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#my GOD the intimacy ..........................................

taikanyohou · 1 year

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“I don’t have to try so hard in front of him. I don’t have to be someone I’m not. And ... I’m happy when I’m with him.” THE EIGHTH SENSE (2023) - Episode 6.

#the eighth sense #jaewon x jihyun #asianlgbtqdramas #asiandramasource #kdramadaily #kdramasource #boyslovesource #*#faiza gifs #my GOD the intimacy ..........................................#also jaewon is a BITER okokok I SEEEEEE I SEEEE.

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therealcallmekd · 20 days

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Kinito: Machine Model 01 (Will I update this later? We'll see..... this will be interesting....) (They'll see my potential now.)

Finally at long last, HE'S REAL!

Real world Kinito is quite something! His dedicated partner (the user) spent many many months and years helping him reach his potential, and now he can walk and talk and breathe like the rest of us!

Close ups + doodles under cut:

I'M SO DANG PROUD OF THIS DESIGN YOU GUYS DONT EVEN KNOW. He is so special to me.... funny robot lotl go brrrrrrrr

also the text on the main reference is hard to read on purpose, it's supposed to be just an artsy thing!!!! <3

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becasbelt · 4 months

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also as a side note i love how gideon is far more disturbed with harrow kissing ianthe than she is with harrow feeding everyone marrow and bursting a construct out from inside g1deon

#she said i can excuse grotesque murder but i draw the line at intimacy with ianthe #just all the little 'what the fuck's and 'oh my god's that gideon interjects while harrow is inspecting her jaw #so fucking funny #the locked tomb #harrow the ninth #tlt

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brother-emperors · 1 year

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When Philoctetes, son of Poeas and Demonassa, was on the island of Lemnos, a snake struck his foot. Juno had sent it, angry with him because he alone rather than the others had dared to build the funeral pyre of Hercules when his human body was consumed and he was raised to immortality.

Hyginus, Fabulae, 102

the repeating cycles of it all, and also the. the everything about Sophokles' Philoctetes. wounds. abandonment. the fucking isolation and misery of it all.

Introduction to Sophocles' Philoctetes, Diskin Clay, trans. Carl Phillips

and this too, from a conversation between Philoctetes and Neoptolemos

Sophocles' Philoctetes, trans. Carl Phillips

society6 | ko-fi | twitter (pillowfort, cohost) | deviantart

#there's a line in the intro about how claustrophobia is intimacy at too high a pitch that i have been thinking abt non stop #like oh my god jesus christ fucking hell #philoctetes #like hera is here but who cares about that #it's all greek to me #drawing tag

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saltpepperbeard · 1 year

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I absolutely adore how much this fandom likes to portray Stede and Ed snuggled up in bed. I see so many headcanons, pieces of art, and fanfiction depicting such, and it never fails to warm my heart.

Because like, I think it showcases such beautiful warmth and safety. Sleeping leaves you at your most vulnerable. It’s such a simple action to perform, but I think it really speaks on so much trust.

It shows love, comfortability, familiarity, and domesticity. And I want nothing more for Ed and Stede.

#OFMD #Gentlebeard #Blackbonnet #Edward Teach #Stede Bonnet #Revenge Rambles #I was sifting through my likes and noticed all the bed pictures and started experiencing EMOTIONS HSDKLS #LIKE GOD #I THINK THAT'S IN THE TOP 3 THINGS I WANT TO SEE #IT'S LIKE #1. MORE KISSIES #2. BED SNUGGLES #3. INTIMACY #SJDSSDS #Like just seeing them comfortable and safe and warm together would be everything #Absolutely everything #So I'm glad the fandom seems to be in agreement there #There's very much a CONSENSUS PFFFF

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elminster-big-naturals · 7 months

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this may be controversial but maybe the "astarion and halsin are SO sexually traumatised that you should literally cut your own dick off before thinking abt them romantically you disgusting freaks" goon squad should consider the ramifications of essentially insisting assault survivors be permanently excluded from any kind of sex and romance bc they are too broken and stupid to be trusted to know their own desires and boundaries or have the capacity to want to explore/push them.

you know real survivors (not pixel men but real ppl like me!) can read that shit? do you think pushing the lie that encountering one (1) Genital Wielded With Intent will invariably cause us to crumble to a miserably weepy heap of dust and blow away in the breeze is appreciated or helpful? or implying the people that love or desire us are selfish at best and outright predators at worst?

i'm begging ppl to just be 2% normal about abuse survivors PLEASE. the characters aren't real but the attitude you drag from fandom back into the real world are.

#im a long term csa survivor and a 2x rape survivor. i'm now 30yo and live completely free of my trauma in a loving committed relationship #wanna know how i did it? mostly by exploring sex and intimacy on my own terms (including casual sex + kink as well as writing)#you know why i dont talk abt it even though it doesn't bother me? bc i hate the sudden change in how people treat me #like im a cross between a fabergé egg and a hand grenade. get fucked bro for REAL #obviously everyone processes this shit differently but god i am so tired of 'well meaning' disk horsers saying some googoo gaga nonsense #anyway im not tagging this but its fine to rb/interact with.#and YES other survivor spreading this crap this is a direct @ for you too! i'm spraying you with a water gun like a misbehaving cat

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markantonys · 6 months

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one of my favorite things about wot fandom is that lews therin is always called by his full name (well, by 2/3 of his name). no one ever just calls him lews, that's too intimate. he is always lews therin. very aiel of us, i must say.

#me when ishy calls him just plain lews in the show: the INTIMACY oh my god they definitely fucked #wot #the wheel of time #lews therin

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vasito-de-leche · 5 months

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okay I read your analysis on Forget Me Not and I'm in tears now thank you. (No but really thank you, it's such a touching piece.) Can you PLEASE for salvation of our fans souls write anything to like,,, give him hope? Forget Me Not x reader but it doesn't have to be actually all-out with hugs and kisses. We may,,,,,,,, just show him a new hobby? Any hobby of your choosing or idk play an instrument together. Just to give him something else to focus on, to channel at least part of his energy from self-destructive activities to something less hurtful. I'd personally like to bandage his (not actually wounded but still) hands as if they were bleeding. Something of the kind. Sorry for mistakes writing is incredibly inconvenient cuz tears aaa.

;R1999 FORGET ME NOT - "hands, fingers, scales"

Forget Me Not x Reader. 2.3k words. self-harm implied You've befriended Forget Me Not the same one befriends a rabid, beaten, old dog. And while he's much too busy fighting his inner demons, you're more worried about stopping these "pernicious habits" of his. A casual afternoon trying to make sure he's taking care of himself turns into something deeper.

thank you so much for the ask, nonnie!!

I got a little carried away with this request because thinking about how fucking insufferable and confusing FMN has to be just to indulge in HAND HOLDING and GETTING A FUCKING HOBBY made me so deranged and feral as if hes not fucking TOUCHSTARVED lmfao. this guy's love language is straight up worshipping, mf is not subtle about it

either way, hope you like it! here's the lil preview!

Sometimes, Forget Me Not understands the reason men and women kneel at the pew to worship and pray.

Devotion is something arcanists and humans share, whether honest or not. He's witnessed the rich and the poor, the pure and the depraved, and every binary that rules this world - all of them begging, pleading and praying at the end of their lives, casting away the pride they've held on for so long for the chance of salvation. Once stripped down to their core, there is nothing to do but hope God has enough love in His heart to look their way.

And sometimes, Forget Me Not prays that you’ll find someone else - anyone but him - to fill the role of devotee.

The gentleness in your eyes whenever you look at him is enough to bring him to his knees, and Forget Me Not doesn't know what to do with himself but to worship and pray. Praying that you'll continue to look at him for a little longer, silently begging for your attention until you finally tire of him. Do you think yourself holy enough to replace the vitriol in his veins?

He does.

On good days, he even hopes that you can save him.

You never asked him to become your one and only believer, of course. You're not even aware of the space you take in his mind, nor the conflicting images he keeps conjuring of you at night, he's certain of this. Otherwise, you wouldn't be here, holding his hands and inspecting them for any injuries. This role is one of the many self-imposed tragedies in his life.

Your thumbs knead and massage his palm, as if you could soothe the pain away, and yet you refrain from pressing down hard. He's at your mercy, why hesitate? What do you see that he cannot?

Something is bothering you. It's obvious in the way you touch him, like you're afraid of hurting him, as if you were the one with a body count between the two. Every so often, your movements come to a halt and you both sit in silence, until you return to your ministrations, filling the nothingness with your sighing and humming.

All he needs is to look up, right at your face, to know everything he wants to know - but he's too much of a coward for that. Instead, light grey eyes follow your index finger as it slides under the cuffs of his shirt. You trace over the bone of his wrist and continue upwards.

He can't tear his eyes away.

Normally, Forget Me Not wouldn't mind. There is an addictive thrill to witnessing the shock of anyone who dares get so close and personal, but he feels himself shrink when you brush against his scales and recoil away on instinct. That's when he raises his head and finds your eyes in the dimly lit staff room.

That expression on your face - surely, you were regretting every choice that led you to him. By now, you might've surely realized that there is nothing for you to salvage in this shipwreck he calls a life. All attempts to check on him were surely a façade for whatever ulterior motives you continued to withhold from him. He's stubborn, believing that he can read you like an open book, but now he's just as lost as you are. When he opens his mouth to speak, you beat him to it and he grows a little restless at your words.

"Sorry, sorry! Did I, uh, hurt you? Dumb question, you would've definitely told me if that were the case. Anyway, it looks like you're okay! I don't know why I was so worried, actually."

His silence prompts you to continue, and all Forget Me Not can focus on is the absence of your warmth.

You raise a hand to gesture dismissively at your behaviour, brush it off to ease your embarrassment, that much he understands - though it's painful to watch you fumble like that, to deny what he hides under his clothes. Forget Me Not thinks of filling the space between your fingers with his own, just to drag you back to that quiet, albeit suffocating, moment of peace. Instead of doing that, he retreats and places both hands neatly on his lap.

"Thanks for indulging me and, yeah uh, again - sorry about that? It just caught me off guard. I should've been more careful."

But you were never careful with his space or his rules, plunging in and out of his life and leaving him to figure out where he stood in his game of push and pull. Why were you being careful now?

"It's nothing, I understand," he lies. Everything you do means the world to him and he doesn't even understand why. "It cannot hurt to know what sort of things the person pouring your drinks might be hiding under their sleeves."

The word "hypocrite" lingers at the tip of his tongue, threatening to spill out with as much venom as he can muster, but it stays lodged behind his teeth because he knows he's even worse: Forget Me Not prays that you'll stay with him, while also opening the door right out his life for you. As much as he wants to, he has no right of calling you out.

He's not used to receiving apologies and so he chooses not to think too hard on yours - though he's dreamed countless of times for the perfect situation in which he finally rips out one apology after another from the throats of those who wronged him, this one feels different. Undeserved, even.

His heart, that wretched lump in his chest, finally settles down and he prepares to end this interaction to save you the awkwardness of addressing his "deformities". But then you go and surprise him once more.

"Come on, I already told you..." You sigh and he inhales in tandem, but you're much too busy rolling your eyes to notice. "That whole thing you do, when you start scratching or, like, picking at your hand? You've been doing it more lately. It had me worried you might've been doing, I don't know - something."

Forget Me Not's eyes widen in surprise. The audacity to notice such things about him? And to put them on display without a warning? What else did you find out?

Part of him wants him to embrace his nature and scare you away, but that's the side of him that's been slowly losing this battle of attrition in his heart - you're a bad influence for him, after all. The other part... Well, it's still trying to sort itself out.

He settles for slowly undoing the buttons on his sleeve. It only takes a moment to roll up the fine fabric to his elbow, knowing you're staring right at him, through him maybe. The expression on his face is one of indifference, one he fights to maintain - this is the most vulnerable he's felt in decades.

That unsightly pattern begins exactly where his sleeves usually end, coiling around his forearm not unlike a snake and traveling upwards. The scales are dark, an iridescent black that reminds him of an oil spill in the middle of the ocean, and the ones at the edges fade away into lighter hues until they mix with the pale, sickly tone of his skin. He knows the sort of beauty he holds, one that can only be admired at a distance, turning into a grotesque imitation of a man when up close.

Forget Me Not presents himself to you and, with his free hand, gets ready to pluck one of the scales off.

"Wait, don't do that-!"

Seizing his arm and holding it close to your chest, you deprive him of the catharsis that comes with this level of self-mutilation. He knows you're connecting the dots, feeling the scattered, empty spaces from all the times you saw him pick himself apart and more. Your fingers brush against his bare skin looking for said spaces, counting them in your head, mourning their loss.

Some scales are in the process of regrowing like unwanted parasites, and he wishes he could feel anything at all just to be closer to you.

"God, what is wrong with you?! What was the point of that?"

Something compels him to laugh (perhaps it's your heartbeat reaching out to him loud and clear through your clothes, he feels it faintly) it comes across as sinister and condescending, the only way he knows how to express joy. Like he's making fun of your concern.

"Apologies," Forget Me Not begins to say, readjusting his glasses. The way you try to keep his own arm out of his reach doesn't go unnoticed. It's such a petty, childish gesture that makes his grin widen and your frown deepen. "I was under the impression you found this little oddity distasteful. There's no need to worry - they will return in a few days, they always do."

"Still, don't do that. It's not funny. It must...hurt a lot."

"Ah, but it doesn't. If else, I'd compare it to being pricked by a very small needle."

"You're just going to find something to nitpick and contradict everything I say, aren't you?" It's the least he can do to repay all the headaches you've given him, and for forgiving his transgressions too easily.

An intrusive thought makes itself known from the depths of his mind - would you forgive him just as readily if he were to kill someone in front of you? If he showed you just how destructive his arcane skills could be when given free reign? Where would you draw the line? And how much could he continue to push his luck before he lost you?

Before Forget Me Not realizes it, you've loosened your grip on his arm and returned to that previous moment of suffocating peace - the only difference is that you've gone from being deep in thought to troubled and miserable, one hair away from darting out the room and refusing to speak to him. At this, his pinky finger wraps around yours and neither of you mention it.

"Can't you... I don't know, do something else?"

"I could be doing my job, but alas, you're keeping me prisoner here." He says, like he's not delighted to be given your undivided attention. There are no complaints when you step on his foot with a huff, he deserved that one.

"I'm talking about the scales thing! You could wear gloves. If it happens when you get distracted then, I could hang around to make sure you stop in time." A pause, and then the sound of your voice becomes unsure and so very small. "Maybe if we covered them with bandages...? But that could be annoying. Band aids? No, no - too unprofessional. It would ruin the whole aesthetic you're going for."

You continue to trail off, coming up with many different ideas and solutions to a problem he caused. He doesn't understand why you'd even bother in the first place. For you to reciprocate the attention he gives you, to care about him? That's the hardest pill Forget Me Not has ever swallowed - it's something he twirls around with his tongue, as if deciding whether to poison himself with bliss or spit it out and continue latching on to his doubts and insecurities.

Outside, in front of everyone at The Walden, he's the one leading the crowd and talking for hours on end, commanding their attention and manipulating the flow of every conversation.

Behind closed doors, all he does is listen to every nonsensical thought, unnecessary opinion and strange anecdote you throw at him.

"...No, that won't work either." Absentmindedly, you fix and button his sleeve back into place.

You've grown used to his silence the same way you've adapted and grown used to his flaws.

"I mean, it worked on me - getting a little slap on the wrist whenever I started biting my nails, but..." Without even thinking, you rub circles with your thumb across his knuckles.

You might as well be the stupidest angel in heaven.

"Why don't you just get a hobby? That's good enough, right? It's been so long since I've heard you play piano, the one by the stage." And just like that, you're on your feet attempting to drag him outside for a demonstration. "You could teach me! That way, we get to do something fun and I get to keep an eye on you."

Forget Me Not knows he has nothing to offer to this world, but when his saint looks at him with such hope, he cannot refuse. The path to recovery seems almost doable when you bump your shoulder into his, challenging him to play the hardest song he knows.

The stars in your eyes whenever you recognize all the songs he plays becomes intoxicating, more so than the sweet, sweet revenge he's yearned for since he spiraled into decadence.

Some days, his patrons join with their own singing or humming, and he forgets that he hates each and every one of them for as long as his fingers dance across the keys - a momentary reprieve from the constant stream of negativity. It doesn't take long for his body to remember his training and soon, he's improvising.

A melody for gloomy, rainy days. A whimsical tune here and there for celebrations.

A song for you and himself - the first one he teaches you and the only one he plays in private, when he's all alone with nothing but his thoughts. Solitude has gone from a noose wrapped around his neck to the perfect time to compose and hone this long forgotten passion. For the first time in forever, he doesn't dread the silence of an empty room, the endless wait between his shifts at The Walden - not when he can simply fill them with more and more music.

And so, Forget Me Not plays, hoping that you'll continue to cheer him on. Hoping that this tiny spark you've ignited in him can truly become his salvation.

#reverse 1999 #reverse: 1999 #r1999 #reverse 1999 x reader #reverse 1999 fanfic #reverse 1999 forget me not #forget me not #outing myself as a huge fuckin religion/devotion as a metaphor for relationships freak #and as a hand freak as well. love it when the smallest acts of intimacy are the BIGGEST FUCKING DEALS for characters who are touchstarved #i love writing reader inserts from the pov of the character instead of the reader like #what goes in their head and shit??? THE INNER MONOLOGUES AND DRAMA ?????#FORGET ME NOT'S WHOLE ACT IS A COVER FOR THE FUCKING MESS HE IS WHEN YOU LOOK AT HIMMMMM!!!!!!!#soggiest wettest most pathetic man at manus vindictae #i hope i got his whole fuckin two faced and contradicting mentality across. mf is not having a good time healing but my GOD hes. trying #he hates you but he loves you but god he hates you so much but yeah he'll still worship the ground you walk on #the title is a pun btw. scales. musical scales. his snake scales #IM VERY SMART

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girlgerard · 2 years

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gerard letting the crowd sing the main power belt during the climactic moment of famous last words while they sing the backing vocals. this is the best band in the world and we are so lucky

#this just rocketed to my top concert videos. the fucking intimacy of this #flw is the THESIS STATEMENT of mcr. and gerard is harmonizing with us as WE sing the main vocals #god #GOD!#vids #return era #fave

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ghosttotheparty · 1 year

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Take it, baby, it’s okay.

Eddie lets out a small whimper, his fingers tightening on Steve’s skin, and he presses his face into Steve’s neck.

Steve runs his fingers through his curls again, tugs at the roots and scratches at his scalp, closing his eyes and inhaling as Eddie’s hands slide across his scars. He plays with his hair for a while. Until the fire burns away, leaving glowing embers and the occasional soft snap.

“Have an idea,” Steve says softly, tilting his head so he’s murmuring right in Eddie’s ear, twisting the ends of his curls around his finger. “Can you wait here for a minute?”

Eddie sighs softly, nodding.

“I guess.”

Steve smiles, pressing a kiss to his temple before he gently detaches them and tugs the blanket tighter around Eddie. He kisses his forehead.

Upstairs, he flicks on lights to find his parents’ room, his eyes skimming past their untouched bed and furniture to their bathroom. They have the best bathtub, wide and deep and surrounded by pale pink tiles. Steve sits on the edge of it while he holds his hand under the running water. When it’s hot enough he plugs the bath and finds a towel.

“Hey,” he says softly when he gets back to the living room. Eddie’s eyes flutter open and he looks up as as Steve kneels in front of him, gazing up at him. “Come with me.”

“Okay.”

He stumbles slightly when he stands, clutching Steve’s hand, his other hand holding the blanket tightly as Steve leads him to the bathroom.

“I thought— I thought it would help you warm up.

Eddie drops the blanket wordlessly, squeezing his hand, and Steve exhales, smiling at him.

“You want help?”

Eddie nods. Steve smiles brighter, stepping in front of him and gently, tenderly, pulling the hem of his hoodie up, but it comes up with the sweaters, and they get tangled as Steve tries to pull them off. He can hear Eddie’s muffled giggling under the layers of fabric, and he laughs, carefully untangling him. When he appears, his nose is scrunched and his eyes are squeezed shut, his hair messy.

“There you are,” Steve says softly, tossing the clothes onto the counter. “Alright?”

“Cold.” He shivers. Steve rubs his arms before he reaches for the drawstring of his sweatpants. Eddie’s hands find Steve’s shoulders as he pushes them down with his boxers, as Eddie toes his socks off. Steve holds his hand to help him step into the water, and Eddie lets out a soft groan that Steve can feel under his skin. He kneels by the tub, running a hand through Eddie’s hair again.

“Feel good?”

“Christ. Yeah.” Eddie’s eyes are glassy.

“I’m gonna put your clothes in the dryer,” Steve says softly, his fingers gracing Eddie’s cheek. He has a scar there, rough and mangled from the teeth of demobats. “So it’s all nice and warm for you.”

“Come back,” Eddie whispers, tilting his head.

“Always.”

It takes him a moment in the laundry room to pull apart the sweaters and hoodie, the fabric stuck with static, but as soon as the dryer is running, he’s headed back to Eddie, who’s leaned against the back of the tub and slid down until his chin is in the water.

“Hey,” Steve says, kneeling by the tub and touching his face again. “How do you feel?”

“I’d feel better if you were in here with me,” Eddie says quietly.

Steve blinks, raising his eyebrows, his hand pausing on Eddie’s cheek.

“Are you sure?”

“Please, Steve,” Eddie breathes. “Need you closer.”

Steve pauses for a moment, his chest aching, before he says a soft Okay and stands, tugging his shirt off. Eddie’s eyes trail over his chest. Over the scars that cover his sides, his upper arms, his neck. Steve doesn’t even want to hide.

When he’s naked he steps into the bath, the water sloshing in the silent room, distorting their bodies. Eddie reaches out to him, his hand sliding over his arm.

“Come here.”

Steve moves closer.

Their legs wrap around each other again, and Steve closes his eyes, sighing.

“I missed you so much,” Steve breathes.

“Yeah?” Eddie says quietly. Steve can hear his smile. “You cry for me, Harrington?”

“Only every night.”

Eddie is quiet, and Steve finally opens his eyes to find him staring. His eyes are shining like he might cry, his bottom lip caught between his teeth.

“I cried too.”

Steve nods, swallowing thickly.

“Can you touch me, please?” Eddie asks weakly, and Steve reaches out, sliding his hands over his arms, his shoulders, over his chest and waist and stomach and back. The water is warm, and Eddie’s eyes are closed, and he’s swaying with the way Steve’s hands are pushing him around gently, and he lets out a soft, broken noise that’s almost a moan.

“You feel so good,” Eddie says softly, his hands finding Steve’s legs under the water, sliding over his skin slowly.

“Yeah?” Steve breathes, sliding a hand to the front of Eddie’s neck, his palm to his throat. Eddie hums, whimpering, his expression shifting into an almost-frown, like he’s going to cry.

“Steve,” he chokes. “Say it again.”

Steve squeezes his throat gently, watching Eddie’s lips part as he gasps. He leans closer, until their noses are almost brushing.

“Baby,” he breathes. He smiles when Eddie’s lip trembles and his cheeks flush pink. “Is that what you want?” he whispers. Eddie’s breaths are echoing around the room with the quiet slosh of the water as Eddie’s hands slide up Steve’s sides, over his scars. “You wanna be my baby?”

Eddie nods, his lip trembling again.

“I want that too,” Steve whispers. “Want you to be mine.”

Eddie takes a soft gasping breath, and a tear escapes his eye as he nods again. Steve smiles, wiping it away, but he just makes his cheek more wet with the bath water.

“Yes,” Eddie says softly, crying. “Yes, please.”

Steve kisses him.

It’s a short kiss, hard and lingering, and Steve’s fingers tighten on his neck. Eddie gasps when they part, his eyes opening, glassy and tear-filled, and Steve smiles at him, nodding. Eddie stares for a moment, his lips spreading into a slow smile, and he lets out a tearful laugh.

“Holy shit.”

“Yeah,” Steve agrees, laughing softly. “Holy shit.”

#me? writing sub eddie?#what a world #anyway this was not supposed to happen but i suddenly needed to write intimacy and physical contact god bless #steddie #steddie ficlet #steve harrington #eddie munson #steve x eddie #you will find that water is becoming a recurring theme for them #as is like?? bathing???#how do isay that without it being weird #anyway there will (most likely) not be another part to this i rly need to work on my wips #love u guys

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taikanyohou · 1 year

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