Rating: Mature

Warnings: oral sex (m/f receiving), unprotected sex, threesome, sort of facefucking, slight cumplay

a/n: tbh, I don’t even know if this makes sense. It’s unedited. For @cheba-o

WC: 3845

The thing about Cedric Diggory was he was always just so...perfect. And that rubbed you the wrong way. He excelled in all of his classes, played Seeker on the Quidditch team, and had throngs of admiring teens following him everywhere that he went.

No thank you.

No matter how much you tried to avoid it, and him, there was no way around the 4 classes that you had together. Not to mention that it felt like you passed him on his way to the Hufflepuff Common Room every time you were on your way to the dungeons. You had to do that awkward thing where you say goodbye to someone while you’re still walking the same way, so you just have to speed up to make it look like you were going somewhere with purpose.

You wouldn’t say you hated him. You didn’t. You just didn’t get what the fuss is. Everyone fawning all over his every move. There had been smart, brave, good-looking Quidditch players before, and there would be more in the future. You didn’t talk to him much, but there was no way that all that attention didn’t go directly to his head. That nice and kind thing had to be an act.

And yet, somehow, you find yourself here, in the living room of Cedric’s parents house. This wouldn’t have been your first choice.

To explain how you got here, you have to explain how you ended up standing next to Tae, holding his hand while your toes wiggle nervously in your shoes. Taehyung was a whole different beast. Similar to Cedric in many ways, but different enough to have caught your eye back in fourth year.

Slytherin had shared classes with Hufflepuff your fourth year, and Taehyung caught your eye. He was always doing silly things with his friends while being naturally good at almost everything. He was a little bit clumsy but incredibly handsome. You pretended to be put off by him, but your teenage heart screamed out for attention from him. You’d never have told your friends, and you openly mocked him in class if he messed anything up. One day after class, he confronted you about why you hated him so much.

“You’re joking?” you spat at him, trying not to give away your emotions in your voice.

“No, I’m not. What did I ever do to you?” he asked you, keeping you cornered enough that you couldn’t easily slip around him.

“I don’t hate you,” you mumbled, unable to keep up the game.

“You...you don’t?”

“No. I’ve got like...a thing for you or whatever. It doesn’t matter. I hate you because I want to kiss you or whatever. Go away.” The words just kind of spilled out of your mouth, and you almost wanted to laugh at the ridiculous flow of words. Oh well. This is who you are. Awkward and averse to emotions.

“Oh,” he blurts out. “Oh!”

You felt the heat in your face with embarrassment, and you closed your eyes, breathing deeply.

“Yep. Okay. I gotta go.” You tried to push past him without actually touching him, but he stopped you.

“Well, don’t you want to know how I feel?” he asked.

You raised your eyebrows, and your mouth fell slightly open.

“I mean...I don’t know you that well, but I’d like to.” He smirked as he said it.

And that was it. It was over for you from that moment on. You were wrapped around his long, lithe fingers, and he seemed to be imprinted on you. The two of you bonded and shared everything over the following years, so that when it came time to build your life, you of course built it together.

And yet, even though you were tremendously happy with Taehyung, there were needs that you felt like weren’t always met with Taehyung. Sometimes sexually, sometimes interpersonally. Taehyung is so kind and caring, but at times, he struggles to listen to your problems without wanting to fix them. He always feels like he has to jump up and do something about it. You want to be more experimental in bed, and you know that he misses the physical connection with men.

And long story short, that’s how you ended up here. In Amos Diggory’s living room, waiting awkwardly for Cedric to come downstairs. Your fingertips brush against Tae’s palm without taking his hand into yours. You shift your weight between your legs, hearing the slight swish of your pants rubbing together.

After you’d graduated from Hogwarts, Taehyung and Cedric had both taken jobs at the Ministry of Magic. They were starting next week. You’d decided to work in your uncle’s apothecary where you could work with plants and potions all day long, living the true green witch life you’d always wanted.

You had agreed to come with Taehyung to collect Cedric and take him to his new little flat in the middle of London. It was near yours, and you were all able to get quickly to The Ministry and Knockturn Alley quickly. You avoided telling people that the shop you worked in was in Knockturn Alley because they always associated it with the Dark Arts. You especially felt nervous when Amos Diggory asked what you did, and you couldn’t come up with an answer. Taehyung jumped in saying you worked at the family apothecary, a small place he’d probably never heard of. The three of you then talked about potions and ingredients for a while until Cedric finally appeared at the bottom of the steps.

He had a large bookbag with him, and he announced that he had used magic to transport the rest of his luggage to his new place. You didn’t see why he couldn’t just use magic to transport himself there too. Ya know, by himself. But you’d already argued with Tae about it enough, and you didn’t have a good enough reason besides “I don’t wanna” to not go help him out.

Cedric smiles huge at you and Taehyung then gives his dad a big hug. His dad claps him hard on the back and tries to cover up the fact that he's getting misty-eyed. Eventually, you all say your goodbyes, and you are headed back to London.

On the train, Tae and Cedric chat happily and excitedly, speculating about their upcoming jobs, bosses, and coworkers. They will both be working in the Department of International Magical Cooperation. They discuss the opportunity for working abroad in the future, though to begin with they will likely be staying in London, doing grunt work. They are both so excited and giddy that you can’t help but catch a little bit of the bounciness.

When you reach Cedric’s flat, you and Taehyung agree to help him unpack, though with magic, it isn’t too difficult. You reflect on moving as a kid from Mexico all the way to England. There was so much work involved, and you couldn’t help but feel out of place for 3 or more years. Even now, you still feel a little out of place.

With a few waves of your wands, the rooms are set up, looking like a cozy, young adult’s flat, hardly showing any traces that the occupant just moved in today. You look around at each other and smile, feeling accomplished. The smile on Cedric’s face and the eye contact that he makes with you makes you heat up in the cheeks again. You feel embarrassed that you felt a lurch in your stomach and slight heat between your thighs.

This was the first time that you’d ever felt anything but contempt for him. You internally roll your eyes at yourself. You refuse to become just another girl fawning over Cedric Diggory. No matter how cute he looks with his hair all mussed from running his hands through it. No matter how much your eyes can’t keep from tracing the shape of his pectoral muscles under his tight t-shirt.

You realize this is the first time that you’ve seen Cedric not in his school or Quidditch robes. You decide that is what has got you feeling some type of way today. He just looks different in regular clothes. Your brain is just trying to figure out and judge the switch. You finally bug Tae into heading home. You wish Cedric a fairly cold farewell and head toward the Tube.

Weeks later, you have settled into your new routine with Tae. You’d been working at the apothecary all summer, but Tae just started his job. It was a shift, him not always being home when you got home, but it gave you a chance to work on making your house more cozy. Even though Tae is the Hufflepuff, you were constantly trying to make everything in your house feel homey, filled with plants, throws, and tea.

Cedric has come over several times for dinner, and you’ve felt yourself warming to him. There was less pressure to feel like you had to not just be another girl fawning over him because you weren’t in school dealing with the popularity contests that teenagers always feel like matter. You’ve realized that it doesn’t matter how other people perceive him or if you behave differently than them. You can like who you like and be fond of who you’re fond of.

The last two times that he’d been over, you all had sat on the slightly-too-small-for-three-people couch, with you in the middle, and watched movies. Tonight, Cedric was over, and the three of you were once again on the couch. Tae had his arm around you, and you were leaning more toward him, so as to not make Cedric uncomfortable. Your thigh was still touching his lightly, but you tried to give him as much space as you could.

You are watching Caddyshack because someone had told Tae that it was an American classic that you had to see, and you love Bill Murray. It was funny, but you’re not sure that you would call it a must-see.

When Bill Murray says, “sir, if I kill all the golfers, they’ll lock me up and throw away the key,” Cedric laughs deeply from his chest, and he throws his hands up. When they come back down, one hand is resting on your knee. You don’t think the moment was funny enough to warrant that response, sure a sharp exhale through your nose or even a chortle would have been appropriate, but right now, you can’t think of anything other than the warmth and pressure of his hand on your knee.

You stare at it for a moment. It doesn’t feel wrong, so you decide to let it stay. A moment later, Tae puts his hand on your other knee. You are acutely aware of the differences in the way their hands feel but how both make you feel wanted and cared for. Cedric rubs his thumb in small circles over your skin, showing you that he knows what he’s doing and it’s on purpose. You look down at your lap, and while both men have their palms and most fingers resting on your skin, their pinky fingers are in a delicate dance together, constantly touching one another. Your breath catches in your chest. You realize that you’d never asked Tae what he thinks about Cedric or the possibility that he might want to be with a man as well or instead.

“Uh...Tae, can you come help me with something in the bedroom really quickly, please?” you blurt out, popping up quickly from where you sit. Both of the men stare at you with shock from the sudden change in your demeanor.

Upon shutting the door behind him, Tae looks up at you with a curious questioning in his eyes.

“Tae, are you happy with our relationship?” you ask hastily.

“What? Yes, of course I am!” He sounds defensive.

“I just want to make sure that this is what you want because if you want something else, I understand. We have discussed that at some point we might want to explore other things. I just don’t want to hold you back or anything.”

“yn, no. You’re not holding me back. Is this about Cedric?” he asks.

“I mean...a little bit.” You twiddle your fingers like a cliche, but you can’t help it.

“Look, I didn’t know how to bring it up without making it seem like I didn’t want you. Cedric and I really click, and lately, the two of you have been vibing more. He and I have discussed it, and we wanted to talk to you too.” He sighs and places his hand, the same hand that had been on your knee, on your shoulder.

“‘It?’ What is ‘it?’”

“It being...us starting a relationship with Cedric. Romantic styles.” His voice shakes slightly as he says it, the pauses between words longer than usual.

“Oh!” you exclaim, unable to contain your surprise. You hadn’t even considered that.

“Please, take your time and think about it, baby.” He kisses you on the forehead and reaches down to grab your hand.

You nod, and you do mean it, even though you don’t have the words for it. You open the door and let him lead the way back to the couch. You sit rigid, all of your muscles feeling engaged because you are trying not to suggest anything with your body language.

The evening ends more awkwardly than it started, but you manage to be less frigid than you had been in the past to Cedric. You think that trying to be cool has made you much less cool than usual, which isn’t much anyway.

You and Tae don’t talk much as you get ready for bed, silently brushing your teeth while looking at each other in the mirror in the bathroom. You slip into your pajamas then lift the blanket to snuggle up under it. Taehyung lays out his clothes for tomorrow and slides in next to you. He wraps his arms firmly around you, pulling you to his chest. His lips plant on your hair on the side of your head, and he gently rests his chin against your head. The two of you stay like that for what feels like a long time until you start to drift off to sleep.

You take your time thinking about Tae’s proposal of a relationship with Cedric. The three of you do vibe together very well, and you don’t even try to deny that you’re attracted to Cedric anymore. The three of you have a lot of fun together. You know that being in a relationship with two people doesn’t mean that Tae will love you any less or you’ll love him any less. You had always liked the idea of a poly relationship to meet all the needs that may not have been met by one person, even if you were deeply in love with them.

“Okay,” you say one morning while eating a piece of toast, sitting at the bar counter of the kitchen in your pajamas.

“Okay?” Tae asks, not turning from the French press that has his attention.

“Okay, let’s give Cedric a shot.”

You are resolute and trying to be as neutral as possible. You don’t want to sound too enthusiastic and make Tae feel bad. You don’t want to sound too reluctant and make him think that maybe you don’t actually want to do this.

“Really?” He turns toward you, his eyebrows raised as high as you’ve ever seen them.

“Yes, really. Let’s have him round for dinner tonight, so we all can talk about it,” you state, getting up from your seat, planting a kiss on Tae’s lips, then heading back to your room to get dressed.

The conversation with Cedric goes more smoothly than you could have ever prepared for. All three of you laid out your expectations and desires from the relationship. Cedric was the kind of person who would just listen to your problems without trying to solve them, not that you didn’t love Tae for trying, but sometimes you just wanted him to listen. He was also open to experimenting sexually with both of you. He also gave Taehyung a partner to talk to about both wizard and muggle sports, as they were not really your thing. It felt good to say what you wanted and to also set clear boundaries with these two men that you cared deeply for.

After the conversation, Cedric rounded the table and kissed you on the lips. His lips were thinner than Tae’s, but the passion behind them was different too. He then kissed Taehyung, and then you and Tae kissed. It felt natural. The three of you sat there holding hands for a minute or two just looking at each other and smiling. You stood up and pulled Cedric toward you, wrapping your arms around his neck, kissing him as deeply as you’d wanted to that first night that he put his hand on your knee.

His mouth follows yours, tongue dancing with yours as his fingers lace into your hair on the back of your head. Tae settles into the space behind you, his chest against your back. His hands search Cedric’s arms, shoulders, and neck. Cedric’s hand that isn’t in your hair brushes over your shoulder and cradles Tae’s face as it rests on you.

The three of you continue in this configuration, turning so different mouths can explore each other over and over, until Tae pulls away and leads you both by the hand to the bedroom. This is so familiar and so foreign to you. You’ve been with Taehyung intimately in your bed countless times, but it’s the first time that you are going to be with someone else with him.

You stand in the middle of the floor in your room, with your toes wiggling in anticipation like they had at Cedric’s house that day over a month ago. Cedric pulls your dress over your head while he stands behind you. Taehyung kneels down in front of you, kissing your belly then each of your thighs. He pulls down your panties, letting you step out of them before tossing them aside. He kisses the tender skin at your hip bones then runs his finger tip over your slit, barely touching the skin, teasing you.

He stands and kisses Cedric hard while you stand nake watching them. Tae pulls Cedric’s shirt over his head and tosses it with your panties, then he peels off his own, adding it to the growing pile. Soon enough, the two of them are in the underwear, and you are leaning back on the edge of the bed. Cedric situates himself between your legs, putting them up on his shoulders, and pulls your ass right up to the edge of the bed.

HIs tongue laves over your sensitive bud, licking at the arousal that you know has pooled there. He licks you from your perineum to the top of your labia then sucks gently at your clit, creating suction there. The sensation overwhelms you as Tae climbs up onto the bed and positions himself near your head. You can see the outline of his hard bulge against his underwear, and you can’t keep your hands off of it. You stroke it lightly through the fabric until you get frustrated, moaning from the pleasure between your legs, then you pull his cock out from its fabric prison, letting your hand savor the smooth, hot skin of his hard dick.

Cedric pauses and lifts his head from between your legs. You look down at him, and he’s smiling, simply watching your stroke Tae. You gesture for him to come up to you. He climbs up on top of you and kisses your lips gingerly. He tastes like you, and it turns you on even more that that’s the taste on his tongue. Tae leans down and kisses him, moaning and smacking his lips.

“Baby, you taste so good,” he groans.

Cedric leans a little further over you and wraps his lips around Tae’s cock while your hand is still stroking him. The two of you work in tandem to pleasure Tae, and you use Cedric’s spit to lubricate your hand stroking his cock. You can’t help but feel like Cedric has been left out.

“Lie down on your back,” you say to Cedric, and he looks at you sideways with Tae still between his lips. “Please.”

He obliges and resituates himself so his head is on the pillows. You pull his underwear down, the last remaining item of clothing finally removed. You position your mouth over his cock and let the spit fall from your lips slowly on to it. The three of you watch it, and it feels like it’s happening in slow motion. Once you’ve soaked him completely you use your hand to smear your spit around on it. Then you straddle his hips, positioning yourself directly over him. His cock isn’t circumcised, so you know that he’s so much more sensitive than anyone you’ve been with before. You slowly sink down onto him, letting him fill you up. You pulse slightly, then let your pussy adjust.

While you’re adjusting to Cedric’s cock, Taehyung positions himself, so his cock can slide into Cedric’s mouth.Cedric eagerly takes it back into his mouth, licking and sucking it excitedly as you settle onto his cock. You start to roll your hips and run your fingers down Taehyung’s back that’s toward you. You ride Cedric’s cock until you are shuddering from the sensation of your clit rubbing against him and his cock dragging against your sensitive spots inside.

You can feel Cedric’s cock start to twitch inside of you, and Taehyung’s thrusts into Cedric’s mouth are growing less rhythmic and more desperate. You continue to bounce up and down on Cedric’s cock, trying to coax and orgasm out of him. He and Taehyung cum at the same time. He spills inside of you, and Tae paints the inside of Cedric’s mouth, some getting on the outside and on his cheek.

Tae giggles softly and wipes the cum off of Cedric’s face. He takes his finger and offers it to you, and you suck it clean, enjoying the taste of Tae’s salty, musty ejaculate. A familiar and comforting taste on your tongue. You dismount Cedric and curl up on the bed in front of him. He wraps his arms around you as Tae settles in behind him, wrapping his arms so he’s holding both of you.

The three of you lie there quietly for a while, cuddling and enjoying the afterglow of your sex, then Cedric speaks.

“I’m so happy to be with you two. This is all I’ve ever wanted or needed.”

You smile and turn to kiss him on his lips. You snuggle back in deeply to his embrace, and you know exactly what he means in that moment. You are looking forward to what the future will hold for the three of you together.

#btswritingcafe #ksmutclub #bangtanarmynet #vantaenet #noonasinnetwork #taehyung x reader #taehyung smut #hogwarts bts #bts hogwarts au #bts smut

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potatopossums · 4 years ago

Text

Alright. I've written tons of drafts trying to capture my thoughts on this.

Aromantic people, I'd love to have a discussion about this either in reblogs or DMs or whatever.

I don't know if I'm on the aro spectrum. Ever since I saw the word, I kind of felt like it described something in me. When I saw it, I was coming out of a difficult yet amicable divorce, was thinking I was a lesbian and not bisexual or pansexual... the works. The whole time I felt so cold. My ex husband, when I first told him, he was more blindsided than I expected. I didn't like how much he wanted me to change for him. To be honest, I had been hiding a lot of aspects of myself for years, not only from him, but from just about everyone. To see him be so upset, I felt like I was just... cold. I thought he would be happy for me for finding myself. And it wasn't like I wanted to leave him forever. It wasn't like I hated him; I still saw him as my friend, one of my only supporters since coming out as pan/bi. We had never had sex and we didn't do many romantic things for the whole of our relationship. He wasn't great at planning fun stuff like that, and while I was creative and could absolutely emulate what I thought a "romantic" relationship looked like... I actually valued his companionship more than what he could offer me sexually or romantically. Heck, even before we got married, I described our relationship as a companionship, rather than a sexual or romantic tie. Yes, I have a history of religious shaming, so there is an aspect of that on the sexuality note, but I know I experience sexuality in my own way.

As a people pleaser, I also struggle with emulating what I think is right or expected of me. I am very creative, a great actor, and selfless to a fault. I can convince myself of things quite easily and create a passion based around that as long as it involves creativity and a fool-proof plan. Church and religion was easy for me because of my environment. As soon as I left that environment of constant reinforcement... it fell apart.

So with that said... I think I might be aromantic, or at least on the spectrum. It's been confusing for me because.. I also kind of like romance. Of course I would want that for myself in theory. All the movies portrayed it as so very nice. I've had crushes on people plenty of times, mostly unrequited. I mostly wanted my romantic relationships to save me and take me away from my oppressive home life, which stifled my sexuality down to nothing. I had no freedom of expression in that area, including in my gender. And as soon as I left that environment, again—boom. Within a year I knew I was attracted to women/afabs and that I was non-binary. That's not a coincidence.

I like the idea of being with a partner. I like the idea of partners. So I cling to that in real life, in my relationships. It feels like a compulsive behavior though. As soon as it happens, as soon as someone likes me, something in my brain just clicks off, I disregard my family, friends, or even myself, all to fit perfectly into a role, probably in order to protect myself (either from being abandoned or from being alone—even though I'm not alone). When someone likes me "like that," I have this glimmering hope of being seen in a sexual light. That amount of emotional constipation for years upon years of my life has built up and become something that, when met with even the slightest bit of compassion or friendliness or potential for acceptance, comes out with the pressure of a fire-hose.

It is uncomfortable. For others, and for myself.

I'm not saying it's wrong for me to want to experience that acceptance that I largely did not in my childhood and teen years. Of course everyone deserves to feel loved and accepted for who they are, including their sexuality.

But this perspective also has me wondering how much of romantic attraction is conditioned? I'm not exactly romance-averse, obviously. But I do like to do romance differently in a lot of ways. I would love to see how I would do without my trauma-driven compulsion. I imagine now that if I didn't have that issue, my relationships would just be friendships, or friends with benefits even. No huge romantic anxiety. And in a way, hearing other aromantic people describing how they feel doesn't come off as different from how I feel. The only difference is this compulsory romantic action of mine. Without that, I feel extremely close to aromanticism in practice, not just in theory. (I've legit had people ask me on dates now as an adult and I don't know if I would really say yes except to have a friend, not a sexual or romantic date.) I have trouble separating friendships from romantic feelings, I struggle separating romantic gestures like touch from friendship normalities. I can tell the difference between sexual and platonic feelings. But Christianity really did a fucking number on me, which is where I think half of this grief even comes from to begin with. I know I'm polyamorous and I love to spend time with lots of people at once and not worry about being somehow wrong for loving lots of people. I know aromantic polyam people exist.

(I swear to god the more I explore myself, the more pride flags I end up with and I'm starting to get annoyed 😂)

Does anyone have a similar story to this one? I've seen only one other person who described something similar. I've always felt that the kind of romantic feelings I felt were more the result of obsessive conditioning than they were my own will. And that conditioning started so so young, no doubt. I know I'm not happy with this compulsory behavior.

Does this sound like an aromantic story? What is romantic behavior? How is it even different from friendships? And do you think hyper-romantic behavior is naturally occurring in humans? Do you think it's radicalized by consumerism? Is it entirely fabricated by consumerism?

(My natural state is being tired, depressed, wanting to paint/draw, and wanting hugs—I only want hugs because I have been touch-starved all my life due to the Church's teaching of "touch = sexual and sexual = bad")

#aromantic #questioning #polyamory #lesbian #enby #demisexual

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nicostolemybones · 4 years ago

Text

A Starship Scandal

@solangeloweek

Star Trek AU

"How exactly did you acquire your injuries?" Will asked, dabbing at the cut above Nico's eye with a swab.

"I ah, may have called a Klingon a coward," Nico admitted, "and he may have decked me."

"Calling a Klingon a coward is most illogical," Will chastised, and Nico rolled his eyes. "Are you planning to issue an apology?"

"Of course not," Nico replied bitterly, "he said my family must have died dishonourable deaths."

Will paused, placing down his medical tools. "Officer di Angelo," he began, and Nico prepared for a lecture, "at least inform me that your opponent did not succeed in winning this altercation."

"I- thought Vulcans don't condone this sort of thing," Nico frowned, and Will raised an eyebrow.

"I am not fully Vulcan," Will replied, "I am half human. And whilst I may have been raised to become culturally Vulcan, I am attempting to… reconnect with my human heritage. Chief Engineer Valdez has been introducing me to the ancient cultural phenomenon known as memes and vines. He has… also been encouraging me, to, pursue a romantic relationship with a fellow crew member."

"Oh," Nico replied quietly, because not only was his crush on the Chief Medical Officer not only a little less hopeless now, but it sounded as though Will was feeling emotions for a fellow crew member.

"I am hereby discharging you from my care, and handing you over to Medical Officer Knowles."

"Wait- why," Nico protested in confusion, because this made no sense- Will had been his doctor since he was first assigned to the crew, mainly because Nico was a quarter Romulan, and Vulcan physiology was a lot more similar, and given the clear animosity between the Federation and the Romulans, well… it was hard to find people who didn't judge him for his grandfather's heritage. Nico didn't blame them at all for that- but now he was concerned that Will's decision to refuse to treat him was because- well, it wasn't as though the Vulcans and the Romulans were on friendly terms anyways.

"So I may pursue a romantic relationship with you," Will replied bluntly, "Captain Jackson has informed me that you have developed romantic feelings for me." Nico groaned loudly.

"I'm so gonna commit Percycide," Nico grumbled. He could feel himself blushing, right there in front of his crush, who had just asked him out.

Nico did have some reservations about dating the Vulcan. Vulcans weren't exactly… emotional people. They were master repressors until the Pon Farr, at which point, things got a little ridiculous where Vulcans could die if they didn't resolve it, sometimes with a fight to the death before the only night in seven years said Vulcan would really let loose emotionally. And usually they were bonded at a young age, so… Nico hoped Will wasn't bonded like that, because the last thing he wanted was Will wanting someone else, or said someone else going through a Pon Farr and trying to murder Nico. Or worse, Will dying.

"I… like you, Will, I do, but…"

"You are rejecting me."

"Yes? No…? It's just-" Nico sighed heavily "oh jeez, it's just- I need an emotional connection. I need- I need to feel loved, I need cuddles, I need- I need smiles! I need kisses and I need giggles and I need my hand held, I- I need- I need affection…"

"I can offer that," Will replied, reaching out to Nico. He was slow to take his hand, but he took it gently in his own, and managed as closest to a smile Nico had ever seen a Vulcan make. "I… want to try. You know, on Vulcan, this is… the equivalency to humans engaging in heavy kissing. This… would be a scandal. And, so you are aware, I chose not to go through the Kolinahr. I have not shed all emotions. I am not purely logic driven."

Nico couldn't help but blush further, because Will's hand was warm in his palm. And then Will was sitting opposite him in a chair, and gently touching his cheek. "May I?" Nico nodded, and Will positioned his hand at the side of his face. "My mind… to your mind… my thoughts… to your thoughts…"

The edges of Nico's mind destabilised until they blurred and blended, until his own emotions because tangled with another's, with Will's… and the emotions were very much there, overwhelming affection and unwavering loyalty… love… thoughts of them holding hands in the low light, kissing in the darkness, sharing living quarters together… And Nico knew that Will could feel all of his feelings, knew all of his thoughts now, because their minds were one entity in this moment.

As Will gently severed the connection, Nico looked to their joined hands, and looked up to Will, who reached out to tuck Nico's hair behind his ear. "I do struggle to… express my emotions, due to my Vulcan heritage, and a lifetime of learned repression, but… I wish to laugh because of you, and I wish to smile because of you, just like I already... love… because of you."

"I…" Nico allowed himself a small, shy smile, gently squeezing Will's hand, looking away from the intensity of his affections. "I suppose we could have dinner tonight," he began nervously, "give this a try."

"I am glad to know that my affections are returned," Will said, "I believe I was experiencing nervousness on the subject. Unless, of course, I'm getting sick. Although, nerves are the most... likely, explanation."

Nico laughed softly, looking Will in the eye again. He was blushing slightly too, and Nico was melting. "I… may be slow to… reciprocate," Will explained awkwardly, "holding your hand is… something humans do all the time, even platonically. For us Vulcans, this is… extremely intimate. The idea of sharing a hug or a kiss is… overwhelming, to say the least. I suspect I will get there, but please be aware that any lack of physical affection does not reflect a lack of emotions towards you."

"It's okay," Nico said softly, "I'm kinda touch averse usually, and I… find that, I, am afraid of intimacy, as much as I'd like to experience it some day. So we can discover it together, maybe? Go slowly, just… express our affections verbally, and, stuff."

"That sounds fitting for us both," Will affirmed, squeezing his hand one more time before letting go. "That was very scandalous of me to hold your hand for so long. My mother would chastise me for my promiscuity."

"Yikes," Nico laughed, "I'm needed back on the bridge in five minutes. Meet me outside my quarters after our shifts end?"

"Gladly," Will replied, and Nico walked out, pausing at the door. Will shyly held up his hand in a 'Live Long and Prosper' sign, and Nico did his best to return it with a shy smile before heading to the bridge. But not before a detour to Officer Levesque's station to screech about his upcoming date.

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sinafay-the-defiant · 4 years ago

Text

Nearer to Death

((Story co-written with @grakkar-gorefang / @thefugitivemango . @argonas and @avehi-the-adamant for character mention))

~*~*~

So small, so precious…

Grakkar was always in amazement when he held little Neelah in his arms. She’d grown quite a bit, but the orc could still hold her (mostly) in one hand. He cradled the sleeping little one close, palming the back of her head while her body rested along his forearm. She slept so peacefully… blissfully unaware of anything that had happened these past few weeks. --Well… not entirely. She got fussy around Sinafay, seeming to sense her tension. That didn’t make things any easier, Grakkar knew. A part of him was sure that it was his mate’s need for help that helped him heal as fast as he did… which still took time, of course. He’d died, after all. And he wasn’t the young, sturdy orc he was on Draenor…

Still, now that he could, he helped as much as he was able. Tending to Neelah wasn’t much of a chore for him anyway, but a reprieve from the constant attention she demanded was a boon to Sinafay. Grakkar didn’t mind. She was a gift, in every sense of the word. He never thought he’d have a child of his own; less so with a Draenei! He thought he was infertile, and knew Draenei pregnancies were a rarity. And yet here she was, a beautiful mix of her mother and him-- fortunately, a bit more of her mother-- sleeping soundly in his arms. Even coming back from the dead was only the third-luckiest event in his life. The second, meeting Sinafay. The first, Neelah.

“... Grakkar…”

Grakkar winced, and grunted. Another nameless whisper echoed from the back of his mind. A voice he didn’t recognize, calling out his name. He heard them clearly more often his dreams, but… sometimes, throughout the waking day, he’d hear them. It wasn’t always the same voice, and they didn’t always call out his name. All of this starting after he came back from that place… from the Maw. In truth, a part of him didn’t believe Sinafay when she’d told him what her Ebon Knight friend had said. It had seemed so outlandish a claim. But seeing it for himself… it was now undeniable. Countless souls trapped in such a terrible, desolate place! He wondered… were they the voices he was hearing? According to clan shamans, near-death experiences often awoke a spiritual connection between a person and the afterlife.

And Grakkar had come as close to death as anyone could get.

For now, he pushed the concerns from his mind. He wasn’t going to let these strange voices dampen his appreciation for lasting to another sunset with his daughter. Gently, he put Neelah down in her bassinet, and swaddled her in a warm blanket.

“Sleep in peace, my little one.” he smiled, leaning in to plant a gentle kiss on her hardening forehead. “Know that I love you, now and always.”

Sinafay smiled from the doorway as she watched her mate put their daughter to bed. She’d never imagined herself as a mother, but having a child with Grakkar was by far the best thing that had ever happened to her. She hadn’t been able to cherish these moments as of late, too tired and stressed to appreciate them after Argonas’ sudden attack. She’d been far too on edge, suspicious of every odd noise and movement on the farm.

Avehi’s arrival was a relief in more than one way. Not only did it bring her precious information on what was going on after that horrible event, but it gave her a much needed rest from her exhausting vigil. With the Ebon Knight and her drake guarding the farm, Sinafay was able to get a bath and some much needed sleep. She wasn’t certain how many hours she’d been out for, but she’d woken up on time to see the touching display between her mate and their daughter.

“You’re going to spoil her, aren’t you?” She teased, with only a light Draenei accent in her Orcish now. She kept her voice low, as to not wake the sleeping infant.

Tail swaying, she walked over and wrapped her arms around Grakkar’s torso from behind, pressing her naked chest to his back as she hugged him tightly.

“Fatherhood suits you well,” she purred.

“Only paired with your motherhood.” Grakkar replied, hands closing over his mate’s.

He exhaled a sigh; gazing down at his daughter, feeling his wife’s warm embrace… this was perfect. A paradise he never knew he wanted. A dream from which he never wanted to wake.

“... help us…”

The moment passed, spoiled by yet another voice calling from the back of his mind. The messages were usually similar. “Help up, save us…” most disconcerting. He wished he knew where they were coming from. Rather… knew for sure. He parted Sinafay’s hands from around his waist to turn in her embrace.

“Come, speak with me.” he bid her, before passing her by on his way out of the room.

Sinafay tilted her head curiously. Speaking hadn’t exactly been what she’d been looking for, but at this point, any alone time with Grakkar was a good time. It certainly beat her standing guard over the farm alone. She -did- often wonder what was on his mind since his return to the living. He didn’t enjoy speaking of what he saw, the memories disturbing, so she didn’t like to push. Perhaps he was ready to speak on it now?

She followed him out of Neelah’s room and into their own. The bed was simple, but large and sturdy, covered in pelts from the various creatures Grakkar had managed to hunt down and bring home. The Draenei sat on the bed, tail curling around her form as she took Grakkar’s hands in hers.

“What’s on your mind, My Love?”

Grakkar was silent for a moment, simply holding Sinafay’s hands as he stood before her. Thumbs traced over the backs, then along the sides of her thumbs. He stared off at her chest-- not so much ‘at’ as ‘through’, contemplatively. Slowly, he organized his thoughts, piece by piece, before his gaze met his Mate’s. A natural smile formed over his lips; a reflex, feeling the warmth of her golden globes shining into his. He couldn’t help it, even in spite of the heavy topic weighing on his mind.

“I, uh…” he began, already seeming to lose his focus in her shimmering gaze. “I… think often about our village’s shaman, back on Draenor. Otrok.”

He cleared his throat, before sitting down beside Sinafay on their bed. It creaked, as it always seemed to when they both occupied it. He’d have to reinforce it again, for the second time this season. But that could wait. One hand kept hold of hers, the other resting in his lap as he continued.

“Otrok was a pup, when the Ancestors called on him. We used to tease him for it-- the youngest shaman we ever knew.” the Orc let out a jovial huff at the memory. “His mentor and predecessor, Meshi, she’d whack us on the knuckles or zap us with lightning when we did. Defensive of little pup Otrok, that one. She’d tell us that it was nothing we should tease him for. That ‘the Ancestor’s call can come at any time. At any age.’ And we’d, of course, nod along as we took the lecture.”

Gently, he gave Sinafay’s hand a squeeze.

“... I think they call to me, now.”

“Calling -how-?” Sinafay couldn’t help but ask, tilting her head in confusion.

She didn’t understand at all how shamanism worked, had never bothered to look into it. She’d been averse to the very idea of it due to her alternate self being so immersed. Even now, the thought of Grakkar showing interest in it irked her. Leftover jealousy…

At least -she- wasn’t alive anymore.

For now, she pushed those negative feelings back. Even if her mate became interested in that path, she had nothing but support for him. Especially this late in his lifetime, she wanted whatever would be soothing to his soul. On that note, there was a more pressing question.

“What are you supposed to do when they call on you?”

"Answer."

A logical enough answer, predictable as it was. Grakkar nodded slowly, searching Sinafay's face for… anything. A reaction. A showing of how she felt about the revelation. She understood, right?

She somehow managed not to twitch...

"The Ancestors, they… they mean much to my kind. You know this, I know, but…" he sighed, brow furrowing. "It is an honor, but also a responsibility. They call with a purpose, and to ignore them is to dishonor them. Sina… I need to answer. I need to learn how. And for that, I need to seek out a shaman."

Sinafay frowned heavily, baring her fangs in displeasure as she turned her head to the side, avoiding eye contact. There was no question. She hated the thought, no matter how supportive she was trying to be.

“We fought so hard to finally be together,” she couldn’t help but voice, “After everything that happened a few weeks ago, you cannot be serious about leaving. There must be some other way…”

She took his hand and brought it to her face, pressing her lips to his finger tips.

“How about you ask a shaman to come teach you here. Neelah needs you,” she took a moment to suckle on his index finger a bit more before adding in a sensual tone, “-I- need you.”

Grakkar’s hand moved to cup Sinafay’s face, fingertips idly massaging the back of her head as his thumb brushed along her cheek. He smiled, unable to help but chuckle at his mate’s… forwardness. It was endearing-- and she had a point. They’d worked so hard to be together. Suffered through all manner of pain and anguish. He didn’t want to leave. But he didn’t want to ignore the call, either. He exhaled a sigh.’

“I have to find one, first. One who would travel out here… and wouldn’t get upset at seeing how we live.” he explained, brow furrowing a bit. “That will be a challenge. And either way, I’d still have to leave.”

The Draenei’s frown deepened. She’d never been good at hiding her emotions. Her tail had gone from swaying to twitching, arms crossing over her chest as she worried her bottom lip. She was upset. Angry. Not with her mate, specifically, but at the situation, as a whole. She closed her eyes and pressed her cheek deeper into his palm.

She hated this. But she knew better than to try and stop him. Orcs were stubborn creatures.

“Not right away. I need a bit of time, my Love. Time with you, before you go on your journey,” she still couldn’t bring herself to look at him as her eyes fluttered open once more, “And you visit weekly when you -do- go.”

“Hopefully more, if I can manage it.” he replied. “I don’t want to be too far from you and Neelah. Whatever the Ancestors have in store for me… it will include us all. I only need to leave to find out what that is, first.”

He tilted Sinafay’s head up, leveling his gaze with hers. Stern as his expression was, his eyes conveyed a deep affection for his mate, and a genuine concern for her well-being. He’d given this a lot of thought already.

“You and Neelah are everything to me. You know that, right?” he smiled, weakly. “The Ancestors must know it, too. This calling… whatever it is, it’s as much for you and her as it is for me.”

She gave a nod, meeting his gaze now, but couldn’t quite shake her anxiety over the situation. They’d barely begun to recover from Argonas’ attack, and now this… Leaning forward, she gently pressed her crest against his forehead.

“I love you, Grakkar. And I trust you.”

#Character Story #Grakkar Gorefang #Neelah Gorefang #Argonas the Ironclad #Avehi the Adamant #co-writing #thefugitivemango

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iamdeltas · 4 years ago

Note

Yeah I hate how the fandom sometimes treats thirteens touch aversion, like people are allowed to have set boundaries without it being something they have get over, ya know? (Also hated how they treated twelves hug aversion)

It’s very frustrating! And, honestly, I feel like this is how fandom tends to treat touch aversion in general. There’s this irritating tendency to treat it like a ~flaw to be overcome~ when, that’s not how this works? It’s not even a flaw! It’s just a set of boundaries that people may have! Just because it’s not the same as yours doesn’t mean it’s something that ~needs to change~ Speaking of which, I had seen a few comments as such conflating 13′s touch aversion with her emotional constipation and I’ve even seen people outright say things like, “I knew she’d like hugs! She just had to start being less emotionally constipated!” Which! No? That’s not how this works? Someone can be the most emotionally mature person in the world and still dislike being touched! That is very much possible! And yes, a lot of the general fandom reaction to 12′s touch aversion, from what I’ve heard (I wasn’t exactly active in the Doctor Who fandom when his series were airing. I’d kind of fallen off the Doctor Who bandwagon at that point) really doesn’t sound great. Which tbh, seems fairly similar to how Clara seemed to treat his touch aversion in canon, at least IIRC. I really never liked how much she insisted on hugging him even after he consistently protested. :/ Was not a fan. Though, another thing about 13′s touch aversion and the fandom reaction that bugs the fuck out of me is that, if people aren’t acting like 13 is now “cured” from her touch aversion or what-the-fuck-ever, they’re acting like it straight up doesn’t exist. They seem to just act like, IDK, the writers just ~forgot~ to write in hugs for her or something?! As opposed to this being a pretty deliberate writing and acting choice? It’s also just such a bizarre thing to act like a character not wanting to hug is.... bad writing. Sometimes People Don’t Like Hugs, Susan. And I’ve also seen the obnoxious attitude acting like she was “deprived” of hugs and how dare the fam never hug her, she clearly wants one! And this leads to people saying shit after this recent episode like, “finally she gets the hugs she deserved all this time!” me: did you miss the fact that she initiated those hugs or I think, if anything, this proves that if she wanted hugs in earlier episodes, she would have initiated them. Since she did not, guess what? That means she didn’t want hugs. I also have seen people outright claim that 13 “loves hugs.” Why, because she hugged three people after being stuck in prison for decades? Because she ~has to~ since she’s cheery (or at least that’s what her facade shows) and outgoing? When characters “love hugs,” it’s highly apparent. I mean, just look at Scorpia! Her intro scene literally has her say, “I’m a hugger!” And she hugs people so much! Or look at Kara Danvers, who in the first episode, gives Alex an enthusiastic hug (that cracks her bones, poor Alex), hugs her friends constantly, and, most heartbreakingly, asks the hologram of her mother if she can have a hug. (She also, now that I think about it, calls herself a hugger, I’m pretty sure. Is this just a universal thing with characters and people who love hugs?) So you know, the fact that 13 has hugged, like, 4 times throughout her entire run? Probably a good sign that she does not, in fact, “love hugs.” I feel like part of what contributes to this is that people just expect her to love hugs, based off of her general personality. Which, incidentally, is why I love that she’s so touch averse: it’s not what you’d expect! So that’s another reason this insistence that she much love hugs so irritating. It’s cool that she veers from expectations in that way, and your response is to... just insist that she must adhere to those expectations anyway? How boring. To be fair, I kind of get it. It’s hard to shake initial expectations. You see someone who’s outgoing and friendly and you expect them to also be very tactile because that’s how these types of characters are usually depicted. I can’t say I haven’t fallen victim to similar assumptions about characters. It took me an embarrassingly long time, for instance, to realize that, to grab an example that I’ve already mentioned, Kara Danvers isn’t actually much of a crier. I expected that she was since she’s so in touch with her emotions and the opposite of stoic and that’s what you typically get from such characters but... that just doesn’t apply to Kara. She barely ever actually cries. So I can see how people might take a while to realize that, no, their original assumption that 13 would be a huge hugger is actually not correct. But it’s been three years, my guy. You can’t just act like she’s a huge hugger when there’s actually no proof for that at all. All this makes me appreciate people who do recognize that 13 is touch averse. I always love seeing that noted in fic and posts and meta.

#s answers asks #wow this went on for a bit #thank you anon for giving me this opportunity to rant #Anonymous

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afoolforatook · 5 years ago

Text

Ticklish Fairgame (teaser, I guess....)

So I had a Discord convo the other day that got me on a Fairgame and tickles rant... and I want to share all of it, but a good bit is gonna be in a later chapter of Loving... but I had to share some, cause it’s so damn soft and it’s all I’ve been thinking about.

So here’s some notes from part of my rant.... (there’s also some stuff from this rant about more SPD stuff and fidgeting/stimming but I’ll find a place for that later...)

In response to “Qrow would do better in a tickle fight because of experience from Ruby and Yang tickle fights when they were little” -

Bold of you to assume it was Ruby and Yang who made him build up a tolerance....when he lived with teenage Taiyang Xiao Long.

That man has some major "I will tickle my grumpy goth roomie until he admits he likes having friends" energy. Not to mention Summer.

......

Okay but at first I didn’t know how Qrow would be with tickling.

Because, as much as I love the STRQ Beacon years tickle/pillow fights image, where Qrow and Raven first really learn how to let loose and have friends and be vulnerable. And the co-parenting/poly STRQ, however you wanna see it, of Branwen/Rose/Xiao Long family tickle piles with the kids.

There’s also a big part of me that sees him reallly not being a huge fan of tickle fights.

It might just be me projecting (a shock, I know) but I can't help but feel like Qrow is one of those people who is extremely EXTREMELY ticklish. To the point where most of the time it's not fun but exhausting.

I was totally that kid/teen who everyone thought it was adorable how ticklish I was, and would just rush me all at once, trying to be cute and fun. But it was very easily wayyyyy too much, and I'd practically hyperventilate from sensory over-stimulation. My older cousins learned very early not to tickle me when I was a toddler, because I would just immediately start crying. I did not get angry as a kid very often, and many of the few times that I did were because I had to yell in order to get people to stop, because they didn't take me seriously. I was also just extremely sensitive all the time. Any touch that I didn't see coming (and even many I did) and that wasn't solid pressure would have me jump and make my skin crawl. My parents weren’t at all surprised when I got my SPD diagnosis, cause they were like “yeah by the time you were ten we knew there were ways we should and shouldn’t touch you if you didn’t know we were there, because you would just flinch and freeze up and shake and have to have no one touch you at all until you relaxed.” (This wasn’t at all a trauma response, it was purely just a kind of sensory input that I was particularly sensitive to) One of my best friends in high school surprised me by just barely nuzzling the back of my neck with his nose and I actually screamed. Needless to say, I don’t really like tickle fights.

And I feel like touch-starved, spy, intimacy wary, Qrow would be a lot like that and just get overwhelmed pretty quickly. (especially when he was younger and leaving the tribe, where I doubt there was much gentle contact to get him used to it, or teach him not to be ready to fight at the tiniest sign of a threat...)

Like yeah, he'd be adorable for a second, but pretty quickly that would turn to actual stress and panic. He'd jump and practically squeal at tiny innocuous touches, and you'd think it was cute until you saw how genuinely startled and frazzled he was.

And at first I couldn't reconcile that with the STRQ family moments that I like the idea of so much...

But the thing is, they're both true.

With team STRQ, he probably had a lot of that aversion early on. And Tai and Summer picked up on it and didn’t want to make him uncomfortable. But they'd still want to help him relax.

I’d think that Summer at least, if not both of them, would try to ask him outright at first. “Qrow, does it bother you when we try to touch you? Do you want us to stop.” But they’d quickly have realized that he wasn’t going to just tell them that, not yet. They were still practically strangers. He’d just shrug it off and grumble about not caring either way and slump off. But she’d noticed the split second of panic before he covered it up.

So they paid attention to how he’d react to casual contact. What made him flinch and what didn’t. What got a laugh and what got a held back yelp. What made his shoulders tense and what made them relax.

(Also, I think Raven is similar, though not necessarily for sensory reasons. I think she just, didn’t expect or want that kind of open contact most of the time. The first time Tai tried to do anything even close to tickling her, his arm was immediately in a death grip and she just deadpanned ‘Again and you’ll lose it.’ I think she eventually would get in on some more play wrestling, but I think her physicality in relationships was very much always on her own terms. So the STRQ tickle fights were really only ever STQ with maybe a rare exception.)

And slowly, as Qrow got more comfortable with them, as he stopped trying to escape group hugs and cuddle piles (which they always let him have the ability to do so if he wanted/needed), they figured out what were good and bad touches.

He’d let Tai drape over his shoulders and ruffle his hair, as long as he was putting some significant but gentle weight on him. Summer wouldn’t nuzzle at the crook of his neck but just drop her head over on his shoulder while sitting on the couch. He even started to stop balking at the idea/proximity of tickle fights. Summer and Tai would get into a play argument and soon be a blur of arms and legs trying to push the other away and both calling for Qrow to help them.

And he’d finally stopped scooting further away or leaving the room when that started. He’d chuckle lightly. Eventually, he’d even make some quip about so and so starting it and having to learn to take responsibility for your choices (Not at all in a mocking tone, of course not Summer, why would you even think?!..)

So, as they got closer and understood Qrow’s sensitivities better, tickle fights were never just that. There was always enough grounding pressure of hugs or falling on top of one another or playing with his hair to balance it out.

I think the first time he actually didn’t try to get away, both Summer and Tai got a little caught up at first and, while still being conscientious of what they were doing, they didn’t actually realize “hey, he’s not running or slipping away from us.”

Whoever realized first probably stopped the other and they pulled away (though still leaving some kind of pressure contact), looking over at Qrow. One of them’d ask something along the lines of ‘Sorry, do you want us to stop?”

And he’d blush or stammer, rub his neck or no... maybe he’d just freeze for a moment before getting a big grin and diving forward to tickle Summer and say ‘What, you that scared of me winning, huh, pipsqueak?” and the fight would resume. But Tai and Summer were still aware of Qrow’s demeanor, and as soon as he’d tense or shiver one of them would tackle him playfully.

And once the girls were born, and old enough to start with the horseplay themselves, they’d have taught them those rules too, even if just subliminally.

“Yang, Ruby, don't just run up to him and poke him in the side, just so you can watch him jump and then run away. Tackle him, hang onto his legs, GET EM!”

Sometimes, especially when the girls were really little, it might have gotten too much. But he'd either be able to slip away after and unwind, or better yet, the girls would tire themselves out and want to curl up pressed to his chest and take a nap. And that pressure, their warmth and softness and trust would make his skin stop crawling.

But then Summer died and he started staying away more. He started isolating himself more again. And pair that with having to be alert on solo missions and spy work, and he quickly went back to the old jumpiness.

He became very good at not letting people sneak up on him, both in battle and on missions...and at home. On the somewhat rare occasions that he was home and awake/sober enough when the girls still wanted to play with him, he'd put on a strong face and rough house for a bit, but by then he almost always had to slip away, transform just for long enough so that he’d stop being so aware of the tiniest breeze on his skin (he might be just as sensitive, or more so, in his corvid form, but I think that would be in a much more positive and simpler way than normal... if he’d ever let people touch him in that form, that is..)

But as the girls got older, they quietly understood the subtle signs that told them what were the good and bad ways to show their uncle affection.

I'm thinking Ruby jumping onto his arm in V3. Still very touchy, affectionate. But diving for his arm instead of his waist, literally putting all her weight on him. I’d have to look back through other hugs or moments to better speak to them, but as far as I can remember off the top of my head, the softest we’ve seen her be with him is at the end of V4 when he’s still unconscious from his fight with Tyrian. There’s the hug at the farm, but to me (from what I remember) that seemed more cautious because of how vulnerable he was, and she keeps her head away from him some. And then the hug in the airship, and while she doesn’t tackle him and it’s still a pretty soft movement, she presses the sides of their heads together, not putting her chin on his shoulder/neck like you might usually. I’d have to look at her hugs with others but I think she’s tended to bury her face in WBY’s shoulders more. It’s kinda a stretch but hey...

So, then we get to V7.

And no one has actually tried to tickle famed huntsman, previously notorious drunk who is only very recently sober (and not having his senses numbed or otherwise affected, aside from withdrawal stuff) Qrow Branwen, in a

Very. Long. Time.

#fair game #my writing #tw:alcoholism mention #my fic writing #Love is being scared and loving anyway #god it will be so long till we get to this chapter and it's killing me #Han what have you done to me

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bloody-wonder · 5 years ago

Note

I saw your post about Nicky and it was great! I wanted to ask- have you ever seen/ can you write a similar post criticizing Allison, Neil, and Wymack (but especially allison because the whole fandom worships the ground she walks on) for their ableist behavior? I understand Andrew didn’t endear anyone to him, especially Allison, but smth about a canonically bipolar character who’s severely traumatized “monster” and “ps*cho” on the regular really rubs me the wrong way

hi there and thank you!

no unfortunately i can’t write such a post for several reasons: firstly, i don’t know nearly enough about ableism or mental illnesses. secondly, i don’t think that nora really managed to portray andrew as bipolar in the books. i don’t know a lot about bipolar disorder but what i know doesn’t in any way correspond with how he acts. i know that nora said he’s bipolar in the extra content, but i disagree. in my opinion he just has severe ptsd.

and thirdly i believe that violent or offensive behaviors should always be called out and people with mental illnesses shouldn’t be an exception. however, what we have in aftg isn’t as simple. i mean i think when andrew does something extreme, the others are totally allowed to have a problem with that. but what they also do is stylize him into a psychotic monster on the basis of every behavior they deem deviant, not just the extreme or violent ones. andrew doesn’t want to socialize with them - well, that’s because he’s crazy (nevermind that he has no obligation to like or impress people, especially the ones that already have prejudice against him). andrew doesn’t want to really try at exy - that’s also because he’s crazy (nevermind that he still makes like at least 30-40% of their victories possible). andrew threatens nicky and kevin with knives - that’s cause he’s crazy and violent (nevermind that he made abundantly clear that he doesn’t like to be touched and they disregarded him). this last example is my favorite because in today’s society something as trivial as being touch averse and not wanting to accept casual touches even from friends and family is somehow deemed a deviant behavior on the basis of which a person can be classified as weird - which leads to situations in media and in real life where people will try to touch or hug touch averse people ‘just to show them that it’s okay and good’, just to ‘cure’ them of their deviancy. so i consider this whole situation an overarching problem and such displays of ableism as calling andrew crazy or monster just the symptoms of it.

lol you asked me one thing and i turned my answer into a mini essay about how aftg is a commentary on deviant behaviors vs social conventions. sorry not sorry. but generally i’d like the fandom to engage with aftg and its characters more deeply and critically, so if someone writes a post about ableism i’ll be happy to read it and educate myself.

#andrew minyard #all for the game #asks #aftg mine #aftg ask

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vore-scientist · 5 years ago

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A Game Of Chase

(safe/soft - GT - M/f-fluffy - platonic - vore)

A (mini) tale of the mystic woods

Premise: A classic pred/prey past time! Lots of mouthplay!

Warnings: very small mention of blood, including tasting it. It’s NOT a result of the vore/mouthplay, Yonah is very careful! I promise it’s like, nothing. \

---

Zipping like a roadrunner the Princess Sophia’s footsteps made quiet the little ditty on the stone floor. A ditty that was overpowered by the thunderous stomping of the half-giant that chased after her. Pushing her short legs to their limit she increased her speed a smidge more. She wasn’t just small compared to the half-giant, she was small for a human, at 157cm (5’2”).

Yonah, not wanting to trip and fall on his princess from carelessness, tried to predict her heading so he could focus on his own feet. The bedroom maybe? They were currently the living room, but had been in the workshop. Sophia had practically fallen down the stairs, using some crazy and daring bounding that kept her ahead of Yonah.

Sophia had a wild smile on her face as her heart pounded with exhilaration. She made a sharp turn for the bookshelf and heard the little scramble as Yonah compensated for this new direction.

Baseball doesn’t exist in this world, and while similar sports do you wouldn’t get such references. So baseball it is. Not caring for her own skin she slid under the bookshelf like a runner racing a fast ball to home base. That stung; She’d be licking her wounds later for sure. Or rather Yonah would, she mused for a moment. Eh, that should be fine.

“Awww come on!! I’m hungry!!” Yonah knelt on the floor and glanced under the bookshelf at the princess who was crawling to the back.

“Too bad! Earn your food! It ain’t gonna waltz into your mouth!”

“But it-she can! She is just being a butt today; getting into places I can’t reach!” Yonah still tried to reach for her but she was too far back and his arm didn’t fit.

“And you’re not trying hard enough! Aren’t you magical as shit?”

“That would be cheating!”

“Says the giant who wants me to just offer myself up!”

Groaning he halfway stood up and grasped the side and bottom of the shelf, carefully moving it without letting any books fall. It was a slow process But when he was able to see behind it the princess was gone!

“Sophia?”

If he had somehow crushed her with the sliding wood (an absurd notion given how slowly he went) surely would have heard her scream and stopped what he was doing.

Something caught his eye on the table behind him and he whirled around. Nothing! Then something pulled at his hair and thudded into his back. He tried to reach for her but she was already climbing up his ponytail.

She clambered onto his head, under his hat. And snuggled into his hair in the dark. Hugging his head as he laughed.

Light returned. She had one last move, as a hand came up to snatch her off his head! She lept! Forward; into the air, aiming for the bookcase once more. And was caught in two callous but soft hands.

Now she dangled in front of his beaming face.

“Got you!” He said, opening his mouth.

But he didnt eat her. Instead he gently placed his lips around her side, delicately pressing his teeth in a love bite. Withdrawing his face he kissed her side, flicking his tongue out as he did, then under her arm to lap it up into his mouth. Her arm was still in his mouth, trapped by his teeth, thoroughly tasted, even as he sat down in his armchair with his prize. Wanting the use of his hands he pulled up the ottoman, took off his shoes, and put up his feet so that his knees were close to his head. He placed Sophia down.

Sophia yanked her arm from his teeth, it was starting to hurt. Not from the force of the bite, but her shoulder was strained by the awkward angle. She massaged her arm and wiped the spittle off on Yonah’s robes.

Yonah did not mind, he was happy to play. As soon as Sophia was relatively dry he licked her bodily. And froze with his tongue still on her. There was an unmistakable taste of iron. But surely she would have said something? He withdrew his face, but Sophia was smiling.

“Why’d you stop?” she asked.

“You’re bleeding somewhere.” it was not a question.

“Oh!” She laughed, she turned over a leg to show him “I scraped my leg sliding under the shelf, I’m fine. Unless you’d rather not taste blood… I didn’t think it bothered you.”

She’d gotten scraped up on patrols before, minor nicks from thorns or falling off rocks, and that had never phased him. Sophia was certain his preference for uninjured had more to do with making things worse, than an aversion to a little blood.

Yonah’s face turned red, “I was worried I hurt you.”

“Nope!”

She leaned against his face, and whispered “If I’d been hurt you’d be bleeding from your ears right now!”

He knew she was right, but didn’t like how she’d phrased that, so he licked her in retaliation, covering her face in slobber. She shoved the tongue away but it was futile, Yonah pushed her into his mouth, her hands slipping across the tongue as she yelped in surprise. Then he sealed his lips around her torso, holding her delicately between his jaws, his tongue under her stomach.

“Wow you got over that quickly,” she said, smacking his tongue rather loudly and elbowing his cheeks.

The only response she got was a giggle, though she was pressed up against the pallet and the laugh reverberated through her a bit, the tongue flexing. Then a humming noise, which was all Yonah could manage in the way of speech since his mouth was so occupied.

“I dont know what your fuckin saying!” Sophia said, doing her best to hug his tongue, wrestling it gently.

Such an odd texture. It was soft, but so lumpy, in a way that she couldn’t compare to anything else. She liked it a lot.

Then the jaws parted just a bit, enough so she could easily slide out. She sat in Yonah’s hand as he leaned back with a contented smile.

“Dude if you’re gonna eat me, eat me!” She was starting to get sore from laughing, and might have a bruise or two from his teeth but that’s what one gets roughhousing with a half-giant. In addition she was soaked in drool. it was getting uncomfortable. She wanted to clean up or just be swallowed so it wouldn’t get all dry and sickly sticky.

The wizard’s dark brown eyes glinted orange And she was held in front of his face.

With a gentle stroking he applied a dab of glass paste to her forehead and whispered the magic words. His stomach grumbled in a Pavlovian manner to the poof of purple sparkles and he wasted no time in lowering Sophia into his mouth. She smiled as she was swallowed down swiftly and smoothly.

Mmmmmm. There was a lingering layer of flavor on her glass form, which slid into his stomach, filling it up ever so nicely. He leaned back, stretching, clenching his gut so that it really squashed Sophia who chided him with a “HEY!” and some nice strong kicks.

“Scrumptious as always, Princess,” Yonah pat his stomach, “Nothing hits the spot quite like you do.”

“If I didn’t know better, I’d think you wanted something for all this flattery,” Sophia said as she stretched out and settled into the soft folds of the stomach.

Sophia was just tickled pink knowing that this place, a dangerous torture chamber for anyone else, was her secure little hide away made of plush walls and intense loving warmth. Sure it was Yonah’s stomach, and she was technically “his” princess, but he was her father’s wizard. He belonged to her father, sort of, so this half-giant wizard’s stomach was her father’s, sort of, and thus sort of hers. Sort of.

Yonah licked his fingers, not wanting to miss out on any of Sophia’s flavor, savoring it and the comforting feeling of his princess snuggling his insides.

“What could I possibly want other than you snug in my belly?” He asked genuinely curious.

“That’s what I’m wondering,” she said.

Now that the game was over and the adrenaline draining away, even from her cursed form, she was tired.

She yawned. For some reason, even if she couldn’t breathe and didn’t need to, her body did things just because it was what it felt it should do.

“Falling asleep already?!” Yonah nudged his stomach causing the princess to jostle around. He smiled as she moved to find a new position.

“Only if you let me apparently!”

She sounded just pissed enough to stop Yonah from asking for belly rubs.

Yonah considered for a moment, the prospect of a nap. And then he yawned a massive yawn. It filled his lungs and tensed his entire torso, including his gut around Sophia. She didn’t complain.

“See, you’re tired too,” she sounded pleased.

“Or yawns are infectious,” he noted.

He was a bit tired. Not enough to fall asleep so easily, even with his belly full of princess. But he wasn’t going to stop Sophia from sleeping just because he was awake. He was professionally evil. Not personally a jerk. So he got up and wandered to the bookshelf.

“Hey what’s with the movement?”

“Just getting some reading material.”

He has to choose between a arcanists journal, specially printed for his scale, the cover boasting new advancements in Prophetic Dowsing, and a storybook, science fiction but trashy romance set in space. Yonah wasn’t much for prophecies, so he chose the fiction. He’d read the first book in the series and bought the next 3, but hadn’t touched them.

The book was a bit awkwardly sized. Half-giant wasn’t a common enough scale to warrant consideration for printing.

Sometimes he could find things in “ogre” size. It had to be popular enough that ogres who could read at least one common smallfolk language would buy it to read to their fellows. But ogres didn’t really care for long prose stories about mostly smallfolk. They preferred shorter stories in serial magazines.

Giants on the other hand were a viable market for smallfolk fiction. Enough to even invest in translations into the various giant languages. The books still had to be popular enough, and the books were rather expensive. But worth it.

So what looked like a normal book in the hands of a giant, looked like a big college textbook in Yonah’s. Out of scale though not ungainly. Especially if you were a wizard.

Instead of returning to the armchair he opted for the couch. He would eventually fall asleep, he wanted to be lying down. Taking both throw pillows he placed them at one end of the couch and made himself comfortable.

“Are you done yet?” Sophia asked, recognizing the current orientation of her chamber and hearing Yonah sigh.

“Are you not asleep yet?”

Sophia was suspicious of his jolly tone.

“If you’re still awake you can give me belly rubs!” He said cheerfully, patting his stomach.

There was grumbling from his middle. He didn’t expect to get any belly rubs. He did expect the impressively strong kicks as the princess expressed her frustrations.

“That’s all your getting!” She declared and stopped moving once she’d found the most comfortable position.

“Sleep well my princess,” Yonah cooed and gently rubbed his stomach. Then reached for his book.

Obviously he couldn’t rest the heavy book on top of Sophia. And it was so heavy he wouldn’t have propped it up on his stomach regardless, those hard cover edges weren’t pleasant

He levitated it. Positioning it at the perfect height and angle so that he didn’t have to strain his neck or eyes.

Which worked great.

Until he fell asleep and it fell right on top of Sophia.

At least when she yelled from inside of him it was muffled.

[FIN] PLEASE REBLOG IF YOU ENJOYED THIS STORY

[Thanks for reading! please reblog/message me with feedback! for more mystic woods go to vore-scientist.tumblr.com/tagged/mystic+woods+story or search ‘mystic woods story’ on my blog! For thief stories only search “MW Thieves”]

#safe vore #soft vore #g/t vore #extreme cuddling #mouthplay #non fatal vore

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joeys-piano · 5 years ago

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Answering an Ask from @feu-eau. I’m having to answer your thingy through a text post because I don’t want to hassle your ask because Tumblr will mess up a lot of formatting when I do.

Feu’s Ask: For the shippy ask; how about a classic? Soukoku

When did I start shipping them, if I did Probably, January 2019? I think I started watching Bungou Stray Dogs last year in January and around that time, I transitioned from Detroit: Become Human to the BSD fandom. Coincidentally, there was a Soukoku Fluff Event Week happening so my first content for the fandom was for this ship.

Now that I think about it, maybe I joined the fandom in February because the whole fluff thing would work for Valentines’ instead. I don’t really know. I’m honest when I tell y’all that I only shipped them because I saw a lot of other people ship them and because I didn’t really have any ships at the time, Soukoku became my first one for BSD. I’ve grown a lot in a year and I know things a little better now. I don’t actively ship Chuuya and Dazai together; but since those two are so abundant on Tumblr and Twitter and AO3, I find stuff for them regardless if I’m looking for them.

So the long answer is that I don’t actively look for this pairing, this pairing comes to me, and I just share with y’all some really cool arts, gifs, cosplays, AMVs, fanfic, and everything else that I enjoyed viewing.

My Thoughts Like I mentioned above, I’m not an active fan for this ship. However, I do enjoy some content. Since the pairing that I do like doesn’t get as much new content regularly, there have been weekends where I just go into the Soukoku tag on AO3 and just read any and all fics that catch my attention. I’ve found really good ones and found new writers that I want to support, I’ve found stories that aren't to my taste but I know I’m not the target audience, I’ve found fics that I admire a lot, I’ve found fics that make me question if I enjoy a certain tag or not, and miscellaneous from there.

Because of the nature of Soukoku and the appeal behind it, there’s always going to be new content for it and it’ll almost always be one of the first things you encounter from the BSD fandom if you’re an outsider and are looking in. It’s just there. There’s an abundance of it. It’s like any other fandom you find yourself in. There’s going to be a really big ship and there’s going to be an abundance of it. One benefit I get from Soukoku is that although I’m mildly interested in it, that abundance of material and the sheer variety of it helps to temporarily fill in a void that’s either hard or impossible for me to fill from my favorite pairing.

Sometimes I want to consume a piece of fan content for my favorite pairing, but it’s not there. One of the benefits of a large ship is that undoubtedly, it’s there. Or otherwise, it’s going to be there. So whenever I’m twiddling my thumbs and waiting for new content for Odazai or other smaller ships and rarepairs that I do enjoy, I temporarily fill in the void with Soukoku. It’s like -- and pardon the example -- Soukoku is a bag of chips or complementary peanuts or buns that you snack on until you get what what you’re waiting for. Satisfies for a while until you can sink your teeth into what you really want. That’s how I interact with Soukoku.

What Makes Me Happy About Them I don’t know. I do enjoy that there’s history between them and that they could read each other like an open book. Chuuya and Dazai are familiar with each other, they’ve worked together, and are probably intimately aware of each other’s strengths and flaws. To some extent.

I do enjoy some of the rare easy-going moments that we get from both of them, where there’s some reminiscent vibe going on even if it’s in a teasing manner to rile a certain someone. For the most part, I’m not sure what makes me happy about them.

What Makes Me Sad About Them Again, I don’t really know. I guess if I had to give an answer, what disheartens me a bit is how we lost a potential of what could’ve been. Not sure how to explain that and not meaning it in a romantic light, but the way Dazai left the Mafia and severed ties with almost everyone there, I feel like there may’ve been a shift or even an apology between him and Chuuya that’s now lost. To say that they could’ve been friends is stretching it, but I feel that there may’ve been a development behind the scenes that could’ve manifested as something akin to friendship. Not exactly friendship, but something along a similar vein since they joined the Mafia for identically different reasons and they’re more alike than you’d initially notice.

Character composition-wise, that similarity is really hard to see. But I spent some time thinking about it for the past 7 months and I think if I were to peel every layer of their beings like an onion, I know I will find a similarity that connects them very deeply to one another and it’s very, very loosely referenced or seen in the Fifteen arc before the thread gets lost from there. Again, I don’t think it’s romantic. But it’s something and that something could’ve been realized if Dazai didn’t leave the Mafia. But considering what happened at the end of Dark Era, Dazai saw it as his best option to leave and so he did.

Things Done in Fanfic That Annoys Me Chuuya is often written in a really strange way. He’s hotheaded and acts before he thinks, but that doesn’t mean he’s stupid or clueless. He would’ve been dead a long time ago if he was either or Hell forbid, both. With an ability like For the Tainted Sorrow, you know Chuuya’s mind is whizzing around, calculating trajectory and physics, so he knows how much power to put behind his attacks to get what he wants to achieve. When your ability is a force of nature, you wield it differently and you strategize your offense and defense differently. There’s a lot of thinking going on, and I really don’t buy it when Chuuya’s made out to be dumb.

Things I Do Look For in Fanfic General pacing, how does the story flow, how does the writer approach the topic or endgame of their fic, does characterization feel believable, does the story engage my imagination, etc… I like reading how writers approach emotional intimacy between Chuuya and Dazai and how they approach the unresolved tension between them.

Who I’d be comfortable them ending up with, if not each other: Odazai all the way, baby. For Chuuya, I’d be comfortable if he ended up with Yosano, Kunikida, or even Akutgawa.

My happily ever after for them: Chuuya waking up after using Corruption and realizing that Dazai did take care of him when he was out cold. He wakes up in a familiar bed somewhere in a hospital or an infirmary. His clothes are folded neatly on a chair and the patient gown he’s wearing is soft and doesn’t itch his skin. Chuuya’s sore. He’s always sore after using Corruption, but he can feel that this sore will remain for a long time after he leaves and rehabilitates so he can be back on the field. His mouth is unbearably dry. Before Chuuya could stir, someone is already pouring him a cup of water and is helping him sit up so he can drink. It’s Dazai and he tips the cup slowly so that Chuuya can drink at his own pace.

Dazai isn’t known for his bedside manner. If anything, he’s known for his complete disregard of it. But seeing him here, Chuuya’s a little thankful for it. He doesn’t ask why Dazai’s here. The man’s not going to give him a straight answer anyway. When Chuuay lies down to rest some more, he’s aware that Dazai will be here for a while. Since he’s quiet, Chuuya doesn’t mind.

who is the big spoon/little spoon: Dazai is the little-tall spoon who’s aversed to touch but sometimes, he can tolerate being hugged by Chuuya for a little while. Chuuya is the big-short spoon that gives Dazai a little hug to remind him that he’s human and that he’s here.

what is their favorite non-sexual activity: Listening to the strum of a guitar while Chuuya hums a song he caught on the radio and Dazai’s leaning against him, feeling the music slowly permeate through his skin and gives him something to hang onto during those slow moments caught between them.

#Joey Speaks

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einefrau-entremundos-blog · 6 years ago

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On sadness and belonging

Last night I took up space in a place where it didn’t feel like I was taking up space at all.

That’s a rare feeling for someone who possesses what the lyrically-blessed Julien Baker would call a “difficult mind”. The brain that runs a million miles an hour tells you you’re in the way, even when you’re not. It self-degrades, saying you’re different and lesser-than and would be better off somewhere, anywhere else, preferably alone, rather than bothering the normies with your social anxieties and your too-strong opinions and your peculiar inclinations. It tells you to shrink, to camouflage, to float away.

I love people, but often have a hard time believing they love me. That’s something I’ve been working on talking myself out of for years. A large part of that process is saying yes to nearly everything I’m invited to, and cultivating a sense of curiosity and a love for humanity that swells until it overtakes my unfortunate self-involvement.

Those moments are the most beautiful, and last night was one such moment.

I panicked last week when a radical politics-practicing former community organizer whom I met through a dating app invited me to party at his house. I’m a slow, tedious mover, and surely this was just a path to an easy hookup? Or a test to see if the milquetoast, femme-y blonde could hang with the proverbial ~real ones~ (see how quickly I bounce from fearing I’m too much to fearing I’m too little?) Or maybe it was a pity invite given in similar panic by a nice human who wished to appease my meekly-issued “Hope to see you again soon”? We were both Midwestern, after all.

I recently learned there’s a term for this sort of mini-catastrophizing: defensive pessimism. Not quite as harmful as straight-up hatred of the self and others, but perhaps equally insidious, it means being constantly on edge and ready for the worst to happen. This style of thinking can have benefits, but I’m not sure if it’s worth the trade-off. It’s been said that defensive pessimists, with their aversion to risk and ability to see ten steps ahead, live longer. If that’s true, then I can’t wait to live out the next 80+ long years of sweaty palms, chattering teeth and shaking legs. Let’s party!

I walked up to the door of the party, not quite sure what to say or do amongst the radicals, failing to acknowledge that I almost was one, once upon a time. I had a 4-pack of beer, which gave me something to do with my hands, at least.

“Uhh... hi. I’m D’s friend. I’m here, and I have beer.”

I was silently mortified by the words coming from my mouth until I realized everyone at this party was just as awkward as fuck as I was. Their blinking stares and polite pleasantries reflected my own. My inner monologue self-soothed as I silently praised the heavens.

D emerged from the living room. “I’m so happy you could make it!” He shyly wrapped me in a warm hug and I had one of those “Oh yeah, I really am a bona fide bisexual and not the self-loathing lesbian I sometimes suspect I am -- this guy cute as FUCK” moments. We chatted for a bit and later throughout the evening, but because he was the host I couldn’t in good conscience attach myself to him at the hip, and if I’m being honest, I didn’t have the confidence to do so anyway.

I think it was for the best. Not only did I get to overhear genuine, unprompted feedback about what D was actually like -- religiously observant, active in his many communities, radically inclusive... all of which is to say, real-deal HOT -- I was also able to hear stories from some of the most lovely and honest individuals I may have met since moving here.

These strangers, active in poetry and drag and queer liberation and literacy outreach and Yiddish language propagation and non-cisgendered feminism... my heart melted and I craved their acceptance, though for once I didn’t need to beg for it. I didn’t need to put on my whole quirky-girl-who-doesn’t-care-what-you-think shtick, because these people were so radically real that I was allowed to be real right back. It reminded me of a self from years ago, the one who existed during idealistic college years, the one whom I’d since abandoned in favor of a more practical life and more practical partners and a more practical view of what life “should” look like. I realized for the first time in ages that life doesn’t have to look “that” way, and that the expectations I’ve slowly become beholden to could have possibly been one of the major traps ensnaring me in this all-pervasive anxiety the whole time.

In the throes of my last serious depression three years back, I ingratiated myself with the most “normal”, mentally stable folks I could find, living with them for a spell and becoming an eccentric fixture in their worlds. These people are still some of my very best friends. But as anyone who’s grown up feeling different for whatever reason knows, the ones your love (and who love you) aren’t always the ones who challenge you -- the ones who help you become your most brilliant. Through no fault of their own, the ones who provide you with the grounding needed to exist in the “real world” aren’t always the ones to help your true colors shine. You love their stability, but you tire of feeling you’re living on their peripheries -- that you’re not quite a perfect fit. At the same time, it’s familiar, it’s the default, and therefore you can’t put your finger on why you’re so lonely all the time.

Able to blend and coexist peacefully in the mainstream, I think it’s finally time to let me colors shine. Coming out to my immediate family and close friends in October kicked my ass into letting go of many false stories I told myself which no longer served me. I think it’s finally time to peel back some of the other layers behind which I’ve been hiding.

For years, I’ve been so mortified by my feelings and the mushy, teddy bear way that I see the world. “No soy una de esas,” I repeated to myself until I believed it. I am logical. I am sturdy. I’m in-touch. I’m not gauche. I’m not sensitive, nor an activist, nor an artist. I’m not too much. I’m not one of those.

From the constant reprimands of my all-too-practical parents (who no doubt sought to protect me, knowing the “real world” of the Bible Belt was too rough for someone so idealistic), to being openly laughed at by yuppie college classmates in a political inequality (!!!!) class when I described my perfect future as one in which I had enough free time to run in the park on nice, sunny days and spend time with the people I love (they preferred to envision themselves on yachts), I always intuited that my dreams and desires were naive and unconventional.

I don’t need a lot to be happy. But I do need to belong. Unfortunately, that belonging can sometimes feel like more of an albatross than affording a massive yacht.

But last night it didn’t feel that way.

I want to bottle that feeling. I want to build a life that reflects it. I want to dance and drink beer in candlelit living rooms and speak from the heart and stand for justice.

Last night reminded me there are others who want the same thing, crazy and awkward and childlike as it may appear. The world of simple abundance we seek isn’t as elusive as we thought. No more need to doubt and bend and over-explain.

We belong.

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solarbird · 7 years ago

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The Armourer and the Living Weapon, Chapter 18: forgetting the old days

I forgot to mention, last time, but Dr. Ngcobo is based on concept-art Mercy, for those familiar with that.

This chapter is worksafe.

[AO3 link]

"Oh, I know this," Lena said from inside the sensory isolation chamber, as the song played. "You used it last time, too."

"You know it?" Angela asked by microphone, watching peripheral nervous system reactions in real time. Dr. Ngcobo, also watching by remote, noted that the ring didn't shift, but Lena talked through it, so of course it didn't. He queued the sample for replay again, later.

"Yeh. Always have."

"That's interesting," Dr. Ziegler replied, pausing the stimulus set. "It's a fairly obscure traditional tune, a lullaby - how do you know it?"

Lena shrugged, mostly relaxed and floating in the dark. "Just do, that's all. Makes me think of my mum."

"You... I did not think you remembered your mother."

"Don't, love. Pop, either, not really. But, y'know..." she waved her hands around a little in the small space. "Y'have impressions, doncha? Ideas? I do."

She's never mentioned this before, Angela thought, but when has there ever been cause? I should check her psychological profiles. Aloud, she replied, "I suppose one may well. I'm going to repeat it, later - when you hear it again, I'd like you not to talk. Let your body react to it, but nothing else. Is that all right?"

"'Course it is. I like it - particularly the tune, yah?" A little 'heh' came over the speakers. "Shame the singer sounds like, well, you know. Her."

"...Moira? Does she? I didn't notice."

"T'me she does. Particularly in the low notes."

Well, Angela thought, that's interesting. She added two more, similar snippets she had identified in advance to the queue, randomly interspersed. Let's see if that repeats, as well.

Oilliphéist and Widowmaker watched from behind glass, sitting in a viewing room, able to see the chamber and both doctors at work, and hear them as well. Lena had insisted on that in the strongest of terms, and Angela did not push back, but certainly noted it for discussion later.

Danielle considered what she'd heard. "Did... that sound like Dr. O'Deorain to you?"

Emily snorted. "Aunt Moira can't carry a tune in a bucket. But if she could - maybe, a little?" She smiled, calm but deeply aware and ready, her arm around her lover's shoulder. "I really don't know what Ziegler's chasing, here."

"Perhaps some sort of keyword, some sort of..." She tapped the armrest of the chair. "Some sort of activation phrase?"

"What, like in those old movies?" Emily laughed, a little. "Doesn't work that way. Even I know that."

"Doesn't it?" the Widowmaker asked, one eyebrow raised. "I received a 'go' code."

"You were already all there, sweet. I know, I was on the team."

"My first kill," the senior assassin sighed. "And I felt nothing at all."

"I'm sorry for that. The doctor and I both wanted it to be different for you, but..." She shook her head. "That... reminds me... of something. What... was it... oh!" She sat up straighter, silver eyes bright. "In your office at the chateau, you have a framed picture from Amélie and Gérard's wedding. It's the two of them cutting the cake."

Danielle blinked, surprised, something not easily done to the spider, and she looked directly at her counterpart. "...I do? Really?"

Emily nodded. "Yes! It's on the bookshelves, to the left of the desk. I was so confused. Why?"

"I..." She shook her head. "I suppose it was already there, and I never thought to throw it away," she replied, not as entirely convinced of that as she wanted to be. "I imagine you smashed it?"

Emily chuckled. "'Course not, sweet. It's yours! Why would I do that?"

"Because you hated him! Fiercely. I may not have felt anything yet, and I know not to entirely trust my own memories, there have been too many changes, but... I still remember how you hugged me when I returned. How happy you were that he was dead." She gave the other woman a soft smile. "That... I did feel. Just a little."

"Aw. Love you too, pet. And I remember that. But it's all water under the bridge, these days." She grinned, freely. "He's gone, you're here, we're together, I'm..." she hugged herself, and shivered a little with pleasure, "...oh, it's hard to describe, but I feel so... complete, at last."

She looked back through the window, keeping an ear out for any additional conversation from the doctors on the other side of the glass. "I really think she's starting to settle in, too. I was thinking about it a couple of nights ago, I thought it'd be such a struggle, but... no. She's become a brilliant weapon."

"She already was," Widowmaker noted, a little quirk up at the side of her mouth. "That's what got my attention at the start."

"And so easy to like! I told her back at Auntie's place that I'd never kill her, because you love her, but..." she smiled broadly, "I don't even want to!"

"I like our new sleeping arrangements," the spider said, quietly, gaze focused on the chamber.

"So do I," replied her beloved.

"We should talk more seriously about the future, you realise. Not here, of course, but..."

Oilliphéist nodded, agreeing. "Yes. I love Aunt Moira, but..." A bit of a grimace. "She's a tricky one. We'll have to stay a couple of steps ahead of her if we can, for all of our sakes."

Danielle reached over and took Emily's hand back into her own. "I'm... relieved to hear you still agree."

"Don't worry, sweet." She grinned, nuzzling at Widowmaker's hand. "I've got you. We'll be fine." A glance back up, through the window. "All three of us."

-----

"I am increasingly worried," the doctor said, sharing documents across the table to the subset of Overwatch personnel present. "But I cannot give you a firm reason why."

"She's not... acting entirely like herself, is she?" Winston said, nervously, flipping through pages of data he was not reading. "I've worked my entire life to understand human body language, and it's not always easy, but I've got a pretty decent grip on it. Hers is different, now."

"It is," Morrison nodded. "Has been since the eyes, but it's getting worse."

"She was always very tactile, very physical," Dr. Zhou said. "But you see her with them, and they're always touching. Over and over again. It's a little off-putting."

"It's a little creepy, you mean," said Hana Song, back from Korea only a few hours before. "No, it's kind of a lot creepy. And that palm nuzzling thing is just bizarre."

"She is not changing any more, not physically," Angela said. "Some of the body language, I think, is more getting used to a very different nervous system than she once had. But I have also noticed the... nearly obsessive need for physical contact with Widowmaker and Oilliphéist. With everyone else, she's hardly touch-averse, but it is different."

"That part seems pretty normal to me," Winston noted. "She still sneaks up and gives me a noogie at least once a day."

"I could fly in after the show tomorrow," Lúcio said, over comms. "I haven't seen her in a while, I could tell you how much she's changed, or hasn't..."

"If you can manage it, certainly," Angela replied. "The more data I have, the better. But I am far more concerned with the reactions in her nervous system."

She brought up a set of charts that wouldn't mean anything to anyone not a research doctor, but they gave her something to point at while speaking, and that made her feel better, like she had more of a grasp on the situation than she really had. "There is a hint of a pattern to sensory input reactions. It is not a pattern I can yet identify, it is not anything easy to find - she does not react, for example, to video samples of Moira, with or without sound." The doctor switched to paired video of Dr. O'Deorain and Lena's data, placid and nonreactive.

"It would be very tempting to make assumptions and be led seriously astray... but... there are... agh," she spat the word. "I do not like speaking in such terms. It is very un-Swiss of me, but there are... rumours and innuendoes. There are inferences in these numbers, barely outside margin of error, but... I cannot even say they are statistically significant. I simply do not understand them yet."

"She clearly hasn't been programmed to like Dr. O'Deorain," Winston said.

"No, clearly. Similarly, not Talon. It is entirely possible that it is just biases in the way her nervous system works, and it could turn out all to be something as trivial as your love of peanut butter, which is, for the record, complex in similar ways." She glared at the shifting data. "But - I am convinced something is here."

"You heard her at the debriefing," Morrison said, flatly. "Would the Lena Oxton we know - we knew - smile at Widowmaker relishing a kill?"

"That's unfair, Jack. You know how she scored on psych exams back in '68. It's why..."

"Maybe it is, maybe it isn't. But..."

"Look, n00bs," Hana Song interjected. "You're all missing the obvious. Spiderbitch is one thing, okay? She's a defector. She's a merciless assassin, but she's also a victim. So I can just about see Lena going for that, particularly given her looks. Everybody with me so far?"

"What are you getting at, Hana?" asked Lúcio.

"C'mon - Oilliphéist? Really? Oilliphéist?! She isn't a victim. We don't know much about her, but we do know she wanted this. And Lena is apparently... okay with that? And we're supposed to be okay with her being okay with that?" She crossed her arms and leaned back in her chair. "I don't think so."

"She and I have talked about it," Winston said, "She's aware..."

"And she's still doing it. Watch 'em touch. I'm not sayin' they're in love, it's not even sexual, they're touching just all the time. Watch them. It's weird."

"Should we cancel this operation? Talon has already taken a real body blow. The governments are finally starting to set their operations in motion..." asked Winston.

"No," said Mei-Ling, firmly. "Absolutely not. The risks are too great."

"Even if it means we lose Lena to... whatever this might be?" If it's even anything, he prayed to himself.

Mei-Ling looked down at her padd, eyes haunted, and did not reply.

"Look," Winston continued, "why don't we just... get her away from them for a few hours. See how that goes. We could have an Overwatch Night Out tonight, like we used to. Hana, you come; Angela, you bring Fareeha. All of you, me, Mei, Lena... see if we can't just remind her who she's always been. She if she snaps back."

"That would be wonderful," Mei-Ling said, wistfully. "I miss those days very much. It seems so long ago already."

"The pub back in Gibraltar?" Angela asked, a bit of a smile. "It has been a while."

"Why not? It's a bit of a haul, but at least they're used to me," Winston noted, "And Athena could fly us back if we stayed up too late."

"It would be worth a try, at least," Angela said, thoughtfully tapping her chin. "We are in an alien and stressful environment, particularly for her. If she reverts to normal in a comfortable, normal situation, then perhaps... we are all just reading too much into everything."

"She is not the only one under stress," Dr. Zhou noted.

"I can't believe we're having an executive meeting to decide to go out for drinks," Morrison snarked, shaking his head.

"You have forgotten the old days, Jack." Dr. Ziegler snorted. "I absolutely can."

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gaiatheorist · 5 years ago

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“We’re all on the spectrum.”

One of my old managers had evidently heard the phrase ‘On the spectrum’ in relation to autistic spectrum disorders, and decided to use it randomly in relation to anyone he found a bit odd. Head-fuck there, because one of the many and varied indicators of ASD is a person deciding that they are ‘right’, and everyone else is either like-them, or wrong. My linear-logical flow-chart head has decided that the former manager in question wasn’t autistic, he was just a bully. (That’s why I had to ‘boss’ him, to show him that, despite him earning three times what I did, I wasn’t going to show him my belly. That didn’t entirely work to my advantage, because I ended up with a lot of additional workload, “Just cast your eyes over this for me?” I’m a pedant of a proof-reader.)

I have been guilty, in the past, of using a similar phrase, but in a contextually correct manner. Similar, not that lazy, throw-away ‘all on the spectrum’, mine was more nuanced “If you look hard enough at anyone, you’ll find traits consistent with autism.” Boring, procedural side-waffle, that to be diagnosed with an ASD, you have to fulfil the ‘triad impairments’, ever-shifting, but generally grouped into communication, social interaction, and restrictive or repetitive behaviours. (Damn and blast, I wrote an absolutely stunning overview of some ASD training I had at work in about 2003, that’ll be lost now.)

Lazy stereotypes abound in relation to autism, that we’re ‘all’ Rain-man, that we’re ‘all’ unable to socialise, or form attachments, that we’re ‘all’ idiot-savant, with some super-power sort of skill. Autism is not astrology, we’re not ‘all’ watching out for falling pianos, or expecting good news from afar because we’re labelled ‘Virgo’, or ‘Leo.’

In the same way as it being impossible to be ‘a bit OCD’, or ‘a bit pregnant’, a person can’t be ‘a bit autistic’, you’re either on the spectrum, or you’re not. I once worked with a student, and, after literally years of trying to access the right support for him, his Mother casually dropped into conversation the fact that he’d been seen by an educational psychologist, who had suggested ‘borderline autistic traits’. Puberty hit, his hormones went haywire, and we had a student displaying a plethora of traits-consistent-with-autism, but, because there was no formal record of an AS diagnosis, we had to start from square one, in a chronically under-funded CAMHS system. Numbers aren’t my thing, but I think he had five ‘allocated’ workers in a period of about a year and a half. I pushed through his Education and Health Care Plan, which was way above my pay-scale, I badgered CAMHS to keep trying, to accept that this boy really wasn’t coping, and said he was ‘fine’ because he thought that was the ‘right answer.’ He wasn’t the same as the boy who threw his bag up trees, and hid under tables. He wasn’t the same as the girl who screamed. He wasn’t the same as the boy who would spend hours walking around trees when he should have been in lessons, or the boy who genuinely believed he was Dennis the Menace.

Over the years, I worked with hundreds of children, possibly thousands, some had confirmed diagnoses of ASD, some showed multiple traits, but had no diagnosis. Some, we managed to process through the convoluted and complex CAMHS teams for interventions, some we didn’t. Personally, I slipped through the diagnostic process at school because my traits were mostly productive, and the unproductive ones were attributed to other factors. (I’m smirking, at the memory of the Child Psychologist trying to use a visualisation technique with me. “Imagine the bad man in a bubble, imagine him floating far, far away, becoming smaller, and smaller until he’s gone.” “Yeah, no, the bubble has burst, and now everything is covered with him.” You can’t put a person in a bubble. I used visualisation techniques with some students, the undiagnosed-ASD ones couldn’t do it.)

My current verbal diagnosis of ASD makes sense. (Lazy stereotype about autistic people craving order- most humans crave order.) It also makes sense that other-issues historically have muddied the water, and that more recent issues have made the situation even more complex. Migraines, sensory issues, IBS, PTSD, sporadic anxiety and depression, then brain injuries. It also makes sense that, as a high-functioning female, I was able to mimic and mask, to work around my difficulties as not to burden other people. Until I wasn’t. The masking and passing always took additional effort, as the second neuro-psychologist phrased it ‘At what cost?’ The brain injuries made it very clear that I had multiple sensory issues, because I had to re-learn my masking behaviours, it wasn’t that the brain injuries had ‘caused’ the issues, they’d always been there, I just had more available cognitive capacity to conceal them. I’ve always had issues with ‘smells’, my brother used to buy ‘Pacers’ sweets, and then breathe the spearmint-smell onto me, knowing perfectly well it would trigger a migraine, that was before 1985, I remember the sweet-shop. Bright lights, flickering lights, even the noise light-bulbs make, I can tell when I’m really unwell, because I can feel the heat from light-bulbs on my face. ‘Scratchy’ fabric in clothes, or clothes that are too tight around my throat, garish patterns on clothes make my eyes feel sick, the ex found it hilarious that I referred to most of his ‘going out’ shirts as ‘clothes that would give me a migraine from the other side of the room’, it wasn’t funny. (Argh! The DAMNED striped shirts that the m-i-l insisted on buying him, I was the only one in the house that ever ironed anything, ironing striped shirts made me feel nauseous.)

I’ve never been a big fan of being touched, except in certain circumstances, first aid courses were a nightmare, and I’m that one who freezes rigid when people try to hug me. Lazy stereotype, which Tim Minchin knows not to be true, “If you have this vaccine, you’ll get autism, and you WON’T LIKE HUGS!” I’d totally let Tim Minchin hug me. That ‘could’ be attributed to the PTSD, there are reasons I’m not much of a hugger or a kisser, but that doesn’t necessarily explain my aversion to touch-in-general.

Everyone is not on the autistic spectrum, people may exhibit traits consistent with autism, but that doesn’t make them ‘a bit autistic’, my ex wouldn’t eat sandwiches if the ingredients were in the ‘wrong’ order. He wouldn’t drink out of blue mugs, and he had several million hobbies, and obsessions, my loft and shed are still full of his crap, He wasn’t autistic, he was just a prat. My step-father wanted my mother to keep the house to his very high standards, which caused arguments, but he wasn’t autistic, my mother was just a slattern. My father had an over-inflated idea of his own importance, and all-who-opposed-him-were-wrong. I worked with a teacher who brought the same sandwich for lunch every day, strawberry jam, no butter, actually, thinking about her communication style, she might have been autistic. I’ve worked with people who are incredibly neat, with people who became genuinely distressed if anyone moved things on their desk, I’ve worked with people who couldn’t read body-language, or would bang on about their chosen topic, and not notice people virtually climbing out of the windows to escape. In isolation, these behaviours, habits, and choices do NOT mean that the individual is ‘on the spectrum’, they’re just a bit odd. (Odd as in peculiar, not as in ‘Oppositional Defiance Disorder’, that’s a whole different kettle of worms.)

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