#i love how often on whose line you can seem them struggling to/failing to not laugh

[do-you-have-a-flag]

i could not sleep until i hunted down the whose line greatest hits in the style of devo, now at last i can rest know it's exactly as funny as i hoped

[gatheringbones]

[“One author of the Clinical Psychology Review article was Shira Maguen, a researcher who began to think about the moral burdens of warfare while counseling veterans at a PTSD clinic in Boston.

Like most Veterans Affairs psychologists, Maguen had been trained to focus on the aftershocks of fear-based trauma—IED blasts that ripped through soldiers’ Humvees, skirmishes that killed members of their unit. The link between PTSD and such “life-threat” events was firmly established. Yet in many of the cases she observed, the source of distress seemed to lie elsewhere: not in attacks by the enemy that veterans had survived, but in acts they had observed or carried out that crossed their own ethical lines.

Soldiers were not, of course, the only people who risked committing such transgressions. All of the counselors I interviewed at the Dade Correctional Institution struggled with inner conflicts related to horrifying things they’d witnessed but failed to prevent. What kind of person was she? Lovita Richardson wondered after seeing a prisoner bound to a chair get bludgeoned and not intervening to help him. “Why didn’t I do more?” Harriet Krzykowski asked herself after learning about the “shower treatment.” Many of the prison guards I’d interviewed had alluded to incidents where they’d done things they knew they shouldn’t, as when Bill Curtis slammed a man to the ground, nearly fracturing his skull. Moral injuries were an occupational hazard for anyone whose job involved “perpetrating, failing to prevent, or bearing witness to acts that transgress deeply held moral beliefs.” For most dirty workers, that is.

Among the veterans she counseled, Maguen grew particularly interested in the emotional toll of killing, which was sanctioned in the military but not when defenseless civilians were involved. “I was hearing about experiences where people killed and they thought they were making the right decision,” she told me, “and then they found out there was a family in the car.” To find out how heavy the burden of killing was, Maguen began combing through the databases in which veterans of conflicts dating back to the Vietnam War were asked if they had killed someone while in uniform. In some cases, veterans were also asked whom they killed—combatants, prisoners of war, civilians. Maguen wanted to see if there might be a relationship between taking another life and debilitating consequences like alcohol abuse, relationship problems, outbursts of violence, PTSD. The results were striking: even when controlling for different experiences in combat, she found, killing was a “significant, independent predictor of multiple mental health symptoms” and of social dysfunction.

Later, when she started directing a mental health clinic at a VA hospital in San Francisco, Maguen convened groups where veterans came together and talked about the killing they had done. In the VA no less than in the military, this was a taboo subject, so much so that clinicians often referred to it euphemistically, if at all. To ease the tension, a scene from a documentary was shown at the beginning of each session in which a veteran said, “Out there, it’s either kill or be killed. Nothing can really prepare you for war.” Afterward, Maguen would ask the veterans in the room a series of questions about how killing had impacted their lives. Some reacted angrily. Others fell silent. But many seized the opportunity to talk about experiences they later told Maguen they had never spoken about with anyone, not even their spouses and family members, for fear of being judged.

The veterans in Maguen’s groups didn’t talk a lot about fear and hyperarousal, emotions linked to PTSD. Mostly, they expressed self-condemnation and guilt. “You feel ashamed of what you did,” one said. Others described feeling unworthy of forgiveness and love. The passage of time did little to diminish the depth of these feelings, Maguen found. Geographic distance didn’t lessen them much either. Maguen recounted the story of a pilot who was haunted by the bombs he had dropped on victims far below. What troubled him was, in fact, precisely his distance from them—that instead of squaring off against the enemy in a fair fight, he had killed in a way that lacked valor. Obviously not all pilots felt this way. But the story underscored the significance of something Maguen had come to regard as more important than proximity or distance in shaping moral injury—namely, how veterans made sense of what they had done. “How you conceptualize what you did and what happened makes such a big difference,” she said. “It makes all the difference.”

Unlike PTSD, moral injury was not a medical diagnosis. It was an attempt to capture what could happen to a person’s identity and soul in the crucible of war, which is why it struck a chord among veterans who did not feel their wounds could be reduced to a medical disorder. “PTSD as a diagnosis has a tendency to depoliticize a veteran’s disquietude and turn it into a mental disorder,” observed Tyler Boudreau, a marine officer who served in Iraq and came back haunted by doubts about the war’s morality. “What’s most useful about the term ‘moral injury’ is that it takes the problem out of the hands of the mental health profession and the military and attempts to place it where it belongs—in society, in the community, and in the family—precisely where moral questions should be posed and wrangled with. It transforms ‘patients’ back into citizens and ‘diagnoses’ into dialogue.”]

eyal press, from dirty work: essential labor and the hidden toll of inequality in america, 2021

[gamebunny-advance]

OOC? (Again) (Draft)

Sometimes I think about how NJ and 1010 apparently weren't originally written to have any kind of parent-child bond, but since it's basically been adopted as canon, I wonder how that has changed the reading/writing of NJ's character over time.

NSR (the game) is not a subtle work. For better or worse, it is very ham-fisted in how it wants you to feel about the ideas and themes it explores, and 1010 is one of the more blatant examples.

NSR is incredibly cynical about the concept of the boy band. It remarks how the industry basically manufactures its idols for mass consumption, who can then be replaced in an instant with a look-alike among look-alikes. Beneath all their charm, 1010 operates under militaristic conditions, headed by an actual military leader who puts his ideals and serving his company before the well-being of himself and his crew.

None of that is really new commentary. The comparison between boy bands being expendable drones that feed a corrupt system has been around practically since the peak of boy band popularity, but it is nonetheless a key component of 1010/NJ's characterization that I don't see utilized often.

I think some of the nuances of their character is lost from how, unlike most of the other antagonists, 1010 and NJ aren't the cause of their corruption: they're the product. Almost every other boss's conflict is a result of a character flaw:

DJSS's ego causes him to neglect his district and abuse the people around him.

Team Sayu's struggle to cooperate leads to Sayu becoming unstable.

DK West and Zuke's poor communication causes their relationship to deteriorate.

Yinu's brattiness is enabled by Mama, whose overprotectiveness leads to her focusing more on vengeance than actually protecting her daughter.

Eve's wrath causes her to unfairly target Mayday, which at the core is caused by Eve's codependent self-worth.

Meanwhile, 1010's major conflict seems to be based around their shallowness (their "artificiality" if you will). They self-destruct not directly due to B2J, but because they were rejected by their fans after revealing their "true" forms. But it's hard to call that a "character flaw" when they aren't really "characters." In the context of the story, 1010 are closer to props than actually fully realized characters like the rest of the main cast.

In a human or otherwise sapient character, their inability to be of any worth without their looks would be a significant character flaw, but 1010's status as dubiously sapient robots reduces a lot of their agency. 1010 cannot experience character growth because they are incapable of doing anything beyond their programming.

That said, this would mean that any flaws they do have should be reflective of whoever programmed them, which should be Neon J., but Neon J.'s main character flaw is seemingly unrelated to 1010's.

I know that in earlier versions of the script and his character design, Neon J's vanity/low self-esteem was a key part of his character, but it isn't really present in the final product.

In the game, NJ's major flaw appears to be dogma: his dedication to NSR and upholding its ideals are what leads him to be so militaristic, and apparently he has caused many atrocities in the name of NSR due to misguided loyalty to the company. In a way, it mirrors how B2J are disregarding the consequences of their actions in the name of their own ideals.

While he speaks like he is one of the more selfless members of NSR, comments about how "If you mess with my troops, you mess with me!" fail to hold water when NJ doesn't go into the front lines until he pushes his crew literally past their breaking point. Even when he does go on the offensive, all of his attacks involve utilizing the 1010s as weapons.

I dunno, after all that, I just can't read Neon J. as a particularly loving or kind person, and I don't think he was ever meant to be. This isn't to say that I think he's evil or needs to be scorned, it's just that I think people assume he's a lot nicer than he actually is.

[starshipsofstarlord]

Hi bb congrats on 3k followers 🥺 you deserve it!! How about a smutty/angst blurb with nat, bucky, and reader being in a relationship and right now it’s going bad because something(idk what could happen it’s up to you) happened leaving bucky and nat at odds with reader trying to figure out how to get them to love each other again

Also you aren’t dumb 😡 it was an honest mistake bub

𝐼𝑁𝑉𝐴𝐿𝐼𝐷𝐴𝑇𝐼𝑂𝑁

Summary: based on the request

Pairing: BuckyNat x reader

Warnings: 18+, polyamory, angst, arguing, swearing, blame, smut, threesome, oral (male -> female & female -> female), face sitting, fingering, unprotected sex, penetrative sex, p in v sex, cum eating, talking of death

Word Count: 4617

Masterlist Link

Caught in the crossfire yet again, a worry condoned your face into a suitable expression; one of agony as you listened to the pair of your beloveds argue in your shared home. Their raised voices made it sound as though you were entrapped in a war zone, the attacks were consistent, and adjacently brutal, as they passed through your ears, succumbing terror to your being as you feared of what was to be of the three of you. The idea of such an ending was expected, all had been good, up until a few weeks back, coming home to one another had been a haven, now for them it were a dragging chore. Once, they had valued one another’s presence, hugging you in the warm embrace of peacefulness, it had been somewhat of a dream. Despite all the words and judgemental thoughts that you were shunned with in public, nothing became a barrier in the triangular relationship that you were involved in. It wasn’t a flaw in the mechanical works of your emotions to break you apart, it was simply normal for you to endure, but this, their constant screeching at one another had not been.

Glass infrastructure; a vase plummeting against the wall made you jump, shocked by the violence that they were presenting in the household. That vase had been a housewarming gift from Steve, whom seemed to be the centre of their problem. Bucky was angry with Natasha for her constant flirting with his best friend, he wasn’t appreciative of how often, even when you were all tucked up in your king sized bed, that she would be on her phone, texting the blonde for hours on end, making the man on one side of you grunt at the woman on your other. Nat scoffed at Bucky’s derelict behaviour, crossing her arms over her chest as she passed judgement onto his destructive action. “That was such a necessary thing for you to do Barnes, if I were you, I’d clean it up before your ratty little cat steps on a shard.” Alpine was seated on your lap, nuzzling his pink nose into your stomach as though he were trying to escape away from the midst of the argument and the brief mention that he was given. Lightly, you stroked comfortingly over his soft white ears, imagining that would mute the sound out from passing through them.

“You are such a bitch Natalia!” He knew that she didn’t like to be called that, a scowl frustratedly pulled at her face, as her emerald eyes pointed a squint in his direction. “Why do you have to be like this, a pathetic whore for attention from any man or woman that gives you the time of day? Steve didn’t ask for you to constantly fondle his arms at Tony’s parties, he tells me everything. Like how you have an inclination to flirt with him and offer to go away with him on a fucking road trip. All these secrets are mounting up, and I am getting sick of it. Why can’t you be more like y/n?” His voice sincerely cracked, making your eyes widen from the mention that stringed you into their serious and painful bickering. That was certainly the wrong thing for him to have said, Nat took a step of disbelief back, frowning at him as he kicked the pieces of broken porcelain about with his foot. Tears began to build up in Natasha’s eyes, making you recoil with Alpine in your arms, and stand, carrying the little fella out of the room as you entered the shared bedroom and slammed the door shut.

To topple the wavering current that was overflowing the house like the events of a tsunami, you swiftly locked the door from the inside, a reassurance that they could not enter and that you’d be left alone, and hopefully in a somewhat surrounding of peace, even if that be for the limit of a few minutes. Bucky huffed, gripping his scruff in the palm of his hand as he shook his head at Natasha, tensing his nostrils as he glared at her. “Now look what you did.” He blamed her, though if he were to comprehend an accurate fault, the dismal accountability of all things that had urged you to leave and trap yourself away with the precious feline was a balance on both of their parts. At his childish and metaphorical finger pointing, Natalia as he had called her, crossed her arms over her chest, taking a few steps back as she were ridiculed by the circumstances that he proposed upon her. “It’s so rich of you to cluster a web as disgraceful as this, Black Widow, it is clear that you were trained in the red room, a habitat for the sinners that deter the prospect of having serum running through their obsolete veins.”

The condemned usage of her heroic title belittled her, though she remained standing strong against one of her lovers, whilst the other, which was informally you, were cloaked away in the dense atmosphere that was once filled with the notion and ambience of intimacy and endearment, but was now stifling under the thumb of hoisted reverence. Natasha knew, and was concerned for your well being, aware that you’d be tearing profusely up at all of which you had witnessed; it was no pretty sight, you had for a long time evened out the ground for her and Bucky, but it seemed that your attempts at validation were no longer enough. They were falling out of love, leaving you in the middle of their poisonous and collapsing feud, of which made you substantially torn between both counterparts. Nat opted for biting her lip, and screwing her fists into balls of restraint, as she whipped her back into Bucky’s sight, and headed towards the master bedroom, rapping her knuckles against the door, halting your movements of running your fingers through Alpine’s snowy locks.

Each time you combed your hand through his soft coat, small strands slid from the outer layer of his shell, coating your leggings in small follicles that promptly stood out. It was a coping mechanism for the ravenous banging that obstructed the other side of the door; it was driving you mad, and admittedly it’d be a lie if you were to say that you weren’t tempted to unlock your barrier of security, but you had to remain strong and stand your ground against their unchivalrous bullshit, that was until they had the means to sort their transgressive mess out on their own. You had no intent on being pulled in by the strings, being controlled and manipulated like a puppet, dangling from the hands of an opposing man and woman whom were supposed to adore one another as much as they did you. Alpine’s staring was getting too much, it was as though he were judging you with his moonstone blue eyes for your ignorance of every singe thing outside of the room. Bucky stepped behind Natasha, his demeanour infuriating her all the same, but she continued to hold her ground steady, adamant to not step down from her position.

“If she doesn’t want to see me, then you’re definitely not going to sway her judgement and conception of opening the door.” Bucky squinted at her, taking offence from her words, without so much of an ounce of concern, pushing her out of the way, and tapping his scarred knuckles against the door, earning a similar lack of response, causing Nat to become smug with his deflation of confidence. Just hearing them bicker was driving you mad; Alpine, though considered to be formally owned by Bucky, one of the lovers whose words were torturing you, was the only source of comfort that you were reviling in. You hugged him to your chest, stroking the side of your face alongside the surface of his coat, as you tried to compel regents of coaxed calmness. They were toxic for one another, as had recently been revealed, but they still strived towards one of their selfish desires; and that was you. No longer did they have a hook line and sinker to reel you in, you were standing your turf as you awaited for their insistent bickering failed to cease.

“Y/n, doll, open the door.” Bucky made his attempt, speaking through the barrier and still not gaining a response from you. It was moulding his voice into a muffle as he tried again, but groaned simultaneously. To say Natasha was not impressed with his failure at getting through to you came as no surprise to her, she couldn’t quite blame you fit not wanting to talk or respond to him; she wasn’t keen on that entailment either. And it was definitely because she was majorly pissed at him, he had gotten so far up his own ass and it was irritating. He was feeling severe pity for himself, and whilst it was sometimes understandable why he was feeling so, it was not fair for him to take thus emotional charge out on Natasha. But the treatment went both ways, she was picking at him on purpose, trying to irritate him to the point where he would feel invalidated, and that she was the target of his cold brashness. You couldn’t quite your finger on why it spurred into such a terrible environment to inhabit in, however to your own dismay, it had, and it now basically mirrored hell with the torture that you endured through your cowering ears.

“Y/n honey, can you please open the door for me?” Natasha’s voice came across as sweet and collected, and could deceive anyone whom didn’t know the problematic endorsement into thinking that there was nothing wrong out in the hallway. But you knew, far too well for your own liking that that the pair of them were struggling to feel an ounce of remorse for one another, let alone love, which left that as a far fetch in their pessimistic eye lines. They loved you, and only you, congregating your three person relationship into nothing more than an accepted love triangle, and they seemed to be temporarily stable with it (if that is how it could be recorded), however, you were anything but pleased with the end result. You had tried to help make things work between the pair, but everything that yo put into action only appeared to drive a deeper wedge in the middle of them, and make a piece off them crack and wasn’t you to themselves, greedily so.

“Yeah, cause she’d sure open it for just you. I’m the golden ticket here, we all know she prefers new, and for good reason. At least every time that she wants to see me, I’m not busy with work or kissing Fury’s ass because I have a constant fear of having my intentions misinterpreted for being pardoned after all the crimes that I have committed. Half thee time you’re not even around, I’m sure she thinks that you go out of your way to avoid her, and even I don’t appreciate that fact. That’s why she clings onto me like I’m her last hope, and the reason as to why she wants us to move closer to the Wilsons; so she’s not as lonely as she currently is. I bought a cat because i knew that she is by herself half the time, what’d you do, install cameras so you can ensure she’s safe? Safe isn’t the word for that if you’re going to make sure that she’s watched in her own home, she waned time away from the compound after everything that we have been through,yet you still make her feel like its following her to eve bleak corner of this home.”

“More like you’re the golden ass here because that’s all you’ve been since Steve decided to give up the shield and pass it to Sam. Anyone’d think that you’re jealous Barnes, and that you want to be Captain America. Spoiler alert; no matter what title that you frame yourself by, or decide who you are that day, you will never carry that shield or don the helmet of true patriarchy, you don’t know how this day and age works. You will never lose the looks from people that you have stolen from, to some of them, the White Wolf is just a pathetic charade, in their eyes, you will always be the Winter Soldier.” Her words were like venom, causing discourse that diverged through the household, splitting the members apart and diminishing their morals. Though you still held onto your own strong, despite their perpendicular quarrels that formed enemy lines against ione anther. You were the white flag, wishing to prohibit a truce for the potential future that you shared together, but they were clearly still deciding on that matter. It was exhausting to endure really, even as you arm constantly waved the blank canvas in their faves as though you ere fine to start all over with each other, and you were if only things could work out; that was your largest concern, minus the fact that you often worried that they may murder one another in their slumber and you’d awaken to bloody sheets and a possessive one partner.

“You want to go there Romanoff? At least I never was prepared to sacrifice my life so that I could save the universe. But you’re back, and that’s one of the many times that you have fucked with my girl’s head. You wonder why she no longer wants to save the world - it’s because you’ve ruined it for her, one second she’s in mourning from your selfish actions, the next she’s relieved that you’re alive. That is one apparent difference between us, I am prepared to give up all this superhero bullshit up, yet you’re not. And it doesn’t just fuck with her, I’m victim to it too, and you’re not even just oblivious to how I feel - you’re ignorant. Please just get a grip Nat, and choose a priority, because this is not fair any more, and I am almost done here.” She analysed him, and you could hear his voice crack through the sternly closed door. Water pooled in his baby blues, but he ensured that no tears escaped, even as he sadly with conflict looked on at her.

“At least I didn’t kill Tony’s parents. Or y/n’s.” It was affirmative that she wanted the attention that was brought to her other commitment to dissipate, but Bucky wouldn’t release it, he was like a dog tugging on a rope. He was relentless as he verbally tore into her, and made her feel conflicted about the life that she wanted. In theory, that was the worst thing that she could have switched the pointed focus to, and you picked Alpine off from your lap, and set him on the bed. With silent footsteps, that you had no doubt that Bucky had picked up on with his enhanced senses, though he remained silent and said nothing of your movement, as he stared Natasha down, tensing his jaw as he ran through his brain of what to say. He was trying not to burst, he absolutely resented being reminded of all the things that he had been coerced into doing by HYDRA, and the fact that you were listening in made the situation that bit more vivid. Of course you knew of the murders that he had made upon your bloodline, however it was rather obvious why it was not brought up often, and yet, Natasha just couldn’t let that one slide. It had taken much time for you to warm back up to Bucky after you had discovered the crime that had taken a toll on your quality of a life as a child, but eventually you had been able to look past the things that he had done as a brain washed assassin and see the real him.

“Are you shitting me?! That’s what you bring up, right now of all times. She’s never gonna open that damned door if you keep running your mouth like you’re a fucking god, privileged to say what you want without consequences. The subject is consequences is why I’m so fucking done with you, one day I’m going to wake up to a call that says you’re dead, and that’ll be on you. And then it’ll be left to me to break the news to y/n. Stop acting like being an avenger is your only purpose, and if it is, I’d leave, that level of premature emotions in a relationship when you have a preference of being somewhere else with us is thoroughly not needed. You think I’m being a dick, sure, whatever, but at least I’m not lying to you or y/n, or my godforsaken self for that matter.” His hands made destructive gestures as he spoke, it was overall emphasis on how she was frustrating him - in other terms she had turned him into a time bomb, and he had blown. He had congregated into a mass of flame and debris, of which he was depositing within the walls, his clear anger throwing Natasha off and causing her breath to hitch as she took a step back, and braced her fingers against the wall, gulping as she became unsure of what else to say as a retort.

Your head felt like it was about to split in two, the existing lanes were overlapping; you pressed your ear to the door to confirm that strangely, for once in a long time, there was evaluated silence on the other side. For just a second you turned back, and watched as Alpine climbed onto the window sill, choosing to slip beneath the blinds so that he’d get a better view of the traffic outside. Taking a breath, you put your hand upon the doorknob, feeling the cold metal hiss against your warm skin, curling your palm around it until your slid your other hand to the lock, and pushed the fine bolt to the side, deciding to give into your own hopeful whim and open the door. The sight you were met with were the pair of them staring at one another, it almost resonated as a glare, but something else was dictating behind their adamant eyes. To soothe the commitment that they had made, of not being together but standing their in uptight silence, you walked to stand right between them so that you could snap and break their eye line. And it worked, bringing a light furrow to Bucky’s brow, and apologies of words to catch in Natasha’s throat.

“Is it over now?” It wasn’t your intent to make your voice sound as meek as it had come across, but it had, and it made Natasha feel figuratively worse about the entire ordeal. She was worried that you would call her out on the calamity that she was facing, though you did not; there was no point beginning another argument, more so when everything was now out in the open, and nothing was secluded from speech. Nat smiled at you, and raised her hand, stroking your cheek as Bucky watched with tender eyes, finally calming down. She nodded to answer your enquiry, enforcing you to sigh in utmost relief. Natasha pulled you closer, and pressed her lips against your own, as to silence the possible next words that could leave your mouth. You melted into her calm course of collision that you had moulded into, humming contently into the cavern of her wordless canal, a hand trailed over your back, it was firm and you could feel each nimble detail of vibranium that was etched into the rare metal through the material of your shirt. "Can we go to bed?" A substitutional pout made its way onto your lips as Bucky pulled you to the side, swiftly.

But instead of walking away like you feared he would, he cupped the redhead's face, and slunk his lips atop of hers, arising a wide smile upon your cheeks, finally seeing them finding solace in each other’s company. Nat pushed Bucky back to you after a minute as she backwards dragged you into the room, the super soldier picking you up as he carried you through the walls and threw you on the bed. Your body bounced for a moment, until it settled atop of the sheets, and Nat crawled towards the head of the bed, looking down at your face with her emerald eyes, engorging in the sight of your blown pupils that were directed towards her. Her hands cupped the roundness of your cheeks, descending her face lower as she purchased her lips upon your own, humming into the coven of your mouth as you reached up, tangling your hands within her red hair that she had cut above the shoulder again.

Your hips jolted on their own instinct as Bucky tore your leggings along with your panties off from your body, the cold air attacking and biting at your legs and beyond as you tried to get used to the drop in temperature below. Nat’s hands descended from your face and began to grope at your tits, leaving you in a blissful wonder, as Bucky’s warm breath hit the insides of your thighs, the contrast of his hands stroking up your legs being one of extraordinary anticipation. You weren’t sure how you hadn’t already straddled his face and set the pace yourself, though you allowed him to continue as you made out with Nat.

To provoke him into doing something more, you waggled your hips in his face, only to earn a vibranium grip on either side, holding you down and restricting you from teasing him. “I’m sorry doll.” He spoke, feeling terrible that you had heard him taunt and pry at your other third with such spite. “We’re sorry baby girl, to each other and you.” Natasha removed her lips from your own as she ogled down at you, her feline like eyes causing you to hitch your breath in your chest. She was so beautiful, each part of her was absolutely stunning, little did you know though that she was thinking the exact same about you.

“Quit teasing her Buck, give our girl what she wants.” She commanded him, and delightfully he had no hesitancy nor quarrel against her words. He ushered his face closer to your crevice of instance, nestling it towards the natural heat that radiated from your pussy, brushing the tip of his nose against your clit as his tongue darted out from the oyster of his mouth, travelling up your slit as he confided his lips around your pearl, heavily suckling upon it as yo cause your back to lurch upwards and your hands coil in the sheets below you. Nat ran her thumb over your mouth, sinking it into your mouth as you suckled upon it, your lids fluttering shut from the combination of sensations that collided through your body.

“Taste so fucking good doll, you’re addictive.” Bucky’s lips brushed against your cunt, as he raised his vibranium fingers towards your entrance, sinking one solidified length into you, as your walls clamped down on the metal. Moans ripples out from your throat as he added another one and lowered his head once more, sucking on either side of your labia, his searing blue eyes gazing into your own that were heavily lidded and struggling to remain open in the long run. “So tight, can’t wait to get my cock in here and stretch it all open so that I can go again and again.”

“Why wait?” Nat asked, aiding you in sitting up as she pulled your shirt up over your head, and then began to undress herself also. “You could just fuck her now, get your pretty prick into her puffy little pussy until she creams all over you. Just thinking about that is getting me wet, do you want to eat me out baby girl?” She enquired as she licked her lips, tugging the last garment that was on her body down that were her panties. A breath staggered out from your throat as Bucky pulled away, pressing one last kiss onto your slit as he began to remove each article of clothing that covered his flawless body.

“Yes please Natty.” As soon as those words beckoned out of your mouth, the redhead held her hands onto the bed frame, and moved to sit on your face. You were enamoured to see the sight of her cunt above you, it made you salivate from the way her flower was splayed as her clit poked out, undoubtedly aroused as she descended it down onto your face, and quickly you began to eat her out, sliding your tongue up and down her cunt, until you reached her entrance and fucked get with your wet muscle. Though your pace faltered as you felt Bucky’s tip prying at your own entrance, sinking in and making you moan against Nat’s wet cunt.

“Shit you’re so fantastic with that mouth of yours, imma ride your face for a moment baby, and I know that you can handle that.” Natasha spoke, raising up and down in the air so that your tongue was penetrating her more and less as she controlled the pace. Once Bucky had settled inside of your walls, his hands clasped onto your hips as to use them as leverage to fuck deeper into you with discretion, making the bed shake as the triad of you went at it like touch deprived animals. “I’ll forgive Bucky for anything if this is what I get.” His hand slapped her ass at that, causing her to press further down onto your face, and you to moan at the flavour of her landing on your tongue.

“I’m gonna cum, I’m gonna cum all over your sexy face.” The pitch of her voice got higher as you doubled your efforts, grasping onto her ass cheeks to hold her against your face as your tongue traced every inch of her insides, her wetness spreading along your cheeks and splashing around your lips. Your own sounds vibrates against her mound as Bucky fucked into you, grunts coming from behind Nat’s overlooking silhouette, his flesh hand trailing down and pinching at your clit as Natasha orgasmed upon your face. You tried to clean up the mess that she made but she got too sensitive and crawled off from your face, laying down beside you as she watched your other lover fuck into you.

Her lips pressed kisses over your neck as Bucky couldn’t help but ram his length further into you, causing you to orgasm as he pulled out and stroked at his cock, finishing on the bottom of your belly as he held his head back in continuum relief. “Holy fuck.” He breathed, crawling into the bed beside you as Nat took up hearth on your other side, resting his head into the cushion as he caught his breath. Nat’s fingers ran through the cum on your stomach, collecting it on the pads as he raised it to your lips, smirking as you bobbed your head hungrily on your fingers despite your dazed senses.

“We sure do all make a good team.” Nat admitted, turning your face to hers to press a kiss against your lips, delving her tongue into your mouth as she pulled away and rested her head against your breasts. “And I love you.” Bucky repeated the words, leaving you to be the only one to say it back, and you didn’t hesitate to do so.

Bucky Tags; @tylard-blog1 @jeremyrennerfanxxxx123 @kaitieskidmore1

[parvulous-writings]

Not so Wyld morning // Bill S Preston + Ted Logan x M!Reader

Request:     can you write a fluff oneshot with bill (s preston) x ted logan x m! reader with like. a sleepy morning between the three?

Requested by: @mlmpunisher​

Summary: Starts off as the request, and then goes off on a trip to the Circle K. I may or may not have gotten carried away. 

Warnings: a brief joke about kidnapping/death.

Words: 3.5K

Notes:  I’ve been waiting for an idea/request for these two. They’re my comfort idiots. My love for them... Let’s just say I watch the movies a fair amount, eh? My requests are currently open! My pinned post (found here) contains both a list of characters I write for, and a masterlist! Original character list - please request for these too!

Not my gif 

You, Bill and Ted were spread rather haphazardly over Bill’s bed. Legs crossed over one another, hands on chests or in faces. You were all tangled together, not that any of you really cared about that at that moment.  You had all fallen asleep during a study session- you had been desperately trying to tutor your boyfriends Bill and Ted, so that they didn’t fail their history class and completely flunk out of school- mostly because Ted’s father, Captain Logan, was threatening to send the taller boy away to an Alaskan military school to whip him into shape should he fail the semester. That was now an all too real threat to the three of you, none of you wanted to get pulled apart from one another. You had been trying to quiz them on the philosophies of the great Athenian thinker Socrates (whom both young men insisted on pronouncing So-Crates no matter how many times you corrected them) when you passed out one by one. First Ted- who was up against the headboard, and whose head had slumped forward when you had gotten onto the fifth or sixth question. Then Bill, draped over Ted’s legs, after leaning back to protest about how the quiz was starting to become “A total drag,” around the tenth question. He had promptly passed out whilst you were telling him it was for their own good- you weren’t all that surprised when you were interrupted by a rather loud snore coming from the curly-haired Bill.You hadn’t bothered to try and wake either of them- not only would they both be rather irritable if you woke them up too early, but it was nearly one o’clock in the morning at that point, so you figured that perhaps they were both subconsciously onto something.  You had taken the range and array of textbooks off of the bed, creating a little more space for you to somehow work yourself between them and get more comfortable to get some sleep of your own. After some shuffling, and a few murmurs from both Bill and Ted, you had found the perfect position, where you had promptly fallen asleep with them.

You were the first to wake up. Ted had taken your arm in both of his in your sleep, cuddling it as if it were a teddy bear. Bill’s legs had somehow tangled with yours, and he had ended up nuzzled into the side of your chest, not that you minded all that much. Though Ted was the more affectionate of your boyfriends in public, Bill could be just as affectionate as him in private. You tried not to move at first, not wanting to disturb them- they could both be as bad as each other when it came to being woken up too early (too early was counted as anything before they woke up by themselves). So, for what you had gauged to be about twenty minutes or so, you just laid there, staring up at the ceiling. There were no thoughts of any importance that drifted through your mind at this point, not until you had finally grown restless enough to carefully push yourself up onto one elbow to check the time on Bill’s alarm clock- which he rarely actually used as anything more than just a normal clock. It had just gone half past ten, and you felt your eyes go wide- that was much later than you had anticipated. Thankfully it was a weekend, though briefly your brain had tricked itself into thinking it was mid-week, causing even more of a jolt in your chest. You would have to get up soon to make your way back home; it was bad enough that you had spent the night out without letting your parents know that you’d be out past eleven o’clock. Every moment past nine in the morning that you spent away from them, the angrier they would get with you.  With this thought in mind you tried to push yourself up a little bit more, fully prepared to undertake the rather massive task of trying to begrudgingly untangle yourself from the two men you held dear, but you were quickly brought back down again by an unseen hand. Your head landed on Ted’s stomach, and you glanced over to him, seeing him peering back at you through tired eyes and a rather messy head of hair. He gave you a rather dopey smile, and you realised he was the one to pull you back; mostly prompted by the fact that Bill was giving another round of freight-train like snores. Ted’s head fell back again when you didn’t struggle against his protests of getting out of bed, and he gave a yawn before beginning to speak. “Morning, chief.” He mumbled, voice still raspy with the last dregs of sleep his body was trying to cling onto.  “I don’t get why you call me that.” You replied in a whisper, trying not to wake Bill. “Surely I should be the one calling you that- given your dad’s job and everything...”  “Eh,” Was Ted’s simple reply, accompanied with a rather lazy shrug. It was about a minute before the only other boy awake in the room started to speak again. “I mean, it does kind of suit you, doesn’t it? You keep me and Bill in order...” He prompted, glancing over to you with that same goofy smile, before his gaze moved back to the ceiling.  “For the most part, I guess.” You smiled back at him, taking his hand and draping his arm across you, so you could play absently with his fingers. Ted never minded that. 

The pair of you fell into a comfortable silence, which was disturbed only briefly, and rather inconsistently, by Bill’s snores. You weren’t sure how long you laid there for this time, but the rather delightful monotonous repetition was ultimately interrupted by a quiet groan of protest from the blonde haired boy at the end of the bed. He rolled onto his front, trying to cover his eyes- he had fallen asleep rather inconveniently where the light peaked through the blinds in the early morning. “Someone close the blinds,” He complained, trying to turn away from them but ultimately failing.  “Bill...” You chuckled lightly, nudging him to get his attention. “They are closed. The light is coming through the gap.” Your words were only met with a groan from Bill, and a stifled laugh from Ted.  “You should get it fixed, dude.” The taller boy jested, nudging the boy again, and Bill responded with a half-hearted swipe at Ted’s foot.  “Shut up, Ted.” Of course, he didn’t mean this in an inherently horrid way, despite his gruff tone. He loved both you and Ted deeply, more than he could love anything else- or at least that was what he thought. Ted thought very much the same thing- though that was no surprise. More often than not, it was like the two shared the exact same brain. If they were not thinking of the exact same plan down to the detail when it came to schemes, they were at the very least agreed on the end result. Most of the time this wasn’t too much of a problem for you- usually you were at the butt end of whatever shenanigan they were plotting- but there were times when you did get a little bit overwhelmed by the pair of them. More often than not, the times where you got overwhelmed involved a very particular phone-booth, with some rather unique properties. Unless you were in it’s presence you tried not to think about it- the amount of times you had been put through mind-bending situations already made your head spin to even consider again. They’d predict something, it would happen immediately after said prediction, then they would turn to one another and proclaim a quick “Excellent!” before reminding one another that they would need to remember that later. You were still a little bit confused by it- especially when they sprung something random on you-but you thought you were slowly starting to understand, even though the concept of time travel didn’t seem quite real. 

You broke your train of thought upon feeling a sudden weight on your chest. Though you wanted to crane your neck to see who it was, you didn’t really need to, you knew it was Bill. You did it anyway- your eyes being met with the golden curls of Bill’s hair. “Bill, love, I’m going to have to get up soon.” You warned him, as your movement would definitely affect him more than Ted.  “No.” He replied simply. From his tone, you could tell he didn’t overly want to debate it.  “But I stayed over without letting my parents-”  “You’re fine, you’re safe, what do they have to complain about?” He grumbled, shuffling so that his chin was on your stomach, his arms wrapped around your middle. His deep green eyes met yours, before flitting briefly to Ted, giving you both a smile. “C’mon, dude. It won’t hurt to have a little longer with us, right?” He asked, and you moved your hand to quickly brush a stray curl from his brow.  “Maybe he should go soon- like, just to check in.” Ted piped up, ever in your corner. “Cause you know what happens if he gets in trouble. He won’t get to see us for like... A week. That is most heinous, and you know it.” At this rather right line of reasoning, Bill groaned, burying his face into the fabric of your shirt.  “Shut up, Ted.” This was quite muffled, and of course still not completely serious. You laughed softly, “Okay- what about this? One hour. Like this.Then, we can ask Missy to drive us back to my place, and I can let my parents know I’m fine, and you two haven’t like... Murdered me, or something.” You joked, and you can feel Ted nod enthusiastically underneath you.  “Yeah, that’s a good idea!” He agreed, and you could hear the smile that was in no doubt plastered onto his face. “Then we can all head down to the Circle K afterwards, right?”  “Sure we can, Ted.” You agreed, reaching up behind you to clumsily pat his cheek.  “Only if he isn’t in trouble, remember?” Bill pitched in, shuffling to get comfortable again. “What about half an hour? If we want to head to Circle K, obviously.” You all consider this new plan for a moment, before each of you gave a curt nod, in unison. 

So there you all stayed- you nearly even fell asleep again before you felt Bill roll off of you. He then took your arm and helped you up, and Ted quickly rolled off of the bed to grab his sneakers. Bill chucked yours at you, before going to get his shoes as well. Ted was the first downstairs- “Hey, Missy?” He called out, and he was quickly met with the young woman’s reply.  “Yeah? What’s up, Ted?” She asked, giving a warm smile.  “We were hoping that you could drive us to (Y/N)’s house?” He asked, briefly wringing his hands, as he eagerly awaited her response.  “Sure thing!” She nodded cheerily, “Let me just finish making these drinks, and I’ll be right with you. You guys go out to the car.” She nodded over to the door leading to the garage. As you and Bill started down the stairs, Ted eagerly gestured for you both to follow him.  It didn’t take Missy very long to finish making the drinks she was preparing, and you all piled into the car. “So- did you all sleep well?” The blonde woman asked, glancing back at you and Bill in the back of the car- Ted had a fascination with sitting in the front seat. Ted and Bill nodded individually; you were the one to verbally reply.  “Yeah, I think we all got a fairly good night sleep.” You give an almost awkward smile. Though, at one point, both of your boyfriends had had some form of crush on her- despite her being quite a few years older than all of you- you hadn’t entirely understood why. You never really mentioned it though.  “Good to hear,” She replied, still wearing that joyful smile. “Hey, Bill- you might need to use the spare key today, the one behind the plant, if you’re staying out late with the boys.” She took a turning as she spoke, keeping her eyes on the road. “Me and your dad are going out for dinner tonight.”  “Okay, Missy- I mean, mom.” Bill replied, quickly correcting himself on his mistake. “Just stop on the corner here,” He told her, gesturing to the side of the road a five minute walk from your house.  “Are you sure?” She asked, glancing over her shoulder as she spoke. “I can take you all the way, if you-”  “No, it’s alright, thanks, Missy.” You interrupt quickly, leaning forward. “Here is fine.” She shrugged, but begrudgingly pulled over. 

“Thanks, Missy!” Ted called after the now fleeting car, giving a wave as well, before jogging to catch up with you and Bill, who had already started to cross the road to get to your street. “I’ll quickly grab some money whilst we’re there,” You told the pair of them, and they nodded.  “I was thinking we could get some slushies.” Ted suggested, giving a wide smile.  “Blue and red?” Bill added, giving a smile of his own, and Ted nodded energetically.  “Our tongues’ll end up as purple, you two know that, right?” You teased with a grin, glancing over your shoulder as Bill laughed heartily. It took Ted a moment longer to get the joke, but he started laughing even harder than Bill when it clicked with him.  “Oh well,” Bill shrugged, a rather mischievous smile. You fell into silence again as you jogged up your driveway, almost wrenching open the door and calling out a hasty “Hey!” to announce your presence to the household and those within it. You quickly made your way to your room, as Bill and Ted quietly entered your home after you, choosing to stay in the hallway- even though they had visited and stayed over at your house many times before. They were both silently hoping that they were making their will to leave relatively soon clear. Your father came into the living room, glancing to the two boys standing awkwardly in the hallway. “Bill, Ted.” He greeted, calmly. Bill mouthed a silent ‘Hi’, whilst Ted just waved. Neither of them wanted to anger your parents- Ted, because he knew how authority figures could be, he’d had experience with his own father, and Bill just didn’t want you to be punished and kept away from them. You came back through as quickly as you could, palming some of your loose change in your hand, making sure you would have enough for a slushie for yourself, and for your boyfriends if they hadn’t brought any money with them- which was more than likely.  “Going out again?” Your father asked you, wanting to make some sort of conversation. You nodded, glancing to him and giving a smile.  “Yeah, heading out to Circle K with Bill and Ted.” You told him. He was a lot more relaxed with the rules than your mother- whom you currently assumed to be out for lunch with one of her friends.  “Did your study session go well, then?”  “Yeah- we went over Socrates again. We all passed out- that’s why I didn’t come home or call last night.” Your father laughed gently, he understood.  “I figured as much. Your mother was saying that you could have been kidnapped- but I kept saying you’re a smart kid, you’d know what to do if that were a risk. Plus, I don’t think there’s anyone in San Dimas who would want to kidnap you.”  “Even if they did want to steal him away, we’d take whoever it is on,” Bill stated, confidently- nudging Ted.  “Yeah, we would!” The taller boy confirmed with a nod. You giggled and shook your head at the pair. Even your father chuckled gently at them.  “Good to know my son is in safe hands.” Though your father was aware that these two weren’t the sharpest tools in the shed of San Dimas, he wasn’t about to take away some of your only company. Your mother had brought it up to him before, but he usually elected to ignore the comments. “Anyway- get going, before your mother gets back. If she sees you going off with these to again without checking in properly she’ll have a fit.” He gestured to the door, “Just be back by eleven tonight, alright?”  “We’ll have him back by then!” Ted told him, opening the door and striding out, followed closely by Bill, and then you. Your father gave a wave, before heading back into your family home. 

There were few words on the journey to the local orange ringed store, you only started to speak again when you had each purchased your chosen flavour of slushie. Bill with strawberry, Ted with blue raspberry, and you with another blue raspberry. You all took a seat on the curb, and you decided to fill the silence with one of the first thoughts that came to your head mid-sip. “So, are you two ready for the end-of-semester presentation Mr Ryan is going to assign?” You asked, and both of your boyfriends looked rather shocked. “What? He’s done it with every other year-group, and we’re not exactly different, specification wise....” You pointed out, and Ted groaned.  “I suck at presentations.” He complained, “Plus neither of us can remember anything that Mr Ryan has taught us!” He exclaimed, gesturing rather wildly with his slushie. “I mean, even with your help, dude, I don’t think we’re going to do all that well.” You were about to speak, but Bill was the one to step in first.  “We gotta try, man,” He placed an affectionate hand on his boyfriend’s shoulder, “If we don’t, it’s even more likely that you’re going to be sent off to that heinous school in Alaska.” Ted considered this, then nodded. Bill was right.  “I’ll do everything I can to help my boys remember all they can,” You told them, a fond smile on your face which they quickly returned. They loved being referred to as your boys, they couldn’t even deny it- you could see it in their eyes. Bill leant over and pressed a very brief kiss to your cheek- though not before checking the parking lot was clear, empty of onlookers- and Ted reached across Bill’s legs to grab your hand, squeezing your palm to show some affection; you were too far away for a kiss from him, and he didn’t overly want to get up whilst his slushie was still rather full. He took a sip from the plastic straw in his beverage, before clearing his throat. “So..” He began, starting to grin wider than usual. “Who wants to make purple?” He nudged Bill, who then quickly looked to you, wearing the same grin as your other boyfriend. You started to laugh- of course this had been something that neither of them had forgotten. 

Without another word exchanged between you, you leant to close the gap between you and Bill, letting lips and tongue tangle in a passionate display of affection. Ted stared on adoringly, not overly minding that Bill was the first to get your attention and affection- though now he had finished off the majority of his drink he scuttled round to your other side, carefully taking your jaw in his hand when you eventually pulled away from Bill to catch your breath. Your break didn’t last for too long, since Ted pulled you gently so your already kiss swollen lips met his equally soft ones. Bill couldn’t help the warm and love-filled smile that spread over his face, before he just had to press a kiss to your cheek, and then reach over to Ted’s cheek to make sure he wasn’t left out. You all separated after a minute or so, and you wiped your lip carefully, wearing the same wide and almost goofy smile as the other two. Your lips, and tongue, as predicted, had turned a rather strange shade of purple.  “I think we should get another snack,” Ted suggested, “Cause I’m hungry, and then we can get the colour off of our tongues,” He grinned, and Bill considered the preposition.  “I guess some food wouldn’t hurt...” He agreed, “Marshmallows?” He suggested, which was replied to with a nod from both you and Ted. “I’ll get them then,” Bill smiled at you both, searching his pocket for some spare change as he got to his feet; marshmallows were a fair bit cheaper than slushies, and he could afford them with what he had to hand. Whilst he went back into the Circle K, you shuffled closer to Ted, smiling lightly as he drew you closer with an arm around your shoulder. That morning had certainly been most excellent, as most of the time with your boyfriends always was- it was something that you always looked forward to; spending time with them, making memories that would forever make you smile. 

[spencersawkward]

if you feel comfortable with it, I’d love a prof Spence where reader is a student and goes to office hours to initiate ~smutty goodness~ but Spencer is reluctant at first bc his job but they flirt more and eventually sleep together

me n my professor kink when i saw this: 😏 anyway yes i am quite comfortable writing about this lol. i took some ✨creative liberties✨ with your request so i'm sorry if it isn't exactly what you wanted! 

summary: reader is a student in Dr. Reid’s class, but she’s been something of a poor student-- office hours are the only solution.

relationship: Fem!Reader/Professor!Spencer

content warnings: unprotected penetrative sex, fingering, rough sex, super brief hair-pulling, creampie, dirty talk, spanking, age gap, degradation-- he gets pretty dominant oops.

word count: 4.5k

masterlist

popping in a piece of gum, I make my way to the back of the hall. there are a few people here already, but it's a little early. I'm never early. in fact, I'm usually late; my other class is on the other side of campus, and getting here involves a lot of embarrassing speed-walking.

but here I am, five minutes ahead of schedule and actually in a decent seat. as I flip open my textbook and pull my laptop out of my bag to prepare to take notes, my gaze slides down to the corner of the room, where Dr. Reid is standing up with a pile of papers. he walks over to the girl in the front row, handing her the stack and gesturing for her to pass it along.

I resist the urge to roll my eyes. he's a total luddite. the first day, Dr. Reid spent about ten minutes rambling about the importance of reading from a physical book rather than online sources-- which, although I definitely agree with, means a lot more lugging around folders and organizing all the readings he gives out. if he wasn't so hot, I would have switched into another course.

and I know it's wrong to be daydreaming about my professor slamming me into a wall while he discusses the intricacies of quantum theory. the complete cliché of it is embarrassing. but still, I just can't stop thinking about him: how his fingers would feel around my throat, the smooth wooden surface of his desk against my cheek as he bends me over and pulls my panties to the side--

"glad to see you've decided to join us, today, Ms. Y/L/N." Dr. Reid's voice startles me out of my thoughts. he's standing towards the front of the room while students file in. his hands are resting in his pockets with his eyebrows pleasantly raised.

"glad to see you've noticed." I retort, too irritated with his comment to care about being polite.

a couple people look at me. even though I'm generally not on time, he tends to just glance my way when I walk in and leaves it at that. I know he doesn't like it, although I personally don't care. I hate this course.

he seems visibly surprised by my response but doesn't reply, gaze lingering on mine before he turns to speak to a student trying to get his attention. I bite back a smile. fucking asshole.

as usual, Dr. Reid writes in his thin, messy lettering on the board while wandering around the front of the room. he's quite fidgety, even though his voice doesn't betray any sort of nervousness. it's like he's naturally overactive.

every word out of his mouth is enunciated, sometimes spoken faster when he gets particularly impassioned by the subject. he's interesting to look at, too. messy curls and a nice suit, stubble that straddles the line between refinement and ruggedness.

I type quickly, but it isn't fast enough and the strange illustrations he does on the board only complicate things. I try to write them down in my notebook, but my handwriting is jagged; sometimes it's hard to read. when a student raises her hand for a clarification, I take the opportunity to catch up.

my head jerks up as soon as I'm finished and he's looking at me while he speaks. even from so many feet away, the intensity strikes me. he's gesticulating and crossing the room. I hold eye contact.

I wonder if he dates often; a couple of the girls in my row always stare at him throughout the lectures. he seems to be completely unaware of the effect he has on people. sometimes I'll see him in the hallway and he has his nose buried in a book, or a to-go cup of coffee, or both. either way, there seems to be no more room in that head of his for romance.

which, naturally, makes me curious about how he looks when he's on the edge of orgasm. if that composure is replaced with a contorted pleasure. I want to break him.

it's like he can read my thoughts, because Dr. Reid averts his gaze. my stomach twists with a strange anticipation. he avoids looking my way for the rest of the time.

towards the end of class, I start to pack my things to go. I have three papers to write, and my utter lack of interest in this is making me eager to leave. I shove my textbook into my bag the second my professor starts to make closing remarks.

"don't forget that we have a midterm in two weeks!" he says in a slightly louder voice as people start to move around. "if you have any questions, my office hours are posted on the bulletin board outside."

at this, my eyebrows rise. I forgot about the midterm. I have a study calendar set up for all my subjects, but I've purposefully been putting this one off. I'm not super into math. and it doesn't help that most of my time is spent not listening. when I am, it doesn't make sense.

as I stand up and gather my stuff, I hear someone clearing their throat a couple feet away. my head turns to see Dr. Reid leaning against his desk.

"Ms. Y/L/N, can I see you for a second?"

my heart stutters in my chest. is this about my attitude? he's never asked to see me outside of lessons before.

I frown, making my way to him with a deliberate pace. the tension in the room builds as I watch the last of his students shuffle out of the room. my head turns from the door to him; my breath catches a little in my throat at the set of his jaw. part of me hopes I get yelled at.

"I'm concerned about your participation in this class." he says. his voice isn't cruel, but it is brutally honest— which is worse. participation? I feel my fist clench at my side. my professors don't usually say anything if you aren't doing things up to their expectations; if you aren't, then they give you a bad grade. simple as that.

"is this about me being late?" I ask. he lets out a sigh before answering. he sounds disappointed.

"you're constantly tardy, and when you hand in your homework, you barely seem to have put in the effort. it's messy."

"messy?" I start to get annoyed. I'm only doing this so that I can get my degree. it's a fucking requirement. even though I'm not the biggest fan of mathematics, I still do my best and hand in my assignments on time. plus, the latest I arrive is five minutes-- it's not like I'm stumbling in halfway through the lesson.

"you've never come to office hours to ask for help or explained your lateness, which I, as your professor, would have appreciated." he scolds. honestly, I don't know what to say. my eyes narrow.

"I have my studio class on the other side of campus." I explain. "I should have emailed about that and I'm sorry, but I'm also not being lax about my work."

he goes around to the other side of his desk and glances up at me while he organizes some loose documents to pack away. he looks way too good when he's exasperated: his hands tighten around the papers, his eyebrows come together in this cute way. his tie is a little crooked, too.

"are you struggling with the content?"

"sometimes, yeah. but I can handle reaching out for help if I need it." I reply. he's pissing me off with these questions. I can see from the expression on his face that he's surprised by my reaction.

"really?" he slides some books into his messenger bag. that was definitely sarcastic; I know it was. "because it doesn't really seem like you have."

"I like to find help on my own." I shoulder my bag and cross my arms over my chest. there's no way he's gonna talk to me like that and expect me to not respond in kind.

"I'm reserving a slot on Wednesday evening for you," he looks up and holds my gaze. hazel irises that dare me to challenge him further. "I want you in office hours so that we can figure out how you're gonna catch up before the midterm."

"fine." I turn on my heel and leave. I know I'm not supposed to talk to my professor like that, or even to behave with such apprehension. but something about him makes me angry in the kind of way that settles in my stomach. I hate that he's right. I'm not going to do well on that damn test if I don't get some help.

but that doesn't mean I can't have some fun with it.

when I rush into his office on Wednesday evening, the sun is just starting to set through his window. there's a pinkish glow that smooths over Dr. Reid's desk as he glances up at me. I had to run to get here.

"you're late." he nods to the clock on the wall. I roll my eyes.

"only one minute, though. I had another class."

he sighs and folds his hands on his desk. "how are you doing today, Ms. Y/L/N?" a strangely polite question for the look on his face. he's frustrated with me.

"I'm quite well, Dr. Reid." I smile brightly, slightly excited by the anger on his face, and sit at the chair in front of his desk.

"I didn't know you were interested in art." he says simply. I'm confused for a moment before I remember that I told him that the course before his is a studio lesson.

"I didn't know you cared."

"do you make a habit of that?" he quirks an eyebrow.

"of what?" my expression is saccharine.

"being rude to people who control your grades."

"unless you're considering being unethical in your practices and allowing your personal opinion of me to influence my grade, then no." I counter. he's silent for a moment, taking in my words like they've left a mark on him.

"well, you'd most likely fail if I asked you to leave my office hours right now. whose fault would that be?" he fidgets with his hands and leans forward just a bit, his voice dropping to a lower tone. I bite back a smile.

"you wouldn't."

"and why is that?" he baits.

"because you're not a shitty professor, Dr. Reid," I lean back in my chair and cross my legs. "as angry as you are, you wouldn't be able to live with yourself if you kicked me— a struggling student— out of here for giving you a little attitude."

"a little attitude?" he scoffs. "you've spent the whole semester completely ambivalent."

"not completely." I shrug.

"Y/N, you draw all over your tests and leave at least one problem half-finished every time. you obviously aren't learning." he chuckles mirthlessly. I concede this point; I like to doodle when I'm bored. and there's absolutely nothing more boring to me than numbers.

"okay," I sit up and rest my elbows on the edge of his desk, staring at him. "then teach me."

Dr. Reid holds my gaze for a long moment. we're suspended, it seems, as his lips part and he finds himself speechless. the way I said the words obviously has another layer to it-- he just has to decide whether or not to take the bait.

"what are you struggling with?" he clears his throat and sits up a bit straighter in his seat. that answers my question, I guess. I poke my tongue between my teeth gently, but then pull out my notebook and flip it to a page with some problems outlined on it.

"these." I toss the thing onto his side and he begins to run through the assignment. I watch him pick up a pen and start to explain the steps, slipping into his usual educational tone. his shoulders relax a little as he writes.

I can't see right from the angle I'm at, so I stand and come around onto his side. I hear him pause his speaking for a moment at my proximity, but he doesn't move away.

"does that make sense?" he asks me once he's finished running through the first problem. he basically did all the work. the professor's head turns to gauge my reaction to the explanation, but his eye line is right at the hem of my skirt-- which is already pretty short. for all his attempts to be subtle, he gulps and looks up at me.

"mostly." I brush a piece of hair behind my ear and pretend to scratch at a spot on my upper thigh, dragging the edge of my skirt with it until he can see the smooth skin beneath, practically begging for his touch. "can I ask you a question?"

"sure." he keeps his eyes almost too focused on mine. I try to hide the smile tugging at my lips. now or never, I guess.

"what's your policy on professor/student relationships?"

"my-- my what?" this time, he's audibly scattered when he turns to me. his eyes are wide, dark. even he can't hide his feelings.

"you know," I run my fingertips over the tweed shoulder of his jacket. I can sense the tension beneath his clothes. "like, your policy on fucking a student."

"I--" his cheeks turn pink. he's flustered, albeit not rejecting my touch. "I've never had to think about it before."

"hmm," I look off to the side as if considering this point. his chair is fully turned to face me now, and I'm standing in front of him, almost completely his for the taking. all he has to do is close the gap. "well, what are you thinking about it right now?"

"it's wrong." he stumbles over the words.

"why?"

"well, I mean, you're a student--"

"for a semester that's almost over." I cut him off. he opens and closes his mouth. I take a deep breath, toying with the hem of my skirt. "I know you've been looking at me during class."

"w-what?"

"you're pretty good at hiding it, but you call on me a lot and you get all messed up when I hold eye contact too long during lectures." I say.

he looks down and back up apologetically. he's just sitting there, lap wide open. so I do what any sane girl in my position would do: I climb into it, straddling him and resting my arms around his neck. he sucks in a breath.

"you pretend I'm such a pain," I lean down by his ear, my core drawing over his pants. he tenses as I speak. "but you like that I'm your little problem."

"Y/N..." he trails off, but his hips are bucking up into mine.

"see?" I look between our bodies at his movements, then at him. I smirk as I look into those lust-darkened eyes. after a moment of him not speaking, I straighten. "look, I'll leave you alone if it really bothers you--"

as I start to get off his lap, he grabs me and pulls me back down. the force hits my center at just the right angle and I let out a slight mewl. he hears the sound and before I can register the pleasure, he grabs my face and yanks me closer to kiss him.

god, he feels so good. I rock my hips against his while our lips pass over each other hungrily. so much tension built up over the past few months, so many thoughts I've had of him, now coming to fruition. it's amazing.

"not so 'wrong' now, is it?" I chuckle against his mouth.

"shut up." he orders. one moment of broken contact to slide my top over my head and throw it on the floor.

I sigh as he starts to kiss across my jaw and down my throat. "I like when you talk like that, Dr. Reid."

one hand grips my hips tighter and he releases a groan against my skin.

"is that why you're such a fucking brat in my class?" he bites my collarbone and I moan. "because you want me to put you in your place?"

"mhmm." I hum. his fingertips move under my skirt, sliding up my thighs and toying with the waistband of my panties. he teases me by grazing my slit over the fabric, inhaling sharply at the wet patch.

"sitting in the back of my room, fucking dripping..." he mumbles to himself as he starts to rub me.

"touch me." I breathe out, trying to gain the friction that I need.

"not if you're gonna be a brat." he removes his hand and I let out a frustrated noise as I try to find the pressure I need elsewhere by grinding down on him. he grunts at the way I pant into his mouth, trying to kiss him with every chance I get. his lips are so smooth and sweet against mine. there's something affectionate about it even in its ferocity.

"I'll be good." I practically beg.

"that's what I thought." he slides his tongue over his bottom lip as he watches me whimper on top of him.

"come on, Spencer..." I use the name for the first time and he grabs my face in his hand, squeezing my cheeks.

"not my name, sweetheart." he stares into my eyes expectantly and I smirk.

"you're fucked up, doctor."

"so are you."

after he says that, he lifts me off his lap and stands up, pushing between my shoulder blades until my face is pressed onto the desk. I let out a needy whine, wiggle my ass back in hopes of finding his crotch, but he's not willing to give me that, yet.

instead, he gently touches my skirt, flipping it up so that he can see my ass. immediately, he starts to knead it. my palms are pressed flat against the desk with anticipation, silently thankful that my panties are still on. I think I'd be dripping down my thighs if they weren't.

"are you gonna be more respectful?" his voice is low, one hand tracing over my back. I shake.

"mhmm."

"I won't spank you if you don't use your words, sweetheart."

"yes." I choke out, no longer wanting to give any sort of resistance. I had no idea there was this side of him, and I love it.

he loves it too, apparently, because his hand comes down sharply on my ass. I yelp at the contact and he runs his fingers over the point of impact, rubbing the flesh gently.

"too hard, baby?" he checks.

"harder." I beg. I can't see his face, but I can sense his smile as if it's my own. his palm hits me again, and I gasp.

"you like being punished?"

"yes." strangled and desperate.

he slips his finger beneath the fabric of my panties, collecting my essence and letting out a quiet moan when he feels me. I push my hips against his fingers, partly expecting him to remove all the pressure, but he doesn't bother waiting.

he slips his index inside and I gasp. starts to push in and out, his silence proving his arousal. I can practically feel his eyes on me. the pace increases a bit and he slides in his middle finger. I buck against the desk.

"oh fuck!" I cry out as he starts to go faster. he curls them against my walls and I arch my back.

"two fingers and you're already breaking?" Spencer chuckles as he moves inside me. he keeps one hand on my ass while he does it, starting to finger me at a ridiculous speed while I pant and moan and cry.

"I--" I gulp down air. "I need you in it."

he bends down by my ear, never breaking his rhythm. my legs are shaking from the force. "you need my cock?"

"yes," I feel myself closing in around him. "god, yes."

"you're lucky I wanna fuck you so bad." he mutters. I grin as I hear the clink of his belt coming undone, the sliding through the belt loops, the sound of him stripping down to nothing. I can feel my excitement on the inside of my thighs, spread around by his reckless fingers as he removes my panties and skirt.

he grinds himself against my pussy, coating himself in me, while he releases low, longing moans. I suck in a breath when the head pushes in, every inch pushing me open a little more. I don't have the ability to form words, so I bite my lip and grip onto the edge of the desk until my knuckles turn white.

his breath stops for a moment before he groans.

"so ready for me."

he's not even all the way in, and he has to pause to let me adjust. when he taps the inside of my thigh for me to part them more, I do it quickly and beg him to fill me up. I can barely take the pressure between my hips, but it burns in an inviting way.

"keep going." I direct him. he runs his hands over the curve of my waist and starts to thrust into me at a rate that leaves me panting. it's not too fast or slow, just impatient and needy. every sound that spills from his lips turns me on more.

"where'd the attitude go, huh?" he digs his hips into mine. his cock hits my cervix and I squeak against the wood, but he holds my back down. I don't even try to argue with him, too overcome with the pleasure that's coursing through my limbs. he starts to build up his speed. "don't have much to say when you're getting fucked?"

"Dr. Reid--" I moan.

he plows into me so hard, the desk shifts on the floor and he grabs my ass with both hands.

"take it, baby. fucking take it."

I get up on my elbows to look behind me, just to glimpse how he looks as he gets closer. his curls have fallen more in his face, and his shirt is gone. I want to touch him desperately, to feel the lovely skin of his torso and arms and everything else, but he keeps me down for the most part. all I get is the sight of his mouth open and his hips moving quickly against mine.

"look at me, there you go." he grabs my face and holds me there, our eyes locked. mine are welling at the sheer overwhelming pleasure inside, but his are dark and intense. they search mine for something I can only hope to offer.

"that feels so good, Dr. Reid." I pant. he bites his lip as he watches my mouth hanging open in lecherous shock.

"I bet it does," he explores my body. "coming in here, hoping I fuck you like you deserve. you're lucky I'm going easy on you."

"thank you." I whine.

"you might need some extra lessons, yeah?" he grunts out, moving into me with a bruising force.

"yes, please." I whisper. my voice is practically gone at this point, my mind entirely focused on the knot building in my stomach.

"what was that, baby?" he pulls my hair gently.

"yes— fuck— yes, please, Dr. Reid."

"what a beautiful girl." he smirks. I whimper when he runs his fingernails down my ribcage. I can feel it coming from the way he starts to move tumultuously, every thrust pushing harder and seeking more release. it's fervent, how he takes me and grips my hips like the force itself will push him over the edge.

"I'm so close..." I breathe out as I try for as much friction as I can.

"show me," he drops down so his stomach is flush to my back. "show me how you cum, Y/N."

the way he says my name-- husky and warm and full of lust-- causes me to snap. I cry out as he reaches around to clamp a hand around my mouth, climaxing and pulsing around his dick as I drop down against the surface again. I want him to finish inside, so I do my best to keep him here. and his thrusts are getting more staccato as he chases the sensation my walls create.

"can I fill you, angel?" he asks. he's breathing right by my ear, and the feeling is sending shivers down my spine. I love how his weight feels.

"yes." I moan and he slides his fingers into my mouth. I suck on them while he orgasms, jerking into my pussy and letting out unholy sounds of ecstasy. he says unintelligible things in the throes of his orgasm. pounds into me until I'm sure I won't be able to walk tomorrow.

"jesus christ, Y/N." he slows to a stop. when he pulls his cock out of me, the absence makes me whine. I miss his body already.

"oh my god." I clench my hands into fists as I try to catch my breath. I'm still bent over the desk as though I've been completely sapped of all my energy. I suppose I have. he doesn't touch me for a moment in the spirit of letting me recover from the small shudders still running over my skin.

"that was great." he says after we've both had time to fill our lungs. I push myself onto my elbows again.

"correct." I grin and straighten up more until I'm standing. he stares at me, at the cum now dripping down my legs, entranced.

"let me get you something to clean up." he snaps out of it a little. I can't stop looking at him, either, in love with the way he moves and the way he breathes after exerting himself on my body.

"come here." I bite my lip. for some reason, despite what we just did, this is scarier than everything else. he steps closer and I reach up, kiss him softly. part of me worries that he'll pull away and be terrified. maybe that he'll tell me that I've read too much into this.

he's much gentler than before. our first kiss was full of need and primal desire, but this is more affectionate. I remove myself from his embrace.

"okay, you can go now." I giggle. his fingertips linger on my waist and he smiles. I push his shoulder. "I literally have your cum all over me-- go."

"fine." he starts to put his clothes on.

"does this mean I get an A?" I joke. Spencer shakes his head.

"nice try. when we're done cleaning you up, we're gonna sit down and figure this out."

I let out a whine, and he kisses my cheek before looking me in the eyes. "it'll be fun. I promise."

"math is not fun."

"I can't believe I like a girl who doesn't enjoy such a beautiful subject." he rolls his eyes and I giggle. he's perfect.

[thefanficmonster]

Filterless

Corpse Husband x Plus-sized Reader (Female)

Warnings: Body Image Insecurities, Low self-esteem, Swearing

Genre:  Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Fluff, RPF (Real Person Fic)

Summary: Feeling comfortable in her skin has hardly ever been the case for Y/N who’s been struggling with body image issues all her life. However, they only get worse when she sees the ‘type’ of girls her crush is into.

Requested by Anon. Hi darling! Thank you so much for your request (hits close to home 😅) I’m so sorry it has taken me so long to fulfill it and post it but here it finally is and if you’ve stuck around long enough to read it, I hope you enjoy! ALSO! - Never forget how beautiful and amazing you are. Never compare your beauty to someone else’s. We’re all beautiful people and we all shine so brightly and uniquely. No one deserves to be compared to anyone when we’re all so different yet so incredible. Love you and appreciate you with all my heart, Vy ❤

If I ever need my ego taken down a few notches - it never does, it’s barely even present, to be honest - all I have to do is go on Instagram. To be honest, regardless of how I’m feeling, opening that app is bound to make my mood plummet and come crashing into the ground so hard it drives a hole in it - probably in the form of a broken heart.

Being a content creator myself, I often get asked questions about my absence on that social platform specifically. I mean, the questions are based and rational I guess, considering I’m not a faceless YouTuber and yet my Instagram account is void of any photos. It’s not like I don’t post at all - I do! I post on my story often but it’s more often than not scenery I find pretty or a poster I’ve made for a movie/video game. Bottom line is: I barely ever allow a picture of me to make it online. The most my fans are ever gonna get of me is a selfie which is also a super rare occurrence because of how long it takes me to take and choose one I don’t hate.

Ok, but how am I supposed to find the motivation to post any sort of picture of myself when on my timeline I’m always faced with people worthy of posting pictures of themselves. People with such perfect bodies and beautiful faces. Don’t get me wrong, I’m not jealous or envious of those people - good for them! They know what they’re working with and they’re working it well. I have nothing against them, in fact, I love seeing people proud of their bodies no matter their size, shape or weight. Those are my role-models: people who are proud of themselves, their bodies, their attributes and capabilities and don’t hesitate to show them off. Those are the people I look up to but, deep down inside I know I’ll never be like.

Insecure about my body, having been referred to as ‘chubby’ and ‘squishy’ all my life. Inappreciative of the stuff I do: starting from my job as a graphic designer leading towards my job on YouTube - nothing I do, professionally or otherwise, satisfies me. Nothing I do is enough in my eyes because I feel incapable of ever being able to do enough. I’ve been called lazy and a half-asser a few too many times to be able to brush it off as a meaningless insult. 

With these problems I’ve had with myself and my own perception of who I am and the work I do, I’ve never had the time for romance or romantic relationships. I second-guess the intentions of everyone who ever shows any interest in me because in my mind I’m nothing special and I have nothing to offer - nothing attractive or likable at least. That being said, I haven’t even been one to make heart eyes at others either. I busy myself with my job and some side-gigs, brushing off any relationship questions with the excuse that I’m ‘just too busy to be in a relationship’ which is technically true.

Having spent twenty plus years with that mindset, one can imagine how surprised I was when I found myself catching feelings for someone. And that someone just couldn’t be any other than the biggest YouTube sensation at the moment - Corpse Husband.

I’m close friends with Poki - her and I were roommates at one point too - so her inviting me to play Among Us with them wasn’t so strange. One or two games, I thought, nothing unusual there, just friendly curtesy. I wasn’t expecting to warm up to the group of famous streamers nor did I expect them to welcome me among them so easily, mostly because my channel is so small and practically invisible to the YouTube algorithm. But soon enough, I became a permanent member of the team, making friends with every single one of those YouTubers I practically thought of a celebrities.

This journey of branching out to other content creators has proven itself to be surprisingly pleasant and has packed my book of friendships to the brim. All of that came unexpectedly, along with a wave of new subs and a higher view count. However, as I mentioned, it hasn’t been all sunshine and rainbows. I came to finally understand what my high school friends were talking about when they were head over heels for a boy - the butterflies in the stomach whenever he speaks your name; the importance of the laugh you share with him, how special and different it is; how cool it is to be impostors with him - ok they never said that, obviously, but it’s what I have as a substitute to the ‘when the two of you make eye-contact’ bullshit since Corpse and I have never seen each other in person. That is, of course, because of him being a faceless YouTuber and me being a self-conscious and insecure girl.

We do talk all the time though - texting, calling, chilling on Discord, you name it. Our conversations range from deeply philosophical to ones that might mislead someone into thinking we’re high. There’s no topic we haven’t touched upon and yet we still manage to find something new to talk about. We have plenty of similarities but we also never seem to run out of differences we slowly come across as we keep getting to know each other better and better. 

And somewhere along that journey I ended up catching feelings.

Human nature of wanting to connect with other people, I curse you for what you’ve done to me.

You might think I’m being overdramatic about the whole ordeal and that this is just a normal, natural occurrence many people experience in their life - some even daily. Well, not only am I far from used to it, but it’s also taking a toll of a different kind on me.

It’s like a constant slap to the face. 

That slap turned into a punch when Corpse and I started following each other on Instagram and I started getting daily reminders of how out of my depth I am with this crush on him. In over my head, especially when you look at all those girls whose pics and videos he reposts on his story. Imagine how that makes me feel, what that does to me - puts me back into the ‘Constantly not good enough‘ basket, the one I’ve been fighting to get out of all my life. In the past and in different contexts I could easily say that it was all just my mind hating me intensely but now - now that I know for a fact I’m not good enough and don’t fit Corpse’s criteria - it hurts ten times as much. I’m not one to do shit for someone’s attention or to attract someone’s eyes, but it really hurts my feelings. Often times, it also leads me to doing dumb things and making rash decisions. 

Like the one I made two days ago.

Imagine me cringing and shaking my head at my own stupidity as I admit this: I, in a frenzy, ordered a whole e-girl getup with overnight delivery. 

Wait, hold up, it gets worse. 

I received it yesterday and spent the whole day regretting that decision, but then, in my most insecure hours - which was somewhere around midnight - I equipped the get-up, took a picture and posted it on my Instagram page. First full body pic I’ve ever posted on there. First pic I’ve posted there of any kind. There to stay, not to be gone in twenty four hours. First pic, and it’s not even of me. It’s of who I want to be in order to fit someone’s criteria. And that fucking stings.

As you might imagine, I’ve spent today’s day regretting that decision as well. Recently my mood’s been nothing but regretting rash decisions that have surfaced under the influence of my ridiculous, constantly-present insecurities. And I would’ve probably gotten over it rather quickly had I not received a message from Corpse that read:

“Didn’t think of you with an e-girl aesthetic“

I didn’t open the message, I peeped at it as it was a notification on my lock screen. It’s still there, an unread notification. It’s been two hours since I received it and I cannot think of a single thing to say in response to that. 

Truth is, I’m afraid. I’m afraid of so many things right now.

I’m afraid of becoming that girl in the photo, cause I’m most definitely not her.

I’m afraid of letting Corpse down by admitting I’m not her.

I’m afraid of what my own mind has made me do because it hates me so much and I’m terrified of what it might do in the future.

I’m afraid and stranded on things to do.

You can’t be her forever, you know. Being her won’t make your insecurities go away, it’ll only make them worse. Haven’t you learned that by now?

I sigh, frustrated and irritated with myself as I grab my phone and tap on the notification, finally deciding to face the music and allow my instincts to carry me through the interaction. Improvisation, that’s one of the few things I’m good at. Let’s hope it doesn’t fail me.

I’m just about to type out my response - not sure what it’s gonna say - when I give the message Corpse has sent me a second glance.  I furrow my brows, finding there’s more to it than that peep through the notification let me see.

“Didn’t think of you with an e-girl aesthetic. You’re personality is so bright and colorful, I could’ve never imagined you were into the darks and blacks“

Because I’m not

I fail to realize until the message has been sent that my thoughts are exactly what I typed out and sent.

And honestly, I’m glad. It feels like I’ve spoken my truth, like I’ve lifted a huge boulder off my chest.

With that rare confidence in mind I go on and delete the picture.

In its spot, I post a picture I just now took - a mirror selfie in my homey get-up consisting of hot pink sweatpants and an oversized blue tee, my hair in a messy bun, my face free of make-up.

I caption it: ‘Oops, had the e-girl filter on for the last one. This is filterless me tho so...Hi 🥴’

A lot better, I’m surprised to hear my inner voice say. I hope I don’t get used to all this kindness on my brain’s part, probably won’t last, but damn if I don’t milk every second of it.

Just then, I receive a new message from non other than Corpse.

“Now that’s the girl I see when I think of you. She’s super cute 😉“

My, oh my, who would’ve guessed Corpse has a game like that - and by that I mean the ability to make me blush so intensely with only a text message.

Now ain’t that better than being someone else, Y/N?

It sure is, it sure is.

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[yannowhatigiveup]

A Blinded Kiss

I haven’t posted anything recently so I dug around in my WIPs to see if anything was even worth posting and I found this that I made a while ago. It certainly isn’t the best but it isn’t the worst out of all my other WIPs.

"Is this really necessary?" The bluenette asked, eyeing a blindfold given by her brotherly figure.

"Of course it is Pixie!" An older man with two-toned hair replied, way too over enthusiastic about the whole situation. "It's a great way to find your way around the manor”

"And it's a great family bonding experience too!" Another man in the room replied, even more enthusiastic than the first.

"Fine, I'll do it Jay" the blue-eyed girl huffed, twirling the blindfold between her fingers. "What are the rules again, Dick?"

Dick beamed at the girl before answering. "Well Mari, it's simple. Put the blindfold on, count to fifty, spin around and try to steal a hug from anyone in the manor"

"So I have to walk around the manor blindfolded and try to sneak up on you? You know that's impossible!" Marinette exclaimed, she would not go around the house looking like a touch-starved fool.

"That's exactly why we're doing it" Jason replied, shrugging his shoulders. "It'll last a long time."

After a few seconds, the blue-eyed girl sighed, giving in to both Jason and Dick. "Fine, if that's what makes you happy" Marinette wrapped the matte-black fabric tightly around her eyes, already struggling within the first few seconds. She began counting and she heard the two scuffling away, smiling while being able to tell which direction they went in. In the mean time, Marinette debated her options.

'Both Jason and Dick would be the ideal choices but they'll be able to hear me from a mile away. Tim would be the most logical one since he's half asleep, but where does he even go in this maze? God knows where Alfred is, Mr Wayne is scary. Damian-' She paused her train of thoughts, granted Marinette had only met him a few days ago but that didn't stop the crush she had heavily try to cease. 'He'd probably hear me from a mile away as well. This game is so unfair'

Soon enough, Marinette reached fifty and spun herself around, she used a bit too much force than needed so now not only was she blinded but she lost her sense of direction. Giving herself a minute to recover, the bluenette began to walk. Using her improved senses, thanks to the miraculous, Mari was slowly able to create a theoretical map in her mind, though it did take much more energy than she desired.

"Fighting an akuma is easier than this" The bluenette muttered as she hit her thigh along the corner of a wall.

Even though she was using her enhanced abilities, she'd pump into a corner or a wall every now and again, the amount of times increased when her energy was being used. After wondering a hall for what seemed like hours, the bluenette came to a staircase, one that she ever so carefully used to get to a higher floor. Once she did, she kept a hand on one of the walls, using it as a guide. Soon enough, her hand came to what felt like a doorframe. The door was closed she could tell but it was recent used due to the fact that the doorknob was warm. Making sure not to intrude, she knocked on said door, she almost missed the muffled 'come in' had she not been paying attention. Marinette opened the door, went in and quickly shut it behind her, taking a deep breath.

"Okay I hope you don't mind but which room is this and whose in the room? Dick and Jason thought it would be a good idea to walk around the manor blindfolded while trying to sneak up on them" The bluenette huffed, only to freeze when she heard a familiar chuckle.

"I've heard, you're in my room, It's Damian just to clarify" 'Sh-' "So, what task must be fulfilled to give you permission to take the blindfold off? I doubt you want to keep it on any longer" Marinette giggled.

"You're right, I would probably get lost of I continue. Um, I have to 'steal a hug' apparently"

"So you have to hug someone without them inspecting it" Damian came to that conclusion to which the bluenette nodded her head.

"Yeah that's basically it, hey do you have anywhere I could sit down? I'm getting tired..."

"Of course, my bed is five steps to your front and two steps to your right, make yourself comfortable" She wasn't sure how red she had gotten but she obliged anyway. Had she not been wearing the blindfold, she would've seen Damian smiling at her flustered state. Giving herself a moment to regain her energy, Marinette turned to where she presumed Damian was working at his desk. "Can I hug you? Jay never said I couldn't ask the person first. I-I won't if you don't want me to! I just wanted to ask so..."

She heard the boy thoughtfully hum before he made his way over to her. From what she could tell, Damian was now in front of Marinette, looming over her.

"Did Todd or Grayson say it had to be a hug?" Marinette tilted her head in confusion and thoughtfulness, that had never crossed her mind before.

"W-"

"What happens if I kiss you instead?"

The bluenette didn’t reply with words as she knew how terrible her words would be in her flustered state. But she wanted this, her heart longed for it in a way it never did for anyone else. Instead, she nodded, giving the green-eyed boy permission to do as he wished.

She felt his hand lightly tilt her chin up towards, where she presumed, his face was. Then he pressed his lips onto hers, his other had behind her head, tugging at the fabric around her eyes. Marinette felt bliss, she was glad that no one else would interrupt this moment. Shivers went down her spine as she felt Damian’s hands travel up from behind her neck and to wear the blindfold was knotted, gently tugging at the binding. She was glad that when her face was free from the fabric that comprised her vision, the first thing in her line of eyesight were Damian's deep emerald eyes, the shimmered the same way they had when she first laid eyes on him, she'd been enraptured ever since. The boy, however, was smirking as he noticed the pink that dusted her face. Without a moment passing, she threw herself the green-eyed boy, delivering a hug. As she pulled away, her hands cupped his face and she returned his embrace with one of her own. When she pulled away once more, she smiled in satisfaction at his flustered expression.

"When did you realise you had feelings for me?" Marinette asked softly, her forehead pressed against his trying to regain her breath.

"That's a very easy question" Damian stared lovingly into her eyes. "I fell the moment I saw you take down that Akuma three times your size" Her eyes widened.

"You know about me being Ladybug?"

"The same way you know I'm Robin"

They both smiled, creating a truce to not reveal anything.

"Well I better get going, see you later." She got up from the bed and opened the door, only to turn around and say "Je t'aime mon cœur" before exiting the room, leaving a blushing Damian.

Marinette walked back down the stairs, the piece of cloth in hand and small love-struck smile on her face. When she entered the main living room, she came face to face with the owner of the manor.

"Oh hello Mr Wayne"

"Hello Marinette, I see you managed to get the blindfold off" The older man gestured towards the piece of fabric in her hand. "And please, do call me Bruce. Who did you end up surprising with a hug then?"

She smiled brightly before replying. "Damian"

His usual formal demeanor broke for a moment but Bruce quickly picked the pieces back up. "He didn't attack you or injure you in any shape or form?"

Marinette decided to play the oblivious little girl. "No..? Why, does he do it often?" Her head titled in confusion.

"Nothing it doesn't matter" Bruce simply sighed and shook his head. "Also, there's something I'd like to discuss with you at dinner, if you don't mind"

"No not at all, I'll see you at dinner then?" Bruce nodded and left, leaving Marinette alone in the room, waiting for her honorary older brother and his brother to come in. Which they did but only after some time, it was hilarious to see them crouched down, talking to each other in hushed voices. They flinched as she cleared her throat, both slowly turning towards the sound to find a smug looking Marinette and a blindfold whipped around her finger.

"I win"

~~~

Most of the occupants at the table were either in an all out war or were about to be, except for Marinette and an exasperated Bruce Wayne.

"So Marinette" The eldest Wayne began, silencing the rest of the table. "I hope you don't mind me asking but when you were off searching for Jason, you mentioned attacks that have been occurring in Paris, is this true?"

No one failed to notice the girl flinch. "Yeah it's true"

"...how bad are the attacks? In your opinion"

"Well it depends on how strong the person's emotions are really. If their emotions are strong, then the Akuma is strong too"

"What's the strongest akuma that Paris has seen?" It was Tim who asked and memories of the event began swimming through her mind, she got rid of them with a shake of her head.

"The deadliest akuma Paris has experienced was an akuma called 'Syren'. She's a regular person but, as an akuma, she managed to kill around 2 million people. But don't worry! Ladybug's cure managed to bring them back to life"

"D-did... did you die, Pixie?" Jason asked, his anger mixed with worry was boiling over and luckily simmered after seeing her shake her head.

"Do you think the heroes of Paris would let heroes from the Justice League come over to help?"

Marinette contemplated for a moment, should she really risk the heroes getting akumatized? "I think they would but I wouldn't know"

Bruce nodded while Jason leaned over the table to talk closer to his honorary little-sister. "Why didn't you tell me sooner?"

"I didn't want to bother you"

"You're not a bother, Pixie" Jason smiled at the bluenette on the other side of the table. "You never are and you never will be"

~~~

Marinette returned to Paris a few days later, in the mean time, Bruce and the rest of the batfam were planning their visit to the City of Love. Soon enough, the vigilantes were boarded on the plane. Their flight to Paris was relatively silent. After a few hours, they landed and the vigilantes waited on the Eiffel Tower, only to find out there was a battle going on. Before they could engage in the fight, they were engulfed with magical ladybugs that seemed to fix anything destroyed. As they were mesmerized by the cure, a certain spotted-heroine wobbly landed on the platform. Batman was first to notice.

"Ladybug" His voice caused the others to turn around. "Thank you for allowing us into your city"

Ladybug nodded, not uttering a single word.

"We were hoping, with your permission of course, that we could help you be rid of Hawkmoth once and for good" Again, Ladybug didn't reply. "Ladybug?"

When the heroine didn't respond, Batman glanced at Nightwing and the rest of his sons, clearly something was wrong. Unexpectedly, Robin took his glove off, approached the Ladybug-themed hero and placed his hand onto her forehead.

"You have a fever" he stated, his hand trailing down her face to cup her cheek. His family all shot him weird looks. She tiredly blinked at the vigilante, recognising him as Robin and allowed herself to fall into his arms, detransforming while doing so, leaving a burning hot Marinette.

"Dami?" He hummed. "Take me home, please..." She drifted off to sleep, comforted in her lover's arms. He glanced at his family, holding the bluenette close.

"Pixie...is Ladybug?" Red Hood's voice was first.

"You didn't know?" Robin's voice mocking confusion, enraging Red Hood that his youngest brother knew something about his sister that he didn't. Even more so that his demon brother was holding said sister,

"We should take her back home" Dick went over to feel the girl's forehead. "She's burning"

"Tikki?" Robin asked and a red creature flew out from one of Mari's pockets, startling most of the people there.

"I'll try to heal her on the way, follow me"

The floating red creature flew down from the Eiffel Tower, Robin and Marinette close behind. After some hesitation, the others followed, they ended up on top of a bakery. One by one, they entered through the trapdoor on the balcony, finding both Damian with his mask off and a weak looking Marinette. Despite her enfeebled state, the bluenette greeted each vigilante, her gaze landed on Jason.

"It's just a fever, I'll be fine"

Jason removed his helmet and ran a hand through his hair before both settled on his hips. "You don't look fine"

"I promise I am" She wasn't convincing, not at all.

"Fine" Jason huffed, he could never truly say no to the girl he viewed as his little sister. "But since when were you two a thing" He pointed at the two, his gaze resting maliciously on Damian.

"It's all thanks to you, you know" Marinette smirked at Jason's confusion. Tim snickered as he seemed to catch on to what she was saying.

"Had you not organized that 'blindfolded game', I doubt we would be together at this moment" Damian supplied the information, clearly unfazed by the burning rage in the eyes of his older brother.

"Baby Bird's all grown up" The eldest Wayne son overdramatized wiping a fake tear, Batman sighed at his two eldest sons while pinching the bridge of his nose.

"Get your fucking hands off her, Demon Brat!" Jason tried to lunge at Damian, only to be stopped by both Dick and Tim. Though his fury only grew when Marinette snuggled closer to the green-eyed boy, both smirked in victory over Jason's horrified appearance.

Marinette was now part of the family in more ways than one. Though they wish they had found out in better circumstances, they would be able to take down Hawkmoth once and for all, side by side, all together. And to think this all happened because of a silly blindfold game.

[sisterspooky1013]

Only One Choice, Part 2, Chapter 24

Read it here on AO3 / Tagging @today-in-fic

June 1999

The air smells wet and woody, birdsongs trilling in the early morning sun that trickles through a sky light. She stretches, then disentangles her legs from the sheets and stands, walking to the window.

There is a giant soaking tub in the corner of the room, flanked by two windowed walls that afford a sweeping view of the Cascade mountains, green carpeted hillsides meeting with a baby-blue sky.

She can still recall her mother’s face when they told her the wedding would be in Washington State. “But...we don’t even know anyone in Washington, Dana,” she’d said with a bemused expression, lamenting the length of their flights with a nine-month-old in tow.

Her mother’s reaction paled in comparison to Mulder’s excitement when she’d suggested the idea; she would spend their honeymoon relaxing with a book in the tub, and he could spend it traipsing through the woods looking for Sasquatch, or ‘squatchin’ as he called it. They would reunite in the afternoon, hiking, making love, catching up on all the conversations they’d missed while in the trenches of parenting a new baby. Mom would stay at the same resort with Molly so they could see her every day, while having precious nights to themselves; something they haven’t done since she was born.

She turns the tap on the bath, a blast of water thundering into the empty basin. When it’s full nearly to the brim, she disrobes and eases in, breathing deeply to inhale the juniper-scented steam, courtesy of the resort-provided bath salts. Closing her eyes, she thinks back over it all; their chance meeting, how she was drawn to him by a force that seemed to be bigger than them both, the anguish of wanting him but feeling like she owed it to Ethan to stay together. Her eyes snap open, a memory long-buried in the recesses of her mind springing forth like a trebuchet.

The day she met Mulder, she’d been planning to take the day off to go to a book signing for an author she admires. The signing was cancelled due to a scheduling conflict and she almost took the day off anyway, but had a last minute pang of guilt knowing that the workload that week was already heavy and Trudy would struggle to manage it all on her own. So she’d gone in, she’d performed that autopsy that should have been on Trudy’s docket, and she’d filled out the paperwork, and she’d met Mulder. How delicate the balance of the universe that such an insignificant choice completely changed the course of her life.

She suddenly misses him acutely, and a bundle of nerves and excitement flutters in her belly thinking about when she’ll see him next. She’d scoffed at the idea of them spending last night apart; they live together and have a child so the performative chastity seemed to be a bit much. He said it was like a fast, that a little time apart would make it even more special when they saw each other at the ceremony, and she ultimately acquiesced.

“Meet me on a mountain top at 4 o’clock tomorrow?” he’d asked as he backed out of her room, pulling away from the desperate kisses she was planting all over his face.

“Wouldn’t miss it,” she replied with a smile, and they said goodnight.

She smiles again, sinking down until the water slips into her ears. She can’t wait to marry him.

———

He sits up and arches his back, his spine protesting the cramped accommodations. Looking over at Byers and Missy curled up in the king size bed, he regrets his decision to crash on the couch here instead of staying with Scully in their room. Not only because he slept like shit with his legs hanging over the end, but also because work takes him away from his girls so often, he’s an idiot to add another day to it if he doesn’t have to.

He stands, hands on his hips as he twists to stretch his angry muscles, and walks to the window, taking in the dense green hills and valleys that surround them. He smiles, because she could have asked to go to Mexico, or France, or anywhere on the entire Earth and he would have given her what she wanted, but she chose the place she knew he wanted to go. Selfless and giving to a fault, his Scully. Soon to be his wife.

He quietly slips on his running shoes and sneaks out of the room, hitting the hard-packed dirt trail the concierge had told him about. The quiet forest is the perfect place to be alone with his thoughts, nothing but the thud of his feet striking the ground and the twitter of waking birds to distract him. He thinks about his life, about being a child who was lonely and alone, with parents who provided food and shelter but not much more. He thinks about Molly, and how she will never know that kind of pain, that there will never be a day of her life that she is not told how much she is loved. He wonders if his dad ever felt about his mom the way he feels about Scully, and he knows it’s not possible that he did, because if so they would still be together.

He comes to a break in the trees and pauses, breath heaving and lungs burning as he watches a hawk gliding through the valley below, hunting for breakfast. How easily he could have missed this moment, he thinks. Even one small change to the trajectory of his life, and he never would have walked into the autopsy bay that day. If the courier hadn’t been sick, if he hadn’t stopped by Kirkbride’s office when he did. Even further back, if he hadn’t stayed with the bureau with the X files were closed, if Valerie hadn’t been there to encourage him, or if he hadn’t met Valerie one random Tuesday at a record store. The path was long and winding, and it led to her. It led to him on this mountaintop in a sweat-soaked T-shirt, smiling at the thought of his baby daughter, his almost-wife.

He picks up running again, the smile staying on his lips. He’s always felt like he was running away; from his painful past, his regrets, his bad decisions. Now he realizes he’s running towards; his future, a thousand opportunities yet unseen, a kind of happiness he never thought he’d know. He can’t wait for the rest of his life to start.

———

He stands in a clearing near the edge of a cliff, the lush green landscape toeing up against the horizon looking like crooked teeth. Frohike stands beside him in khaki pants and a white linen shirt, a leather folio clasped in his hands. Mulder is also dressed fairly casually, in slacks and a blue Oxford shirt, the sleeves cuffed and the top button undone.

Scully wanted this to be as non-traditional as possible, to make it their own. There is no wedding party, no tuxedo, no flower girl or garter toss. No one will walk her down the aisle, as no one but herself has the ownership to give her away. The guests are small in number; immediate family only, plus the gunmen. Monica and Dahlia are house-sitting back in DC, minding Priscilla as well as the dog, King, that joined the family after the purchase of their house in March. Bucking the idea of arranging guests by whose “side” they are on, they all sit in a small cluster, and Scully will enter from the side.

He looks out and waves at Molly, who is standing on Missy’s lap, holding her hands and bouncing up and down forcefully. She squeals and shouts “dah, dah, dah!” which he chooses to interpret as “Daddy” even though Scully told him it’s just a nonsense syllable and doesn’t mean anything.

Langly gets the signal from Frohike and hits play on a small boom box, piping an instrumental version of “Can’t Help Falling in Love” up into the branches of the towering evergreen trees. He expected to feel nervous at this moment, but all he feels is excitement as Maggie scurries out from behind a line of trees and takes her place beside Bill, giving him a smile and a wink.

Scully appears from around the same group of trees and he grins broadly. He’s seen the dress, they picked it out together, but the full effect is stunning. Her hair, now grown well past her shoulder blades, is curled softly and pinned half up, brilliant red tendrils shimmering in the midday sun against her porcelain shoulders. Her dress is full length pearl satin, a slim sheath cut with off the shoulder straps. She is holding a small bouquet of pink peonies in her hands, and holding his eye with a playful smirk.

She arrives beside him and before the music stops, before Frohike has a chance to begin, he steps forward and takes her by the waist, kissing her fully. The guests laugh and he pulls away to see a confused smile on her face.

“I couldn’t wait,” he says simply.

They move through the ceremony, exchanging rings and vowing to love each other forever; promises they’ve already made to each other a hundred times. As they near the part that Scully understands to be the end, Frohike goes off script.

“Mulder has prepared some words of his own, he’ll read them now,” he says, nodding toward his friend.

Scully’s eyebrows lift in a surprised and confused expression.

“Mulder, we didn’t talk about writing our own vows,” she whispers, afraid she’s failed to complete the assignment.

“It’s okay, these are for both of us,” he whispers, and then, taking her hands in his, he reads a passage from her favorite book from memory.

“I have for the first time found what I can truly love; I have found you. You are my sympathy, my better self, my good angel; I am bound to you with a strong attachment. I think you good, gifted, lovely. A fervent, a solemn passion is conceived in my heart; it leans to you, draws you to my center and spring of life, wraps my existence about you, and kindling in pure, powerful flame, fuses you and me in one.”

The tear that slips down her cheek is borne only of happiness. She looks into his green eyes and sees contentment and love, and desire. It’s not a spark, what they have, nor an ember. It’s a wildfire, a white-hot torch, an eternal flame that binds them together inseparably. They were forged in fire the moment he laid eyes on her in that autopsy bay, maybe even before.

Frohike concludes, “by the power invested in me by the State of Washington, I now pronounce you husband and wife. You may kiss your bride…again.”

He wraps his arms around her waist, lifting her up as he kisses her deeply, a gust of warm summer wind picking up pine needles and tossing them in a mini-tornado that surrounds them both. Molly squeals “dah dah dah!” and claps for her parents.

———

She stands at the mirror, brushing her teeth. Her hair is combed out, her makeup removed, the white dress hanging in the corner of the room with the hem now tinged brown from the dirt that served as their dance floor.

Mulder appears behind her, an arm snaking around the waist of her satin nightgown. She smiles at the sight of his newly ring-adorned hand pressed flat against her belly, then leans forward to rinse.

“Ready for bed?” he asks softly, and she nods.

They slip beneath the cool sheets, curling around one another face-to-face; her leg threaded between his, his arms around her back, foreheads touching. She draws in a big breath and lets it out slowly, contentment settling deep in her bones.

“Do you ever think about all the things that had to happen in exactly the way they did to lead us here?” he asks, and she pulls back a little to look at his face.

“Yes, I was actually just thinking about that earlier,” she says with a curious lilt.

“Makes you wonder, huh, what lives we’d be leading if even just one detail were changed,” he says, tracing his finger along her shoulder blade.

“I don’t think it would have mattered, actually,” she says, and he gives her a quizzical look, silently asking her to elaborate. “I know this will sound a little far-fetched coming from me,” she begins with a self-conscious smile, “but I think it was always going to end up this way. Even if we hadn’t met when we did, we would have crossed paths some other way. Looking back over everything, it just seems like this was meant to be the outcome, even if the path to get here could have gone in a lot of different directions.”

He ponders this, remembering a conversation they had over coffee when, against all odds, she reappeared in his life.

“Like there was only one choice, and signs along the way to pay attention to,” he says contemplatively, lifting his hand to brush a lock of hair behind her ear.

“Exactly,” she replies, pressing her lips to his briefly, “it was always going to be you.”

END

[starksinthenorth]

Musings on ASOIAF Ladies and Ambition

I’ve noticed people use “ambition” to describe Sansa and Daenerys as if it’s a bad word or an insult (often called “power hungry”). Yet in the text of the series, neither of them are shown to be ambitious people as a core characteristic. I blame the series for a lot of this, because it failed to explore the internal dialogue of Sansa, Arya, and even Cersei, who ends up more humanized than either of them by the end (because of the maybe baby).

Cersei Lannister is the classic ambitious ASOIAF lady, whose point-of-view is introduced in perhaps the most iconic sentence of any introductory chapter:

She dreamt she sat the Iron Throne, high above them all.

I can’t think of a sentence in ASOIAF that better introduces the internal thoughts and view of its leading character.

In comparison, Sansa’s first sentence is receiving news about her father’s whereabouts, Daenerys is shown her new dress to meet Drogo, and Arya has crooked stitches again. Arya’s works to frame her relationship with Sansa and her internal struggle to fit the feminine Westerosi mold, while Sansa and Daenerys are setting up plot points. None of these interactions signal ambition, bad or good. Daenerys did not arrange her wedding, Sansa is just told the information by her Septa, and while Arya is aspiring to have straight stitches, that’s hardly an ambitious goal for a girl of nine.

Fans rarely, if ever, deny Cersei’s cruel, cold, often stupid ambition. In fact, it’s one of the reason people seem to love her. She’s internally open about what she wants - power - and when she wants it - now:

All of them are burning now, she told herself, savoring the thought. They are dead and burning, every one, with all their plots and schemes and betrayals. It is my day now. It is my castle and my kingdom.

- AFFC, Cersei III

The rule was hers; Cersei did not mean to give it up until Tommen came of age. I waited, so can he. I waited half my life. She had played the dutiful daughter, the blushing bride, the pliant wife. She had suffered . . . She had contended with Jon Arryn, Ned Stark, and her vile, treacherous, murderous dwarf brother, all the while promising herself that one day it would be her turn. If Margaery Tyrell thinks to cheat me of my hour in the sun, she had bloody well think again.

- AFFC, Cersei V

Cersei is the definition of a power hungry lady, scheming and cheating at every point. Yes, Sansa learned from her, but most of Sansa’s internalized lessons of Cersei’s were to do the exact opposite. 

"The night's first traitors," the queen [Cersei] said, "but not the last, I fear. . . . Another lesson you should learn, if you hope to sit beside my son. . . . The only way to keep your people loyal is to make certain they fear you more than they do the enemy."

"I will remember, Your Grace," said Sansa, though she had always heard that love was a surer route to the people's loyalty than fear. If I am ever a queen, I'll make them love me.

- ACOK, Sansa VI

Cersei isn’t the only POV character who views herself outside of conventional Westerosi standards and aspires to something beyond being a wife and mother. Arya Stark has ambition writ clear on the page, though it is not so cold or denying other people their rights or chances. Compared to Cersei, Arya doesn’t want everything, crown and throne and kingdom and all. She just wants something, and even that is denied to highborn women in Westeros. Even when she asks her father about her future, a man who wants to do right by his children and loves them, Eddard Stark is blinded by Westerosi patriarchy:

Arya cocked her head to one side. "Can I be a king's councillor and build castles and become the High Septon?"

"You," Ned said, kissing her lightly on the brow, "will marry a king and rule his castle, and your sons will be knights and princes and lords and, yes, perhaps even a High Septon."

- AGOT, Eddard V

With Arya in this, I see some parallels to Elaena Targaryen, who was so good at math and management she served as the secret Master of Coin while her husband carried the title. Elaena was “more willful than Rhaena, but not as beautiful as either of her sisters,” yet is also said to have been “more beautiful at age seventy than at age seventeen,” growing into herself like Arya is expected to. They both even cut their hair, Arya to hide her gender and Elaena to hide her beauty, both instances to gain freedom from captivity in the Red Keep.

Despite both these examples of ambition - Cersei’s all-encompassing, without care for how it affects the realm, and Arya’s attempt to find a place in the world outside the Westerosi model - it still becomes an insult when people speak of Daenerys and Sansa.

Critics claim Sansa is ambitious, and negatively so, because she “wants to be queen.” But this criticism misses a vital point of Sansa’s character. Unlike Cersei, she does not want to be queen because of the power and political influence, but because she will be living a song. In the start, Sansa’s got her head in the clouds, not to the dirty world of politics. Her very first chapter lays out this motivation incredibly clearly:

All she wanted was for things to be nice and pretty, the way they were in the songs.

When she thinks of Joffrey and being in love with him, it’s because he’s “handsome and gallant as any prince in the songs” (AGOT, Sansa II), 

Alternatively, it has been said that Sansa is ambitious because of her claim to Winterfell. But compare how Sansa thinks of her claim to how Big Walder Frey does. Despite being far down the inheritance line, he is certain he will someday possess the Twins. He’s likely willing to kill his family to become Lord of the Crossing, and already has killed Little Walder.

In comparison, Sansa isn’t the one who realizes her claim as heir to Winterfell, even after her two younger brothers are believed dead. It’s Dontos who mentions it, and after she still thinks that Robb will have sons to inherit.

But she had not forgotten his words, either. The heir to Winterfell, she would think as she lay abed at night. It's your claim they mean to wed. Sansa had grown up with three brothers. She never thought to have a claim, but with Bran and Rickon dead . . . It doesn't matter, there's still Robb, he's a man grown now, and soon he'll wed and have a son. Anyway, Willas Tyrell will have Highgarden, what would he want with Winterfell?

- ASOS, Sansa II

Sansa’s not ready to kill Bran and Rickon if they show up. Her arc is about taking off the rose-tinted glasses and seeing reality, but also working to make reality like a song. For example, her idea of the Tournament of the Winged Knights for Sweetrobin. It’s a song come to life, all by her making. TBD how the ending goes, of course, but it shows that trajectory.

And finally, Daenerys.

Daenerys is not driven by some lifelong desire to win and dominate. She’s forced into it, a la Brienne’s “no chance and no choice.” If Daenerys were raised in a stable environment, I have a feeling she’d be much more like Sansa: dreamy, hopeful, sweet and studious. Happy.

But instead, her eyes are open.

When she’s introduced as a character, she shows an awareness for the schemes and politics of the world. She knows her brother is called the Beggar King in the Free Cities, and is doubtful of the smallfolk’s secret toasts to Viserys III that Illyrio Mopatis claims happen across Westeros.

Like Sansa and Cersei, there’s evidence of her goals, hopes, and wishes in the very first chapter:

"I don't want to be his queen," she heard herself say in a small, thin voice. "Please, please, Viserys, I don't want to, I want to go home."

. . .

Dany had only meant their rooms in Illyrio's estate, no true home surely, though all they had, but her brother did not want to hear that. There was no home there for him. Even the big house with the red door had not been home for him.

Daenerys remembers home as the house with the red door in Braavos. It’s her brother whose only home and stability was the Red Keep, not her.

Throughout her journey of power to take back the Seven Kingdoms, she is doubtful at every turn and most of her wishes are for happiness, for peace, for stability.

Dany had no wish to reduce King's Landing to a blackened ruin full of unquiet ghosts. She had supped enough on tears. I want to make my kingdom beautiful, to fill it with fat men and pretty maids and laughing children. I want my people to smile when they see me ride by, the way Viserys said they smiled for my father.

- ACOK, Daenerys II

A queen I am, but my throne is made of burned bones, and it rests on quicksand. Without dragons, how could she hope to hold Meereen, much less win back Westeros?

- ADWD, Daenerys II

Even later, Daenerys is determined to bring peace to the lands she currently rules. She does plan to return to the Seven Kingdoms, but it’s not driven by pure ambition. And this is, notably, from a conversation when Prince Quentyn Nymeros Martell asks her to come back and claim them now, saying she has allies for that conquest. And still she turns him down, with promises that it will only happen eventually:

"Daenerys said. ". . . .One day I shall return to Westeros to claim my father's throne, and look to Dorne for help. But on this day the Yunkai'i have my city ringed in steel. I may die before I see my Seven Kingdoms. Hizdahr may die. Westeros may be swallowed by the waves."

- ADWD, Daenerys VII

And yet in both Sansa and Daenerys, these visions and hopes for the futures they might have are considered unbridled ambition, although they turn more on happiness and peace for themselves and their people, rather than the type of ambition Cersei has, which is clearly her own power and being heralded above everyone.

Daenerys’ thoughts in her sixth chapter of ADWD have the same energy as Sansa’s “I will make them love me.”:

"A queen must know the sufferings of her people."

. . .

A queen must listen to her people, Dany reminded herself. 

Daenerys has figured out how to make her people love her, by wearing her “floppy ears” and appealing to the masses, listening to them, et cetera. She’s also a bit ahead of Sansa in the realm of ruling, to be sure.

But how are these similar thoughts ambition in either of them? It’s an attempt to empathize and connect, not to throw away and disregard and rule by force and domination. Both these ladies are more nuanced, and the fandom does them a disservice by painting them as ambitious or power-hungry when at the end for both of them, it’s a desire to have a happy, stable, loving life.

[wildsunscorpion]

How Bum Geon Woo communicates through his body language (Plus how he's actually giving the special treatment Eui Joon's been yearning for)

I reread DCS for, like, the tenth time now. Yes, I'm obsessed ohmygod! I'm liking how these two characters are written so far. I originally wanted to break down just Chapters 20-24 of DCS because the first time I read it I got just a little annoyed with how Geon Woo (a.k.a. Ahjussi) was, let's say, just kind of pushing Euijoon's limits. But I ended up doing more than just Chapters 20-24. Dios mio.

I was just a little tired of seeing the same trend with guys in manhwa. They always seem to be domineering, especially if their partner is the "sweet and naive" archetype. (Eui Joon, I think, does not really fit into this mold.) Of course, that's usually because they're dealing with their own issues, and I don't really blame them.

But I like DCS because it justified that kind of behavior in Geon Woo when he was having sex with Eui Joon (in Chapters 20-24, particularly). Lol I'm probably the only one who realized this later than I should have ehehe. I'm still posting this tho.

WARNING: SPOILERS AHEAD‼️‼️

His antics speak volumes. It's amazing how I missed all those details just because the sex scenes were. Steamy. As. Fuck. Good lordy! Geon Woo is definitely a man of few words (He once said Eui Joon makes him talk like he would for a whole year, haha!), so it would make sense to communicate whatever's going through his mind in a situation through body language.

I also want to add the times that he makes the effort to hold a conversation with Eui Joon. Geon Woo doesn't really talk when he doesn't need to, so it's important to pay attention to his actions.

☙ ☙ ☙ ☙ ☙

Chapters 0-12

The first time we get a glimpse of Geon Woo's side of the story was when Eui Joon finally confesses to the person who's been his crush for 3 effing years, Hyeon Woo. Eui Joon is inexplicably happy when Hyeon Woo says he'll consider and comes to the convenience store in good spirits. Geon Woo, keen as always, notices, and when Eui Joon tells him what happened this is what we get:

It's the way it was framed. How we see his reaction from behind rather than from the front. He turns away, seeming to go inward and brood once again.

Afterwards, another gangster comes. The guy challenges Geon Woo for taking too long at the front of the line. Geon Woo asks Eui Joon if he smokes, and when he replies that he doesn't, Geon Woo "borrows" the lighter on the countertop and uses that to throw a stronger punch to the man behind him, who temporarily falls unconscious. Geon Woo turns back to Eui Joon, seeming to have something else to say. But he sees the frightened look on Eui Joon's face and decides to keep it to himself before leaving through the door.

"And..." He pauses, turning to Eui Joon. "... Never mind. Good work."

JUST WHAT WAS HE ABOUT TO SAY?!?!?!

In the succeeding panel, Eui Joon is nonplussed. He wonders out loud, "What is happening?" Couldn't have said it better, girl. Geon Woo was just taking out his frustration and he had the perfect opportunity at the moment.

The second time was when Geon Woo invites Eui Joon to drink after the incident with Hyeon Woo (who basically asks Eui Joon to cheat with him and inebriates him—probably with the intention to take advantage of him). From the side stories, we learn that Geon Woo has taken an interest in Eui Joon after seeing him for the second time, and when he comes by through the hallway—finally discovering they were neighbors—and witnesses the two, he sees it as a chance with Eui Joon.

He invites Eui Joon out to drink, after Eui Joon's suggestion for a dinner at 2 in the morning fails to entice him. Eui Joon rambles his questions away, wanting to get to know him better, but Geon Woo doesn't immediately answer and catches him off guard when he "casually" inquires after his sexuality. Not the smoothest move there, lol, but in the side stories we see that wasn't really his intention.

"Damn it, why did I ask that question? It just slipped out..."

He answers Eui Joon's questions afterwards, surprising Eui Joon with the fact that he's actually been listening to what he's been saying for the past minute. We're starting to see just what kind of a person he is (Listening skills are always a plus in my book).

A little later, we see them on their way back to the apartment. Eui Joon asks Geon Woo to tell him anything interesting because he's been the one talking all night. Geon Woo acquiesces, asking a question that may have been part in consideration of Eui Joon's vulnerable state, and perhaps also part due to the possibility that he worried about him.

"Come to think of it... School has already started. Isn't it tiring to work 'til dawn? Aren't you working too much?"

Geon Woo's face is a little hard to read. So every subtle change in his expression says something. If you read the manhwa, you'll see the slightest bit of concern in his eyes. It's hard to catch until you've read the side stories (at least for me, haha).

One more thing I like about Geon Woo is that he doesn't meddle when it's not his business. He knows the state of Eui Joon's family—their inability to afford his college tuition, his hospitalized brother—and he knows he can help. I mean, I don't know how wealthy and powerful he is as a gangster but he probably has the means to. But he rarely opens the topic to Eui Joon.

Aaaand onto Chapter 8! Just before the first sex scene in the entire series. Eui Joon is crying because he had a shitty day both at school and at work, poor thing—all because of Hyeon Woo. He cries even more when he notices that Geon Woo, who came to the store every day, didn't come to the store that day. When he encounters him outside, he breaks down, catching Geon Woo off guard.

Geon Woo tells his lackey to leave and asks Eui Joon to stay. Eui Joon tells him he was fine and proceeds to go back to his room, but Geon Woo frightens him when he says he was already being nice. And then we get this:

"Ah, I don't mean it that way... Just a while."

That gentle tug is honestly so uncharacteristic of the usual ruffian behavior we often see from Geon Woo. It's a nice sweet detail that proves what he says in Chapter 26 (when he finally confesses) that he treats Eui Joon differently from others.

Eui Joon cries his heart out to Geon Woo, and Geon Woo just lets him. Afterwards, Eui Joon resolves to forget about Hyeon Woo. By finding someone, hmm, more physically endowed.

"I must find someone more good-looking than him. With a nicer body... And a bigger dick!"

Clueless guy basically described the man beside him.

To that, Geon Woo says:

"How long have you known me? You really dare to say anything like that in front of me?"

Which comes off as slightly hostile at first. The next panel shows a dark aura surrounding Geon Woo, which Eui Joon interprets as distress from his implications of doing it with him—whose sexual preference so far remains ambiguous (In the side stories, we learn that Geon Woo himself struggles with figuring this out.). But then, he surprises Eui Joon when he slowly leans in to kiss him.

CUE SEX SCENE! I pitied Eui Joon a little because he wasn't really in the best state when Geon Woo offered this. In Geon Woo's defense, though, from the moment he found out that Eui Joon was gay he saw doors opening. When Eui Joon said something like that, I think his attraction to Eui Joon finally caught up to him and he couldn't resist the opportunity. He definitely wasn’t distressed by the implication of Eui Joon’s words; he was distressed by the decision he had to make—to go through that door or not. Because he knew he wanted it, even though he was constantly denying it from the start.

“This dirty thought wasn’t something that I have planned from the beginning.”

The day after, Eui Joon is a little rattled. He doesn’t know how to treat Geon Woo after that—not when he realized that sex could be that hot and satisfying (uwu). Geon Woo appears to be unaffected while Eui Jon’s brain is in knots about everything. But the questions Geon Woo asks tell us that he’s beginning to show Eui Joon a little emotion. He asks to see Eui Joon’s face to inspect the healing bruise he got yesterday (the one that Geon Woo covered with a bandaid—which was so sweet, huhu). And then, he asks if he was tired after school.

“Let me see your face.”

“School classes. Are you tired after taking them?”

From my perspective, he wasn’t just asking for the sake of being nice to the person he slept with. The story still hasn’t covered much of Geon Woo’s history to know whether he had been like this with his previous partners. Although there was a moment in Chapter 27 during one of their conversations when he gave us a little glimpse:

Geon Woo: It's normal to cry over pathetic things at your age. Eui Joon: Have you cried like that before too? Geon Woo: No. Eui Joon: Then how do you know that? Geon Woo: I just... know. Because there was a guy like that around.

From the time Geon Woo invited him out to drink, I think Geon Woo was genuinely concerned when he asked how Eui Joon was doing.

☙ ☙ ☙ ☙ ☙

Chapters 13-26

Geon Woo's love language, I think, is his actions. He fights off the gangsters that bully Eui Joon into giving them discounts or even paying for them from his own pockets so they won't have to. He gives Eui Joon food and medicine when he finds out he was sick (the morning after having sex with him in the car for hours, lol). He likes taking care of the person he likes. So in Chapter 26, when he "confesses" to Eui Joon, that was Geon Woo pointing out that he's been doing the same thing all along.

"I mean, look at me just once... What kind of person I am. How I treat you. Take a good look at it. If you think that I'm good, then pick me. If not, you can throw me aside." "But. Before you do, you should understand this. Until then, I don't intend to let you get away."

This "non-confession" (he actually tells Eui Joon it wasn't a confession) actually says a lot about Geon Woo. His attitude towards their relationship is very blunt and straightforward. Once he's made a decision, he stops listening to his doubts and stands by it. I don't really know when Geon Woo decided that he liked Eui Joon. It was more slow-growing. In the side stories though, we see him considering this big-time when this thought crosses his mind:

"There's the common phrase of having the opportunity to meet your fateful love. If there's a sign for it, would it be possible to stay vigilant?"

AHJUSSI YOU SOFT-HEARTED ROMANTIC I CAN'T T^T He becomes more bold with Eui Joon afterwards, but he's still a little prickly. He's constantly weighing his options, trying to figure out in what way will doing the things he does for Eui Joon benefit him, if at all. In Chapter 13, when a customer comes inside the store and forces Eui Joon to pay for what he bought, he's on the scales. But then the memory of that morning flashes through his mind, and he remembers how the simple act of Eui Joon giving him his number had made him smile like an idiot. He beats the customer for him, taking the money he owed, and gives it back to Eui Joon. He even manages to casually ask him out on a date. The guy can be smooth as fuck.

Eui Joon: Are you saying... we should eat together? Geon Woo: Sure. I guess I've done something worth compensating. Will you give me my reward?

Take notes, people! At this point, Eui Joon has gotten him wrapped around his finger, and he didn't even know it! Of course, Eui Joon still thinks their relationship is only purely sexual, but then Geon Woo begins doing these uncharacteristically tender gestures that Eui Joon initially interprets as Geon Woo giving him special treatment.

"Let me see your face." "School classes. Are you tired after them" "I'm thinking that... You'll look good in short hair, too."

And Geon Woo even tries to initiate a conversation with Eui Joon when he feels like Eui Joon couldn't take the awkwardness. A good example was when Geon Woo treats him dinner at the restaurant.

"...." "Is this your first time coming to this kind of place?"

Somehow, these things he does still feel kind of forced, like he was genuinely annoyed at Eui Joon and everything he did. Even when he asks to do it with him again and Eui Joon refuses because he was still sore, there was a moment of frustration that shone through.

It was a sign that Geon Woo was still confused about the things he was feeling towards Eui Joon. He knew he wanted him physically, but then he doesn't take up the woman's offer that evening after Eui Joon refuses him. It wasn't actually written on paper, but knowing Geon Woo's character he might have felt uneasy about going through with it. Not particularly on Eui Joon's behalf, but it may have been unconscious because of his budding feelings.

His feelings were something that rattled him, and he was usually undeterred in any kind of situation. What rattled him more was that Eui Joon didn't know anything about what he was going through.

"Being naturally attracted to you, and going through unfamiliar emotions. This feeling should only be felt at an adolescent age."

We're seeing him from behind again. The use of this perspective in manhwas / mangas / comics usually makes you feel like can't tell what the character's thinking about, but most importantly that they're most likely about to go do or SAY SOMETHING DAMN IMPORTANT. Like, maybe, telling their feelings to the person they like!?!?!

"Eui Joon-Ah. I like you."

ASDFGHJKL DID ANYONE SEE THAT COMING?!?!?!

That actually surprised me hella lot. I'd originally thought Geon Woo was the tsundere type, but he was more honest with his feelings than I believed. However, he hadn't been completely convinced by these feelings until Eui Joon had offered to break it off. Suddenly there was an exit to his situation, but he didn't really feel happy about it. He was frustrated at not being able to properly understand what his words made him feel. Because the truth was he didn't want to break things off. He just wouldn't admit to himself at the time that the reason was he actually wanted Eui Joon.

We could see him debating it himself, poor thing:

"I didn't expect myself to be in a situation where I couldn't even understand my own feelings. I should've figured it out the moment I couldn't understand my sexual preference. I'm not that young anymore... What is this?" "No... It could also be a spur of the moment... It doesn't seem to be like that. It might also be due to pride, but I feel it's not necessary for these kinds of feelings to affect my pride... But even when it's like this, I still want to..."

Geon Woo decides to "have a little fun" before conceding to Eui Joon's request to "end their entanglement". But I've noticed that whenever something bothers Geon Woo too much, he takes a smoke. When Eui Joon makes the suggestion, Geon Woo does just that.

The slightly rough way in which Geon Woo treats him afterwards shows his frustration. He grabs his arm roughly and pulls him towards the car, but he doesn't realize he was hurting Eui Joon's wrist with his own watch until Eui Joon whines in pain—at which point Geon Woo just laces his hand through his instead. Which I thought was so sweet T^T

When Eui Joon freaks out about doing it at the school where he studies and asks Geon Woo to consider it for him, Geon Woo says, "Do I have to consider that for you too?" And when Eui Joon asks for him to do that, Geon Woo replies, "I guess I've been too nice to you." THE MAN WAS FREAKING FRUSTRATED!!! Geon Woo even challenges him to stay quiet, telling him no one will hear them if he does. Throughout the whole thing, Geon Woo wanted to dominate him, daring him to take what pleasure he could give him, but with an aggression that bespeaks the storm in his heart and mind. Reading it back, I realized just how damn hot that scene was. I mean, goddamn. After Geon Woo admits his feelings, there's a serenity about him afterwards. He no longer has to second-guess taking care of Eui Joon or expressing what he felt towards him. He gives him food and medicine the next day since he caught a fever. He "invites himself" to watch a movie with him since they both had nothing to do for the rest of the day. The guy was basically courting Eui Joon, haha. Not a confession, my ass XD

And then, when Eui Joon opens up about how he rejected Hyeon Woo, Geon Woo tells him he'll also wait for him for around three years T^T

MY HEART I CAN'T T ^ T ☙ ☙ ☙ ☙ ☙ So that's kiiind of a long breakdown. I included as little pictures as possible. Copyright and all that. I just really like this series so far. I want to be able to read the original someday. Hopefully I'd be able to learn Korean T^T. If you like this as much as I do, chat me up =D would love to hear other thoughts.

[fellowstrangetownappreciator]

Curious and autistic-coded

Hello there! April draws to an end and with that I think it’s high time to hurry up and write this. What does April have to do with anything, you ask? April is the Autism Acceptance Month. So what better month to do this?

Unfortunately I didn’t make it. I failed. It’s already 1. 5. when I’m posting this. But at least I tried to deliver on time.

In this mini essay I’ll present my case about why I think the Curious brothers from TS2 Strangetown display autistic-coded traits and my personal takes on it.

It’s basically your average headcanon post but with a funny top hat!

0: Preface: What do I mean by “autistic-coded”?

When a character is coded as something, it means that they have traits that are associated with the demographics in question to make the consumer knowingly or not link the character with the demographic, although the character's "label” is never explicitly disclosed.

In the nutshell, it means that there are canonical reasons to read the characters as autistic, although you won't find the word "autism" anywhere in the game nor in the developer's commentary.

In this particular case I do believe that the developer may not even be aware of the code, as there is no evidence to suggest otherwise. If there is, I’m not aware of it and I would be happy to learn.

So, let’s start!

1: “The white male who is very good at science”

Unfortunately autistic representation in pop-culture has a long history of being rather straightforward in which traits the characters often have. This stems from the belief that autism is “a boy’s disorder” (that’s why some autism charities to this day use blue in their symbols). Among popular examples of autistic-coded characters are Big Bang Theory’s Sheldon Cooper and Death Note’s L and Near. I’m sure you can think of more but you’ll find that most of them are men and either explicitly white or racially ambiguous white-passing. They also tend to be gifted in tech, logic or other science-y activities.

There’s nothing wrong with that! Nothing wrong with being an autistic with those “stereotypical” characteristics and there is nothing wrong with people being represented. What is wrong is the monotony and afab people/people of color being underrepresented which leads (among other factors) to harder access to diagnosis and resources for those people in real life. But! That’s a topic for a different day. (and not for a simbrl, mind you)

Back to the Curiouses! I just wanted to say that autism in media is traditionally associated with characters whose gender presentation, race and interests align with theirs. Those characteristic thus make a very convenient template for autistic-coding.

2: Inconsistent performance, huge gaps between strengths and weaknesses

Pascal, Vidcund and Lazlo are very skilled Sims by default, extraordinarily even for their age. Pascal has a skill maxed while his younger brothers both near maxing theirs.

But as you can see in Pascal’s default skill panel, apart from Creativity, all his other skills are extremely low, 0 points for Mechanical, Body and Charisma, 1 point for Cooking and Logic and his second best skill, Cleaning, has only 3 points. The same situation can be observed in Vidcund’s and Lazlo’s, except their strong suits are Logic and Cooking respectively.

Huge discrepancies within performance in different cognitive areas is a common trait found in those on the autism spectrum. We’re often talking extremes here and the scale of the difference is the defining factor. Everyone has their strengths and weaknesses, it’s just in neurodivergent people those tend to be unusually noticeable.

I think that skills, simplified as they are, are the closest The Sims has to possibly simulate that because they track the character’s performance and expertise in different areas and allow comparison. In real life, of course, this comparison is not nearly as possible and exact, nor desired, but for all our analysis-loving enthusiasm, here we’re still talking fictional characters.

3: Struggle with social cues

It is widely known that one of autistic traits are difficulties with processing social situations, picking social cues and successfully replicating socially desired behavioral patterns.

But these three are Sims, are they not? They cannot possibly display this trait, since they’re programmed the same way as others.

Yes and no.

It is true that there is no specific in-game feature that would allow Sims to behave with explicit neurodivergency in mind* but with the right combination of traits they can simulate behavior that really hits close to home for neurodivergent players.

*at least not in TS2, TS3 has traits that simulate some possible neurodivergencies but their names tend to be rather... ableist unfortunate and they’re not relevant to this post since they’re not autism related, and even if they were, we’re focusing on TS2 exclusively

Let’s take look at Lazlo here. He is, indeed, a playful soul. He likes to goof around, tell jokes, make others laugh. And since he’s very close to his brother Vidcund, close enough even to Tell Dirty Joke (an interaction that needs quite a high relationship to unlock), he autonomously does just that.

And oh boy, does Vidcund disapprove.

From my personal experience playing them, their relationship usually takes quite a hit from every cheeky joke Lazlo throws Vid’s way. They usually autonomously repair it very quick but it happens often.

But that’s a standard behavior. Vidcund’s very serious, he doesn’t take well to jokes.

No. I mean technically yes, Vid is definitely a grumpy old plant dad but, at least in my game, he tends to accept Lazlo’s jokes. All kinds of them, actually, except for the dirty ones. And Pascal, who technically has even lower Playful points (0 in comparison to Vidcund’s 4), doesn’t seem to mind Lazlo’s poor attempts at grown-up humor.

But! What is it that makes Lazlo try still? What drives him to attempt to make Vidcund laugh with a dirty joke over and over again? (and fail?)

I my interpretation, Lazlo doesn’t do that on purpose, he is just really poor at evaluating “dirtiness” of a given joke and frequently misinterprets Vidcund’s cues. The animation of a dirty joke being rejected even supports that as Vid doesn’t signal his discomfort with any exaggerated easy-to-read facial expression until Lazlo gets to his punchline.

No only that but as I mentioned, the invisible lines between spicy and too vulgar are often hard to thread. I can recall many times I thought I was saying a witty quip on an “adult” topic and was met with awkward silence or someone shushing me because “that’s not how you speak in public”. I can well imagine myself in Lazlo’s shoes.

A situation of social cues being misinterpreted or ignored can be observed also in Vidcund. Programming-wise, those are just his low Niceness and extreme Shyness showing but combined they again paint a picture of a very neurodivergent-looking behavioral pattern.

He often behaves like the concept of politeness or social rules doesn’t exist because the combination of the aforementioned traits makes him come off very blunt (lecturing and shoving telescope-peepers with no warning whatsoever) and distant (having a high chance of rejecting simple small-talk socials).

(That’s Jasmine Rai casting the “Summon Vidcund” spell.)

Yes, I am fully aware that it makes a stronger case for him being an a**hole than autistic but... there’s no reason he can’t be both. Not all autistic people are sweet cinnamon buns, all personalities you can think of can be neurodiverse and, for some their neurodiversity can even amplify their inconsiderate ways, as I believe it is the case with our dear grouch Vidcund.

4. Their bios

“No matter what happens, Pascal believes there is a logical explanation for everything. In his free time, he practices home psychoanalysis and collects conspiracy theories.”

(that’s how I imagine practicing psychoanalysis looks like, sorry Freud)

“Serious and exact, Vidcund strives to fit the universe into a nice tidy package. He has an unnatural fondness for African violets.”

(let’s collectively pretend those are African violets)

“Not as studious as his older brothers, Lazlo got his degree in Phrenology. He likes to call phone psychics and spends hours trying to bend forks with his mind.”

*error: screenshot of Lazlo bending forks not found*

(but here he is hanging out with Erin Beaker, the closest thing to “calling phone psychics” you can actually do in-game)

Both Pascal’s and Vidcund’s bios point to a pattern-focused worldview with a strong emphasis on rationality as the center-point that anchors the way they understand the world around them and build their principles on. This “pattern-ization” of thinking is a common autistic trait, with rationality being a popular theme because emotions tend to be difficult to access and asses for many of us.

Lazlo’s biography is an outlier. But it still has something significant in common with those of his brothers: All three of their bios allude to a potential special interest of sorts.

Special interests as an autism-related term are very specific, in-depth and long-term hobbies or areas of expertise that make an autistic person happy and they tend to go to seemingly exhausting lengths, often at the cost of other areas of knowledge and most likely the person’s ability to talk about anything else for a long enough time. (a loving hyperbole, no disrespect meant) Mine are my characters and cats. An even more intense but a short(er)-term passion is called a hyperfixation.

Them potentially having a special interest is yet another possible autistic-coded feature.

5. Wait. Why does it matter?

Right. What does it matter if a Sim (A SIM) (or two or three) is autistic? What do I hope to achieve, pushing my autistic Curiouses agenda down your throats?

I got to write a long rant-piece about some of my favorite TS characters and I feel like I can finally die satisfied.

Apart from that and me sharing my happiness of finding some good pixels I can relate to, it is a matter of representation.

Remember by the very beginning I wrote how most of the representation our community gets in media tends to be just a one specific type of character?

And how the Curious brothers seem to fit the stereotype to a point?

There is something I omitted, something I saved for the last on purpose.

The role. The role in their story, the role in the society the piece of media portrays.

We often see neurodiverse, autistic or autistic-coded character as children, students, villains, lone savants, victims in distress, comedic relief sidekicks, either very vulnerable and needing protection, or detached and having their role defined only by their academic prowess or their special interest/profession.

What we rarely get to see them as, are... parents.

That’s what many of us autistics are or plan to be someday in the future. The dogma around autism has started to dwindle relatively recently and there are little to no examples of autistic adults being the care-givers for once in the media around us.

The Curious brothers are just that. They are chaotic, they are eccentric, they can be a little too much... but they are dutiful and loving fathers/uncles to their little aliens they raise.

They make it work. Even if they face difficulties, even if they don’t exactly fit the standard.

“Sometimes, a family truly can be three brothers raising alien babies, and it’s beautiful.”

It encourages us to define family by love rather than traditional structures and it shows us that portrait of a functional neurodiverse family we need to see.

And goodness, is it a powerful sight.

[bounce-a-coin-off-your-witcher]

In My Dreams Tonight

for @chaotic-bard who asked me for some fluff!

have a soulmates that dream about each other au featuring both a modern au and the canon universe!

brought to you by “Dreams Tonite” by Alvvays

---

“You’re nothing but trouble, bard,” the tall man glared from atop his horse. He always seemed to be glaring or glowering or huffing, the man in Jaskier’s dreams. The familiar stranger wore his long white hair pulled halfway back and he had golden eyes, the pupils of which were slit up the center like a cat’s. His name, Jaskier had learned after the third straight week of seeing him every night, was Geralt of Rivia. A Witcher, apparently, whose job it was to hunt down monsters.

“Ah, but what a lovely piece of trouble I am!” Jaskier replies. And he’s rather sassy himself in these dreams. Far more clever and ready to fight than he is when he’s awake. “You would miss me if I left, wouldn’t you, Geralt?”

“Hmm.”

The stranger hums a lot. He glares and he hums. Jaskier’s heart stutters frightfully in his chest whenever the man smiles, though. The sight is rare. Geralt has smiled perhaps three times in the past two months.

“Where are we going today?”

“Werewolf outside of town. You’re staying at the inn, where I know you can’t get into… nevermind. You can get into trouble anywhere.”

There’s a lightly teasing tone to the stranger’s voice that Jaskier hasn’t really heard before. He likes it. He craves more of it. He tosses and turns in his sleep, his skin damp with sweat. The dream goes on.

“Geralt, please,” he whines, “I can’t write ballads about monsters I haven’t seen! Or fights I did not attend! That’s lying to my audience, Geralt, and I simply won’t do it. I must go with you.”

“Drop it, Jaskier,” the man snarls. Jaskier feels sad. Incredibly sad.

Rejected?

“Gera-”

“I said drop it, bard.”

Jaskier wakes up feeling a little heartbroken and he yearns to be held. His pillow holds the fading scents of leather and wood-smoke. The sight of a pine sapling at the dog park makes him tear up.

He starts to wear the color yellow out of nowhere and his taste in jewelry switches from gold to silver. 

When his best friend asks him about the recent changes, he cannot answer.

---

Geralt pours himself a mug of tea and shakes his hair out of his face. He’s been having odd dreams lately, things that feel familiar but manage to stay just out of his conscious grasp. Someone important is waiting for him. Someone he love and cares about and needs. 

Geralt doesn’t really buy into the concept of soulmates, but he does understand instinct. He knows to trust his gut. He knows to listen and start paying attention when the same haunting blue eyes creep into his dreams every night for six months, plaguing him in the waking hours by refusing to give up their owners’ identity. 

He wipes a hand down his face and sighs loudly into the otherwise empty studio apartment. “Fuck me, I gotta figure this shit out. I gotta talk to Yen.”

Talking to himself has always helped him calm down. He does it again, just to hear his own low voice scraping through the silence. 

“I gotta see what’s going on with my head. These dreams are… getting to be a bit much, even for me.”

He nods to no one in particular and goes to text his best friend and coworker.

---

Jaskier hops off the bus and carries his guitar case down to the coffee shop on the corner. Finally, he’s managed to get a gig that wasn’t through the university.

He sets up his stuff in the tiny alcove the shop treats as a stage and watches as a few customers stroll around near the counter, waiting for their drinks or reading through the menu, hovering just far away enough from the line to keep others from growing confused.

He loves people watching. 

Once everything is ready to go and the light outside the window has dimmed a bit, indicating early evening has finally arrived, he pulls his guitar onto his lap and strums through a few quick chords.

“Rode here on the bus,

Now you're one of us.

It was magic hour,

Counting motorbikes on the turnpike;

One of Eisenhower's.”

 “Live your life on a merry-go-round;

Who starts a fire just to let it go out?”

He watches a particularly handsome man with broad shoulders and a vintage denim jacket approach the counter. Jaskier adds a haunting, well-practiced lilt to his voice as he goes into the chorus, hoping to get his attention:

“If I saw you on the street,

Would I have you in my dreams tonight?

If I saw you on the street,

Would I have you in my dreams tonight, tonight?”

An equally beautiful woman with long, curly black hair approaches the denim-clad angel and whisks him towards a table nearby. She settles with her back to Jaskier, leaving him with a decent view of the man’s sharp, lightly stubbled jaw, glittering eyes, and severe white ponytail. He’s gorgeous.

He’s also uncomfortably familiar.

Jaskier continues to perform, trying to identify his attractive mystery man the whole time and failing miserably.

---

“He’s everywhere, Yen. I feel like I could identify him by scent if I got close enough. I can’t remember his name, though. Or the color of his hair. I don’t know his face, only his eyes. It’s driving me crazy.”

“Have you talked to Dr. deStael about it?”

“Yeah, but she said this kind of thing is normal. Recurring dreams often help us sort out our trauma or something like that. I don’t know. I don’t feel traumatized by this guy I feel… protective of him. Maybe even like I love him?”

“Hmm.”

“Hey, that’s my line.”

“Shut up for a minute, this live music actually slaps and I want to listen to it. Then we can discuss your weird possessive tendencies towards your dream boyfriend.”

Geralt takes a slow sip of his coffee and glances up at the singer off to their left, perched on a barstool with his guitar held carefully on his lap. His voice is soft but somehow bright. Geralt finds himself utterly entranced.

“On the weird guitar;

Said you'd go to work

In the waking hour.

In fluorescent light,

Antisocialites watch a wilting flower.”

 “Live your life on a merry-go-round;

Who builds a wall just to let it fall down?”

The lyrics are strange and hold a dream-like quality to them. They draw a picture in Geralt’s head, something dark and heavy and oddly hollow. He has another sip of coffee and tries to ignore the feeling of panic welling up inside him. He glances at Yennefer to see if she’s picked up on his mood, but her violet eyes are focused on the singer and his nimble fingers as he continues to play and sing.

When he glances up towards their table and their eyes meet, Geralt loses the ability to breathe.

That shade of cornflower blue was…

Couldn’t be…

Had to be…

The gorgeous, feathery tenor continues to fill the air, whirling pleasant notes past his ears and deep into his subconscious. Geralt knows that voice. He’s heard this man laugh and sing and cry and scream a thousand different times. Through a handful of different lives. Geralt knows that face, those hands, those strong legs and long arms and blue fucking eyes. He’s held this singer in his arms every night for centuries, feeling his breathing as they both drift off to sleep.

He has protected this man and been protected by him in return. He has kissed and been kissed, caressed and been caressed. The two men sitting across from each other in the coffee shop physically embody an endless cycle of love. It has been bound up in the souls of two no-longer strangers. Geralt knows that he knows this man. 

He knows Jaskier.

Petal pink lips continue to form soft words and slender hands keep plucking at vibrating guitar strings:

“Don't sit by the phone for me,

Wait at home for me, all alone for me.

Your face was supposed to be

Hanging over me, like a rosary.”

Geralt stands suddenly, startling Yennefer but not the performer, even though he’s clearly just as shocked as Geralt about this recent development.

Their mutual realization.

“So morose for me,

Seeing ghosts of me,

Writing oaths to me,

Is it so naïve to wonder…”

Geralt crosses the room to the edge of the stage in three quick strides. Yennefer is close behind him, her latte just as abandoned as his coffee at their table. She grabs her friend’s arm as if to stop him from doing something violent, but when he doesn’t struggle against her grip she lets it go again easily. 

“Geralt?” the musician asks.

“Jaskier?” Geralt replies. The guitar is placed quickly to the side and a pair of incredibly familiar arms are thrown around the taller man’s neck. Geralt hugs back just as firmly, his arms flung low around the brunette’s waist. Geralt knows that this is Jaskier’s favorite way to be embraced; he doesn’t know how he’s aware of that fact, but it comes to the front of his mind clear as day. 

“Holy shit,” Jaskier breathes, leaning back to stare Geralt in the face. One of his string-calloused fingers traces down over Geralt’s eyelid and cheek and he cocks his head to the side. “No scar?”

“No,” Geralt shakes his head. “Not this lifetime, I guess.”

“Were we? Are we- are we, you know...?”

“Yeah,” Yen beams, adding her two cents from the sidelines. “I think so. Congrats, boys. This is one of those one in a million chances and you’ve gone and done it.”

“Done what?” Geralt asks. Jaskier tosses his head back and laughs. His happiness rings out through the cafe like a struck bell and Geralt’s heart stutters frantically. He really does love this man already. Wholeheartedly and without fear. “What have we done, Yen?”

“As obtuse now as you were then,” Jaskier chides affectionately. “Soulmates, my love. We’ve been bound by the red string of fate and ta-da! Here we are. Again, apparently.”

“Yes, okay,” Geralt breathes, nosing his way along Jaskier’s jaw with giddy determination. He presses a quick and wholly welcome kiss to the bard’s lips. “That makes sense.”

 “Do you... do you want me again? This time around?” Jaskier asks, fingers fiddling with one of the ties on Geralt’s hoodie. A pair of chapped lips press against his again and he sighs into it, melting against his no-longer-Witcher. 

“Yes. And the next one, as well.”

[lazyevaluationranch]

I was wondering if you would be willing to share the titles of your resilience-inspiring lesbian farm books? My google search led me to a book titled “Attack of the Lesbian Farmers” which, while certainly inspiring, is not exactly what I was looking for.

Here are two very different books in the Farm Lesbians Write Honestly About What Went Wrong And How They Got Through It genre. Hopefully at least one is to your taste.

It's nearly fifty years old now, and can be hard to find, but Country Women: A Handbook for the New Farmer is deeply important to me. Country Women was a black and white xeroxed magazine written by a collective of woman-run farms in California in the 1960s. (There are some issues scanned at the Lesbian Poetry Archive). Each issue was half articles about feminism and half articles about small-scale farming. In the 1970s, the how-to articles on farming were expanded and organized to make the book, along with some scattered journal entries, lovely hippie-style line drawings and poetry about wood splitting, bees, and gazing at one's beloved while fixing the tractor on a summer day. The contributors have names like Jean and Ruth Mountaingrove, Ellen Chanterelle, and Sam♀ Thomas. 

It's written in an informal and pragmatic style, mostly organic hippie farming, but using pesticides or conventional medications when necessary.

This afternoon the Anderson brothers began teaching me how to graft fruit trees - the careful joining of life with life. Even more than I loved gaining a new skill, I loved learning from two old men who have so very much to teach me. I admire the audacity of eighty-three-year-old men setting grafts that will not bear fruit for years: the total involvement in a process they love. Those trees will stand and live; I doubt whether Jake or Fred even stop to wonder if they'll pick the fruit. I want to live my life with that kind of harmony and purpose. I want to be planting seeds the day I die.

The first lamb was born today. Premature and dead. Olivia, the mother, seems to be all right though. I had a dream a few weeks ago that the lambs were born tiny (like mice) and pink. And that I struggled to save them, but they were too small to feed. The lamb today was small and pink, its fleece plastered against its body, thin and sparse. For a moment it was nightmareishly like my dream... This is my first animal death. The beginning of a long cycle. It seems even harder to have death come before life, than to have an old one die giving birth. Hopes for the future stillborn.

Driving home today, I suddenly realized that this really is going to be a sheep ranch, that I have done, and am doing, and will do it. That I'm making my livelihood from the land. The canyon is fenced now. There are  sheep out there on pastures that were open hillsides two years ago. 

The very act of building this place, the simple actions of tamping dirt, stretching wire, dumping hay in feeders, has profoundly changed my sense of self. I'm doing things I never dreamed I could do, and I'm doing them easily without even considering whether I really can. Last night I was talking with Susan about fencing the front meadow for feeder calves, and I realized that I could say that realistically, no fantasizing, no bragging: I can fence the front meadow as soon as I get done with the hay barn and get a little more money.

Like almost every other farmer in America today, I'm in debt and hoping for a good season. I'm only at the beginning now, and I know there are many struggles to come and overcome and come again: Someday I too, like my neighbours, will be counting carcasses killed by a marauding dog or watching the spring oats be wash away in an "unheard of" late storm. No matter how prepared I am, there us always that vulnerability - to the weather, other animals, disease - that seems to strike when things are finally going smoothly. But inside me there is also this incredible joy: This life is real and good, and it has made me strong and real and good too. 

I gotta stop or I'll type the whole book into this post. One more: 

My father is here this week ... working on the truck whose engine has been alien to me. I am learning now what I could have learned at 7, 11, 15. Beneath my truck, side by side, lie his seven-year-old son and his twenty-five-year-old daughter, both of us learning for the first time how bearings fit together, how to remove pistons. And here beneath this truck the patriarchy stops: he has passed his knowledge to his daughter, and from me  it will pass to sisters, from sister to sister to sister. 

That's this book. The things women weren't supposed to know in the sixties. They found people to teach them; they taught each other; they learned through bitter loss. The book says: we have gone before you and you are not alone. Here is what we have learned, and here is how we have learned it. We have failed, and we have wept, and we have gotten up and gone on, and it was alright. Here is the fire, passed from hand to hand to hand. Here is the light that will never be put out. 

The week after we first got goats, we received a package in the mail from my coolest relative, a veterinarian who was the first woman to graduate with a specialization in large animal medicine at her school. People thought that women just weren't physically capable of handling large animals. (Hint: the bull weights 1100 kilograms. It doesn't much matter if the veterinarian weighs 50 kilograms or 150 kilograms.) I remember staying with her a child, in summer, laying on the stainless steel operating table in the barn; it always felt cool when the heat was unbearable.

The package, of course, contained Country Women. An old well-loved copy, with notes on long-ago calving dates penciled in the margins, and random scraps of paper with sketches of possible gardens and goat sheds as bookmarks.  A light passed from hand to hand, a light that will not go out. It was like receiving a video game quest artifact.

Country Women is rooted in second wave feminism, which is not everyone's cup of tea. For something more modern and story-focussed, consider Hit By A Farm or Sheepish by Catherine Friend. These are collections of short, funny autobiographical essays about farming and relationships. Their tone is honest and wry, self-deprecating. You can see Catherine Friend's blog here and decide if you like her writing style. She wanted to call Hit By A Farm "Sheep Sex and Other Disasters" but her editor didn't think it would sell. 

In Hit By A Farm, Catherine - a professional writer - goes along with her partner Melissa's lifelong desire to ranch sheep, and describes the results from the perspective of the slightly reluctant farmer's wife as they start a farm in Minnesota.  Sheepish is written fifteen years later, when they're thinking about quitting the farm, after all the shiny newness of farming and the relationship has worn off. There are different mistakes then, different sorrows, and new joys. 

From Sheepish: 

We rarely pay attention to middles. Perhaps we ignore them because they're problematic. The middles of our beds often sag. The middles of our bodies sag. The middle of a long story told by your brother-in-law is likely to sag, and so you'll need another beer to stay focused. Everyone needs a reason to keep going when they're in the middle. 

And:

Don't expect a farm to fix your life, for once the romance dims, you must still muck out the barn and stack hay bales and give that sick goat an enema...Although there are tons of stories about starting something new, there just aren't that many about how to keep doing something, about how to slog through the middle when the going gets tough.

The quotes are all from Sheepish; I can't find our copy of Hit By A Farm:

My spinning wheel continues to torture and confound me. I realize I'm not interested enough in the craft to really commit to learning it. After a few more tries, I tuck the wheel into a corner of our living room and turn it into what Melissa likes to call a Dust Accumulation Research Project. Clearly our wool market will continue to be the wildly unlucrative wholesale warehouse.

The patron saint of spinners is, interestingly enough, Saint Catherine. She was a Christian martyr in Alexandria. In 307 AD, she was condemned to be torn apart by the spokes of the wheel.

Well. No wonder.

Spoiler: things get pretty rough, there’s illness and hard winters and financial issues, but they do not, in fact, give up the farm or each other. 

The book says: We made it. You will too.

[themoonlily]

I deliberated whether or not to write anything about this, but seems I can't keep silent, so here goes...

There was a post about Éowyn and the culpability of her male relatives in her situation in ROTK, and I must admit it did not sit well with me. I'm all for Éowyn and recognising how miserable she was or how it drove her to seek death on the battlefield, but I don't tolerate the idea that her family are somehow to be blamed for it, nor what it ultimately implies: that mental illness is and must always be Someone's Fault, that you are to be blamed if you don't recognise it for what it is, or that you should naturally know how to deal with it.

Could they have done more to support her? Probably. Did they fail in recognising how depressed and self-destructive she had become? Very much so. Is it somehow because of them? I don't think it's that simple because families rarely are (especially families in a position of power).

You could go all the way back to the death of Éomund and Théodwyn, and how it would have impacted their orphaned children, how they perceived duty to the family while being in the position that they were in: the responsibility of watching over their people. Éomund and Théodwyn's deaths are namely why I can't believe Éomer would not care about his sister or do anything he can for her, if he knew she was in trouble. It's plausible that Éomer didn't even live at Edoras but rather held his seat in Aldburg, which was their birth home and previously the seat of Éomund the First Marshal. He wouldn't have watched his sister daily, and it's very likely Éomer was exceedingly busy with his duties, especially when the situation in the land worsened. Considering we don't see his private interactions with Éowyn, it's impossible to say what she did or didn't tell him, if she was showing signs of where she was headed, or if she was hiding the true extent of her despair from him in order to spare him (which people often do when they think their loved ones have more important things to worry about!). Suicidal people don't necessarily express warning signs that even their family would know to read. To judge Éomer as a careless sibling who never paid attention based just on the scene in the Houses of Healing (when she had already walked over the brink) isn't necessarily fair.

Rohirrim are a warlike culture, which would beg to imply that they valued strength and courage. It's not an environment where a person in a position of power, especially when that position is becoming increasingly challenging and demands more and more sacrifice, can manage well if they're already suffering from personal issues. It's also not an environment where you can easily show that you are suffering. Does family always know what's going on or that one of them is having mental problems? Absolutely not. Even in real life, people conceal their troubles from parents and siblings because they don't want loved ones to worry, and if they are already constantly preoccupied (by trying to lead and defend a falling nation, for example), they are even more likely not to realise what's going on. That individuals of superior experience (like long life or supernatural origin and heightened perception, i. e. Aragorn and Gandalf) notice Éowyn's state right away doesn't necessarily mean that her family don't care or that they are somehow at fault for not realising what was going on sooner. Not to mention, at that point, she had declared her situation plainly so it's not a very fair comparison.  

But there's more. What about Théoden and his depression (which I think is at least implied and more than plausible, considering his comment upon coming out of Meduseld: "It's not so dark here")? What about him actually being an old man, fearing he's falling into dotage while there's an exponentially challenging threat to his land, losing himself to despair, and questioning whether he's a failure in the eyes of his forefathers and his own culture, which places great significance in honour and individual's prowess in battle? What about the grief of losing his only child and heir in a very critical hour partly due to his own actions (or rather, his inaction)? And what about the fact he's actively being manipulated and goaded by Wormtongue into yet worse decisions while he is in this frame of mind? Didn't Théoden ride to meet his end as much as Éowyn did? Why does this old struggling man have to put his 'big girl pants' on more than anyone else and why doesn't anything about his situation call for empathy? But then, comparing mental illnesses and arguing whose condition matters the most is absurd.

(I wouldn't say no magical fuckery was involved in Théoden's behaviour as the crisis escalated - at least in the appendix it's said frankly that he was under Saruman's spells and was healed by Gandalf. The actual scene in the books isn't that straightforward, of course, although there are mentions of Wormtongue using some kind of 'leechcraft' to subdue Théoden, that he wasn’t ‘breathing free air’, and Théoden himself praising Gandalf's skill at healing. But certainly Wormtongue was ‘poisoning’ both Théoden and Éowyn’s thoughts, and that can’t have been helpful with their mental states.)

There was a very good post about how Théoden and Denethor in particular have similar narratives and arcs, and how each is teetering on a fine line between estel (hope) and despair - how one redeems himself and the other is ruined. Their family reflect this struggle in other ways, Boromir dying because his despair drove him to desire the Ring, but redeeming himself at the last moment, and Éowyn almost dying because of her despair but finding again hope in life and the prospect of healing. And that's very much the point here, not Whose Fault Is It: the stories of Théoden, Éowyn and Éomer (and of Denethor, Boromir and Faramir) are about Hope versus Despair, which ties in with the greater themes of LOTR. At least that is my takeaway here because mental illness isn’t anyone’s fault and I very much doubt that was ever Tolkien’s message. 

[mbti-mom]

Myers Briggs Cognitive Functions (How To Figure Out Your Myers Briggs Type)

It’s been awhile since I posted on here, but I wanted to post something that would be helpful. Often on the internet I see a lot of misconceptions about the Jungian cognitive functions, so I wanted to try and create more compact summaries of the functions as Jung described them. I’m currently waiting for my WikiHow article on how to figure out your cognitive functions to get approved (if it ever will), so for now I’ll just write out what I wrote for the article here.

I also added some extra notes for beginners on the bottom if you are completely new to typology and confused about what any of this means.

Without further ado, I’ll now get into the summaries.

Introverted Feeling. Jung describes introverted feelers as 'Still waters run deep' type of people. They are quite silent and inaccessible, and can be rather difficult to understand. They often act childishly or banal, and sometimes quite melancholic. They don't tend to shine, and rather keep a type of concealed air about themselves. They don't wish to change others or affect others and don't care to impress. People see them as having a sense of indifference or coldness to their behaviors. They prefer not to be emotional, but their emotions often end up infiltrating their unconscious mind. People may see them and not think that they are feeling, but their feelings are intensive rather than extensive. They develop into their depth. When they try to express sympathy, it often looks like coldness despite their intentions, due to it doing nothing visibly. They may express their aim in inconspicuous ways, preferring to put their passions into things silently. Due to this, this type may often be drawn to the arts. This type of person may particularly draw in extraverted types of people. When they are unhealthy, they may become mischievously cruel or unscrupulous in their ambition.

Extraverted Feeling. Jung describes extraverted feelers as people who follow the guiding lines of their feeling. Their personality often adjusts to external conditions, such as the people that they are talking to. Their feelings correspond with objective situations and generalized values. They often have requirements for the people that they tend to date, and these tend to be things that can be measured on an external level. People who value this function highly often repress their logic to make room for their feelings. This does not mean that this person does not think logically at all, and they could easily think a great deal. They just prefer to use their feelings as a guideline and use their logic to back up what they feel. This type of person would be described in the phrase "I cannot think what I don't feel."  When this individual is unhealthy, they tend to become a servant to their feelings. These people may have the most obsessive and hideous thoughts during this time, which breeds even further doubt in them therefore furthering the control of emotions onto them.

Introverted Thinking. Jung describes introverted thinking types as being influenced by their subjective logical ideas. They will follow their ideas internally, seeking to understand their logic with intensity. This person may have a distinct feeling that they only matter in a negative way. They often will have an indifference to objective sources and prefer to stick to their subjective ideas. With this person, everything about them externally remains concealed. Their judgment appears cold, obstinate, arbitrary, and inconsiderate, simply because they are less interested in the objective reality than the subjective thoughts. Courtesy, amiability, and friendliness may be present in their behaviors, but they often display this with uneasiness. When it comes time for them to transplant their ideas into the world, they merely expose them and are annoyed when their ideas fail to thrive in objective reality. This person often lacks practical ability, and may even have an aversion to practical matters. If in their eyes their idea seems subjectively correct and true, it must also be in practice, and others have to bow to that truth. Hardly will they ever go out of their way to win anyone's appreciation of their ideas, especially if it be anyone of influence. At their unhealthiest, they may allow themselves to be exploited in negative ways if it means that they can continue their internal pursuit of ideas. Their convictions may become rigid and unbending, and they may become incredibly isolated and dependent on their internal world.

Extraverted Thinking. Jung describes extraverted thinkers as people whose constant aim is to bring their total life activities into relation with their intellectual conclusions. These intellectual conclusions are always oriented by objective facts or generally valid ideas. This type of person gives the deciding voice to objective reality, not only to themselves but to people around them as well. They determine good and evil through this measurement, as well as beauty and ugliness. All is right that corresponds with this formula, and all is wrong that contradicts it, and everything that is neutral to it is purely accidental. The person who refuses to obey this law is unreasonable or immoral in their eyes, and without a doubt has no conscience. Purely ethical aims may lead these individuals into critical situations, which sometimes have more than a semblance of being decided by quite other than ethical motives. These people may find themselves in deplorably compromising situations, or in dire need of rescue in this case. Their resolve to save often leads to them employing means which only tend to precipitate what they most desire to avoid. At their unhealthiest points, their desire to advance the salvation of man is so consuming that they will not shrink from any lying and dishonest means in pursuit of their ideal. They may neglect their health in pursuit of their ideals, even neglecting their family or the people that they care about. They may also become incredibly dogmatic, to a rigid extent.

Introverted Sensing. Jung describes introverted sensing as a type characterized by their peculiarities. They are an irrational type, as they are guided simply by what happens to them. They may stand out by the calmness and passivity of their demeanor, or by their rational self-control. They may have an illusory conception of reality, and in the worst-case scenario may even reach a complete inability to discriminate between reality and their subjective perception of reality. Due to their lack of knowledge of objective reality, they can often appear quite strange and odd in character due to their differing perception from objective reality. When others treat them badly, they may prefer to take a position of stubbornness and resistance than to full out aggressiveness. At their unhealthiest, they are incredibly aware of every ambiguous, gloomy, and dangerous possibility in their reality.

Extraverted Sensing. Jung describes extraverted sensing as a type characterized by their attentiveness to reality. Their sense of objective facts is extraordinarily developed. Their life is an accumulation of actual experience with concrete reality. This person does not believe themselves to be subject to sensation. They would actually ridicule that statement as being inconclusive since, from their standpoint, sensation is the concrete manifestation of life. Their aim is concrete enjoyment in objective reality, and their morality is similarly orientated. For in their eyes, true enjoyment has its own special morality, its own moderation and lawfulness, its own unselfishness and devotedness. This person may have little tendency for either reflection or commanding purpose. When they wish to create in objective reality, they do so aiming to fill their senses. They may be incredibly good at putting together aesthetics, or creating great sensational experiences. At their unhealthiest, they become crude pleasure-seekers or unscrupulous hedonists. They don't see reality as a beautiful thing anymore, but rather something to use to solely feed the endless need for new sensations. They may become incredibly jealous individuals running off of high anxiety. They may even turn morbidly primitive, or extremists in behavior.

Introverted Intuition. Jung describes introverted intuition as producing a peculiar type of person. This person may be a mystical dreamer and seer on one hand, and a fantastical crank and artist on the other. There is a general tendency of this type to confine themselves into the perceptive character of intuition. The intensification of their intuition naturally often results in an extraordinary aloofness of the individual from tangible reality, they may even be a complete enigma to their own immediate social circle. If they are an artist, they reveal extraordinary, remote things in their art. Their art may be lovely and grotesque, or whimsical and sublime. They may have visions, where they think to themselves "What does this thought mean for me and the world? What emerges from this vision for me and the world?" The pure intuitive who represses judgment will never meet this question fundamentally, because their only problem is the how of perception. They concern themselves with the meanings of their visions, and troubles less about its further aesthetic possibilities than about the possible moral effects which emerge from its intrinsic significance. At their unhealthiest, they may become quite impulsive, and struggle with unrestraint. They may also have issues talking to people about their visions, as they are often arguments without convincing reason.

Extraverted Intuition. Jung describes extraverted intuition as producing a person who is always aware where possibilities exist. They have a keen nose for things that have a promising future. They can never exist in stable, long-established conditions because they are always looking for new possibilities. Stable conditions often feel suffocating to them. They take on new subjects with extreme enthusiasm and intensity, only to abandon them cold-bloodedly and seemingly out of nowhere. As long as a possibility exists, this person feels bound to it. They have their own characteristic morality, which consists in a loyalty to their intuitive view of things. At their unhealthiest, they may rely entirely upon a perception of chance and possibilities. They may become incredibly attuned to hazards in their life. They may also become a hypochondriac as their fears and phobias increase.

What do I do now?

Order your functions. You will now need to order your functions from most used to least used. You will want to choose one thinking function, one feeling function, one sensing function, and one intuition function. Then order these based on the amount that you use each of them, from most to least.

In Jungian cognitive functions, there is a rule that each function in your stack has an opposite opposing it.

These opposing functions are thinking & feeling and sensing & intuition. Each person will have one of each function, and they can only have two introverted functions and two extraverted functions. You can't have two extraverted opposing functions, nor can you have two introverted opposing functions. You also can't have two extraverted functions paired right next to each other, or two introverted functions paired next to each other.

An example of this would be the function stack of ISTJ: They lead with introverted sensing, then their auxiliary function is extraverted thinking, then their tertiary function is introverted feeling, then finally their inferior function is extraverted intuition.

Another example is the function stack of ENFP. They lead with extraverted intuition, then their auxiliary function is introverted feeling, their tertiary function is extraverted thinking, and their inferior function is introverted sensing.

Remember that lesser valued functions will not be as apparent in your life. A high introverted thinking user may not relate to the extraverted feeling description of preferring emotion over logic, and that is to be expected. The function you value less is often suppressed for the greater function until you learn to use them in harmony.

Know the names of the cognitive functions.

Each function has a name as well as an abbreviation that is commonly used.

Introverted Feeling, also commonly referred to as Fi.

Extroverted Feeling, also commonly referred to as Fe.

Introverted Thinking, also commonly referred to as Ti.

Extroverted Thinking, also commonly referred to as Te.

Introverted Sensing, also commonly referred to as Si.

Extroverted Sensing, also commonly referred to as Se.

Introverted Intuition, also commonly referred to as Ni.

Extroverted Intuition, also commonly referred to as Ne.

The Types:

ISTJ - Si-Te-Fi-Ne

ISFJ - Si-Fe-Ti-Ne

ESTJ - Te-Si-Ne-Fi

ESFJ - Fe-Si-Ne-Ti

ISTP - Ti-Se-Ni-Fe

ISFP - Fi-Se-Ni-Te

ESTP - Se-Ti-Fe-Ni

ESFP - Se-Fi-Te-Ni

INTJ - Ni-Te-Fi-Se

INFJ - Ni-Fe-Ti-Se

ENTJ - Te-Ni-Se-Fi

ENFJ - Fe-Ni-Se-Ti

INTP - Ti-Ne-Si-Fe

INFP - Fi-Ne-Si-Te

ENTP - Ne-Ti-Fe-Si

ENFP - Ne-Fi-Te-Si

Learning how to narrow types. If you find that you have a function stack that is oddly laid out, such as Ni-Ti-Fe-Se, determine the closest likely type. In the case of those functions, the closest match would be INFJ. In the case where you relate to two extraverted functions of opposing function groups, you must determine which of the two you relate to more. For example, if you relate to both Te and Fe, try to narrow down which you think describes you better and choose the introverted function for the other one.

If you need any further help, feel free to shoot me an ask at any time.