i would put for but i'm trying to get the word out

Door Symbolism/Reading The Room: A Look at Klance

After finishing season 3 I, like I’m sure most people, walked away with a lot of new ideas, theories, and takeaways from the show. However, one such thing I didn’t even consider except upon review of the “leave the math to Pidge” scene while working on making gifs is how often the use of doors are in symbolism for Lance and Keith’s relationship. It’s such a prevalent matter that I couldn’t help but make a post to share with y’all some interesting metaphors and character analysis between Lance and Keith’s relationship (romantic or not)

Introduction:

Often when looking at well directed cinematography, the use of the setting/background information to portray character emotions is quite common. This can be scene in instances such as warm colors giving “romantic lighting” and dark colors/rainy weather representing “fear/sadness” in most movies/shows

Voltron does this really well in many scenes, hell just look at the first episodes and take in the emotions you feel when looking at the environment and how the characters probably feel:

In other words, shot compositions is really important in Voltron

Now. Let’s take a look at what shot composition shows us in the dynamics of Lance and Keith’s relationship

This is going to be a long post, so the analysis will be below the cut:

Keep reading

anonymous asked:

I need the story of the Underground Shakespearian Ring

Okay, so the school I went to for 9th grade had this really bizarre grading setup that I still don’t understand- for some reason, instead of the teachers writing up and grading tests and exams and the like, all the work was sent to an unknown third party for them to grade??? It made no sense.

Now, for the most part, the school had decent teachers, and they would just teach the curriculum correctly and then you wouldn’t run into problems with the grading. My English teacher was not one of those teachers.

So like, she hated me pretty early on- she was my homeroom teacher and thought it was disrespectful that I slept in homeroom in the mornings (I was on sleeping pills and they never wore off completely until around 10am), I never had the vocab homework in on time (someone kept breaking into my locker and stealing my vocab books I had to buy a new one like five times), she thought it was “inherently pessimistic and stuck up” when she caught me reading a book called ‘Ninth Grade Slays’ (it was about vampires, not her?), and during our Greek Mythology unit I kept correcting her about the name pronunciations of the gods (she pronounced Hephaestus as Hepatitis one time holy shit). 

Anyway, her feelings on me aside, her teaching skills were shoddy at best. But I had had way worse teachers, so had the rest of the class, and Greek myths are pretty straight-up in what’s going on, so no one really had trouble with the third-party tests.

Then we get to the Romeo and Juliet unit.

Now, fun fact: Shakespeare has always come pretty easily to me. Like, to the point where I sometimes forget/fail to understand that other people have an incredibly hard time translating his works. (I told this whole story to my friends in the school I went to for 10th/11th/12th grade and when the drama department put on ‘Midsummers Night Dream’ one year, more than half the cast tried to get me to translate their scripts and monologues for them lmao).

So, anyway, I’m just a girl, reading Romeo and Juliet and digging how it’s going…and then the teacher starts ‘translating’ it.

Um.

I cannot sift through all the bullshit this woman was spewing, but let’s just say that my favorite part is during Romeo’s spew about Rosaline, there’s one part where he says something like ‘with cupid’s arrow/she hath diane’s will’, and the teacher was taking this to mean Rosaline was a Super Lesbian who was breaking the law or something and running away with her lover Diane, which would be a rad storyline, sure, but like…I’m just raising my hand like “Um Ma’am, Diana is the Roman goddess of chastity. What Romeo meant is that she told him she’s sworn off love and is probably becoming a nun?” and this woman just got. So angry. Like, excuse me, you are a student, you’re here to learn, so you clearly don’t know anything about this (I read Romeo and Juliet for the first time in like preschool whoops). Anyway, she continues on making up her own plot to the play, and I…well I was basically Hermione Fucking Granger at this point I couldn’t just sit there and listen to someone be this wrong about something omfg??? She just got angrier and angrier and stopped calling on me after a while.

So for a couple lessons I’m just left to seethe quietly, but one day after class this girl I knew since grade school came up to me and was like “Could you…? Tell me what the hell we’re supposed to be learning?” and I didn’t even like her but I liked the validation of being someone’s Chosen Teacher so I wrote out a summary for her of everything we had covered so far so she could actually write a comprehendible essay for our homework that night.

But THEN the during the class when we got our essays back, she made a HUGE DEAL, like ‘oh Molly, it wasn’t bad enough that you’ve been failing this course material, now you have to drag your friends into it by trying to re-write the play?’ (l m a o). Like this bitch had literally tried to fight me on ‘Paris is the guy Juliet’s father wants her to marry’ and she didn’t even put a grade on my essay where I said the play only ended in tragedy because of how young and naïve the kids were, that if they had taken a breather and thought things through it probably would’ve been fine (it was a damn good essay and I stand by it). But anyway, she’s trying to make me out to my classmate’s as someone who’s trying to sabotage their education for laughs.

This backfired on her.

See, it dawned on people one by one, that she was only teaching the wrong material -> so they wouldn’t know the right material -> so when they eventually would take the exams they would only have her crazy answers -> which the third party graders wouldn’t know about -> everyone fails this course that’s like half the overall grade of the year.

Most students consider that a problem.

So suddenly the class has decided I’m the fucking Shakespeare Whisperer or something, and one by one start begging me for help. At first I was confused, because as I said, it’s so easy for me that I didn’t realize literally the entire class was lost out of their asses here. omfg. So I was really getting hassled here but I didn’t want my entire class to fail you know???? So I started meeting with people during study halls or texting them after school so they knew what was going on. And then they started telling people in this teacher’s other classes, including upperclassmen who were lost as fuck, so this was quickly spiraling out of control on my end, but overall people were really starting to understand the plays better!! So I was feeling really great.

But then, the teacher noticed that none of the homework getting handed in to her matched up with her crazy translations, and knew I was the sole person to blame (naturally). She literally tried to get me suspended over this, she went to the school’s disciplinarian!

Note: This guy, Mr. C, knew I was a God damn angel- my science class was off the charts, inappropriately awful, so every time one of our science teacher’s wanted to give the entire class detention, instead of calling Mr. C up to the class room as was the rule, they’d send me down to get him so he’d know to write up every student except for me. So when my English teacher dragged me in there he was looking her like “What on Earth could this girl have possibly done to piss you off?” 😂😂

And when she explained he looked at her for a very long moment, glanced at me with a signature ‘Office’ Reaction Face™ , turned back to her and was like “You want her suspended…for starting a study group?” and I was CHOKING.

So that really pissed her off and they started fighting and this was a very overworked and Done man so at some point he gave up and was like “I’m not suspending her but fine we can put a ban on the study group if you leave my office” omfg. So all the other students get notified and now they’re back to freaking out about the upcoming exams.

So like two days later, I’m at lunch, complaining about this to one of my friends who had a different English teacher and thus no problem, and I’m on this whole angry rant (Because I’m pissed, a bunch of kid’s grades are gonna get fucked up because of this! They just wanted to do well! I just wanted to help them!) and my friends staring at me quietly the whole time and when I finish I’m like “What?” and she’s just like “…Molly did you literally start up Dumbledore’s Army in our fucking school?” and I died on scene.

But then I started thinking about the comparison and I was like? You know fucking what? If Harry Potter can get those kids to pass their fucking DADA test I can help kids pass their fucking English Exam. Bring it the fuck on, Umbridge.

So I started Spreading The Word that anyone who needs help with their Shakespeare course can still get help, we just all need to meet up once to hash out the details. After some back and forth notes and deliberations, we ended up meeting in the school library, which was hilarious for a few reasons:

1) It was directly across the hall from this teacher’s classroom.

2) It was actually a converted janitors closet, way smaller than all the other classrooms, and there were like 50 people shoved in there; Not exactly an ideal Room of Requirement

3) The library carried no Shakespeare texts, but had the entire Harry Potter series on display to see when you first walked in

But anyway, despite the fact that we were literally three feet away from her door while we were doing this, our teacher was none the wiser of the meeting. We worked out a game plan- everyone writes out bullshit essays that align with what the teacher’s expecting. After she grades those and gives them back, they get them to me- slipping them in my locker, handing it to me discreetly in the halls or in another class, what have you. I then try to power through the dizzying amount of confusion radiating out of the teacher’s mouth and onto these papers, and more or less write out better translation of what was going on in whatever scene they covered, what the highlights they needed to know were, stuff like that, and then slip it back to them in similar discreet fashion (so the teacher/disciplinarian wouldn’t see me and get suspicious ; also because I was like 15 and wanted to feel like a super cool secret agent). They would then keep my copies and use them as study guides for the upcoming exams, where they would then answer all the questions correctly, the way the third party graders would mark correctly, and pass the exams + the bullshit essays would get them high marks in the teacher’s homework grades. The teacher never caught on to what was happening, just thought her students finally started paying attention to her.

All in all, it was a complicated mess, but it fucking worked. I don’t think anyone failed their exams that year. Will I ever be cooler? No. I think I fucking peaked when I was 15.

SOME LESBIAN PIDGE HEADCANONS

Ya’ll been hitting me with that good lesbian pidge content so i’m gonna put more out there too.

• Pidge gets sUPER flustered around girls!!
• She’s only 14 and not super experienced?? So whenever a cute girl even talks to her she gets shy and blushy
• She isn’t super ready to start dating just yet but she just likes to remind everyone “man i love girls and i’m just!! A big lesbian! Just to remind everyone here!!”
• *rips off her sweater* “LESBIANS FOR LOCHNESS”
• When pidge gets a crush its super obvious to figure it out.
• She gets clumsy around them and messes up her words and probably accidentally broke one of her devices while talking to them.
• When everyone else finds out Pidge has a crush on someone they all flip out because “oh my god!! Our little sis has a crush!!”
• Lance would try to give her some flirting tips, but knowing Pidge, she obviously rejects that
• Lance: “oh my god do you wanna hear some advice?”
• Pidge: “I’d rather take my chances”
• Also pidge: “please i’m like 100x better at flirting with you, i could get 10 girlfriends in a week without your help!” *nervous laughter*
• Hunk would tease her but also give her some cliché advice that you hear in every show/movie
• Hunk: “ooo I knew you had a girlfriend”
• Hunk: “just be yoursel-”
• Pidge: “hunk I appreciate that but i’ve already heard that from like everything. Ever.”
• Keith: “i don’t know what else to say so…” *thumbs up* “good luck”
• Pidge: “wow thanks”
• Shiro would actually probably give her solid advice
• Shiro, *jokingly*: “if you want to succeed… don’t listen to lance’s advice about anything”
• Lance: “haven’t i been the only one who actually got kissed by a cute alien girl?”
• Pidge *softly*: “fuck, you’re right”
• Pidge also lowkey is jealous of Lance’s confidence around girls
• She just wishes she could be better socially tbh like she’s getting there but also- have you seen girls???

Thanks for reading please @ voltron fandom gimme that good lesbian pidge headcanons, art and fanfics.

pretty boy ☾ peter parker

summary : you think peter is very pretty, and your duty as his girlfriend is to tell him every chance you get.

wc : 1.4k 

  Peter Parker has freckles. They’re countless in amount and infinitesimal in size, but they’re spread across his sloped nose, his cheeks, and some of them are scattered across his shoulders from the days he spends at Rockaway Beach in the summertime sun not because he likes the beach, but because you do and you drag him there almost every day throughout July. He doesn’t mind. He can’t have you taking the train there alone, and he’d rather spend time with you in the sweltering heat than leave you by yourself. If you’re sitting close enough, the way you are right in this moment, you can count each one of those stars on his cheeks and play connect the dots with a ballpoint pen, if he’d let you. He most likely would. Peter would let you get away with anything. If you were to try to kiss each individual freckle that was settled there on his skin you’d be pressing your lips to his cheeks for hours on end. He’d like to see you try such a thing. 

   Peter Parker also has the sweetest brown eyes you’ve ever had the pleasure of gazing into. They were warm and kind and they felt like home whenever he turned them on you in that loving way he held. You love the way he looks at you, often and bright with happiness. You haven’t stopped looking at him since you started all those months ago, you couldn’t anticipate a time when you would. He doesn’t mind the permanent way his eyes settle on you, but it’s the way you’re always looking at him that makes him blush and turn his face away. He’s not much to look at, in his opinion. 

    He whines a little when he catches your eye again, trained on him like a reflex once again. His face glows a red the color of a ripe strawberry as he spins around in his chair and stares at the peeling cover of his science notebook. “What’s wrong, pretty boy?” You grinned when he flushed a deeper shade of crimson, still evading the smile that crept across your face. 

   “Y/N,” he whines once more, the heat creeping up toward the tips of his ears. He turns toward you, holding his cheek in his hand and keeping his elbow propped up on the swivel chair. “You know I get all,” he squirmed around in his chair, “flustered when you call me that.” The admittance came with a great reluctancy on his part, but it only made you smile more as you walked across the room and cleared away the clutter of his desk, taking a seat there so you could continue your study in Peter Parker. “I’m not pretty.” 

    “Shhh,” you chastised, using your foot to spin him back around. “You’re very pretty, Peter.” He stretches out his hand, waiting for you to grab it and hold it as careful as always. He presses a kiss to your knuckles whenever you hold his hand, he knows you think it’s the sweetest thing ever and that every single time he does it, you swoon like it’s your first date all over again. He’s big on holding hands. It’s intimate without being too much, and the teachers can’t really scold him for holding your hand the way they can for kissing you against the lockers when you both think no one is around. Still, he kisses your hand, and you close your eyes, smiling shyly. Then, you say, “How’d I get the sweetest, prettiest boy in the universe to be mine?” 

   “Oh, god,” he takes his hand out of yours and covers his cheeks with them, feeling the warmth of his skin against his palms and squeezing his eyes shut. He can’t believe what you’ve made him. A blushing mess undone the moment you call him pretty, sweet, yours. “Feel my cheek,” he demanded, grabbing your wrist and pressing your palm to his face. You laugh. 

   “You’re burning up, babe,” you say, patting his cheek. “I can’t help it. I have to compliment you. All the time. Every hour of every day.” You tap a finger against his cute nose. 

   “I would compliment you but every time I try you swoop in and render my speech incoherent with that little nickname you have for me,” he kept his fist against his cheek as he stared up at you, your legs dangling off his desk as you extend your hands out for him. He takes them, presses them to his cheek. 

   “What nickname?” You question innocently. “Oh, oh, oh, I know which one. Pretty boy.” You held his scrunched up in embarrassment face in your hands, squishing his cheeks. “So pretty.” 

    “I’m gonna spontaneously combust.” The words came out muffled because of the position his face was in, but if he were being honest, he could feel himself light up every time you said he was pretty, as amusing as the word was to him. Even if he doesn’t think he’s much- anything, really- to be fond of, he’s happy, so happy, that you disagree. 

   You call him pretty boy every chance you get. You seize the opportunity with pride, throwing a wink his direction when you can because he has the dopiest little smile on his face for the rest of the day even if he feigns irritation in the moment. 

     You greet him every morning outside his apartment building with a cup of coffee in your outstretched hand and a sweet smile curling at your lips and a, “Morning, my pretty boy,” and Peter starts his school day with a blush, his arm around the shoulders of the girl that he loves. You lean up to kiss the corner of his mouth. He’s invincible. 

    Then, you see him in chemistry class, goggles strapped to your face and a stupid apron around your neck. His heart still stops when he sees you. You slide in the seat between him and Ned, pulling at his goggle strap before it snaps back to his head as gentle as you can manage. “Did you finish the lab conclusion, pretty boy? I’m stuck on the last sent- Ned what happened to him?” You turned to the other boy, eyebrows raised in confusion because Peter is motionless and the redness is spreading all over his neck. 

   “You called him pretty again,” Ned replied, stretching his hand across the table and waving it in front of Peter’s face. “He’s probably just offended that you didn’t greet me with a compliment.” 

   “C’mon, Ned, you know I think you’re gorgeous.” 

   “I’m actually not deaf, guys.” Peter nudged you playfully, rubbing his cheeks with the sleeves of his gray sweater. You ruffle his honey hair. 

  “We know,” you answered. “Ned’s stunning, obviously-” Ned grins at this- “but you’re forever the only pretty boy for me.” Peter scrunches his nose up. Then, he takes off his goggles, placing them next to the looseleaf paper that has his neatly compiled lab report scrawled over the page. He leans forward, scooting his chair close to you so he can remove your goggles, too. He takes your face in his hands and kisses you quick. He’d put more passion into it if the teacher wasn’t standing across the room, looking for any excuse to separate the two of you. Every teacher was the same. He pulls back after a second, his hands lingering on your cheeks when he gazes at you. 

   “I love you, you beautiful and lovely and wonderful girl of mine.” Triumphantly, he removes his hands and places them back down on the desk. He catches it before you turn away toward Ned, and for a brief and fleeting moment, it’s there on your cheeks. “Oh, oh, what’s that I see? Is that a blush?” He jumps around to Ned’s spot, a stupid, prideful grin on his face as he savors the moment for himself, commits the pretty sight to memory. “Pretty girl, are you blushing?” He pressed his hands to against your face, pinching your cheek gently, lovingly. You punched him in the arm, a warning behind your eyes, but Peter didn’t care in the slightest. 

   “Yes, you big idiot,” you mumbled. “Happy now?” 

   “Oh, I’m very happy.” 

   “I hate you.” 

   “Do you really?” Peter raised his eyebrows, resting his palms against your shoulders and rubbing his thumb along the place where your collarbone peeked out of your shirt. 

   “Of course not,” you said, a grumble in your tone. “I love you and your pretty boy face, sweet little freckles and all.” You poked a couple of his freckles and kissed the one by his mouth. Peter sighed, still smiling brightly because no matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t pretend to be annoyed at you when you called him that name. He’d wear it with like a badge of honor, grateful for it. He had an effortlessly gorgeous love that thought he was the prettiest thing she had ever laid her eyes on, so what more could he ask for? 

lilith-eves-last-stand  asked:

Sorry if this comes off ignorant, I don't mean it... My son is 4 1/2 and was diagnosed two years ago. I try to do the best I can and let him be him 💕 but while he's in speech therapy (he's still moving into the idea of talking), schools in the area (private) push ABA for students with autism. But I see young adults like yourself saying ABA is NOT good. I'm more inclined to listen to someone on the spectrum than those not, but what is the issue with ABA?

First, I want to say that I am so glad that you are turning to the autistic community for help. This isn’t an ignorant question at all. There is so much conflicting information out there about ABA that it can be hard to even know where to begin. It sounds like you really want to help your son as best you can which is admirable. 

To start off, not all therapy labeled as ABA is actually ABA. I’m going to explain what the issues are with true ABA and then explain how to figure out if the therapy they are trying to push on your son is ABA or not. 

ABA stands for Applied Behavioral Analysis. It is a scientific method that involves observing the individual in order to identify “target behaviors,” i.e. behaviors that are undesirable to the parents/therapist. Next, aversives, rewards, and operant conditioning is used to eliminate these behaviors and encourage wanted behaviors. Overall, this may not sound like a bad thing, so let’s get into why this therapy is harmful. 

The groundwork of ABA therapy is the idea that autistic people are broken and in need of fixing. Our natural, non-harmful behaviors, such as stimming or lack of eye contact, are targeted as behaviors in need of fixing. The main focus of ABA is making a child “indistinguishable from peers,” i.e. to make the child seem “normal.” 

This often includes things like getting rid of stimming (often with the phrase “quiet hands”) and forcing eye contact in order to make the child less noticeably autistic. The problem with this is that stimming is a coping mechanism for autistic people. We stim to regulate our emotions/senses, cope with stress, and express ourselves. Eye contact can be uncomfortable or even painful for us and being forced to perform it can be just awful. 

Further, changing these behaviors does nothing that is truly beneficial for the child. Instead of being trained out of behaviors that are non-harmful, an autistic child should be taught ways to manage their autistic traits in a way that is useful and productive for the child. For instance, if a child is uncomfortable making eye contact, learning to look at a person’s forehead or nose is a great alternative as most people can’t tell the difference. 

Further, due to the focus on making a child indistinguishable from peers, there is often a push towards verbal speech even when atypical methods of communication like sign language or AAC would work better for the child. 

ABA therapy operates by using rewards/reinforces and punishments/aversives to train a child to perform wanted behaviors and to stop unwanted behaviors. Rewards are withheld until the wanted behavior is performed and aversives are used when an unwanted behavior is performed. Often, foods, such as gummy bears, candy, or other tasty treats, are used as rewards as well as praise or affection, access to a comfort object, break time, stickers or stamps that can be traded for privileges/rewards, or access to a special interest. Additionally, some therapists make use of a clicker, a device that makes a loud click sound originally used for training animals, to indicate that a wanted behavior has been performed and that a reward is coming. 

For aversives, the removal of a comfort object, withholding of snacks, removal of reward items, or prevention of engagement in a special interest are often used. Some therapists also use “taste aversives” like pickle juice, vinegar, hot sauce, or other bad tasting edibles, as well as “tactile aversives” which would be making the child touch something that sets off tactile defensiveness or distress. Withholding praise or affection is also used as an aversive. 

In DTT (Discrete Trial Training), a form of ABA that is considered to be kinder than other versions of ABA, the therapist will not look at, engage with, or respond to the autistic child until the desired behavior is performed. Similar methods are employed when unwanted behaviors are displayed. 

As a treatment, ABA is centered around compliance training, in other words, making a child compliant to the desires of the adults in their lives. Rather than focusing on how to help a child live the best autistic life they can, the focus is put on making the child seem “normal” no matter what the cost to the child. This serves only to make parents more comfortable and does little to help the autistic child as they progress through life. 

Using aversives on a child ranges from bad to cruel depending on the aversive used. Withholding rewards from the child, particularly when those rewards are food or other necessities, creates insecurity in the child. Further, by training a child in this way, the child becomes more vulnerable to victimization. When you are told by all the adults in your life that you must ignore your own pain and discomfort for the sake of adults, how is a child to know when they are being abused? How is a child to know that the adult touching them in that way is wrong when they are forced into hugs which are painful for them? 

You may have noticed that what was described here sounds an awful lot like dog training, and that’s because it is. ABA trains a child in the same way you would train an animal which is dehumanizing. Autistic children are not animals whose behavior should be crafted to suit those around them. Autistic children are unique individuals who need support and care. 

Finally, ABA therapy is often a full time job for the autistic child. Often, 40 hours a week or more of therapy is recommended for optimal results. It is ridiculous to put a child through such a strenuous routine. 

So what are you to do instead? Obviously you want to help your child live the best life possible which is wonderful. There are plenty of therapies that can be very helpful to autistic children. Speech therapy, which you’re already doing, can be great for children who are struggling with verbal speech, though methods of AAC should be provided until the child is able to communicate verbally (and even then, AAC should still be available for times when the child goes nonverbal/semiverbal). 

Occupational therapy to help with sensory integration or motor difficulties or other areas in which the child is struggling. There are also play-based therapies like floor time which can be very beneficial to autistic children. No matter which therapies you utilize to help your child there are a few things to keep in mind. 

First, therapy should be supplemental according to the child’s need rather than the central aspect of their life. If the therapy schedule would be exhausting for an adult, it’s not appropriate for the child. Next, does this therapy help the child live the best autistic life they can or does it focus on making the child appear to be “normal”? Normalization is for the benefit of parents while good therapy focuses on helping the child with things that the child finds problematic such as learning to cope with sensory issues or learning better communication (whether that’s verbal communication or AAC). 

So how do you figure out is what is being presented to you is true ABA or something else masquerading as ABA? There are some questions you can ask to help sort this out. First, though, we need to go over why there are therapies that aren’t ABA calling themselves ABA. In the US, most insurance plans will ONLY cover ABA for autistic children. As such, many therapists who perform other therapies have resorted to labeling themselves ABA in order to be covered by insurance. This allows them to work with children that otherwise wouldn’t be able to access these therapies. As such, what is being pushed for your child may not be true ABA. 

Here are some questions to ask:

  • What is the goal of the therapy? As we’ve discussed, ABA focuses on making the child “indistinguishable from peers” or normalization. If you hear that phrase, turn away and don’t look back. Even if the therapy isn’t ABA, the goal of making a child appear “normal” is not a useful goal for the child and can be detrimental. 
  • Does the therapy make use of rewards and aversives? We’ve discussed why aversives and rewards can be damaging to a child. A good therapy for your child will use other means to discourage harmful behavior. 
  • Does the therapy emphasize compliance? Compliance makes for a “well-behaved” child but does not lead to a healthy, independent adult (which I’m sure is what you’re hoping for in your child’s future). Therapies should focus on helping a child manage any harmful traits they have without forcing them to be compliant to an adults wishes. Just like all children, autistic children will not always be obedient or follow adults’ wishes. This is how it is supposed to be. Children need the space to make their own mistakes and learn and grow. Compliance teaches a child to shutdown their own needs and desires to fit the desires of another. 
  • Does this therapy discourage non-harmful behaviors? Autistic children will sometimes engage in behaviors that are harmful to themselves or others. These behaviors definitely need to be addressed and worked on. For instance, a child’s stims may physically hurt another person such as grabbing onto other people to stim. This behavior is not ok and a parent/therapist should work with the child to redirect the behavior. However, ABA often focuses on stopping behaviors that are not harmful. For instance, most stimming does not hurt anyone. It may be atypical behavior, but it generally does not hurt the child or anyone else. If a child is being bullied for their stims, that should be addressed with the school to change the harmful behavior of the other students rather than stopping the child from engaging in behaviors that are useful for self-regulation and expression. A good therapy will focus only on discouraging harmful behaviors. 
  • Are you allowed to observe the therapy as you please? In non-harmful therapies, you will generally be allowed to observe the therapy whenever you wish as they have nothing to hide. If a therapy will not allow you to observe what is being done, then it may be harmful to your child. However, even some therapies that are harmful may allow observation, so, when you do observe, make sure to really pay attention to how they treat your child. 

If the therapy being presented to you passes all of these questions, then it is not true ABA and could potentially be helpful for your child. As we’ve discussed, there are many therapies that can be beneficial to autistic children. Some useful goals of therapy could include:

  • Changing harmful behaviors- if a child is causing harm to themselves or others, the behavior needs to be addressed and the child should be provided with alternatives to help redirect the behavior. For instance, if a child is playing with their own poop, the child needs to be taught that this is unsanitary and provided with playdoh or other sensory tools to use to redirect the need for sensory input. Similarly, if the child hits others while melting down, one alternative may be providing the child with a pillow or stuffed animal to hit instead. 
  • Communication- While many therapies focus on speech, the true goal should be improved communication. This may include speech as a goal if that is within the child’s abilities, but it should also include forms of AAC to be used for communication either until the child is able to learn verbal speech or instead of verbal speech if speech is too difficult for the child. AAC can include letter boards, picture boards, text to speech apps, among others. Sign language can also be useful in facilitating communication. 
  • Managing Sensory Input- Many autistic children are hyposensitive and/or hypersensitive to sensory input. As such, it is important to teach the child ways to manage their sensory sensitivities. This may include managing their sensory diet by setting aside time for sensory play, use of sensory defenders like headphones/ear defenders/ear plugs, sunglasses, or other methods of regulating sensory input, and stimming as a method of regulating sensory input. 
  • Anything that causes the child distress- If a child is struggling in an area and it causes them distress, that is a good thing to work on in therapy. For instance, if the child is having frequent meltdowns, one of the goals of therapy should be to figure out why the child is having so many meltdowns and find ways to accommodate the child to prevent meltdowns. Similarly, if the child struggles with socializing with other children and is upset by this, social skills classes may be beneficial. If something is upsetting for the child, then it is likely a good goal for therapy. However, if the child is not bothered by something, therapy likely isn’t necessary (unless it is causing harm to the child or others).

So this got super long. I hope I’ve addressed everything you needed covered. If you have anymore questions, you are welcome to send me more asks or check out @autism-asks to get more info about autism. 

Finally, I’m going to leave you with some links that cover ABA from other perspectives:

I hope this helps you and your son! 

-Sabrina

anonymous asked:

Zutarians act like Katara's romance with Aang is to the detriment of her character but somehow one with Zuko wouldn't just put her in nurturing position for an older man. I am not for Kataang but I don't think any of the show's characters would NOT put Katara in the position of a nurturer and giver. She gives too much as it is. Except perhaps Toph but Toph is twelve, confused and has parental issues. What I'm trying to ask is what does Katara gain from Zutara except acceptance.

What Katara Would Gain from Zutara

[Edited to add “Bato of the Water Tribe”! Thanks, @ adifferentcupofzutara!]

Katara would gain a partner who would help her with household duties without being asked:

Rather than someone who leaves the chores to her while he shows off for his fangirls.

Katara: Watching you show off for a bunch of girls does not sound like fun.
Aαng: Well, neither does carrying your basket.

She would gain a partner who shares parental responsibilities …

Katara: Aαng, don’t walk away from this.


Zuko: Let him go. He needs time to sort it out by himself.

And acts like a father:

Zuko: Keep in mind, these are dual swords. Two halves of a single weapon. Don’t think of them as separate, because they’re not. They’re just two different parts of the same whole.

Rather than someone who IS a parental responsibility …

And acts like her son.

Katara: What do you think, Aαng? Do I act like a mom?
Aαng: Well, I…
Katara: Stop rubbing your eye and speak clearly when you talk!

Katara: My goodness! That doesn’t sound like our Kuzon.

Katara: I’ve been training Aαng for a while now. He really responds well to a positive teaching experience. Lots of encouragement and praise. Kind words. If he’s doing something wrong, maybe a gentle nudge in the right direction.

She would gain a partner who respects her personal boundaries: 

Katara: What are you doing?!
Zuko: Keeping rocks from crushing you.
Katara: Okay, I’m not crushed. You can get off me now.

Zuko [retracts his arm so Katara can move away from him]: I’ll take that as a thank you.

 Rather than someone who transgresses them.

Katara: Aαng, I’m sorry but right now,  I’m just a little confused.


Katara: I just said that I was confused!

Someone who sees her as an ally:

Zuko: I can handle Azula.
Iroh: Not alone. You’ll need help.
Zuko: You’re right. Katara, how would you like to help me put Azula in her place?

And not a possession.

Actor Zuko: Wait.  I thought you were the Avatar’s girl.

Aαng: [nods] 

Someone who waits for the right time to talk:

Katara: You look terrible. 
Zuko: I waited out here all night.

Rather than pushing her:

Katara: Because we’re in the middle of a war and we have other things to worry about. This isn’t the right time.
Aαng:  Well, when IS the right time?

Someone who understands how much she needs her family to be there …

Katara: Dad.
Hakoda: Hi, Katara.
Katara: How are you here? What is going on?

And puts their needs over his:

Sokka: No, I’m staying. You guys go. You’ve been here long enough.
Suki: I’m not leaving without you, Sokka.
Zuko: I’m staying too.

Rather than someone who disappears when she depends on him …


Katara: He left.
Hakoda: What?
Katara: Aαng. He just took his glider and disappeared. He has this ridiculous notion that he has to save the world alone. That it’s all his responsibility.
Hakoda: Maybe that’s his way of being brave.
Katara: It’s not brave. It’s selfish and stupid. We could be helping him. And I know the world needs him, but doesn’t he know how much that we need him too? How could he just leave us behind?

And puts his needs over theirs.

Sokka: This is the map to our father! You had it the whole time!? How could you?

She would not only gain a partner who, unlike her canon love interest, sympathizes with the loss of her mother:

Katara: Well, I just want you to be prepared for what you might see. The Fire Nation is ruthless. They killed my mother and they could have done the same to your people.
Aαng:  Just because no one has seen an airbender doesn’t mean the Fire Nation killed them all. They probably escaped.
Katara: I know it’s hard to accept.
Aαng: You don’t understand, Katara. The only way to get to an airbender temple is on a flying bison, and I doubt the Fire Nation has any flying bison. Right, Appa?

Katara: I don’t?! How dare you! You have no idea what this war has put me through. Me personally. The Fire Nation took my mother away from me.



Zuko: I’m sorry. That’s something we have in common.

Katara: But, we were too late. When we got there, the man was gone.  And so was she.
Zuko: Your Mother was a brave woman.

Katara:  I know.

But who trusts her to deal with anger and pain in HER way …

Rather than pestering her to do things HIS way.

Aαng: Katara, you sound like Jet.

Aαng: Katara, you do have a choice. Forgiveness. 

Aαng: It’s okay, because I forgive you.  That give you any ideas?

Aαng: Let your anger out and then let it go. Forgive him.

Aαng: You did the right thing. Forgiveness is the first step you have to take to begin healing. 

Ironically, a partner who understands that some things are more important than romance!

Aαng: Katara is in danger! I have to go.

Guru Pathik: No, Aαng! By choosing attachment, you have locked the chakra! If you leave now you won’t be able to go into the Avatar State at all!

Zuko: Stop! This isn’t about you. This is about the Fire Nation.

But who would still die for her in a heartbeat …

Rather than risk her life (and everyone’s) to retain his moral purity.

Most of all, she would gain someone who sees her for who she is:

Rather than who he wants her to be.

And who doesn’t try to change her to make her better for him.

Sad Magnus Chase headcanons bc I'm feeling sad today

💔 Magnus crying alone after his mom dies and having nowhere to go. He flinched in a corner on the sidewalk and cried himself till sleep
💔 He spent 3 days without eating until he started to turn the trash cans
💔 In his first winter as homeless, it was so cold on some nights that he cried wrapped in his thin blanket
💔 It was common for him to spend a few days without getting any change or food
💔 Young Hearth starving himself till the limit because food cost golden coins
💔 Young Hearth not quite understanding what his parents said after his brother’s death because they refused to sign and he was crying too much to read lips
💔 Hearth not caring about if he would live or die while he fells in Nidavellir
💔 Blitz going back to home alone after find out that his father was dead
💔 Blitz having no one to talk. Sometimes, he spent days without say a single word and leave home
💔 Blitz trying to produce something “real dwarves” do but crying in frustation
💔 Alex feeling totally confused because she doesnt feel like a “regular boy”
💔 Alex dressing up like she wants and her mortal father and step mother just saying that she wants “embarrass them even more”
💔 They keeping Alex out of view when received visits because how would they even explain what is Alex
💔 Alex preferring live on the streets that live with her “family”
💔 Sam crying on her room because the kids were being mean about her being muslim
💔 Sam trying to not care about the looks people give to her and her grandparents on the streets
💔 Sometimes, Magnus can’t eat or drink. He’s in the middle of the feast when he suddenly thinks about all the people that don’t have nothing to eat, like him when he was homeless. Sometimes, he lost the appetite for days. On these days, Alex enter in his room and put his head on her lap and he cries while she tries to calm him “I know, Maggie, I know”
💔 homeless Hearth giving the food he finds to Magnus and Blitz because he’s more used to stay hungry
💔 Sam waking up screaming from a nightmare about Loki controlling her
💔 Sometimes, Blitz calls by Hearth, forgeting he cant listen. When he doesn’t anwser, Blitz just panics. So Hearth just finds him crying “I-I thought you left me… I don’t want… to be alone…I’m so so patetic”
💔 The whole squad having existential crisis bc the world will end anyway

accidentally?

Based on this prompt I said I’d fill a few days ago:

boss: “know why I called you in here?”
me: “because I accidentally sent you a dick pic”
boss: “accidentally?”

yup.

(on ao3)

“You need to stop pining after people you haven’t even spoken to,” Lydia says one day, probably because Derek—er, Mr. Hale, their boss—has just stepped through the front door of the cafe where they’re having lunch, and Stiles has trailed off mid-word to watch him walk up to the counter. In Stiles’ defense, he’s never seen Mr. Hale outside of the office before, let alone Mr. Hale wearing a leather jacket over his dress shirt. God, and Stiles thought the tailored suits were bad enough…

Anyway.

“Uh, I have too spoken to him,” Stiles says indignantly, tearing his eyes away from Derek’s broad back across the room. “One day I was coming out of the break room and I almost walked right into him and he said, ‘Excuse me,’ so then I said, ‘Oops,’ and he smiled at me. Kind of. A little bit. I mean, I interpreted it as a smile. There was some prolonged eye contact.”

Lydia abruptly stops stirring her fat-free latte to stare at him—one of those Oh god, it’s worse than I thought kind of looks. “That’s it?”

Keep reading

3

Alright, HERE we go! Awhile ago I had an idea for a MP100/Voltron crossover, and after mentioning it to @x-i-l-verify​ and loooots of brainstorming later, we have…*gestures vaguely* this. These are more or less screenshot redraws just to kind of get across who is who. :) More info, reasonings and musings under the cut, because well…it got long…

Keep reading

i have too many feelings about michelle jones so here have headcanons and peter x michelle

this was obnoxiously long because i have no control so lots of stuff is under the cut and it became very fic-like at the end there, whoops. 

one (THIS ONE!) | two | three | four | five | six | seven | eight | nine

  • so michelle moved with her family to new york when she started high school
  • and mj was actually pretty sad to leave her friends back in chicago because it had taken a long time to make those friends and she always feels awkward around new people
  • so she isn’t very happy about The Move
  • she comes from a loving family
  • like, she gets kissed every night before she goes to bed, her parents read her bedtime stories until she was ten, she used to wear matching outfits with her mother, family movie nights were every friday
  • her parents were really good to her for the most part and just loved and supported her
  • they’re also pretty smart and since mj has pretty much always been inspired by them so intelligence and the acquisition of knowledge is really important to her
  • hence reading and academic decathlon, but she’s also into math and science too because she’s very driven and doesn’t have that many friends in new york so what else is she gonna do?
  • and her parents are an interracial couple and they’ve encountered a lot of hate and mj was always so sad when she walked out with her mother and people would give them weird looks
  • so she’s tried to end hate whenever she can and fights to give a voice to those who are silenced
  • but now cue mj going to high school in new york
  • she joins academic decathlon ofc because who do you think she is she lives for this shit
  • and then! there is this little shithead on the team PETER PARKER
  • like who the fuck does this kid think he is
  • answering all these questions, acting like he’s sooo smart just because he happens to know a lot of facts and is really good at physics and speaks spanish really well and also happens to be really dorky and adorable and okay maybe he’s kind of attractive too and maybe mj starts throwing herself more into academic decathlon and possible CONSIDERS joining band but that’s ONLY BECAUSE PETER IS A SHITHEAD AND SHE NEEDS TO SHOW HIM HE ISN’T THE ONLY TALENTED ONE OKAY
  • anyway

Keep reading

The Dozens of Times Eddie Kapbrak Came Home, and the One Time He Didn’t

(A Story in Sonia’s POV)


–There was the one time Eddie came home angry. Slamming doors, cursing under his breath. I was upset at the language, but more worried he’d catch a little finger, or a toe in the cabinets or doors. I asked why and he pushed me away. He had always been doing that lately. Am I being too much of a worrier? Maybe I am. He’s older now, and doesn’t need me as much. As much as that hurts to admit, seventeen is old enough to be independent. 


–He came home crying again. He’d been doing a lot of that, too. Something was different. He came to me for once. I was selfishly happy, but that left me when I saw him. He had a bruise under his left eye. His lip was cut, and his hands were shaking and red, a sign that he’d had a panic attack again. Those signs used to be foreign to me until he told me those weren’t asthma like I had thought for years. I’d like to think of myself as an almost expert on them now. The only thing hard for me to tell anymore is what might cause them. He has them so often. Eddie comes to me, and sits down, panting. He looks worn down and sad and resigned, as if he’s accepted a heavy fate, or like he was waiting for a piano to fall on him. 

This time when I ask him what’s wrong, he crumbles and starts to cry again. He tells me Henry and his psychopath friends cornered him in the locker room, and roughed him up. He shows me his ribs, and I see red. Partly the dried blood, partly rage. That little freak carved the word “Fag” into Eddie’s little side. It takes everything in me not to take him to the hospital, but Eddie insists he cleaned and dressed it as much as it needed, and it wasn’t deep, no stitches needed. I prayed with everything in me that it wouldn’t scar. When I asked him why they would choose that word, he becomes silent again. He seems to be trying to find the right words to say, and eventually he does. He tells me, stuttering more than the elder Denbrough boy, that it’s because they saw him kissing Richard Tozier. I had nothing to say, and he goes to his room before I could find the right words. I did eventually, over dinner. I tried to make a lighthearted joke, and said he could do better than little Richie Tozier, and that I loved him. He did laugh, but he also cried. This time it was the good way. 


–One time he came home excited, his feet barely touching the ground as he ran upstairs. I called out to him to get the door, but he was down just as fast heading out again. His cheeks are pink and his eyes are bright, and I can’t help but to think that just a few months ago this same boy was crying in shame over what had happened. He was a lot happier in general, due in part I suppose to coming out, but mostly Richard. Richie, Richie this, and Richie that. I almost wanted to tell him I was tired of hearing it, but his happiness wasn’t something I could get tired of. Despite being a trouble maker and a bad mouth, he did take care of Eddie. I did tell him to stop coming home with love marks- unsanitary and shameless little things. I tried not to think about the fact that he still probably got them where I couldn’t see them. He may be an adult next month but he’s still my little angel.

He tells me he’s finally going out on a real date, just the two of them. That they’re going to see a movie, and he tells me not to wait up. I know I’ll try to, but he always manages to come home after I fall asleep. Sneaky little boy. He tells me he’s already left the name, address, and number of the movie theatre on the counter, and that he’ll be with Richie who can be reached as well. I have his number in my Rolodex, as I do his parents, and the rest of his friends- you never know when you might need them. He kisses my cheek and practically skips out to the beat up truck Richard drives. It has a bench seat and the driver seatbelt doesn’t work most of the time, and I cringe thinking about Richie just sitting on it so he doesn’t get a ticket for not actually wearing it. Eddie promised me he’d never drive it, so at least there’s that. 


–He came home today, silent. It’s almost worse when he does that instead of crying. Eddie was pale, and he had dark circles under his eyes. I asked if he was okay, and he just stares at me. It feels like an eternity when he opens and says “The school won’t let Richie and I go to prom together… They said if we showed up they’d kick us out.” His voice sounds so fragile and small, like he doesn’t feel like a real person. I’m furious. I tell him I’ll call the school, but he begs me not to. He says it’s okay, he knew it would happen, that this is just the way things are. I, however, will not stand this. As soon as he goes to his room, I call his principle. I can’t remember exactly what I said, though I am equal parts embarrassed and proud to have used foul language in place of his name. “Mr. Shitstain” and I came to an agreement that they may attend as long as they are within a larger group. He will not allow them to have couple’s pictures, but he did reluctantly allow that they dance together. I tell Eddie in the morning and he cries and hugs me. He goes to Richie to give him good news. 


–He comes home after prom with a photo- the whole group is in it, all holding a sign that says “Loser’s Club”. I cringed at the name, but they chose it for themselves years ago. Eddie and Richie are next to each other, and I suppress an eye roll that Richard had ripped open his shirt to reveal an exclamation point painted on his pale abdomen at the last moment. The picture is slightly blurred, and Eddie confirms my theory when he laughs and says the camera guy was startled and tried to lunge at Richard to put all of his clothes back on. Despite this, I see the stars in his eyes. He is happy, so I am happy. 


–Lately he’s been coming home with heaps of papers, college letters, essays, SATs, tests. I try not to think about him leaving. I turn up the volume on the TV or the radio when he uses the phone to talk to his friends about it. It hurts and he knows it hurts. I’ve never been good at not worrying. This goes on for weeks. I fail to keep my tears in when he’s at school or out with friends, but at the same time, I’m immensely proud. He’s such a good boy. 


–This time he comes home, and he doesn’t say a word, and I can’t see him from the kitchen but I know something is wrong. His feet are dragging and his breathing sounds funny. I drop the spoon into the soup when I hear a crash. He’s laying on the floor and crying. Despite him being curled up in a ball I can see he’s covered in bruises and cuts, and bleeding badly. I try not to scream but when I rush to him I can’t hold it, he’s been cut up badly again, more words carved into his soft belly and his thighs. I can see the word “Queer” seeping through his khaki pantleg as he sobs. This time, he does need stitches. In many places. The only thing he says to me from the hospital bed is that he is oh so tired of this town. Richard never leaves his side, growling at anyone who causes him pain or wakes him up, like a wild animal. I’ve decided that I am incredibly grateful that he is who he is. 

He’s in the hospital for three days. Night one was cleaning and stitching and recounting what happened. The police had been called to file a report. He hesitantly confesses that Henry, Patrick, and the other cretins did this to him. Chief Bowers is red with rage. I hear him in the hallway calling my son a “flamer” but that his boy was “going to get it”. This is the first and only time I’ve yelled at a cop. Richie laughs and holds up his hand for a high five, something I wouldn’t usually reciprocate, but tonight is a night of firsts. Night two was observation and tests to see how bad the internal injuries might be. He has a concussion, but they found no internal damage aside from bruises and a cracked rib. They send him home wrapped in Ace bandages and taped up like Richard’s glasses. That night he tells me he needs to leave, that he can’t take this anymore. I’m angry, and admittedly irrational. We do not speak to each other for a week. 


–When we speak again, he walks in the door with Richie, William, and Michael. Out of his friends, Michael is my favorite despite where he lives being so messy. He brings me flowers and fresh fruits and vegetables. He washes them himself, but only once he gets here so I can see it. He’s a very well mannered and intelligent man. William is wonderful too, but I feel guilt in having trouble understanding him, and he has a habit of talking with his mouth full. He’s not as messy as Richard, so at least there is that. Eddie has healed nicely so far, most of the stitches are out already, and the scars he has, though sadly legible, are hidden under clothes. His lip and eyebrow have small scars, but they are hard to notice. The boys have folded boxes in their hands. I knew this was coming, but I still couldn’t bear it. I stubbornly told him I wouldn’t help him, and that I wouldn’t watch him either. He only nods his head, looking down. 

They pack up his belongings, and I step out into the yard, smoking my first cigarette in years. I swiped one from the Marsh girl months ago, when Eddie was starting to talk about college. I thought that was the worst, but this hurts more. He’s leaving too soon, and I can’t stop him. He promised me he’d finish high school, and go to college, but that he would not live here, in Derry. Because we weren’t completely speaking, I have no idea where he’s moving, and now I’m too embarrassed to ask. When I go back inside, William hands me a piece of paper, his handwriting surprisingly neat, with Eddie’s address, and number. He was moving just outside of the city, into the matchbox apartments. With Richard. I can’t help it. When he walks out of the front door with his things, he kisses my cheek. I can’t help it. When the car drives away, their silhouettes in the windshield. I can’t help it. I sit down on the porch, and I begin to cry. I can’t help it. 


–He doesn’t come in the door anymore. Not the way he used to. No angry slams, no excited pops as the door hits the wall. No silent entries when he’s tired. No little footsteps. He doesn’t come home. He visits, sometimes with Richard, and with his friends. He calls frequently, too. He’s a good boy. Time passes, and he came to visit after graduation. He got accepted to a college in Maine. I try to hide how happy that makes me. I promise I won’t go to the dorms too much. He and Richie talk about their lease ending and moving on campus. His little group of friends are trying their best to stick together. They all got accepted to the same school, and will try to attend until their majors take them elsewhere. It’s nice knowing that he’ll have so many friends. 

He doesn’t come home, but he visits. Holidays he even stays in his old room. Sometimes. Other times he stays with William in his new house, just down the street from mine. Sometimes they visit Richie’s parents, or Michael’s farm. It’s a lot like it used to be, but it isn’t the same. I know it never will be, and while I’m sad, I’m happy too. He doesn’t come home, but he gets married in the same church I was married in. They make the paper as the first same sex couple to get married in Derry. Someone booed them as they walked to their car, but before anyone said anything, Richard flipped them off. I don’t tell Eddie, but I caught it on camera. It’s framed in my room, shameful but endearing. He doesn’t come home, but he visits often, asking for advice. We’ll have lunch together and talk about stain removal, and he’s picked up cross stitching for Richard’s anniversary gift. He’s going to make a sign that says “Tozier-Kaspbrak” for their sitting room. 


He doesn’t come home, but he visits often. Many times with Richard, and even more happily with their new daughter. I’ve always wanted a daughter, so I spoil her rotten. I try not to be so overbearing as I was with Eddie. I know it had the wrong impression on him, and I don’t want her to feel the same. I give her sweets when they aren’t looking, and I teach her all about keeping a good home, and let her watch football with me when they need a babysitter. Eddie doesn’t know, but sports are a guilty pleasure of mine. I want her well rounded, too- to know that girls can like whatever they please. Her name is Amelia Isabelle, and she grows so fast. He doesn’t come home anymore, not like he used to. And I’m so, so grateful. He’s leading a good and proud life, and I’ve never been more proud to be the mother of Edward Tozier-Kaspbrak. He doesn’t come anymore, but when he visits, it’s like he never left at all. I’ve lived a good little life, I feel.



“Sonia Kaspbrak, 65, passed in her sleep in her home of Derry, Maine. Natural causes. She leaves her son, son-in-law, and granddaughter. Funeral to be held this Saturday, July 17th at the First Church of Derry. She will be fondly remembered by all who knew her. Everyone is welcome to attend the open service ceremony being held to celebrate her life. 
Thank you, 
Richard Tozier-Kaspbrak”

How to become a good student (again) 4: Layer Yourself to Merge Yourself

Hello, fellow ex-good student!

Hide yo kids, hide yo wife and hide yo husband, cause I’m about to drop the p-bomb:

That’s right… p…p…pro…

PROCRASTINATION!

I know. I know. The moment has come, man. Procrastination has cost me so many hours of my life that I will never get back and I guess it’s the same for you.
Here’s a bit of a secret - the first three posts so far? They were actually also about procrastination. Specifically, they were about WHY you or I might procrastinate.
1. Because you’re overwhelmed by choices
2. Because, goddamnit, it’s HARD to to start
3. Because you have a screwed up relationship with studying

Now, in this post, we will be tying these threads together by looking at the WHAT and the HOW. You’ve examined the roots, you’ve gotten rid of the pesky little bugs living down there, so… WHAT is procrastination really and HOW do you defeat it and actually start studying?

Procrastinaton, for me, is a state of mind, a surround sound and most of all: a place - it’s LIMBO. It’s physically being unable to do something. Being caught in a web (very often the world wide one). Drowning in water. Being pulled apart, gaining momentum, losing control, cotton in my ears, the heat of shame in my chest, a thousand voices in my mind that I try to silence.

“You should be -”
“You have to -”
“You must -”

“Do something, do something, do something, anything, anything, anything, anything”
“You loser, you can’t even -”
“YOU USED TO BE GREAT and now you’re just-”

I hate myself while doing it. I feel horrible. I feel useless.
But at the same time, at the very bottom of my mind, there is something that I’ve refused to acknowledge for the longest time: a sense of pleasure.
Why
do I feel this weird sense of pleasure when I procrastinate? Why do I feel pleasure when I know I’m sabotaging my future through inaction? When I’m digging myself into a deeper and deeper grave? When I hate myself at the same time? Why do I procrastinate at all? Is it because of that underlying ironic pleasure?

Well, to find the answer to those questions, we first need to ask ourselves a bigger one: what is the OPPOSITE of limbo? If limbo is being caught in the middle of nowhere, floating, glitching, slowly imploding, then what is the opposite?
I’d say it’s movement, direction and action - you being in charge and moving things along, having agency, being alive and powerful and energetic and hot. I’d say it’s FLOW.

When I was a child, I had little to no problem syncing in and out of flow. It just came to me like second nature and I LOVED it. I loved the way my brain buzzed and I completely forgot about my surroundings. I loved disappearing into ideas, books, stories, video games, homework, a teacher’s lesson, a friend’s story, my own projects. I went in and out as I pleased and could turn it on and off like a light switch. It was so. much. fun. and I was so, so lucky to have had the privilege of such a talent.

Back then, I used to ache and hunger for a challenge. Things were smooth and easy and fun, but I wanted MORE - harder exercises, deeper questions, more challenging teachers. When I told my father about that, he smiled and said

“Be happy. You have put so much work into this. This is the moment it’s all paying off - you’ve turned and turned and turned your wheel and now it’s running smoothly along the street without even noticing how uneven the ground is.”

He was right, of course, but as time went on, I became more and dissatisfied with my smooth little wheel and started to procrastinate more and more. Why? And, again: where does the pleasure at procrastinating come from?

I’d argue that there are two main factors and one huge reason:

FACTOR 1: The wheel didn’t deliver on its promises

I already mentioned this in the very first post, but basically: disillusionment. I loved working hard, but I also expected it to pay off at some point. However, apart from the occasional pat on the head from a teacher or my parents’ smiles, there wasn’t all that much to be gained. There were no harder exercises, no special treatments, no big revelations - even university, my very last bastion of hope turned out to be a glorified bouncy castle.
I was just bored and the work I put into it wasn’t worth the outcome anymore. The system had failed me.

FACTOR 2: Suddenly, there were a lot of wheels

It is easy to glorify my younger self, but, really, child-me had it a lot easier.
Child-me only had one wheel to spin (school) and as I grew older, I realized that there were, well, many other wheels I had neglected.
I had a lot of catching up to do in areas like empathy, charisma, self-confidence and self-worth outside of academia, humour and fashion. And when I left school, there were even MORE wheels: suddenly, I also had to keep my job, my apartment, my much more complicated social life, my manifold hobbies and a somewhat healthy sleep schedule going.
I wasn’t prepared for this abundance of wheels. I’d grown up thinking that as long as I could keep the one wheel I was good at spinning (academia), I’d be juuuuust dandy. Well, I was wrong and I realized that, once again the system had failed me.

If only I’d had better teachers. If only I’d listened to the good ones. If only I’d worked the problem earlier. If only I was part of a better system that would recognize and foster my talents. Who knows how much I could achieve? Who knows how much I could have ALREADY achieved?

And that’s where the pleasure of procrastination comes from.
It is defiance. It is rebellion. It is a big “FUCK YOU” to the system that failed me. It is a “Look at me! I’m operating outside the system and I’m STILL getting semi-good grades. I don’t need any of you. I don’t need any of this. I’m playing by MY rules. I’m getting shit done MY way. Because YOUR way disappointed me. Because I am FREE.”

If, at this point, you’re starting to feel sorry for me (or yourself for being in a similar situation) …that’s exactly the problem. There’s really no way to say this nicely, so here we go:

PROCRASTINATION IS NO MORE AND NO LESS THAN A GLORIFIED VICTIM COMPLEX.

Let me explain.
When you procrastinate, doesn’t it feel like you HAVE TO do things? Like you’re being FORCED to do something? Like you’re POWERLESS? Like you’re STUCK? Like you’re SUFFERING? Like you’re AT THE MERCY of your negative thoughts, the system or you’re conscience? Like you’re being WHIPPED AROUND? Like you crave recognition of your SUFFERING? Like you don’t have a choice except RUNNING AWAY and not facing what you’re FORCED to face?

All of these thoughts and emotions put you in the position of a sufferer - a victim.

You see yourself as a victim of the system, the school, the state, the assignment you should be working on. You deliver yourself unto their power. You submit to a simple dichotomy: I HAVE to do this or I SHOULD FEEL like shit.
I HAVE to do this, so I MUST suffer and accept the infringement of my freedom.

Well, let me tell you something that just about changed my life when I fully, deeply and profoundly realized the truth behind these words:

YOU 
DON’T 
HAVE
TO 
DO 
SHIT. 


…or a bit more eloquently put:

You’re the one in control.

No, honestly. You are. 

If you wanted to, you could throw it all into the wind, take the next train to nowhere and see where life takes you. But do you want to do that? 
And, the even bigger question: why do you feel SO powerless that this small, stupid act of rebellion against The System is enough to intoxicate you SO much that you keep coming back to suckle on its sweet, sweet bitter nectar?

It’s because you feel trapped. It’s because you feel lost. 
It’s because you feel like you have so much potential and it’s all going to FUCKING waste and if somebody were to just give you a FUCKING hand you could really show everybody just how much you can FUCKING do and-

-let me stop you right there and let me ask you 4 questions:

QUESTION 1)
You keep going on and on about how intelligent you are …but what’s the use of your intelligence if you can’t use it to improve your own life?

If you’re anything like me, you find it very easy and rewarding to help other people with their problems. You easily see the roots of problems and the ways that conflicts could be resolved. You’re an excellent trouble-shooter and a strategist in video games and for your friends… but what about your own life? Why do you ACCEPT playing the role of the victim in your own life?

Why do you accept this suffering?

Long story short: because you’ve grown used to it.

You’ve forgotten what it feels like to make active choices, to exert your full agency and to take full responsibility for whatever mess might come of it. Leading me to…

Question 2)
You keep going on and on about how intelligent you are… but what’s the use of your intelligence if you don’t take anything seriously?

Be honest: when was the last time you took anything seriously and gave it your all? …no? Nothing?


Well, if you’re anything like me, I’m sure you know the neat excuse of “eh, I was just winging it, but if I REALLY tried-” and do you know what that is? It’s cowardice and it’s self-victimization.

I know I’m coming on very strong.
But the truth is this: I know this. I know this because I’ve been living this. I’ve been living a second-hand life that I allowed to be ruled by “the system” and guilt and made-up obligations …and I almost lost myself in the process.

Maybe you can realize it with me: It’s some time ago, I wake up in the middle of the night and randomly feel like taking an IQ test online. I’m still half-asleep, I roll onto my stomach, I don’t even sit up, I meander my way through the questions. Shit. I realize that time is running out and I haven’t even finished ¾ of the questions! I panick. I feel guilty. I finally sit up. I start trying harder. I’m getting faster and faster - faster than I ever thought possible. And despite 5 minutes of good effort - 
I fail. Hard.
And as I sit there in my dark room, my unbelievably sucky result glowing on the screen of my mobile phone and I look out of the window, I realize: this has been my life for the past 5 years. Winging stuff at not even 50% of my capacity and being hurt by the results. Honestly, when WAS the last time I took anything really seriously? 

The next day, I get 8 hours of sleep, sit down in front of my laptop with a bottle of water, search for the most professional IQ test I can find and concentrate from the very beginning. I score 30 points higher. 

Let me repeat that: I scored 30 points higher on an IQ test because I actually tried. Magical things can happen if you take stuff seriously.

Leading us to

Question 3)
You keep going on and on about how intelligent you are… but when was the last time your intelligence has brought you joy?

Maybe you’re familiar with the phrase “The burnt child dreads the fire”? When I thought back on my academic progress in the last years, I realized that there really hadn’t been much joy anywhere. Pretty much everything had sucked. 

Big time.

Of course I wouldn’t want to invest my energy into something that didn’t yield any good results … right?

Wrong. My lack of good results was only an indicator for the real problem: my lack of effort.
The simple truth is this: 
We are smart. We enjoy doing what we are good at. We enjoy hard mental work, REGARDLESS of the results.
But once I started to focus too much on the results and thought it was all about having a great CV and min-maxing my grades… I just didn’t have fun anymore. I didn’t allow myself to have fun anymore. To disappear into a world of thoughts like I used to as a child. To invest way too much time into a project, to have an absolute BLAST creating something complex and outstanding and super cool. 

Bringing us to…

Question 4) 
You keep going on and on about how intelligent you are… but can you really create something extraordinary?

See that’s the thing: when I was a child, I didn’t just take school seriously.
I wanted to go the extra mile. 
And honestly? That was the whole secret. I wanted to create something that wasn’t just special but mind-blowingly special. It’s not like I knew I had it in me, but rather that I wanted grow to have more and more in me and I knew that the only way to do that was to challenge myself again and again.
That’s the difference between viewing your intelligence and your capabilities as stagnant or growing. There is no joy and no truth in regarding yourself as stagnant - the best of violin players started out sounding like a dying cat and the best athletes kept stumbling. If you want to create and become something extraordinary, you need to know that it will not happen overnight. You need to know that it will be a slow, hard and challenging hike up a hill and the only thing that keeps you climbing is your willingness to go the extra mile so you can see the view become more and more beautiful.

The real pleasure of studying is not getting good results and bragging rights - that’s just a cool side-effect. The real pleasure of studying is studying and that means working and knowing that working gets you one step ahead one step at a time.

So HOW can you change? HOW can you regain control? How can you consciously go from limbo to flow?
First of all:

1) RECLAIM YOUR RESPONSIBILITY AND YOUR PASSION

The first thing I tell myself in the morning is “My life is in my hands.”
That’s not always an easy sentence to start with, especially if I haven’t slept well or if I’m sick or in the middle of a fight or an existential crisis or just crabby.
But it’s always true. It’s MY life and it’s my responsibility to make the best of it. 

One poem in particular has really helped me, so who knows, maybe it’ll help some of you guys as well:

The Vow

No matter how deep the sadness or wide the pain,
I vow to live for a brighter day will come again.

No matter how many mistakes I’ve made in the past,
I vow to live and in the future avoid them, surefooted and fast.

No matter how many tragedies beyond my control take place,
I vow to live and stay my course within this race.

No matter how poor or rich I may ever be,
I vow to live and aspire to search for the dignity in simplicity.

No matter how much a lover may pierce the inner core of my heart,
I vow to live for like spring I’ll get a new start.

No matter how isolated and alone I may feel,
I vow to live and do something for someone else to heal.

No matter how hopeless my situation my appear,
I vow to live and reflect until my viewpoint is clear.

No matter what happens in this life – good or bad
I vow to live, do my best, and just for living – be glad.

– Malcolm O. Varner

If you want to find pleasure in studying again, you need to embrace your own passion.
I know it’s a lot “cooler” to be indifferent towards studying, to procrastinate, to do it almost out of spite and at the last minute. But is it really?
No one wins. It’s not rewarding. It’s not fulfilling. You’ll have forgotten it in a week. It just sucks for everyone involved. Love what you do. Love it like you would a lover. Be considerate, be tender and be patient.
It must not feel like an obligation. It must feel like a passion - a fiery want for new horizons, mentals fireworks and lightbulb moments. It must come from yourself, from your bowels, your fibres, your blood - not from some ominous outside force. 

“I have to do this.” -> “I want to do this!”
“I’m losing time. There is so much I have to do, I want to be done with this already.” -> “I want to give this my time. This is absolutely worth it. I really want to be doing this right now.”
“Be fast. Be faster.” -> “Slow down. Be patient. Cherish this moment.”
“This is hard. I hate it. I hate it so much.” -> “This is challenging. I love it. I love it so much.”
“I can make this perfect, it has to be perfect! I could give this my all, I can give this my all. If I’m not giving this my all, I’m a complete and utter failure. Better not try at all rather than screwing it up. Again.”   -> “This is a work-in-progress, just like anything else. I am sure I can improve it bit by bit, by devoting some of my time to it. Even if I don’t get very far today, I’m sure the experience will pay off in the long run and I might find some unrelated ideas for other projects!”

You must go from this:

To that:

2) MAKE ACTIVE CHOICES.

(Like, maybe make the choice NOT to wear that speedo)

Because that’s really what it comes down to in the end: CHOICE. Nobody actively chooses to procrastinate. Procrastination is the absence of choice. 

Years of little to no success make you feel like your choices don’t matter -> you feel like you cannot influence anything -> you might as well not try -> you procrastinate.
But here’s the thing: your choices DO matter (DITCH that speedo!) and you must regain that trust in yourself.

We NEED to be able to make choices about their own lives. It makes us feel powerful and like we are truly alive.
It makes us feel like we are, you guessed it, in the flow.

Now, of course it’d be nice if I told you “Make conscious choices sweaty <3 ;*” and you’d go out and do it and that was it. But, truth be told, it’s hella hard to get there and it will take you at least a year of constant effort.
For me, this year meant constantly asking myself “Wait, do I REALLY want to do this right now?” and establishing a neat rule for all media consumption that goes “Always enrichment, never escape”. But, as I said, that’s a work-in-progress and something that you will have to work on in your own time and at your own pace.
Luckily, I found a shortcut :D

Now, the shortcut does not replace the year of constant effort, mind you, but it can help to make it a lot easier:

THE STUDY ROOM

What’s the “Study Room”? Well…
You might have been wondering what the title “Layer Yourself to Merge Yourself” is all about. This was my thought process:

  • 1) I want to get from limbo to flow
  • 2) And I want studying to feel like a reward in and of itself
  • 3) And it’d be nice if I could concentrate on just spinning one wheel at a time, so I can really lose myself in it
  • 4) I also want it to be a conscious choice, so I can train my decision-making process
  • ….
  • ….but how?
  • …”fake it till you make it” or what, haha?
  • ….I guess what that really means is that you have to act like you’re already there until you’re there?
  • …so, like, you have to artifically induce naturalness?
  • …haha, wouldn’t it be neat if I could do that and “transform” into my “study-form” like the Avatar or a magical girl or a superhero or something?
  • …..
  • …wait. Wait. WAIT. What if I COULD?
  • What if there was a “me” that was specifically always in the flow and already loves and is good at studying and which I only access whenever I want to study?
  • So I create a new “me”, so that, over time, we can become one again and I can change into that “me” whenever I want?
  • …cool.
  • …but how?
  • I could always go to a special place, but that would limit me whenever that place wasn’t availabe.
  • …buuuuuut…..
  • …..what if it was a place I could ALWAYS access?
  • what if it was a place in my MIND?
  • ….
  • …..holy SHIT.

And that’s how the “Study Room” was born. Below, I will detail the journey to my personal “study room”, but I wager that everybody’s study room will look a little different depending on what makes you feel most comfortable, rational and “in the flow”.

STEP 1 - DETACH FROM LIMBO

Close your eyes. Lean back.
Do it with me now. Consider this your tutorial. Bring yourself to a screeching halt, throw an anchor into the the ground of the stormy sea, pull the brakes, just - stop. Stop. Slow down.
Close your eyes, lean back, keep your eyes closed for a good minute - god, how long a minute can be, right?- and feel your breathing consciously, slowly, feel how you are alive and full of hunger, feel how your heart beats, feel how much tension has built up inside of you, how much energy has been stored and how much you actually ache to do something meaningful. Feel it. Keep your eyes closed until you feel it. Then, come back to me.

STEP 2 - BECOME AWARE OF REALITY

I don’t know if you’ll need this step, but I live very much inside my head and limbo just makes that effect even stronger. So, I like to remind myself of my physicality, of my spatial realness, of my ability to perceive and interact with the world in this step. I re-connect with the world and it slows me down even more - it’s a bit like hooking myself into this world, so limbo can’t claim me so easily.
I drink a glass of water, I eat a carrot, I touch a cold tile, I feel the texture of a pillow, I play with my own hair - if I’m in public, like in a library, I usually just brush over my lips or grip the table unobtrusively. It’s a small step, one that usually doesn’t take longer than 10 seconds, but it’s one that has helped me a lot.

(When I’m really caught up in limbo, I usually lie down on the floor in my room. That works wonders)

STEP 3 - ENTER YOUR STUDY PLACE

At this point, I close my eyes again and visualize. I enter another world, the world of studying in my mind.

STEP 3A - THE DOOR

My eyes are still closed and imagine a dark, circular room: this is the entrance to my Study Room ™. I stand in the middle of the room - there is one door right in front of me, two to my left and two to my right. I have no idea what’s behind those other doors or why my imagination has conjured up a room like that, but hey, it works and here we are.
I gather all my concentration and repeat “My life is in my hands. I take on the responsibility for my own life. I WANT to learn. I CHOOSE this.” to myself. Then, I consciously choose to walk in only one direction, channeling all my thoughts into a straight line: towards the door right in front of me. I enter through it - somehow, I never have to actually open it, so it might be more like an open doorway?

STEP 3B - THE WATER

I step through the door and find myself in a space filled with water. I have absolutely no trouble breathing and I can easily swim, turn, glide and spiral like a dolphin. The water washes the last remnants of limbo off me, I feel my tensions washing away, my mind waking up, the wheel starting to move, my chest feeling lighter, my heart feeling hotter, my breathing going slow and steady. I swim in this liminal space for as long as I need to, I revel, I breathe, I wallow, I luxuriate until I feel ready to emerge from the water.
(wonder what psychologists would say about this little ritual - is it a literal re-birth? is this the womb? who knows? it works and that’s good enough for me right now …now that I think about it, that beach scene from Gravity might have been an inspiration. Man, I loved that movie already, but that ending?? Aaaaanyway, moving on…)

STEP 3C - THE WORLD

Then, I swim upwards and emerge from the water, head-first. The sun is warm and shines on my head and I step out of the water with bare feet, toes curling around grass and my lungs breathing in fresh forest air. Somewhere, a bird is singing, white clouds are languidly drifting by, all is warm, comfortable and good. I sit down on a giant mushroom by a tree (hey, don’t ask me, I don’t know), take a last deep breath and put pen to paper.
At this point, I open my eyes in the real world. I am completely relaxed, a thousand miles away from limbo, in another dimension even, calm and happy to engage with questions and wonders.

I’m in the flow.

In this world, I am a different me. A “study-me”.
In time, this me and I will merge again and we have already merged quite a bit. My walk through the Study Room process has become faster and faster and I am quite certain that, in time, it won’t take longer than a fraction of a second and it will seem like I can switch my flow on and off again like I used to. My study wheel is rolling again.

But if yours isn’t just yet, then …this is it. This is how, this is why and this is the very moment I re-connect with my “study values”, my passion and my agency, again and again and I choose to do it. Again. And again.


It is, really, all about choice.

And that’s the advantage I have over the old me. The old me studied because I didn’t know anything else and because I thought that I had to. 
The me right now chooses to study because I want to. And that makes it ten times more effective, more freeing and more fun.

So run wild, enjoy, actively enter that world of studying in your head, no matter what yours might look like (rain? palm trees? other planet? go bonkers!), it’s about choosing this and wanting this. It is about YOU saying “Yes, there are other interesting things and wheels out there, but right here, right now, I want this, nothing else and I will give it all of myself for as long as I want to.”

As you might have guessed by the gifs, I really recommend watching Free! Iwatobi Swim Club if you’re interested in overcoming procrastination.
(I swear I’m not sponsored by KyoAni, but for all their other shortcomings, their characters always have amazing character arcs when it comes to professionalism and passions) Both Rin and Haru are caught in their own versions of limbo and following Rin’s journey in Season 1 and Haru’s journey in Season 2 really helped me realize a lot of things about my own life and about how I dealt with passion, talent and my career.

The last part of this series will include a Q&A, so if there is something you didn’t quite understand or are unsure about, something you’d like to add or recommend to others, something you’d like me to explain in more detail or demonstrate through other examples, please, just write me a message (my inbox is absolutely open!) and I will answer it in Part 5 :)

Thank you for coming along on this ride! I hope some of my thoughts could help you and please, do let me know if my methods work for you - I’d love to know! :D 

Your life is in your hands,

-studyinstyle

One more from this long list of prompts, completely unprompted.

Number Eighty-Five: “They got you a present. Isn’t it sweet?”


“Der, we got another one!”

Derek sighed, put down his fork, and glared up at the doorway where Stiles was about to appear with the mail. It was bad enough the mailman rang the doorbell in the middle of breakfast, but for another damn proposal? They should’ve just pretended they weren’t home.

“It’s from the McMullen pack in…Montana, that’s a new one,” Stiles announced as he shuffled back into the kitchen in his boxers, a large box in his hands. “And look, they got you a present. Isn’t it sweet?”

Derek rolled his eyes and went back to his eggs. “Just throw it away.”

Stiles made no moves to throw it away. He set it down on the corner of the table between their plates, and Derek had to grab his coffee mug before it spilled.

“You’re not even going to open it?” He drummed his fingers on top of it excitedly. Stiles loved opening packages. “What if it’s something cool?”

“It’s never something cool.”

“That’s a lie. The last one was great.” He still looked thrilled over the badly cross-stitched Den, Sweet Den hanging over the toilet. Derek glared.

“As soon as I get Lydia here to clear out the ash, I’m taking it down and it’s going in the garbage.”

Stiles finally gave up and sat back down to his meal, leaving the box right where it was. “I can’t believe you would insult Marjorie’s hard work like that. You know she’s a powerful alpha from a powerful pack.”

The accompanying proposal letter had stated as much, a number of times.

Derek pointedly moved the box to the floor. “A powerful alpha, but not a skilled cross-stitcher.”

“Big words from the guy who buys new jeans every other week because he can’t fix a tiny tear.”

“I can, I just don’t want to. It looks tacky.” And unlike Stiles, who spent all of his college years learning to sew his clothes back together to save money, Derek could afford to buy new ones.

That, and the entire town was still kind of waiting for him to be hauled off in cuffs for murder, and wearing tattered and worn out clothes tended to make them whisper about that poor sheriff’s boy, he deserves someone nicer. They always learned shortly after that Derek was the nicer of the two when that poor sheriff’s boy turned around and cussed them out until Derek dragged him away.

Stiles scoffed. “Throwing away unopened gifts is tacky!”

“Sending proposals to an engaged man is tacky.”

“Can you really blame them for trying? I’d be all over that if I wasn’t already.” Stiles ran a hand up Derek’s thigh to punctuate his point, while taking a casual sip of his coffee as if he were doing nothing of the sort.

“I can and I will. And at the very least, we’re sending it back.”

Stiles pouted, brushing Derek’s thigh with his thumb like it would change his mind. “But what if it’s a new frying pan? We’ve been needing one of those.”

“I’ll buy you a new frying pan. We’re sending it back.”

“We might as well get something out of all this harassment.”

“How about the satisfaction of saying no to every single one?” That was enough for Derek, but apparently not for Stiles, who blinked at him imploringly. Combined with his rumpled bedhead, it almost worked.

“But I can’t make breakfast in satisfaction.”

Derek leaned over to give him a compensatory kiss. “You can barely make breakfast in a frying pan.”

Stiles’ hand dropped from his thigh and he narrowed his eyes.

“Wow, okay, see if I ever make you breakfast ever again.” Derek grinned, but that just egged him on. “Actually no, I’m going to make you shitty breakfasts all the time! In the proposal pan!”

“We don’t know it’s a pan, and we’re not keeping it even if it is.”

“Oh come on! We deserve gifts after all this bullshit.” He gestured with his fork to their life in general, which also included the large hole in the drywall from a cursed statuette an angry pack had sent last month after Derek politely returned their proposal.

Derek refused to give in. He was not going to play nice in response to insult after insult.

“Stiles, why the hell would I want to keep gifts from packs I’ve never met who are trying to bribe me away from my fiance?”

Stiles pressed his lips together to try not to smile, but he failed. The whole being engaged thing was still new, they were both still a little giddy about it.

“We should send wedding invitations to all of them,” he said gleefully, and there was his petty streak. He’d been taking all these formal proposals surprisingly well and in good humor considering they were all trying to lure Derek into bringing Hale prestige to their packs.

“No. Then they’ll just send bigger gifts to try to change my mind.”

Stiles smirked. “And I‘m going to keep all of them.”

Derek rolled his eyes but gave Stiles the kiss he was puckering up for.

I'm Yours - Peter Parker (Tom Holland)

I’m Yours - Peter Parker (Tom Holland)

Words: 783 (Yeah short for my standards)

Warnings: FLUFF! ALL THE FLUFF

Summary: I don’t even know what to say for this one. It’s just another cute on of how you and Peter get together.

A/N: This was just a small cute thing that I started writing because I was bored and turned into this. It might be a bit rushed I don’t know.

“I’m not stupid, Y/N.” Wanda said as you tried not to listen to her. “It’s obvious.”

“It’s not that obvious.” You said in defence.

“I’m surprised that Peter is the only one who hasn’t noticed.”

“What the whole team knows?!” You said louder than necessary.

“Probably.” Wanda said poker faced but then she smirked slightly. You groaned and pulled a cushion from the sofa in front of your face.

You thought that you would be able to supress your feelings towards Tony’s newest addition to the team, but Peter was always there making you blush for no reason whenever he was in the room.

And clearly everyone had noticed.

“He won’t like me back.” You stated still behind the cushion.

You heard Wanda scoff and then laugh. “That’s ridiculous.”

“Really? I thought it was a rather practical way to think in this situation.” You threw the cushion back onto the sofa.

“Okay so Peter hasn’t straight out told me he likes you, but I’d put money on the fact that he does.”

Little did you know, Peter had actually (under pressure) confessed his feelings towards you to Clint and Wanda about an hour earlier. And as you and Wanda were talking, Clint and Peter were having a similar conversation in the room next door.

“You’d be losing your money then.”

“I doubt it.”

“Are you just trying to make me feel better?”

“Y/N, no. I brought it up because I thought it was about time you got off your ass and did something!” Wanda had a serious expression on her face now. “It’s excruciating watching you both just hover around each other.”

You sighed in defeat. You had to admit that you really wanted to start going out with Peter so you had to do something.

“What do you want me to do?”

“Wait about 10 seconds.”

“What?”

Wanda smirked and looked towards one of the doors that lead out of the room.

You turned and followed her gaze, and right on cue who decides to open the door? Peter Parker.

You look back at Wanda who is looking over you to Peter with a rather smug expression on her face. You were convinced she’d planned this - which, evidently, she had.

“Peter?” Wanda said innocently.

“Uh… can I talk to Y/N for a second please?”

“Of course.” Wanda said still smiling as she gave you a small push.

“Okay!” You whisper shouted impatiently to Wanda.

You smiled weakly at Peter as you crossed the room to him. Just as you were about to go out of the door you looked back at Wanda who gave you a double thumbs up. You just rolled your eyes at her.

You stopped just outside the door and leant back against the wall facing Peter.

“So, what’s up?”

“Well I… um… have something to say to you.” Peter said. He had put his hands in his pockets.

“So do I, but you can go first.” You said quickly.

“No you go first!”

“No seriously it’s fine.”

“Okay…” Peter paused and took a step closer to you. “I like you Y/N.”

You bit your lip to suppress a smile. You were surprised - but more happy than surprised.

“Really like you.”

“Have Wanda spoken to you about this?” You had no idea why you wanted to ask that but it just sort of came out.

“No.” Peter looked taken back by that.

“Right, ignore that.”

A silence fell between you.

“That’s good because I like you too.” You said as confidently as you could. You took a step closer to Peter.

“Really?” Peter was defiantly shocked.

“Of course, why wouldn’t I?”

Peter didn’t say anything as you grabbed the front of his T-shirt and pulled him towards you. Your back hit the wall so you were pressed between Peter’s body and the wall.

“Kiss me, you idiot.” You said at almost a whisper.

Peter cracked a smile and touched his lips to yours. Falling head first into this, you deepened this kiss and wrapped your arms round Peter’s neck.

Suddenly, Tony’s voice sounded through the Compounds intercom.

“Parker, I don’t care what you are doing, drop it. Suit up.”

Peter groaned and pulled out of the kiss. Your foreheads just rested together.

“Are you going to take me?” You teased.

“It will be a crappy first date.”

“Hmm… I’ve had worse.”

thecoolestgay  asked:

Can you please write some adorable reddie cuddling fluff? I've been reading tons of angst and I'm gonna cry 😭

with pleasure my dude

(FYI - they’re a little older in this, nearly 20, as theres a few lil mentions of smexy times and some teasing and making out etc because i don’t write that very much and wanted a change, sue me)

please listen to tee shirt by birdy to get super cutesy vibes and all the feels <3


It was still dark out when Eddie woke up, squinting up to look out the window at the early morning sky. He checked his watch, seeing it was 5:45 am, and smiled. He still had hours to kill before waking up. He felt something move from underneath him and he turned his head to come face to face with Richie’s sleeping form. And he smiled.

Richie had snuck in again last night, just before midnight like clockwork, and begged Eddie to just fall asleep on top of him. So he had, and god was he happy he did. Eddie had fallen asleep on his front, leaning on Richie’s shoulder and tucking his face into his neck, softly sighing as Richie stroked the side of his face to help him fall asleep. He had slept for a good few hours until he woke up, but those few hours were pure bliss. 

Richie shifted again and let out some air through his nose before blinking open his eyes slightly. He saw Eddie staring at him and he smiled.

“You’re staring again.” He whispered. 

“You look cute in the morning.” Eddie said quietly and Richie chuckled, his chest rumbling and making butterflies erupt in Eddie’s stomach. 

“Thank you. You look pretty adorable too.” Richie said, pressing a kiss to Eddie’s forehead. “What time is it? Do we have to get up now?” Richie asked sadly and Eddie shook his head, holding his wrist with the watch on to Richie’s face.

“We have ages. Go back to sleep if you want.” He said and Richie shrugged.

“Don’t wanna if you’re gonna be awake.”

“I’ll fall asleep too. You know I can’t stay away for too long.” Eddie pointed out, and snuggled into Richie’s neck, pressing a kiss at the base of his throat. Richie hummed in appreciation and rested his hand on the side of Eddie’s face, stroking the hairs just behind his ear. Eddie loved it when Richie was gentle with him, compared to how brash and loud he could be outside or with the others. He loved that side of Richie, it was fun and adventurous and he never knew what to expect from him, but soft, sleepy, Richie was his favourite. 

Eddie started pressing soft kisses across Richie’s neck, listening to the soft noises he was making, and then kissed behind his ear, making him shiver. Richie moved away slightly and Eddie whined, trying to kiss him again.

“I’m way too tired to flip you over right now, please don’t kiss me there until I’m wide awake and ready to go.” Richie joked, but Eddie stopped, knowing he was right. Even though Richie was more dominant in more than one aspect, when Eddie tried to take control he was putty in his hands. Eddie settled on resting the side of his face on the pillow and just staring up at his boyfriend instead. He was so beautiful, all freckles and pale skin and bright, brown eyes. He looked different without his glasses, but a good different. Older, more mature. Less like ‘Trashmouth Tozier’ or ‘Bucky Beaver’ that he had been known as during school. Now, he was just Richie. And Eddie loved just Richie. 

“What are we doing today again?” Richie asked after a short while of peaceful silence.

“Bev asked us to come to the movies with her and then we’re helping Stan pack for College. After that, nothing.” Eddie said sleepily. Richie nodded.

“Wanna get dinner tonight?”

“Not another pizza, Richie. My face is already breaking out from yesturday’s binge.”

“No,” Richie snorted. “Not pizza. Like, real food. From a restaurant.” Eddie smirked and looked up at him.

“Are you asking me out on a date, Tozier?” Eddie nearly died when he saw Richie’s face turn a little pink.

“Would that be so terrible?”

“Only a little bit.” Eddie teased and Richie rolled his eyes, gently flicking Eddie’s ear.

“Asshole.” 

“You love me.” Eddie hummed and Richie smiled, kissing his forehead.

“Yeah, unfortunately.” Eddie scoffed and started to scoot away from him.

“I’m never snuggling with you again.” He threatened and Richie grabbed him before he could move further away, flipping them over and pinning Eddie underneath him. Eddie let out a breath, not expecting that at all, as Richie beamed down at him. “I thought you were too tired?”

“I perk up when you start getting fiesty and bratty.” Richie said and Eddie tutted at him.

“Bratty, pft! As if!” Richie leaned down rubbed his nose against Eddie’s fondly, making his heart melt.

“You’re so cute when you try to prove me wrong.”

“I’m not cute, I’m manly!”

“Shut up, Eddie. You’re adorable.” Richie said, kissing Eddie’s jaw. “Cute, cute, cute!” He kissed his nose, his cheek, and his collarbone for each word and Eddie bit his lip, holding back a smile.

“If the others could see us right now they’d puke.” He said and Richie laughed.

“I think Stan would bust a nut, being in the same room as us would be the most action he’s gonna get.”

“Don’t be mean!” Eddie frowned, swatting Richie’s hand. “Stan is gonna find somebody soon, just you wait.”

“He still won’t get as much as I do.” Richie raised an eyebrow, making Eddie go red.

“Shut up. I just put up with your horny ass because I have too.”

“I never hear you complaining, like, in fact, I always hear you telling me not to stop.”

“Okay, that’s enough.” Eddie warned, pointing a finger up at him.

“Billy Boy would be so shocked at the filthy words that have come out of your little mouth, Eds. He’d be asking everyone where his precious little best friend has gone!” Richie grinned. “The answer, by the way, is underneath me. Or on top of me when I’m lazy. Like the good boy he is.”

“Do you kiss your Mom with that trashy mouth?” Eddie asked. Richie shrugged.

“No, but I kiss yours. And man does she love it-”

“Don’t make me say beep beep, you’ve been so good recently.” Eddie groaned and Richie sighed, before flopping onto his side, his arms getting tired. Eddie slowly moved back so he was lying beside him and reached up to move some of Richie’s wild hair out of the way. “You’re beautiful.” Eddie whispered, and for once, Richie didn’t make a joke. He just smiled.

“So are you. I got real lucky.”

“Yeah, you did.”

“Shut up.” Richie teased, pressing his lips to Eddie’s, the two of them lazily moving and intertwining hands. When they eventually broke apart, Richie closed his eyes as Eddie carried on playing with his hair. “Can we, just…stay here forever?”

“The bed sheets would get so gross.” Eddie grimaced and Richie laughed.

“I hope you never change, Eds.” He said and kissed him again. Eddie deepened the kiss, running his tongue over Richie’s and pulling his body flush against his. He sighed into his boyfriends mouth and then pulled away, grinning like an idiot. 

“Yeah, let’s stay here forever.”

Blindfolded, Bound and Gagged (Dylan O’Brien smut)

Summary: Dylan teaches you a lesson

Word count: 4k. (THERE IS NO BACKGROUND PLOT. IT IS SIMPLY 4K OF FILTHY SMUT. YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED.) 

Warnings: there’s a lot of things I should flag lmao…bondage, blindfolds, gags, overstimulation, vibrators, BDSM, orgasm denial, dirty talk, sir kink, dom!Dyl. Long story short, THIS IS ABSOLUTE FILTH. 

A/N: You’re lying if you say this isn’t your wet dream.

Originally posted by hothothotgg

Everything was on fire.

Keep reading

anonymous asked:

I'm not usually one for angst, but I just had a thought and maybe you can give your insight on it too. What if Seven & MC both died in [insert some sort of accident here] and entrusted their child(ren) to Saeran? How do you think that would go? qq thank youuuuu

(◞‸◟;) so sad but I will write!


  • The news of the car accident was jarring for Saeran
  • But his new title of legal guardian to his niece, his brother and sister-in-laws 6 year old daughter, was overwhelming to say the least
  • He remembered them asking if they could put him down in the will and he just shrugged it off as something you did, he never actually thought anything would come of it
  • The first day was the hardest
  • She was quiet
  • More quiet than she normally was
  • He could tell that she was sad and scared
  • In her little hands she had been clutching a picture of her with her parents on her 6th birthday 
  • His place wasn’t exactly set up for kids
  • He hadn’t even been able to grab most of her stuff or her bed from the old house
  • So he placed some blankets and a pillow on the couch for her
    • “Are you…hungry?” he asked
  • Though she still didn’t make eye contact with anything but the floor, she shook her head ‘no’
  • And Saeran sighed in relief
  • As he was staring into his empty cabinets at a few cans and an old box of crackers
  • A grocery store trip would be a must the next day
  • He had Yoosung watch her during the afternoon so he could go out
  • He figured it would be too much for her to go home and see everything so soon
  • It was sad to see all of the things scattered around the apartment
  • Saeyoung’s half-finished toy projects still lay on his work bench
  • The calendar hanging on the wall with appointments that will never be made
  • Spoiled food in the fridge
  • He lingered in the hall to look at photos
  • There were the wedding ones
  •  Saeyoung hugging Saeran during the reception, a huge grin on his face as always 
  • And pictures from the birth of his niece
  • He had never seen Saeyoung so happy
  • Saeran remembered holding her small body for the first time in the hospital
    • “She’s…cute,” he said with a half smile
  • He threw some toys that looked promising in a bag and loaded her bed up
  • Taking one last look at the place before leaving
  • He would have to figure out what to do with everything eventually, but for now he’d focus on his niece
  • His computer room was cleaned out and he moved her bed into there
    • “You can decorate or whatever…I tried to grab what I thought you would want but I can always go back,” he placed the bag next to her bed
  • She ran to the bag and began rummaging through it, throwing out a few things until she found what she wanted
  • A cat stuffed animal she’s had since she was an infant
  • She pressed the paw and Saeyoung’s voice came singing through
  • He had recorded both of their voices singing lullabies and saying sweet things to her
    • Mommy and daddy love you so much
  • She clutched the cat and began to cry
  • Oh shit, she’s crying…
  • Saeran froze for a moment not knowing what to do
  • He knelt down next to her and placed a hand on her back
    • “It’s okay to be sad…and it’s okay to cry,” he said softly
  • Not the best words but it was all he could think to say
  • He made a mediocre meal for dinner and she picked at it a lot without eating much
  • Saeran didn’t blame her, but he knew his cooking would improve the more he did it
  • Which, he guessed, would be just about every day now that she was there…
  • He cleaned up the plate’s and bowls from the table
    • “Is this normally when you go to bed?” he really was lost
  • She nodded and grabbed her kitty plush to get ready for bed
  • He could hear the sound clips from the cat going off intermittently as he washed the dishes
  • When he finished and her light was still on he peered in from the doorway to see her sitting in the bed crying softly
    • “Do you need something? To like…talk or something?”
  • She shook her head
    • “Well…mom and dad would…read to me,” she said through whimpers
  • Right, of course
    • “I’ll be right back,” he said
  • When he returned he had a book in one hand and was dragging his computer chair in the other
  • Sitting next to the bed he showed her the cover
    • “S-” he choked for a second, “your dad used to read this to me when we were your age,” he opened it up
    • “Dad did?” she wiped her eyes and seemed interested for the first time since she arrived
    • “Yeah, he did. He always made sure to explain things to me, and do voices,” Saeran smiled remembering it
    • “Dad did that for me, too,” she smiled
    • “I’m not your dad…but I can try my best to read it like he would.”
  • He closed the book and stood up
    • “Do you like ice cream?” he asked her
    • “I do”
    • “Stories are always better with ice cream, I’ll go get some.”
  • He had seen her smile finally
  • Perhaps he was getting somewhere
    • “Ice cream? In bed? Is that okay?” she asked
  • Saeran shrugged
    • “I think for tonight it’s okay.”
Bakushima/Kiribaku could be canon

Well okay, first of all I’m not that kind of big dreamer who thinks this really is gonna become canon ‘cause… not. Let’s be real, this is a shonen manga, read by a majority of teenage boys, and therefore, explicit shonen ai will never occur (hope i’m wrong).

If Horikoshi sensei was gonna make a m/m ship canon, probably he would start receiving some hate from his fans, which is pretty sad.

But on the other hand, implicit insinuation may occur, and I think that’s already happening. I’m gonna try to lay up some very canon moments beacuse Kirishima/Bakugou it’s just so great… <3

Keep reading

Chickens are wildly individual beings and don’t you dare be fooled for one second into thinking otherwise. When I was a pretty smallish child my parents allowed me, for some unknown reason (they were not responsible adults is probably the reason), to purchase with my own money two bantam chickens from a flea market. I had a little banty rooster named Rocky and a tiny banty hen named Ginger. It was a perfectly lovely arrangement even though I sucked at naming things. I loved those jerks with my whole heart and everyone thought that was adorable.

Now, my grandfather hired a neighborhood man to do a lot of odd jobs. This man was named Stanley and, though I can only think fondly of him, he was personally responsible for a hugely traumatic aspect of my childhood. One day, you see, Stanley arrived with a gift for me. “I hear you like chickens,” he said presenting my family with the most gorgeous animal I had ever seen. A beautiful orangey head fading into iridescent greeny-blue wings, long proud incredibly green tail feathers, red eyes that seemed to glow (soon I would learn this was from the Fires of Hell), and the proudest crown and wattle anyone had ever seen. This rooster was massive too, and not just to someone who is quite bitty, he was a lot of chicken. Now, naturally, I was elated. “Let ‘em out, let ‘em out!” I begged as soon as it seemed remotely appropriate to be a bother. My grandfather, ever indulgent, proceeded to do this. The first act of this new addition to my home, never a safe place but never so dangerous as it would soon become, was to almost murder my grandfather.

You see, what I did not know at the time was that roosters have something called ‘spurs’ which are effectively leg knives. If you are imagining that these cannot possibly be dangerous then I am going to change your imagination. My family, two young children included, gathered around. Soon my pretty new pet would be free to puk and bok about the yard I believed. My grandfather opened the transport cage and everything was, at once, a mass of feathers and blood. Unleashed the chicken lunged instantly for his face and neck. Fortunately he was able to throw up his arms in protection which resulted in a huge gash that must have been bone deep for how it bled. This being of raw malevolence rushed at the assembled crowd causing much screaming and cowardly running. If I am recalling correctly my mother actually scooped up my sister before she fled to the safety of the house. I don’t remember how, or even if, we corralled the devil. But I do know, precisely, my grandfather’s words as he calmly wrapped his bloodied arm in one of the handkerchiefs he was never without, “Mean little bastard, ain’t he?”

The coalesced mass of violence was named. He was called Bully and my entire family has war flashbacks when that profane name is mentioned. My father was Bully’s second victim, his spurs managing to slash through his jeans and cut open his leg nastily. After this event it was not decided that we had to get rid of this monster masquerading as a bird. It was decided, instead, that he was to be de-spurred. For the uninitiated this involves a terrified child holding a ball of raw evil while an adult twists that evil’s most deadly weapons off with a pair of pliers. I am told this process is painless but I regret that it did not inflict that demon with some amount of pain because as soon as I dropped him he hit me full in the chest with an untellable fury and I was crying when I made it to the safety of the house.

Thus began a series of years where outside was a PVP zone. My parents laughed when my sister and I rode bicycles because we were always perused by Bully running full tilt, intent on committing a violence against us. We had a hen house and chicken run built but nothing could fully contain this beast. For years a standard accompaniment to leaving the house was a broom handle. Why? Because there was a likelihood that you were going to be viciously assaulted by the unkindest animal as has ever walked this forsaken earth. Now, whacking a psychopathic rooster with a broom handle does not actually dissuade it from continuing its attack, but it does keep it a distance away from you that you might get to safety. Running was futile and foolish but we resorted to it often. Bully knew the exact time we got home from school. Every day without fail he was in the driveway, waiting. Broom handles became standard equipment in every vehicle. My father would amuse himself by sending his children out to fight the chicken and we would do it because my sister and I have always been desperate for approval. This is one of the rare instances where my mother didn’t even try to stop him. That unholy creature loved sneaking up on her when she was putting clothes on the line and any time a child was battling it was a happy time for her.

I must impress on you, I have no idea why we didn’t get rid of Bully because he terrorized us constantly. Everyone laughed that we were so tormented by a bird. Their laughter ceased the second they set foot on our property and met the hellion in person. Collecting eggs during those years was always met with tears as I trudged to my task and inevitable beating from a rooster. Once Bully got frostbite in his comb and my father carried him lovingly in his arms to get him treatment from the vet. This was a complicated relationship we had with our awful pet. Bully was also, for the record, a serial rapist who would pounce on hens with no warning and not a single one of them ever wanted it. I’ve had other roosters that are flawless gentlemen in this area and have cute courtship dances. Not Bully.

Anyway, one day a man showed up at our house for reasons I don’t recall. My parents were both artists and my dad is constantly into some nonsense or other so it could have been anything really. “Watch out for the-,” one of us began before being cut off by a delighted gasp. This was followed by the elated question, “Is that a fighting rooster?” We confirmed that it absolutely positively definitely was the most fighting anything on this or any other plane. “Oh wow,” the strange man continued with a dreamy smile, “I’ve always wanted one!” Anyway, we gave Bully to him with repeated warnings that this was a terrible mistake he was making. I never saw that man again and to this day I have a sneaking suspicion that Bully was somehow complicit in his undoubtedly bloody death.

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I’m gonna deconstruct this scene because I’ve been thinking about it ALL DAY and what the hell, I’ve got time. This clip demonstrates what I love most about Taika Waititi’s filmmaking and it shows off Chris and Tom’s chemistry in the fiercest way. It’s hilarious, sweet, bittersweet, surprising, and poignant.

1) “Loki, I thought the world of you.” 

Even though there was an instinctive part of me that screamed, “OK, WELL, YOUR ACTIONS TOLD A DIFFERENT STORY, THOR” due to residual bitterness over what a dickbag Thor was in the first film, I’m 1,000% here for this line. I’m proud of how much Thor has matured, thrilled that these two are actually talking to each other, and happy that Loki’s hearing something he’s probably always wanted/needed to hear even though it’s bittersweet because Thor’s using the past tense.

Tom’s reaction here is SO GOOD. Just the tiniest shift in his eyebrows to indicate that Thor has Loki’s attention and he’s fucking locked in and hanging on to every word.

2) “I thought we were gonna fight side by side forever, but at the end of the day you’re you and I’m me.”

I know there was a minor (?) uproar over Chris’ comments that Thor will be “indifferent” to Loki in Ragnarok, but this scene seems to suggest a kind of acceptance rather than indifference. Maybe for the first time, Thor truly seems to have accepted that he and Loki are fundamentally different beings–and by extension, he’s accepting Loki’s nature. Yes, part of that acceptance means letting go and moving on (note: I did not say giving up) and that’s sad, but realistic I think. How many fakeout deaths and stabbings can a person be expected to withstand? “You’re you” is a significant break in pattern for Thor and Loki appears genuinely taken aback by it.

“You’re you” is a huge deal because to me, the brothers’ central conflict has always boiled down to the fact that Loki isn’t Thor (thanks, Odin, for exacerbating this tension). For Loki, that fact is a source of self-loathing and resentment, something that he can act out against and, as Tom has often said, define himself in opposition to.

By the same token I think it’s become clearer that what Loki thinks of Thor matters to Thor. For an older sibling, having a younger sibling who looks up to you and wants to be like you is perhaps one of the biggest indicators that you’re a good–dare I say worthy–person. Ever since Loki let go of Gungnir Thor has struggled to make sense of Loki’s rejection, to define himself without the security of having his brother by his side. With that in mind I’ve always seen Thor’s past attempts to bring Loki back to the “good” side as heartfelt and genuine, but also somewhat ego-driven and shortsighted because it came at the expense of Loki’s autonomy and self-identification.

Cut to now. By acknowledging that he and Loki are each their own person, Thor’s relieving Loki of the pressure and expectation to be anyone other than himself. In a way that’s a gift, but it’s also terribly sad because it’s accompanied by loss for both of them. Which brings me to:

3) “I dunno, maybe there’s still good in you but let’s be honest: our paths diverged a long time ago.”

It’s in this moment that Loki really seems to realize where this conversation is headed. And he doesn’t like it.

We know Loki lives to test Thor. It’s his (super dysfunctional and unhealthy) way of making sure Thor still cares about him. In The Dark World, Loki tests Thor’s assertions that he doesn’t trust him and has lost hope for him by … getting himself impaled. Yeah, “dying” was also his “get out of jail free, usurp the throne” card, but it’s not insignificant that he calls Thor’s bluff in the process. 

4) “Yeah. It’s probably for the best that we never see each other again.”

Speaking of calling Thor’s bluff, I think Loki–because he’s a smart little fucker–says this in order to get ahead of the conversation. He knows what’s coming, so he pulls the classic “I’ll reject you before you reject me” move. But I don’t think he means it. It’s more likely that he’s trying to balance the scales so he’s not on the utter losing side of this conversation. And honestly? Deep down I doubt he can bear to hear Thor say it and by proactively agreeing with him he’s holding out hope that Thor will pull a “JK!” and change his mind.

5) “That’s what you always wanted.”

OMG THOR HAS GOTTEN SO SMART. I mean, I guess it’s within the realm of possibility that Thor is still really dumb about Loki’s feelings/motivations, but personally it’s more fun and satisfying to think he sees Loki’s test and raises him an even bigger one.

Loki’s face is so sad-funny. His plan backfired, he’s panicking a little, but he’s got to save face and play it cool, and he’s also legit sad because he knows this outcome is the culmination of his past actions and he did his part in paving this road for both of them. And at the end of the day he’s still the younger brother who doesn’t want to appear weak, so he’s doing his best to match Thor’s tone and attitude.

The moment when Loki lifts his chin and gives a little nod is a dead giveaway; never seeing Thor again is the opposite of what he wants, but he’s prepared to accept that it’s too late for anything else. It’s SO far from an apology, but for Loki it’s about the most mature thing we’ve seen him do.

The fact that for once they’re not arguing with each other is what made me tear up. It’s like they both know they should’ve had this conversation years ago, when it could have made all the difference, but at the same time they know that moment has passed. THIS IS FUCKING TRAGIC.

(If I wrote this movie, this would be the moment where they both dissolve into tears, fall on the floor, and cry-hug it out, which is why I write poetry and not screenplays.)

6) “Hey, let’s do Get Help.”

This was the beginning of the death of me, I will never be the same. I laughed so hard. On the surface this whole exchange may seem like just a gag–and it IS funny as hell–but I feel like it’s working on so many levels and reveals something deeper about Thor and Loki’s bond.

First of all, if you’re me, everything that preceded this moment was really uncomfortable and sad and almost unbearable to witness so I don’t think it’s a stretch to assume that Thor and Loki were feeling some of that too.

What I love about this transition is that Thor immediately cuts through the tension, probably to put both of them at ease and bring them back into the more familiar territory of their rapid-fire banter. Loki seems a bit surprised but relieved.

IMO, this brief exchange of dialogue does more to convey Loki and Thor’s bond and establish their history than anything we’ve been shown in the previous films (not counting that deleted scene from the first movie). I thought it was really poignant to see them revert to/rely upon something from their distant past. You can tell this is an argument they’ve had a zillion times before. You can tell from the stunt itself that it’s something they’ve had many opportunities to perfect. 

Even though Loki is reluctant to participate, he does, because he still craves inclusion and acceptance. Even though Thor is no longer quite as overbearing and arrogant as he once was, he regresses into that role so that he can get his younger brother back for just a moment. It’s like they’re consoling themselves without admitting that they want to be consoled. And yeah, on a practical note they also need to find a way off of Sakaar.

In conclusion, they’ve both just conceded that their relationship has reached an impasse with no real way forward, yet in the immediate aftermath of this supposed acceptance they choose to revert to an older dynamic that reflects presumably happier times. They don’t want to quit each other. This is fine. It’s fine. I’m not crying. I love them. The end.

I’m deep in my feels right now and probably projecting a lot (HI, HELLO, I HAVE A TROUBLED YOUNGER BROTHER, I’VE NEVER USED HIM AS A PROJECTILE BUT I UNDERSTAND THE IMPULSE), but even without having seen this scene in the full context of the film, it’s my favorite Thor/Loki moment to date. It’s what I’ve always wanted. It actually brings “We were raised together, we played together, we fought together” to life in a meaningful way, whereas in The Avengers I felt like those were just words.

If you made it this far, thanks for reading!