#it didn’t make me feel weird or infantilized at all when she said that | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

yandere-daydreams · 1 year

Text

Title: Upkeep.

Commissioned by the very lovely, very indulgent @furudolove.

Pairing: Yandere!OC x F!Reader.

Word Count: 3.6k.

TW: Non/Con, Oral Sex, Overstimulation, Implied Drug Use, Implied Stalking, Unhealthy Relationships, and Slight Infantilization.

“So, these were your big plans?”

You nestled farther into the couch, nodding as to the affirmative. Luna let out a bark of a laugh, watching from the closest loveseat as you freed a single arm from your self-inflicted tangle of blankets and adjusted the volume of the god-awful, absolutely perfect reality show you were watching – something about a dozen or so insanely attractive b-rated influencers fraternizing on an island; fucking, fighting, and doing very little else. In other words, peak television.

“I’ve heard that some people go shopping on their days off, or hiking— can you believe that? There are actually people out there who’d voluntarily leave their apartments?”

You shrug, gesturing towards the T.V. “And there are other people in here that have half a dozen seasons of Love Peninsula to catch up on.”

“I know I said I was up for anything, but…” She trailed off, eyeing the screen (and, by association, the montage of shirtless men and bikini-clad women flashing across it) warily. “Are you absolutely sure there’s nothing you’d rather be doing? Nothing you’d rather do with me?”

“I mean, I might make popcorn in a couple hours. When Cindy realizes Brent still isn't over Sierra.”

“C’mon, it’s obvious she’s delusional. You’d be lucky if she notices before the finale.”

“You have been watching, you liar. Do you think Monica and Kyle are actually going to make it past the next elimination, or—"

“(Y/n).”

“Right. Their first kiss was pretty cute, so they’ll probably make it another—” She narrowed her eyes, and you cut yourself off. Sitting up, you gave her your most pleading smile. Between your job and your classes, the former full of last-minute call-ins and never-available coworkers while the latter seemed to consist entirely of textbooks you didn’t have the energy or the time to read and tests you could never seem to pass, it felt like this was the first day you'd had to yourself in weeks. You were exhausted, and as pathetic as it sounded, there was nothing you wanted to do more than lay on your (or, technically, your roommate’s) couch, shovel junk food into your mouth, and watch the romantic lives of strangers disintegrate until you couldn’t remember a single second from the past two months. “I know, I know, but I feel like I’ll fall apart if I push myself further. I promise, we can do something fun and exciting and outdoorsy next time, but today,” You shook the remote. “It’s just me and the peninsula, babe.”

She rolled her eyes, but gave in quickly. Pushing herself to her feet, Luna stretched before turning towards you, both hands coming to rest on her hips. “I’ll leave you alone with the new love of your life, then. And, since I’m going to assume you won’t be getting up for the next twelve hours, I’m bringing you something to drink, too.” She paused, grinned. “Any requests?”

You hesitated. Luna didn’t have a reason to take care of you. She was your roommate, not your girlfriend, even if she had always been the overly-affectionate type. She liked to go behind your back, sometimes, wake up an hour before you to make breakfast despite her hours being nearly as hellish as yours, overpay on her half of the rent and attempt to write it off as your landlord’s mistake, and usually, you tried not to let her get away with it, to repay her kindness when you could and not accept it at all, when you knew you wouldn’t be able to. Usually, you’d brush her off, tell her to go out and enjoy herself. Usually, you wouldn’t let her baby you, but today…

“Can you make that tea again?” You asked, too tired to feel as ashamed as you should’ve. “The one with the mint leaves? And that weird not-quite-herbal taste?”

She sighed, shook her head, but a few minutes later, there was a warm mug in your hands, the beverage inside more bitter than you expected it to be but no less satisfying. You drained half the mug in the first sip, finished it in the second, and in an instant, any remaining scrap of tension in your body had evaporated. You melted back into your place on the couch, and Luna chuckled, leaning forward. You felt her hands on your shoulders, her thumbs digging into the flesh above your shoulder blades. You winced out of reflex, at first, but what little pain there was subsided into a subtle, but not completely unpleasant pressure as she pushed slow, steady circles into the muscles of your back.

Luna let out a low whistle as you leaned into her forceful touch. “You weren’t kidding. You’re as stiff as a plank, poor thing.”

“I mean, yeah. That’s kind of what I’m trying to fix.” You tried to sound sardonic, self-aware, but you had to bite your tongue not to groan as she found a particularly tense patch of muscle near the top of your spine. “Thanks for the reminder?”

She stopped, abruptly, letting you go with a low hum of disapproval. “I’m going to need you to lay down. If you don’t get a proper massage, your body might just give out on you.”

Her tone didn’t leave room for protest, but you tried to shake your head, to smile as you brushed her off. “You don’t have to do everything for me, y’know.”

“It’ll take five minutes.” She was rounding the couch. “Come on. I’ll have to do even more for you if you manage to give yourself early-onset paralysis.”

“Do you even have a license?”

“Lie down.”

Again, on any other day, you might’ve argued, but…

But, it just wasn’t worth it, today. You didn’t have the energy.

So, you laid down, folding your arms underneath your head and trying not to shift as Luna straddled your lower thighs. Her hands slipped under the hem of your tank-top, and you forced yourself not to flinch as she slipped the thin piece of fabric over your head. It was fine. Luna probably didn’t think anything of it. She was usually topless at home, and if she wasn’t, it meant she hadn’t put on enough clothes to just be topless, yet. You’d never met anyone so determined not to sleep in their own bed, which wouldn’t be an issue if she wasn’t equally as determined to sleep in the nude. You tried not to complain, though. It was her name on the lease, and you didn't want to be down a friend and a place to live just because you've seen more of your roommate than you'd honestly like to.

You jolted when she reached for the clasp of your bra, but Luna only chuckled, resting a hand on your shoulder and easing you back onto your chest. “Easy there,” She laughed. “You don’t expect me to work with this in the way, do you?”

“I… I guess not?” It was more of a question than explicit permission, but she rewarded you with a soft squeeze to your side. Your bra was removed as carelessly as your tank top, and after you made a feeble attempt to protect what was left of your modesty with a stray blanket, Luna continued.

She was kind enough to start gently. She favored the areas she had before – your upper back, your shoulders, the curve of your spine. You felt her blunt nails scrape over your skin, and occasionally, she seemed to press a little too hard, to aim for a spot that was a little too sensitive, but her slip-ups were few and far between, and slowly, you let yourself relax underneath her. As you let your guard down, she was able to move lower, to knead her fingertips into the muscle of your lower back and work out the knots of tension you hadn’t realized existed, not until Luna hit a nerve you couldn’t name and a wave of something warm and loose washed over you. This time, you were too slow to bite back the low whine that slipped past your lips, but Luna only laughed. She must’ve done this before. She didn’t seem fazed by anything, but then again, she never really did.

“This might be the most time we’ve spent together all month, y’know.” It was phrased light-heartedly, but guilt ate away at the back of your throat, nonetheless. She wasn’t wrong. You’d been busy – either away at work or locked in your room, studying. You didn’t have a lot of time to spend with anyone, let alone the roommate you’d known for a grand total of six months. Despite loving dearly, of course. “It’s hard not to feel a little neglected.”

You swallowed, dryly. “I’m sorry. I guess I’ve been busy, lately.”

You must’ve been more tired than you realized. Your eyes felt too heavy to keep open, and your body felt… strange, too, so numb and so hot and so cold, simultaneously. This time, you couldn’t bring yourself to believe it was part of the massage. “And I tried to take such good care of you, too,” Luna went on, as if you hadn’t said anything at all. “Do you know how hard it was to catch your attention? To get an ad out where I knew you would have to see it? I thought you might be easier to keep a hold on once we were living together, but even now, you’re too distracted to do so much as look at me.”

Her voice was still quiet, her tone still teasing, but dampened hostility laced her words. Her anger barely shined through, and yet, you weren’t sure you’d ever seen her so mad.

You tried to arch your back, to push yourself up, but it was all you could to do curl your fingertips into your palms, to force your eyes open. She was still on top of you, but her touch has changed – more lingering, less precise, any pretense of delicacy or purpose growing more and more distant with each passing second. You felt her hands fall to your waist, then your hips, her blunt nails digging into your ass as you let out a choked, panicked sound. It wasn’t a scream - it was still Luna, you’d never scream because of Luna – but you weren’t sure it would’ve made a difference, if it had been.

“I mean, a little attention is the least you could give me. I’ve been paying your bills for… what? Half a year? And your ‘rent’—” She cut herself off with an airy laugh. “A place like this for a rate like that? You have to know how much I've been doing for you, even if you always did like to play had to get.”

You didn’t know what she was talking about. You didn’t know what she was trying to say. You didn’t know what she was doing – or, rather, what she seemed to be getting ready to do. With a soft hum, she pressed a light kiss into the dip of your shoulder before straightening her back, shifting slightly. With deliberate, light movements, she drew you upward, chuckling as your limp body came to rest against her chest, your legs still trapped underneath you. “See? It’s not that hard to rely on someone else,” She said, despite your feeble efforts to put any amount of distance between you and her. “It’s easier, right? And I promise, it'll feel a lot better than being so stubborn.”

It was hard to speak. You vision was blurring, now, your mind starting to lag behind with the rest of your body. “I don’t…” You tried, then trailed off, shaking your head before you forced yourself to string together something more coherent. “I don’t know if this is—”

“You’re supposed to be relaxing. Isn’t that what you said you wanted to do, princess? Straining yourself is a little against the point.” You managed to raise a hand, to shove at the arm wrapped around your midriff, but Luna only kissed your cheek, only dug her nails into your side with enough force to break the skin. “All you have to worry about is sitting pretty and letting me take care of you. That doesn’t sound too hard, does it?”

The question was rhetorical. She clearly didn’t need an answer, and judging by the way her touch drifted to your chest, how her gentleness seemed to falter as her thumbs swiped over your nipples, she didn’t seem to want one, either. You jerked forward, stifling a whimper, and Luna’s grin seemed to widen, her teeth ghosting over vulnerable skin while she groped you, occasionally pinching your chest or nipping at your neck when her sedative threatened to overtake you completely.

Eventually, she moved on, moved lower, pull your shorts off and tracing two fingers over your slit, nearing purring when she felt the damp spot that stained your panties. She hadn’t done anything to earn it, but you were already panting, already struggling to feel anything but hot. A knot of tension had formed at the pit of your stomach, and it was all you could do to press your thighs together, to try to alleviate the rolling ache in your core. “Poor baby,” Luna drawled, her voice more giddy than sympathetic. “You just need all the help you can get, don’t you?”

Your panties were torn through easily, the ruined fabric quickly discarded. Somewhere, in the back of your mind, you wished she would just touch you, do whatever she was going to do so you wouldn’t have to suffer through… whatever this was on your own, but the traitorous thought never reached the surface. Instead, Luna’s palm ground into your exposed clit, applying just enough pressure to leave you clenching your eyes shut and gritting your teeth, curling your toes and thrashing weakly against her. If she noticed your pathetic attempts at resistance, though, she didn’t seem to think it was worth her attention. She was already distracted, busy gathering your slick on her fingertips, bringing her hand up and somewhere behind you. For a few seconds, all you could hear were wet, terrible sounds before Luna giggled, squeezing you that much closer to her. You couldn’t remember seeing her this happy since…

Since the day you moved in.

You felt sick.

And yet, Luna remained unaffected. She took a moment to trace aimless, winding patters into the inside of your thigh, then seemed to lose her patience, cupping your cunt and listening to the strangled whine you let out, in response. “You know, for as long as we’ve been together, I don’t think I’ve ever heard you…” She trailed off, laughed, like that was what managed to embarrass her. “Well, touch yourself. I’ve never heard anything through the walls. I know you don’t have any toys, either. I would’ve found them by now. It's no wonder you're so pent-up. You never take the time to do anything nice for yourself.”

She was kind enough to start slowly, to keep the pad of her thumb pressed into your clit as she eased two fingers into your tight, dripping entrance. Painstakingly, she curled her digits before spreading them apart, stretching you open. “You never lock your door, either. At first, I thought you were just being cute in that ‘eager, but too shy to ask’ way, but it’s starting to seem like you’re just oblivious.” She sighed, pressed a kiss into the dip of your shoulder. “I still think it’s sweet, though. Honestly, you should count yourself lucky you ended up with someone willing to take the lead.”

She was merciless, not so much purposefully brutal as it experimental, rough in a way you had to attribute more to Luna’s impatience than any cruelty she might have. She refused to restrain herself to a certain pace, a specific rhythm – speeding up and slowing down at random, curling and straightening and scissoring her fingers apart just to see what made you tense up and shrink into yourself. You tried to bite your tongue, not to give her what you couldn’t deny she wanted, anymore, but there was only so much you could do to keep the air from hitching in your throat, to stop little whines and half-choked moans from stumbling past your lips as forced a third digit into your pussy. You twisted your head to the side, arching away from Luna as far as you could. She only held you tighter, only twisted her wrist more violently as your hips bucked into her hand, your body craving any friction it could inflict onto itself, regardless of the source. “This is going to be the first time I get to watch you cum,” She whispered, her excitement nearly tangible. “You really ought to take better care of yourself. Then, the person who loves you wouldn’t have to work so hard to do it for you.”

You didn’t argue. You couldn’t – you were already clenching down around her fingers, your vision burning white as your climax washed over you. Controlling your reaction would’ve been impossible, so you didn’t try to, spasming and twitching in her arms as she bullied you through your orgasm, only starting to slow down when pangs of overstimulation started to set in and your reactions turned more pained than pleasured. Even then, it took her a few more seconds to pull away, to lower you down until your back was flat against the couch and she was free to stand, to stretch, to position herself in between your open legs. Your thoughts were more coherent, now, less difficult to put together, but you were exhausted, too scared and too drained to move. You couldn’t do anything to get away from her, no matter how badly you might’ve wanted to.

“You’re so beautiful.” You didn’t know why she was still talking. You didn’t know why she bothered to. Trying to hold your attention, pretending it would make a difference if you closed your eyes and kept them closed until you were done. At least, then, the feeling of her lips ghosting over the inside of your thighs wouldn’t have been so vivid, the hands wrapping around your ankles just a little farther away. At least, this time, she didn’t try to draw it out, her lips brushing over your stomach, then your hip, eventually falling low enough for the flat of her tongue to lave over your slit. There was a soft moan, a row of nails burrowed into your skin, then her lips latched onto your clit, sucking gently and sapping out what little life you had left. She waited for you to cry out, then drew back, laughing. “And now, we’ll never have to ignore each other again.”

She sounded happy. You wanted to be happy for her, but you couldn’t seem to summon that much strength.

You let your head lull to the side as she nipped at your thigh, applying just enough force to leave the vulnerable flesh bruised and discolored. Again, she failed to settle on a certain goal, failed to set a pace you could latch onto – opting to keep you on the edge, to alternate between tracing patterns into your slit and fucking your shallowly with her tongue, humming and groaning in a way that seemed to shoot straight to your core. You tried to focus on something else, to keep your eyes on the blankest wall in your peripheral or give in to the cooling numbness slowly taking the place of the heat she’d inflicted onto you, but it was an effort made in vain. She knew you too well, even if you were starting to think you didn’t know her at all.

Her hands drifted to your hips, pinning you to the couch as she spread your legs that much farther, as she moaned shamelessly into your cunt. Everything she did was messy, and selfish, and too fast and too drawn out and too reckless all at the same time and it was working. You’d been helpless when she split you open with her fingers, too desperate to cum to feel anything except that lurking, clawing need, but she was able to edge you towards the cliffside, now, to force you to feel the tension building up in the pit of your stomach, slowly coiling tighter and tighter and tighter until you couldn’t help but clench your thighs together around her head, but ball at the blankets laid out underneath you and squirm, your hips involuntarily rocking against her mouth. This time, when you reached your climax, you were forced to let it wash over you, a frozen wave no less overpowering for how long it took to build up. There was nothing you could do to stave it off, but you weren’t sure you’d be willing to try, anymore.

When it ended, you could only close your eyes, making a weak effort to roll onto your side and curl into yourself. You felt Luna stand, heard her click her tongue before taking you into her arms. Vaguely, you were aware that she was carrying you back to her room, laying you across a plush bed, but you couldn’t bring yourself to care, even as something very cold and very stiff wrapped around your ankle. Luna leaned over you, pressing a lingering kiss into your temple. “It’s alright, love. You can sleep for a while.” Her tone was soft, soothing. You couldn’t help but lean into the palm that pressed into your cheek, to listen as she went on, no matter how difficult it was to listen to her voice, now.

“I’ll be hear to take care of you when you wake up.”

#woman loving wednesday #except actually on wednesday this time #yandere x you #yandere imagines #yandere oneshot #yandere oc #yanderecore #yancore #yandere #yandere x reader

352 notes · View notes

hazbinhappy · 1 month

Text

NOW I’ll get back to matchups and requests :D anyways here is her redesign and some more facts ugh she’s so mother

I wasn’t lying when I said she was a sweetie and nice, but she’s still in Hell and is (unfortunately) Val’s daughter so she does have the tendency to try and manipulate things her way

Not that she’s a manipulator but she will take an opportunity if she sees one

Pretty privilege to max she will use it if she needs something (she feels guilty on the inside, but only whines and complains to Velvette or the models about it); often seems like she’s fishing but she doesn’t like how easy it is sometimes

As much as she is a photographer, she will be a model occasionally! Not often, but she will stand in if needed

She ended up being a big snacker when she was alive because she was a caffeine addict so she never truly felt hungry (that did translate into death and it got so much worse. This girl has not had a drop of water in DECADES so girl is dehydrated and rarely eats)

She actually like Alastor. She finds him “an interesting creature” and wants to know more about him than just the true crime case she’s heard about (Vox hates that she is acquaintances with him but he’s just a jealous bitch cause only one out of the 4 of the them got to keep contact with that weird deer)

Okay a rewrite though is that her soul isn’t owned, BUT that doesn’t mean she didn’t make a deal. Her and Velvette made an agreement that they’re both binded too.

She does have a couple souls under her belt but they’re just workers for her

Her sweetness really fucks with people because they think she’s using them (she’s not, but she won’t be upset if she can get something)

Val and her twin in being a bit ditzy 😅 she’s not dumb, certainly has more brain cells than Val, but she is occasionally a bit slow

She doesn’t utilize all 4 of her hands like Angel or Val and that’s because she completely forgets that she has them (as if it’s not extra weight there) but when she remembers she uses them to just hold her phone or purse

I think I mentioned she had shit sight and it’s still true, she refuses to wear glasses (she wants to differentiate herself from her father as much as she can so she’ll take the poor vision as a photographer plus’s she goes based off of light and movement 80% of the time the other 20% is her actually moving the model or set pieces)

Okay I just learned but apparently Rosy Maple moth are the smallest of the silk moths and it’s very fitting for this because I made her like half of Val’s height due to the fact that in life and death he’ll always be/feel superior to her no matter what (when they genuinely fight it’s like a whole fight so it’s a bit funny to see someone so short fight with someone so tall)

like he infantilizes her, he’ll always see her as his princess (i humanize him a bit too much but those are the scariest villain y’know. The ones who have a family and put on a front for other and be monsters behind the scenes)

Anyways he never laid a single hand on her, but she wasn’t immune to him being sassy or saying demeaning and degrading things when he was mad (he was mentally abusive with her but not on purpose)

I could go on forever about her relationships with the V’s

Velvette and her are actually really cute behind doors; femme x femme

They feed into each others obsessions like no other so their areas of the tower are messsyyyyy

Vox and her are a bit weird because she doesn’t really need to see him and he’s close with Val

But she loves fucking with him though it’s fun to when she’s feels mischievous and bitchy

If she ever has a good relationship with Val again she’d be messing with me 24/7 like no tomorrow

She refuses to do overly sexually photos for Val and his workers, she lets the people she own do that. She will, as she did in life, stay as far away as she can

#hazbin hotel oc #my art #hh art #I love the characters btw I just like making fun of them #god she’s so cunty #I love her #please asks about her #I am writing now while watching bones #sunnie

10 notes · View notes

thepalmofyourfreezinghand · 5 months

Note

Ugh I feel you so much re: Taylor and Barbie and all that. I hated the Barbie movie and all of the hype bc it felt so infantilizing to me. Like I was expected to enjoy it solely because “it’s about Barbie!! It’s pink and sparkly! It’s girly! You’re a girl, don’t you like that stuff?!?!” as if women can, and should, only be interested in things that are pink, sparkly and girly.

I wasn’t a fan of the actual film but that’s just me, but then I started to really hate it bc that mentality just never stopped. I even had people tell me it was so weird that I didn’t like the movie... Like why is that so weird?! If you know me personally, you know it probably wasn’t gonna be my cup of tea. So why is it so weird that it wasn’t? Were people just expecting to like it?? And if so, why?

Women are more than being pretty, cute, pink and sparkly. While there’s nothing wrong with those things at all or the women who DO love them, there’s also nothing wrong with being a woman who doesn’t. Not every woman should be reduced to a glittery girlboss bc not every woman wants to be that. We can be ~girl bosses~ in our own ways.

Yeah, I absolutely agree!!!

Even with Taylor… I’m SO tired of journalists and think-pieces writers saying that Taylor is successful because she gives young women a chance to get in touch with their feelings. I know that’s part of her success, but when I look at the fandom as a whole there’s so much we enjoy about Taylor that goes beyond “feelings”. I see discussions about Taylor’s business practices, I see deep lyrical analysis, I see posts connecting her lyrics to the works of some great writers (Shakespeare, Jane Austen…), I see queer interpretations of her works…. I see so much that goes WAY beyond “fEeLiNgS 💞💞💞💞”. Aren’t you tired of people saying that women love Taylor because she sings about feelings and heartbreak? I’m not saying it’s not partly true, because it is. But aren’t you tired to be reduced to only that? Feelings and heartbreak?

The same goes for Barbie. I actually quite enjoyed it! But, as you correctly pointed out, I ended up almost resenting my enjoyment of it because of all the people saying “when you make art for women women show up”… and said art is a movie about the color pink and dolls and feelings (once again). Don’t you see how insulting that is???

Aren’t we tired to being reduced to only that? Because I’m seriously over it.

#taylor swift

5 notes · View notes

ollyou · 1 year

Note

If you don't mind me asking. Why do you personally headcanon Olly and Olivia as a young adult?

I never thought of any age for them. I draw Olly a lot as a child because when I see him, my brain goes, "Small little ball of anger goes to the anger burrito" The idea is infantilizing by itself, so lean into it.

Olivia is to match, but also because children have more chances to meet wonder in the world. I think she would love that.

Good question! While of course I technically see them as ageless/a few days/weeks old, you already know my interpretations are supposed to resemble older teenagers/young adults!

TL;DR: The way the origami siblings act and scenarios they get into in canon makes me most comfortable hc’ing them as twins no younger than 17-18, but they have younger traits to them as well that makes the age fit for me. I also project myself onto them, including my age (Me being 17-19 years old from 2020-2023).

For me, I definitely can see why people headcanon them as children. Y’know, they’re naïve, and also Olivia in particular is very curious about the world, like you said. For me, it’s been nearly three years since I came up with their hc ages, so I can’t remember EXACTLY what compelled me to think of this, but the main thing was how Olly acts.

Olly acts really pretentious. He can say some pretty big words, but at his core, he’s just as immature as Olivia. He presents himself like a grown adult, strong and powerful and all-ruling, but when annoyed enough, may drop that mask, like how he straight up just called Mario and co. “losers” in game, a really immature insult.

As for Olivia, part of my age hc for her comes with the fact I headcanon the siblings to be twins. I just kind of like that dynamic more than an age gap for siblings! Olivia scolds Olly in the game, and I remember it used to remind me of a mother scolding her son, which probably sounds really weird, but it just made me think Olivia’s a bit more responsible than a little kid would be.

Another thing is kind of just some of the scenarios Olivia is put in…? Like when she gets super embarrassed watching Birdo stage kiss Mario, and says it was really “racy”. I personally feel uncomfortable having a child say that stuff with such a reaction, and I’m sure there’s a lot of other things in the game that can be taken as sorts of dirtier jokes or innuendoes, so I don’t want to involve a child in that, if that makes any sense. ^^”

So basically, I thought having them as little kids didn’t fit for me, and having them as, like, in their 20s seemed a little too old for me, too. I had just turned 17 exactly a day less than a month before PMTOK released, so I also projected my age upon them a bit, too. (Originally, I thought of them both as 16-19, but now I narrowed it down to 17-18.) That’s… something I’ve done a lot with Olly and Olivia. I’ve projected myself onto them, a LOT.

I’m 5’6”, Olly’s 5’6”. I’m 110-120 lbs, Olly’s around 110-120 lbs. I’m wasian, Olly’s wasian (but white + Japanese instead of Korean).

Olivia’s… basically the same, just 1-2 inches shorter and probably weighing slightly less, too.

I like Olly being a little angry guy, too, though. I tend to draw my humanization mostly elegant or nonchalant, but I really like portraying him as a stubborn teen, as well. Well, teen in the adult sense (like how an 18 year old is still technically a teenager, but legally an adult). I also really enjoy drawing him completely cold and devoid of compassion for others… but also emotionally vulnerable and just a tragic character overall.

But I digress. I hope this answered your question well, though!

#thank you for the ask!#pmtok #paper mario the origami king #👑colly #pmtok au

5 notes · View notes

musical-chick-13 · 2 years

Text

The thing that really Gets To Me™ (derogatory) about Control Z is that they are SO CLOSE to doing a good job on the representation of Sofía's mental illness.

Her mental breakdown in season 1 where she self-harms again while listening to a sad song, the ostracization she faces from her peers for being "crazy" and the feelings of alienation that come with it...and even smaller, isolated incidents: like being seen taking medication, knowing that medication so well from taking it so consistently that she can immediately tell when it's been tampered with, her being the one to say that Luis's drawing were just Catharsis Art and that artistically depicting something doesn't mean you actually want it to happen-that THINKING something doesn't mean you want it to happen, and INSTANTLY knowing that Natalia meant suicide when she said "something else" caused Maria's death-because she had made an attempt herself. (Whereas Javier had to have it said explicitly, because he's not used to thinking in vague "polite" language regarding suicide/mental illness the way Sofía is.) Even after Sofía has proven herself, when she tries to tell people what’s really going on at the end of season 3, people still accuse her of making things up and calling her “crazy,” because ableism is an ingrained prejudice that isn’t just going to go away because one mentally ill person did a cool thing.

Like, they genuinely do so many good things in depicting this, they just can't...fully...get there...

We have Sofía dealing with realistic levels of ableism from her classmates at school, but Raúl was one of the people participating in this and that just. Never gets mentioned. It’s not even just that she forgives him for that (though trust me, I hate that, too), it’s that no one brings it up at all! Mental illness has had a considerable, significant impact on Sofía’s life (as mental illness is wont to do), it is-as it stands right now in Sofía’s story-an inextricable part of her overall life experience. You’d think someone would at least acknowledge that Raúl was part of the problem and actively making her suffering through ableism worse (despite claiming to care about her). But straight up no one ever does.

And they also started off with an interesting angle with Sofía’s relationship to sex and romantic physicality. It’s not uncommon for people struggling with severe mental illness to have a complicated relationship with their sexuality, and Sofía’s experience at the party in season one, how uncomfortable she looked when told to kiss someone for fun, her awkward conversation with Javier after she chose him, all of this fed into that angle of the complex entanglement between sex, romance, and mental illness that can sometimes exist. I didn’t even have an issue with Sofía’s first hookup with Raúl, because it was obviously an impulsive decision born from her current state of crisis (fighting with her mom-specifically over being coddled and infantilized, which also can happen to mentally ill people-and having flashbacks to everything involving her dad), and the whole scene was darkly lit and frenetic. There was a weird red filter over everything, and the camera panning to Raúl’s hacker mask cast an ominous shadow over the whole thing. Sofía’s relationship with her sexuality was still complicated. She didn’t do this because she trusted him or because she’d gotten over her unsurety or other potential hang-ups. It was an impulsive decision to feel something other than what she was experiencing. This particular instance was an unhealthy coping mechanism, and considering what Raúl was doing at the time (i.e., being the worst boy alive), it proved to be the wrong decision.

Aaaaannd then they screw that all up in season 2. She immediately hooks up with Raúl again, after the smallest amount of an attempt at bonding time. There’s no further discussion at any point of Sofía’s hinted concerns and insecurities regarding sex. It’s like she had sex once (in a very unhealthy situation that was based on Raúl lying to her constantly) and then suddenly there were no issues any more. I could maybe chalk it up to a minor oversight, but when she gets together with Javier post-time-skip, she is completely fine with everything involving their sex life. She’s suddenly this sexually confident person, which as an arc (learning to separate her mental illness struggles and experiences with ableism from her ideas about sex) would have been really interesting! It’s a dimension we don’t often see in depictions of mental illness onscreen, but we are never shown how she got to this point. Sorry (I’m not), but if you have issues with something--anything (and especially if you are mentally ill)--you’re not just going to get over those issues by engaging with the thing you have a problem or insecurity with one time. That’s not how human beings work.

And it’s also...odd, that Sofía seems to lose all symptoms of mental illness when she’s around Raul-presumably because pairing them up would be impossible to make sense of otherwise. She (at least as far as I can remember), isn’t shown taking medication around him; she becomes more cavalier, making jokes/teasing comments in situations where doing so wouldn’t make sense; she starts brushing off pieces of conversations that should be red flags, especially for someone whose primary character trait is “observant”; and for someone who is characterized as being “in her head” all the time (EVEN AS PER RAÚL HIMSELF) because she is literally always observing and deducting--something very common among people who suffer from mental illness--her least thought-out, most rash actions all involve her relationship with Raúl. Which would be fine as a characterization choice if it were framed differently. But (ill-advised season 1 hook-up aside), nothing in her interactions with him: from responding to his aggressive advances in season 2 to her out-of-character teasing/borderline flirting that CONTINUES INTO WHEN SHE’S IN A RELATIONSHIP WITH JAVIER, to drinking more when she’s around him, is presented as impulsive or jarring or unhealthy. At best, you can argue it’s neutral. Mostly, it’s presented as “cute.” I’ve already talked about how Sofía’s personality and values have to change completely in order for this ship to have ANY believability, but probably what angers me the most is that any and all opportunities they had to discuss and depict Sofía’s mental illness get completely thrown aside the moment the narrative has her interact with Raúl.

(Addendum: many mentally ill people latch onto their personal morals/causes for fear of being a bad person. This interpretation (though I’m not sure it was intentional) makes sense for Sofía, whose primary trait-other than being observant-is that she is a nice person. But for someone so committed to her values, she’s willing to overlook Raúl’s faults (that he never tries to change or apologize for), which is especially egregious considering that she doesn’t forgive similar behavior from anyone else.)

It’s just so frustrating, because obviously they could fully commit to their choice to have their main character suffer from mental illness. They have enough good stuff and interesting characterization decisions that they are almost there in terms of this being well-represented. IF THEY TRIED A LITTLE HARDER, IT WOULD BE GREAT.

#control z #sofía herrera #anti raul leon #anti raul x sofia #meta #control z meta #behold! a creation!#mental illness in fiction #mc13 watches ctrlz

15 notes · View notes

buck-yyyy · 2 years

Text

y’all i need some advice, but this kinda turned into a whole rant- tldr at the end :/

im so fucking sick of not being able to interpret social cues. i just spent 20+ minutes talking about history with my mom while we drove home, with other people in the car, and i thought she was having a nice time because i was doing really good with letting the conversation not be too heavy on my side (i have issues with getting too lecture-y and not letting people talk when i talk about things i love) and she was being active in the conversation and it seemed like she was genuinely enjoying it. we get out of the car, and my cousin went ‘ugh, *name*, no more talking about history’, to which i responded ‘you weren’t even a part of the conversation??’ and my mom just turned to her and said in the most infantilizing possible voice, ‘she [me] really loves history, you can just let her talk about it’, implying that she was just listening to me because she had to and not because she actually cared about the conversation. the second she said it i started tearing up and now i’m hiding in the bathroom because i don’t want to see anyone else right now.

i just- i don’t pick up on that stuff like other people do, and i don’t know why. i can rarely tell the difference between when people are actually interested in what i’m saying versus just pretending to be. and i hate it. i hate it so much.

it’s not even just in that kind of scenario that i struggle with this shit. it took me MONTHS after i left eighth grade to realize that my friends from middle school didn’t really like me all that much and just let me hang around because they had to, even when none of them made any effort to talk to me. they made fun of my interests all the time, unless they benefitted them (i used to bake and bring them the treats because no one in my house would eat them).

i can’t pick up on masked sarcasm. when it’s blatant, i get it, and i get most jokes and stuff, but anytime someone is subtlety sarcastic, i’m the only one who doesn’t get it and then get weird looks when i ask what they meant.

it’s practically impossible for me to gauge people’s real interest in what i’m saying. i can’t stop myself from infodumping about the stuff i love. all this stuff, that’s so easy for everyone else, is SO HARD for me, and i don’t understand WHY.

i’m so sick of social rules and expectations. as a kid, i was taught that even if you’re not interested in what people have to say, you need to listen, because it’s clearly important to them- no one follows that, and i frequently get ignored or talked over because no one gives a shot about my interests. why car we taught this shit if no one is going to actually do it? we have to make eye contact with people for them to trust us, but it doesn’t MEAN anything, so what’s the fucking point?

i just feel so different than everyone around me.

i feel like i process and experience emotions differently than everyone else- i don’t get sad like my mom does when people die that other people know, even though i feel so bad about feeling nothing, especially because i get such strong, uncontrollable emotional reactions to stuff that doesn’t fucking matter to everyone else (stranger things is a really good example. i cried four times during volume two, sobbed the whole way to dinner because i was so distraught over everything, has zero appetite and almost relapsed with something all because of a a fucking tv show).

stuff like certain sounds makes my brain go absolutely haywire, and i get both an emotional AND physical reaction to it- if someone blows a raspberry with their tongue, my whole mouth feels gross and tingly and i get irrationally upset.

i get so fixated on stuff, and no one else around me is like that. my entire life, i’ve had such intense interests in the stuff that i like that i can’t think about ANYTHING else for weeks, months, sometimes even a year- but then it’ll fizzle away in less than a week and i won’t even want to touch it. i can’t consume media the same way other people do, i can’t hold an interest for an extended period of time, and while i love how intense my love for these things is, it really sucks to have it be completely uncontrollable.

i just don’t understand why i don’t get this stuff, why i feel so different than everyone around me, why i process things so differently. if anyone has advice, or feels the same, please let me know- i feel so fucking alone in this.

tldr: i can’t pick up on social cues like everyone else can, and i don’t understand why. i process and experience my emotions so differently than everyone else around me, my interests are on a completely different wavelength than anyone else, and i feel so different than everyone else, like i’m a completely different species. i hate it and i don’t get why. if anyone has advice or feels the same, it would mean the world to me if you could share :/

#advice please

15 notes · View notes

deluluass · 3 years

Text

Red, like blood. Blue, like love.

Content warnings: rape/noncon; nsfw; bullying; soulmates au

Prompt: 88 & 183

There’s someone for everyone, you’d learned growing up.

"Remember, blue means happy," your mother would say. "The happiest you'll ever be.”

She liked reminding you about this fact— for it is an indisputable truth, every so often when she could still carry you. You’d be hugged from the back, as she recounted stories of first meetings, serendipitous and life changing in their nature; belonging to those who’ve lived long before you, sometimes even those who’ve only lived in tales.

Mostly, your mother loved telling those involving the people she knew. And if you’ve behaved properly, she would tell you about hers.

Tracing your palm, starting from the forked lines to the dashed ones on your fingers, she’d say, “These would start to glow like stars.”

“That’s weird!” you’d burst out, shrieking a laughter as she tickled you.

“Listen carefully,” she chastised. “Blue is for your soulmate, okay?”

And you’d repeat: Blue is for my soulmate.

“Then, mama,” you tugged at her sleeves, “What if it’s really, really bright red! Like! Bloody glow sticks! Say, mama, you see, everyone at the park was talking about the man who died because he touched someone and his hand became bright re— ”

You never brought that up again. What your mother said about it had been enough to never make you forget.

“Tell me if you get red,” she said firmly, clutching your arms as if she feared someone would snatch you away from her. “Red is bad, my heart. Red means run.”

It hadn’t nearly been as gruesome as your mother made it out to be.

Case in point, when you turned twelve the couple three houses down your street found out, shortly after their honeymoon, that their palms gleamed a fierce red once they clasped each other’s hands in front of the neighborhood aunties.

Their marriage ended with a swift and ordinary divorce, a year or so later.

Red: Not just an ominous warning for homicide, then. That was a relief, you’d thought.

Contrary to how your mother framed it, you were thankful, actually. It helped some of your friends escape from potentially hellish relationships. How lucky is it that you lived in a reality where the universe seemed exceedingly benevolent. Though, you sometimes have to question if that generosity extended to everyone.

Fat lot of good it did for you.

Because, from where you’re standing, it doesn’t have to take some arbitrary and unsolvable scientific mystery to heed that Oikawa Tooru must be avoided like the plague.

Any person in your shoes would be conditioned to do exactly that.

You’d first met in Elementary. You thought he was the prettiest kid you’d ever seen, with chestnut curls and doe eyes and lashes that swept past his cheeks, and when you’d asked for a hand shake he’d called you “the ugliest girl I’ve ever seen” and “fart face.”

Recess and lunch were when he’s most fearsome. Spiky burdocks slapped on the collar of your dress; dead lizards in your food; the boy was determined. The worst part was that it always happened when no one was looking. And if someone were, it was his best friend. So when you finally told on him to your mom, both your teacher and the principal simply judged Oikawa as the victim of an attention deprived child.

“Please discipline your daughter,” they told her. “We are all aware of your situation at home, but do ensure that she’s not getting out of control.”

You couldn’t even muster up the strength to defend yourself. In that moment all you could do was swear that you’d never allow anyone to talk to your mother in that way again.

You moved out of that school.

You didn’t wait for your palms to flash a warning signal because, somehow, you knew that boys who discover early that they could get away with anything cannot get any better.

There’d been no way to be sure of that until Aoba Johsai— after a peaceful interim of no Oikawa; no red palm lines (and no blue ones, either).

The proof hit you in the face. Literally.

“Oi, Shittykawa!”

Heat permeated from your nostrils as you patted your cheek, detached and staring back at the large gymnasium.

“You hit someone!”

How unlucky did a person have to be to bleed right on the first day of classes?

You tried to lean forward. “It’s okay,” you slurred nasally, pinching your nose and averting your embarrassed gaze from the boy kneeling next to you.

“Trashykawa! You better hurry and apologize!”

“Don’t be mad, Iwa-chan,” that disgustingly saccharine voice came from behind you, making you flinch, as if the years you’d spent apart had done nothing to purge it out of your system.

In all honesty, you hadn’t really cared for whoever was responsible for the ball that careened all the way to where you were standing, so sure that it had to be an accident. No one in their right mind would want to injure someone they barely knew, especially if said someone is a couple of feet away from you.

Morally and athletically, it should’ve been improbable. But then you saw who did it and everything made perfect sense.

Iwa-chan. The boy beside you. Iwaizumi Hajime.

If he’s here, then—

“You,” he whispered.

“Eh?! Gosh, I’m so sorry!” Oikawa Tooru gasped. “You’re bleeding.”

Time is cruel. It wears down on you, tears you and molds you into something you can’t even recognize, if it decides to. (Fate, more so). You didn’t know if you wanted to cry or laugh, looking at him. If the universe were so benevolent, then perhaps Oikawa Tooru had received all of its favor.

He was beautiful. You’d known this before, but with all the baby fat replaced with sharp yet slender angles, figure lean and imposing even when he’d lowered himself to meet your eyes, Oikawa didn’t seem real.

“I did hit someone, didn’t I?” he pouted, wiping the dried blood atop your lip. “And such a pretty girl, too.”

That volleyball existed should’ve made life better for you. It didn’t. If anything, it seemed that out of the court, when he’s not taking names and being praised like a god, you were his little pastime. Something fun to take his mind off whatever it is he thinks about it.

The mocking comments, you could handle; every time you’d recite and he’ll interject with something playful and then the entire class would laugh (because he’s Oikawa) and your professor would reprimand him but you could always tell that they, too, are holding in a giggle.

Those were easy to bear, because although his insults hit way too close to home, it’s just— it’s just so petty.

Really, it’s the aftermath that does the damage.

“They’re like Christmas lights under your skin!”

This topic pops up every month or so. Most people your age can be lucky enough to meet their soulmate this early.

“And it’s the most awesome feeling in the world,” your classmate sighed. “When we touched hands? Man. We just- we glowed.”

Then, the others would poke fun, faking a gagged expression, but they’d always ask afterwards, “What happened next?” And everytime, you’d watch from the sidelines. Like an uninvited audience.

You tried being a part of it once, wanting to share about the time your close friend met her soulmate. But all you’d gotten were side eyes and titters, as if they were laughing about a joke only you didn’t know about.

“They’re so mean to you.”

You groaned.

Oikawa was seated behind you, resting his head against his elbow. Everyone was too busy talking about blue lights and destined souls to notice what’s happening at the back of the room.

He continued, “Not including you in conversations, treating you like an outsider.”

You didn’t bite, focusing on the opened book in front of you.

“Must be lonely, having no one.”

“Oikawa,” you muttered under your breath. “I don’t have the energy for this.”

The silence that came after that was unexpected. You were sure it would be short lived; he’s just gearing up for more. He usually went at it until you’d have no choice but to physically remove yourself from his presence. You’d thought once that that may be why he does this so much. Maybe he still thought you were the “ugliest girl” he’s ever met and he wants you out of his sight. Because Oikawa’s infantile like that.

But the silence stayed, accompanied by the background noise of eager conversations; lingering some more as white, fluffy clouds passed by the glass windows.

When he broke it, all Oikawa said was, “Soulmates, huh.”

You felt a finger touch your back, drawing the barest of lines over your uniform. He removed them just before you could stand up and leave.

You disliked those moments with him.

You disliked him especially when he played.

Oikawa’s a monster, be it in volleyball or with you. There are times, though, that you’d notice some things that you think you’re not meant to see. Like after a serve— its impact booming throughout the court, he’d have this puzzling expression on his face.

It looked like....anger.

He scored a point, right? Everyone’s cheering for him, aren’t they? Wait, didn’t they win?

You thought maybe it’s the adrenaline making him nastier than usual, but sometimes you’d pass by the gym when he happens to be alone. And that anger is still there, punctuated by the sound of the ball exploding against the floor. Jump. Hit. Spike. Jump. Hit. Spike. He’d do it, again and again and again.

As if he’s trying to grasp something even he cannot reach.

Those instances should’ve taught you that the best thing to do is look away.

That’s what you should’ve done. Look away.

They lost the Interhigh tournament.

You knew this not because you’d watched, but because for one day, Oikawa Tooru wasn’t your bully.

The derision was replaced by sulking. He didn’t speak for the entire period. The funniest thing about it was that everyone kept staring at you. Like somehow you’d been the cause of this, when all of them were lamenting the loss just as much as the team itself.

What was supposed to be a reason for celebration suddenly became a crime that you had to explain for.

“Great,” you grumbled to yourself. “One time I don’t have a target on my back, now I’m the bad guy.”

Trash bag in hand, the scraps inside rattled against each other as you stomped to the recycling bin, both sleeves of your P.E jacket folded up to the elbows. You affected a tone, choosing to mock the grating way some of classmates talked:

“Oh, hey, if it’s not too much,” you began. “Can you please be his punching bag again? If you will, can you relieve our superstar’s burdens? By, I don’t know, alluring him into walking all over you? Like the good old days! Please, oh please? We rely on you, oh Great Punching Bag! We Beseech thee, oh Esteemed Doormat! We compel— dude, what the fuck?!”

Crumpled papers and steel and tin cans rolled to the ground. You didn’t pick them up, like you should’ve; you left it there, trash bag lying open, and grabbed the ball that whisked mere inches from your face.

This time you’re not making the same mistake. The asshole is more than capable of suspending what little morals he has, just to hurt someone he barely knew. As well as athletically adept (an understatement, that) at hitting a walking target; or not hitting it, in this case.

You stormed the almost empty gym. Oikawa is a ray of sunshine, greeting you with that smile. It makes you want to punch him.

“What is wrong with you?” you spat.

He chuckled. “Whoops. Sorry!”

“I’m not having this-” you shoved the ball to his stomach. He didn’t even blink. “This isn’t gonna slide anymore, Oikawa.”

Wide grin still in place, he took it from your hands with his much larger ones and said, “Wow, you’re actually mad this time. ”

Then, he added, “I didn’t mean it! Honest!”

Must be nice, you thought with a scowl, to be him. Anyone can be sincere if they look anything like Oikawa.

“Sure. Fine. No, actually,” you glowered. “You know what?”

“Hm?” He tilted his head. Oikawa tilted his pretty little head.

You seethed. “I get it. You lost. That doesn’t mean you get to take it out on me. I mean, what did I ever do to you, Oikawa? I have-” you exhaled, surprised by the break in your voice.

“I haven’t done anything to you. We stopped being kids a long time ago. That shit you pull should’ve ended by now. We’ve grown.” You jabbed his chest. “But I see that maybe not all of us have.”

His pleased expression hadn’t dropped. “Ouch,” Oikawa grimaced, glancing amusedly at the place you’d touched. “How mean.”

This isn’t going anywhere.

You don’t know why it took you this long to realize this, as you shifted your gaze away from him, noticing the gashes on the floor that tear the surface like scars that never healed. That must’ve been because of him, with the amount of practice he does.

“It won’t be enough, won’t it, Oikawa?” you whispered. “Not for you.”

The smile that’s been there since you arrived tensed, straining at the corners of his lips.

“Yeah, I’ve been told,” he beamed.

He was bathing in his own sweat, seeping through his shirt and matting his hair to his face, and he looks— Oikawa looked tired. His eyes were sunken in, too. Did he even sleep?

You’re so used to seeing him not a hair out of place, with a sweet scent that you amusedly thought lures his gaggle of admirers into following him everywhere. It takes you aback, honestly. Particularly the wobble in his step as he bent and squeezed his knee with shaky fingers.

You don’t think he’s aware he’s doing it in front of you.

Then, just like that, everything seemed to have added up.

“You’ll never be happy,” you said.

You should’ve stopped there. You should’ve left. Instead, you looked him in those brown eyes, the warm hue becoming a lot colder as he moved closer.

Oikawa sneered. “And what do you know, huh?”

(Go. Leave.)

“Nothing,” you told him. “I don’t- I don’t know. Because, I don’t get it.”

(Shut up. Shut up.)

“Why you try any harder, I don’t know. Win or lose, it’s all the same. You’re still the same. You’re still awful and annoying and- and still you.” You laughed, unsure why you’re running your mouth like this.

“Win or lose. Oikawa is still Oikawa,” you breathed in. “Nothing more, nothing less.”

His teammates must’ve gone somewhere. For lunch, maybe, you thought as you eyed the abandoned bottles and used towels scattered around the court. “Besides,” you huffed, not without a twinge of envy. “They’ll all still love you, either way.”

Everything went still for a while, and you’d just realized what you’d just said.

“What about you?”

You looked back at him.

“What?”

He tipped his chin. You stepped backwards.

He brushed your wrist.

“Don’t touch me,” you hissed, but he only smiled and wrapped his entire hand around it.

Oikawa had been your first bully. Before you could even comprehend what that meant, Oikawa had been the source of your mother’s worries whenever she parted with you at the school gates. It is funny, thinking about it, for letting this boy affect you despite making an effort to stay away the first time.

But it is only now— now that he has a firm hold on you, gentle yet smothering— that you truly feared Oikawa Tooru.

It rattled your breath, squeezing your heart and refusing air to pass through your lungs, as you felt a shock zap through you. And apparently through him as well.

You broke away from each out with a cry.

Your hand was burning. That’s the only explanation for it. Your hand was burning and any moment now smoke will diffuse from the pores.

You waited. Any moment now. But the more you stared at it the more tiny spots of flames sparked under your skin, bursting along the palm lines— first, the forked ones; then, the dashed lines— glaring back at you, glowing brighter, blotting and spreading until they mapped your palms then your entire hands like constellations.

“Red is bad, my heart,” your mother said. “Red means run.”

“I knew it,” you scoffed, shaking your head.

Well, it’s not as if this is news to you.

“What about that, Oikawa?” You put both your radiating hands in the air. “The universe is telling us, you and I? We just don’t—”

Why are you crying?

Why is Oikawa crying?

“I knew it,” he croaked.

Your mother made the red light sound so horrifying for a reason.

There has to be a reason, too, why the universe is warning you so late into your life. You’d actually ran before. And when you thought it a waste of money, you chose to stay and not fight back; thinking that his punches have become less severe, degraded into verbal taunts that induce social exclusion at most; that, certainly, red doesn’t forbode something as bad as murder, right?

Well, what now? You were wrong, after all. This time you have a feeling that you actually need to hide.

Because Oikawa’s looking at you like you’re the last two people left in this Earth.

Just you and him. Without any need for anybody else.

You didn’t breathe, attempting to bolt despite the overwhelming need to throw up right where you're standing. He stepped closer, faster than you’d liked, and touched your face, caressing your cheek up to your aching temple.

“You should really stop trying to run away,” he said, voice low as if he’s sharing a secret. “I’ll always find you, you know?”

You didn’t have to look to know. Even if you closed your eyes, as well, you know it’s still going to be there; glowing in the darkness behind your eyelids.

“Me and you—” Oikawa sighed.

Listen carefully, your mother said.

“ —we have a connection that no one else will ever understand,” he said.

The light emitting from his hand was so harsh it hurt you, pricking your sight until it drew fat tears, reflecting against your damp face and tinting the fallen streaks with bright—

Blue means happy, she told you. The happiest you’ll ever be.

And you’d repeat: Blue. Blue is for—

“My soulmate," Oikawa said, before locking you in a deep, searing kiss.

The lights didn't die even as he dragged you into the storage room.

"Hey, where'd senpai go?"

The rest of the volleyball team came in droves, occupying the hollow court with their squeaking shoes and questions about Oikawa's whereabouts.

"Must've gone somewhere," you heard a deep voice say.

You could answer that question. All you had to do was scream. They weren't so far from the room that they wouldn't pick it up over the noise of their volleyball practice. Really, if you needed to, you could even outshout their guttural yells of "Nice kill!"

Though, you'd have to remove the underwear lodged in your mouth first.

Yours, in fact; soaked now by your own saliva, drool dripping to your chin as your wrists chafed against the rope that's keeping them tied at your back.

"Feels good, doesn't it?" You felt every sickening movement of Oikawa's lips against your throat. "Feels good when you- ah, fuck- when you give in."

With the cloth muting your shrill bawling, you tried your best to recall how you ended up here: seated on his lap as he sluggishly humped himself against you, his still glowing hands cupping your ass.

The only thing left on your body was your bra, and even that he's already lowered to let your tits spill over the top. Your pants and t-shirt and jacket are lying around somewhere. You couldn't determine where in particular; the only sources of light were behind you.

He was leaving imprints of blue all over your skin; around your waist as he slithered his hands to reach your breasts, scantily brushing over the hardened nipples and making you keel over.

"So sensitive," he tutted, smooching your neck so gently that even the underwear couldn't muffle your loud yelp when he suddenly bit into the flesh. Hard.

You wanted to claw his eyes out and call for help and you wanted badly to scream don't do that Oikawa someone please save me he's gonna kill me he's gonna kill me-

But the gag remained intact and the boys outside continued their game, ignorant that their precious captain is taking everything away from you.

Sharp canines bruised your skin, provoking a fresh batch of tears as he sucked and licked every after cruel bite.

Then, when you thought the worst had passed, he removed his mouth from your neck to spit onto your bare cunt, allowing it to slide from the hair on your mound to the nub sticking out in the middle.

(It is not enough that he is killing you. Oikawa must defile you, too.)

His fingers gripped the insides of your thighs open when you tried to shut them together. "Don't be a brat," he clicked his tongue.

"Be a nice little kitten for me," Oikawa drawled, smearing the slick that's soaking your folds against the spittle coating your clit.

You didn't notice when he'd taken his cock out, you only realize that he's about to enter you when he teased your entrance with it, pushing the tip to nudge the drenched hole, only to pull it back again.

And you didn't dare look. The feel of it almost stretching you out with just the head is already driving you to insipid begging.

"What'd you say, kitten?" he pouted.

Oikawa you've already taken too much is it never going to be enough Oikawa let me go.

"I can't understand you," he chuckled. "Here—"

He pulled the underwear out of your mouth as he thrust all the way inside, your back arching, driving him deeper, as his cock throbbed against your pussy walls.

"Now, what were you saying?"

You swallowed your cries and heaved and swore you were gonna tear his heart out after this.

"Say," he whispered, sniffing your wet panties without breaking his gaze. "If everyone saw us right now, how'd you think they'd react?"

It was so reverent, the way he did it, blue light revealing that he closed his eyes as he took a whiff, as if he hung onto your scent like a lifeline.

But you thought that'd been a calculated move, because as you dumbly stared at him, he immediately gyrated his hips under you, rocking back and forth ever so slowly, and you remembered that you had to keep quiet.

His cock was so big inside you, making you bite your lip as it filled you up, the curved tip hitting a spot that has you squirming in his embrace.

"At this point they'll know how much of a whore you are," he said, tangling his muscled arms around yours and anchoring you to his body. "Made just for me."

"Oika-Oikawa…"

You don't know this person.

"Help..me.."

You don't know who's speaking out and whimpering for Oikawa, on her knees and bouncing up and down on his lap with weak, quivering thighs.

It couldn't be you.

"Help you?" You felt him nuzzle your neck. "I thought you wanted me to stay away, though?"

Someone mewled out a pathetic, "N-no."

"No? Then what d'you want, kitten?"

(Oh. Oh, he feels so fucking good.)

Your belly has never felt this hot before and it's driving you crazy that you're chasing for something you cannot see and it feels so near but there's something, something that's keeping you from it that all you can do is grind your sopping cunt closer to him.

"Wanna- I wanna cum."

Oikawa kissed you on the forehead, and then he said, "Go ahead, then."

He released your arms.

Then, he's scooping cum off your pussy, making sure to drag his fingers under the lips, before circling your large, swelling clit. Then, he's sucking your tits and swirling his tongue around a nipple and you're so so close.

"That's it," Oikawa sighed. "Ride my cock, baby."

His rough palm slapped both your ass cheeks and the cry that erupted from you only made him laugh.

"Make yourself cum on my cock," he grunted, licking his smiling lips as he leaned back against the wall, hand idly rubbing your dripping clit. "You're making a mess, darling. Leaking like that."

You're quivering all over; your cunt is spasming and your legs are complaining beneath you, but you don't stop. You lift your hips and then sink your pussy down, down until you feel his balls touching your sore ass, the sloshing sound growing louder as you move faster.

You don't think about what this'll all mean later, what you're doing giving in to him, when you scream out his name. But as soon as you did, Oikawa's growl had been your only warning.

He grabbed the back of your head and kissed you, plunging his tongue into your throat, his strong arms pressing you so close to him you can no longer tell his skin from yours, his battering heartbeat from yours.

You didn't move—weren't allowed to, when he hammered his cock into you, pounding your cunt and fucking you raw until you're breathless and nothing but a shuddering wreck, splitting at the seams in his hands as you feel thick spurts of hot cum slide out of you.

"My pretty girl," came his hoarse whisper. "My pretty, pretty girl."

The lights have dimmed, when he cradled your shaking form and moved out of you, faint traces left on just the palm lines and fingertips.

They were flooded by the sudden brightness that enveloped the storage room.

"Holy shit."

You pressed your eyes close, your entire body prickling at Oikawa’s touch.

It shouldn't be surprising, at this point, that Oikawa, as quick as he'd stripped you off of everything, has already covered you back in your jacket. The smell of it striking you ruthlessly, that old cologne that you always use to school reminding you of who you were, before all this.

Had it only been a few hours? It felt like a lifetime ago.

"Ah," Oikawa murmured. "They caught us."

"Oikawa,” someone roared. Oikawa held you, hiding your face against his chest. “Why you son of a-"

"C-coach..! Stop- Oi, someone help me hold him- no, coach! "

You heard him chuckle. “Sorry about this, everyone.” He held up his hand and you had to keep yourself from sobbing. “But, look.”

There were several gasps.

(Everybody knows now.)

“You..and her?”

The boy who said that sounded so astonished, clearly overjoyed for some reason, that it revolted you.

“Mhm,” he nodded, a smile in his voice. “Now, can you guys please give us some privacy?”

Feet shuffled out of the room, along with stuttered apologies. They all left.

Except for one.

“Iwa-chan,” Oikawa pouted.

“What did you do, Oikawa?”

A beat. Then, he repeated, “Iwa-chan.”

Please.

Iwaizumi didn’t say anything.

Please help me.

“Sure,” he grunted.

He was gone, too, after that.

You were back in the darkness, with nothing but the faltering red and blue on your hands and his, while he untied your wrists and kneaded the abrasion away, cooing sweet nothings to your ear.

“I hate you,” you rasped.

“Don’t say that.”

“I fucking hate you-”

“Please stop yelling-”

“I won’t ever forgive you, Oikawa!”

“You don’t know what you’re talking about,” he cried, shaking his head as he brushed your tear-stained cheeks with both thumbs. You clutched them, wanting him off you, but he only latched himself firmly into you. “We’re meant to be.”

“You’re the only one for me.”

Oikawa brought your numb hand to his face, pressing a kiss to your palm, the red light basking him in its soft glow.

“And I’m the only one for you,” he said, intertwining your fingers together.

The lights flickered in and out, at first, as you stared vacantly into it, the red and blue swallowing each other. Until they finally disappeared, leaving just you and him, curled against each other in the shadows.

#tw noncon #tw non con haikyuu #yandere oikawa #oikawa toru x reader #oikawa x female reader #dark content haikyuu #prompt

802 notes · View notes

hamliet · 3 years

Text

What Does It Mean to Save?

I keep seeing it said that Deku, Ochaco, and Shouto will “save” Shigaraki, Himiko, and Dabi, but that there will be no redemption and/or no survival for them. I’m truly not trying to vague these posts and everyone is entitled to their opinion, but literary criticism is fundamentally responsive so I’m writing this anyways.

I personally think that’s not BNHA’s definition of saving nor of redemption. So here, have a deep dive into literary tropes related to redemption, genre, and character arcs as they pertain to BNHA and the question of: what does it mean to save Shigaraki, Touya, and Himiko?

Before we begin, let me say that while we might be personally uncomfortable with redemption (there’s a redemption arc in BNHA I am personally quite uncomfortable with), that doesn’t inherently mean the narrative won’t go there. The key principle I’m operating on here is BNHA’s message that heroes save people. It’s held up as the highest ideal.

So let’s talk redemption in BNHA-verse. With this guy, whose redemption arc I dislike in principle but accept as part of the story so don’t come for me stans and/or antis. I’m analyzing because it shows us what redemption means in BNHA-verse, whether or not that is satisfying to you personally as it fits/does not fit with your own morality/philosophy.

If Endeavor can be redeemed and live, and he’s Bakugou’s negative foil, I highly doubt Shigaraki and Deku as well as Touya and Shouto and Ochaco and Himiko will be any different. Why? Because Enji is an adult character. The others--well, Himiko’s age we don’t know, but we do know that Shigaraki and Dabi are technically adults. But does the story consider them adults?

(It doesn’t.)

Child-coded characters are generally more likely to survive a redemption, which I’ll explain more later. First I have to define what I mean by child-coding, because I DO NOT mean this in the way it’s often (mis)used in fandom wank. Child-coding is a real thing, but it is not done to infantilize and it has nothing to do with shipping.

Child coding frames the character as a child for a few narrative purposes to convey a story’s theme or purpose. For example, if it’s a coming of age story coding a character as a child even if they legally are not emphasizes their journey to an understanding of self-actualization, or a true understanding of self with self-awareness and an understanding of self-value. An example of an adult coded as a child is The Kite Runner, wherein Amir is a legal adult for half the story, even married for fifteen years so we’re talking 30s-40s, but he does not truly become an adult until he returns to his homeland and takes responsibility for a childhood sin. In Attack on Titan, the main characters are now nineteen, but are still struggling to take responsibility as adults and have only started doing so now that their mentors/parental figures have started dying.

Along those lines, in any kind of story, you can code a character as a child of someone, regardless of biological relationship, to convey the type of relationship they have (usually a mentor one). For an example of this, see Bungo Stray Dogs’ Dazai and Akutagawa. Despite their two year age difference, Dazai recruited him to the mafia, abandoned him, and Akutagawa desperately seeks his approval. Usually in these stories a character will “overcome” their parental figure. This can be done through overcoming their need for the parental figure’s approval in stories where the parental figure is kindly (such as in Harry Potter, when in the final book Harry, Ron, and Hermione leave the Weasleys to find the Horcruxes despite Mrs. Weasley’s please) or through like, killing/stopping/leaving the parental figure when they are abusive (see fairy tales like Rapunzel and Cinderella). The parental link to self-actualization is because it is childlike (and a part of actual psychology that is reflected in literature) to see yourself as a part of your parent; self-actualized person would see yourself as a distinct person from your parent, but also acknowledge the ways in which they’ve shaped you.

So, how do you code a character as a child? BNHA isn’t subtle about it, because Horikoshi seldom is subtle about anything. The villain trio are all coded as children.

Shigaraki Tomura:

Who cannot achieve self-actualization so long as AFO has access to his body, as he’s literally trying to possess him. He’s trying, but it’s not gonna work because Shigaraki can’t keep AFO and become an adult at the same time. It’s a choice the narrative is setting up: your dream of destroying, or your freedom? (To get the latter, he’ll probably have to destroy AFO).

Todoroki Touya, who is repeatedly emphasized as a small child when compared to his siblings, and yes, I know he’s now tall. Specifically he’s spotlighted as the child of Endeavor:

And he’s the least self-actualized one in a lot of ways, contradicting himself constantly. I’m not Endeavor, DUH! But these are Endeavor’s flames! He’s gonna have to choose one or the other, because the tragic irony is that the more he takes out his rage on those around him, the more like Endeavor he becomes.

And Toga Himiko (who might well literally be a legal child), who is actually the most self-actualized one thus far, because she rejects Curious’s child insistence (Curious holds her in a Pieta pose, based on Michelangelo’s statue wherein Mary holds a deceased Christ):

She’s still got, like, a way to go though:

Because Himiko also wants to be like the people she loves to the point where she loses her own identity in them, which is er, not self-actualization. So she’ll have to choose whether or not she really wants to be like the people she loves or whether she wants to live her own way, which she herself tells us how that would end (death):

Deku said it himself: it’s good to focus on what someone is doing now. And look, I have issues with this statement and how it’s framed. I’ve talked about it at length and it was doomed to fail because Shouto himself told us long ago that it was annoying to hear a righteous speech by a stranger when you hadn’t gone through the same, plus Endeavor kinda failed by choosing being a hero over a dad here. But, the principle is that if the past doesn’t preclude Endeavor from seeking a better self, why would it preclude three characters coded as children, one of whom is literally somewhat the product of Endeavor’s sins? BNHA doesn’t think the past keeps someone from a better future.

So what about Dabi’s counterpoint, which is indeed valid? Well, redemption doesn’t mean the past forgets, either. It’s complicated and nuanced, and we can debate how well Horikoshi strikes this nuance (it’s got its flaws), and admittedly I don’t know how this will go down in the future. But it is asking Endeavor: how do you redeem yourself to the people you’ve hurt? And we have Endeavor asking this question to Touya’s shrine. I mean, the foreshadowing is obvious. Endeavor has to redeem himself by trying to save Touya. However, it will still probably come down to Shouto to save Touya.

For our three villains, it’s a little harder to predict... well, sort of. For Shigaraki it’s extremely obvious: he has to help take down AFO. Dabi probably has to do something to help his family (siblings probably), but it’s vague. Toga needs help and not condemnation, but presumably she’ll help Ochaco with something.

So, is this redemption? I’d define it as redemption in the eyes of the narrative. To address what makes a redemption is another essay unto itself, but if we bring in the oft-compared Star Wars example: did Darth Vader get a redemption? Did Ben Solo? Everyone says yes to both. However, only Luke witnesses Vader’s redemption, and only Rey Ben Solo’s. So the rest of the galaxy? Doesn’t think so. When I say they’ll be redeemed, I’m defining it as their role in the eyes of the narrative, not whether or not society will accept them or even whether their victims will forgive them (of note, in canonical novels, Leia never forgave Darth Vader despite learning he was her father and obviously knowing Luke’s account of his redemption was true).

So, redemption in a narrative doesn’t mean all of society has to forgive and accept them. Dabi has still like, murdered 30 people--many of whom were thugs, but he himself acknowledges they didn’t deserve to die. Additionally, he himself also acknowledges that the families left behind--their feelings matter:

But why does that mean they have to die? Why even does it mean they have to languish in prison forever? (If there’s even a safe prison at the end of BNHA which I kinda have doubts about.) Heroes have also killed: see Hawks as Exhibit A. In fact, some people want revenge on the heroes precisely because they arrested or killed their loved ones (jail isn’t held up as a rehabilitative place in BNHA’s world. In most countries it isn’t in real life, either, but again that’s for another essay). So why don’t the League’s feelings on Twice’s death matter just as much as the feelings of unnamed and unseen (and thereby less important narratively) characters?

Additionally, regarding death... the villains routinely get called on their death wishes. Himiko’s determination to decide how/when she dies is called out because this is right before Twice overcomes his trauma to save her, and the next arc they appear in is when Twice dies trying to save her again. Dabi’s suicide wish keeps him from getting close to others, and it keeps getting thwarted. Shigaraki’s obsession with destruction and death is clearly not a good thing, and his rejection of his family’s desire for them to join him in death this past arc is growth.

In other words: what Dabi said and what Snatch said about families and how they feel matter for the villains too. The villains are their own weird found family (Dabi as the deadbeat prodigal brother of both his families). Their deaths--Magne’s and Twice’s thus far, and I’m not ruling out further deaths in the future--affect the others. People’s feelings on losing loved ones matter. The villains are people, as Himiko said herself this arc:

Their feelings about each other matter:

How would Touya dying affect the Todorokis? At least they saved him spiritually, I guess, but that’s absolutely lame narratively, and if you have Enji eventually do a sacrifice to save Dabi (pretty likely, even if I personally think Enji will survive said sacrifice) then what’s the point of Dabi dying? How would Himiko dying affect society? As a martyr like Curious wanted her to be, even a redeemed one? A tragic warning story? What even is the point of Ochaco saving her if that’s the case? If Shigaraki dies, well, who would mourn besides Deku? How would Shigaraki dying affect the surviving members of the league? He just couldn’t be saved physically?

It’s not impossible some of this happens, but it doesn’t seem like great writing, especially with panels like, oh, these that show us BNHA’s perspective on death:

Sacrificing something is a type of death that occurs in stories; this should happen in a redemption arc, which is why I’ve been saying Enji needs to sacrifice his hero reputation to help save Touya and even then it’ll still be Shouto imo who does the saving. But physical death?

If you want further analysis of the latter two panels and how they relate to the ending, see here.

We already have another villain who will definitely die redemptively (Kurogiri--an adult coded character--because he’s already, like, dead), and Spinner and Mr. Compress aren’t coded as kids so I hold them with anxiety towards the end. But again, this isn’t me being ageist or saying this is the way things ought to be in fiction or real life: it’s me looking at writing tropes and saying that child-coded characters tend to survive their redemptions. See: Zuko. Why? Because the death of children or child-coded characters is a tragedy. When a child-coded character dies redemptively it doesn’t feel like a happy ending and if framed as such, it’s often criticized for bad writing (see: Ben Solo). Curious even called this out in her fight with Himiko. I would hope Horikoshi doesn’t end the story being like yeah Curious was right that’s the best use of Himiko’s/Dabi’s/Shigaraki’s arcs:

Additionally, as for the believability of a character getting a new chance after so much destruction and murder... well, it’s kinda a thing in shonen and even in seinen? For better or for worse, it’s a thing. We have Vegeta in Dragon Ball Z and Kaneki Ken in Tokyo Ghoul (Kaneki, by the way, is absolutely an inspiration for Shigaraki). We can debate how well-written these redemptions are (I personally have been quite critical of Kaneki’s despite wanting it to happen narratively), but it can be done. BNHA’s Japan especially isn’t as harsh a world as Tokyo Ghoul’s Japan, so it would make even more sense for something like Kaneki’s ending.

The reality is that the cycle of revenge via hurting people and then leaving hurting families and loved ones has to stop somewhere. Someone has to be the bigger person and step up and be like “naw.” That’s heroic. That’s brave. That’s sacrificial itself. Justice itself doesn’t really exist in its purest form without mercy.

There’s another genre-reason I don’t see death or jail as likely (I could see, like, maybe a mental health ward like Rei’s? But it’s too soon to speculate).

If saving is considered a good thing for the story, if it’s truly the highest ideal, then saving someone should be rewarded by the narrative. The characters who save should have a positive result to show us this a good thing.

This is why it doesn’t work for the heroes’ end journey to be accepting that some people cannot be saved. The notion of just accepting that you cannot do something, you cannot save everyone, you cannot, cannot, cannot, is called out as a flaw of society. Determination, on the other hand, is rewarded.

We see it with Deku as well as with Mirio.

So, what if they save them and the redeemed characters then go on to sacrifice themselves in their redemption and die (come to the same end)? If saving changes absolutely nothing for the saved person, if it’s too late for the saved from themselves to change and/or do anything that matters besides die, then the narrative theme of saving as important is left unemphasized at best and undermined at worst. Simple intrinsic knowledge that the kids “did the right thing” doesn’t cut it for a story with so much focus on physical saving when the kids are already doing the right thing; moral struggles about whether to choose to be good aren’t really Deku, Ochaco, or Shouto’s arcs. It works for Aizawa’s arc with Kurogiri, but not for the kiddos. If BNHA was more of a philosophical/spiritual text, that would indeed make sense, but it is not. Genre-wise, BNHA is a fantastical superhero optimistic story, not a gritty real-world set drama.

631 notes · View notes

rjalker · 3 years

Note

im confused as to why is entrapta being autistic ableist? like others reactions to her? /gen

Because she doesn't give a single crap about anyone else because all she cares about is playing with her shiny new toys and literally sided with a genocidal facist and helped him on his quest to destroy the planet because it gave her more opportunity to play with machines, and then we aren't supposed to be mad at her for this, because she's autistic, so it's not her fault that she willingly sided with a genocidal facist and helped him destroy the fucking universe.

This is a trope I see over and over again and I'm sick of it. Autistic or otherwise mentally disabled characters who put everyone around them in mortal peril and have no fucking morals at all, but it's okay, because they're autistic, so they don't know any better, and we shouldn't be mad at them, and they shouldn't have to face consequences for their behavior!

It's demonization and infantilization all in one. Autistic people are evil and would let millions of people die without batting an eye if it means they get to play with new science, but it's not their fault, they're autistic, we shouldn't hold them accountable.

I'm sick of it. Entrapta isn't the first and she won't be the last.

When the other princesses are rightfully pissed off at her betrayal, they're portrayed as being bullies because she's bad at making friends. As thought the problem is that she's awkward and not that she willingly sided with a genocidal facist and helped him commit genocide.

The fact that she literally leapt at the chance to help commit genocide is never fucking brought up or dealt with. We're just supposed to feel bad for her because she's Autistic And Doesn't Know How To Make Friends.

You know how fucking Elon Musk recently "came out" as autistic?

Yeah.

That fucking sums up everything with Entrapta. She's fucking evil and doesn't give a single shit who gets hurt because of her actions, and we're supposed to make excuses for her and be okay with that because she's A Little Baby Autistic Who Doesn't Know How To Make Friends :( :( :( :( :( :( :( /s

I'm sick of this shit. If you search my blog for the word "Entrapta" you should see all the other posts I've made on this subject because it's pissed me off since the getgo.

When they introduced her I was so fucking excited to see a weird character with her dark color scheme and weird movements be a hero.

And then they said no. She's going to leap at the chance to join a genocidal facist and fall in love with the genocidal facist and help him commit genocide because she doesn't give a single flying fuck about anyone but herself and her Shiny Toys.

I hate this trope and I hate allistics and I hate this show.

And you know what. I don't fucking know anything about the writers but if one of them is autistic and they still did this? That doesn't mke it okay, that makes it a million fucking times worse and they are a fucking traitor.

If you try to argue with me on this post that Hordak isn’t a facist and the Horde didn’t commit genocide, shut the fuck up and block me. You are going to be blocked and you’re going to be reported. Literally just block me. If you defend genocide and facism, you are a horrible person.

#actually autistic #spop #entrapta #She-Ra and the Princesses of Power #SPOP crit #spop critical #fuck entrapta #literally fuck her #I hate her and I hate the writers and I hate all fucking allistic people who do this shit with every fiber of my being #Ableism #fuck this shit #allistics owe me fucking money

143 notes · View notes

masterthespianduchovny · 3 years

Text

The counter argument to people being against Sam/Rebecca for legitimate reasons are claims that Sam is being “infantilized.”

These age gap conversations in general are difficult to have because one side won’t acknowledge that just because two people are adults doesn’t mean they are in the same place emotionally and mentally. And this is a very important thing to note.

Someone being 18, a legal adult in America (I think you can date adults at 16 in the UK), doesn’t mean they are able to date a significantly older person, say 38, without a problem. Because, more times than not, which is an understatement, there’s a lot of fucking problems in an age gap relationship even if the older person isn’t dating the younger for nefarious reasons.

It is not infantilizing Sam or any young adult to say, “hey, this relationship may be detrimental to them because of their age.” That is just…facts.

Many people on tumblr and other SM sites often talk about how they still feel like kids at 22 and are still figuring life at, despite having jobs, kids, and shit. Despite being in full blown relationships, these young adults don’t feel like adults and that’s because you aren’t magically mature just because you’ve reached an arbitrary age to be declared a legal adult.

You just aren’t.

And being mature in one aspect of your life or regarding emotional development doesn’t mean you’re mature in other aspects. At 17, I was mature enough to understand this.

Because maturity isn’t just something you obtain like your degree or license, it’s an ongoing, ever evolving thing.

It’s life experience. As in how you learn and grow from it.

Acknowledging that someone doesn’t have significant life experience isn’t infantilizing them, it’s giving an important perspective to a crowd of who is essentially arguing “age ain’t nothing, but a number.”

If you’re all for an 18 year old dating a 38 year old, why not a 16 year old and a 36 year. It’s only a two year difference, right? And what if that 16 year old is really mature? Most would have an issue with that. People are justifying a significantly older person dating a younger person due to legality and not they are actually mature and on the same level. But there’s not much difference between a 16 and 18 year old or an 18 year old and a 20 year old. But guess what, there is a significant difference between people between the ages of 18-22 dating people a decade or more.

I literally just turned 30 last week and, even when I was 25, after a while I could tell when I was speaking to a teen or someone in their early 20s. Because, whether or not you get along with them, there are just some things that, because they haven’t had enough life experience, they don’t have the nuance or perspective to engage with you a certain way and this is even on a non romantic level.

And, in some cases, the younger person is more “mature” not because they’re actually that mature, but because the older person is that immature.

So before I get into the issues with Sam and Rebecca, let me give you four examples of age gaps relationships:

1. A friend of mine dating an older man when she was 23 and he was 38. She was a manager at a gym and he was a gym member. They would have sex and hang out, but she wanted commitment. Whenever she asked him about it, he’d get weird on her. After finally breaking it off months later, he “loved” her and finally wanted commitment, but she’d moved on. While she dated him, I told her my two cents on the situation and left it alone. Last month, she recalled this conversation as she groaned in displeasure hearing about an age gap relationship. She’s now skeptical of older people dating significantly younger people.

2. A friend of mine was 18 dating a 28 year old. We all worked at a pizzeria. He watched her on the cameras from the back when he became a manager—got mad if she talked to male coworkers. Used to gaslight her, controlled her via manipulation, and other gross toxic shit. After emotionally tormenting her for a year or so and pressuring her to live with him, which her parents allowed due to some issues they didn’t want to exacerbate, he cheated on her. They’re broken up now. She was always stressed out while with him.

3. A girl got into her first and only relationship when she was 19 with a man who was 32. They’re now married 23 and 36. She wants to wait to have kids and on her birthday he gifted her baby clothes. Make of that what you will.

4. A girl, 22, dated her 37 year old professor. At 28, she feels like she’s outgrown him and is disturbed about how and when they got together. And one night she heard him advise his friends to date younger girls so they can mold them. Yeah…

Sure you have marriages that have age gaps that lasted, but even then, very few of those are actually healthy. The younger person is usually taking orders from the older partner, can’t do certain things, doesn’t have any true agency, skills to survive on their own, etc. What typically happens is after that person becomes older, they begin to question their relationship because what seemed okay when they were younger, is unsettling after becoming older.

Like I said, take out the nefarious shit, and there is still a significant life experience gulf between Sam and Rebecca and that is one of the many issues with this pairing. Despite what some romantics and media loves to say, “love does not conquer all.” Most of the marriages that end in divorce isn’t because they couple fell out of love, it’s due to finances. Love couldn’t conquer that. Some marriages end because one of them changed or they could’ve overcome their vast differences.

I’m not saying Sam and Rebecca are on a path for marriage or are even in love, they aren’t, however, they idea that just because they get along and have some things in common means it would be a great relationship is very shortsighted. There isn’t even enough significant interaction to prove this. Getting along on an app isn’t the same as connecting face to face. And none of this can overcome Rebecca’s life experience and, relatively speaking, Sam’s lack thereof.

And I’d argue that, on average, athletes tend to be immature because they live in such a bubble where people constantly kiss their ass. Which makes Sam look more mature than he probably is.

Even then, being with an older person ages you. This younger person misses out on so much, many of which they regret, because they’re trying to be mature enough for their older partner. They don’t want to seen as immature for doing young shit when that’s exactly their age range.

But let’s get into the real consequences for Sam here:

1. Sam has to keep his relationship a secret. The media will tear him up about dating/fucking the owner of the team. And so will fans. People love to mention he’s being infantilized because he’s young and black, how do you think that is going to go if anyone finds out about them? Racism, baby. He won’t suffer from sexism, however, they will question his place on the team and if he deserves to be there. This will taint him and even cause issues with his parents. So secret relationship it is.

2. If his teammates found out, this will fracture his relationship with them. Whether or not it’s true, Sam will be blamed for shit outside of his control. They’ll think he only got more playing time, more pay, or whatever because he’s fucking Rebecca. OR they’ll try to ask him for favors and get upset if he won’t do it. His team will think he’s getting favoritism and believe there is a power imbalance between them and Sam as a result. Don’t believe me, Google dynamics once students realize a classmate is dating their teacher or an employee is dating their boss. It usually doesn’t go over so well.

So even if the relationship is loving and healthy, Sam will suffer from being with Rebecca. Because if it's a secret, it’s going to bother him eventually that they have to sneak around and the anxiety of being caught. If it’s out in the open, he will suffer harassment, alienation, his play will suffer because his teammates probably won’t pass to him, etc.

Which leads to, 3: transferring teams. But how is that fair? Sam is developing well under ted and now that may delay his development and stock just so he can be with Rebecca? We want this young, black man to succeed, but his career will be kneecapped due to his relationship. Sam is serious about football and this would be a major blow to him.

Like I said, take out nefarious shit and this relationship is still detrimental to Sam. And even with a healthy relationship, there will still be a disconnect that will lead to their relationship ending because they are in two vastly different places in their lives.

That is not infantilizing Sam, that’s reality.

And, again, that power imbalance is massive. We saw how easy it was for Rebecca to send Jamie back to Man City. She has so much power, control, and influence over Sam’s career and livelihood. She can dictate how much or how little they offer to pay him during contract negotiations.

And this is the ship people are getting upset at others rightfully taking issue with?

It doesn’t even make sense for Rebecca to go along with this either. She played a part in Keeley breaking up with Jamie, which age, Jamie being younger, played a key part in it. She’s even disgusted by Rupert dating a significantly younger woman. I doubt her opinion centered on maturity. She’s not going to suddenly support this relationship if she found out that Bex is super mature.

Rebecca would stand to lose a lot of she were to get involved with Sam and others found out. She’d get dragged through the mud worse than she did after her divorce. She’s lose them support of her staff. And it would fuck up the relationship she has with her players.

Now some Sam/Rebecca supporters have called bullshit on people who are against this relationship, yet support Ted and Rebecca. They claim it’s the same power imbalance or that one exists.

1. It’s not the same power imbalance.

2. Yes, one does exist, but it’s not nearly as wide as it is with Sam and it wouldn’t destroy her either.

Ted has the authority to hire and fire people. He has the authority to facilitate trades, call up people, and send them down. He has a lot of influence that Sam does not. They aren’t equals, but there also isn’t a massive power disparity either.

Rebecca also can’t completely fuck over Ted like she can Sam if she went all scorned woman. Because, doing so, would entail her own demise. Even if you don’t include that, Ted is only attached to Richmond. He doesn’t care about having a career as a football coach in the ways coaches from non US countries do. He can go back and have a career as an American football coach and still be massively successful. Or, if Rebecca did want to fuck him over, he has that bomb as to why he was hired. Ted doesn’t even have to play that card for it to be played by either Higgins or Keeley.

Because one of them will if they feel it’s necessary.

We have no clue what’s going to happen with this storyline. But the idea that people against Sam and Rebecca being a thing, romantically or sexually, being fueled by racism or sexism is misguided, hypocritical, and flat out wrong. If this entanglement is pursued, it stands to harm Sam from various angles and that’s MY objection.

People think this is all about Ted/Rebecca when, personally, I’d lose (some) respect for Rebecca if she got involved with Sam. That would taint her for me. Because let’s be real, many of us are grossed out by Rupert dating, marrying, and then impregnating Bex. Yet, some are okay with Rebecca and Sam getting together and those who are against it are sexist? And I truly believe the same people supporting this ship are also grossed out by Rupert’s relationship.

How is Rupert’s relationship gross, but we shouldn’t obsess over age with Rebecca and Sam? People say Sam is mature enough to date Rebecca, which implies that Bex isn’t mature enough to be with Rupert and that IS sexist.

Even if the writers confirm tomorrow that Ted/Rebecca will never be a thing, I wouldn’t object any less to Sam/Rebecca. If Sam was Roy’s age and in Roy’s position, I’d have way less of an issue.

But you’re going to have a tough time convincing me that a young man who is 20/21 and employed by a 47 year woman who can heavily influence his career isn’t a massive power imbalance that shouldn’t be explored by fans.

I’m really curious to see how this post ages once the storyline plays out. But this post is about exploring what it means for Sam and Rebecca to get involved and how the accusations of infantilizing Sam doesn’t pass the sniff test.

#rebecca welton #sam obisanya #ted lasso

39 notes · View notes

comfortmarvelimagines · 4 years

Text

You are Home, and Home is Safe

heyhey ! deciding to just get it over with and post this tonight (for those of you who don’t know what i’m talking about, a post explaining can be found here. side note, please be nice in my inbox, its been rough getting some of those comments). i am, however, going to continue to tag autistic!reader fics with #whenyoucantfindthequiet and #wycftq, so they’re easier to find. hope it’s what you’re after, nonnie, and i’m so so sorry it took so long !!

features : autistic!reader x mama!nat, lowkey asshole Tony Stark (it’s okay i didn’t make him really mean, just kinda well-meaning but misplaced/ mistimed)

warnings : uhhh i guess meltdowns, some self-injurious behaviour

Words are hard. Always have been, always will be.

You haven't always had a family. For years you were passed from foster home to foster home, with a consistent message: you were too much. Your needs were too high, your behaviour too confusing, your struggles too much to deal with. It got to a point where you began to question yourself, your diagnoses and trauma, wondering if it was all in your head or for attention like you were told over and over.

That changed when you met Nat.

It wasn’t immediate of course. There was the initial period of complete and total distrust, of another stranger whose life you were thrust into the middle of, floundering and drowning with no support. There was shutdown after shutdown. The trauma of being ignored and punished for meltdowns meant that you’d learned to internalise. You barely ate, and didn’t speak. But Nat met you where you were, unwaveringly. Was always calm, composed, voice level. Kept food out on the kitchen bench at all times, figuring out your safe foods and keeping them stocked. Realised you liked small enclosed spaces and stocked your bedroom with beanbags, pillows, stuffies and blankets, a permanent blanket fort taking up residence in the living space. Perhaps the most wonderful was her commitment to listening to you, with or without words. The superspy was quick to recognise your shutdown states from body language alone and responded quickly, with two option questions and the request to tap the hand of the answer you wanted.

You almost wanted to feel embarrassed, humiliated, of the accommodations she made so immediately. But she always spoke to you conversationally and never in an infantilizing tone, like so many before her, and the trust you held for her grew. It didn’t always grow in a way that you felt was positive, though. As weeks passed you felt your shutdowns turn into meltdowns and silence into frustrated screams. You didn’t want to hurt her. You didn’t want to feel ungrateful or angry or like any of this was on purpose but somehow she knew. As she held you close after each one she reminded you that your body was unlearning trauma, that you were safe, that you were loved so fully and unconditionally and nothing, including meltdowns, would change that. The way she held you felt like home.

But no one else was like Nat. Social workers were condescending, school was overwhelming, nowhere was safe. So you stuck to Nat. It wasn’t long after you were placed with her that she pulled you out of school, realising that they were doing more harm than good, and she was always there for homeschool. Not looking over your shoulder, but present. You could hear her humming through the walls, or swearing as she dropped a spoon into a pot of soup on the stove again, and it was comforting. It wasn’t the apartment that was home, per say, but having a parent made it feel like one. If she went to the grocery store or a walk in the park you came with, ear defenders on, clinging to her sleeve for safety. She told you that she loved you a million times a day, until one day you said it back.

Words came easier after that. Simple things, like asking what’s for breakfast, became routine. It wasn’t just Nat softly illuminating the cramped space with hummed melodies and occasionally vulgar language but you as well, asking for help with homework or explaining a meme. It felt normal, comfortable, okay. The outside world was too much, but inside your home, the anxiety all but melted from your throat.

You never wanted to leave safety. You wanted to feel it all the time. It was warm and sweet and heavy but in a calm way, like a weighted blanket sinking into your joints. It started as a one-time-thing, after a particularly rough meltdown, but you started sleeping in Nat’s bed. It just felt… right. The panic that set in when Nat left the room and you didn’t know where she was going or what she was doing or if she was ever going to come back was so all-consuming and nauseating that going to sleep alone, in another room, unable to hear her was torturous. What if she abandoned you, gone in the night, social worker beckoning you on to the next uncaring couple, crowded foster family or group home? This way, when you woke at 2am from a nightmare, the first thing you heard was her even breathing. Home. Safe.

***

Tony Stark was something else. Nat eventually started to transition back to work, and, as being homeschooled permitted, brought you with her. Even in classified meetings where you weren’t allowed in you sat in corridors and made sure you could see her red braid through the frosted glass, glancing up from your laptop every few seconds to make sure she didn’t disappear while you wrote your English critique. The rest of Nat’s colleagues (it felt too weird to just casually refer to them as the Avengers and co) didn’t mention your presence, at least in front of you; it was as if they didn’t know what to say or how to say it. Not that you’d say anything back. Outside of the safety of home it was like the anxiety disconnected your brain from your throat, anything you wanted to say cut off before it reached your tongue. It was frustrating. The first few days ended in meltdowns when you reached the apartment and it felt weird and strange and almost like you were two different people but an all-round embarrassment of a child. It was weeks before things settled into a routine and a pattern of acknowledged non-acknowledgement. A pattern Stark ignored.

You were sitting at the island bench in the communal kitchen, drinking chocolate milk and typing out an assignment, when you heard both Nat and Tony heading down the hall towards you. They’d just come out of a meeting, you sitting watch outside the whole time, and Nat had sent you to the kitchen to wait for her while she headed upstairs with Tony to drop off some paperwork to an intern. You hadn’t thought much of it. Sure, you didn’t like being away from Nat at all, but if she was clear in where she was going and how long she was going for (provided it was only a short period), you did okay. It was okay, until you heard the discussion from down the hall.

“Damn, Nat, is that the longest you’ve been away from the kid?”

“No.”

“C’mon, Nat. I know the kid’s been through some shit, but this isn’t healthy. For either of you. What happens if you can’t get out of the mission next time? They’re gonna have to be away from you at some point. You can’t be in this line of work with a barnacle of a kid.”

You’d heard enough. As the topic changed and they entered the kitchen, you didn’t look up from your laptop in greeting.

***

Too much. Too clingy. Too anxious, too needy, too autistic, too much. You needed separation. Give Nat space. Of course she needed to work. The world needed her, and they didn’t need you tagging along. When you got home that night, you headed straight to your room. Buried yourself in the mountain of blankets and stuffies and waited until Nat came to check on you, facing the wall, feigning sleep. You doubt you fooled the former spy but nonetheless, she left you be, a whispered “I love you” hanging in the air as she creaked the door close behind her.

It was seconds before you broke. It felt like choking. All of the fear that was slowly reduced to an ebbing tide through months of living in a caring environment crashed on you like the mother of all tsunamis, saltwater running down your cheeks and into your mouth as if smothering all the words you wished you could scream. It lasted for hours and hours and it was relentless, painful, as if your heart was being ripped out and an empty throbbing numbness was expanding in its place. You were too much. Too much. Too much.

Nat stood outside your door at the time when she’d usually be gently waking you up, watching you unfurl and stretch yourself out of the cocoon of blankets you slept in every night. She knew something was wrong from lunch yesterday, and your isolation from her was concerning. She figured you needed space, but the sleep she knew was an act sat at the back of her mind and bugged her all night long. Even with that nagging suspicion that something was up, nothing prepared her for the way her heart sank when she came in and saw your body curled up, eyes red and barely open from exhaustion, pillow and face damp from tears.

She was at your side in seconds. Your resolve to cut yourself off melted at the sight of her open arms, safe, warm, home. And immediately your body melted. Hands running through your hair, the promise that you were safe, loved, worthy of support, the request to “tell me next time, please, you don’t need to deal with this on your own.”

For some reason, those were the words that broke out the first sounding sob in the 12 hours of silent crying. It was so loud and gut-wrenching and it almost didn’t feel like it came from you at all and it was such a weird feeling, and all of a sudden you were scratching at your arms to try and re-embody yourself and Nat was breathing calmly and deeply and gently rubbing your shoulders until you found yourself easing back into your physicality.

“Did you hear what Stark said yesterday?”

And just like that she figured it out, of course she did, because she’s a trained spy and that’s her job, to put the pieces together and slot the narrative into place. And god, were you grateful, because you couldn’t see yourself stringing sentences together to accuse none other than Iron Man himself of triggering waves of hurt just by stating what you’d convinced yourself was the truth. She was quick to reassure. You are loved, you are wanted, you are always welcome and will always be her child and what you need will always come first. The warm safety settled itself in your belly and you let the tiredness wash over you, drifting on a life raft of whispered Russian lullabies and Nat’s hand rubbing circles on your back. At peace.

Of course, you’d never tell Nat, but hearing her whisper-yell at Tony over the phone for being an insensitive dick was possibly one of the best moments of your life.

570 notes · View notes

himboarcher · 3 years

Text

reasons i've seen folks say that grad critics hate grad:

they hate travis (in fairness, i’ve def seen some comments of people shitting on trav for the sake of shitting on trav, but it’s not super common and typically gets downvoted into oblivion on reddit.)

it's not balance / travis isn't griffin (???????)

they hate neurodivergent people (again, in fairness, i have seen a handful of comments that could come across this way! but most of the time when travis being ADHD or his NPD is brought up, it's by defenders saying that criticizing travis is ableist because he's neurodivergent or, in one particular comment, infantilizing him bc of it and literally comparing grad to putting a kid's artwork on the fridge. there were some comments early on that pointed to him being a narcissist as the reason for things people disliked about grad, but everyone seems to have realized that that's a shitty train of thought and left it behind.)

they're just toxic haters (again, there are a small handful of people like this because this is the internet, but the genuine criticism greatly outweighs their bullshit. i 100% think that the people, which is mostly just one dude who is also insufferable on reddit, who have been responding rudely to positive tweets under the episode announcements lately are out of line and need to stop. there's been an influx of that lately, presumably because people are frustrated that after over a year of grad going on, there's been no improvement to most of the major issues. that's still no excuse to be a dick to folks, though.)

vs some of the actual reasons i don't like grad:

the racism / racist tropes, and the way that they’ve straight up ignored this criticism and will likely never acknowledge it. pretty wild considering a core tenet of their brand is their willingness to acknowledge when they’ve messed up and do their best to course correct.

clumsy attempts at inclusion that are shallow and often end up being fairly offensive ("...ask me about my wheelchair," anyone?)

on a related note: i don't think that travis had bad intentions, but as an nonbinary person, it feels othering to me that travis only has enby characters give others their pronouns unprompted. i'm thinking specifically of kai here. having listened to their introduction, i don't think it's as bad or awkward as some people have said, but i can't remember travis ever having another NPC tell the PCs their pronouns, especially not a cis character. it's not a huge deal, but it's something that rubbed me the wrong way. admittedly, i don't think it would bother me so much if travis hadn't dropped the ball so much with performative inclusion in the past.

okay i'm putting the rest under a read more because even without getting into all of the problems i have with it, this got Long.

little to no player agency. player choices are ultimately meaningless and have little to no effect on the world. even when he seems to go along with a plan they come up with, it always ends with them having to go back to travis' pre-written script (see: subpoenaing the xorn, but not really because they had to go with travis' original plan of "send the xorn home through the rift".) the players repeatedly get told things about what they think or feel or what they've been doing to an unnecessary degree. fitzroy is the only one who really gets space to play and decide things for himself, and that's only because travis has decided he's the main character.

the NPCs are all too nice and willing to give the PCs anything they ask for and more, unless the PCs are trying to follow their own plan and then the NPCs are completely useless. but honestly, aside from gray, all of the NPCs are just.... nice. travis refuses to even let his antagonists be mean or cruel or even more than just slightly rude, because that'd be a bummer and we don't want that! the "twist" of gordy the lich king actually being polite and chill is not a twist at all because everyone is like that in this world. the NPCs are also wildly overpowered, but then suddenly absolutely useless when the PCs actually want their help.

too many cliffhangers that are dropped immediately at the beginning of the next episode. i feel bad for travis because so many of these cliffhangers actually set up good momentum and seemed like things were gonna get interesting, but almost every single time he just dropped them at the beginning of the next episode. like when althea showed up to interview the boys and the next episode started with travis being like "actually you went to sleep, she said she'll be back tomorrow!"

that time travis specifically said in his exposition dump that the thundermen left their horses behind because they thought the centaurs might be offended by them riding horses, only to later on rag on them for being surprised that the centaurs had horses they could ride.....

also the centaur arc in general, but i already listed racism above, so.

the way that the toxic positivity and parasocial tendencies in the mcelroy fandoms have made a large portion of the fandom take ANY criticism as a personal attack on travis and/or on themselves for enjoying something others consider bad, either morally or just quality-wise. it’s okay to admit that something you like has problematic elements or just isn’t as good as it once was. you can and should engage critically with the media you consume.

related to above: the way travis has handled genuine criticism, which is to throw public tantrums on his twitter or make weird passive aggressive tweets & ultimately ignore all the genuine criticism and advice he's been offered by claiming it's all subjective, even after he specifically asked for it and set up an email for folks to send in genuine, objective advice for him (after he threw a tantrum on twitter and replied to someone's criticism publicly, which resulted in his followers dogpiling on that person bc how dare they insult their internet best friend). while i was writing this last night, he actually announced that he’s taking a break from Twitter and acknowledged that he’s been using it as an echo chamber where he can easily get validation from folks, and honestly i’m happy for him that he’s recognized this problem and is stepping away for a while! i hope he’ll genuinely use this time to reflect on how he’s been behaving and find a more healthy way to use social media. i’m leaving this point in because i think his Twitter being such a positive echo chamber was encouraging him to do stuff like this, and him somewhat acknowledging his behavior doesn’t mean it can no longer be discussed.

rainer. extremely cool concept in theory and i was very into it until that awkward "does anyone want to ask about my wheelchair?" moment. also when travis had her use her mobility aid to RAM INTO A DOOR instead of just fucking knocking???? also all the times travis has tried to force a romantic relationship between her and fitzroy, despite fitzroy displaying no interest in her in that way. also, just to clarify: as an ace person, i don’t think this is aphobic! (and it’s kind of a stretch to call it that imo, especially since griffin never explicitly said that fitzroy's aromantic!) i just think it’s weird and awkward and a little uncomfortable for me personally, mostly because it reminds me of the times i’ve been in similar situations.

less of a problem than a lot of the other stuff and more just bad writing, but the forced emotional moments. in general, nothing in grad feels earned (why are the boys heading a war? when they have multiple actual heroes with combat experience on their side and a supposedly powerful secret organization? and the thundermen are like 21 years old max and have only had like ~10 fights in the entire campaign?) but there've been a couple times where travis has tried to force unearned emotional moments, presumably because he knows people enjoyed those with the last campaigns. but the difference is that in balance, the big emotional moments happened because they were earned. in grad, it's just travis throwing a baby pegasus at us for a few minutes and then the next time she shows up, it's supposed to be a tearful goodbye.

there are absolutely no stakes. remember when the thundermen got told that if they left, gray would kill 10 students? and then they left and came back and it turns out that what gray actually meant was, "i'll tie ten students who are mostly nameless NPCs to a tree and throw some dogs at them that you can easily stop in time, then throw a tantrum because how dare you but i'll leave before you can really do anything to hurt me lol" travis did have fitzroy's magic get taken away, but like. it didn't really do anything? also all he had to get it back was be coerced into using drugs by an authority figure and trip in the woods?

we're told that the school is weird and the hero system is corrupt, but the world of nua is still presented as more of a liberal utopia than anything? althea getting fired because of a corrupt villain is the only time we've somewhat seen corruption, but even then, she was still allowed to get (what seems to me, anyway, but admittedly i don't know for sure bc nothing about the HOG makes much sense) a fairly important job from the very people who stripped her of her hero license or whatever the fuck heroes need?

travis doesn't actually seem to understand how capitalism or bureaucracy works and just chalks up everything to "red tape." also more on the rest of the boys than him specifically, but the "let's destroy capitalism!" thing turning into just pushing some filing cabinets over................... okay.

and one last piece of extremely subjective criticism: it's just kind of.... boring. i think a lot of people, myself included, would be willing to overlook 90% of the problems with graduation if it didn't feel like such a slog to get through.

also people saying that we can't or shouldn't criticize graduation because it's "free" is absolutely absurd for several reasons. first, something being free does not make it above criticism. second, there ARE people who directly financially support the show with monthly donations. three, there's a difference between something being free and something being not for profit. podcasting is their full time job. they make their living off of money made from TAZ and MBMBAM (and probably their other shows to a lesser extent). this not a fun home game that they are graciously recording and sharing with us. it is a product they are producing that they make money off of, both from ads in the episodes and merch & books based off of these podcasts. they have marketed themselves as professionals, and both griffin and travis have been on panels where they are marketed as professional DMs and appear alongside other professional DMs (which makes it incredibly frustrating when people say that travis is just a newbie DM and we can't criticize him because of that. if he's a newbie, then he should not be taking part of panels as a professional DM where he speaks as an expert). TAZ is free in the same way that an episode of NCIS is free. i may not pay for it directly, but the creators are paid to create it and profit off of me consuming this product. so saying we should be grateful for any mcelnoise that the benevolent good boys share with us and that we're not allowed to criticize it "because it's free" is absolutely wild.

#negativity cw #i guess #anyway this is not meant to say that you cannot enjoy grad.#but i'm tired of folks on this website acting like there aren't genuine problems with it #and saying that people just dislike it bc they hate travis etc etc #taz graduation #i genuinely don't expect anyone to read this bc it's so long #but here ya go.#long post

99 notes · View notes

clitsuckerer · 2 years

Note

i’m going to say this as nicely as possible.

your fic (however you intended it to come across) just gives off icky vibes.

the way the reader is depicted (you mention school many times though she still lives with her parents which a majority of college students don’t do) and also over-dramatically infantilized her, you didn’t have to mention things like the stuffed animals because it really pulls the reader out of the scene and into gray territory, any mention of children was unnecessary, the entire ending pov with his wife came across as misogynistic and also just unnerving, and overall just makes dream come across really sleazy and creepy.

and also in your justification for posting the fic, you explain how readers insert themselves into fics so you try to leave it open? that’s an indirect invitation to minors which is not okay.

i know you’re probably thinking this is hateful, but i’m genuinely trying to help you out. you’re also a really good writer, the content just isn’t okay in mine (and others’) opinions.

idk what else to say at this point, that fic was meant to come across as sleazy and weird, as you will find with most of my writings i will post in the future that are in the yandereish category. i stated that that was my intentions not only in my answer before to you but also in the warnings of the fic.

i want to talk about some stuff you said here.

first of all, i said that for part two the reader would be starting college, meaning she's not in college yet but is of age to be. i'm pretty sure you can go to college at any age over 18 and also live at home which was a very weird argument to make, you said so yourself- a majority, meaning not all.

second of all, the stuffed animals. i literally just put my own stuffed walrus that i own, shoutout to mr.toppy, in this fic because why tf not he deserves some clout. as far as i'm aware you can own a stuffed animal at any age and if you consider that weird than that's a scuffed way of thinking of things. if the mention of a stuffed animal put you off a fic ok-

third. mention of kids. all i need to say is that it's a dilf fic and i hardly even mentioned them in it because i don't really vibe with kids, nuff said.

fourth. once again, dream is supposed to be an asshole pervy weird man in this fic, which in no way resembles him btw. the wife's pov and the last ending sentences were written to hit hard ig, because in my opinion that's kinda how cheating is irl, it's sleazy and sad but alot of the time the partners stay with the cheating spouse and i wanted to put that in this fic, how cheating would feel to the person being cheated on. that part was supposed to make you upset and angry and uncomfortable because that's how i tried write the wife's part.

fifth, i don't think i have any control over anyone's thinking and either way i wrote this as reader is 18+, which when i said that i leave the readers age open, i mean i leave it open for anyone to think of reader as 18+ which i thought you would understand after my multiple times of saying reader was written as 18+. idk what you want me to say i really don't, i've said multiple times here and in the fic warnings that reader is 18+. if you want to ignore that and instead choose to nitpick about the words i used to describe the reader and other stuff than there is nothing i can do to change that. i'm happy with the fic personally and i 100 percent respect and appreciate your opinion and i really will try to take some of that into consideration for future fics but again, all my fics are written with an 18+ reader only.

#bobs's anons <3

16 notes · View notes

drawlfoy · 4 years

Text

Mirror, Mirror Finale P.2

masterlist request guidelines

pairing: draco x ravenclaw reader

request: yes very highly requested lol

summary: despite never speaking before, y/n has a big crush on draco malfoy, a particularly broody and obnoxious slytherin. what will happen when they finally have to start associating? and what if they run into a certain mirror that shows you what you truly desire?

warnings: cursing!

a/n: so ik i said this was gonna be out later this week but i love you guys too much! here it is...the final part of mirror, mirror! it’s weird to finally finish a series like this but ohhhh boy here we are

taglist: @theres-a-dog-outside-omg @mey-rapp @kaibie @blackpinkdolan @the-wiener-soldierrrrr @sugarbby99 @gruffle1 @missmulti @cleopatera @hahaboop @accio-rogers @geeksareunique @eltanin-malfoy @war-sword @cams-lynn @itsivyberry @ayo-cowbelly @nerd-domland @yesnerdsblog @shizarianathania @evanstanfanatic @strawberriesonsummer @hariosborn @night-ving @straightzoinked @imintoodeeptostop

word count: 2.1k

“About time you got off your arse.”

“Hello to you too, Rena,” Y/N sighed as she dropped her satchel on her bed. Her roommate watched, bemused, as she began to unpack her things.

“How are you?” she asked, her voice noticeably softer. “I really missed you. We were all worried sick, you know.”

Y/N snorted, tossing her wrinkled robes on the bed and making a mental note to spell them neat later. “I do know. Madame Pomfrey was going to kill me for how many times she had to tell you to leave me and let me rest.”

Rena’s eyes sparkled.

“I’m fine, thank you,” said Y/N. “I missed you too.”

The two sat in silence for a bit as the cold afternoon breeze wafted into their room, carrying the smell of fresh snow in.

“So, anything exciting happen? Did anyone tell you anything….interesting?”

“No.” Y/N was about to turn back to her work before she caught the mischievous expression on Rena’s face. “What? Why?”

“Nothing,” she sang. “I’m just wondering. I have to catch up with my best friend, you know. It’s been forever.”

“It’s been the whole of four days.”

“It’s been forever,” she restated, jumping up and spinning Y/N around (who couldn’t help but allow a slow grin to spread across her face).

“I was going crazy in there.” Y/N’s voice was considerably more serious. “I never told you, but--” she chose to ignore the look of anticipation written all over Rena’s face, “--Malfoy talked to me. And he was so nice to me, it was we--”

“That COWARD!”

The outburst started Y/N, who dropped her things on the floor in shock. “I’m sorry? Rena, what happened?”

“I can’t tell you,” said Rena, her tone dutiful and mournful. “It’s not my place. Anyways, what did that loser do?”

“Er,” began Y/N, “I don’t know how much of it was real or if it was because I was on pain potion, but he and I--I don’t know, flirted? There was a lot of banter, and before he knew it he pulled me off the ground--”

“You were on the ground?”

“--he pulled me off the ground and picked the gravel out of my palms.” Y/N swallowed as she recounted the instance. She’d never seen him look so soft before. “He said he had something he wanted to tell me, and his voice got all strange.”

“And then?”

“And then Madame Pomfrey came to yell at me and basically--oh god, Rena, she basically told him that I dreamt of him!”

Rena snorted with laughter. “Shit, dude. I don’t think you should worry, though. You’d think any bloke with half a brain would’ve figured out that you were obsessed with him by now.”

“Shut up.” Y/N’s face was hot. “Anyways, I haven’t seen him since. I’d prefer if we could stop talking about this.”

“Sure, sure.” She took in a breath. “Wait, what about rounds? Don’t you still have to see him?”

“No. Flitwick told me I’m off. At least until next month.” If she sped through the thought, it didn’t hurt as much.

“Ending of a chapter, huh? How are you feeling about that?”

Y/N sighed. “Honestly, Rena, I love you, you know I do, but I don’t want to talk about this anymore. Okay? It’s over.”

If her words carried any deeper meaning to Rena, she didn’t show it. “Lighten up, girly. Maybe it’s not.”

“All I’ve done is make a fool of myself,” lamented Y/N, throwing her empty satchel in the closet and collapsing onto her bed. “I’m just going to go back to what everything was before. This hasn’t changed anything. Now, Rena, I have a Potions exam to study for.”

“Whatever floats your boat.”

Her interactions with Draco were few and far between in the following weeks. Sometimes she caught a few glimpses of a pale blonde head of hair as she walked down the halls to her classes, but nothing concrete, nothing even close to the amount of interaction they had while she was still bound to her rounds.

It was certainly a punch in the gut--after all, she did spend a good portion of her academic career thirsting over him--but the sensible part of her knew that this was for the better. Her schoolwork became her top priority again, just like it had been the years before she was assigned to be his partner.

So, given this pattern of communication, it was fair to say that Y/N was completely and utterly flabbergasted when she saw Draco waiting by the entry of her common room at 11pm one night.

“Can I help you?” she asked as she shifted the books in her satchel to be secured over her shoulder.

“Yes, actually,” he said smoothly, not tripping over his words in the slightest. “I have rounds tonight.”

“I’m aware.” She hoped that he couldn’t hear her heart pounding the way that it was.

“And I’m out of Wide-eye potion.”

“That really sucks,” Y/N said as she held up her hand on the door of the common room, uttering the riddle’s answer under her breath before she stepped in.

“Wait!” His voice turned her around--it was pleading, almost desperate. “I have an exam tomorrow. No one in Slytherin has any. Snape would kick my arse for waking him up now. I know you have some left over since you never finished the rounds, and I--I understand if you don’t want to but it doesn’t have a very good shelf life anyways and I was hoping you’d...that you’d be alright with giving it to me.”

She paused, completely stunned. The most hopeful part of her wondered if he had made this up, but she squelched this with a force that nearly knocked the wind out of her. “Fine. Come with me, you must be freezing outside.”

Y/N wasn’t wrong--the weather had taken a turn in the past few days to be bitterly cold--but it wasn’t like she’d object seeing him for any longer. She mentally cursed herself for being so weak-willed.

Draco looked pleasantly surprised at the suggestion and stepped into the common room with her, following her up until she reached the base of the stairs. “I’ll wait here.”

“If you’re comfortable,” she began, “I’d honestly prefer if you came with me. I don’t want to explain to anyone why I let you into our common room unsupervised.”

He looked like his mind was buffering the information for a second, standing with a glazed look in his eyes before he sucked in a breath and became the picture of confidence once again. “Want me in your room that bad?”

Yes.

“You wish.”

He scoffed as they climbed the stairs, Y/N a few steps above him. She thought that if she maintained the space he wouldn’t see how hard she was shaking and wondered where Rena was. Studying with Hermione like she told her she was? She hoped.

Y/N stopped in front of her door at the very end of the hall, decorated with a banner that had their names displayed in glittering bronze letters that moved in the light. “Ok. You can come in with me if you want--it might be a couple minutes since I don’t quite remember where it is.”

He looked amused with himself as she got out her wand and attempted to unlock her door with the specialized charm she and Rena had decided upon. Mortifyingly enough, her hand was too shaky to execute it.

“Hey, hey,” Draco tutted, holding his hand out. It enveloped hers and held her wand still as she muttered the incantation, unlocking the door and swinging it open.

“Er...thanks,” she said. His hand was still over hers.

Y/N broke the eye contact to dart through the door to a thankfully dark and empty room--if Rena had seen that, she never would’ve let her hear the end of that--and began rifling through her drawers as Draco shut the door and examined her room.

“You’re flustered,” he noted as she tipped over one of her candlesticks and just barely managed to catch it. “Is everything okay? Trouble in paradise, little Ravenclaw?”

“Like you care.” Y/N shut the desk drawer with an audible BANG. “And don’t call me that. Rowena Ravenclaw is rolling in her grave hearing you infantilize her good name like that.”

Draco laughed from his stance by her door--a sound that she hated to admit that she really missed. “I take back what I said. You certainly sound like yourself.”

Y/N’s fingers finally closed around the last bottle of Wide-Eye, which was quickly tossed to Draco. “Happy now?”

He sent her a strangely weak smile as he slipped the vial into his pocket, no doubt silk lined and expensive. “Sure. So this is goodbye? Actually?”

“I think...I think so.”

Y/N had moved closer to him so only about a foot stood between them, a distance that felt like a mile from where she stood.

This is goodbye.

Draco was making a motion to turn around and open the door when Y/N experienced the most severe lapse of judgement in the entirety of her 17 years.

She sprung forward, her fingers curling around the satiny soft fabric of his tie and pulling. Her motion was rough enough that he jolted forward, his eyes wide with surprise as Y/N closed in and pressed her lips to his in a very chaste and ungraceful movement.

The split second that it took for her to realize the consequences of her actions was enough for her to let go completely and jump away, apologies readily falling out of her mouth in disjointed and clumsy collections.

“I’m so sorry...Oh my god...I have no idea what got into me...Draco, I--”

Before she could finish, his hands were already cupping her face, his frame bent down the slightest so he could be more level with her. And he was--oh--he was kissing her, actually properly this time, without the tense closed-offness of her first attempt.

When Y/N imagined what it was like to kiss Draco Malfoy, she didn’t imagine him to be so soft. Or warm. Or gentle, or pliant, or whatever other good things he was to her as he snaked her arms around her and held her tight to him.

His kisses turned feverish, almost desperate as he turned her so she was pressed up between him and the wall. Everywhere his hands touched felt charged with electricity and energy, and as his hands traveled up and down her spine she decided that this must be what it’s like to die of happiness.

“Draco,” she managed in between kisses, pulling away for air for just a moment and sliding back down so her feet touched the floor again. “Can we talk? About this?”

“Thanks,” he responded, his eyes glittering with endearment. “I almost forgot you were a Ravenclaw.”

“Shut up.”

He grinned but made no effort to step away from her, instead choosing to drag his fingers up and down the side of her exposed neck. “What’s there to talk about? I like you, you like me, there’s nothing we need to do to complicate this further.”

“You...you what?”

“Yes, genius, what else did you think I was planning on telling you that day in the courtyard,” Draco said. “I’ve been avoiding you because I thought you were over me. That was horribly embarrassing, you know. Had to nurse my ego for weeks before I could garner up the courage to speak to you again.” He stopped to gently press the pad of his thumb into the little dimple she had in her left cheek, smiling uncontrollably as he moved his hand back to cup her face.

“How was I supposed to know that?” argued Y/N.

“Isn’t this supposed to be the smart house?” he teased.

She slapped his shoulder. “Don’t make me decide I don’t like you anymore.”

“Oh, so you admit it?”

“Admit what?”

“That you like me?”

“I’m going to scream.”

“Just from kissing me? Wow, I must be good.”

“I mean it!”

“So do I!”

Y/N gazed up at the boy in front of her for a few beats, admiring how the moonlight bounced off the silvery strands of his hair and how his smile reached every corner of his face.

“I take back what I said,” she told him.

“Oh, and what is that?”

“This isn’t goodbye.”

He smiled again, leaning in close so his lips barely brushed her ear. “No. No, it isn’t.”

#draco x reader #draco malfoy x reader #draco malfoy #dracotok #draco #draco imagine #draco malfoy imagine #draco x y/n #draco x oc #draco malfoy x y/n #draco x you #draco malfoy x oc #draco malfoy x you

368 notes · View notes

stevenbasic · 3 years

Photo

“Sheryl, please, why do we have to do this?” I pleaded, seated in my little office, wringing my hands, as another IG alert came through from one of my bosomy applicants. ‘Angie’, one of the most assertive of the pack, reaching out again. I nearly whined, feeling assaulted from all sides. What was up with these women?!? They wouldn’t leave me alone; it had been happening all morning. Why?? Why so many, so quickly, for jobs here?!? Honestly, we were nothing special, were we? Girls that looked like...this: Why would they want to work at some boring geriatrics practice? It didn’t make any sense, and their shameless, aggressively suggestive photos and videos had me in a worsening and worsening state. But...I tried to focus.. I tried to ignore them. I needed to talk to my wife, Sheryl, about the divorce papers with which she’d just served me. “Please, honey, why? Let’s-“

“You know perfectly well ‘why’,” my wife answered, her strong voice filling the room, issuing from my desk speakerphone. She had every reason to sound snide, petulant, hurt. But - she did not. She sounded firm, formidable, forceful. She was a corporate attorney, and this was her playing field: conflict. A pro, while I felt...inept. Outmatched. Feeble. A feeling I’d been getting used to these days, yes, but now coming to a head. Rubbed in my face.

“And, ‘honey’,” she continued, letting the first bit of derision seep into her voice, “there is no ‘we’ in this. I am doing this. I am removing you from the equation. Finally, after years of this, after years of your disrespect, your infidelity, your infantile behavior, I am going to put you in your place.” I could picture her, in one of her offices, dressed smartly, frosted blonde hair: perfect. Gym-toned legs crossed aside a huge desk, idly twirling an ankle, dangling a killer pump.

“Please, no, I’m sorry...” I continued, hoping against hope that I could change her mind somehow, “I’m sorry for being so weak, I’m sorry for everything I did…” I was being earnest, truthful...I was sorry. Sorry for the adulteries, sorry for the pain and betrayals of trust. Sorry for being such an idiot, not realizing what I had in her, and not realizing until it was too late what my life would be without her. How destitute I would be...morally, mentally, financially. My world would literally collapse. “...I’m begging you.”

“I know, I can hear it in your voice,” she continued, “I can hear how afraid you are, afraid of what I’m going to do to you. Afraid of what you’ll be left with.” Though Sheryl’s businesslike tone was doing its best to disguise whatever thoughts and emotions she might be having, I had a good feeling what those might be...and they made me shiver. This was not the twenty-something year-old law student with the huge, brilliant smile and quick, weird wit, the girl I’d fallen in love with. This was a powerful, successful woman who was enjoying making the little man who’d wronged her squirm. “You shouldn’t be afraid of that as much as what will happen if you don’t sign those papers,” she continued, “I’m doing this now, before the election, and you should be thankful.”

Darkly, a new shadow crept into the room. It settled over me, brought a chill to my bones. What was going to happen, if some of these women running for office actually won, got their way? I had admittedly been sort of avoiding the news, not reading what I should about the possibilities of this sea change, for months now. Maybe I was being foolish, my head in the sand? Was I underestimating what could come of all this?

I glanced at my phone, more DMs had come through...

Jesus, will these people just...stop...

“I already know all the judges, I know all the courts.” she said, her confidence plainly coming through over the speakerphone, “After the election, when things change, this would be much harder for you. I’ll tell you this: the women in line to take over the judiciaries have big plans to right some old wrongs, and if I were you I’d sign this now while you have the chance.”

My face flushing hot, eyes burning with imminent tears, I quivered, looking about the room. After being in Melissa’s spacious office, mine felt so small. But it wasn’t just that which made it seem like walls were closing in around me. What was my world coming to??

I pictured it, for a brief second, what it could be like. Divorced from Sheryl, single, surrounded by an office-full of jigglebunnies at my beck and call. Would it be so bad? Would it be so terrible if all these female candidates won? If the Woman’s Party took over the courts, the government, the schools and banks? What would my world be then? What would it be like if I just let myself...fall into its lap ?

No I can’t! I was going to fight this. I was going to show her the man I could be!

Should I look at some of these girls, while we talk?

No. Slide that away. This was not a fantasy. That thin stack papers from her attornies, on my desk, made it all too real.

“Sheryl, please, let me try,” I said, “let me show you-“

“No, I’m tired of this. Sign the papers. Right away,” she demanded as I winced, feeling my throat tighten, “I want you to do it now. Don’t make me send Melissa in to make you.”

Oh my god what?? “Hey, Sh-Sh-“

“Every day that goes by without you signing them is a day I’m going to make it harder for you,” she snapped, her clear voice crystallizing, suddenly petrifying me, “Face it, honey, I’m better at this than you, I have bigger lawyers than you. All I have to do is say the word and they’ll crush you. They’re itching to do it, to squash you under their big high heels. So go on, hang your head and sign the papers like a good little boy or they’ll tear you apart like harpies.”

“P-p-please Sheryl,” I pleaded, nearly sobbing, “don’t do th-”

“Quiet,” she commanded, any patience she had for me clearly exhausted, “Sign the papers soon or we’re going to make sure you get fucking smothered...”

Just then, a text from Melissa...

==================================

Next post up at my Patreon

#Growing Into the Job

107 notes · View notes