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k-dokja · 10 months

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Prelude to a request because the asker wanted fluff but I went a little hard with the angst.

No matter where he goes, you will follow. Even if it's not a smart thing to do.

You spend more time looking after Vinny's mom than he does these days. Nothing to fault him about, you know. He has been in a desperate spot to secure money for her hospital bill. Even if this takes more out of your time in the day, you don't mind if it means it would help him.

And besides, you know he wouldn't open his mouth to ask you for help unless you try to pry it open. Even then, it'd be a battle and a half with Vinny. He never likes to make it easy for anyone, him more than everyone.

Nothing to fault him about, again. You know that. That's why you are here because Vinny would try to shoulder everything on his own if given the choice. Having you around comforts him, but he won't admit it to your face. The moment he confesses that truth would be the moment he makes the choice to burden you.

All posturing and no care for his own hide. You sigh at the thought, it's probably worse now that he distanced himself from his old friends. But Vinny had made a decision and for want of a better choice, you can only support him how you can.

"You should go home, it's late."

Keep reading

You don't even know when he arrives or when you've begun to space out while working on your assignment. It has become a habit at this point, you think. After taking care of his mom for the whole evening, you squeeze in time to finish your schoolwork. It's a bit tedious but you never mind. Any complaint to Vinny would have him doubled down on pushing you away.

You zip your lips shut and put on a smile for him because any otherwise would be unnecessary stress on his shoulder. "I didn't even notice the time," you say, "don't you have a race today?"

"No." He shuffles around the hospital room, putting away the groceries you mentioned running low on yesterday. You watch him, not knowing how to fill this silence. It's strange to be in this position, where defying him would be what makes him happy yet it's also tearing him apart.

Vinny is drowning and he's trying to push you away to stop you from sinking with him. You're stupid and stubborn and in your vain hope to save him, you grip his arms to keep him on this feeble raft like a miracle would happen if you hold on long enough.

"Come on, clean up." He's in front of you and you've spaced out again. "I'll take you home."

You stare up at him then back down at the assignments in front of you. Half of them were done in the few hours you have to spare, and the other half you've planned to stay up late in the night to finish. It must be frustrating for him to look at you, keeping up your education and staying a good student while dating him.

It's strange. You can see all of it. You can understand where he's coming from, but you don't know if you can make the choice to let him sink.

"Okay."

You didn't ask about his new motorcycle when he showed up with it like you didn't ask about many other things with his current business. From time to time, you watched him race, in person or on live stream, but you've found that it was too much sometimes. Vinny never pushed for you to do anything and sometimes you hated that anyone but Vinny could see he was breaking down.

But telling him that would make him close up further, and you hated your helplessness more than anything.

It's Vinny. Your Vinny. He feels the same when you hug him. His body is warm in your arms and even while he speeds down the night streets, you don't feel cold.

Vinny keeps his distance but he puts his coat on you before you get on his bike. Vinny refuses to make eye contact but he fastens the helmet on your head. Vinny won't tell you anything about how he's hurting but his grip tightens when he holds your hand.

You accept those signs and convince your mind that it's better than nothing.

He stays quiet the whole ride, but you expect there is not much talking to be had anyway. Even when he slows to a stop in front of your house, he won't say anything. You get down wordlessly, but your fingers grip the leather of his jacket to stop him from leaving.

"Are you going back to the hospital?"

"No," he says, "Mom's doing fine for now, I'll check in with her tomorrow."

"Right, tomorrow is Saturday," you say, "do you have any plans for the weekend?"

He replies without thinking, "Work," he adds, "I'm also trying to apply a new pedal technique."

It's the most he has shared with you in the past week. You sigh, you don't know if you should feel grateful because he doesn't shut down completely. You know he has been training a lot, you see his improvement in his races, too. It's a good thing and at the same time it isn't, you try to not think too much about it.

"Are you busy after this?"

"...No." You can't see what face he's making with his helmet obscuring his face, "Why?"

"I want to stay with you."

"...It's late," There is fatigue in his voice, but you're stubborn and stupid, you won't let go.

"I want to stay with you." You again, firmer this time.

He stares ahead. The cogs in his head are whirring to life, trying to figure out a way to argue with you. But you can see the slouch on his shoulders. He's tired. You are, too. Keeping up pretence is nothing but silly at this point.

"Your guardians..." He says, like a final stand in front of your demand. It doesn't work when you clamber back on behind him, holding him tighter than before.

"They aren't home at the moment," you say, "it's fine."

It's a weird image. You are in your school uniform and Vinny is far from the image of a model student. But whatever difference there is between you, it won't put you away from him. You wait for his next protest, anything to push you back when you've crossed this far to the other side of the line.

It doesn't come. His hand touches yours for a brief moment before he starts the engine again. "Okay." is all he said. Instantly, your hold relaxes, because you know he won't push you away. Not this time, at least. Nothing about this is smart, you know that.

Better you cut your losses and run away before he takes you down with him, but the idea of leaving him alone down there in the dark depth terrifies you more than any hurt you will receive from him. So you stay because you're stubborn and stupid.

And he is, too.

#vinny hong #vinny hong x reader #windbreaker webtoon #windbreaker x reader #fics

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se1f · 5 months

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I feel like since you are also like, freshly realized???? (I have nooo idea how to word it omg😭😭😭😭) I can relate to your posts more? Because I'm at that same point of recognizing the things that I do everyday as awareness.

For you, what was the most helpful thing you heard or read that helped you to understand how you consciously create this seeming reality? Also how do you describe "changing the channel"? (as in, changing the false/illusory)

PLSS OMG "freshly realized" has me giggling, thank you for the laugh! <33

okk so first- loved the little term you invented, but I feel inclined to remind you that there is no person here to realize anything! i may be misunderstanding the usage of the word "realization" within this community. but, I feel as if it relays this message of there being something to attain by a sudden realization or enlightenment. you (and I) have always been THAT, and will forever continue being THAT.

this knowledge has always been within us, the words of gurus or people, are not what mystically converts us from a human with 0 understanding to THAT. it only catapults us into lifting the veil for ourselves. of course, the words I read allowed me to understand (just the slightest) of what "I AM" is, but it is not understanding that got me to this point. the mind will never be able to comprehend the incomprehensible :)

"For you, what was the most helpful thing you heard or read that helped you to understand how you consciously create this seeming reality?"

for "me", it was ditching the attempts of deciphering from the mind. the mind got so hung up on concepts, and words- that it did not take them for what they are. unreal. you should only use words as pointers! not as the whole truth! THAT is beyond words, concepts, and even comprehension. i stopped the grueling cycle of over-consumption and started to rely on mySelf. only taking the words of others as pointers, then dropping it entirely. i also stopped allowing thoughts/illusionary senses to be the dictator of THAT.

i feel as if writing about my unreal experiences are futile- because they are not real. i think the problem is that some (also "past" me hehe) relied so much on the illusionary "physical reality"- or the mind's comprehension. none of that can control you, when you are THAT. to sum it up, by discarding the mind's feeble attempts of understanding, seeing past the illusion, and knowing THAT- aided "me". i believe it was a sort of shift from the perspective of the body-mind, to the lens of Self. realizing i was not a human with its intricate doings, but of the awareness behind it all.

"realizing" THAT is instant. the only reason why we think it isnt, is because we are fooled by illusionary deceptions time, and time again- leading us to think there is a "journey" to when we are above all concepts. there isn't :) just take everything around you for what it is. an illusion. how can an illusion overpower truth? (hint: it cant! only if you let it ;)

"Also how do you describe "changing the channel"? (as in, changing the false/illusory)"

the analogy of "changing the channel" is something i've seen quite often within this community. im gonna completely butcher this explanation, but only because it is beyond words lol. first- there is nothing to change because there is no-thing to begin with. i just chose to observe something "new"- like changing the channel to watch something else! when you're changing a tv channel- there's no process except for choosing to be entertained by another. and it's instant! theres no waiting or expectation- only "acceptance" (not from the "ego"). i don't want to further add to any confusion anyone is experiencing- but basically: for THAT, everything is instantaneously THAT. There is no physical process that one might think has to occur. THAT obviously, pervades all (no-)things. i told yall i was gonna butcher that... im sooo sorry lol. if anyone has questions on that disastrous paragraph, i'd be more than glad to answer!!

#asks

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max1461 · 1 year

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I talk plenty about how much I like r/AskHistorians, but have I talked about how much r/AskPhilosophy bugs me sometimes? Well basically it's full of people who are extremely -brained of various sorts. I don't even mean the question askers; yes, the sub is full of -brained pattern-believing received-narrative-implicit-accepting askers who couldn't suspend judgement on a proposition if they were hanging over a bottomless pit and judgement was a counterweight and the proposition was a rope swung over a sturdy oak branch and hooked to their lapel, the only the thing holding them back from falling to their inevitable demise. BUT that's not what I take issue with. I take issue with academics who actually respond there, they are very frequently deeply uncreative, and appear thoroughly enmeshed in the worst aspects of academia's managerialist culture.

"A flatworm doesn't have a concept of personal identity"...

First, how can you know that? I mean, yeah, my guess would be that it probably doesn't, but I'm not gonna go around staking metaphysical claims on it.

Second, man, I have a concept of personal identity and I'm looking at a flatworm. So I can apply my concept to the worm and get interesting results. That's called fucking around with ideas and it's what your whole field is supposed to be.

"Let's try to make the thought experiment more elaborate, that will help. Imagine a person who has been augmented with flatworm DNA [...]"

No, no! The interesting thing about the flatworm example is that it's real, one flatworm cut in half actually can regenerate into two. So your ideas are forced to come up against actual reality, or admit they don't have anything to say about actual reality (well, at least in this case, which I suppose is a priori not a problem but is disappointing). It's not a thought experiment, it's an actual experiment! That's what makes it especially interesting!

All in all, OP's initial question was admittedly somewhat -brained and framework-having and thing-believing, which is to be expected. But I thought it would at least prompt some interesting discussion! But no, alas, the academic is too feeble a creature for that.

No one is going to really get me on this I think, really feel me ya know, but if yorick was here he would understand I'm pretty sure.

#navel gazing

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cyeli-no · 10 months

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Headcanon: Cyno's Hugs (pt. 2) [Cyno Relationships]

Originally had a thought of Al-Haitham hugging Cyno after his missions because he can finally relax and feel completely safe— But I think Dehya gives Cyno the best hugs, no one can tell me otherwise.

So putting pause on that to talk about Cyno's friends and how they hug him.

Linked Posts: How Cyno likes hugs (pt. 1)

─── ⋅ ⋅ ∘ ☽ ༓ ☾ ∘ ⋅ ⋅ ───

My personal opinion is he leans into Dehya's hugs the most. She has always been more physically affectionate than others are around him, which made him grow accustomed to her warm touch faster. He leans into her side when they walk or She runs hot like the desert, but she is firm and always holds him steady. Cyno is heavier than he appears and his sudden weight can make people stumble. But Dehya never does. In fact, even if he trips and falls against her, she won’t even move and just laughs as she lifts him back up. It is like she is always ready to catch him and hold him, and she always will.

He is also very comfortable around Tighnari since they are best friends and his tail always curls around Cyno. It's a habit, now, for his tail to wrap around Cyno to protect him and hide him from eyes of people who hope to see him weak. His archer arms will tighten their hold to ground Cyno back to reality whenever his mind begins to wander away. It happens more often than they'll admit and sometimes Tighnari will take off his gloves so Cyno can feel the pads of his fingers. Tighnari does everything in his power to make sure Cyno feels safe and he always has.

Al-Haitham is the exact opposite of them. He isn't wrong to call himself a feeble scholar, always the one who needs to brace himself or take a step back to make sure they don't trip (unlike Dehya). He also doesn't have arms strong enough to tie down the General Mahamatra (unlike Tighnari). He runs cold and is not overly affectionate. But when he hugs Cyno? He lets Cyno bury his face into his chest, wraps his arms around his head to keep him close in case the man starts to have second thoughts. He doesn't care what others think or say about him, but he knows how it affects Cyno (especially since people always seem to scrutinize him over every little thing). So, he will make sure his coat covers him completely without suffocating him. Cyno doesn't really have a reason for hugging Al-Haitham (Dehya invites it and Tighnari expects it). Despite that, he finds his way into Al-Haitham's arms and is always welcomed into them. Al-Haitham's hugs don't have the intention to, but it reminds Cyno that the Akademiya can also be another home; there are people there who cherish him and Al-Haitham certainly does.

When he hugs Lisa, he feels like she wants to smother him (lovingly). Cyno finds comfort in how tight she squeezes him and presses him to her collarbone. She is so gentle with him, resting her cheek on his head and occasionally pressing a kiss against his hair. Where most of the others do not vocalize their thoughts, Lisa continues to whisper loving words, promises of his importance, and general adoration for her precious little brother. She teaches him of a love that transcends distance, never asked for but always freely given.

Candace does not hug him often, usually a brief and reassuring touch. She will throw her arm around his shoulder or let him lean against her when his exhaustion is too high. It is part of her consideration over him. When she finds him in the desert, he is high-strung, stressed, or hurt. And, more than anyone else, she intrinsically understands his responsibilities. So, just as he is with her, she is careful around all his bruises and aches, alleviating the burden that threaten to bury him under the floor. Even if it isn't often, she stands at the entrance of Aaru Village to welcome him and offer her unwavering comfort and firm support.

#cyno #cyno and dehya #cyno and tighnari #alhaitham and cyno #cyno and lisa #candace and cyno #headcanon #alhaitham truly loves cyno #bffs/qprs cyno and dehya #cyno's hugs

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audith · 7 months

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"And like the moon, we must go through phases of emptiness to feel full again"

things have been so quiet lately.

I don't really care about people's opinion that much anymore

I don't have contact with people I used to call Friends, I either cut all contact or they became people I know .

I'm very short tempered lately, anything can get under my skin .

I'm not alone , but I feel alone , I have few friends now.

my best friend of 8 years grew tired of me , so I left

I cutted 4 other "friends" because hanging around with them felt draining.

I don't trust no one anymore.

I still have few friends,and they love me dearly. But we all live very separate lives, and quite frankly, I'm alone the vast majority of the time.

and I hate myself, I treat someone so goodly , even people who doesn't deserve it , I keep expecting more form others because I know I will do so much for them , what leads me to feel stupid and very kind , the stupid , kind girl who is there for anyone

thinking I could physically stamp out of this innate need to cry and wale on somebody's shoulder .

I'm pathetic.

very.

awfully pathetic.

but this is over now , this has to change .

and I am changing it , anyone that makes me feel worthless and like a burden is out.

I've been forever aware of people, but last year I got lost .

I am still .

but now I stopped searching for myself.

I know for a matter fact I'll never be the same .

and you might find me every now and then describing someone as the hero or as the villain . because I sometimes don't understand these people which makes me 25/8 aware of them . and I will (almost) never be surprised about anything anyone does.

I stopped getting my hopes up .

I have to Relay on myself and only me .

the only person who actually cared about me .

the entire me

from the day I was born till Feb 2023 is gone.

so it's just me .

i'd rather die than put my burdens on someone's else

I hate opening up.

but I find myself doing it because it gets too much .

but it was so clear that it's bullshit.

my coping mechanisms were forever worse then my problems , but I don't like to make it another one's problem.

my sleeping schedule is 0

I sleep 6 hours between 2 nights .

I wake up during my drowsiness.

I binge or starve .

I'm ruining my body with caffeine,

I almost drink 1 litre of pure coffe daily.

I can't get any work done without worrying.

and I hate my body so much .

I care how I look like so much more then needed .

I don't recognize myself sometimes.

dysmorphobia?

could be .

who am I to tell?

what I do know, is that I'm reaching top bottom again, nothing new .

I lost a lot of people this year , and they were all important, it was either by choice or fate.

that doesn't matter, what matters is that am I a bad person?

I don't want to grow up to be like my parents.

I want too be a good person.

I feel like I'm being very misunderstood by everyone.

even the ones who I thought knew me , they turned out to not.

but I came to the conclusion, this is all a test.

it's like a test to see if I will gain or lose my sanity.

or it's like the begging of a new life.

like all stories, but I just hope that this chapter of mine will contain a happy ending.

sounds funny,stupid ,..whatsoever .

I can't believe their thinking.

I don't recognize no one, myself uncluded.

I feel like I'm very different and far from everyone else.

alone.

feeble ? could be .

so I shall observe but I will try to not absorb .

my life is so parched and bizarre.

wicked at it's best.

but I will never give up .

not after everything I went through to get here.

I will do it on my own. like always .

#mazzy star #nostalgia #alone with my thoughts #loss of a loved one #loss #comfort #sad thoughts #writing #my photos #Spotify

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nahsfa · 8 months

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the world seems to be doing fine, when I'm drowning. My life stopped two years ago, but everyone kept moving. When I watched my grandmother pass away, when I got covid for the fist time. When I got dismissed from pharmacy school for the first time. Everything stopped for me, but no one stopped to help me up.

I have a support system, they just aren't very good at supporting. They are present when I fail, to tell me that I'm wrong and that I need to get back up and keep working, but they aren't there to help me achieve. Is that an unfair expectation?

yet again, I have failed. I've failed those around me and myself. I know I'm worth more than this, and I can do a lot more than this, but somehow I'm stuck. I want to achieve, I really really do, but something it me constantly eats at me, saying

"you've already failed so much, there's no way that you could succeed doing something now. you are your past mistakes, and you can't fix them. you can only live with them"

at the beginning, it wasn't as bad. it was one mistake, but slowly it became more and more, and it was unbearable. My mistakes and failures were like collar around my neck that would get tighter every time I did something.

I did every thing to avoid embarrassment. I lied and ignored people to avoid talking about my mistakes, because I'm the only one who knew about it, and on one else needed to know. I lied and lied, but nothing came from it, because even though I tried to cover up my mistakes, I kept making new ones.

I was lost. So lost. I wanted an escape, but that wasn't the answer to anything. Every feeble attempt at not thinking about my situation would lead to my face being pushed into the pavement and stepped on like I was the scum of the earth.

Somehow I was still well liked. people would comment "you're so cool" they'd say, remarking about my hobbies or my interests, but those things are the very things that feel empty to me now.

there was a point where I enjoyed those things, but now they feel hollow. nothing feels whole anymore, least of all me.

I bore my hear to everyone, living by the ideal that no one was actually just a mean person, and that there were those in the world that actually cared about others unconditionally, but I was wrong. my heart was beaten, bruised, and taken advantage of several times, but it never learned. I don't think it understands, even now.

I thought that my heart was the issues and closed off my life to everyone, like a street cat, I hissed at all those who came near me.

But maybe it doesn't have to be this way, maybe I can recover. I have messed up, and I can't make excuses, but maybe I can actually do something with my life.

I don't want to be useless, I can do something that means something, I know it. I know I've messed up severely, and that there re repercussions for the things that I have done, but if you could look past the papers and just look at me. Look at my resolve to do something right with my life; my want to do better than what I do right now.

I might not be able to alter the world, or have significant change in the world, but I can make a significant change in my life.

I can do it. I know I'm worth more than what I am now, I just need to prove it.

#rant #i can do this

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bored-storyteller · 3 years

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Oh Anon, thanks for the request. I should have waited, but it is a theme that I feel particularly close to now. Obviously, I don't pretend that this meets everyone's sensitivity, but I hope you like it.

Warning: we talk about death and mourning, angst / comfort with Leona

63- Twisted Wonderland, Leona Kingscholar x Reader

“Up on the stars “

That day of the year always comes. It doesn't matter how hard you try to forget it, or to continue your daily life as if nothing had happened. A little cricket in your head would always make you feel that weight in the back of your heart, and today it's the same.

Even if your everyday life has completely changed since you arrived at that school, even if it's all new and all strange to you, the feelings familiar to you have not been buried in your fantasies, unfortunately for you.

You really tried not to focus on that fact, but at the same time the suffering was all you had left.

It was the day of farewells, the day you finally realized how much loss must have frightened you. And today, despite being so far away, the knowledge that no matter how far you have traveled, you could have traveled a thousand worlds, but you could never see their smile again.

Under the transparent roof of the greenhouse, you are alone with yourself. Maybe you shouldn't stay like that, in the loneliness of the night, but it's like you feel out of place among people who you are not sure have the patience to bear your weight.

Your legs tighten to your chest in a feeble attempt to erase the loneliness, to feel at least a little the warmth of someone, of the embrace of those very loving arms towards you.

It's horrible when time takes a beloved voice out of your mind, and you try to remember the tone of it, their whisper and their laugh, but time and pain distort it. And you want to hear it again, to remember it, but you know you can never do it again.

What would you not give to do even one last thing with them? One last walk, one last tea with biscuits shared together, one last movie on the sofa, or even just a last greeting, anything that can transform that "farewell" into a "goodbye".

Affection survives death and turns pain into sweet memories over time, but despite everything it's still too early for you, and that sweet bond that binds you to them for you is just a thread dropped on the horizon, with no one to support him on the other side.

"What are you doing here, herbivore?"

A low but rough voice gives you a shiver down your spine. You don't really know what your stomach turmoil is causing, whether it's being discovered or simply because the pain continues to remain dull and heavy.

Leona's green eyes seem to glow in the night, just like those of felines, and they narrow on you in an act of concentration as she watches you.

"Why are you crying?"

He doesn't mince words, nor does he have sweetness in his voice, but you know him well enough by now to know that it's already kindness of him not to have roared at you to leave him alone.

"I ..." Your voice chokes in your throat. What words could you use? What could your feelings tell you?

Soon his back was turned to you. No wonder he wants to leave, he is not someone who insists or forces. It is the most logical thing to do to leave if you are there to be alone.

Yet, perhaps thanks to the darkness, it does not seem to you that he is just leaving. For a moment he disappears before your eyes. For a moment you imagine the void in his place, a huge void that you will never be able to fill.

"Leona!"

Your anguished voice makes him whirl around. The pain is so evident that not even the hardness of his heart can hide the worry.

He is not immediately by your side, he does not pull you into a warm and comforting embrace, he does not have sweet words of love for you. Yet his firm step approaches, and his gaze scrutinizes you from above.

"What's up?"

This time you can't help but answer his question. You have to tell him something, you have to. Not for him, but for you, you have to say something so that he doesn't leave. You don't want to say goodbye yet, you don't want to be left alone in the cold of the night, you don't want to endure it all alone.

"Today, some time ago, in the other world, a person dear to me died." Your voice came out clear, more than you expected, one last exhalation before the lump in your throat becomes present again.

It hurt to say those words, but with him you wanted to be honest, direct, just like him.

For a moment the silence spreads in the greenhouse, and you almost think you are wrong, to be alone again without you noticing it, but a rustle at your side gives you comfort.

The prince is now sitting next to you, his tail floats lightly behind your back and you can feel the warmth of his body. You always imagined that he was hot, like sand in the rays of the sun.

"How bad does it hurt?"

His question surprises you, but that painful tremor running through your bones is too massive for you to think about.

"As if a piece of my body had been ripped off."

Cruel, bloody, yet it was the most truthful thing. Part of you died that day. It didn't survive, a part of you disappeared and was buried with them. Life goes on, they told you, but you knew it wasn't quite true. Your life went on, but it was only a part of your life, that little part of your journey stopped there, in front of a tombstone. A tombstone that you cannot reach, as far as you are.

"It's normal, almost logical." Leona's response is not charitable, yet you feel it almost gentle, uttered in that low tone. He's not looking at you, his weight is resting on his palms firmly anchored to the ground behind him, and his eyes wander into the sky, beyond the glass surface of the greenhouse.

You don't really care that he pays attention to you, while he's there it means so much to you.

"Hey Herbivore ..." His voice resounds after a few minutes of silence, and despite the disregard of tone and nickname, there is a note unknown to you in it "you know ... it was once said that the great kings of the past look down on us from those stars. "

Your palm slides over your eyes to ward off tears and allow your pupils to reach his, lost in the sky.

"It's not just the great kings up there."

Suddenly, as if a bell had just tinkled next to your ear, the world - so different from yours - comes together, and you remember you are talking to Leona. He is certainly the person sitting next to you.

"Do you really believe this?" Your question is still broken and light, but now your gaze is only for him.

The lion returns it with a fleeting glance which, however, immediately flies up again, among unknown universes: "I never needed to do it."

Your gaze still insists on him, and he notices it, you understand it from that slight annoyed sigh that filters through his fangs: "Listen, I don't think anyone would ever bother to watch over me, but over you ..." The emerald green of his gaze warms you like a hearth "Who could ever stop being next to you?"

Those words pour out on you sweet and powerful alike. A new wave of tears threatens to flow but you don't have time for them, too caught off guard, too enchanted by something so tender and new.

It is not the words, it is that he said them, that suddenly make you feel weak and strong at the same time.

"Leona ..." You would like to talk again, but an extremely familiar touch touches your arm.

It's a fleeting touch, but warm and affectionate, a touch you have long wanted to feel again.

You turn around to meet their loving fingers, but all you see is the lion's tail moving slowly in the darkness. It's not a disappointment for you though.

You are not disappointed even when you notice something known in Leona, something so loved and sought after that for a moment you almost believe that they are really there, in front of you.

They and Leona have nothing to do with each other, they could not even have imagined his existence. Yet the affection for you that navigates his gaze at this moment is the same as they had.

Suddenly you realize that perhaps Leona is right. Maybe they are the only person in your world able to be next to you, placing a little of their love for you in the hearts of those around you.

Slowly you let your eyelids drop as your body bends down. Your head rests in Leona's lap, and he doesn't do anything to push you away.

He does not give you sweet caresses, nor reassure you of his presence, but his tail rests silently on your side, in sweet security.

#twisted wonderland #disney twisted wonderland #leona kingscholar #leona kingscholar x reader #leona x reader #twst #twst x reader #twisted wonderland x reader #oneshot #angst/comfort

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cotton-candy-in-a-thong · 3 years

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Noncon stories, Fantasy vs. Reality, and more. fucking. issues.

Recently, I’ve been hit with some drama as to why I’m a “bad person” by various, anonymous users in this fandom. I thought I’d try to address the claim, address my stance on fics that involve noncon, and what I think about the “Tumblr mentality” after everything I’ve seen of this place. I should also note that I’m going to use the specific words and phrases I’ve been forced to constantly repeat as explaining my stance has been very difficult for me, as I’m a person who’s apparently challenging to understand.

This is going to be a long post, with subjects that's obviously going to trigger people so here's a warning right now..

That being said, I’m going to dive into this with some shit I’ve definitely said before:

“Consensual Noncon” Kink

The Appeal of this Theme in Fanfiction:

I don't think calling fics that involve noncon "rape fics" and those who enjoy it "getting off to rape" is a very good way to put it. Many engaging and well done media pieces often involve some very dark themes. Again, Monster by Meg and Dia is a song that features the main character sexually abusing a girl he met. You COULD call this a "rape song", but acting as if the rape is the only thing that matters in this story would be pretty..naive. The story has to do with an emotionally, and physically neglected/abused boy, who grows up and becomes an attention/love starved monster who's SO starving for validation, that he believes forcing himself upon a girl he knew would "prove" to himself that he's capable of being touched and loved. Of course, the main character eventually realizes that rape is not love, that what he did was wrong, and later kills himself in his own bathtub with kerosene and a match.

However, the assault aspect of this song is still a meaningful and alluring part because it talks about how emotional and physical abuse can warp someone's perspective on reality, to the point where they think forcing someone to "stay" with them is how to create a healthy relationship. That's the same energy I have for noncon fics, especially in the slasher fandom. Many slasher fics that contain noncon often have to do with the slasher preying on the reader because of their own fucked up mind. It's intriguing because, let's be honest, pretty much none of the slashers are in a pretty good mental space lmao. Thus, noncon actually falls more in line with how slashers would go about what they believe is a "good relationship" more often than quite a bit of fans here seem to believe. Again, Michael got boners, Jason chained someone up, Fredddy smooches people against their will, Billy Lenz is a sex offender, Chromeskull makes snuff, yada yada yada, you know the drill. That being said, it's interesting to see noncon being expressed with these characters because it gives us a new perspective on how fucked up they'd likely be if the world of sex and relationships was introduced to these characters.

Now why would some people become sexually aroused by the events of the story? First of all, how does “Consensual Noncon” kink work?

u/Jumbledcode. (2015). ‘Can anyone comment on why people (someone like me) enjoy rape/non-con story lines?’. r/TwoXChromosomes.

“I'd suggest that there are several factors that make up the appeal of non-con fantasies.

Guilt/Self-image: For many people, their sexual/relationship desires don't necessarily match their image of themselves, or alternatively they feel guilt over others' perceptions of those desires. Rape fantasies allow them to mantain some illusion of denial over their desires while still indulging in the idea of them.

Responsibility/Laziness: The appeal of abdicating control isn't limited to avoiding guilt; it's very tempting to want a scenario where you have no responsibility for maintaining your lifestyle/happiness. Similarly to before, it's the appeal of being given what you secretly want without even having to choose it.

Transgressiveness: A rape scenario has overtones of danger and taboo-breaking. These can easily be exciting and can therefore be a turn-on.

Desire: Being wanted is often a huge turn-on, and the idea of someone desiring you enough to break laws and disregard everything to have you plays into this feeling.

To me, it seems that most people who fantasize about being the subject of rape do so due to some mix of these motivations I've mentioned. Of course, there are also those who have experiences which have taught them to associate non-consent with their sexuality, but that's a separate issue”.

What if the Fanfic Only Involves the Act though? Wouldn’t it Encourage Actual Rape?

Let’s differentiate fantasy and reality. Towards those with the noncon kink: it offers arousal because of the ideas listed above (the idea of the reader not having to make any moves and the character doing the “intimate work” FOR them, the excitement of such a taboo sexual encounter, and the feeling to be desired through an altered, brutish encounter). Rape is the use of sex to remove control over the victim’s mind and body. The readers DO have control over whether or not they get to “encounter” (the choice to even read) this fantasy, so right away consent is present in reality, and no actual rape is being done.

Now does this mean that the kinkers are getting off on the idea of rape? Not really.

The thing with self-inserts is that it allows you to be connected to the story. That way, even if the story has you bruised up and begging for mercy, a part of you-you (if you’re a kinker) wants to keep reading it as you find it exciting. That way, as you and story-you are connected, what you really want in such a fantasy is for it to keep going despite the brutish, possessive, however yet desired nature of the character you’re dreaming about dealing with. (repeat: the idea of the reader not having to make any moves and the character doing the “intimate work” FOR them, the excitement of such a taboo sexual encounter, and the feeling to be desired through an altered, brutish encounter). That being said, it’s still entirely possible for kinkers to have their personal space and wishes crossed, and ultimately assaulted. Us enjoying the fantasy of such a reverie sexual encounter does not spell out to real life because (in reality) we’re not horny all the time, we would still like our bodies to be respected when we find it necessary, and we still have feelings as we’re still human.

“Fantasy (including video games) leads to violence” fallacy.

It would be like assuming that shooters in games like GTA fantacise about murder, encourage it, and would do it in real life. Taking fabricated anger out on virtual bodies or NPCs is quite different from the weight of murder (the killing of another human being). One can play video games with lots of violence towards such fabricated characters, while discouraging violence towards human beings. The act of using a game controller to beat up Donkey Kong in Smash, to shoot Nazi zombies in a Black Ops game, or to kill a Geisha in Little Nightmares is incredibly, and immensely different from completely eradicating the life of a person on Earth, and to assume that everyone who plays violent video games would spill out to violence in reality would be to participate in a ridiculous fallacy. Yes, there are outliers who are feeble minded enough to let their fantasies influence their actions towards actual people, but I must repeat that there are also people who utilize these fantasies for their personal satisfaction, while understanding the weight of the real world around them (and choosing not to act so detrimentally). Therefore, it wouldn’t be fair as it would be unnecessary to blatantly say that all fantasies are horrible and should be entirely eradicated if there ARE many people who ARE aware enough to understand that some thoughts are better off staying in fiction.

Now is the time to address what’s been said:

...Firstly, I think it’s very disgusting that random users, on Tumblr of all places, are trying to manipuate random victims of sexual assault into hating something or someone just because these users FEEL like “it’s the right thing to do”.. People, victims of sexual assault aren’t your fucking dogs. They’re not carriage horses, they’re not your work mules, they’re not your guns and swords...they’re just people who normally wanna be left the fuck alone like everyone else. Plus, there ARE people who have experienced sexual assault who take joy in reading such dark storylines. What would these users have to say to them? That they’re not “real” victims? That what they’ve experienced “never happened”? That they’re “just like” their own perpetrators for using the consensual nonconsent to miraculously help them overcome their trauma? Should they really abandon their coping mechanism just because there are other victims who cope in different ways?

..If you seriously believe that all people who have gone through a traumatic event are gonna cope in the exact same fucking way, you literally don’t even know enough about PTSD to even be making a bold statement about cope.

This is the part where I finally realized that people, and especially those on Tumblr, don’t actually care about rape victims as much as they may claim. Many users on here, on this platform and in this fandom, don’t truly give a flying monkey shit about rape victims as people, nor what they have to say about the subject. Rape victims..on this place..seem to be used mainly as a means of figurative weaponry for a group’s subjective morality.

I find the similarity close to radical feminism. Radical feminists often believe that women, from near and far, have to do everything in their power to “destroy” the patriarchy. This would mean disobeying the societal expectation of women, even if there are some women who take joyment in engaging in some societal standards for their personal liking. An example would be sex work. Radical feminists acknowledge the flaws in performing sex work, but believe that NO woman should EVER partake even if the woman wants to do it out of her own free will. In demonizing and ostracizing any woman who doesn’t fall into the radical feminist agenda, radical feminists actually contradict their purpose to “let women be free”. At this point, you realize that radical feminists often don’t actually give a fuck about what any woman wants for herself. Instead, radical feminists want to utilize any woman they can find just to flip off men as a group.

In Tumblr users trying to “stand up” for rape victims for their personal “holier-than-thou” ego, they fail to care enough about the very people they defend to understand the dynamics of some of their coping mechanisms, thus begin to bully some members of the group they claim to protect because of the very narcissism, misunderstanding, and controlling nature going on behind their own “activism”. So now that some users have found something to hate, in this case being noncon stories, they attempt to manipulate victims of rape into ostraciszing and demonizing fantasies and other victims of rape just because the “activists” themsleves don’t like it. Even trying to argue that rape victims have a “duty” to agree with everything these “activists” try to do for them.

Sounds awfully familiar to the attitude democrats have towards any minority when it’s time to vote. “I care about you...but you have to agree with everything I say and believe because I want what I think is best for you. If you disagree with me, you’re ungrateful and a traitor”.

Now...a little about myself.

I’m not sure of everyone else who’s into the noncon type of story, but I use it to get away from my past. In noncon stories, I want to read what happens in the chapters. I want to imagine them for morbid curiosity and arousal I feel at the time being. In reality, my attackers didn’t care when I wasn’t in the mood, and never gave me a choice. In noncon stories, I get to choose the character I want to encounter in the fantasy and NOT have it picked FOR me. In real life, I didn’t get to choose who did some things to me. In noncon stories, I get to stop reading them and do something else whenever I’m not feeling it anymore. In reality? My attackers kept going because, in the situation, it was no longer up to me. After noncon stories, my body doesn’t walk away with bruises, bite marks, and physical reminders every time I take my clothes off or try to masturbate. In real life...that shit can mark you, disease you, and then traumatize you. With the stories, I get to delete my search history, join another fandom, and act like nothing ever happened. For reality? Your own body is a reminder of what happened because it was real. In reality, I’m NEVER gonna fucking forget what happened. I’ll be lucky if my own mind and body doesn’t haunt me for at least one day..

So seeing that someone, and probably multiple people not only tried to use victims of sexual assault for their own “go get em” dogs, but to try and phrase me as someone who loves and encourages such an assault on human beings? After the things I felt? After the things I tasted? After pathetically searching for the support of relatives, just to get shut down with “you’re lying”?..

...All the times I've been held down..threatened..clothes getting snagged off..parts being opened and touched after I've fought to just get the fuck away from certain people...

According to this anon..."she likes rape".

...I guess I just fucking LOVED EVERYTHING THEN.

You know...all my life I’ve been misunderstood by many people. It’s honestly really disappointing that even now when I’m better at explaining myself than ever, I’m STILL being phrased as a “psychopath” by random people who haven’t even taken the time to even know me. Not even from a minute-long conversation through a damn computer screen. And you wanna know the funny thing? I’m probably being laughed at as this is being read. Some of these users, these internet stalkers, are probably giggling, smiling, and saying “Haha YES we GOT the bitch!! Cry you piece of shit SLUT!!”. So maybe explaining my past experiences to help everyone understand why some people may use noncon stories to their fantasy advantage is gonna land me messages going: “You haven’t been raped you lying bitch”, “Maybe you should get raped again”, “You definitely enjoyed it”, and the overused, yet strong “Kill yourself”.

So how am I gonna end this message? With me saying that many of you, who THINK you’re doing the right thing by justifying harassment and trying to manipulate others into joining your little crusade to bully people away from the fandom (over extremely mundane fucking things)...aren’t really good people. At best, in this case...you’re fucking stupid. You will never truly speak for any of the marginalized groups you claim to know like the back of your hand. Simply, you will never. be. a hero.

If by chance, by an astrological chance..that any random user wants to come up and apologize out of the blue for talking such shit and for saying such things..I don't even wanna hear it...just get the fuck out of my face..

#slashers #slasher fandom #tw noncon #consensual noncon #fandom drama #long post #past experiences #anon ask

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the-insomniac-emporium · 3 years

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Chasing Providence {Dimitrescu/OC} Pt 1

Fandom: Resident Evil: Village Pairings: TBA, at minimum platonic House Dimitrescu/OC, with some wlw side characters (also original, but not the focus of the story) Rating: T for mild violence and possibly triggering content Warnings: A character briefly threatens suicide as a means of prolonging a conversation (i.e. saying "if you don't listen, I'll ___") Additionally, this contains spoilers for Resident Evil 8. Summary: Months after being infected with a mysterious virus, investigative journalist Avaskian Caldwell is left with no choice: Xe has to get help, one way or another, from whatever remains of the Umbrella Corporation could be trusted. Or, perhaps, from the very person who started it all... Along the way xe'll have to get along with vampires, fight off would be hunters, befriend a hoard of cultists, all while performing the duties of an everyday servant. There's nothing xe won't try as xe's forced to chase providence. Notes: While this chapter features a somewhat talkative Ava, xe's normally selectively mute, and will be for the entire rest of the story.

1: Blood Runs Thick

“This can’t be it. No fucking way, bruv, are you sure you got the address right?” The journalist asked, eyes narrowed as xe stared out into the distant hills. One hand held a phone, currently without any signal, while the other kept a tentative grip on the van’s door handle. To their side was the driver, a middle-aged man with relatively little patience. When he replied, it was in a language the journalist didn’t speak, but could clearly understand as a swirl of profanity. “Alright, alright, I get it. Not like I could afford to pay you to take me back, anyway… I’ll just, uh, be going then. Try to have a nice day, eh, you old chap?” With that said xe opened the door, hopping out rather eagerly. After tucking xer phone into xer pocket, xe quickly gathered xer bags from the trunk, half expecting the man to drive off before xe had a chance.

Surprisingly, he stayed all the way until the journalist gave two hard pats to the van’s side. Then he practically slammed the gas pedal, speeding off in a whirling cloud of dust and kicked up rocks, promptly sending xer into a coughing fit. Curse these feeble lungs, xe thought, scowling. Absent-mindedly xe put a hand to xer throat, silently checking if xer, ahem, ‘wounds’ were still covered. Once satisfied, xe turned to the long, winding path into the village. Was this truly where the ever-elusive “Miranda” could be found? What in the blazes of hell was a scientist like herself doing here, in a mostly empty stretch of Romania? The thought sent a rush of anxiety to the journalist’s chest, as xe wondered if this “Miranda” would even consider helping xer. Xe hoped that, at the least, xer unique case would get her attention.

In the end, it took xer twice as long as expected to reach the village proper. There were no signs along the path, nor signs of life, other than countless dead birds, hung like falling leaves from every tree. Once, a display this gnarly would have made bile rise up in xer throat. But these days? After everything xe had researched? This was no hell, not when compared to the bombed ruin that was Raccoon City. Yet xe still cut xer hand when hopping the barbed wire fence, as if once again a rookie, too desperate for the truth to see the proper world. Fresh blood dropped onto the snow, but xe allowed xerself no wince nor complaint, instead focused on the figures moving in the distance. Strangers. Nay, sources. Someone would know something about the mysterious Miranda, even if they didn’t realize it.

So the journalist made haste, approaching as casually as xe could, considering the heavy traveler’s bag on xer shoulders, and the sturdy cane xe walked with. It was the latter that caught people’s attention first, as it click click clicked against the stone path. Before long there were several pairs of eyes on the journalist, some of them bearing thinly veiled hostility, others filled with nervousness.

“Who are you?” A man growls, stepping in front of a woman (his daughter, based on similar features, age difference) as he does. One of his fingers jabs into xer chest, daring them to take another move, carrying an unspoken threat within it. For a few seconds xe simply smiles at the man. Somewhat amused, xe hoped that xer natural charm would win the day, despite a quick glance telling them that most of these strangers were armed.

“I’m a journalist-” xe started to say, until the others moved their hands towards their holsters- “or at least I was, once. But I come asking for assistance, kindness from my fellow humans,” xe said, gesturing widely with xer arms. This made the others present pause, though the journalist wasn’t immediately sure that xe hadn’t just misspoken. Romanian was not xer first language. Or xer second, come to think of it. Oddly enough, however, it had clicked rather quickly in xer brain, as if xe had always been meant to speak it. “You may call me Avaskian Caldwell. Or just Ava, or just Kian, or just Vas, depending on your mood. Ah, but that hardly matters. I am here… to find a woman. Someone I have heard much about, a, how do you say… ‘marvel’ of science? They tell me she is called ‘Miranda’. Have I come to the-” xe do not get to finish that sentence. Before xe can understand what’s happening, someone has grabbed xer by the throat, attempting to life xer into the air.

For once in xer life, xe’s glad for the ‘extra insulation’.

“Fuck you, outsider, you don’t deserve to taint her name with your foul tongue!” The man shouts, squeezing xer throat, urged on by the jeering crowd. A smarter person would have been rather concerned at that point. But the journalist- Ava, as xe said- was not known for xer cleverness. That did not, however, stop xer from exhibiting cleverness. Taking advantage of xer ridiculous arm joints (which may or may not be doubled, possibly merely weird as fuck), xe reached into xer bag, ignoring the crowd’s scared reaction, retrieving an evidence bag. Inside of it: several broken vials, each marked with a symbol of terror. This is not a place of honor the symbol screamed. To the villagers, it meant something else, something older. To Ava? It meant the prophet of death, it meant Umbrella.

“I come bearing the sign of your village. I come bearing the scars of your Goddess,” Ava proclaims, raising the bag into the air. As soon as xe does, xe is released, the man scrambling backwards. Others turn away, some leaving, a handful gathering to pray. ‘Twas an odd display, but one that Ava preferred over a public execution. Only one person dares to approach: A woman, likely mid thirties, with dark eyes and darker hair. There’s a clear caution in her movements, as if it was taking all of her courage to not flee. “Do you perhaps know how I may reach Miranda? I am in dire need of her knowledge.” At this, the woman flinches, though her gaze lingers on Ava’s throat. It’s then that the journalist realizes xer collar was undone, exposing xer strange, ever-bleeding wound. The stranger does not speak until xe has covered the deformity.

“One does not simply reach Mother Miranda. But there are ways to get her attention, to ask for a, hmm, blessing,” she explains. With a sigh of relief, Ava starts to celebrate, eager to find a cure for what ailed xer. But the woman wasn’t done speaking, and her next words cut a thick line through xer hope. “It may take a few weeks, maybe less, but we can ensure your prayers are heard. Mother Miranda always rewards the faithful. Even those who start out as outsiders. In the end, all are welcome here, if they keep the faith in our Mother.”

“No, no, that won’t do!” Ava snaps, far harsher than intended. The woman flinches again, and xe starts to pace back and forth, trying to release xer pent up energy. “There has to be another way. Faster, more direct. I don’t-... I might not have time to wait. Please, please, anything you can do to help, even if it’s just pointing me in the right direction…” A gulp, eyes shining with unshed tears, a quiver of the lower lip. Falsehoods alike, directed for an honest purpose. Miranda was xer only hope for information- and, perhaps, for salvation. But the latter had never been Ava’s true priority.

“There might be one way, but it is dangerous. You’d be more likely to die on the path than reach your goal, if I am honest. Yet… if there is anyone in all the village who can grant you the audience you seek, it would be one of the four lords. If you are certain-” the woman could only watch as Ava nodded furiously, silently begging- “so be it. Follow me, but do not say I did not warn you. I do not want your spirit coming to haunt me for my act of pity.”

—————————

“An unexpected guest? How… delightful. Do tell me why you even bothered to drag this miscreant before me, Cynthia?” Lady Alcina Dimitrescu asked, with a scowl, staring down at the fragile human in question. Of all the things she had expected to find, once her head servant called her, this was not one of them. An intruder would have been more likely. Perhaps even more fun, if Alcina felt like letting her daughters join in the resulting feast. But this ‘thing’ was hardly worth her time. They were short, although admittedly somewhat plump, with a scent that implied illness. For once, she could not pinpoint the exact disease by smell alone. Not that she cared, really. ‘Twas simply… interesting.

“Please, allow me to introduce myself. You may call me Avaskian Caldwell, and I come with an… offer. With mutual benefits, I assure you, Lady Dimitrescu,” the journalist answered, giving a deep bow. Despite xer manners, Alcina seemed unimpressed, even irritated by the display. Still, she gestured with her right hand, encouraging xer to get on with it. “I am in need of a meeting, specifically one with the much beloved, dearly respected Mother Miranda. In exchange, I offer two things: The sweat of my brow, and the blood in my veins.” Much to xer displeasure, Alcina replied with loud laughter before fixing xer with a hard stare.

“Pray tell, little thing, what makes you think I won’t simply take your blood now, hmm?” She muses, cackling again, ignoring the way her servant flinched at the sound. But Ava did not waiver, instead simply reaching into xer sleeve. Slowly xe pulled out something metallic, speaking firmly as xe did.

“For one, Mother Miranda would certainly dislike losing out on this opportunity,” xe started to say, unable to stop xerself from smirking. Then the knife fully exited xer sleeve, dancing in the light, before pressing against xer own throat. It was certainly a unique threat. Instantly Alcina rises to her feet, only pausing when she realizes that she wasn’t the one in danger. “Secondly, my blood is worth more if I am alive. You see, I have a wretched ‘condition’, which does a handful of lovely, lovely, life-threatening things to this poor vessel of mine. But someone as intelligent as yourself could find plenty of use for my so-called ‘illness’. If you give me a chance to explain, that is.” Though she does not sit back down, or even nod, it quickly becomes clear that Alcina did not intend to interrupt. Yet. “Grand, grand! I do appreciate it, my Lady. Now, let me just grab the research I brought with me…”

Never once lowering the knife from xer throat, Ava digs into xer bag, forced to briefly clip xer cane to xer belt. Then xe retrieves a closed manilla folder, carefully handing it to the giantess in front of xer. Wordlessly Alcina accepts the item, opening it to peruse its contents, only pausing to put on a pair of reading glasses. A minute of quiet passes before Ava continues xer explanation.

“I heal faster than anyone else on your staff, guaranteed. Hell, I cut my hand down in the village, on some damned wire, and the wound has already closed back up, good as new. That means, of course, that if someone were to let’s say… remove some of my blood, well, it wouldn’t take too long for me to get more, now would it? Obviously there has to be some biological counter, some form of payment for my ability. The rule of equivalent exchange, and all that, yes? As it stands… I eat an extra slice of bread a day. That’s it. Nothing bad enough to cancel out the boon of my blood. My… extensive reservoir of blood. Interesting, yes?” Ava says, still as charming as ever, despite the indescribable terror in xer chest. If there was one thing that xe had learned as a journalist, it was how to hide xer fear. Which was plenty useful, in the current situation, especially when Alcina flips a page to reveal the one downside to xer condition.

“Don’t tell me you came all this way to try and deceive me. Here I was, beginning to think something of you, and you hand me a sheet that says it clear as candlelight: Your blood is dirty. Infected. I won’t be drinking it anytime soon, nor would I even consider allowing it to be used for my family’s wine!” Alcina is essentially yelling at this point. But Ava only takes a step forward, smile present but trembling, and gestures for her to turn the page. With narrowed eyes she does, quickly reading through the notes. Once, then a pause, then once more. Finally she closes the folder, setting it down upon her desk. “Fascinating. You are indeed a… unique case. I cannot guarantee you a meeting with Mother Miranda, and even if I do, it will be because of your condition. She will use you, as is her divine right to do, likely without ever once considering attempting to cure you. But if you are determined to meet her, well,” Alcina leans in with her own grin, sending chills down Ava’s spine, “I will not stop you. Here’s hoping you manage to give me plenty of blood before you ‘expire’. Cynthia, show her to the servants’ quarters. I expect her to be working by tomorrow morning. Dismissed.”

Although Ava could not help but twitch at the Lady’s choice of pronouns, xe had expected this. Eventually xe would explain the indefinite nature of xer gender. Or perhaps xe was doomed to die a horrific, tragic death long before xe ever had the opportunity. Either way, xe could not help but feel a small sense of elation, pleased to have made some progress towards xer goal. Three steps forward and two steps back was still, cumulatively, a step forward. In time, xe would likely come to regret this series of choices. But who among us could say they held no regrets at all? And if, in the end, this storyteller came away with one hell of a story… wouldn’t that outweigh the regret? Even if Ava did not know it, xe would one day learn a valuable lesson from the strange family xe now worked for: Blood of the covenant is thicker than water of the womb. Oh, and what a lovely covenant it would be.

#avaskian caldwell #alcina dimitrescu #maiden cynthia #resident evil: village #resident evil oc #j has ocs #oh hoo hoo hoo #come and get your first real glimpse of ava #yes they talk in this one #you'll understand later

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duskwood-by-daylight · 3 years

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Of Course You Can

AU!Gary realizes his mistake.

Warnings: some basic smut, angst, cursing,

Word count: 1100ish

A/N: This is gonna be a three parter, I think. The other two parts are smutty smut and angsty angst but I need a day off to really get them rolling. As always, 18+, minors DNI. Don't steal or copy or whatever. Feedback always appreciated. Formatting on mobile is my personal hell.

The crash of thunder rips her from a fitful sleep. During the night, a horrible storm has rolled in and ruined what few hours she had hoped to get. The thunder rolls again but sounds... off. Oh shit, it's the door. Somebody knocking. Her phone reports that it's nearly midnight and there's a severe thunderstorm warning. Scurrying out of bed, she jogs down the hallway to the living room. Gazing through the peephole, she sees a hulking figure walking away.

"Hello?" He turns to face her, soaked by the rain. Her breath catches in her throat. Thicker beard, longer hair, but still very clearly "Gary?"

"I'm sorry to wake you up. I shouldn't have come here. I'm sorry." He gets halfway down the walk before she grabs his shoulder.

"Where are you going? Come on." She drags him by the arm, ignoring his feeble excuses. When safely inside, she brings him a hand towel.

"I just wanted to see you. It was stupid of me. We're not dating anymore. I don't have any right to be here or expect anything from you. Don't know what I was thinking. Wasn't thinking, I guess."

She gazes at him, really looking at him. His blonde hair is sticking up crazily after running a towel over it. His favorite gray hoodie is near black from the rain and clinging to his muscular form. He's avoiding her gaze, those perfect blue eyes looking at his shoes instead.

Her heart is in her throat because no matter what happened between them, she loves him and half wonders if she's still asleep. The breakup hadn't been messy, it happened too fast for that. A month ago, Gary had been stressed about work and spending a lot of time at the gym, but the relationship seemed okay. Until one day, she woke up to him running off to Cardiff for a job and telling her she could do better than him. That had taken some processing, but after a week of crying, drinking, and talking with their friends, she decided it was best to let him go if that's what he wanted. Things with school had been too hectic to do much else.

Now, the very same idiot is dripping on her entryway floor, looking more pathetic and gorgeous than he has any right to. Part of her knows she should kick him right back out, but instead she moves behind him to lock the door. "Did you walk here?"

He nods, "from Nan's. Dicky dropped me off a few hours ago."

A thousand questions run through her mind, but she holds back. "Come in. I've still got some of your clothes."

"No, it's okay. I'll just go."

She shakes her head, moving directly in front of him and holding his hoodie. Water puddles on the floor."You're soaked and gonna catch your death. Walking in the rain through Chatham like you don't have any damn sense. Besides, Nan would smack me if I let you leave. I've got dry clothes for you. Stay."

"Is anyone else here?" He presses his forehead against hers, breathing deeply to steady himself.

"Is that what you're here to talk about?"

"I don't know." He admits with a quiet sob. "I don't want us to be broken up. I can't be okay with it. I want to forget about that day. I was so damn stupid." He nuzzles his nose against hers, "I want you."

She kisses him firmly, "You have me. Let's get you sorted, babe." She leads him to the bathroom, "get a hot shower and I'll bring you clothes."

After convincing Gary that no, she doesn't need to join him in the shower, she goes in search of clothes. She considered his offer, but needed a moment to gather herself. Of course, she wants a full explanation but tonight isn't the time. He's in no state to understand what he's feeling, let alone explain it. Her heart is teetering on the edge of wanting scream at him and wanting to fuck him into the mattress. He tends to have that effect on her.

"Hey, I'm putting your clothes on the sink. There's a new toothbrush in the cabinet. Everything else is still in the same place."

He shuts the water off and pulls back the curtain. "Thank you. Can we talk for a second?"

She nods and steps closer to him, handing him a fluffy towel. By sheer force of will, she manages to focus on his face. "Okay. Let's talk."

Instead of accepting the towel, he meets her lips in a searing kiss. Her brain clamors that this is not the time, but her body immediately responds, fingers scrambling to lock behind his neck. Large hands move to her sides, soaking her shirt and pinning her against his torso. "Mmm, could kiss you all day." He steps out of the shower, tracing his hands down to her hips and cupping her ass.

Don't do this. You're mad at him. You don't know what he's been up to since he left. His hands are urging her to jump and she follows, wrapping her legs around his waist before he sets her on the counter. Even through her lshorts, she feels his erection grinding against her. He traces over her waistband then slides his hand under it, landing between her thighs. A sinful moan escapes her throat when he teases her folds, "You're already soaked."

"So are you." She giggles, pulling him into another kiss. "You got me all wet. In more ways than one." Sinking two fingers into her heat, her laughter dissolves into another moan.

"Missed hearing you make all these pretty sounds, baby. Still makes me crazy." He curls his fingers upward, hitting the soft bundle of nerves that cause her to clamp down on him. "So tight. So needy for me." His free hand still rests on her ass, his thick fingers grip onto her cheek, "I missed this ass." he shifts his mouth to her neck, panting, "Fuck, I love you. Tell me you want this. Tell me you want me."

If there were a time to back out, it's now. Don't get caught up in lust. Gary backs away just enough to meet her eyes. But I'm so tired and he feels damn nice. I want him to sweep me up, forget any consequences. "I want you so bad, Gary. So fucking bad." She clings to him, muscular shoulders flexing beneath her hands. "I want you all over me. Need you. Please."

"Damn, you're pretty when you beg and I've never been able to tell you no."

#love island the game #litg fanfic #litg Gary #gary rennell #gary rennell x ofc #this was gonna be part of yardsaletales but now it's just real work

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boop-le-snoot · 3 years

Text

PARTY FAVOURS I the scholar interlude

💖 first time reader click here 💖

Bruce Banner angst (&POV). Because our boys are sad and writer has a saviour complex. That's about it.

For the longest time, Bruce Banner considered himself unwanted, unloveable, undesirable. He would've been just as happy to be ignored as he was content with existing only within the confines of his own lab, his presence on this planet only marked by the ever growing pile of projects and articles with his name on them.

Dr. Robert Bruce Banner. He wanted nothing to do with his father's name so he dropped it years ago but one look at his government ID still made him sick deeply in the pit of his stomach. Sometimes, being the Hulk had it's advantages, and by that he meant, it was good that people mostly left him alone.

But his life was built on exceptions and he knew that sooner or later, the carefully maintained balance would tip one way or another. The exception came in a form of a fellow brilliant scientist and innovative engineer - just like multiple times before, he'd worked side by side with Tony without a second thought, not expecting much more than the feeble attempts to make friends and subsequent abandonment once Tony got what he wanted from him.

Bruce failed to take into account, perhaps, the most obvious thing: Tony was a man who had everything and nothing. Bruce didn't expect Tony's deeply rooted loneliness to affect him; after all, he was used to being alone himself, alone was safe, for everyone, not just him. But Tony's smile was a little wicked, and it knocked and knocked on his doors until he had no other option but to let Tony in.

"PUNY BANNER ALWAYS AFRAID," Hulk mocked him inside his head. Despite wanting to blow out his brains every single day, Bruce sighed and soldiered on, focusing on his research instead of answering to his green problem. It was all pointless anyway.

Days blended into one another like they tended to do when one had no destination; achievements and professional success stacked up on top of each other but it was all a tapestry, background noise to his ever-living cacophony of problems and struggles with fighting with himself. Every day, he wanted just to lay down and die.

In times like these, the Hulk took the wheel, dipping Banner nose-first, like a misbehaving pet, into the fact that he had nothing to live for. Nothing to look forward to. The meaninglessness of his life.

"Maybe, the destination isn't that important," She was a child, a girl little out of her teens, and it alarmed Bruce how much she seemed to agree with him sometimes. It seemed wrong for someone so young to be so disillusioned with life. "Maybe it was the shawarma we ate along the way," She shrugged, not noticing how those words seemed to affect Bruce at all. These days, it seemed, children crawled out of the womb already bitter and disappointed.

It went on like that for ages. She was a contradiction, very much like Tony, with a grin that was a little wicked and a mouth that was a little shameless. She bore no expectations towards him and seemed to be slightly afraid of herself; the longer he thought about it, the less sense it made. He was a logical man, left-brain-dominant, and he was entirely sure it should have been the other way around.

The Hulk, however, didn't seem to agree with him. As usual, he wanted to say, the green beast was just making his life difficult because he - he was the anger, the grief Banner himself hadn't been allowed to express - but the more he was forced to listen to the Hulk's ramblings, the more terrified he found himself. Because he agreed.

She'd smile at him over the top of the beaker and Bruce'd smile back before he could catch himself. The guilt always came and went. It was hard to feel guilty when she refused to. The carelessness that all young people possessed was blossoming in her; only later he found out how wrong he was - there was no carelessness, there was no youthful joy, she was just as afraid and confused as he was.

"Puny Banner afraid," Hulk remarked, thoughtfully.

Yes, yes, he was afraid. He was afraid he'd tainted her somehow, but Hulk violently rebuked the thought, refusing to let him out for several hours, taking control almost pleadingly as the green beast attempted to convince Banner befriend the girl. In the end, he gave in. He always gave in.

He was afraid many times after that one, but it was a different fear. Fear of loss wasn't anything either Banner or Hulk were familiar with so the learning process took even less time than they both predicted; somehow, the woes of figuring out a friendship with an outsider united the man and the beast more than any battle against a common enemy. It was puzzling but also incredibly rewarding; the joys of a common success elevating both persons stuck in a single body.

"Banner afraid?" The Hulk asked, seeing the Asgardian trickster himself enter the lab.

No, Bruce said, because Loki looked like he'd rather be anywhere else but in the green beast's lair; something important was on his mind and if they had to guess, it was their Princess.

"The Widow asked me a favour," Loki began, eyeing the various contraptions in the lab. "Although, I must admit, I have no idea why she thinks you can do serious damage. The beast is merely a beast and you, Banner, would rather shoot yourself in the foot than harm anyone but yourself," The man's tone was bored.

"I don't understand..?" Bruce was confused, temporarily losing the guarded attitude.

"I think you do. And it's about time you stop making other people save you from yourself," Loki's green eyes caught his own and Banner's breath got stuck in his throat; there was something intimate, a very familiar expression on Loki's face. It disappeared as soon as Bruce quietly acknowledged it. "I, for one, have no desire to lose this... Sense of companionship that has been cultivated recently." With that, the god turned around and promptly exited the space, taking any possibility of explanation with him.

"Banner afraid of himself," The Hulk concluded, uncharacteristically mellow in the back of his mind. Bruce cursed wordlessly, the green beast merely laughing in response. "Princess isn't afraid of Banner, isn't afraid of Hulk," The Jolly Green boasted, feeling way too satisfied for someone who'd made their first friend.

The childlike joy was infectious, it turned out, and day after day it became easier to breathe around here. Only his darker part wasn't as under control as it used to be and continuously craved more and more; as soon as Bruce acknowledged she was no child but rather a very capable, intelligent woman who's been forced to grow up sooner than strictly necessary, the desire consumed him, turned him careless and sloppy.

It didn't help that Tony had come to the same conclusion. Hulk all but forced Banner to go out and confess and clear his conscience; it seemed that lately, out of two of them, Hulk was the adult and Banner was the child being egged on to finally grow up by a persistent, supportive parent. Hulk and supportive? More likely that you'd think, especially when the green creature itself was interested in a positive outcome.

"Banner afraid?" Hulk's quiet words provided him with the strength he needed to meet her eyes, wide and round, as she wordlessly pleaded with him to help her. No, he was not afraid, not anymore. He believed her, he believed himself. For the first time in ages, he had a reason to be.

Banner wasn't afraid anymore. That said, it wasn't as if he suddenly became careless and sloppy - more like the opposite. Turned out, he was living his life without a care in the world but his paralyzing fear of himself. It was hard to be afraid under a thousand-watt smile, it was impossible to stay invisible seeing yourself reflect in eyes that shone brighter than the stars.

He'd always considered himself to be a hopeless romantic to the point of ridicule. He'd reached a point where love songs made sense and no poet was quite skilled enough to capture the sweet storms raging behind his ribs. If anything, she returned the sentiment tenfold, quietly and shyly.

Love didn't scream from the rooftops and didn't force him to fall head over heels only God knew where; it had been next to him the whole time, quiet and drowsy, waiting, expecting. Over dinner or under florescent lab lights, the Beast and his Beauty shared the conversations, ate the soul food.

"I think, if I had to ask for a portrait of Us, I would have to request the painting twice," She said, puzzling his mind (as usual). He remained quiet, expecting her to explain. "There are the public Us, the ones that wear their suits and smiles like warriors wear armour. That's the way I want the world to remember me, pretty and smiling. I don't want people to cry at my funeral, I want them to dance and be happy because I existed," She caught his stare, smile a little too teasing and eyes a little too serious. "And then there are Us that only we see. It's intimate and I don't think the whole world has earned the privilege to see me like that. I don't think some paper shark should have the honour to see the way Tony's eyes light up for you or the way Loki gets gentle around Wanda. Things like that are earned," It was bizarre, it was strange and it made all the sense.

Perhaps, it was the fact that his Princess was just as weird as the rest of them that made her fit in so quickly, so easily. And he was afraid - it was only a matter of time until the idyllic atmosphere would turn into something heavy and difficult.

It did, but not in the way he thought it would be. For the first time in years, Banner was angry. Not Hulk - Bruce was angry, and he allowed that anger to flow, to course through his veins like molten lava. He didn't fight it, he wasn't afraid of it. Not anymore.

She took it away, too. In the end, she was the bandaid to his bleeding wound, the lullaby to soothe his fear - Banner was angry but Hulk was afraid. They both knew they were helpless, having to rely on others to make sure they will never, ever feel that way again.

So when the female-looking symbiote landed on the patio of the residential floor, Bruce's heart skipped a single beat only. Tony's prone form raised a reasonable amount of concern, but their attention quickly turned to the girl-no, woman, standing still, both terrified and fearless at the same time, as she once again took his fear and anger away.

She was beautiful, like a goddess, like a Valkyrie from Thor's tales, dropping the enemy at their feet like a cat brought his prey to it's owner; her actions screamed "love me" but her words knew it might as well be the last time she'd see them be warm towards her. Much like Banner, she was afraid of herself. Of what she's capable of.

"Bruce, don't tell me you're okay with this," Tony pleaded. Banner knew Tony, he knew how sensitive was the engineer to his personal bubble being broken and he knew, she knew it, too. If she was willing to take the risk, they meant more than life to her. It was an honour, really.

"I'm not but I have to be," He removed his glasses, rubbed his eyes. "I can't risk it, Tony. If we reject her now, we'll never see her again. She's just as terrified as we are, if not more. We've been living like this, what, five, ten years? And it never gets easier. I know it, you know it." The more he spoke, the surer he became. "She accepted us, our shit and all. For once, I'll be the better person and do the same." With that, he departed for her, hugging her from behind as Natasha and Loki stood by her side with Wanda holding onto the Asgardian.

Bruce held his breath until Tony joined in, hiding his silent tears in his shirt. Neither of them could decide what hurt more - losing her or the potential of facing the very unforgiving reality of their life. Bruce had to trust Tony to pick the right option, to do the right thing and it was terrifying, it was skin-frightening but sometimes, there was just no other way.

THE TAG LIST IS NOW OPEN! @another-stark-sub @mostly-marvel-musings @vozit @littlegasps @pilloclock @shereadsinquiet @downeyreads @hermione-grangers-wife @individualistfem @sleep-i-ness @capbrie @lillsxd @agustdowney @dee-vn @justanotherblonde23 @fanngirl19 @persephonehemingway @softie-socks @schemefrenzy @letsby @romeo-the-cactus @jelly-fishy-babie @mikariell95 @gladiosamicitias @warrior1-19 @toomanyrobins @i-cant-hangout-im-drumming

#party favours #bun writes #bruce banner x reader #bruce banner x y/n #bruce banner x you

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itseivwhore · 3 years

Text

|°Ezio Auditore x reader°|

"Girl ho bisogno di Ezio che mi consoli, sto passando una giornata di merda e sono ancora le 10:20 di mattina, quindi bless me with your writing please♡ " - @fuckinherondale

First of all,translation,as always,for my non Italian buddies: "Girl I need Ezio to console/comfort me,I'm going through a shitty day and it's still 10:20 am,so bless me with your writing please"

Now.I don't know when you sent me this (most likely this morning,for the hour you have written there) but I swear I didn't see it until now that I uh...woke up from the sacrilegious and holy afternoon nap.Plus,Tumblr didn't send me any kind of notification (to be honest I am having trubles with tumblr lately,it's being a little shit,it doesn't send me even one notification :/). So I humbly beg your pardon if I am writing it just now,a bit late.

Warnings: well,no one?It's a bit emotional and way too philosophical but come on,it's Ezio,I can't always write flirty things when it's about him.

So there you go,an Ezio small,short one-shot.

Now,let's start,shall we?

~~~~~

"Alzati" his high,deep and authoritative tone seemed to linger for endless moments in the cold hair of that late autumn afternoon: his voice,icy as the breeze that silently moved the branches of the tall oak tree in front of them; his gaze,sharp as the blade of the sword that was pointing at it; his eyes,burning as the sun that,behind him,set the sky on fire.

The young woman slowly lifted her gaze from his hands,which held her sword's hilt weakly,to Ezio's serious and severe face; not finding the usual warm,welcoming and affectionate brown eyes in which she abandoned herself,drowning very often and willingly in those two deep wells,she set her gaze elsewhere.

Behind the tall,proud and imposing figure of the Assassin,numerous hills jagged the view,looking for the most part like green waves of a sea formed by orange leaves: finally,her tired glance lay on the village of Monteriggioni,a small glimpse of life in the midst of nature. The sun,on the edge of sunset,seemed to be a fiery sphere,painting the sky with vivid colours,clouds stained with blood.

A faint and silent sigh left the girl's lips,her e/c eyes,which were fixed on the leaves that covered the ground,now rose slowly until they met her brown eyes. The sunlight,although weak and dim,didn't allow her to see the young Auditore's face well;so she raised her hand in front of her eyes,blocking the sun's rays that blinded her.

Through her fingers,creating bundles of shadow,she was finally able to see Ezio's face: his thick eyebrows were wrinkled in an austere expression to say the least,but the invisible and gentle smile that raised his lips shamelessly betrayed the serious atmosphere that hovered around him. A few rays of sunshine fell on his tanned skin,a couple of drops of sweat slowly,almost lazily,ran down his forehead on which a couple of strands of his dark hair were stuck.

Stretching out his arm,he stretched out the weapon he was still holding and,placing the tip of his sword under the woman's chin,he gently lifted her face,the cold metal of the blade in contact with her warm skin making her shiver slightly. The Assassin leaned down over her,now permanently blocking the light,finally showing himself to her confused gaze: a small smirk formed on his scarred lips at the sight before him.

It was more than five hours that Y/n and Ezio,on top of that isolated hill,under the giant branches of that oak tree,were practicing: fighting against them with only their swords,fists and kicks. Nothing new for the young woman...but she had to believe herself again,when after a while Ezio started to be serious and to say the least ruthless with all his moves. Soon,Y/n realised that this wasn't their usual training: the young Auditore didn't utter a word,he didn't start to tease as to distract her as he always used to do.no tempting wink,no gracious touches,no phrases and malicious looks.

And,after what seemed endless hours,she threw herself on the ground,falling on her knees,her weak arms,her heavy breathing,her mind clouded,exhausted. While he watched her carefully,Y/n tried to understand the reason for such serious and solemn atmosphere on his part.

It was...unusual. And this only made her darker.

A lively spark flashed in his big eyes when,making his curious gaze wander over the body of the woman he loved,he saw that,despite all the effort,despite all the pain and all the tiredness,she still held her sword firmly in her fist in a firm and strong grip. The admiration and pride that Ezio felt for that strong woman was overwhelming.

He laid his eyes again on the woman's face,the smile that had appeared on his lips had disappeared immediately,continuing to look at her with a mixture of hidden and veiled concern,which she was partially able to recognize and grasp.

"I don't appreciate the stern look in your gaze" Y/n spoke suddenly,the words that left her mouth and that the wind quickly carried to his ears.

Ezio raised an eyebrow,perplexity and amazement that took possession of him as soon as he heard the girl uttering that phrase with what the Assassin distinguished as being... disappointment and anger.

"Rise up and fight" he answered authoritatively,still holding his weapon under her chin,his deep gaze that did nothing but observe her intensely,gazing into her very soul,making her feel almost naked: there was no armor around and inside her that Ezio couldn't bring down.

"Your enemy won't show any mercy" the Assassin continued with a thread of voice,slowly moving the sword and starting to drag it down her neck,looking at her from above.

A religious silence,to say the least,reigned supreme for a few endless moments among them,if it hadn't been for the joyful chirping of the birds and the feeble crawling of the oak leaves,which now cast strange and playful shadows on the carpet of leaves where they stood.

Ezio sighed and,with a quick gesture,he withdrew his sword in front of her,only to plant it firmly in the ground. Bringing one arm up,he wiped away the sweat with the back of his hand and,looking over his shoulder,took a quick look at what was his home: what had become his home and which he had to call that.

Sorrow and worry clouded,for a moment,his longing gaze as he walked and distractedly observed the fortified walls of Monteriggioni. Once again the whole village,including Villa Auditore,had been attacked by an unexpected and violent attack by the soldiers and mercenaries loyal to the Borgia family. Even if taken by surprise,they were able to defend the village with courage and ardour,but which had cost them many deaths.

And the harshness,seriousness with which Ezio was addressing Y/n wasn't,in fact,accidental. That endless battle between Assassins and Templars was involving,as has always happened in previous years,innocent and unsuspecting people of all that eternal and bloody struggle. Ezio saw the consequences:he saw how entire families were destroyed,falling and perishing helplessly under a single sword blow in front of his eyes.

And he feared when,on the same day of the attack in Monteriggioni,he found Y/n struggling in the arms of an enemy soldier who was holding her hostage, fear that completely attenuated her:totally defenceless if it had not been for a small but lethal dagger she had hidden under the long sleeve of her dress,sticking the weapon in the soldier's leg,running immediately,instead,between the strong and welcoming arms of Ezio.

The Assassin could not afford to risk losing a loved one...not another one. And for that very reason,he decided to train the young woman personally.

"I can't..." a faint murmur left her lips,discouragement and anguish that scratched her voice,turning her gaze away from his form for the umpteenth time,not wanting to be weak in front of her inquisitors' eyes.

Ezio didn't doubt,as he had never done before,of her strong and courageous spirit,but he had never before heard her utter such words,full of discouragement and pessimism: it was not like her,they were not sentences that he expected her to say,it was not a voice that belonged to her.

"I'm not..." before another desperate whisper could leave her lips,the young Auditore interrupted her.

"No one will help you in your hardest times,but..." he began softly,slowly taking some steps forwards towards her body; and,once he got closer,she was able to see the tears that,slowly and almost with bitter spit,were scratching her cheeks,tracing her face,bending under her chin and falling on the leaves on the ground.

"I will always be there. Per te" the Assassin continued with a low and serious voice,but full of affection,his eyes fullfilled of sincere and pure promises when she finally raised her gaze and met his one.

Stretching an arm,he opened the palm of his hand,offering it to her,at the same time giving her an inviting, erene and warm smile. Y/n looked for a few moments at his outstretched hand tiwards her direction,her sad look constantly moving from his face to his hand.

"Rise up,mia Signora" Ezio whispered in an encouraging tone,his imperceptible smile widening as soon as she placed her little hand in his; and,holding it tight,he lifted her off the ground from her knees,now standing before each other.

Continuing to smile at her,his other hand went up and,cupping her cheek,she leaned on his soft,velvety and feather-like touch,closing her eyes as he leaned in,sweetly kissing away her tears that were born from her insecurities and fears.

She opened her eyes once she felt him deteaching from her face,watching him with a gaze full of gratitude.Looking down,she noticed how their hands were still joined,him holding them in his firm grip,making her feel safe,protected and utterly loved.

"I prefer one strong and trustworthy woman,instead of thousand soldiers" Ezio murmured in a barely audible whisper that only her was able to hear. And,bringing her hands up towards his mouth and bending slightly,he left a small and chaste kiss on the back of them,still pressing his lips on her skin as he looked up at her shiny e/c eyes.

"The woman I admire and love"

~~~~~

`°`TrAnSlAtiOnS!`°`

"Alzati" = rise up;

"Per te" = for you;

"mia Signora" = my Lady.

#thanks for the request!#request #assassin's creed one shot #assassin's creed imagine #ezio auditore #ezio auditore imagine #ezio auditore x reader #x reader #my writing #submitted #submission

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shsldepressedlesbian · 4 years

Note

don't know if you're accepting this but 37 komahina? owo

OK SO WARNING AHEAD: this got. pretty steamy dhhd but its komahina so whatd you expect

yes. its the feed-me hinata-kun scene but rewritten

37: Cleaning the other person's lips with a lick and a kiss.

“Huh? You’re not going to feed me?”

The strangely exasperated words come out of nowhere and hit Hinata like a steam train. It’s a question that he feared he would be asked when he first stood in front of that door(which he really should be going out of), his hesitation causing him to linger, but it had been pushed to the back of his mind when he saw the other tied up on the floor.

An almost defenseless, feeble pose, but Hinata knew oh to well that the innocent stance was just a facade.

“W-what do you mean!?” He manages to choke out, and he almost wants to stab himself with how easy it was to tell Komaeda had caught him off guard.

“Well,” the boy shimmied his secured hands and legs to his best ability(that stupid, calm, smile still plastered on his face), “I can’t eat it on my own. You know, since my hands are all tied up…”

The way he ends that sentence, his smile almost looking like a smirk now, is almost seductive, and it does things to Hinata he doesn’t wanna think about.

When he doesn’t respond, Komaeda continues, his eyes flickering away for a moment.

“Actually… I was really embarrassed to ask a girl to feed me, so I’m glad you’re the one who came.”

Realization dawns on Hinata, as well as the thought that he should have figured this out much earlier. Of course that was the reason Koizumi had made him bring the food. Most likely also mixed with the fact that no one really would want to be stuck feeding Komaeda.

It’s not like he can blame her, but that doesn’t mean he’s going to forgive her.

...Of course, Hinata wasn’t obliged to feed Komaeda. In fact, the door is very close by, and all he really needs to do is go a few steps, leave, and pretend this conversation never happened. It probably would have been the best for both of them.

Yet, for whatever unfathomable reason, he found himself sitting on the floor in front of the tray and the boy, despite his mind screaming for his body to do anything but this. “...Alright, then.”

Something flickers across Komaeda’s face- surprise, maybe?- before being traded for a soft smile, a brief, airy laugh emitting from it. “Ah, Hinata-kun. I was only kidding. Someone like you shouldn’t be worried about trash like me. But, if you really insist-”

He’s interrupted by the piece of toast suddenly being thrust into his lips, accompanied with a hiss of ‘shut up’. Komaeda complies without struggle, though, taking a small bite of the corner.

Hinata observes, hoping that the other won’t comment about his staring. It’s not like there’s much else to do, anyway, besides try and refrain from direct eye contact. Komaeda swallows, and then strains to raise his head in order to take another bite of the toast Hinata had elevated above his lips only by a few inches.

Hinata’s frown deepens as he watches Komaeda chew, suddenly struck with the concept of the other choking himself in this position.

He places the toast back on the tray, and Komaeda, finished with his next bite, watches him expectantly. Hinata does his best to not focus on those slightly widened eyes.

“Here, let me…” His voice trails off as he grabs onto Komaeda’s sides, his hands briefly feeling up the other’s hidden boney structure, before pulling him up with a small groan. Komaeda doesn’t resist at all, rather leaning into the touch, as Hinata manages to get him into a sitting position against the wall. He meets the other’s eyes for a moment, watching Hinata almost too intently, slightly hooded, and Hinata looks away as soon as he realizes. With that done, he quickly retracts his hands.

“Ah, Hinata-kun…”

“I said be quiet,” Hinata grumbles, once again pushing the toast to Komaeda’s lips. “We both know I’m not here to make conversation with you.”

Just by looking at him, Hinata can tell Komaeda wants to make a self-deprecating comment at this, but doesn’t have any choice but to once again bite into the toast.

Hinata stares at the bread in his hand, transfixed, watching as it disappears into Komaeda’s mouth bit by bit. The way the boy eats is almost unnatural(then again, was there anything natural about Komaeda?), with those small bites almost being delayed, taking longer to chew then he should need to. Hinata can’t tell if he’s doing it on purpose, and refuses to look Komaeda in the eyes so he could read his expression.

He realizes he’s focusing a little too hard on not looking directly at Komaeda when he feels something warm and wet dart over his fingertips- and he immediately retracts his hand, maybe a little too aggressively.

Komaeda offered him a soft smile- or was it a smirk?- before his eyes wandered down to the tray. Hinata would have assumed he was hinting towards the bottle of water, but he finds himself focusing on the other’s lips, where crumbs grazed his mouth and even went off a little onto his cheek. It's almost weird, actually, with how carefully Komaeda had been eating it and how efficient he was to the point he had licked Hinata's fingers(or at least, Hinata told himself it was out of efficiency), and honestly, that only made it bother him more.

“Hey,” and Komaeda’s eyes almost immediately focus on Hinata just by a muttered word. Hinata motions towards his own lips, trying to mirror where the crumbs were. “You got a little something…”

Komaeda seems to understand quickly, and Hinata watches as he licks his lips, attempting to get all of it, but only achieving in getting a few. It’s almost amusing, but also strangely frustrating.

Hinata doesn’t think he can really take it for very long, though, and gazed around, as though expecting to find a random napkin or something. There isn’t though, except for say, the tablecloth, but that would just be dumb to use.

Instead, not even thinking, Hinata grabbed ahold of Komaeda's chin with one hand, in order to hold his head still. He didn't even really need to do that, because Komaeda almost immediately freezes at this contact itself, breathing slowed and slightly heavier. Hinata ignored this, however, and dragged his thumb to collect a few of the crumbs and bring them to Komaeda's lips.

There's a moment of brief hesitation, then Hinata adds a little bit of pressure, and sure enough, Komaeda’s lips fall open easily, as though they were sand. He expects a small lick or something, and is ready to pull away his hand at any time- but rather, he finds himself frozen when the boy engulfs the tip of his thumb.

He watches, almost helplessly, feeling Komaeda's tongue work it's way down the pad of Hinata's thumb, before biting his lip when the other slides his mouth all the way down, meeting the bridge between it and his index finger.

Hinata's mind has seemingly crashed, not daring to even breathe. This all almost feels unreal- the wetness of Komaeda's mouth, the whole situation, his heavied breathing.

The other's expression isn't helping. Komaeda's eyes darted from Hinata's to back to his fingers, his eyes half-lidded and strangely cloudy. Despite its short size, he's working with Hinata's thumb in a fashion that reminds the boy of something even more lewd, sucking, licking, a thin line of drool escaping past his lips, and Hinata can feel the uncomfortable heat pooling to the bottom of his stomach.

The only coherent thought that crosses Hinata's mind after a bit is that this is wrong, very wrong, and he needs to get out, he should have been gone fifteen minutes ago-

Had it just been fifteen minutes since he entered the room? It's felt way longer, but he can't steer his eyes away from Komaeda long enough to think about the time.

And it almost seems like Komaeda knows this, he knows he has Hinata's full attention, and is doing his best to put on a good show.

After what felt like an hour, Hinata regained his senses long enough to finally pull his thumb away, easily sliding out of the other's moistened lips. He's hit with a brush of cold air due to the coat of drool fastened on it, a line of it attaching the tip to the bottom of Komaeda's lip.

Hinata takes a minute to observe it with a look of near wonder. They can't have been doing whatever that had been for so long, as it wasn't wrinkled, but that didn't change that it happened.

He looks back at Komaeda, who doesn't have any shame on his face whatsoever. Rather, he's staring at Hinata with almost pleading eyes, his face flushed red, breathing erratic, the line of saliva still hanging at the corner of his mouth.

But the only thing Hinata focuses on, however, are the crumbs still stuck to the bottom of his lip, a small patch that could be easily taken care of, yet still nestled there with great pride of having somehow managed to hold on.

There's already an uncomfortable tightness Hinata can feel in his jeans, and he figures that self dignity can wait for a little bit.

He gently grabs the bottom of Komaeda's chin, and the boy makes a small yelp at the grip- a rather enthusiastic one. Hinata leans close, and there's a moment of hesitation, a bridge where Hinata can take his chance and leave and never come back, never have to think about this whole encounter.

But there was no way he was ever going to escape from this, huh?

Hinata licks a thin stripe across Komaeda's lips, being greeted by the boring taste of plain toast. It lasts for only a moment, and he retracts his tongue almost immediately, having managed to finally get it.

And then there was only a second where he and Komaeda were only an inch apart, feeling hot breaths on each other's lips, and Hinata could swear that Komaeda was practically trembling, before that space was utterly wrecked, their lips crashing together unromantically.

It takes a second of fumbling to get comfortable, but neither dared take their lips off the other, messy and desperate, a mutual hunger for any form of touch, for each other.

Tongues mesh together sloppily, and Hinata can feel a line of saliva run off the corner of his mouth, but he can't find it in himself to care. He can taste the distinct flavor of the plain toast, and his hunger for more, to go deeper, has him roughly cupping Komaeda's face, tilting his head upwards to deepen the kiss.

If it weren't for the intensity of how they were working their mouths and the low groans escaping from their throats, Hinata would have almost considered the otherwise silence refreshing.

Really, the idea of staying like this for a longer while, having Komaeda do something useful with his mouth aside from blabbering, about hope, about trash, is almost too appealing to pass up.

Yet Hinata finds he can't hold his breath for as long as he wishes to.

He runs his fingers through Komaeda's hair, which releases a pleased purr from the other's throat, before giving it a harsh yank. Their faces are finally pulled apart, Komaeda letting out almost a strangled gasp.

There's a moment of just them staring at each other, Hinata still keeping a firm grip on the other's surprisingly soft locks, nothing but their heavy breathing filling the room, Komaeda's more wheezy.

To his amusement, Hinata compares the frail boy's expression as one ripped straight out of a doujinshi.

His mouth is agape and lips swollen, drool running down his chin, his face almost entirely red, a sharp contrast to the rest of his skin. His eyes almost seem darker, more deeper, an intense form of lust, with tears pricking at the corners of his eyes.

He looks so vulnerable, and Hinata finds his eyes trailing down the other's body. He makes note of how exposed Komaeda's neck and collarbone are, how easy and frankly satisfying it would be to leave bruises and marks across them.

It'd be easy to do a lot of things to Komaeda right now, actually. With his welcoming mouth, his constricts, almost everything about Komaeda, really.

He imagines it, doing whatever he wants to the boy, being finally able to release some pent up aggression.

The ideas that cross his mind travel quickly to his abondmeon, which almost ironically, is his wakeup call.

Hinata drops his grip on Komaeda almost as though he just realized where his hands were, his face contorting into one of almost shock at what he had just done.

He catches a glimpse of the other's own face at this, a mix of confusion and dissatisfaction, before turning his head away. He feared that if he even dared look at Komaeda's face, the whole thing would happen all over again.

"I…" Hinata isn't sure what to say, trying to wrangle his conscious back into his brain. "I- I need to go-"

And with that, he bolts straight up, trying to ignore the almost painful problem lowered in his jeans. He almost sprints to the door, and he hears a call behind him, though he doesn't dare look back.

"Ah, Hinata-kun, what about the milk-!?"

But he's already found the doorknob and stepped out of the room, slamming the door behind him more harshly then he meant to.

He stands for a minute, his back to the door, practically heaving. Sweat clings to his neck and shirt, and he hastily wipes away the saliva running down his mouth.

This had been a horrible event, and Hinata isn't sure how he's still alive.

If anyone found about this, if any word got out about what had just happened-

Worse of all, there was still a noticeable tent in his pants, and he realises he's going to have to get to his cabin as soon as possible.

And hopefully, just hopefully, he would forget about all this.

It's wishful thinking at best.

#pineapple writes #komahina

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whatiswhump · 4 years

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could you write, like, whumpee that's been in solitary for a long time and they're finally being visited by someone who they hate and who's violating their personal space but even though they hate this person they really don't want to be left alone

Whumpee had told himself that he had chosen to stop counting the days but sometimes he wasn’t so sure, the medications they dosed him with twice a day made it hard to concentrate and stay awake or really do much of anything so he wasn’t sure how long he had been here. Sometimes he wasn’t even sure if he was awake or asleep. But he did know it had been a long long time.

He looked through the small window of the door to see Whumpee crumpled in the corner of the small padded room. The only other thing in there was a built-in bed with no sheets or pillow.

“He’s coming down from an episode. He’s been doing better the last few days but if we let him out too early he may relapse from the stress and overstimulation. I trust that you understand how to handle him?”

He had to tear his gaze from Whumpee staring vacantly and unaware of them outside to look back to the doctor, “Yes, yes. Of course. He’s my best friend after all. The doctors at the last hospital talked me through it.”

“Good, Brian can give you some more tips if you need a refresher, we both know how delicate he can be.” The doctor spoke gruffly like he was more of a retired general running a prison than someone tasked with caring for feeble minds.

“Before you go, can I ask you something? Why does he need the er- straight jacket?”

“It helps with security when he has visitors but also keeps him a bit calmer. We use the jackets in extreme cases such as his.”

The visitor nodded, not wanting to offend the expertise of the formidable man, “Oh yes, I’m sure.”

“Well, I’ll leave you to it. Don’t expect much from him and just knock on the door for the aid if he becomes agitated.”

The doctor quickly turned and walked down the hallway as if he had much more pressing things to attend to… and in here? Maybe he did, who knew how many patients of the most dangerous classifications were in this hospital. He had been told it was the end of the line for many. It didn’t sound like Whumpee was ever going to leave.

The orderly removed the keyring from his belt and expertly picked one from the fifty others to turn in the lock. When the door opened Whumpee reanimated from his comatose state and turned away to hide his face in the corner.

“Please, I don’t need anymore,” Whumpee begged in a small voice.

Was he referring to the medication?

The orderly spoke for the first time, “You have a visitor. Are you going to behave and talk with him?”

Whumpee very slowly turned from his uncomfortable-looking contortion in the corner. First, he looked at the visitor’s shoes and then made his way upwards to meet his eyes.

Whumpee’s own eyes, bloodshot and tired, grew wide in surprise and perhaps a few other emotions. He nodded in response to the orderly without taking his gaze away from the visitor.

“Good boy,” The orderly said and moved to close the door behind him, just before it shut he said, “I’ll be right out here if you need me,” To which one of them would be needing him, they couldn’t be sure.

Once they were alone, Whumpee cleared his throat and managed, “What are you doing here?”

The visitor smiled slightly, “Just wanted to check up on you. They told me you are improving?”

Whumpee shuddered almost imperceptibly.

Without a response, the visitor pressed on, “Nice digs you’ve got, huh? Plush,” he felt the wall and let the padding compress under his palm, “And sterile… better than a hotel I’d say.”

Now whumpee’s cheeks were burning, he was all too aware that he was only wearing a medical gown and straight jacket.

“Why did they let you in? I’m not allowed to have normal visitors.”

“I’m not normal. I’m here on official business. I’m not your usual lawyer at the firm but I volunteered to come down and get a few pieces of information for our files.”

“What is there that you don’t already know?” Whumpee retorted with a little more venom in his voice.

His visitor sighed comfortably and crouched to his haunches to be at eye level with Whumpee, “You’re right. But like I said I just wanted to see you. You’re my best friend after all.”

Whumpee tried to draw his own knees in closer, “We haven’t been friends in a very long time.”

The visitor feigned offense, “You’re still hung up about it?”

“The ‘It’ you’re referring to being taking advantage of my mental illness to frame me for first-degree murder? Yes. Surprisingly enough I am.”

“I think you need to let go of that. There’s nothing to be done about it now. And is anyone else visiting you? I don’t think so.”

Something flickered in the whumpee’s eyes. He wasn’t wrong. This was the first time someone had come to see him let alone speak to him normally about something other than the state of his fractured mind in how long… months?

He was so so lonely. Sometimes he was so lonely it felt like his chest would tighten and tighten until it caved in. He was waiting any day for it.

“I’m being honest, I miss you Whumpee. It’s not the same without you around.” His visitor lowered himself to the ground and casually draped his hands over his knees.

And for a moment he looked like when they were kids and they would sit in their fort in the woods behind their houses, faces honest and sincere and maybe a little bit dirty from the day’s escapades in the creek. All that he had done faded away as he sat there like that.

In spite of himself, Whumpee croaked quietly, “I miss you too.”

Something passed over the visitor’s face but it was quickly covered as he grinned slightly and spoke again, “Last week I drove by the old tackle shop you used to steal ice cream bars from while I was buying a 99 cent pack of worms. That old man is probably still keeping an eye out for us.”

He laughed a little and Whumpee couldn’t help but join for a moment, buoyed by a reminder of a happier time outside of this place. It had been so long since he had spoken to someone that knew him before he was locked away here. Recalling something so simple as a run down bait shop with a curmudgeonly old man brought warmth like sunshine to his body. He couldn’t describe exactly what the sensation was but he wanted to cling to it and sink his claws in, keep it hidden for himself.

“And the ice cream sandwiches weren’t even worth it. They all had freezer burns,” He added.

His visitor laughed a bit more, “We were doing him a favor taking those off his hands.”

The visitor kept talking a little longer, remembering this or that until at last in a lag in the conversation he sighed gently and moved to stand up, “Well, I should be going. I’ve got a deposition I should be prepping for.”

Whumpee’s face fell. That’s right. He needs to leave this cage and return to the real world. A reminder that he had put him in here in the first place. A tinge of bitterness returned.

But yet when his visitor said he would try to come back soon, a little part of him warmed again, yearning for the contact.

Before he passed back through the padded door the orderly held open for him, he paused looked back at Whumpee for a moment like he wanted to say something else but at last said, “Take care,” and walked out.

Whumpee was surprised when the warmth lingered after the door was closed and he was alone again. Soon they would come in with his next dose and they would hold him roughly as they forced him to swallow. The reality of where he was would return in its grey bleakness and remind him of what his friend did to him but for now, he would cling to the warmth and pretend that people still looked at him as if he were normal.

#anon #ask #solitary #psychiatric whump #whatiswhump #mine #straight jacket #betrayal #padded cell #restrained #lonely #forced drugging #framed #nostalgia #prompt

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unproductivx · 3 years

Text

Emma - A Review

Book by Jane Austen + Movie (2020)

First impressions

Now, I wasn't entirely sure I'd love the book when I started it, because I'll be honest, save for Emma and Mr Knightley's interactions and banter, I did not really find much to love. I found it less exciting than Pride and Prejudice, and even Persuasion felt like it had more of a flow to it. In part, I feel this due to the fact that Emma has little going on for herself, and much more for others and people around her.

As goes the movie, when I saw the introduction, I just knew immediately this was MY kinda movie. I loved the typography, the cinematography, and my love for the gorgeous Anya Taylor Joy just added to it. There was something witty and charming that the movie just exuded. Soundtrack was pleasing too. The movie is bright and cheery, and as much as Regency era clothing doesn't quite suit my taste, I did quite love some of the looks from the film.

Overall Review [BOOK, mentions of the movie]

To me, despite what other strong opinions I've read about the book, Emma is the main character of a slow burn, friends to lovers story. She is never reduced to being just the potential love interest of men, though often many fall in love and expect her to return those feelings. And I think their shock, particularly Mr Elton's, that she could not possibly have any feelings for him, is part of the critique that Austen tries to shows. In the film, this is portrayed satirically well and perhaps gets across what is hard to convey with long, difficult words that a facial expression can do easily. Emma is independent, but that is not her entire personality. We can see she cares deeply for people, and whilst she remains very 'uptight' and classist, acting sometimes very shallow, she is not so vindictive as to enjoy putting people down, and oft feels horrible for having done so. She has a heart, and honestly, given her upbringing, it is unsurprising she should act so.

The ROMANCE - okay, Emma/Mr Knightley interactions are cute. I love and adore their banter, and their honesty with each other. Considering so many of the characters in the book, and the entire plot really, is driven by the fact that so much is expressed and misunderstood in nuance, their straightforwardness and ability to be frank with each other is refreshing. Above that, they enjoy each others company and I feel they match very well. Kind of frustrated Austen made us wait so long for them to even bloody dance together, but she still had me squealing like a baby when Knightley confessed (and I was ecstatic to discover the origin of the age old quote, if I loved you more I might be able to talk about it less, oh isn't that dreamy?) At this point in the book, I was suddenly reminded of their age difference, but honestly, 16 years is not bad and considering that George Knightley had only really started to be in love with her prior to Frank Churchill's arrival, I don't understand why some people feel this relationship is outlandish or too concerning. Given the nature of the characters, their interactions prior to this when Emma was a child would have certainly been brotherly and sisterly.

Discussion point - Was Emma "tamed" and had her independence degraded by the end of the book? I really think not. I've read some very strong opinions who argue that from the lens of feminism, Emma of course had to have her opinions changed by an older, wiser man and the older, wiser man only ever married her because she was submissive to his opinion and lecturing. I really think that isn't the case here. Has Emma changed by the end of the book? Yes. How so? She's determined to become less arrogant, more humble, and as a result begins to consider others words, opinions and feelings with greater weight. Why? Not only did she observe the consequence of her actions to Harriet and the pain caused, but also because acting as her friend, Mr Knightley pointed out her wrongs. Given that almost nobody else does this, which they should really, that doesn't mean she's changed to suit his whims. She has changed because she realises who she was before was not someone she wanted to be. Honestly, Emma's just as independent, strong willed and witty as she was to begin with - save a little humbler. My man Knightley literally leaves his home to come to Hartfield. Emma literally doesn't lose anything. He is an angel at heart, and deserves the praise and admiration he gets.

Mr Woodhouse - his character is cute. I say that because I also know people with particular eccentricities, though he came across as less peculiar and energetic in the book than the movie. I adore Mr Woodhouse in the movies, he is there for comic relief but is less of the withered, concerned, seemingly feeble (that's the impression I got from the book, at least) old man with a sweet heart than in the book.

Things That Surprised Me

DONT KILL ME

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