#it's the self-flagellation you put yourself through and the pride that makes you do it over and over again

[eldritchflapper]

Thinking of how not saving my hentai is a metaphor for my abandonment issues

[syllvane]

muscle memory pt. 3- sylvie x reader

a/n: i said i was going to post tomorrow but i couldn’t help myself. anyways, spoilers for episode 2 and 3 of loki, minor spoilers for the beginning of episode 3. final word count is 1.7k words!

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“How is Loki doing?” You asked Mobius, walking with him to the mess hall.

“He’s doing great. Making real progress, I would say.”

“Didn’t you have to have a meeting with Renslayer this morning because of his actions?” You asked, raising your eyebrows. His face scrunched up for a second.

“It’s like every time he is making progress, he takes two steps back.”

“That sounds more believable. You still think he’s worth all the trouble though?”

Mobius sighed slightly. “I really do believe in him. It’s not just an issue of whether I believe in him though, it’s whether Ravonna and the Timekeepers do.”

“Oh, you’re on first name basis now, with Renslayer?” You turned and grinned at Mobius, who immediately flushed after realizing his mistake.

“Not a word of this to anyone.” He said strictly, although there was a smile on his face as well.

“Yeah, yeah.” You said, standing in line with Mobius as he ordered his lunch before sitting down at a two-seat table. “Ravonna and Mobius-”

“C-7.” Mobius said strictly, although you could tell he was partly amused by your antics.

You continued in the same quiet, sing-songy voice as before.

“-on a jet ski. K-I-S-S-I-N-G.”

Mobius finished taking a sip of his drink and then applauded quietly, so as to not draw attention.

“Has anyone ever told you that you truly have all the originality of a grade-schooler?”

Before you could answer, you were interrupted by a tall man with long dark hair speed walking over to where Mobius and you were sitting.

Although he seemed to be in a hurry, you could tell that he was sizing up everybody in the room, including yourself.

“I found- oh, sorry. Didn’t see you there. Would you mind moving so that me and my partner could discuss something?” He asked politely, even smiling.

You locked eyes with him, smiling back at him.

“I’m good, thanks. You can just pull up a chair.”

His smile wavered and he maintained eye contact for a couple of moments longer before breaking it, going to a different table and pulling over a chair.

(You ignored the pointed look Mobius shot at you, like he was asking you to be the bigger person here. Unfortunately for him, you had no such intentions.)

“Right. I know how the Variant is hiding.”

Mobius leaned back.

“Talk about burying the lead. How?”

Loki smiled slightly, this smile much different from his last- he was proud of himself.

“He’s hiding in apocalypses.” 

There was a moment of silence. You and Mobius exchanged a glance.

“Which one? There’s like a million all across history.” Mobius pointed out and Loki took a second to compose himself before starting his explanation.

You sat back as he explained his reasoning, watching with amusement as he put more salt and pepper into Mobius’ salad, handing him your own drink when he realized that Mobius’ drink was empty.

He gave you a nod of recognition and Mobius sent you another, even more exasperated glance as Loki poured your drink into the salad (although, in your opinion, seeing Loki grin like that made it worth it).

                                                             —— “How was Pompeii?” You asked, not even having to look up from the apocalypse case files to figure out that it was Loki who was approaching you.

He stopped for a minute, almost taken aback by your observation, before continuing and taking a seat in front of you.

“I was right, naturally.”

You scoffed slightly.

“Naturally.”

You looked up at him to find that his piercing eyes were already looking at you, almost curiously.

“You’re already sorting through the apocalypse files.”

“Naturally occurring disasters with no survivors, cross-referenced with the candy that Mobius picked up. You were confident that you were right so I figured I should start looking.”

Loki raised his eyebrows and smiled slightly.

“You’re smarter than you look. Could’ve saved me and Mobius some time.” 

“He forgot to cross-reference?”

He nodded, hesitating for a moment before he grabbed some of the files that you hadn’t started looking over yet.

You looked at him appreciatively, though he wasn’t looking at you anymore. 

The two of you sat there, looking at the case files in a comfortable silence for a couple of minutes before Mobius walked into your office as well.

“What’s this?” Mobius asked, taking a cursory glance at the file on top.

“Kablooie.” You said simply and Mobius sighed slightly, frustrated that he hadn’t thought of it.

He grabbed a couple of files as well, standing up as he started reading.

“I think I have something,” Loki said a couple of minutes later, splaying the case out on your desk so that everyone could see. “Class ten apocalypse. Alabama, 2050.”

You looked it over and even just with a cursory glance, you could tell that this is where the Variant was hiding- you looked over at Mobius and saw pride on his face.

“You’re gonna take my job if I’m not careful.”

“Now to pitch it to Renslayer.” You said and Mobius nodded, already halfway out of your office. He closed the door behind him and you looked at Loki. “I don’t think I’ve seen him this excited in a while. In fact, the last time I saw him this excited, I think we saw a jet ski on a mission.”

Loki smiled to himself, though the expression disappeared when he looked back at you.

“And what about you?”

“Hm?” You tilted your head slightly, caught off-guard by the question.

“What excites you?” 

You held his gaze for a couple of moments, feeling uncomfortable with how he looked at you, as if he knew something about you that you didn’t know about yourself. 

You finally looked away, standing up.

“We should go meet Mobius. We’ll be heading out as soon as he gets the approval.”

“You say this like it’s a sure thing.”

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen Renslayer say no to him. Come on.”

                                                          ——

The rain sounded a hundred times louder when you were listening to it hit the roof of the Roxxcart, so loud that you could barely hear the sound of your own voice above the noise.

“What are you doing here?” You asked, positioning your reset baton defensively. The man standing by the plants seemed to hesitate slightly, although he was still much too calm for this kind of weather.

“Hurricane sale. Azaleas are half-off.”

“Could that be you?” You asked Loki, your eyes never leaving the man. Although his eyes continued to look between you and Loki, his gaze lingered on you longer.

“I… mean… I would’ve worn a suit, but it could be.”

You took a couple steps towards the man and he backed up, looking at you pleadingly.

“I don’t want to do this.�� He said quietly and you tilted your head slightly, confused.

You took another step towards him.

“What-”

He grabbed your arm and a warm feeling came over your body.

A woman’s voice in your head lulled you to sleep, promising to bring you home and then everything went dark.

…

“Sylv, why are you acting so weird?” You asked, taking another sip of wine.

The blonde woman across from you smiled, although you could tell that she was forcing it for your sake.

“Another one of my suitors came and visited me today.” She said. You made a face and she laughed slightly.

“Complete fools, every one of them.”

“Fools for being deeply in love with me?” She asked, raising an eyebrow, almost as if she was allowing herself to play the part for a couple of brief moments.

“No, I’m above self-flagellation. They’re fools for thinking that they could ever win your heart.”

She laughed.

“And why is that?”

You leaned back in your chair.

“I have it on very good account that someone already has it.” You said and Sylvie‘s smile faded and her gaze didn’t quite meet yours, almost as if her mind was preoccupied elsewhere.

She looked back at you, her look apologetic.

The scene around you grew distorted, nothing quite clear anymore.

“I’m sorry.”

Her words repeated everywhere around you like you were in an echo chamber rather than…

Rather than…

Where were you?

The blonde woman that had been there a moment ago disappeared and with her, everything else.

…

When you came to, Mobius was kneeling beside you, waiting for you to wake up.

“C-7… are you okay?” He asked slowly, looking at you with more concern than you think anyone else ever has.

You propped yourself up and you looked around wildly for Loki or for the blonde woman- Sylvie- who had been in your head.

“Where are they?” You asked and you hated how desperate your voice sounded.

“They escaped. Take it easy, the Variant did a number on-”

“Mobius, I have to find her.” You said, trying to stand up only to be overwhelmed with nausea and dizziness.

Mobius supported you, keeping you from falling back onto the ground.

“I know. And we will, but we have more pressing issues right now. Come on.”

You didn’t protest, knowing that you wouldn’t be able to convince Mobius even if you promised to get him a jet ski afterwards.

What you had to do now, you would do alone.

He helped you through the portal back to the TVA and the rest of your team followed, all of them being immediately assigned to different Nexus events that were happening simultaneously.

You, being injured, were given the pass to stay back at the TVA. 

You wondered if the Timekeepers knew what you were about to do, if they could’ve predicted it- after all, they were the ones who had made you, right?

You headed to the sector of the TVA where they issued TemPads, looking at the data of where all the TemPads were jumping to and from when you stumbled upon something odd- there was a TemPad that only had one jump registered in its entire history.

TVA to Lamentis-1, 2077.

Huh.

The Variant- Sylvie- whatever her name was, must’ve found out a way to stop the TemPad from feeding data into the system, but it must’ve reset when she jumped to the TVA.

You grabbed one of the TemPad’s that were out of commission for charging, unplugging it. 

It was low on battery, but it would have to do.

You opened a portal for yourself using the exact same coordinates and time that they had put in and without any hesitation, you walked through.

[orsuliya]

Dear General, just talk to your wife!

Let it be said: any male hero who interferes in his partner’s reproductive ability without her permission and/or knowledge is usually immediately cancelled in my eyes. That is certainly the case for any piece of media set in modern times. Fantasy/historical heroes get a bit of leeway depending on the cultural context, although not always. But the thing is, just as there are no blanket excuses, there are also no blanket condemnations. And you know what?

I do have to give Xiao Qi a get-out-of-immediate-cancellation card in this case! But not before examining his motivations and all mitigating circumstances. To be clear, I’m up to episode 37 at the moment.

So prepare yourself for Five Reasons Xiao Qi Is Very Much Not Cancelled (But He Certainly Deserves A Very Stern Talking To And Then Maybe A Hug).

To recap: Xiao Qi was told that Awu’s health is fragile and while she is able to get pregnant, any pregnancy is very risky and a considerable danger to her life. Upon hearing this he is visibly moved; three months later, when Awu comes back from the temple, there is a re-do wedding at the Yuzhang Manor, during which Xiao Qi announces that Wang Xuan is going to be the only woman in his life. At some point – either at the temple or after the wedding – Awu starts taking medicine prescribed by the Imperial Physician. The medicine, as Auntie Xu later discovers, is actually a tonic, which can be used to prevent conception. Eventually, though, after a year or two of continuous use, it will render a woman infertile for life. As of episode 37 (41 if I choose to trust the raws) Awu does not know what is going on.

And now onto the list!

1. The man is probably the most panicked he has ever been in his life and his mental state is not that great at the moment.

The first thing to remember is that this whole ‘let’s make Awu infertile’ decision is not taken in a void. It is not a case of an isolated event; the choice comes at an end of a veritable Trauma Conga Line. The exact timeline is very muddled, but in the last few months (up to a year) Awu has been: kidnapped, rescued, attacked by assasins, forced to deal with a rebelling city and then a siege, sent straight into a murderous conspiracy and then recruited to deal with a coup… and only then she was put in the very centre of a second coup courtesy of Daddy Wang. Which caused her to lose her child and her mother on the same day. And let’s not forget all the broken illusions about her family and her first love. That’s a lot to deal with and she is pure steel with a spine of titanium, there is no doubt as to that. But she is not the only one who’s had a really hard year.

From the kidnapping onwards Xiao Qi has been with Awu on this road; more often that not away from her physically, true, but from the moment he declared her his wife who will share his life and death…? He’s been in 100%. And being the strong, dependable, ride or die guy has taken its toll, one way or another.

It is quite noticeable that with every Big Damn Heroes moment he pulls off he gets more and more affected. The bridge rescue and its aftermath? Cool as a cucumber; the guilt and responsibility is certainly there, no fear though. Breaking of Huizhou siege? He’s proud as hell of her accomplishments, but he really came at the very last moment – she was getting ready to be killed rather than taken hostage. And there is this noticeable undertone of relief there. The Red Wedding? By then he is panicking. Hard. Which he readily admits, so it’s not pure conjecture. This man, who has never been afraid of attacking armies and not really afraid of death either, is scared as f***. Mind you, it’s not like he’s ever had anyone to be really scared for before; his soldiers are a different case altogether. And this time he was late, which makes for a really fertile soil for various ‘what-ifs’ during those two days when Awu is unconscious. He was late despite basically pulling off a miracle and risking entering the capital with only 10 000 troops.

And then and only then Daddy Wang pulls out all the stops. Two days of watching his unconscious wife is nothing compared to what happens then. First she runs into the middle of opposing forces, completely disregarding any danger to herself. For him (and her father, but that is beside the point)! I am sure that Song Huaien relayed her words to Xiao Qi once the dust settled. Then... Princess Jinmin dies and Awu starts bleeding.

After… After he claims responsibility for Princess Jinmin’s death. There is no doubt he is feeling doubly, triply responsible for the miscarriage. He can’t really help his wife. And he is grieving for their child. Not only for Awu’s sake, but for his own too.

It all culminates with the Imperial Physician telling Xiao Qi that there is another battle to be fought, one which Awu will probably enter with minimal hesitation and in which he is not going to be able to pull a Big Damn Heroes rescue. So in that moment he clutches at his heart… And – at least I think that’s the moment - takes a split-second decision: NOT AGAIN. Everything after that? He’s only holding to a chosen course.

2. He is feeling guilty as all hell and is overcompensating hard.

Xiao Qi is the epitome of a hyper-responsible hero. And not in the ‘Woe is me, everything is my fault!’ way that brooding heroes tend to veer to. No empty anguish or dramatic self-flagellation there! He is very matter of fact about both his responsibility and perceived guilt. Soldiers die under his command? He will honour their memory and take care of their families. Awu gets kidnapped by his personal enemy? He will admit his guilt without any excuses and offer recompense. Princess Jinmin becomes a victim of a stand-off that he did not even provoke? He will take the blame and then redeem himself by swearing an oath that he will not fail to protect Awu. And he takes his oaths very, very seriously, otherwise the Ma family would have a Really Big Problem.

All that responsibility comes from both his own character and the force of habit. Nobody ever worries about me, he says. To his soldiers he is the strong, infallible one and so he keeps this facade intact despite knowing it’s a load of bull.

So this hyper-responsible man has unwittingly sent his wife into danger, into battle (!) three times already (kidnapping, rebellion in Huizhou, Zilu’s coup) and was part of the reason she entered the fourth one. And while she has acquitted herself brilliantly every time, she paid a very steep price for saving him/the Empire. In his mind, he owes it to her and to Princess Jinmin for it to never ever happen again. And so he is not going to send her into the battle of childbirth for anything under the sun! The thing is, Awu is brave as hell and would enter it willingly in a blink of an eye. So he is arranging things so that she can never do that in the first place.

3. Xiao Qi is trying to spare Awu from mental and emotional anguish. It’s a pattern and one wildly spiraling out of control.

It’s really, really starting to show that Xiao Qi is used to being regarded as the infallible one, the one who must always find a solution and save as many people as he can. And while it is not a problem in Ningshuo, when he needs to tell Awu the truth about her father (and still he hesitates!), it tends to come through quite strongly in moments of stress and/or danger. Which is understandable, I think. In Ningshuo the stakes are not as high, everybody is safe and they are in the middle of Xiao Qi’s fortress, the very centre of his power. If there is any place he feels safe and at home, it’s right there. The capital is a wholly different kettle of fish; even on his first visit Xiao Qi is – quite reasonably – wary and on guard. For him the capital is behind enemy lines. So he reverts to his Infallible General mindset more and more: he keeps telling Awu things, but not all of them (money) and not always immediately (Hulans asking for a bride). Which is really stupid of him since Awu is in many areas just as smart - if not smarter - than him.

It’s not only the Infallible General mindset, though. In fact, that is the least of the problems there. By this point the panic is really setting in and so is the guilt. There is one more thing, though. Xiao Qi has this tendency towards self-deprecation. He does not wallow in it, but the undercurrent of his perceived social inferiority emerges from time to time, moreso in the capital. And it does factor in his behaviour; I sense that he has this need to keep deserving her. Coupled with devotion, it pushes him into a very touching, but also potentially dangerous single-mindedness.

Saving Daddy Wang by kneeling all night long clearly shows that Xiao Qi will stop at nothing to spare Awu’s heart, life and health. Personal pride? Enmity towards Daddy Wang? Political expedience? Disregarded completely. So what’s a year or two of lying if it means Awu lives? He’s set himself a Goal: protect Awu, just as he promised before Princess Jinmin’s grave. And it’s really been blinding him since.

Notice that he did not tell her about saving Daddy Wang either. She had to find out from His Imperial Spudness! True, it all worked out fine then, but whatever his reasons, he still did not tell her. And yes, I get that his reasons were really noble, but! But it is still a pattern, one that I hope she will break him out of rather sooner than later.

4. He is making a great sacrifice too; hear me out! And he does not leave himself an out.

This is the kind of argument that launches a flaming discussion, so please, be gentle. Anyway, we are not going to speak of whether any man has the right to make unilateral decisions about his wife’s body, that’s neither here nor there in this case, since it does not really enter into consideration in the drama itself.

What is clearly very important in the drama is the idea of family lines. The Wang and Xie families are all about this idea of legacy and bloodlines. Bloodlines are Important: propagating the bloodline is Wang Su’s main duty and both families fight over whose blood will sit on the throne. This clan mentality is clearly a Very Serious Business. Admittedly, Xiao Qi is an outsider to the clan-based society of upper classes. But even though his primary social group consists of his brothers-in-arms, he is very acutely attuned to the idea of family being the most important thing. It shows in many aspects of his life: in the care he gives to his soldiers’ families, in the consideration he gives Awu when she encounters another heartbreaking truth about her relatives and in the way he seems to take for granted that she will not stop caring for Daddy Wang no matter what. Also, he clearly likes kids, the mysterious shadow child gave us this much.

So it is not out of the realm of possibility that he would really like to have a child of his own. And why wouldn’t he? Awu may have trouble bearing him children, but there is nothing stopping him from taking a concubine or a dozen for this very purpose. Any other man in this drama would have (maybe except Zilu…?). And the society would not judge him, especially if the truth about Awu’s condition came out. It really is not a monogamistic society. Moreover, since Daddy Wang is not in the picture any more, nobody can even try to force Xiao Qi to keep to one bed (or poison his concubine…), not with his current position and power.

And what is the very first thing he does after Awu comes home? He declares – in public and with great pomp! - that Awu will be his only woman, thus staking his honor and reputation on all his children being hers. Which with the tonic in play means that there will be no children. It is a decision he takes very deliberately and in direct response to the previous events and the Wangs’ fall from grace. In fact, I wager this whole monogamy clause is a way not only to quell the rumours and stop any scheming families in their tracks, but also to keep things fair as much as it is even possible. Awu will not have children, well, neither will he.  

5. He is setting himself up and preemptively hogging all the guilt and blame.

The short yet very poignant exchange with Pang Gui in episode 37 makes it clear that Xiao Qi knows quite well he is going to be found out sooner or later. Sure, he would rather that Pang Gui kept mum about everything, but in reality he leaves it wholly up to his judgment. Which tells me that Xiao Qi is not willing to ‘kill’ for this secret. In fact, it might suit his plans if it were to come out… though not at the moment. Maybe after the requisite year or two, once Awu is no longer in any danger. Relying on what we know about his character, I think he is wholly prepared for the truth to eventually come out and then to take all the blame. And I mean ALL the blame. As in: Awu will have no reason to blame herself for her fragile health and thus inability to bear children, if it’s actually Xiao Qi’s fault. He will have gotten her infertile, so her actual ability to give birth safely will be immaterial. She will put all her anger on him and not on herself, and anger he can take, it’s her getting quiet that he can’t cope with. And to hell with what it does to their marriage, she will be alive. Is it stupid, stupid thinking? Sure. But quite probable when you’re dealing with a man this hyper-responsible and clearly unused to family dynamics.

And that’s that. Do I think he is being a single-minded fool? Sure. The man is not perfect after all! Does he need to talk to Awu? Of course, but I get where his unwillingness to do just that comes from. Is it going to bite him in the ass really, really hard? Oooooh, is it! But Xiao Qi is not cancelled and if Awu forgives him, then so should we all.

[whenimaunicorn]

Playing House - Part Two

Many thanks for the cover image to @awkward-haux!!!

Content Warnings: unnegotiated kink scenes, anxious / negative self-talk

Summary: The Reader gets used to her new role in Ivar and Ubbe’s apartment. Trading chores for free rent should be simple, right?

Part One here

You had thought the bathroom would be the most awkward part of this arrangement, but after the first deep-clean, that job isn’t really all that bad. It turns out that for you, laundry duty carries the most emotional impact. Sorting through Ivar and Ubbe’s used clothes brings an array of tantalizing scents wafting to your nose; they each favor a different cologne, and the occasional undershirt carries a deeper musk that hits you on an entirely primal level. Ubbe’s is spicy and distracting, making your head spin just a little as you imagine being tucked under his arm. Ivar’s is sweeter, hypnotizing, and the one time that you privately brought his shirt to your nose for a full-on huff, you felt like you had been drugged.

And after the clothes are clean, the folding, pressing, and hanging feels like an intimate, worshipful little ritual all of its own. You like to do it when they’re not home, and you can be alone with your little domestic fantasy. It feels like much more of an invasion to be opening drawers and going into their closets to put things away while they’re around, anyway.

Plus, the first time you brought a fresh, fluffy laundry basket back up to the apartment, so you could fold it in front of the TV, Ivar had watched you like a hawk. He just could not stop giving you increasingly-specific instructions. It warmed your chest and set your teeth rattling in equal measure.

“Long-ways, then in thirds.”

While you get a submissive little thrill every time he tells you what to do, at this point his barrage of critique starts to make your throat thicken with the familiar anxiety about not being able to please.

“Crisper, Y/N. Smooth it out with your hand before you make the fold.”

Ubbe growls a warning sound from his end of the couch. He seems to need to remind Ivar at least once a day to go easier on you.

You hear Ivar catch his breath, holding something back. When he speaks again, his tone is softer. “I just really like the way Marie Kondo does it.”

Your eyes widen as you whip your head and look up at the boys sprawled across the couch. “Wait. You guys can’t be bothered to lift a finger to take care of anything, and you watch a cleaning show?!”

“I like a tidy house,” Ivar sniffs, unapologetic in his sheer hypocrisy. “And I like the way she organizes.”

Something tugs at your memory. You’ve seen some of her videos before. “Isn’t she the one who says you need to like, convey your affection for the clothes while you smooth them out with your hands?” Your neck starts to tingle as you connect this thought with the associations that the boys’ laundry had already started to have in your mind.

Ivar’s eyes sparkle as he holds your gaze, as if he can tell exactly what you’re thinking. “Yes. And I want to see you doing just that. With every piece.”

Ubbe groans.

You smile a little at how protective he tries to be, even if he’s missing the point. “It’s all right, Ubbe,” you say primly. “They’re Ivar’s clothes, I’ll do them however he wants.”

“Well, you don’t have to be that obsessive with mine. Just having them clean in the basket is good enough for me.”

You shake your head. “I wouldn’t leave them to get wrinkled like that.”

You finished folding Ivar’s clothes in silence that night, your nerve endings sparkling like you were doing something sexual in front of him the entire time. You kept the movements of your hands slow, graceful, and you took your time spreading each piece of fabric, knowing he knew you were imagining his chest under every shirt, wondering about the usual occupant of each pair of boxers… While it was an experience you often find yourself replaying in your mind now, you still have never quite overcome embarrassment enough to do it in front of him again.

 * * *

 Ubbe liked to paint himself as easier to live with than Ivar, but as everyone got more comfortable together in the apartment, that was not necessarily the truth. While Ivar used your services to kickstart himself into reorganizing all of his possessions, and then actually started to pick up after himself whenever he thought you weren’t looking, Ubbe was much more prone to leave everything lying around all over the place. Towels migrated out of both kitchen and bathroom, and were left crumpled wherever he was standing once his hands were dry. He wouldn’t always ask you to cook for him like Ivar would, but he’d leave the kitchen covered in spills and dirty dishes after whipping up whatever snack he’d just been craving.

Your freshest example of this aggravation comes unexpectedly as you’re reading on the couch, alone. Ubbe busts through the front door, hair plastered to his scalp from the sweat that darkens the top half of his sleeveless shirt. His gym bag drops. He acknowledges you with a quick nod before starting to strip right there, exposing shiny washboard abs and glistening curls of hair in the center of his chest.

The shirt, of course, lands right in the middle of the living room. He kicks his sneakers vaguely in the direction of the shoe rack and flings white socks almost as far as the kitchen in his haste to get them off. You hold your breath, knowing his shorts have to be coming off next. He’s already moving past you though, gunning for the shower, and you only feel a little guilty about turning your head to watch the big muscles of his back ripple as he drops his shorts right there in the hallway.

The sight he revealed, boxer briefs clinging to his sculpted ass, is going to stay with you for a while. One thumb hooks into his waistband, but he rounds the corner into the bathroom before you can see anything more than a sharply-contrasted tan line at the top of his hip.

You finish reading your chapter before you stand and start scooping up the trail of damp clothes Ubbe has left along the floor. You hear the shower stop after you dump them in the hamper just around the corner in his bedroom. You’re retreating to your own room when you hear Ubbe call out.

“Hey, Y/N, can you find me a towel?”

“Shit!” you exclaim. “I forgot I hadn’t put those back yet!”

“No worries,” you hear him say as you zoom toward the basket of unfolded towels you left behind the couch.

You grab one and push through the bathroom door with it. “I really should have—” the self-flagellating response dies on your lips at the sight that greets you. You had expected Ubbe to wait for you behind the shower curtain, but he’s standing right there in the open, dripping onto the tile floor without anything to cover him at all.

Rivulets of water are darkening the hair on his lower half, making it cling to the golden skin of his thighs and the paler areas usually hidden from the sun… You just kind of freeze. Ubbe takes the towel from your hands with a throaty chuckle, and uses it not to cover his body, but only his head, scrubbing first at his hair. The brisk movements make the impressive cock hanging between his legs bounce just a little on its bed of curls. You’re pretty sure you see it starting to swell.

“I’m so sorry,” you force your lips to say, your feet trying to back you out the door while your eyes don’t seem to be able to peel away from the athletic body on display before you. Tight lines of muscle definition extend up from his growing manhood, drawing the eye up the wide ‘v’ of Ubbe’s developed lats and along the bulging biceps and triceps working that towel through his hair.

He wipes down his face, revealing pale blue eyes that lock onto your own. His knowing smile says everything, but you have no idea what to say or do next.

“Mmm,” he rumbles, “worth it. This towel is still warm.” He spreads it over his chest, still doing nothing to protect his modesty. “You just standing there, or are you gonna give me a rub-down?”

“I….” It doesn’t seem like your mouth, or your feet, or your arms work, and you continue to gape at him like a fish.

“Relax,” Ubbe smiles, finally wrapping that towel around his waist, “I was only joking.” His brows pinch in concern as he rubs at the back of his neck. “Sorry if that was in poor taste.”

Damnit, now your awkwardness has made this awkward for him too. “N-no, it’s… I’m just going to… go, now.” You feel your face twist into something halfway between two different facial expressions, and finally you regain enough control over your muscles to make a break for it.

 * * *

 Overall, you feel like this arrangement has been going really well. Without any job to head off to, it’s pretty easy to fit all the chores into the free hours you have between classes, study sessions, and sleep. You’re warmed with pride as you move through the apartment each day, wiping things down and tidying up the clutter. And the boys make sure you feel valued for your work, each in their own way. One time last week you actually found Ivar cleaning up after himself, picking up his cereal bowl from the place at the table that used to always be encrusted with old milk spots before you came around. He froze when he noticed you caught him, and very deliberately spilled a few drops from the bowl while staring into your eyes like an arrogant housecat. It was rude, but somehow endearing. Like he couldn’t have you thinking you were starting to change him.

Your groove falls apart during Finals week. Between twelve-page papers and all-night cramming sessions at the library, you don’t even notice the way dishes start piling up in the sink. Ubbe’s discarded linens stay wherever they dropped, and Ivar’s milk splashes congeal once again on the kitchen table. You come home exhausted after your last exam, your brain blocking out the row of empty beer cans and dirty plates cluttering up the coffee table in front of Ubbe where he lays on the couch.

His finals must be done too; the boy is sprawled out shirtless across the cushions, the TV remote nestled in his hand.

“So are you like, graduated now?” you ask him as you plop onto the couch beside him. A little sigh escapes you as your muscles welcome the reprieve from gravity. You think you might sleep for about a week straight now that Finals are finally over.

Ubbe’s smile is lazy and proud. “Yeah, basically. Still have to do that ceremony and shit, but all my classes are done and I’m pretty sure I passed them.”

“Well, congratulations, man.” Your eye follows Ubbe’s left hand, idly scratching at his chest hair. “Victory day means no shirt day, huh?” you tease.

Ubbe’s eyes are locked on the figures moving on the TV screen. “Actually, there’s no clean shirts left.”

He didn’t say it in a mean way, but it still hits you like a brick to the gut. You had been aware you were choosing to let some things go this week, but Ubbe’s laundry had entirely slipped your mind. A wave of anxiety threatens to steal your breath, as your brain tells you this is a pretty major fuck-up. And if you forgot this, what else might have slipped through the cracks? “Oh my gosh, I’m so sorry!” You propel your exhausted body up to your feet. “I’ll go start your laundry right now!”

Ubbe’s hand is around your forearm before you can take a step away from the couch. “Wait.” You turned to him, and he inspects your face carefully. “Don’t get worked up about it, Y/N. I don’t really mind.”

You try to shake him off, pressing your lips together to hide how upset you feel. Tears are starting to prickle hot behind your eyes. “It’s my actual job, Ubbe. I’ll do it now. I can’t believe I forgot.” Your voice cracks somewhere in that last sentence.

Ubbe hears it, and shakes his head with calm authority. “No.” He tugs at your arm. “You deserve a break after this week, just like the rest of us. You’re sitting back down right here with me.”

You force a weak smile, even though the impending tears are threatening to cascade over your cheeks now. You let him pull you down to the couch.

“Stay here, I’m getting you a beer.”

You try to protest that you can get it yourself, but he holds you down onto the seat with a friendly-yet-firm smile before heading into the kitchen himself.

You let yourself cry just a little while he’s not looking. A distant voice from the back of your head is saying that you’re overreacting, but you can’t stop the ugly wave of shame and worry that you’re caught up in now. You fucked up. You had one job. How hard is it to keep house? Every damned human on this planet has chores, it should have been easy to keep up.

You barely notice Ubbe’s return until he presses a cold bottle into your hand and settles his body into the cushion. He sits down so close that his thigh presses into yours, and he starts rubbing your back too. “Hey,” he says softly. “What’s going on.”

“I just don’t want to let you guys down.”

Ubbe’s hand presses a little harder. “Y/N. You do such a great job around here, I promise. I can’t believe how nice you’ve been able to keep everything.”

You bark a bitter laugh, eyeing the garbage strewn across the coffee table in front of you. “Other than this week.”

“Yes, other than this week, the busiest, most stressful week of the term. Cut yourself some slack. You need to let yourself relax, and be human, too. The place doesn’t have to be spotless every time we get home. While I appreciate the aesthetic, this isn’t the 50’s and you’re not our housewife.”

You sip from your beer and then cling to the bottle with both hands, trying to make yourself believe what Ubbe just said. Also trying not to get distracted by the mental image of twirling through the house in a full skirt and kissing Ubbe and Ivar each on the cheek as you send them off to work in some retro domestic fantasy. “I just want to do a good job for you, and hold up my end of the bargain. I don’t want you to think I’m gonna start slacking and not pull my weight.”

Ubbe sighs. He shifts toward you and puts both hands on your shoulders, attempting to loosen them with a little squeezing massage. “I was worried this would happen when Ivar came up with this idea. Don’t treat yourself like you’re our slave. That can’t be fun.”

A half smile tugs at your lips. “Well, sometimes it’s a little fun?”

Ubbe doesn’t say anything to that. You think maybe he just doesn’t get it. He squeezes the tops of your shoulders more firmly, then starts pressing his palms down your back. It’s a few minutes before anyone speaks again. “I think the problem here is that you feel like you live at your job, right? So it’s hard to figure out when it’s ok to just stop, or leave something undone.”

You nod. “Yeah, it’s like every time I’m home, I wonder if you guys think I should be doing something.”

“That’s no way to live.” His hands travel up to your neck, pinching more carefully until he finds just the right spots.

You groan a little and lean back toward him.

“What if… we made up a schedule for you. Set the expectations a little more clear, so you don’t feel like you need to do anything too often, and so you can’t” –he squeezes around the base of your skull in a way that makes your eyes roll into your head—“imagine that we want more from you than what it says.”

“Did anyone ever tell you that you give a really good massage?” you interject. Between the rush of emotion that you’re finally coming down from, and the soothing kneading of his hands, your voice comes out sounding liquid and woozy.

Ubbe chuckles behind you. “Maybe I’ve heard that once or twice.” His hands slide down your back. “But what do you think? Would something like that help you feel like you’re allowed to get time off, too?”

You can’t help focusing on the crumbs scattered over the table in front of you. Your hands still twitch with the urge to give in to the shame and go on a frenzy of manic, exhausted cleaning until everything looks perfect for them again. So you could feel proud once more. So you could feel Good. “Maybe,” you say softly, though your tone is as drawn as the expression on your face.

Ivar busts in the front door, slowing his pace as he takes in your slumped posture on the couch next to his brother. “What’s going on?” he asks sharply.

“Don’t start with her, Ivar, not tonight.” Ubbe’s hands curl over your shoulders, squeezing more briskly. “She’s having a bad day. She’s been pushing herself too hard, don’t you think?”

“It’s Finals, we all have,” Ivar answers, studying your face intently. You wonder if your eyes are still puffy from the tears you let loose a little earlier.

“Yeah, but she’s worried she let us down with the chores this week. It’s really getting to her. Tell her she does a great job keeping house for us, but it’s not necessary to keep things quite so perfect.”

The concern in Ivar’s bright eyes pierces you. “Why did you not tell me you were feeling this way?” he demands.

A bitter laugh barks out of you. “I didn’t really realize I was, until it hit me just now.”

He swings himself a step closer, looking down from his full height and trying to take charge of the situation so similarly to how Ubbe did just a little earlier. You wonder if their father handles things the same way, or if they get it from somewhere else. “Listen to me, Y/N. I love what you have done around here, but you don’t have to drive yourself mad trying to keep everything spotless. You have to live your own life, too.” He glances at Ubbe, and there must be something for him to read on his brother’s face because he takes a breath and keeps going. “I know I take things too far sometimes. I like to tease, and maybe this game wasn’t as fun for you as it was for me.”

You shake your head, worried that your breakdown was about to ruin the very vibe that was making all this worth it to you. “It’s not that—”

Ivar cuts you off. “You have to be honest with me, and tell me when enough’s enough. Can you do that?”

You nod. Ubbe’s palms smooth over your entire back in big, soothing strokes.

“Good.” Ivar looks around the place, then nods like he’s come to a conclusion. “That’s settled, then. No work for you tonight, Y/N. The place was much messier than this before you moved in, and we tolerated that just fine. Let’s get a pizza. And tomorrow, after my last exam, we’ll throw a party. Once the place is thoroughly trashed, we’ll all help clean it up.”

After the pizza’s gone you crawl into bed early, reassured but kind of exhaustedly fuzzy and ready to crash. Ivar comes in before you turn the light out, laptop under one arm. “Scoot over,” he says, then lays on your bed alongside you. “You have to watch this show with me, it’s so dope. I just binged like the entire thing last week.”

He doesn’t say anything else, but you’re sure this is another way he’s trying to make you feel better. And when he lays the laptop over your hips so he can slide himself under the blankets next to you, it’s so easy to pretend that you’re his girlfriend that you almost tear up again. You hold it together because he keeps turning to look at your face every time his favorite parts come up, wanting to see your reactions. You wonder at first if he’s using this to try to make a move on you, but he seems genuinely interested in just sharing his love of this show with you.

You’re enjoying the story, really you are, but sleep starts to drag your eyelids down somewhere into the third episode. At first Ivar nudges you awake with playful bumps of his shoulder when he notices, but eventually he relents and shuts down the computer screen. He tucks the blanket in around you after he slides out from under it. “Sleep well, little one,” he croons, probably half-sarcastically, then turns off your light on his way out.

* * *

 Ivar takes a long drag from his cigarette, blowing the smoke out in a long jet before responding. “That’s a good point, Y/N. I never thought about it that way.” He really is quite cool to hang out with when you’re alone with him. If he’s not showing off and trying to command the attention of a whole room, he actually listens, and can sometimes even sound like he cares.

You take another puff from your own smoke. It’s a warm Tuesday afternoon, one of the first days that feels like summer, and Ubbe hasn’t gotten home from his internship yet. You and Ivar are sitting in the little garden out behind the apartment building, in two of the communal lawn chairs. Earlier, he had scowled when you caught him with a cig on his lips and a lighter in his hands upstairs on the couch. Everyone had agreed last week that the apartment would feel much fresher, and more pleasant, if nobody smoked indoors anymore.

He had scowled, but he had gathered up his shit and made for the door. It was one of the few changes you’d made around the place that directly impacted his behavior, and you still feel a little insecure about how he’ll take it. So you had grabbed two beers and resolved to keep him company out back while he gets used to the new system.

You’re never sure where you stand with Ivar, but today the conversation is flowing so easily that you let your beer get warm in your hand while he chain-smokes and the two of you trade ideas, discovering just how well your perspectives about the world mesh together.

There’s no doubt that the heat of summer is finally here. Only the regular gusting of a cool breeze is saving you, bringing with it the scent of freshly-cut grass and the feeling that nothing matters but right now. Or is it Ivar doing that to your mood? His rare openness and candor, that crooked smile is lighting you up from the inside out, forcing your face to reflect his.

He’s holding your eyes, on the tail end of one of those grins, as he wraps his lips around his bottle and takes a sip. Something shifts in his expression as he swallows the beer. “Y/N,” he says softly, tone going serious. His eyes darken as his lips curl playfully. “You’ve let my beer get warm.”

You crease your brows, confused. “We have been out here a long time, haven’t we.”

He shakes his head, clucking his tongue in exaggerated disappointment but refusing to release your eyes. “You’ve failed me, Y/N. A good thrall would anticipate my every need.”

He’s finally doing it again. A shiver runs through you, the excitement of what kinky things you hope he’s implying whipping against your spine. It pushes a nervous laugh from your throat. “I can’t control how hot it is out here.”

Ivar cocks his head to the side, condescension under his lifting brow. He wiggles his bottle.

“…Should I get you a new one?”

A beatific smile spreads across his features; he seems pleased with your offer. “That would be wise.”

You notice your fingers shaking just a little as you set the butt of your almost-finished cigarette into the ashtray. You like when Ivar makes you feel this way; the whole world narrows down. You peel your sweaty thighs off the cheap lawn chair and rise, almost regretting your choice to wear such skimpy shorts. But surely you’d be dying in the heat out here in long pants. And Ivar seems to like looking at your thighs. You wonder if he’s leering at you now, while you scamper back into the apartment, but you don’t dare to look over your shoulder at him.

Luckily, you had had the foresight to chuck a few of the warm bottles you had brought home today right into the freezer, assuming that Lothbrok appetites were sure to run too quickly through the short supply left in the fridge. The brown glass is frosty and perfect as you take them out now. These will be sure to return you to Ivar’s favor in this silly, contrived, tantalizing game.

When you come back outside, Ivar is gazing across the garden, sucking softly at the last of your cigarette. Has he pulled your chair closer to his, or did you just imagine that part?

He says nothing as you come around to resume your seat; he just watches you, with an intensity that burns hotter than the sun scorching the plants just outside the line of shade you’re sheltering under. You hand Ivar a bottle so cold that it has already started to accumulate moisture in the three seconds it’s been outside.

He takes a sip after you sit, and makes a pleased noise of appreciation. “Much better.”

You get one swallow of frosty beverage down your own throat before Ivar speaks again.

“Now come here.”

You’re already sitting next to him. His wide hand gestures to the space directly in front of his own chair. Your mouth goes dry; you put your bottle down anyway. There is no question but to do what Ivar asks.

His eyes glitter, impossibly large in his handsome face, as he watches you come to your feet and stand before him. You can’t seem to read his intention and it’s hard not to flinch when his arm moves. “You still need a lesson.” His gaze moves to the beer bottle in his hand, and so yours does too, attention catching on the drips of condensation on the glass.

He presses that coldness directly against your thigh, other hand coming to your hip to hold you steady when you inevitably squirm.

“This is how cold I like my drinks. Do you feel that?” He rolls the bottle toward your inner thigh, the contrast with the ambient air shocking each nerve ending in turn.

You suppress a squeal when the icy glass presses between both legs, but you feel the clench of his fingers around your hip and try to stay still for him. The cold almost burns, and your body’s not sure how to handle it if retreat is not an option.

Ivar’s face is lit with a glee that looks more than a little bit demonic. His eyes travel up your body. “On your knees.” His voice remains calm and even.

Arousal blooms, relaxing your joints as you drop to comply. This may look more like bullying than foreplay to anyone else, but this is hotter than any of the shy kisses or sleazy groping that other boys have tried on you in the past. Ivar threads his free hand around the back of your head, under your hair. “You didn’t answer me.” He presses the bottle against the side of your neck, making sure the sudden freeze hits the most sensitive place behind your jaw. “Do you feel how cold that is?”

You force your body not to cringe; your answer rushes out on your overwhelmed exhale. “Yes, Ivar.”

“Do you understand what I expect, when I am drinking beer with you now?” He curls the bottle around toward the back of your neck, biting his lip at whatever change he sees in your face.

“Yes, Ivar.”

“Good.” He slides the bottle toward the front again, the base making contact with the top of your collarbone. “Before you serve me again, you can check the temperature like this” –he presses the bottle into your neck more firmly—“or, here” –he moves it down to the swell of your breast, above the v-neck of your shirt—“or, if you want, like this.” Swinging his grip to catch the neck of the bottle between his fingertips, he leans forward and presses the thickest part of it right between your bare thighs. “Remember how this feels,” he coaches, and you watch his full lips move as he speaks the words so close to your face. “If it’s not this cold next time, I’ll have to give you a more extensive lesson.”

A whimper escapes your throat, and you can’t pretend it’s only from the cold. After so much anticipation, for Ivar to finally be touching you like this, to be treating you in a way that is unmistakably sexual…

He leans back abruptly, removing the frosty bottle from your flesh and taking a smug swig out of it as he settles back into his chair. “Do you understand, Y/N?”

Every cell is vibrating inside your body as you gaze up at the dark look on his face. “Yes, Ivar.” You can’t wait until it’s time to serve Ivar again, so you can press the next bottle to your skin just exactly as he had instructed.

The sliding sound of the back door whooshes. “There you guys are,” Ubbe’s voice rings out, the sound of it shouldering into the space between you.

You rock back reflexively, but look to Ivar for instruction before moving further. He shakes his head with almost-imperceptible disappointment and nods for you to rise before Ubbe can wonder what exactly was going on out here.

Part 3.1 here

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[dabistits]

i was wondering, whats are ur thoughts on redemptive suffering? i have Thoughts but they mostly depend on context?

in general: ‘redemption’ and ‘suffering’ are two different things. one is not earned through the other. redemption comes through active efforts to better oneself and to make amends for the harm caused, while suffering is just a state you go through. suffering is, in itself, no more redemptive than feeling sad or feeling happy.

i think sometimes redemption means that you will suffer, in a way, but i don’t think suffering takes priority. like, yes, if you break someone’s belonging, you usually pay them back, or find them a replacement, or offer your time/energy to do something else to help them. while you end up technically inconveniencing yourself, that kind of ‘suffering’ is more just a byproduct of the process of ‘redemption,’ and it’s very different from the idea that “i’m redeemed if i (literally or not) self-flagellate, or if other people make me suffer.”

“redemption,” imo, is to make things right with the person who was hurt, and to make an effort not to repeat that harm against anyone.

narratively: i still pretty much agree with what i wrote above, but i’ll address what probably sounds contradictory. take rendeavor [sighs]. i want him to suffer, but even if he suffers i don’t think there’s inherently any redemption because he’s suffering. i just want him to suffer because he’s a POS who doesn’t deserve happiness, and it would bring me satisfaction to watch him suffer (which i understand is against the anti-carceral spirit, but anti-carceral or not, you’re not going to able to reasonably stamp out negative feelings toward someone this vile. also he’s fake). 

additionally, i know a lot of people want rendeavor to specifically lose the power and status he’s gained, but i also don’t think that in itself is redemptive suffering. stripping him of his gains as a hero shouldn’t be understood as “punishment” or wanting “suffering,” it should be understood as a rejection of elevating the accomplishments of abusers. it’s not a “punishment” against him, but a demonstration of this specific society or community’s values as being anti-abuse. to continue allowing a person like rendeavor to be idolized would be suggesting there are any number of things that can “outweigh” abuse, essentially saying that “the violence you committed is not as important as the things you’re publicly admired for.”

(i know there are abusers and anti-carceral activists who feel like this idea of stripping someone of his status, for example, is a punishment along the lines of the prison system, but i do not think a true anti-abuse politics can exist without a willingness to make abusers feel uncomfortable, because (semi-)public scrutiny and self-examination to this degree is never comfortable. a society which prioritizes the abuser’s feelings over making sure the abuser cannot abuse again is a society that enables abuse.)

on another level, in narratives i think there’s also the possibility of writing in “karmic justice.” a lot of us want to see karmic justice in a narrative because, i think, it gives us a sense of validation that we don’t really experience IRL: if a character can’t/hasn’t been publicly “called out,” then they can be struck down by an act of karma as a consequence for the harm they’ve caused. i personally have nothing against this kind of narrative, although i think it’s still more “redemptive” if the character is forced to confront their flaws, and to understand their flaws through such a confrontation and grow from it. i think this is more the case with katsuki, who was never “called out” for his behavior, but who is repeatedly forced into situations where he has to deal with his pride and his inferiority complex, which in part contributed to his bullying of izuku.

on a societal level: i don’t believe in redemptive suffering on a societal level, and i think it’s actively counterproductive and even dangerous. it irritates me when i come up against it irl. for example, people thinking that suffering is redemptive is how you get white ppl at the oscars making white ppl jokes, rather than substantively working to fix hollywood’s racism or putting their money where their mouth is on antiracist endeavors. they think submitting themselves and their white compatriots to momentary embarrassment by being the butt of a joke is somehow showing allyship, but it’s just corny and useless. see also audrey kobayashi talking about white guilt.

buying into redemptive suffering is also what led to the US’s horrible prison conditions. prisoners are thought of as needing to suffer during their sentences in order to “make up” for what they’ve done (or didn’t do!) which is how they’re deprived of basic necessities and luxuries (like… books?). because prisons are geared toward making prisoners suffer as a part of their “punishment,” they’re actually stripped of any opportunity to better themselves. this doesn’t mean that all prisoners are “good people” or that none of them deserve “consequences,” but neither am i okay with the government running hundreds of facilities devoted specifically to making people’s lives as horrible as possible.

on an individual level: i don’t have a lot of thoughts on ppl thinking of their own personal experiences in terms of redemptive suffering. i think it’s not my place to dictate or really have an opinion on. the only thing i will say is that i see it as potentially damaging if someone leans into it too much, because it runs the risk of “justifying” one’s own suffering as some sort of redemptive state, and i think that’s unhealthy (e.g. abuse victims thinking that they’ve “earned” their abuse somehow). it could easily lead to disordered thinking patterns.

[blackrose-ffxiv]

Penance Party 11/29

Lebeaux Desrosiers nodded solemnly in agreement. “We do all have flaws, yet not all flaws are equal.” He corrected carefully. “Would you consider having too much love for your fellow man truly such a terrible flaw. Would you consider that as equally sinful as, perhaps, spreading falsehoods regarding the city one is sworn to protect and defend. Or as sinful as turning away from the Fury’s grace to accept darkness into one’s soul.”

Gilbert Viscart shakes his head. "Not all sins are equal", he agrees. "Some are not as forgivable as others. I have hunted a noble family for a long time. It accepted corruption into its ranks. Such things cannot be dealt with with compassion. They must be purified."

Lebeaux smiled serenely as he paused to take a long sip of his wine. “And you would beg mercy for one such sinner and refuse to take action against such corruption. Simply because I carry perhaps a touch of the sin of pride.” He was underestimating a bit as well as leaving many off of a very long list, but there was no need to go into that now.

Gilbert shakes his head. "I would not be here if I thought you were irredeemable", he says. "I just don't look up to you. You have a lot to learn. Mayhaps we can pray on some things together. Work for the betterment of each other. As a fraternity of pious men."

Lebeaux chuckled quietly at that. ‘Look up to him’. As though he wanted anyone to look up to him. Fear him, sure. Obey him, definitely. Still. “A fraternity of pious men.” He repeated thoughtfully, tilting his wine glass to swirl its contents lightly. “And how would you recommend we begin such a venture.”

Gilbert frowns. "I"m not sure", he says. "But I am going to do my bit of penance in looking at you as a person. That means I will not sodomise you." He nods solemnly. "We can do wholesome activities together to inspire our faith. Do you like playing kick ball? Mountain climbing? Hiking?"

Lebeaux lifted his glass to his lips to have a sip of wine, snorting at the same moment Gilbert declared his resolve not to stick his manhood in Lebeaux’s rear. He sputtered slightly, grabbing a handkerchief to dab at his mouth. Ensuring that none of the rich red wine would drip down onto his pristine white clothes. “Fury have mercy, Gilbert.” He sighed as he continued dabbing lightly just to be extra sure. “As though you would be the one sodomizing me!” He declared in mild indignation. “Generally it is for the best not to let someone know that the first thought you have when looking at them is how they would feel impaled on your lance. And mercy, no. Pointless activities that only result in fatigue and sweat-stained clothes.”

Gilbert frowns. "Pointless? That's where you're wrong. The Fury herself travelled the world looking for new creatures to kill. In Her icy halls we will be expected to drink and feast and do battle. How can you do any of those things if you are not willing to follow her example and get in shame?" He tried to poke Lebeaux' sides. "Granted, you're not as tubby as Father Gabineaux, but still."

Lebeaux smiled and batted the poking fingers away. Taking another deep sip of the wine. What a surprise, he was due for another refill. He poured a considerable amount into his glass then tipped the last few sips into Gilbert’s. “I’ve no need for children’s games and wasting time in the mountains. If you’re so determined why don’t you set up a youth grou-.” Actually, the way the Knight casually tossed around a laundry list of his sins, most seemed to be sex-related. “Nevermind that."

Gilbert gives Lebeaux a chastising look. "Do you think the Fury played children's games when she wandered the world?"

Lebeaux shook his head firmly. “No. I do not.”

"Then why would we be too good for it? Healthy body, healthy soul." He points at his heart. "We can alternate activities. I suggest something I think is fun and wholesome, then you can suggest something you think is fun and wholesome. That way we can both become better men. Drag ourselves up by our bootstraps. What do you say, bro?" He tries to punch Lebeaux against the shoulder in a friendly manner. But still hard enough to leave a light bruise.

Lebeaux tilted slightly as the punch landed on his shoulder, wincing and pressing his hand to the spot. He inhaled slowly, deeply. Filling up his lungs fully. Then he exhaled slowly and set his wine glass down. Without a word of warning he brought his hand around to strike Gilbert firmly on the cheek. “You forget yourself Ser Viscart.” He practically shouted as he rose to his feet to pull himself up to his full height. “Now I have had a very trying day between having an attempt made on my life and an arson burning down my office. And the last thing I need is you trying to drag me to play ‘kickball’ or go ‘hiking’. What I need is to drink another bottle of wine. Smoke enough somnus I can no longer see straight then find whatever long-tailed fur-eared idiot I can lure with gil to my bed and thoroughly enjoy the sodomy that you cannot. I shall have him for a second round in your honor.” He mocked as he lifted his wineglass in a mock-toast. “Good day Gilbert.”

Gilbert seemed not to respond initially to the strike against his cheek. It had hurt, but he'd seen it as an intent to insult. As the other spoke he slowly opened his eyes again, getting to his feet. He approached the other man with a huff. "You're giving in to sin! Letting your soul rot when it should blossom!" He tried to grip the others' wrists, having no intention to leave the other be. Even if he had to spill some wine. "Listen to me! You are better than this!"

Lebeaux furrowed his brows as his wrists were grabbed, the wineglass first sloshing over the edges of the glass before the glass itself fell from his fingers to shatter on the ground. He yanked at the hands holding him. “I will confess and tithe on the morrow.” He declared, grunting slightly as he tried again to free his wrists. “I will repent and I will mean it. You can ask me then about your ridiculous games and ‘wholesome’ activities. But tonight I will indulge!”

Gilbert held on to Lebeaux' wrists. His grip was stronger than the size difference might imply. The Knight was well-trained, after all. Even so, he had to crane his head back. "Then indulge in the beauty of our faith! Indulge in prayer and psalm! I shall wake with you and make sure that you spend the night on your knees!" Pause. "In prayer!" he added somewhat shrilly. "Do you not feel Her love when you pray? Is that not better than wine and cat boys?"

Lebeaux paled considerably at the thought of it. A night praying and having to put up with Gilbert’s renewed and revived faith. “… No!” He finally declared firmly. “It is not better. I feel her love even when I indulge in such excess for she knows I will always return to her bosom!” He declared as he tried again to yank his hands free. Before a thought came to him. “Come with me.” He suggested. “We’ll drink and smoke and find some handsome cat-man to share. There is plenty to be done without your sodomizing them.”

Gilbert  thinks on this. His grip loosens some. ".... better not to leave her bosom in the first place!" he said. He was tempted though. Oh boy was he tempted. "I'm doing penance." He looks up, finally letting go, even after resisting that last yank, just to show the highborn that he could. "I will come and drink with you after I've finished doing penance. If that is how you chose to fill in our wholesome bonding activity. But we will not drink foreign drinks. Only domestic brew! And no cat boys!" Gilbert doesn't like catboys as much because racism, anyway.

Lebeaux exhaled a sigh of relief when Gilbert finally relented both his grip and his determination to ruin Lebeaux’s night. “As you like. The offer will stand, you may choose to make good on it whenever you desire.” He offered, smirking slightly at the Knight set a few rules for what the night of not-so-wholesome bonding could include. “Very well. Ishgardian drinks and perhaps an elezen or hyur.” He suggested, rubbing his own wrists wipe away the other’s touch. “Duskwights are quite enjoyable as well, even if they don’t have tails for pulling.”

Gilbert wasn't going to protest then. ".... and conversation!" Gilbert added. Mostly kidding himself. Cheeks flushing slightly. "Mayhaps we can teach that person the Word of the Fury and through those teachings find it ourselves as well." He smiles. "And I will get to pick an activity as well", he says, poking the other in the chest. "So! Who goes first!" Now that this social encounter had been ham-fistedly poured into a competitive format, somehow, there had to be rules, of course.

“Yes, of course. Very good.” Lebeaux agreed, reaching out to gently begin nudging Gilbert towards the door. “How about we do my activity first. You seem rather enamored by the idea of it. And it will give you more time to think up an activity of your own. Though you do see how I have made some accommodations to consider your preferences. I will expect you to do the same.” He explained calmly, having almost finished putting back together the pieces of his briefly shattered composure. “Then I shall be seeing you as soon as you are finished with your penance, since you seem to think this will interfere.”

Gilbert nods. "Of course", Gilbert remarks. "We can go on pilgrimage together. It'll be great." He allowed himself to be nudged towards the door. "Don't worry, I'll make sure you can keep up. You're not against self-flagellation are you? I mean I have a hair shirt you could borrow but that's -" by that time the Elezen had pushed him towards the door. "Oh!"

@gilbert-ffxiv​

[madameocotillo]

So

I finally, consciously, realized a big reason why my drawing output has basically become zero over the last few years, or “I was a veritable teen-aged fountain of art, and now when I am a stable adult who theoretically should be in the prime of their production, have zilch to show.” 

After various life things stopped me from drawing much at all, I stopped practicing and therefore, stopped improving. Then, when I started to try to get back into it, I wasn’t happy with how anything looked. I knew the way I used to feel when I drew a face and was proud of the expression, and I had an image in my mind of where my technical ability should be that I couldn’t even come close to on paper, and those two things combined to dropkick me in the confidence.

At that point, I picked up a behavior/way of thinking that locked me into a pretty destructive cycle that I now need to work on breaking myself out of. (Under a cut ‘cause it’s a long post, but please, if the second paragraph hits close to home for you, give it a read. I can only hope the results of my introspection will spare somebody else months or years of feeling in limbo like I did.)

I started hoarding tutorials, and telling myself that I couldn’t work on fun projects until I did all kinds of practices and studies; when I did just start in on a full character illustration, I inevitably wasn’t happy with it, and it reinforced the thought of “You can’t make anything until you’ve put in hours and hours of practice, why did you think you could do this?” I mean, that’s why i’d saved all those references and tutorials, right? To practice with? Of course, because the studies were not very much fun, and as i’ve been realizing, I have mad ADHD yo, I never sat down to put in the time that I thought I had to, and just ended up being disgusted with myself for not having any discipline.

Drawing stopped being fun and started seeming like a chore, because I went in with the mindset that I would be struggling the whole time, and probably still wouldn’t like whatever I produced anyways. Viewing something that used to make me really happy, into something I saw as having to do everyday or else I would never be good enough to enjoy it again really fucked up the way I felt about drawing. Yeehaw, rinse repeat, here I am at the end of 2018, realizing that to show people art that i’m proud of, I am having to go back to 2016 at the MOST RECENT.

Wanting to improve your technical skills is wonderful, and feeling unhappy with what you’ve drawn is just the way it be sometimes, but I went so long without realizing WHY I felt this way, and was too quick to dismiss myself as just being lazy or not cut out for it. At times I was horrified that maybe i’d just grown out of wanting to draw, and I was desperately forcing myself to keep doing something i’d never be interested in again.

I feel like i’ve lost so much time due to this years-long incomprehension of why making art had just become another task to be chipped away at, but i’m trying to be kind to myself about it. Self flagellation got me into this mess, and I know it’s not the way out, but damn if it isn’t easy to just sit back and tell yourself you’re stupid when you’re unhappy about the way things have been playing out in life.

Still, a trait that i’m proud of in myself is that I have always found more value in trying than in moping, and nothing can keep me in the pits of despair for more than a day or two, so now that I can put into words what has been hindering me, I know this is a problem I can work through. What I really needed was to give myself permission to have fun creating again, and not fixate on exactly how wrong or right my pieces turn out. High school age me sure as shit didn’t, that little bugger was slapping cat ears and weird belts on all the characters, and having a fucking ball with it. Not saying that’s EXACTLY the direction I want to take my art in again, but pride in the fact that I was drawing at all is definitely a feeling I look forward to returning to.

[nonsocosadipiudifare]

I'm fucking livid.

I have spent enough time being depressed and self flagellating over the fact that you not only completely wiped me out of your life but you also apparently convinced an entire group of people that I once called my closest friends to do the same. I know I fucked up a lot and I know I hurt you a lot. But the way you talk about me on social media is defamatory and unwarranted. And you pretend to be discreet by redacting my name or only ever referring to me as "the weed". But you're either insulting my intelligence or that of everyone else who follows you. Anyone who knows you knows I'm the only person who ever "made anything sexual" with you and they're going to single me out pretty fucking quickly.

And another thing, it's so fucking petty of you to talk about things I did years ago as if they were just now happening. Yes I admit that for that first year I was extremely judgemental of the communities you identified with and the way you liked to present yourself. But what you call "making it sexual and all about me" on your post was in reality opening my mind and learning to find those things about you attractive specifically because they were a part of who you are. But of course you insist on talking about me like I'm the same person I was four/five years ago as if I didn't bust my ass trying to identify all those shitty behaviors and eliminate them to the best of my ability all with the purposes of bettering myself and improving my relationship WITH YOU SPECIFICALLY. I went through all that work because I didn't want to keep hurting you! Because I cared about you and I wanted to be a positive force in your life. And for the last few years you led me to believe that I was. You made me believe that I was doing better, that I was learning and that I wasn't the same asshole that I was back in those early years of our relationship. I believed that you believed in me and in our friendship. Now I'm coming to find out that all this time you still only see me as the person who put you through all that emotional duress all those years ago, and that you never saw me as anything more. So were you lying to me all that time just to make me feel better about myself? And if that's the case why did you stick around for so long if I made you so miserable? Why would you stick around for five fucking years and spend damn near every waking moment you could with me if being with me was such a traumatic fucking experience? I never asked you to stay by my side, I never forced you to do anything for me. Everything we did together for at least the last three years you agreed to out of your own fucking volition. And you never made any indication that you were unhappy with me until late last year.

Here's my theory, I think you're not lying to me, I think you're lying to yourself. I think you're intentionally playing back all of the mistakes I made on an endless loop to try and justify everything you did. How you tried to inch me out of your life little by little and blatantly lied to my fucking face about it. How you repeatedly dismissed me and belittled me and gaslit me while I was having one paranoid meltdown after another at the thought of losing the person I thought was my best fucking friend. You are not faultless in this and I'm tired of people talking to you like you're a fucking hero for "standing up" to me.

You didn't do shit. You abandoned someone who cared about you and only wanted to be the best possible force that they could in your life. You discredited me to my friends, friends that you have BECAUSE OF ME. Friends that your misanthropic ass would have never come near or given time of day to or vice versa had it not been for me. And you turned them against me without letting me have so much as a shred of a statement in my defense. And now you're attacking me on your social media. Social media that you have me blocked on so that I can't see or respond to. But the joke's on you because I still have friends that follow you, so word is going to get back to me regardless, unless you want to erase them out of your life just for being associated with me. But I wouldn't put it past you. But regardless I don't have the opportunity to respond in my defense. Well, this is my response. You are a fucking coward. Everything good that comes to you in life will be borrowed or achieved by piggybacking off of someone else's good will or ambition because you are incapable of earning anything of your own accord. You will never be your own person because everything that makes up your character is borrowed from the people you feel closest to. You borrowed her pride, you borrowed my drive and determination, and now you're borrowing their rage. Even if your existence is no longer in the shadow of mine, it will always be in the shadow of someone else's. Because THAT is who you really are. You are a shadow that needs to follow in someone else's lead in order to press on. You really are no better than your predecessor. You are just as spineless and weak willed.

However, even as I write all of this, I can't help but acknowledge the fact that I still care. I still want you to find success and happiness even if it is without me. It's all I've ever wanted for you. And if I had known all that time ago that you really would have been better off without me, then I can assure you we wouldn't be having this problem so late in the game. I really am sorry for everything I did to abuse, hurt, and traumatize you. I know that doesn't count for shit anymore, but I just wish you knew how much I don't want to be that version of myself that you carry with you in your memories. I love you. And I'll miss you.

[datingadviceonreddit]

There's a part of you that's keeping love at bay and that's the reason you're not getting it.It's not the women.Or your looks.Your bank account.Your body.Or anything else external that you think you can blame on the reason why you're still single.It's your mindset ... and your attitude.It's your sense of self worth that's been battered and bruised in the past whispering to you that you don't deserve it ... and you listen to it & eke yourself out of the game.So that you can live in a self fulfilling prophecy.Now I know that's hard to hear - I'm swinging the big ones today, but you need to understand that you've got control over your love life.WAY more than you think.And I can already hear the protests of 'yeah but I'm bald, fat, shy, not rich etc' These are stories you're concocting - putting meaning around aspects of yourself which affects your behaviour ... thus your results.But the REAL reason? The reason why you're single?Is because you're using those statements as a way to reject yourself before she can.You're taking yourself out of the race so that you can be right about your lack of worthiness. It's a self-fulfilling prophecy.Now don't worry, you're not alone. There's a whole entire planet of us operating in the same way. Projecting our childhood wounds and using them as our shields ... not realising that the enemy is within us.And to stop this pattern so you can attract love in your life, you need to do the following;1. Heal Your Childhood WoundsAttachment issues, neediness and scarcity thinking will keep you pushing love away. You'll jump into relationships, love bomb them & become codependent ... IF they stick around.So get the help you need to uncover your childhood wounds and make peace with them. Train yourself out of getting emotionally attached to every woman you hook up with & focus on becoming stronger, resilient & more confident every day.2. Drop The BS StoriesSo you're bald? Big deal! Wear it with pride. My Dad was bald at 26 and he's been happily married for 32 years ... it's not a reason (or excuse) to avoid letting a woman love you.You're shy? Stop hiding. You've got an amazing personality under there that you're not showing, thus depriving women of getting to know the real you.When you say you're shy, you act shy. It's not a mental illness, it's you holding yourself back from fully being yourself around peopleComplaining there are no women around? Stop complaining & open your eyes. Change the story to 'there are an abundance of women' - and watch them appear magically before your eyes.3. Make Yourself Feel Good Instead Of Punishing YourselfThe self-flagellation is killing you. The more you put yourself down, the worse you'll feel. As cute as Eeyore is, he's a pain in the ass (get it?).You're not Eeyore - so reframe those put downs and do things every day to make yourself feel amazing!4. Open Yourself UpThe negativity closes you off to so many opportunities (like the love of an amazing woman) - because that little voice inside of you is like that toxic friend that won't quit.You're so blinded by your negativity that women are feeling attracted to you - maybe even showing it, but you're blowing them off because you don't realise they're interested (because your past beliefs are stronger than your present reality).I could go on an on about this topic. It's one close to my heart (yes, I've had to work through my own stories and wounds to overcome the things that blocked me).You deserve to attract love into your life ... and you will! Just so long as you open yourself up & let it happen instead of holding onto things that hurt you.Ains :) via /r/dating_advice

[psychotherapyconsultants]

Defiant? Passive-Aggressive? Learn How to Tone It Down

When people envision a defier’s stance, they typically imagine a hostile person staring you down, barking out refusals, clenched fists shaking in the air. And it’s true. Some deifiers do present that type of body language. Others, however, present quite contrasting images: a pleasing face, open arms suggesting cooperation, a nodding head communicating agreement. This passive form of defiance we call passive-aggressive. And it can drive people nuts.

Why? Because passive-aggressive people say “yes” but make little or no effort to follow through on their agreement. They shake on it but don’t act on it. Rather than owning up to their defiance, P-A personalities cast themselves as innocent victims stuck in demanding jobs or hard-to-please relationships, remaining blissfully unaware of how their lack of action rouses anger in others. Both types of defiers (active and passive) relish their independence.  Hence, they’re inclined to consider demands on their time as unfair or unjust; “…But why should I do it?”

If you recognize yourself as a defier, congratulations for acknowledging this tendency! Many just seek to put the blame on others or view their defiance with pride. Once you’re aware that your defiance is not helping you advance your career, improve your relationships or achieve your objectives, here are ideas to help you change the pattern:

Tone down your oppositional reaction. Though you won’t always be the quarterback calling the plays, you are a member of a team (family, work group, community). And it’s often in your best interests to cooperate with your team to get the mission accomplished.  Does this mean that you can’t negotiate or compromise or suggest alternative ways to do a task? Of course not. But you won’t be able to do that if you’re so wrapped up in your defiance. So, think creatively, not rigidly about alternative methods to accomplish a task that might be acceptable to you and to others.

Choose your battles carefully, weighing what’s worth fighting for. Reserve your acts of rebellion for important issues. Maybe there’s a situation in which you truly are being taken advantage of. Or, a rule that’s clearly discriminatory. Or, an environmental issue that’s offensive to your morality. For these types of situations, be a rebel. But don’t be a rebel without a cause. Though you may view yourself as a trailblazer, be careful you’re not fooling yourself, basing your dissent on nothing deeper than, “I don’t want to do what I don’t want to do.”

Mean what you say and say what you mean. Don’t say what others want to hear just to appease them. Don’t commit to doing a task you don’t intend to do. If you do commit, then change your mind, take responsibility for the change and tell the person involved.

Apologize if you haven’t done what you said you would do. Some people hate making apologies, equating it with an admission of failure or incompetence. No need to go from one extreme (no apology) to the opposite extreme (self-flagellation). Simply express your regrets. An apology is a courtesy, a way to show that what you did (or didn’t do) adversely affected the other person. But make sure your apology is followed up by appropriate action; otherwise, it will be viewed as a phony apology that will create even more dissension.

Polish up your Assertiveness and Conflict Resolution Skills. It may seem counterproductive to become more assertive if you’re already a defier. Isn’t assertive training for passive people who can’t speak up for themselves? Yes and no. Yes indeed, passive people need to learn the skills and strategies of assertiveness but so do aggressive people. Being aggressive and being assertive are not the same thing. Assertiveness training and conflict resolution programs teach you to become more empowered by initiating ideas, eliciting information, expressing concerns, proposing changes, clarifying misunderstandings, forging compromises, motivating others and more.

      I hope you recognize that becoming proficient in the above skills can have a huge payoff in your relationships and self-esteem. Here’s hoping you honor your commitments, then rejoice in your new, improved sense of self!

©2018

from World of Psychology https://psychcentral.com/blog/defiant-passive-aggressive-learn-how-to-tone-it-down/