#and measure if your response is reasonable or a reaction

[orbitposting]

A lot of my trauma healing as of now is speaking or typing traumatic things that happened to me in order to process or speak out and being like huh. That did happen. And that was not good.

I feel like a lot of people picture trauma healing as doing intense EMDR sessions, but that's not all it is. You can't start healing until you recognize what happened was trauma. Even before that, you have to learn how to trust your own perception.

Before I started trauma therapy, I didn't feel like a person with a worldview. I felt like a bundle of trauma responses trapped in a human body. Now I can weigh how people treat me against my own paradigm of reasonable treatment. If they go against what is acceptable, I can act accordingly. I also can be held accountable more easily since I have a concept of how I should act in relationships, too.

[etfrin]

❝ꜱᴏᴜʟꜱ ᴛᴏ ᴄʀᴜꜱʜ❞ — chapter fourteen | coriolanus snow

「ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢ:」 SFW | Coriolanus Snow, Dr. Gaul, elitism | lmk if I forgot something

「ᴘᴀɪʀɪɴɢ:」 young! Coriolanus Snow x fem! Reader

「ꜱᴜᴍᴍᴀʀʏ:」 mistakes are made, apologies are given

「ᴀ/ɴ:」 chapter fourteen!!! Let's go baby <33 remember to give me your feedback

beta read by my 💘 @nowitsmissing

masterlist | navigation

The rest of the day was dull. Nothing new had happened in the games. Coriolanus made his way to his home. Tonight was the night of the gala. Tigris had informed that she had finished making his suit but didn't show him how it was. It was a surprise. All he knew was that it was approved by you.

He reached his penthouse. He is greeted by Tigris with a hug and a smile. Coriolanus smiles back at his cousin for good measure. Trying to hide his nervousness about attending this prestigious gala that could make or break Snow's reputation.

Tigris excitedly shows him the red tux she had designed for him. Coriolanus wears the suit, and can't take his eyes off himself in the mirror. He looked good, there's no doubt about it.

His cousin has magic in her eyes. He tells her so and watches her eyes brighten up. “Oh, Coryo,” she said, lovingly, “It's because it's you that it looks so good.” Snow doesn't argue.

“And what about her?” He asked, “Did you make her dress the same as mine?” Tigris won't even let him see the designs. He can only imagine his heart would stop beating when he sees you. He wondered if Tigris was fine with that.

“You'll know when you see her,” Tigris giggled.

He sighs in response.

Tigris also adds, “She's the reason we still have this place, Coryo. Be kind to her.”

Coriolanus furrows his eyes. What did Tigris mean? “What?” He asked, his tone sharp. Snow didn't need pity money. And you being the one giving him dollars was salt in the wound.

“The payment for the dresses…” Tigris begins to explain, “It's enough for this month's taxes and a few weeks of food.” Coriolanus' mouth dries, he had completely forgotten about the eviction note. With everything going on, he supposed that it was natural. But Tigris had taken the burden herself while he was no help.

“I am glad,” he mutters, feeling heavily indebted to you. He didn't like the feeling. He lets it linger in the corner of his mind. He says goodbye to grandma’am and Tigris. Then he was on his way to the presidential mansion. You had said that you'd meet him there.

He reaches the presidential mansion. The press surrounded the area with cameras. He swallows as he realizes every moment of his is being broadcast live. Much like when he was in the cage with Lucy Gray. He doesn't let the flashes bother him. He already knew his outfit would be the talk of the show and it was a great opportunity to let Tigris's name out there.

He feels a tap on his shoulder. He turns around. That's it. He's dead. His heartbeat stopped. He forgot how to breathe.

There's no other way to explain his reaction to you.

His sun and moon. You looked marvelous. Enough so that his breath was knocked out of his chest. How did people speak again?

“Hello,” he gasps out, his cheeks burning. He ignored the urge to trace his soulmate's scar. He looks away from you, unable to meet your eyes. Too pretty. Too fucking pretty.

“Hi, Coryo,” you said, wrapping your arm around his. You both walk up to the stairs of the mansion. “Is everything alright?” You asked, a bit worried as he wasn't meeting your eyes.

“Fine,” he mutters.

You hum in response, turning back to the cameras. All waves and smiles. He forgets to do the same as he has eyes on you. He watches you like a lovesick puppy. Until it's time to enter the gala.

He doesn't let his anxious thoughts take over. He counts his breaths as he walks into the mansion. The gala was filled with people. Even higher-up district officials were invited. Several army officers with high standings and even the peacekeeper heads of each district were attending. There were also his classmates.

Clemensia Dovecote. Festus Creed.

They were all present. He could see the Plinth couple, but their son was missing. Quite the idiot to miss this opportunity. More for him, he supposed. He leaves you behind to greet his friends.

“Clemmie,” he grins.

“Well, hello, Coriolanus. It's nice to see your family finally has an invitation. It was about time,” she smiles.

Coriolanus doesn't correct her assumption. He doesn't tell her that he is here as your date. He didn't deem it necessary.

“Did you bring a date?” Festus Creed asked.

Coriolanus shrugged and said your name, he also added, “Well, she was available.” Festus raised an eyebrow at Coryo’s dismissive tone.

“What about the kiss in the auditorium? Several hearts were broken, Coriolanus,” Clemmie jokes.

Coryo bit the inside of his cheek. He wanted to say something. But the fact you're District was surely fresh in his classmates’ minds. Telling them you're something to him wouldn't be much help with his goal for the gala. So, he shrugged, “Ah… well, we're all foolish sometimes.”

His classmates let it go. And he was glad.

Coriolanus seemed to completely forget about you as Clemmie and Festus introduced him to several elitists of the Capitol. People he can never meet through simple means. Coriolanus greets them, making small talk. Every time he mentions Lucy Gray, they're impressed. Even more so when they realize he's the reason that they can make such a contribution to the games.

In the conversation, Dr. Gaul joins. “Hello, Mr. Snow,” she greets him. She turns to the circle he was chatting up. The people were both in awe and afraid of Dr. Gaul. Just like him. She easily takes control of the conversation. Coriolanus does what he does best. Let the conversation flow in the favor of Dr. Gaul. He adds to the glory of the games and how it is necessary. He thanks the elitists for their funding.

From the gleam of approval in Dr. Gauls' eyes, Coriolanus felt proud like he never had before.

He wants to tell you about this immediately! He wanted you to be proud of him too. He had acquired several business cards by now. He had made an impression on everyone he talked to. If he won the Hunger Games, he wouldn't have to worry about university. After tonight, he won't have to worry after university is over either.

It was all because of you.

He feels dread in his mind when he can't see you anywhere on the floor. He finishes his drink, and excuses himself cordially from the conversation. He searches for you before he notices the stairwell leading to the roof. He decided to take the chance of finding you there.

He turned out to be lucky.

He finds you near the metal rails. You were leaning forward, your body facing the city lights. You looked like a part of the city view. He knew he had messed up as he walked closer to you. He left you alone the moment he could. A date wasn't supposed to do that. He knew that! But he was sure you would be understanding. He needed to take advantage of this night.

That's why you brought him here, right?

“Dove,” he said, taking your attention away from the view of the bustling nightlife.

“I see you're making connections, pup.”

“Pup?” he questioned, his tone turning wary.

“Of course, a pup. A pet wagging its tail to an owner who doesn't give a shit. Dr. Gaul, she treats you like an obedient dog baiting you with treats. For her you're disposable, a dog to put down when you'll bite her hand. And here you are in the gala I bought you too, kissing her ass in front of everyone as if they can't see through her bullshit.” You take a deep breath, trying to control yourself, “She sent you to death a day before, Coriolanus! If you're gonna continue to kiss her ass like a mindless pup wanting treats, by all means go ahead.”

Coriolanus takes a deep breath despite the fact he was offended; he didn't wanna fight with you. Coriolanus opens his mouth- he's interrupted by you before he can even begin speaking. You turned to face him. Your eyes glaring at him with anger.

“Not only that! You’re not disposable, Coryo. And I hate how people treat you that way. I am the only one who thinks that way. I am the one you left behind. You ran to Clemmie the moment you saw her and did you know what Festus Creed said to me? He said that I am here as your date and it's because I was available!”

“I have done so many things for you! From rigging the assignment of tributes to proposing the destruction of District thirteen. I have damned my morals for you! I would burn the world for you. And all I get is… this! It's fucking not worth it.”

You don't let Coriolanus speak a word. You tried to walk past him in a hurry but Coryo held your arm and pulled you back. He effortlessly pushes you onto the railing and traps you in.

“Don't talk to me that way,” Coriolanus said, his eyes blazing, his mind confused and his tone dark. “I know what I did was wrong. You should be understanding. What I am doing is for my future. I don't have the time to waste this night like you.” He doesn't bring up the mention of you rigging the tributes nor the nonsense of district thirteen. He will settle this first.

He continues, “What I was doing, it was to be expected. This was too good of an opportunity to let go of. Don't act stupid, dove. Act rationally.”

You scoff at his face and he feels his anger increasing. “Rationally? If you were rational, you would have waited for me to introduce you to the people. Do you know the power I carry, Coriolanus? Yet because of your prejudice against my background, you didn't use me to your advantage. I served myself to you on a silver platter and you left me to rot. Don't talk to me about rationality, love.”

“It's not because of your-” Coriolanus shuts his mouth when he sees tears falling down your cheeks. “Real or not?”

“Don't talk to me if you have to ask,” you sob.

He pulls you in his arms. He cages you, letting you ruin the suit with your tears. Due to the deep red fabric, the tear stains wouldn't be obvious. “I am sorry,” he whispered, genuinely.

He remembered your former words.

��It's fucking not worth it.’

He tightened his hold around you, imprisoning you. He can't believe he messed this up this bad. The worst is it was his fault. He runs a hand through your hair, trying to calm you down. He whispers sweet nothings and apologies until the rise of your chest is steady.

“It's true. I have held prejudice against your background,” it felt wrong to admit this out loud. Coriolanus repeats, “I am sorry, dove.”

“You haven't been district for a long time and it's wrong for me to hold it against you. You're Capitol, not by blood but by deeds. It's more than enough.”

You pulled back, away from his arms. He mourns the loss in his mind, he wants to pull you in again immediately. You wipe your tears away. “I'll forgive you if you publicize our romance today.”

His eyes widened in shock. He wants to yell no! But then he remembered, ‘It's fucking not worth it.’ He takes a shaky breath, steeling his mind. He can't eat his words now. “Fine, sweetheart. You can tell the public Coriolanus Snow is yours and that you are mine.”

The smile you give him reminds him of a fox. He vaguely feels like he has fallen into a trap he can't get out of. Webs after web, he can't even imagine. He shakes himself clear of these thoughts.

You held out your hand, “Then come on Coriolanus Snow, my partner let me introduce you to some people who will like you very very much.”

He takes it. In his mind, he knows he has to ask you about the rigging and about the district that ruined his life.

He dreads it.

NEXT PART

[shadowshrike]

Interfering with Halsin's Portal

It's pretty well known that there are a few situations you can get in where Halsin is well and truly angry rather than disappointed or worried, but I don't think a lot of folks know one of those situations is if you mess with his portal to the Shadowfell. It's a heartwrenching bit of acting. It's also fundamental to the plot of my in-progress fic Girdled Roots, so I figured I might share it with the other Halsin-lovers out there who have never seen it.

EDIT: Please be aware this is datamined dialog and may not be visible in game. It appears to be intended to trigger if the player attempts to enter the portal, which I don't believe is possible in the final game, or at least I couldn't find a way in the most recent version. Sharing this is simply to enjoy the incredible acting and get some plot bunnies moving, not to make any commentary about the game's canon.

Halsin's Initial Reaction

Halsin: No! Stop! Halsin: It's gone... that was our one chance. You've doomed this place to darkness! Halsin: I warned you - told you this was my burden to carry. Why didn't you listen?

The pure rage and despair is visceral. Prior to this, Halsin mentions this portal has been a century in the making, but he's so calm and measured (even upon success) that it is easy to dismiss just how much agony has plagued him as he hoped to make things right. This chance is everything to him. It has guided his every action for a century. It is a hundred years of work, prayer, and guilt to rectify the horrific fate of both land and people that came to nothing because a stranger he trusted refused to listen to him.

The portal breaking is the only time we hear Halsin speak the truth of its importance to him without a hint of emotional regulation. He is wild with pain. This man who is always thoughtful and slow to anger in the face of horror with the wisdom of age and suffering to guide him has become too overwhelmed to show any kindness.

Player response

The player is given several different ways to respond, and Halsin's reaction varies a surprising amount depending on how understandable their reason is. In most cases, he states that he needs to be alone afterward.

Option 1: I'm sorry - I acted on instinct. Halsin: Words won't repair what's been done to this land. Nothing will... I need to be alone.

You can hear the ache in Halsin's voice, but he's somewhat understanding of this response. He projects more sadness than unchecked rage. The player has admitted to making a mistake, and Halsin isn't the type of person who hold onto vengeance when an apology has been made, but he's not naive or people-pleasing enough to say "it's okay" or offer comfort either. The safest thing for everyone is for him to step away to grieve when there is nothing more to be done.

Option 2: I did all the work here - I couldn't just let you take the glory. Halsin: Glory?! There's no glory here. Now there's nothing here - only shadows and the total absence of hope. Halsin:  There is nothing more to be said... I need to be alone.

Pure fury radiates from Halsin's response if the player focuses on the idea of being some grand hero rather than actually caring for the outcome. What the player did was an unforgiveable act, dooming everything that Halsin holds dear, and you have the audacity to complain about not getting glory from it. Again, he steps away, but this feels more like he's doing it because he believes you're worthless to reason with rather than because he needs a moment.

Option 3: I saved your grove - I figured it'd be best if I handled this as well. Halsin: We were this close to healing these lands. Now your arrogance has torn open the wounds once more. Halsin:  There is nothing more to be said... I need to be alone.

Halsin is still frustrated with this response and unmistakably angry, but it's significantly toned down from the idea of wanting to go through the portal for glory. More like he thinks you're a self-important idiot than a truly terrible person.

Specialized player responses

There are also three special responses you can give if you have a particular class or diety.

Druid: I thought my powers were equal to yours. Halsin: It wasn't just power this needed - it was wisdom, understanding. I suffered along with this place for years trying to understand the curse... and it seems I will continue to do so. Halsin:  There is nothing more to be said... I need to be alone.

Interestingly, he responds much more intensely to a druid than some of the other player choices. It might be in part because he feels like a druid should know better. He lectures the player like an Archdruid would initiates in his Grove, alternating between angry and explanatory, trying to get the player to understand why they were wrong and the sheer magnitude of their error. He ultimately ends in a much more resigned place here rather than personally resentful. Like a father-figure being forced through further life trials because of a child's foolish indiscretion. Frustrating, but inevitable.

Selunite: I trusted in Selûne to guide me through the shadows. Halsin: My friend - I wish you had trusted in me.

This is probably Halsin's most simple response with the least vitriol. He fully understands this answer, even if he's disappointed by it. The fact he calls the player 'friend' suggests a certain tired acceptance of this being a natural behavior for a Selunite trying to do good. We don't see this calm in other responses where Halsin was surprised by the player's choice.

Sharran: The Shadowfell is no place for non-believers - I couldn't allow you to soil it. Halsin: I should never have trusted an ally of the Dark Lady.

If you've ever taken Halsin along with Shadowheart in Act 2, then you know he is absolutely scathing toward her and her faith. He likely isn't as angry if a Sharran breaks the portal because it is utterly predictable. It merely confirms a truth he already knew and talked himself out of. That Sharrans cannot be fully trusted in matters of their goddess, even if one was good enough to rescue his people from the goblins.

[hana-no-seiiki]

might be running a little late on the spiderverse post (and by little i mean it’ll prolly be posted this weekend instead when all of us are free) cause i got assigned a task for skewl last minute 😭😭😭😭 so ill just give you guys this short fic/drabble w/ Cat Villain Reader for now that has been rotting in drafts for a bit.

please read my previous cat villain posts for more context !!

If you were to give a rank of the most punchable face in the Batfam, it’d be Damian. No surprise there in hindsight, but the fact that he managed to beat his own dad — the one that left your one true love to die — still astounded you.

Despite his reputation and the fact above, Damian had more calm moments with you than any of his predecessors. It may have been due to other factors; you being older and more mature (less of a brat), that you didn’t hate his guts, or that he wasn’t a masochist like Tim.

But the biggest reason was Talia.

You don’t get how the woman fell for Bruce but she did, and you knew she would do anything for him. You’ve fought her before and she was no joke.

And, she was the only person who helped you with Jason. Who didn’t scoff at your violent reaction towards his death. Who actually understood you, rather than ply you with words of comfort.

So, of course, you were a lot more gentle when it came to her son. Even during his more verbally abusive phase.

Recently however, you’ve noticed a change.

“What?” Damian glared at you (I say as if he looks at you in any other way other than glaring)

“Nothing.” You looked away, your mouth forming a pout. Damn him for having great observational skills even through both of your masks and while you guys were in the middle of a fight.

“Were you just staring at my arms?”

“No!” You shouted in offence. “. . . Yes.”

But how dare of him to be right anyways! It wasn’t your fault his new fit looked tighter on his toned biceps.

In any case, that’s where the change really started to be obvious. Usually after that he’d knock you out or screech curses, but now… now he’d —

“Keep looking. You’re easier to catch when distracted.”

You immediately felt your knees go weak.

The nicknames, too. Good god the nicknames. Some of them were still as degrading as ever, but you also noticed a sudden rise of sweeter ones, some in his mother tongue, others just plain corny.

“Hey Kitty, get your food elsewhere.” Damian greeted you from behind.

Damian never greeted you.

Your fights and/or meet-ups always started with a little roughhousing.

Which, as of the moment, was not happening just yet. Not to mention he didn’t even take advantage of your surprised state.

And so you turn invisible.

Ever the sharp eyed man that he was, he quickly spotted you from the sound of your movements. Yet he doesn’t attack. In the blink of an eye, he appeared right behind you, seizing your arms and whispered, “Did that make you purr?”

You licked him in response. Safe to say that you were smacked down afterwards.

You were starting to think that Damian liked you.

Of course, even though you were confident to a fault, you weren’t conceited. So in order to test that theory, you managed to switch your heists up for when he wasn’t on duty.

And from what you hear from Tim, he hasn’t been doing so great.

So terrible his days have been in fact that he had been sloppy enough to get caught. While the rest of his team was busy fighting you took the opportunity to sneak in. A favour for Talia’s help, you thought.

“Fool! What are you—“ Damian shouted at you. The villain they were fighting was no joke. If you had gotten caught —

His sermon gets interrupted by a kiss from you to the lips. You even shove your tongue down his throat for good measure.

You separate from him after a few minutes.

You think from the fact that he pulls you back in and kisses you as his friends were screaming in the background made it clear that he more than just liked you.

Maybe even loved you…

— to be continued

[rainbowsky]

Regarding CPN discussions, questions and comments

Several times over the past few days I've had to remind people about a boundary I have around discussions of CPN, so I feel it might be a good time to remind everyone of this so that everyone is on the same page.

I'm always preaching that CPN is for turtle's eyes only. It isn't meant for wider consumption by solos or passersby. This is for the protection of turtles and of GG and DD. When CPN crosses over into other areas, it pretty much always leads to fan wars and anti activity.

One of the measures that I feel passionately about in connection with this is the notion that

CPN should never be discussed in posts that are tagged with GG and DD's individual names.

There are a couple of really good reasons for this:

It's part of staying in our own lane. Solos follow the tags for GG and DD's individual names, and if CPN is discussed in those posts, solos can stumble across it and create problems. I have faced a lot of harassment in the past - including the recent past - from solos because of this very thing, and it's not fun. Fan wars are never good, but especially not when I become a target for hate through no fault of my own. If you talk about CPN in the comments of my posts, I am going to be the one attacked for it, not you.

Posts tagged with their individual names are for celebrating their individual works and achievements. There's plenty of space for clowning elsewhere.

All that I ask is that before you comment to discuss CPN in the notes of one of my posts, please double check that it is not tagged with 'xiao zhan' or 'wang yibo'. If it is, submit your comment or question to me as an ask, contact me privately about it, or find a post on my blog on a related subject that is tagged with 'bjyx' or 'yizhan' and comment there.

You can also feel free to make a post about it in the Yizhan Tumblr community.

Please also feel free to do whatever you want, take whatever risks you want, and embody your own values around this topic on your own blog, including reblogging my individual posts with whatever commentary you want. Feel free to use whatever tags you want and to discuss whatever you want in a reblog. Just please don't comment with CPN in posts on my blog that are tagged with their individual names.

A note on reactions

Some people really take it personally and get bent out of shape when I make this kind of request. This is by no means a rare reaction. The majority of turtles who I mention this to in response to CPN comments in the notes of these posts respond in a negative way. Some even unfollow or block me for it.

I don't understand why anyone would be offended by a boundary I set for my own well-being online, or why anyone would take personally a decision that I have made for my own well-being.

I have had a lot of harassment and hate thrown at me over the years, and due to a lifetime of being singled out, I am especially sensitive to bullying. It's just not something I want in my life, and I will seek to avoid and prevent it at all costs. Please respect my needs in this regard.

As importantly, we really do need to stay in our own lane to try to maintain some measure of harmony between fandoms, and to avoid fan wars.

This is not a new boundary - I've been stating it for years. @accio-victuuri has been saying this for years as well. It is by no means unusual for this request to be made by turtles. It is a best practice for avoiding fan wars.

So please try to be understanding about this. I would never make a request of someone if I didn't have a good reason.

I don't state these things to make you feel bad in any way. Nor do I hold it against you if you make a mistake. I'll just remove that comment and explain to you why I've done so. Don't take it personally. I appreciate people's engagement with my posts, and do not want to make anyone feel alienated. I do my best to express myself in a kind and understanding way.

I hope you will extend me the same courtesy.

[nathanbatemanfucker]

In Plain Sight, Ch 2: A Hoard of Cupids

summary: nathan’s much more insightful about you than he used to be. it’s making you uneasy…and curious.

pairing: nathan bateman x f!reader

contents: 18+/NSFW/MINORS DNI, enemies to lovers (sorta), boss/employee dynamics, pining, nathan trying to be nice but he’s so abrasive lol, pining, mentions of caretaking/sick family members, mentions of emotionally abusive parents, masturbation (m), sub!nathan if you squint

wc: 2,745

AN: back at it with part twoooo. thank you all for the kind words and support on this fic, i didn’t expect it to get the response it did but i’m really excited to give y’all the rest. fair warning that these chapters seem to be getting longer as i write on. happy reading!

in plain sight masterlist | part 3 | part 4 | part 5

Nathan gives you space— at first. When you return the next day at 7 a.m. sharp he’s nowhere to be found. Not in the living room or in the kitchen, not on his patio boxing. You assume he’s in his room, probably toying with one of his bots in a distasteful manner. The idea makes you shudder. But is it not easier to come to work with every task he could want you to do placed on his desk, no fuss?

You don’t like Nathan Bateman. He’s a pompous asshole, a know it all, a man who thinks only about his own desires. When he apologized— or rather attempted to— yesterday you thought that maybe you slipped and fallen down the stairs on your way out. By his standards, it was a top tier apology. You’d never once heard him apologize to anyone. On your drive home you had wondered if he had ever apologized in his life. The thought made you giggle, and then you’d turned up the music and forgotten about him until right now.

Sat at your desk, an ungodly stack of things to do. There’s a note sat on top. It’s simple and straightforward, lacking emotion but somehow still has your stomach flipping. It reads:

In meetings all day— let me know if you need anything. Go home early today.

Mr. Bateman

P.S. I’ll spruce up my apologizing skills.

You regard the note cautiously, raising your brow at it before you let yourself laugh a little. Was this a joke or had Nathan Bateman taken some criticism to heart (which is rumored to not exist). You fold the note up, and for some reason slip it into your bag.

The last thing that’s on your mind is that Nathan’s watching you. He sits in the dark at his monitors, leaning in closely. His eyes trace your figure on the screens intensely, watching as you read and read and read. He expects no reaction from you beside maybe throwing it in the trash. But then you laugh, and he watches you store it for safekeeping. A piece of him will go home with you. Nathan never thought he’d be jealous of a piece of paper, not when he seems to have the entire world at his fingertips.

—

He returns to his normal behavior after a week— partially because he thinks you settled in. And partially because…well he begrudgingly can admit to himself, in the comfort of his own mind, that he misses you. When you get to work the next Monday he’s sat on an observation table, examining what looks like a deconstructed robot brain.

You aren’t even able to open your mouth and say good morning before he’s talking to you.

“Are you sleeping okay?” He asks, his eyes appraising you intensely.

You stop in your tracks, regarding him as always, your expression pieced into that calm expression. So you’re back to normal, none of that fire. He expected it but that doesn’t keep him from feeling disappointed.

“Sir?”

“You look really fucking tired. Exhausted,” He tacts on for good measure.

Your spine goes completely rigid, your grip on your bag tightening. You are tired. So very tired. You work shitty hours for incredible money and then go home to take care of your younger sisters and mother. Dealing with Nathan is for them. For your sisters’ schooling, so they won’t feel left out when the other kids have the newest gadget or shoes. For your mother’s ever piling medical bills. It’s important that you don’t jeopardize something so precious.

“Is it affecting my work? Have I done something wrong?” You ask him softly.

“No— that’s not why I’m—“ He stutters before closing his mouth and starting anew. You’ve never seen him like this. If you didn’t know better, you’d think he was flustered. But knowing Nathan, he’s just never asked a single employee he’s ever had if they’re alright. “I’m your boss, I worry about your well being. That’s what good bosses do.”

“Are you sure?” You ask evenly, eyes still trained on him.

“Am I—“ He stops, eyes wide for a fraction of a second before he bites away his smile. “Are you fucking with me?”

If he was looking at you so intentionally he would miss the way your mouth twitches. “I’m fine, Mr. Bateman. I have a lot of responsibilities, not only here but out there as well.”

“Out there?”

“The real world. Thank you for the concern, sir.”

For the second time, you’ve rendered Nathan speechless. That night he lays in bed thinking of you, like many nights prior. He turns your words over in his head time and time again. The real world. Do you think he doesn’t know what it’s like out there? He wonders how much research you’d done for the job. Nathan used his brain to get here, climbing and climbing. He hadn’t been born into this but his personality lent itself to such a conclusion. Nathan knows what his real world used to look like, though one day he hopes that any of his contraptions can help him forget. He wonders what your real world looks like.

There’s no ring on your finger, but you could have a partner. Kids? Another job? He pays you well enough for that to not be necessary. Maybe you volunteer at a puppy shelter. He could picture it. You in something other than your stuffy work clothes, a smile on your face as you drown in puppy breath and slobber.

He groans, rolling over in bed to plant his face deeply in the pillow. Maybe he can smother himself out of this. Thinking about puppies? He might as well be one, he’s practically lovesick if you have him thinking like this. When would he get used to feeling this way? His usual cynical thoughts feel like they’re being pillaged by a hoard of cupids.

He doesn’t even know if you feel the same. Being better for you is one thing, but what if there’s no payoff? What if he changes for you and you leave him high and dry? Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck. He feels the back of his neck sweating and sits up.

Nathan’s been down this road before, it’s brought him his fortune and an insane work ethic. It’s all brought him sorrow he’ll never be able to escape. Being with his parents feels like a fever dream sometimes and other times he feels 6 again, like he’s drowning in their expectations and insults, trying to measure up. He’d given up eventually, once he realized that they would never love him the way parents should. Why try to do anything anyone wanted but himself when they could still treat him poorly for it?

He’s the way he is from his own indoctrination. He doesn’t know where he would be if he hadn’t convinced himself that he was the only person that truly matters.

But, now there’s you. You, who looks so soft, you that scratches an itch he didn’t even realize he had. You, that he wants to goad and prod and poke until you unleash all of yourself on him. He closes his eyes and lays back, envisioning you right here with him. He feels insane, his heart— his mind, his dick— are taking him through a whirlwind of emotions right now.

He palms himself through his boxers, eyes squeezing shut tighter than before as he tries to narrate. He pictures you in one of his white shirts, it’s fabric nearly see-through with the way it clings to your breasts. He grasps his length through his boxers letting out a heaving sigh. Fuck he wishes this was you.

If there’s anything that Nathan knows how to do its not only being smartest but the most imaginative. He’s been daydreaming for as long as he can remember. Universes with better outcomes— having worth, or loving parents or anyone for that matter. Anyone to be on his side. He imagined codes and synthetic body parts that live and breathe in front of him. He can surely imagine you, breathy and horny in his bed, jerking him off. He doesn’t care if it’s fucked up, or inappropriate. He wants you, and maybe this is the only way he can have you. He slides his boxers down, finally done teasing himself. Licking his palm, he grabs his cock, starts stroking and succumbs to the thought of you.

Another moan bubbles out of his throat. He can see your nipples through his shirt when you straddle him like this. Your thighs are soft against his own and he would reach for your free hand, thread his fingers through your own. Your hands are smaller than his, smooth and supple. And god, you’re stroking him just the way he likes it, the soft wet sound making pleasure shoot through his groin.

You’d overstimulate him wouldn’t you? With that clever mouth barely pulling up a grin, eyes full of fire as you stroke him past the point of pleasure. Would you make him watch? See the way your hands would grow slick and shiny with his cum as you kept pumping and pumping, pushing him to another release. Covering you both in him, until you’re too needy to keep toying with him. Nathan cums just as he’s imagining the feeling of you dragging your bare pussy against his sensitive cock. He whines and keens off the bed, the high singing in his veins. He swears he can almost imagine the way you would moan.

His eyes open, the spell broken. He’s alone, covered in his own spend, chest heaving like he just ran a 10k. He avoids his reflection when he walks into the bathroom to clean up. His loneliness spikes again and he heads to the kitchen, reaching for the first bottle he can find.

—

“You’re late,” He says stiffly, crossing his arms as he watches you cross the space to sit at your desk.

The day after he’d gotten off thinking of you he’d had the slightest difficulty looking at you. It quickly faded, he was too greedy. Too needy, if he’s being honest. He can’t get enough, he doesn’t know if he could ever say it but you’re the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen.

You’re openly frazzled; your shirt isn’t tucked in, your hair is a little more frizzy than usual and you look as tired as ever. He regrets his biting tone immediately.

Even as you explain you’re moving, setting your to-go mug on the desk, fetching your calendar, booting up your computer. “I know, I’m sorry, Mr. Bateman. My sisters were less than cooperative this morning.”

Nathan turns completely away from the bins he’s been searching through, raising a brow at you in surprise, “Your sisters?”

“Yes— one is 7 the other is 14. The little made getting out of the house…difficult,” You murmur distractedly, eyes trained on your screen.

“Isn’t that your parents’ fucking job?”

His question snaps you back to the present— you hadn’t shared nearly as much as you could’ve. But you’d gone into this job wanting to be nameless and faceless. Memorable only for the quality of the work you do.

You shake your head, daring a quick glance in his direction that you immediately regret when your eyes meet his.“I realized that I’ve shared far too much about my personal life. I should work, Mr. Bateman.”

Nathan immediately understands your deflecting. How many times has he been asked by reporters and interviewers where his family is? Enough times that he’s had his publicist strike the topic from the acceptable lists. That was about all he was good for anyway, Nathan says what he wants when he wants.

He goes back to the task at hand— though now with you here he doesn’t quite remember what that was. A part…some sort of part that he needed. Wires? Screws? A metal plate? He sighs in frustration and leaves without another word.

Your gaze is on the door as soon as it shuts, making sure he’s gone. The tears that you’ve been biting back fall and you bury your face in your hands. Your youngest sister had begged and pleaded for you to stay warm in bed with her this morning. With your mother so sick, you’ve practically raised her yourself these last few years. It makes her needy, which you understand. But what she doesn’t understand is how delicate the balance you found in caring for your entire family is. Middle sister lacks just as much understanding, with heaps of attitude. She doesn’t want to snuggle with you or with younger sister. Mediating this entire situation is what made you late.

It feels like you’re cracking under the pressure but that isn’t an option, is it? As if the universe wants to make it clear, your computer chimes. It’s Nathan, asking you to come to his office.

��

He’d meant to go clear his head in his office and come back to get whatever part he was in need of. But, when he sat in his chair he was met with the sight of you hunched over your desk, presumably crying by the way your shoulders jerked every once and a while.

He’s pinging you before he can think better of it. He watches you read his message. You’re such an anomaly— you sit up immediately, reaching for some tissues and cleaning yourself up as if nothing happened. You even check yourself in the reflection of your computer, fidgeting with your hair, tucking in your shirt once you stand. As soon as you start out of the office he turns off his monitors, not one to be caught snooping around though it’s right and was clear in the contract. Maybe you’ve forgotten. Perhaps you don’t think your anything worth watching…Nathan would like to change that assumption.

“You pinged me, sir?”

How would he play this? He couldn’t admit that he just watched you cry.

“Trying my hand at this apologizing shit again. I— Nathan Bateman— am sorry for being insensitive. Like I said last time, I don’t know your life or you. Alright, how was that?”

“I would say a solid, 5/10, which is a 50% improvement.”

“Fuck me, you’re a tough crowd. What am I docked for? You know I’m all about perfection.”

“There was a lack of originality. And you omitted your middle name.”

It takes everything in Nathan not to giggle. The way the words come out of your mouth are so funny… or maybe he’s just obsessed. It could be both. “My middle name is classified information.”

“Does Wikipedia know that?” You ask, tilting your head in that uncanny way.

Nathan can’t hold in his laugh this time, running a hand over his beard, “You’re funnier than you look.”

Your mouth twitches, and you give him the smallest nod, “Thank you, sir. Is that all?”

He pretends to think about it. “This apology is feeling pretty one-sided to me.”

“I accept your apology, Mr. Bateman, thank you.”

“Accept something else,” He proposes, going out on a limb. Suddenly your stare is too intense, the room is too hot and small. What the fuck is he doing?

“What’s that?” You ask, as soft and sweet as ever.

“Dinner. Tomorrow,” He says simply.

“With you?”

Nathan ignores the twinge in his heart— your tone barely changed. If he wasn’t with you every single day, studying you, he wouldn’t even have noticed.

“I can invite the droids if you want. They’ll just stare at us while we eat.”

Your hand tightens around your planner. Dinner with Nathan…choosing to be around him? It seemed like as of late he was trying to be…more palatable. This could be an act of good faith. But, you have your sisters and mother to think about. You’ve given her nurse enough overtime hours in the last few weeks.

“Without getting too personal, I don’t think I’ll be able to swing it sir, I have to get home to my sisters as soon as possible.”

Yes, your family, that you never talk about. He could accommodate, what’s he the fucking boss for if he can’t?

“We’ll do it early.”

You sway a little as you think about this— that’s new, he thinks to himself, filing that information away for later.

“You’ve already got me apologizing, I can’t add saying please to the list of acceptable behaviors. I’ll lose my fucking edge.”

“How early?”

“3:30.”

“Alright, then, sir.”

nathan taglist: @missdictatorme, @hon3yboy, @runa-falls, @campingwiththecharmings, @toracainz, @steven-grants-world, @clemdango04, @jdbxws, @crispysublimecupcake, @sub-aro, @faretheeoscar, @cupidysm, @whentheskyispinkandabitblue , @nova-ivy541, @sparkypantelones, @veritable-trash, @mangoslushcrush, @kotaropuppy

[glitteringcrab]

Evil Morty and the other Mortys (part 2)

A continuation of this blog.

Theory 7: Internalized victim blaming

Evil Morty is not the only Morty acting extremely harsh to other Mortys. We've already seen random Mortys in the Citadel being jerks to other Mortys.

1) Mortys in Morty Town seem to be particularly aggressive towards Cop Morty. It's unclear if it's because he's a cop (and therefore they're equally aggressive to Cop Rick), or if it's because a Morty accompanied by a Rick. Or if they are aggressive to Cop Rick because he dared enter Morty Town. It could be all of the above.

Cop Morty, in turn, returns the favor.

Here we have a Morty who dares to utter the phrase "Mortys are human!" (I mean... is it a matter of debate?! YIKES)

And he gets (a) called a "Rickless animal" (b) electrocuted for his trouble.

Soon after, we see Cop Morty:

(c) calling Mortys another derogative term ("yellowshirts")

(d) electrocuting another Morty for absolutely no reason:

Note that the derogative insults obviously apply to Cop Morty as well. He, too, is a Rickless Morty, as he keeps making clear that Cop Rick is simply his partner, not his Rick. And he might wear a uniform right now, but at some point in the past he definitely wore a yellow shirt.

2) AT THE SAME TIME, having a Rick is also an insult:

(and things escalate fast)

3) Initially, Cop Morty was capable of overplaying his "Mortyness" to other Mortys...

...who also did the exact same thing to him, before making fun of him:

Mortys are also overplaying their Mortyness to Ricks...

...which apparently is a thing that happens often, judging from Cop Morty's immediate explanation:

Cop Morty tries the exact same technique against his partner... (and it's clear at this point that Cop Morty actually liked Cop Rick... but doing as Cop Rick was asking him to do would have serious consequences for him, so Cop Morty put his own well-being first)

However, Cop Rick is wise to this trick by now, and so he is ready. He shoots first.

4) Mortys are quick to throw other innocent Mortys under the bus, so that they can escape:

Here is a description of the Mortys responsible for the perpetration of the store robbery:

No noteworthy features. Just four normal Mortys.

And here is a picture of the Morty Town Locos:

They have facial tatoos... THEY DIDN'T ROB THAT STORE.

5) Cop Morty is ready to go to extreme measures to erase every trace of the Morty Town Locos:

Do any of the above sound familiar?

Derogative terms to other Mortys...

...including self...! (pretty justifiably though, in this case)

2. Getting angry at the suggestion that he is accompanying a Rick:

3. Overplaying his Mortyness

4. Throwing innocent Mortys under the bus:

5. Going to extreme measures for your own well-being...

They're all textbook variations of the things Evil Morty has been doing.

Which makes sense. After all, if he is one of the many excess clones in the Citadel, then his experiences must be similar to the experiences of the other unwanted Mortys, and they should have similar reactions. The only difference between them is that his actions have been careful, calculated and ultimately successful (and, uh, excessive), whilst theirs have been uncoordinated and heated.

If we take into account all of the above, it seems to me that there might be a lot of internalized victim-blaming among the excess Mortys of the Citadel.

If they partner with a Rick, they're sell-out yellowshirt Mortys who throw away their self-respect in favor of Ricks' interests, who choose to turn a blind eye to all the atrocities Ricks have been committing, who worship an undeserving being all for the sake of a mocking semblance of family, encouraging other Mortys to engage in the same self-destructive act. They want to be a human shield. (They might as well be a human shield, then...)

If they don't partner with a Rick they have very few tools in their disposal to survive. They have to become as ruthless and unforgiving as their surroundings. They have to become their own Rick, so that they can catch up to their Rick-full environment. And the Mortys who choose to not do that? It's their fault for being weak and emotional and not doing what needs to be done. I mean, think of it. Evil Morty overpowered his Rick simply by making him drunk. Literally every Morty could do that, if they wanted. They just choose not to. Morty Prime can disassemble neutrino bombs. My bet is he could assemble one too, if he wanted. He could easily kill a black-out drunk Rick C-137, if he decided to. Or he could try to find a way to keep Rick in stasis, so that he doesn't return via Operation Phoenix. But he doesn't. He chooses to let the abuse keep happening to him, so he's deserving of his fate.

(I mean, not really, of course, but I can totally see Ricks mocking their Mortys for not having the guts to stand up for themselves and claiming that Mortys want the abusive relationship to continue... otherwise, why even enlist in a Morty Agency, if not because you want more of the same?)

(At the same time, Ricks manipulate Mortys into believing they're selfish for trying to set boundaries... Into believing they're evil for not putting Ricks' wellbeing first.) (might as well actually be evil then, huh)

...I'm glad the Citadel's gone.

[femmefatalevibe]

Femme Fatale Guide: How To Cultivate Self-Discipline

Know Your Why: Always Keep The End In Mind 

Keep Small Promises To Yourself. Make Them Non-Negotiable. 

Create And Consistently Log Your Progress 

Take Temptations Out Of Sight 

Find Indulgences To Help You Focus On Your Goals 

Know Your Why: Always Keep The End In Mind 

Decisiveness drives discipline. You need to clarify and define your goals. State them clearly with their authentic purpose in mind. If you seduce this end goal into your life, what desire are you truly fulfilling? Ex. If you want to lose 10 pounds: Is it to feel healthier? Look better in a bikini? Fit into a certain pair of jeans? No matter how superficial, identify the genuine reason why you want to achieve a certain goal. Whatever reason elicits a visceral and emotional reaction. Sometimes, especially during a busy work day, your reason could be as simple as wanting to lessen your anxiety and ease into a more relaxed state. Any purpose that resonates. Once you have an emotional response tied to a goal, it becomes infinitely easier to motivate yourself to take small steps towards achieving it. Where energy goes, energy flow. Simon Sinek goes more in-depth with this concept in Start With Why.

Keep Small Promises To Yourself. Make Them Non-Negotiable.

Think of performing self-discipline rituals as confidence-building exercises. This action helps you trust yourself, establishes a sense of integrity, and builds self-confidence. For example, if you stick to your meal and workout plan for 5 days a week, you build trust in knowing you're more powerful than your cravings and are capable of taking good care of your body. If you complete a project on schedule (personal or professional), you prove to yourself that you’re efficient, build confidence in your ability to finish tasks you start, and self-affirm that you follow through on your ideas. Finishing that book this month reflects confirms that you value yourself enough to expand your mind, learn, and expand your knowledge base. Eventually, through enough consistent repetition, these rituals into unconscious habits that you do effortlessly in daily life. 

Create And Consistently Log Your Progress 

You can’t manage what you don’t measure – your finances, calorie and step counts, workouts, productivity, etc. Tracking data related to your habits – such as your spending habits, eating or workout patterns, writing word count, and task completion – on a given day or week – allows you to understand and analyze your current behavior. What habit cues, environmental or other situational factors are keeping you from sticking to the current task at hand? Do you leave your running shoes stuffed in the back of the closet? Junk food in the house? Work from bed or with your phone by your side? Are you avoiding certain emotions? Does this data change when you’re stressed or tired?  

Awareness is the first step towards redirected action. Analyze these data points to see your pitfalls and strategize how to help yourself. 

Take Temptations Out Of Sight

Set yourself up to win. Get the phone away from your workspace, remove any junk food or soda from the house, delete apps, or silence notifications from people who distract you from your goals. Self-discipline becomes significantly easier when you have to take additional steps to indulge in your vices. Replace these temptations with helpful cues to help you build healthier habits that lead to self-discipline. Give yourself visual cues to move you toward your goals. Keep a journal with a pen next to your bed. Leave your workout clothes and shoes out near your bed. Write a quick to-do list right before finishing work for the following day, so it’s easier to jump into the first task right away the next morning. Cut up some produce or do a 30-60 minute meal prep once a week to eat more healthful meals. Find ways to make it easier to stay on track than give in to temptation. 

Find Indulgences To Help You Focus On Your Goals 

Self-discipline shouldn’t feel like deprivation – of certain foods, pastimes, or activities you enjoy. Buy cute workout clothes you feel confident in. Create the most dance-worthy playlist. Make it a priority to buy your favorite fruits and vegetables every week. Rotate a selection of your favorite healthy meals. Leave your sunscreen out – front and center – on your bathroom counter. Find a big, beautiful water bottle to keep on your desk. Purchase aesthetic notebooks, pens, planners, journals, and other office organization items. To make self-discipline feel like second nature, you need to marry indulgences and your desire to meet your goals. Discover the habits that work for you and find small ways to make these tasks more enjoyable. 

Go easy on yourself. Build one habit at a time. Self-discipline is like a muscle. It requires time to build and grows in increments. Try to stay on track and more focused than yesterday. Your only competition is your former self. Find pleasure in the process. Focus on the immediate task in front of you while also keeping your future self in mind. 

[songmingisthighs]

Heaven's Haven

group : ateez

pairing : jongho × reader

genre : smut, romance

wc : 3.6 k

warning : explicit smut; oral (f receiving), face sitting, unprotected sex (ykw if you're financially ready for a kid and is no longer obsessed with supposed time travelling pirates, go for it), pwp ?, softer sex with a lot of description bc... it's jongho, have you looked at him? lmk what i missed

a/n : to those of you who encouraged me to give into my impulses, you'll be hearing from my lawyer. it's san. san is my lawyer. btw happy haribo day !!

a/a/n : at this point let's just agree that smt overdoes shit

buy me coffee ?

Every night you were reminded of how hardworking your boyfriend is. Most days you're proud of him while some days you were just worried. While he's not a workaholic with a hyperactive artistic brain like his captain, Kim Hongjoong, Jongho works when he's not even working. His whole life revolves around being a singer and a performer; his diet, his aversion to certain foods, and his workout regime. Frankly, the only thing that could stop him was when he went through surgery for his legs. While fans were disappointed when he couldn't join the tour, it was the best month of your life. You love taking care of him because he has been taking such good care of you. Which was why you designated his room as a no-outside-life zone. You made it your duty to rid Jongho of his responsibilities when he's in his room. Also his pants.

So coming into his room to find him sitting on his bed still clad in a suit after an interview he did, texting away on his phone, was not really surprising. You simply closed the door, put your bag down near it, and walked over to your boyfriend who was staring at his phone screen with his bottom lip jutted out adorably. "Jjongie, baby," you called out, barely getting a reaction out of him save for a low hum. You slot yourself between his legs while pushing his half-gelled back hair out of his face, can't stop smiling at your adorably sexy boyfriend, "You need to get out of these clothes, you've been in it the whole day and we need to get your cute butt into bed," you cooed, using the voice you would usually use on little children. "No need baby, I had dinner already," he replied, head tilting at his phone screen, way too preoccupied with whatever it is he was doing.

You wanted to get him to relax but knowing your boyfriend, you first need to detach him from whatever it is taking his attention. So you began your attempts. Rather pathetically because even with eyes glued to his phone, Jongho managed to evade your hands catching the device and even foiling your fake easily. Huffing and puffing, you were determined but so was Jongho. Had he ever given you any reason to suspect infidelity, you would've been very mad for a whole different reason.

After a solid 5 minutes of failed attempts, you detached yourself from your boyfriend with a glare, cursing him and his entire coming bloodline (that you may or may not consider being involved in) for being... Well, him. At this point, he must've known what you were doing right? "Jongho," you called out but were met with silence, "Choi Jongho," you tried again but no luck.

In a desperate attempt, you decided to take some drastic measures that might or might not work, depending on Jongho's mood. You shimmied out of your pants quietly, leaving your panties on purposefully in case your plan failed yet again. You were attempting to give Jongho a pouncing as the element of surprise might give you an upper hand. Boy, you never realized how much planning goes into this part of the relationship. And by 'this', you absolutely mean taking care of a grown adult.

Without further ado, you walked back over to your boyfriend who seemed like he had no plans of letting his phone go and jumped right into action. Jongho yelped slightly when he felt his left shoulder pushed down out of nowhere and when he looked up, he realized that you had used your leg to maneuver him into lying down on his back and plopping down on his chest. The look in his eyes was rather priceless and it took everything in you to not celebrate your half success just yet. Instead, you used your knees to hold his large shoulders in place as your shins pressed his wrists down, preventing him from moving. Or so you convinced yourself. You've seen him carry his members around like a sack of flour, you were sure that he could at least flip you over. Not that you would mind.

In his position, Jongho tried to break free (barely) but you only pressed him further to the point that he let his phone go. "Okay, hi?" he grinned cheekily, looking innocent as if your cunt wasn't a flimsy fabric away from being completely exposed whilst being at eye level with Jongho. "Hi?" pouting, you slapped him on his chest, "You have been ignoring me since I stepped into this room, Choi Jongho and I don't like it!" you complained. "Is that why you're rewarding me?" Jongho asked with an eyebrow raised in question. Your eyebrows furrowed, unsure at what he meant and just as you were about to ask him, you felt his body jolt up slightly which caused your ass to slide forward and your clothed cunt to make contact with Jongho's mouth, effectively causing you to freeze in shock. Your reaction then wasn't as bad as the next though because when you felt the vibration from Jongho humming into your cunt, you gasped and your thighs tensed. "Look at my baby trying to take care of me by giving me something so sweet," he said, the movement from his lips was so palpable on your nether ones that it made your breath catch in your throat, intensely heightening Jongho's effect on you. Just as you had taken Jongho's shock to your benefit, Jongho too took your hazed state to slip his hands from your hold. When you realized what he did, you whined in protest, not wanting him to push you off just yet. But much to your surprise, you found his left hand cupping your ass as the other found purchase on your inner thigh, his thumb gently caressing the bit of skin under the shirt you were wearing, just above your underwear line. The touch left you tingling, your spine shot up as if electricity shot through you straight from where Jongho's tongue was tasting you over your underwear.

"J-Jongho," you whimpered, wanting to say something that you yourself can't figure out, you weren't even sure you should be saying anything but you were sure that some form of response should be given. Jongho had managed to melt your brain with his kitten licks to your covered clit. He somehow managed to find it easily despite not being able to get a visual. Seems like he just knew you that well. Just to be a complete ass about it, Jongho hummed into your pussy again for good measure, causing you to let out a shuddered sigh and making your head drop back. Whatever it was you thought you needed to do when Jongho began to get his taste of you went out the window, you convinced yourself that teasing the fuck out of you count as a non-working activity because it truly was and he was doing such a good job. Your mind shattered when you felt his thumb move your panties to the side and you felt his talented tongue slither between your lower lips. "Fuck!" the sound you make felt perfect to Jongho, enough to drive him to take your pulsing clit between his teeth and lightly nibble on it. Pain isn't something that you always liked during sex with your previous partners. You had had some experiences but none of them resulted in you feeling that good. Sure, there was some pleasure, but not enough to make the pain worth it. But for some reason, with Jongho, the pain he gave during sex only heightened as pleasure. You love the edge it gave you, that bite he gives be it literally or figuratively.

Your boyfriend is someone who is always in control and when he does it, he does it so seamlessly that it wasn't even obvious that he had control. How you love the showcase of subtle prowess like how he was gripping your hips so tightly, making sure that you wouldn't be able to chase your high by riding his face, making sure that you were completely dependent on him, that you were in his mercy. "Jongho, more!" you moaned, groaning when Jongho let his blunt nails dig into the skin of your thigh possessively. You looked down to see Jongho raising an eyebrow from between your legs, "Look at you forgetting your manners after being given a little taste of pleasure," a rush of warmth rushed to your cheeks when you heard the teasing edge in Jongho's voice. Jongho wasn't one to be into degradation, he had drawn a certain line on the matter because, in his own words, he cared about you too much to put you down. So your shyness was based on the knowledge that he found you endearing, precious even when you were so affected by him. Unintentionally, your cunt clenched as his tongue grazed upon your opening.

In a flash, you were suddenly under Jongho. His face was still level with your cunt but he was now hovering above, looking at your dumbfounded expression with a satisfied look on his face. Jongho didn't try to hide his amused chuckle when he saw you pouting but he bit his bottom lip to stop himself from actually laughing as you reached to grab the lapels of his suit with both of your hands after managing to take off your own shirt and saliva-slicked panties.

"You need to lose at least one article of clothing. It's not fair," you muttered at him, trying to tug his clothes off despite the struggle due to your position. In his mind, Jongho had considered ignoring your request, wanting to tease you more or at least make you wait. But how can he do that when he knew you had his best interest in mind? Surely, it's also because you want to see his beefed build but he liked to believe that it was just your way of telling him that it's time for him to shed his responsibilities and just rest. So with a nod, Jongho pushed himself up slightly so he could take his suit jacket off and tossed it to the side haphazardly. "Better?" he asked but you immediately shook your head, "I swear, you better be as naked as the day you were born just as God intended or so help me I will find the strength to rip your shirt off of you," you huffed. It was obvious that you were getting impatient and despite your threat and the absolute seriousness in your voice, Jongho knew that you'd just ended up making him undress himself. You were so adorable in Jongho's eyes, he didn't know how you could be so whiny and bossy at the same time. It made his cock twitch in his pants.

Slowly, Jongho crawled up your body to pepper tiny butterfly kisses all over your face, distracting you from his undressing. "I'm sorry for not giving you attention right away, baby. I was too wrapped up in my work, wasn't I?" he softly asked against the skin of your cheek, making you whimper and try to bury your face in his shoulder. "That's okay, Jongho. I just worry about you," when Jongho pulled away slightly, you couldn't help but push the fallen hair from his forehead and cupped his face, "I love you so much," you smiled.

As soon as your profession of love slipped your lips, you felt something hard and heavy enter you. Jongho was halfway inside you when you gasped, hands dropping to claw at his arms that were holding himself up on your sides. Inch by inch Jongho nestled himself inside you as he watched how your face changed the more he pushed. At this point, Jongho's breathing had changed; he inhaled more sharply and exhaled longer, eyes clouded with lust as he paid you all the attention he could muster. He loved watching you unravel under him, it was his favourite thing to watch and he loved savouring each moment, taking in the way your eyes clamped shut and eyebrows furrowed that would usually be accompanied by whimpers that escaped your lips. It wasn't like you both jumped on each other's bones every night as you both considered sex to be a very intimate activity. But by no means do you not do it often nor do you schedule or even make an appointment for sex. What kind of a lunatic would have a calendar for coitus? No, Jongho loved the organic way you and he reacted to each other. When it's time, it's time and the spontaneity tends to egg his exhilaration.

"I'm sorry, (y/n)," he grinned cheekily once you seemed more relaxed, adapted to having him once again wholly inside you, "But you can't expect me to not do anything after you told me you love me." Looking over briefly, you noticed that Jongho managed to unbutton his shirt completely, showing you his beautiful chest and firm abdomen muscle paired with unbuttoned and unzipped pants shoved just a little bit past his cock so the appendage would be completely out. You simply pouted and clicked your tongue at him, "Not undressed and no warning, what kind of boyfriend are you, Choi Jongho?" Chuckling at your protest, Jongho ducked down again to brush his lips against yours, "The best kind, of course," once his lips melded with yours, your annoyance immediately melted, opting to wrap your arms around his neck loosely instead. "And I love you too," he added against your lips.

Jongho's hips begin rocking seconds later, setting a slow pace for him and you to enjoy. The arms that anchored his weight on the sides of your head soon moved; one was carefully cradling the back of your neck as the other slipped around your waist. The more Jongho rocked his hips, the closer you both became until eventually you were chest to chest. In the position you both were in, there was not much room for movement but God, when you slipped your hands under his shirt, the feeling of Jongho's warm skin directly on yours was wonderful. Not to sound like an absolute pervert, but you've always found Jongho to have the softest back. While people expected you to feel his muscles first (which are bulging, thick, and aesthetically pleasing), you shattered all expectations behind closed doors. Even Jongho was surprised when you mentioned the softness of the planes of his entire back. It became a habit for you to let your palm drag along the expanse, making Jongho shudder and allowing his muscles to tighten in desire. To add to that, when you buried your face in his shoulder, you could smell his natural musk. It's not sweat per se, it's just... Jongho. Maybe it was his Diptyque Do Son that clung to the fabric of his clothes mixed with pheromones wafting in the air that gave off a sweet floral scent that had an edge of sharpness to it, but he somehow smelled like home to you. If you could, you'd gladly drown in the scent and evaporate along with it when the time comes, refusing to part. To make things worse for you, the sounds Jongho made were just heavenly. While your past partners had ruined sex by saying stupid things like 'I will wreck you' and 'I'll make sure you're ruined for other men' and not delivering, Jongho was on the quieter side. He almost never moaned out loud, only letting out grunts and huffs and occasionally whimpers when he was needy. Maybe it was because he's a vocalist, a damn great one at that, but even the softest sounds he made gave off vibrations that travelled to you, sending your pupils shaking and stomach tightening. Especially like this, when you both were chest-to-chest, faces on each other's shoulders, the effect of the sounds Jongho made shot right through your cunt, making you clench over and over when the vibrations hit just right. You pity his fans who didn't get to feel what you felt.

Sex with Jongho is not just sex, it's not even just lovemaking where everything is romantic and meaningful. It's a whole experience that left you dizzy and craving for more yet you know that if you had too much of it, it would just drive you absolutely mad. While it isn't much of a conversation topic, you had spoken about your sex life with your friends and most (if not all) stated that it sounded rather vanilla and uneventful. But they don't know what kind of intensity sex with Jongho bring. It's not balls slapping, sweaty bodies sliding off of each other, and drool splattering everywhere as he made you squirt your release over and over again like the damn Bellagio Fountain. The experience was beyond words but you definitely felt vulnerably close to Jongho and you could feel him being so close to you too. Everything was laid bare for either to take. Figuratively and literally. Though the occasional crazy monkey sex filled with experiments and teasings still happened, on the norm, this was your heaven.

You wondered how Jongho hadn't lost his pace. Sure, his thrusts became more powerful as his drive was reignited, but the pace was steady yet not monotone. To add to your own pleasure, you lifted your legs slightly, casing Jongho's hips between your knees. The position allowed your hips to be more open to Jongho, letting your clit make direct contact with his pubic bone so each thrust he delivered came with your clit being rubbed just right. "Fuck!" you exclaimed, head burying deeper into Jongho's shoulder as your hands pressed down his back; from his large shoulders to the dip in the middle, and finally arriving on his exposed ass. You joked that he has an adorable tushy on a daily basis at random times, causing him to cover your mouth whilst blushing because he was embarrassed at how cavalier you were with his gluteal area. But when you showed appreciation to his ass during sex, it proved to make him confident, proud of himself and how hard he worked to have an ass deserving of appreciation by his lover. A confident Jongho is a sexy Jongho and a sexy Jongho always rocked your world in his own way.

Jongho absolutely loved this position as he felt so close to you. While it was a shame that he couldn't see you, the fact that he was able to feel all of you made up for it. From the way your knees tried to close in on his large frame and the way your hips rocked along with his, he knew you were close. His favourite feeling however was the feeling of your stomach muscle tightening under him because it made your back arch and your body to be pressed even closer to him (not that it was possible). Jongho could feel the coil building in your core, ready to be released with just the right persuasion.

"You can cum, I'll help you cum," he grunted into your ear as he allowed the hand that was cupping the back of your neck to somehow slip between your bodies. Your eyes shot open when Jongho simultaneously pulled your hips to meet his completely while his hand pressed to your lower stomach. Immediately, the tension intensified due to the added pressure, forcing a jolt out of your body. All over your body, your muscles tensed which caused you to cling onto Jongho desperately. "Jongho!" you whined accidentally, immediately biting down on Jongho's shoulder to muffle your sound once your coil finally snapped and you came hard. Jongho's eyes shut close at the pleasure of your cunt sucking him in with its grip as if preventing him to get away even just momentarily. Jongho kept thrusting to help you ride your high as he chased his own, movements a lot more fluid thanks to your release. Thanks to your spasming body that added tactile pleasure from skin-on-skin stimulation, Jongho was able to release inside you. Your eyes fluttered open slowly and your pupils dilated when you saw the muscles of Jongho's entire backside tense as he came and even more so, his ass. The sight got you grinding back on Jongho as if returning the favour of him helping you ride your high.

Once both of your bodies relaxed, Jongho sagged and let his weight drop on you, positioning himself so that he wouldn't crush you with his weight but still enough to cover you with his warmth. You winced and whined when Jongho pulled his cock out of you, your hips chasing after him made Jongho grin. With his newfound freedom, Jongho pushed his pants completely off and kicked them to the floor and the garment was soon joined by his now wrinkled shirt. Just as quickly as Jongho took his clothes off, he returned to his spot whilst pulling his blanket, covering you to your chest before pulling you into his arms.

"I don't know how I got so lucky with you," he said as he pressed a kiss to the side of your head. You bit back a smile that may threaten to split your face to reciprocate, kissing him right on his neck mole. Despite it being a gentle kiss, Jongho still shuddered and you adored him for that. "And I don't know how I got so lucky with you. I love you, Jongho, so much," you said, resting your cheek firmly on his chest which allowed you to feel how hard Jongho's heart was beating.

"I love you too, my love. More than you know," he said before letting his eyes close to rest for the night.

Although you were laid in his arms, Jongho felt as if he was the one being embraced, enveloped in love and affection. It was the kind of feeling that encompassed him so comfortably that it lulled him to sleep. In the safety of his haven.

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[onelonelyghost0]

Ok, something I thought of while waiting for my college stuff and doodling, how would Dipper and Mabel react to eyes/paranoia/geometry? Like I’ve read so many good Mystery Twin aus that do so much justice to them but like… there’s varying reactions to that.

Hear me out; I recognize that most people do very much turn into hermits or try their best to avoid cameras and eyes and stuff but, being someone who constantly thinks something is watching them, what if they went the complete opposite? For me, if I know what’s watching me is mine/watching out for my good, it’s better. I routinely draw eyes on myself to act as “watchers” and tbh it helps with the anxiety for some reason. What would the twins do for this?

I completely see them hating the Eye of Providence, crossing out triangles on their homework, finding every possible way to protect themselves, but again, what if they employed their own “watchers”?

We have no idea if this could work in universe (at least I don’t) and again, it could just be for comfort. I love it when I know people are watching me, but if there’s none of that, I’m convinced something is watching me to bring about destruction. Yes it’s awful and I’m working on it but the eyes help. I’ve sewn eyes onto clothes, drawn them on my notebooks, hell I usually have them somewhere on my actual skin because I feel that they watch out for me.

Give me Dipper who tattoos his own runes and eyes on himself, taking them back and warding himself for his paranormal research. Who slowly becomes more and more eldrich the more time he spends with the creatures, who is constantly aware of everything because the eyes he has can see for him, at least slightly. Give me Dipper who knows everything about everyone, who has panic attacks because of what he Knows, who has to be careful of what he says to people, who begins to question if he is now like Bill, if he will use this the wrong way, who begins to seclude himself, because he would never cheat the world with this, but he would help it.

Give me Mabel who does the same, but more quietly. She always puts an eye on her sweaters and jewelry, for herself and for others. Who doesn’t delve into the world that Dipper loves, but still sees it. She doesn’t need anything to see the Fae now, nor the creatures who take measures to never be seen by humans. Give me Mabel who becomes like a protector, a shoulder to cry on, a listening ear for the kids who don’t know what to do. She can see their emotions, and can push them towards the right decision, but always remembers that if she goes too far with her new skills she could still create the next weirdmaggedon. The knowledge crushes her as she draws another eye, this time across her collarbone, she cannot afford to hurt others again. She squares her shoulders and goes out to help again, to stabilize her brother, and to Watch. She knows Bill, knows his tricks, knows how he used everyone around her, and she will never let it happen again.

Give me Mystery Twins who become not so human anymore. Not on purpose, no, they never wanted this. But they will not put the responsibility they picked up on anyone else’s shoulders. Give me the twins who cannot back down, who negotiate with the creatures of this world to not wage war against the humans, who work behind the scenes to better the lives of human and nonhuman alike. Give me the forbidden knowledge they lay claim to. They stop aging after a while. No one notices. They are too focused on keeping the bad away. Too focused on keeping Bill out, trapped, and keeping themselves safe.

Give me Mystery Twins that become cryptids. They protect their homes, and they do so with tooth and nail. They will fight dirty, and they will play every hand they have, but they will not cross certain lines. Mabel can manipulate someone into doing whatever she wants, but she will never push them too far. Dipper could lay out your darkest fears, push them into your brain, forcing you to live them over and over, but he will never stoop as low as Bill.

Anyway, this went way further than I thought it would and if people like it I’ll write a fic ig, the ideas are all swirling around in my brain, but I just had this idea and had to share. Being someone who deals with wondering what is good and bad and how people feel and what is convincing vs manipulating, I saw myself a lot in the twins, and also in Bill, and I’ve worked to make it better. But I love the idea of the eyes I draw looking out for me, and I wonder if the twins would like it too.

And how everyone else would react when the eyes end up actually watching them.

Maybe I could call it the Watcher AU?

[copperbadge]

lightwit

I love your mindfulness posts. I personally hate the concept of mindfulness with a passion because to me that's just normal being human and using your effing brain properly, but as an educator I have had to accept the fact that manymany people do not in fact have much self awareness and actually do benefit from this mumbojumbo. So, I am so glad I am not the only one struggling out here. 😜

I hope it's okay if I pop this into its own post because it actually gets at something I'm contending with. So, in order to get my research lined up and my thoughts in a row for therapy I turned all this research into a powerpoint called "Doing A Stupid Powerpoint For My Stupid Mental Health". And one of the slides in it is titled "Mindfulness: Petition To Rename It".

Mindfulness, as a term, is uselessly broad; it's such a bad way to identify a category of treatment/behavior that there appears to be an entire subgenre of scientific papers that work to create a framework of what Mindfulness actually is -- I read at least three papers, all published in the last ten years, that are like "What is Mindfulness in a useful sense?" and all of them had different answers. And because Mindfulness is now a buzzword, if you're researching it then you're likely to run into everything from scholarly articles to pop journalism to clickbait, to both harmless and genuinely dangerous peddlers of quack science. And sometimes the quack scientists are also publishing scholarly articles where they've just been p-hacking.

So I'm inclined to agree that mindfulness is mostly nonsense, but that's a problem with the term, not what falls underneath it. There are therapeutic modes that call themselves mindfulness that actually are rooted in real science. I think these should probably have a new name, like Therapeutic Awareness or something, but it'd just get co-opted back into the woo, I have a feeling.

So there's a lot of nonsense, but the goal of being present in the moment and self-aware isn't an idle one; there's an increasing body of knowledge suggesting that it's a foundational skill for emotional regulation and healthy coping. The scholarship goes way beyond "mindfulness arises from Buddhist practice" which if I have to read one more time I'm gonna throw stuff. Clinical testing is looking at things like physiological responses to mindfulness behaviors that have nothing to do with what's going on in your conscious mind. There's some woo surrounding "Coherent Breathing" and I don't trust the foremost proponent of it as far as I can throw him, but he didn't invent it, and testing shows that people trained in and practicing Coherent Breathing have better focus and can, to an extent, lower the level of stress hormone in their body. "Positive affect" (happy emotions) didn't rise, but "Negative affect" (sadness, anger, stress etc) was lowered.

A lot of what's being studied on a clinical level involves us as humans somehow activating shit in our nervous system that we have no conscious control over, the same way we develop muscle memory by doing a task repeatedly. That has measurable value for the issues I'm trying to solve, but it's not universally applicable, which is another reason so much of mindfulness comes across as junk science, because it tries to tell us that it's a cure-all when it isn't.

But there's reason to believe that if you can reroute your nervous system when you're starting to become upset, you can short-circuit maladaptive reactions and prevent it from causing a spiral or an over-reaction or similar, and some practices called mindfulness can train for that. And that's my goal, so I'm willing to rummage in the garbage for the gold.

[totallyjustabunchofhocuspocus]

Fic preview

A sneak peek of the next chapter of Come Away, O Human Child

It is loyal.

Whatever else can be said about it—and there is much—it has always been loyal. First to its cadre and home, the beautiful, sprawling nest and territory it had defended fiercely and freely for most of its life. When the cadre fell, when the nest was destroyed by awful, greedy humans who razed the land for their farms and villages and never once cared about the creatures and lesser fae who already lived there, it was loyal to the memory. To the graves of all the cadre that didn’t survive.

It spent years harassing the people responsible for the destruction of its nest. With the few members of its cadre that also survived, it made sure that no one who dared to build on the graves of ones it knew and loved knew a moment’s peace. They spent nights ripping crops out by the roots, undid latches on pens and coops and led wolves and coyotes in to feast, dropped waste and refuse into wells, tore out thatching from the roofs so they always leaked. Little things, little things, but added up it made humans miserable, made them angry, made them hurt.

It has never been a fool, and never was back then. Do too much and humans will retaliate, be too aggressive and they will hunt you. But its people have always known how to inflict death by a thousand cuts, how to be a source of grief and annoyance and pain. Just not enough.

Never enough to make up for what it lost.

It let its anger make it blind, it knows that now. Lost itself in its pain and spent so long wishing for real revenge that it lost sight of the most important rule in its whole, entire world: never trust the Fae.

It wishes it could blame youth and inexperience, but it was not young and inexperienced when the Fae passed through its territory. Its master hadn’t been posing as a lawyer when they first met; had called itself something other than Chase Mackey. But the smooth words had been the same. The slick, oily presence, the promises that sounded so wonderful to desperate ears. It has never been a fool, and never was back then…except that one time.

“Humans are so fragile when you get down to it. Easy enough for misfortune to turn into catastrophe. I don’t usually like to get involved in these things, but what can I say? The way they treat the lesser fae makes a lot of us angry. I’ll make you a deal—I’ll see to it that someone involved in the destruction of your nest is punished to your heart’s content. You can even pick the human! Decide who you hate the most. And all it’ll cost is ten years’ of service from you and your remaining cadre.”

He sounded so reasonable. So sympathetic. And it was so, so angry. All of them were so angry.

“Cost for more?” it had whispered, its wings trembling, its claws digging into newly tilled earth that had once been covered by bramble and thorns for their nest. It had stumbled over the words, unused to the language. The Fae had smiled.

“More? Well, that gets a bit trickier. Punished to your heart’s content leaves a lot of room for interpretation. Could draw a lot of attention to me, unless you’ll be satisfied with the same kind of petty revenge you’ve already been taking.”

It had dug its claws in deeper in the earth, looking back over its shoulder to gauge the reactions of what was left of its cadre.

“More,” it had said, after a long, measured look. “More.”

The Fae had smiled again, and it knows now that it should have heard the jaws of the trap closing in on it.

“I can make humans suffer until they don’t even remember what it was like to not be in pain. I can make them regret ever being born. I can make them beg for forgiveness until their throat bleeds. I’ll make sure every living person who destroyed your cadre does so, if you swear me your service until I have no more use for you.”

It would never be caught by such an obvious ploy now. But back then it hadn’t really understood the language that well and hadn’t known to insist on the Fae conducting negotiations in its own tongue. Many lesser fae don’t really have a concept of just how short-lived humans can be, and the passage of time tends to mean little to those who measure their lives in centuries. It had known never to trust the Fae…but it had just been so angry. It wouldn’t be caught now, but it had been easy to catch then.

It agreed. They had all agreed.

Less than ten of the humans who had destroyed its nest had still been alive—so far advanced in age that most of them had simply dropped dead mere seconds into the punishment it had traded a lifetime of service for.

Because its master will always have use for it. It is nothing if not loyal. <

*

There is no point in feeling sympathy for the other creatures its master traps in his poisonous deals.

It knows some of the others do, the distance and time (so, so much time) from the deaths of their cadre allowing them to let go of the anger and spite that had fueled them for so long. The most it ever really allows itself to feel is a kind of tired kinship—the creatures, humans, and lesser fae that its master makes deals with are often just as angry, just as grief stricken as it was once, and just as blinded as it was because of that. Even more often, though, they are just as greedy and selfish as the humans who destroyed its home, its cadre, and its life all those years ago. It doesn’t feel sympathy for them, and it can’t feel sympathy for the others.

The only exceptions are the changelings.

It didn’t know that its master dealt in the changeling curse when they met. If it had, things would have been very different. Even as blinded by its anger and pain as it had been, it knows it never would have trusted a creature who created changeling children. Its master sends it often to keep tabs on his changelings—to take stock of which ones might survive long enough for its master to harvest their power, and which ones are inevitably going to burn out like stars; to make sure the people in charge of their care are keeping up their end of the bargain; to make sure the changeling children are…developing…the way its master needs them to.

Sprites as a rule do not care for humans. It has particular reason to hate them. But even the human changeling children inspire pity in it. How terrible to be cast aside by your own cadre; to be seen as nothing more than a tool, something to be used and discarded. It cannot help but feel sorry for the changelings.

When its master sends it to the part of the country the humans call Pennsylvania to observe its master’s most ambitious investment, it is not sure what it’s going to find. The Buckley changeling probably has a better chance of living through his childhood than is usual, it’s true…but it doubts very much that its master is going to be able to leave the changeling’s power growing for the entire length of the contract. Thirty years? In a changeling bargain, that’s not just audacious, it’s madness.

It is perhaps expecting to find a changeling child with better control of the power that is growing unchecked in him. It has noticed that the younger the changeling children are bound to the bargain, the better they tend to do, and the Buckley child was bound before he was even conceived. So yes, better control. But it still thinks it will see the…cracks.

Changeling children are always such scrabbling, starving things. Searching so desperately for what their guardians by the very nature of the bargain have never given them. Privately, it thinks some part of the changelings knows that the magic inside them is wrong. Too wild. Too much. It has never seen one that doesn’t have a sort of hollow hunger in their eyes; doesn’t feel like a barely restrained forest fire to its senses. Breaking apart slowly, piece by piece, the power they never asked for slowly eating away at them.

Its master wants it to watch the child for an extended time. Observe his magic if it can, but most especially see what the dynamic with the sister is like. Its master’s changelings are almost always only children, for obvious reasons. Its master wants to know how much of an obstacle the sister might present. More than that, though, it is to try and determine how long the Buckley changeling might make it. Its master trusts its judgement in such matters after so many years. So many changelings.

Part of it hates that the trust is justified.

It scouts the neighborhood the child lives in for a few days before it settles in to actually spy. It is surprised to see signs of a cadre in the woods near the changeling child’s home…unusual for its kind to make a home so close to humans in this day and age. It has no right or reason to, but it cannot help the small pulse of hopeful excitement. It has been so long since it spoke with others of its kind who are not bound to its master. The ones who entered into the deal with the Fae along with it have long since ceased to be cadre, the bonds crumbling under the weight of what they have been forced to see and do, under the knowledge that it will never end.

It is…lonely. It has been for many years.

Modern cadres are so much smaller than what it remembers from when it was free. So much more isolated. If it can arrange to meet a few of the local cadre, they may allow it to take shelter with them. It hopes so, anyway. There are a surprising number of wisps, creatures, and lesser fae in the immediate area—more than it has seen in quite a long time. It never likes dealing with wisps. They tend to get hostile around it, sensing the tainted nature of its master’s magic.

It searches fruitlessly for the cadre of sprites for a few days before fate takes the matter out of its hands. It had not intended to allow the changeling child to see it. It never allows any of the changelings its master sends it to watch to see it. But when it feels the wild surge of the child’s magic one day, further out in the woods than it thinks children of the boy’s age are usually allowed to go, its curiosity gets the better of it. It means to just get a closer look.

But when it finally gets close to the child, several things are made immediately clear.

And everything it thought it knew about the risk its master is taking with this child is thrown into disarray.

[cy-cyborg]

Writing amputees: Phantom limb sensation/Phantom Limb pain

This was something I got asked about a lot whenever I made videos about amputee representation, so let's talk about Phantom Limb Sensation (PLS) and Phantom Limb Pain (PLP).

TW: Description of surgical amputation process. section with this content can be skipped and the start/end will be clearly marked.

What is it and what causes it?

Phantom Limb Sensation is when you can feel a limb, even after it's been amputated. This phantom limb is a VERY common side effect of amputation, one that almost every amputee experiences at some point. Depending on how the limb was amputated, how old the person was at the time and the condition of the limb before amputation, it can last for as little as a year to being a life-long condition.

it's caused by the part of your brain responsible for proprioception - the sense of where your body is in space. Your brain has an internal map of your body and specifically your nervous system, and it uses this to determine where certain body parts are in space, even without input from your 5 main senses, meaning you don't need to look to know where, say, your leg or hand is (usually, though other disabilities like autism and ADHD can affect this and make it less accurate). Usually, the brain senses where your body parts are using a combination of this map and input from nerves. But if something happens to your body part, that internal map can have a lot of trouble updating, and when the internal map and the nerve inputs don't match, it can cause your brain to panic and fill in the gaps from the missing input signals, creating the sensation that a lost body part, usually a limb, is still there. For some, the limb light be locked in place, other might have the sensation of the limb "growing back" (though as I understand it, this typically only happens to very young children) and others feel as though the limb is perfectly fine and moving along with the rest of the body normally.

This sensation isn't unique to people who have lost limbs mind you: some trans people who have had top or bottom surgery, people who've had mastectomies, and even people who have had growths or tumours removed often report a similar sensation of their removed parts still being present, though it's not usually as intense and fades after a few months to a few years on its own with minimal intervention, leading to it being categorized as a separate phenomenon to Phantom Limbs in these cases.

Phantom Limb Pain is an extension of phantom limb sensation, caused by the body's more extreme reaction to the same phenomenon. The exact reason why it occurs isn't known, but in many people, instead of feeling a persistent pressance of a limb that's no longer there, they will feel discomfort or pain radiating from the lost limb. For some people, it might be an itch on the phantom limb they can't scratch, for others, the pain can feel like intense "pins and needles" all over the lost limb, others feel an electric "zap" running through the non-existent nerves, live they've grabbed a low-voltage electic fence, some people feel a dull, pounding pain, like the lost limb is being crushed or pushed into positions it shouldn't be able to go into (e.g. someone who had their knee amputated might feel the joint bending in the wrong direction). Some people experience all of these, some only experience one. Everyone will be different.

How is it treated?

Like with many things in life, prevention is better than a cure. certain measures can be taken to lessen the intensity of PLP and PLS before it can even start.

Gore TW: description of the process of surgical amputations, skip to the "----" divider to avoid.

People who have had amputations in the last 10 years will go through a slightly different procedure than those who had amputations before then. Historically, the limb would be amputated by cutting directly through the limb and either sewn shut or by having a skin graft where tissue is used to create a "cap" at the end of the stump. These methods worked, but left nothing for the nerves to connect to once everything was healed, leading the brain to think the reason for the lack of signal from the limb is that the limb was simply broken. Not only can this cause added intensity to the nerve pain, and increase the risk of something called a neuroma, where the nerves attempt to mend the "break" and continue to grow until they hit the surface of the skin, causing them to bundle up and get tangled, creating a feed back loop and amplifying any signal from the area to unbearable levels (including phantom sensations).

Today though, when conditions allow, amputations are done by cutting through the limb as before, then once the skin layers are reached on the other side, surgeons cut downward, creating a long tab of skin which is pulled over the bottom of the stump and reattached to the front. This allows the major nerve pathways in the limb to connect with each other during the healing process, creating a loop in the nerves and tricking the brain into thinking it's still receiving signals from the amputated limb.

Those who had their amputations prior to this change in the procedure can have a similar operation done to achieve a similar effect, though in both cases, it doesn't always work and can lead to the brain producing very very strange phantom limb sensations. In my personal case, it creates a sensation that I can feel my own skin in the region as though it was something separate from the rest of the body, almost like I'm wearing a sock. Very odd, and honestly kind of cursed lol.

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If prevention isn't an option though, different treatments exist.

One popular method is through compression. what's left of the amputated limb (called the stump) will be either wrapped in very strong compression bandages or the person can wear a fitted compression sock on the stump. This is usually done for the first 6-12 weeks after the amputation, though it can be done for longer under the supervision of a rehab specialist in some circumstances. After 6 weeks, 6-12 weeks, the stump will have healed enough for a prosthetic to be fitted. After this point, the person is encouraged to wear the prosthetic or at least the liner, usually made from silicone in modern prosthetics instead of a compression sock/bandage. The liners of the prosthetic offer milder compression, as does the socket of the prosthetic itself, and the "snug" feeling can, for some, make the phantom pain more bearable and the phantom sensation less frequent (though some people experience the opposite and will have increased PLP/PLS while adjusting to the prosthetic, though it usually subsides eventually).

For leg amputees specifically, they are encouraged to walk on their new prosthetics as much as possible, as the action of walking with the prosthetic will often trigger the phantom limb to start moving in time with the rest of the leg, and the sensation of walking can essentially trick the brain into using the phantom limb sensation to help the person walk more naturally and feel less unstable.

Another treatment is called Mirror Therapy, though this only works for single-limb amputees or arm and leg amputees who's amputations were on the same side (e.g. both left leg and left arm). The person puts their full remaining limb in front of a mirror and their amputated limb behind the mirror, then angles themselves so it appears that their full limb being reflected in the mirror is replacing the lost limb. If the person is experiencing an itch on their lost limb, they can scratch the full one, and look into the mirror. Eventually, your brain will feel the scratching sensation on the phantom limb instead.

If none of these options work, nerve pain medications such as gabapentin can be prescribed, though this is usually a last resort as these medications can have serious side effects and can prevent people from being able to do certain jobs or even drive depending on the dosage. As an absolute last resort, an injection can be given to the person to numb the stump. This does not stop the pain completely, but it does subdue it, though many doctors warn against this as it often means the person will not be able to feel if their stump is injured and can result in infected, untreated wounds.

Unfortunately, there is no "cure" yet, and many amputees just learn to live with PLP and PLS.

What things make you more or less likely to experience PLP/PLS?

There are some things that can make you more or less likely to experience PLP and PLS, and that can effect how intensely you experience them.

Your age when you lost the limb

People who are born without the limb almost never experience PLP and PLS, as their brain's internal map already knows the limb isn't there. Likewise, children who lost their limb very early in life don't usually experience PLS very intensely, or for very long, and are less likely to experience PLP at all. This is because when you are young, your brain is already updating that internal map because you're growing, so it has an easier time understanding the fact the limb isn't there anymore. Young brains are also constantly changing and growing, making them more adaptable in general to acquiring major disabilities. On the flip-side someone who lost their limb late in life is more likely to experience PLP and PLS for the rest of their lives. It can be managed, but it will likely always be pressant. Thier brains have not really needed to make any major updates to that map, often for decades, and are not really built to be able to do that, meaning PLP and PLS will likely take longer to go away, if they ever go away at all.

How you lost it and the condition of the limb before it was amputated.

If you lost your limb due to trauma, meaning events like accidents or major injury, the phantom sensation you experience will likely be much more painful, and could even feel like the injury or accident is happening over and over again. For example, someone who lost their arm to a shark attack might feel the sensation of the shark's teeth biting into it as well as the sensations described in the first section.

Alternatively, someone who had their limb amputated due to a pre-existing condition might continue to feel that condition even after the limb is gone. As a personal example, I've had multiple amputations throughout my life, but my most recent was due to a bone infection that formed at the bottom of my stump from a previous amputation. Now, when I experience phantom limb sensation, I can still feel where the infection reached the surface (where the nerves began to feel something was wrong). I had that leg amputated through the ankle as a young child, and when it was re-amputated higher up due to the infection, I didn't feel the whole leg, just the pre-existing stump.

Post Amputation Care

If a person does not receive proper medical care immediately after an amputation, their phantom sensation and pain will be significantly worse. My great Grandfather for example, lost part of his hand during WW2, but due to the situation, was not able to receive adequate medical care once he was established due to the medics being preoccupied with the actively dying. As a result of this and the traumatic nature of how he lost it in the first place, he experienced very intense phantom pain for the majority of his life. This is also important to keep in mind if your story takes place before the modern age, as it wasn't really understood how important post-amputation care was until recently, and many folks were left to just figure it out themselves.

Time

As with all things, phantom pain and phantom sensation fade with time. They may not ever go away entirely, but they do fade in intensity at least a little. This is especially important to keep in mind for characters with beyond-human lifespans. Your elderly grandmother character might not live long enough for their phantom pain to fade entirely, but your immortal vampire who's been alive for a millennia and lost their arm when they were human probably will.

Closing things to keep in mind

Wow, that was longer than I was expecting but I hope you found this all helpful. One last thing to keep in mind is that oftentimes, amputees who do experience PLS/PLP get pretty good at managing it, so you don't have to worry about it too much unless the amputation happens during the story itself or you want to make it a focus, this is just an explanation of what you can include if you like. Personally, though, I feel like it's an aspect of being an amputee that a lot of media rep overlooks, so it would be nice to see some more representation at least mention it. It doesn't have to be constant, but some brief comments or something of the like will go a long way.

[talenlee]

Privilege Is Without

You might have heard, or read really, at some point, me saying the phrase whiteness is a fog. The idea is that ‘white’ is not, in and of itself, a cultural form, an identity, but rather it is a system of acceptance outside yourself that permeates culture. The fog gets into all the cracks and presses against all the surfaces, but it isn’t, in and of itself, defined by something internal.

I am, after all, white. The system looks at me and goes ‘oh, this guy qualifies for the standard currently.’ Of course, it’s entirely possible for that to be withdrawn. Find the right weirdo and they might (say) falsely claim I’m Jewish and suddenly that whiteness can be withdrawn from me. It’s a complex system that rolls around in its day to day. Go back two hundred years and I wouldn’t get counted. The system is not tracking some inherent, actual, real like chemical detail or compositional detail about me. It is something people socially observe and attribute to me. Some of those attributions are pretty easy but sometimes they’re not.

I bring this up because I find some people talk about Privileges as if they’re things people have imbued in them. A few years ago I lost my mind about it on twitter, where I saw someone complaining about ‘bilingual privilege.’ It struck me as having the energy of a very white person trying to find some way to complain about something, some anything that a person of colour they knew had that they didn’t have and therefore as a way to diminish the feeling of persecution that they felt at realising that privilege exists. That’s a pretty reasonable emotional reaction – it can feel like being told you have something that you don’t consciously feel you have and that feels bad. Not to be cruel about it but ‘how can I have privilege when I’m keenly aware of the things in my life that suck?’ isn’t an unreasonable emotional response when you first discover things.

But, just like with realising that you aren’t actually 6′ when you say you’re ‘about that’, there is an objective measure and factual information you can absorb that can help you dismantle that emotional reaction and get a better handle on reality as it exists. And that’s why I say whiteness is a fog. It’s not a thing in you, your privilege isn’t you, it’s a thing that presses against your surfaces. If you have a name that’s gender ambiguous, you will find situations where privileges are removed from you by people who assume your gender, for example. Deep-voiced femmes know that just being misgendered on the phone can get you better service, because the system, in its headless foolishness, has decided that that voice has access to a tier of privilege, even if it has to get there by misgendering you.

And this is where we get to the way I recommend people think about privilege as an external thing. People don’t ‘have’ privilege, people interface with privilege. Privilege is a system external to you, and if the system decides to respond to you, then you get what the system provides, and if it decides not to, then you don’t. It’s not that you have this wellspring of privilege bubbling up inside you, it’s that there’s an incredibly shitty card reader everywhere, and it constantly scans you and it just so happens, oh, here, you are getting the benefits of this. But you may not want those benefits, but the system doesn’t know that. It happens even when you’re interacting with a person, because the person is ceding their choices and behaviour, typically, to the system. There’s no masc privilege in the middle of a cornfield. It needs to have the system, with its removal from humans making choices, with its ability to offer rewards and incentives.

There are days I have been misgendered. The system did not correctly recognise me, based entirely on a ponytail. The system’s failure to identify a cis boy is, to the system, a hiccup, but if you believe that you believe the system is reliable and consistent and builds its respones out of good data. It’s not. It made what was to me a mistake, but how many people do you think responded to the incident with a mollifying ‘well you do have long hair.’ And when I’ve been attacked based on things – it doesn’t matter if I’m not actually a dyke, being seen as one is enough of a reason to get attacked… and when the mistake is discovered, one of the priviliges is the system kicking in and going: Hey, this is inappropriate. If the privilige was inside me, and not part of a series of social interactions, then how does that happen?

Whiteness is something that recognises me, and I say yeah I’m white because you know what it means. I even use that term to refer to my ignorance and inexperience with the nonpriviliged position! But I’m not ‘white.’ White doesn’t mean anything about my DNA or my history. I’m the Australian son of a British immigrant who came to Australia from a refugee program with her Welsh mother and British father, and my other side of the family came from Free Settlers who came to Australia to colonise it based on being told by a system above them that they were allowed and capable of doing so. And these are material things, these are points of real history but they also interact with that system. If my grandmother hadn’t been married to a British man, when she came to Australia, there was a chance they would have given her a literacy test because the Welsh weren’t considered white at that point. And that’s my grandmother. That’s a woman that was in my life for thirty five years, not some distant memory!

I didn’t get Whiteness at birth. I was born into a space where there was Whiteness, and the Whiteness accepts me because by doing so it can use my opinions and interest against the people Whiteness excludes. The aim of Whiteness is Whiteness, the aim of Privilege is Privilege. There is no inherent power in these things, but that is social, and that means anything they do and anything they impose is being imposed by people and we can do things to oppose that social system.

Admittedly, sometimes opposing that social system means things like ‘ignoring the cops.’

Check it out on PRESS.exe to see it with images and links!

[elumish]

"being cognizant of the implications of what I write" and "doing what you can to avoid hurting other people" sound a hell of a lot like the people who claim writing toxic relationships is bad because it isn't inherently or explicitly demonizing the relationship, and it's "triggering" abuse survivors. "Don't like, don't read" exists for a reason, but it's a lost rule to far too many. It's impossible, unrealistic, and unreasonable to expect someone to know and cater to anything and everything that could possibly her someone.

Writing a toxic relationship that doesn't end in that relationship being clear cut disavowed is probably going to hurt some people. Writing an incestuous relationship or a homophobic relationship is going to hurt some people. Those stories still deserve to be told. Sometimes you end up dating a homophobe, and 4+ years into the relationship you realize you're queer, and you have to juggle a long term relationship with what you understand about yourself. And not everyone has the strength or the means to walk away from that relationship. Is it toxic and traumatic to be in that situation? Yes. Is reading it potentially going to be triggering for some people? Yes. It still deserves to be written.

That's where your language gets muddy. Because the same arguments you present are the same ones used by purity culture warriors. It DOES need to be clarified, because far too many people equate "avoid hurting other people" with "authors should never write anything even remotely toxic or triggering". Because "be cognizant of the implications of your writing" too often means "never criticize a minority author except for when they don't write representation exactly the way you want it perfectly" or "you didn't explicitly say this relationship was bad so you're implying it's okay and that's evil".

With as much censorship as there is currently happening, YES, you DO actually have to keep this in mind. How ironic that you want to preach about being "cognizant of implications", yet viciously attack anyone for elaborating on your own ambiguity.

Wow, I'm so glad that we've decided that saying that someone was using a straw man fallacy is a vicious attack (though, somehow, an anon swearing at me in my asks and calling me an asshole was a totally measured reaction).

Look, anon, I am not at fault for you reading things into my words that I never said. I am not using subtext. There is not a deeper meaning to what I'm saying.

When I say "be cognizant of the implications of what you write" I mean literally that. i mean that you should know what you're writing. You should have an understanding of the meaning and the implication of what you've written down. That's it. That's the entire meaning of that statement. Understand your own work and the implications of it.

When I write stories involving characters who are or have been in the military, for example, I take some time to think about how it fits within the broader context of American civic religion re: the military and our general pro-military narrative in the culture that I live in. I look at how I'm writing the character and the world to see if I am sending messages that I don't want to be sending. When I write a character who was deployed to Afghanistan, for example, I think about what I or the book is implying about the invasion/war and how that might continue to shape or subvert existing narratives about the War in Afghanistan and about Afghanistan in general.

When I say "doing what you can to avoid hurting other people" I mean literally that, too. I mean putting even the bare minimum thought into (as noted above) the implications of what you are writing and then, if you identify something that you think might hurt other people, doing what you can to minimize that.

Continuing the example above, maybe I realize that I included a line that implied that average Afghan citizens are responsible for the deaths of American civilians, when it was really intended to just be a disillusioned character's feelings about their experience during the war. I would then edit the line to reflect my intention (the disillusioned character's feelings about their experience) while minimizing the harm (not implying Afghan citizens are responsible for the deaths of American civilians, which reinforces Islamophobic and anti-Afghan narratives). Understand implication, do what I can to avoid hurting others.

But you control what you write, and you are the one who makes the decision as to what to include or not include. As I noted in one of the posts you all are so mad at me for, we can figure out what that means for ourselves, based on our own morals and ethics and standards. I am a writer! I give writing advice! My advice is how to make your own writing better, not about how to somehow censor other people. This is not about critiquing other people's writing or about when you can or can't criticize authors or about anything other than writing your own stories.

There is nothing inherently wrong with writing bad or toxic or awful things. I do that in my stories all the time. I just also do my best to write about them in a way that minimizes the harm to others, based on my own standard of what is harm and what it means to minimize that harm.

There is an irony in you telling me I sound like I'm making an argument that I literally refuted in the last ask I got about this, but c'est la vie.

I can't control the made up things you read into what I write. But stop accusing me of saying things that I didn't say and then getting mad at me for it.

[inspiteofganon]

I think ganondorf would be so confused by homophobia. like yeah obviously hes attracted to men. he took a course on wooing them. obviously hes attracted to women, why wouldnt he be women are great

The gerudo would not give less of a fuck about sexuality i think. i think the majority of them would be married to women and only seek out men to have children with

Oh yeah such a thing would definitely be nonsense to him, I think. Petty garbage for spoiled weaklings to fuss over. "Who cares if someone's attracted to the same sex? Every day my people struggle in the desert etc. etc. Hand Over The Triforce." sentiments.

Most of my headcanons about Gdorf and the gerudo only selectively factor in BotW/TotK-timeline things such as the dating classes, in preference for OoT-and-its divergents-inspired stuff and also "things my roommate says". I must confess I prefer them a bit more on the chauvinistic side... consistent, feisty, and proud... i.e. "everybody keep out" > "men keep out, women/agenders are fine". Why make exceptions for some hylians but not others?? Girl, the imperialists...!

I definitely agree they don't really "give a fuck" about sexuality. Maybe only a sliver depending on context. It's not really relevant to most of them unless they wanna start a family or fall in love. Being a 100% straight gerudo must kinda suck though since your only options are either hitting up Ganondorf (if there's even a gerudo king at home at the moment) or learning how to woo some outsider voe... or transmasc gerudo, if you think they'd have enough of those in the open. I like the idea of there being a lot of lesbian and bi gerudo... I want to see a gay gerudo wedding... they're socially monogender except for the times they have a king, so social sexuality really isn't something I think they'd really think seriously about except for the aforementioned reasons. Just more garbage that the peoples they steal from waste time on! Lame. Even the "vai" others have are so socially different despite physical similarities that they just don't vibe the same as other gerudo.

As for Ganondorf and his own Gay Thoughts... man, where to even start with what I have in mind for that guy. Besides the fact that he can't be normal about anything ever.

If vai take lessons on how to romance and woo voe, Ganondorf I think would at least know how that works. He has to know how the things his subjects consider important work-- how else are they going to respect him?! To hylians, I think, getting to know him long enough he'd start to come off as a guy with an unusually deep knowledge of what most might call "women's business". Up to and including him knowing how to go about getting a boyfriend if he really wanted to. But back to GAYNESS... I think it'd be complicated for him. Because Ganondorf is a very superior man who thinks little of everyone else, especially if they're not gerudo. So if one approached the topic of his orientation-- assuming his response wasn't just "who cares? not me"-- he might not be able to give you a straight (lol) answer on the sole basis that there aren't any other males of his own kind to measure his reactions with, and that he looks down too much on other peoples for him to think they truly count.

But on the FLIP side of that!! Other men could be, for lack of a better word, a "safe space" to play with his own sexuality, since them being of so little matter makes them more approachable in that sense. Goodness knows he's up to his eyeballs in women at home, but men? They're novel, they're disgusting but mandatory to his people (though they insist he's the one good one! they swear!!), and like it or not, the common voe outside Gerudo Valley are lumped into the same category that he is by most. They're so like him, but so not. They don't have the same expectations he has on his shoulders. Perhaps a part of him might envy their freedom and camaraderie... and enjoy intimidating them as a result, and thinking something like "Wow, you're nearly the kind of gender I am... heheh..." while watching them squirm in his presence. What passes for a man in Hyrule is different from what he's been raised to be...

So yeah in my opinion he's DEFINITELY got some gay potential boiling under the lid. He's not gonna think about it or act on it in a sane or healthy way though.