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bowieandqueen11 · 1 year

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Sanji With A Clingy Reader Would Include...

Request: OH BABY telling about one piece is like unlocking a whole second heart of mine i have fully for that anime and manga and live action. and so, if you ever decided of course, you writing something similar to something you did on marvel once and sanji with reader that has no personal space and is touchy would be amazing. but also... kissing zoro is great to, if you ever decided? anyway! HOPE YOU LOVE IT (one piece i mean), and if not ignore me UwU

Ooh yess babes this is so SWEET!! :3 I LOVED IT omg hello to my latest obsession not me ordering the first collection of the manga

This was really sweet and fun to do, but I did stay up all night writing it so all comments are much appreciated!

Warning: slightly spicy, some mentions of fighting!

(I do not own One Piece or its characters, all rights go to creators. Gif credit goes to @fanpageknight.)

☆.。.:・°☆.。.:・°

Look at this man. Seriously, look at this man with his little bottom lip bite and eyes like the sun shines heavily out of them and tell me he would be anything less than absolutely madly, heart wrenchingly, soul crushingly enthralled with a clingy reader??? That's right you can't take the l on this one.

It all started that day when the three of you ended up shipwrecked on that sad sack excuse of a rock. When you and Sanji huddled on one side of the forsaken isle to stay away from the terrifying Pirate Zeff. His hands had shaken as he drew them up to his chest, but he mustered the nerves to string open the sack Zeff had thrown at his feet. Once he had counted out the cans, he offered all the food to you.

He wanted you to stay alive far more than himself. Ever since you had landed on his ship he had been smitten, and his weary heart would beat its last under this smothering sun as long as you would live on for the both of them.

To keep him calm: to stop his gasping, tortured heaves as he tried his best not to writhe in panic at the thought of never stepping back on safe land again, you would spent most of those 85 days sitting over the cragged edges. Sanji couldn't tear his eyes away from peering down at the gushing shards of stone below that seemed to rip up in tides and tear for his swinging feet; to try and distract him from sniffling any longer, your hand would tentatively creep over the rock until it landed flatly, and unceremoniously on top of his own. His fingers flexed beneath your own, but he didn't pull away. Instead, he folded them upwards, giving your hand a shaking squeeze: a dutiful promise, a flitting confession of love, that you just happened not to feel in your ruminations of the circumstances.

In fact, he asked you that night, in an uncharacteristically quiet and bashful voice, if you would keep his nightmares away by holding him like his mother used to. You felt terrible: you were so stunned that for a moment you stood with the last piece of mouldy bread you had in your hand in shocked silence. Poor Sanji thought you were about to reject him outright: throw what little he had left of his heart - that he had so carefully lifted out and placed in his hands to offer to you, only to have it thrown back to his feet in the usual ridicule he got for his love. His bottom lip began to tremble, until you nearly knocked him onto his bottom with how fast you dropped everything and flew over to lock him in a tight hug, not minding the fact that your shoulder was growing wetter and wetter despite the brewing rain each time Sanji buried his snivelling head against it.

So you would let him rest safely in the bracket of your arms: his left cheek resting in the warm stretch between your collar bone and your neck, his right hand draped leisurely around your waist as you told him stories of pirates and treasure: of the Deep Blue and tropical fish that shone like bursts of fragmented starlight every time their fins graced the water. Although he would groan any time you removed your hand from where you were stroking the wet strands of his hair back from his forehead, it was quickly replaced with wonderment as you would point up at a cluster of stars and whisper excitedly: 'look, there's some now!'

He had never been afraid of nights ever since that moment, not when the stars were still out and he could trace with the butt of his cigarettes the fish you had drawn specially for him in the skies. It was like a secret message: a lover's reminder that he was never alone. That you were always with him. That your beauty - your light, it shone everywhere, no matter where he was.

It was the first time he had kissed you, two forgotten children lost underneath the dripping crevice of your little hideaway. As your belly began to rise and fall underneath his elbow, and he believed you had exhausted yourself out after trying to make him feel better, he dared to dart up from your shoulder and press his lips firmly against your cheek. It had been quick, almost gliding past time like a dolphin leaping up out of the water, but it had meant so much to him that he curled up into a ball in your side and flushed a bright cerise, having to shove his fist into his mouth to stop his manic giggling from waking you up.

But you weren't asleep, and as Sanji settled back into your neck with a smile bright enough to rival the shine of buttercup petals, you swore as he began to drift off in the first peaceful dream he had had in years that one day you would return the favour, but in full.

The two of you were thick as thieves growing up, to the point where Zeff became so distracted by your antics that he often tried to separate the two of you by making you work the floor and Sanji either in the kitchens, or off fishing at the docks. Ten seconds later though, he'd be kicking through the kitchen doors again to find you leaning on the kitchen counter next to an eager faced Sanji, whose to busy to register Zeff's shouting. Instead he places the spoon to your lips, having spent half of lunch service prep cooking you a brand new recipe he had spent the whole night creating out of a medley of your favourite foods. He subconsciously licks his bottom lip, the tension in the room felt by the other chefs who try to carry on washing pans and cutting vegetables enough to put everyone on edge as Sanji refused to look anywhere but your lips. Holding his hand under your chin, his dipped eyes were broken by a sudden grin as a loud 'mmhhh' left your mouth and you chewed in sweet bliss.

Still ignoring Zeff's increasingly erratic rant, as Sanji goes to start cleaning up his pan you slide down to stand behind him, wrapping your arms tightly around your back and jutting your chin into his shoulder blade like a baby koala. You can tell he's laughing silently by the way his shoulders shake against you, but all he does is pull up your hand from his belly button to press sweet, dainty kisses up and down the lengths of your fingers, before dropping it down to press your palm flatly against his heart.

'I think that might be your greatest dish yet, buttercup!'

'From you, that means everything my precious heart.'

'Why do you call me that?', you murmur, refusing to lift your lips from his shirt.

'Well my sweet love, why do you call me buttercup? I mean, I always know I smell of butter and the likes-'.

He's distracted by your snort against the side of his neck, but the two of you are too love-strikingly embarrassed to say anything again. Even if neither of you could see the warm peach rushing up both your cheeks, Zeff could. He could also hear the padding thuds of Sanji's heart as he gripped his fingers that almost imperceptibly bit tighter around your hand, and he found himself sighing at how oblivious you two idiots were.

Sanji is definitely just as clingy as you, if not more so. You've definitely met your match in this man. I mean, any time you're out on the floor, handing out bread to tables and scanning the room to check if there were any patrons you may have to throw out by the scuff of their collars later, his eyes are trained on yours. He leans against the banisters, not even trying to remotely hide how obviously he's tracing your path with a dumbstruck, lit up smile. If you're in the kitchens, desperately trying to bite your tongue and not tear Zeff a new one as he chops his hands together and rushes you to plate up? He's sliding up to your side in an instant, throwing scathing looks at the man while trying to help you spoon thyme onto your bass, nuzzling the side of his head into yours encouragingly. If you have any free time at all? Sanji is fast on your heels, darting after you like someone's firing shots at his dress shoes, as if you have his heart tied to a string on your wrist as he seeks out whatever nook you're going to relax in. It doesn't matter if you're at the bar, watching the docks, or trying to hide from Zeff in one of the cupboards in the pantry: Sanji is squatting down and grunting as he shoves himself in right next to you. He sits criss cross, only satisfied when at least one of his knees is resting heavily over yours, and he has full access to watch what you're reading over the side of your neck.

He only fully settles, though, if you touch him in some way. He genuinely will begin mewling once your hand reaches over to brush your knuckles over his jawline, or your hand finds itself guided to bunch itself up in his hair. One time, he guided your hand into his lap, and you began to absentmindedly stroke your pointer finger along the seam of his inner thigh. Thank goodness you had your head buried in a book one of the pirate crews had come to swap some dried meats with you for, because it took every muscle in Sanji's body twitching: every finger clenching and unclenching into his knee until he drew blood not to knock you flat right there and then and kiss you like there was no tomorrow.

He gets a MASSIVE nosebleed - so gushing, in fact, that he tries to reassure you he's fine as you hold him by the elbows and lead his tilted back head and pinched nose down to Zeff for some help.

It becomes a very major recurring issue every time he looks at you. He makes sure to carry a handkerchief in his breast pocket from then on.

God, if he didn't love you more than anything in all the seas. If you weren't the only one that he let see past his charming nature: if you weren't the only person left in his life that truly could recognise the young boy left in his eyes, in his gait, in his smile, in his dreams. That little kid on that great big ship, the one who had found you stowed away behind one of the barrels of rum, and instead of calling for the crew had taken your trembling hand and led you into the kitchens, introducing you as his newest sous chef. That same kid, who stood beside you and held your hand so gently, so heartbreakingly gently under his as he guided you through lessons of chopping onions and sautéing garlic, breaking out into long strings of rushed, praising French every time you got it right. The same one, who would frown as if he were the one who had been hurt any time you burnt your hands or sliced your fingers. Who would unravel the knot at the back of his apron, and tug it over his head to carefully place it over yours.

'This always brings me luck', he would say as his fingers daintily tucked the strings underneath your shirt collar. 'But I don't need it anymore, because you've brought me all the luck and happiness a man could ever dream of, my cherie.'

The same kid who would tip toe out of his bed to sneak down to your hammock, crawling in and burying himself underneath your blankets where you slept in the brig, telling you fantastical stories about his mother until you fell sound asleep. He would watch you from where he lay on his side, hands folded by your head, as if you had hung every star in the wide skies. He would brush his fingers over the edge of your cheek and curl up beside you, wishing that every minute of every day of the rest of his life could be spent with you.

Yeah, smitten wasn't enough to cover it. Only destiny could be raw enough to draw the two of you to each other, Sanji always thought.

As teenagers, you would end every shift outside, sitting on the wonky boards of one of the jutted docks. Just sitting side by side, as you always wanted to be, pretending you weren't playing a game of chicken as the two of you teased and pressed and glanced your fingers over each other's, leaning back and looking up at the stars. Sanji always appreciated the better chance it gave him: shrouded in naught by wisps of moonlight and the rare flashing neon of ship string lights, to take you in as much as he could. You didn't mind the fact that he spent the whole time staring over at you. In fact, if you hadn't been so lovestruck, you might have found the courage to tear your head away from the horizon to meet the look of gut-wrenching devotion that always seemed to pour out of his eyes and beam only on you. It always felt like warm sunlight, sitting next to him, and so you finally dared a chance at grabbing his fingers and intertwining them between your own, pretending it was because of the sea chill spraying a fine mist over your legs.

Again, the squeeze he gave your hand was almost, almost imperceptible, but you felt it this time. And you could feel the look of enduring devotion he pierced into your skin, a warm tingle washing like a spring tide through your tired body.

He always knew. He always knew that if he had stayed on that rock, he would have been content to. Happy, even. Because he would have been with you.

'I love you', he said without words. He gave your hand another squeeze. 'I'm going to love you forever. No matter how many lifetimes. No matter who I am. I'm always going to find you, and I'm always going to love you.'

His voice nearly made you jump, surprising you at how it started with his usual buttery smoothness, before cracking with a thick gulp as his words trailed of. 'Never leave without me.'

'I promise, as long as you don't leave without me.'

He shakes his head. 'You never leave me. Not even for a moment.'

Sometimes, when the two of you are older, he still comes stealing into your room at night, wiping his nose with the back of his hand as his lips wobble into a frightened frown. Turns out, as he draws the covers back and comes reaching in for you, he had another nightmare that pirates had come to steal you away from him again. With an aching sigh for how stricken he looked, how desolate, you let him claw at your shirt and bury his head into the side of your neck until the rest of the world melted away.

He kissed you again, that night. When the feel of his legs strewn familiarly between your own began to burn against his skin, and the weight of hand perched over his thrumming heart became too heavy to bear in secret. With nothing but the light streaming like shards of pearly stars through the porthole to betray a moment so special, so longed for, Sanji let his eyelashes flutter close as he slowly... slowly pressed his lips against your cheek again.

This time, his eyes widened in shock as the feeling of your hand gripping at his jaw and turning his face straight on to your own. Before he can even open his mouth in confusion, the sweet pressure of your lips pressed against his top one. For a moment, Sanji doesn't move an inch: doesn't even breath, not even processing that the thing he’s spent every moment of his waking and sleeping life wishing for ever since he found you on that boat was actually happening, right here right now. He tries really hard to stop his whole body from shaking, as his silky lashes finally falter shut against the top of your cheeks and he tries to focus his whole attention on the way your plush lip seems to press so perfectly against his own.

When he finally pulls away, he lets out a loud 'OW' as he pinches his arm.

'What did you do that for!?'

'I had to double check this wasn't a dream, my sweets!'

And then he's on you again, like a ravished man gasping for air. God, he wasn't sure if soulmates were real, but when your top lip pulled down against his, and he could feel the thud of your heart synch against his own beneath the tips of his fingers, if he didn't know that he was yours.

He stays in your room a lot more often after that, using it as an excuse for you to help him button up his shirt during sleepy mornings, smiling at the feel of your fingers as they knocked against the muscles of his chest. It was also his favourite part of the day - the good morning kiss the two of you shared before you raced down to be at your shifts before Zeff decided to knock your heads together.

One time you forgot to give him one, too distracted by one of the sous chefs busting into your room with a bloodied nose and a chipped front tooth, whistling through the gap as he begged you to come down to the main foyer and help him break out a fist fight that had started between two gangs of rival pirates. The pout on Sanji's face that day was enough to make even the most bounty-heavy pirate's knees tremble. Every other chef steered way clear of his station, watching the arch of his back and the jaw in his muscle jump as he busied himself by frying his steak of tuna, so gutted at the loss of just one kiss. Not angry, no: just grief stricken, because this man seriously just adores you that much.

When you finally get your lunch break, the first thing you do is throw your napkin down on the kitchen ground and grab Sanji by his suit collar, enjoying the surprise tilt of his head as he drops his spoon onto his serving tray and allows you to lead his feet backwards to the fire exit. As soon as he's outside, you slam him gently against the wooden beams of the Baratie restaurant, and kissed him silly to make up for it. His look of trusting confusion suddenly melt into jumping heart eyes when your knee slides up between his thighs to try and pin him in place. His breathing comes out in harsh, shallow gasps between ferocious kisses, and you have to press him back against the wall every time he comes arching forward to follow your head for even more kisses. No, this was about you making him feel good. And by goodness, as your tongue pressed against the seam of his lips and tentatively ran over his front teeth, if he wasn't two seconds away from falling to his knees right there and then.

When you let him go, he slides down the wall like putty until he's sitting with legs stretched out and both his suit and hair a ruffled mess. He's literally never been more deliriously happy in his whole life.

Your favourite time of the day is when the restaurant closes, and the two of you finally have the kitchens to yourselves. Once you've tossed your aprons back onto the rack with a tired sigh, the only thing that can cheer you up is the sound of Sanji kicking his chair back with the toe of his shoe, and the sight of him beckoning you over to him with that tilted head and pearly beam of his. Mmh, how safe you feel, how loved as you collapse down to sit on his knees, and he tucks you in between the brackets of his arms in a vice so tight it could match any Marine knot.

You take one of his hands off the pen he was holding, turning his palm round to face you so you could fiddle with the rings he was wearing. You draw one up, curling his finger before your eyes, before slotting one off and sliding it onto your own ring finger. It was the one his father had given him: one he so loathed to wear, and yet felt guilt bore down too heavily on his conscious to ever take it off. You turned the one on top of it, one you know Zeff had given him after his first day working at the Baratie, and you smiled at the memory.

'You know', you start, still fiddling with his hand, feeling him shift his thighs as you pressed a gentle kiss on the pointer finger you were currently grasping onto. 'I may just have to keep this one.'

'Oh yeah?', he says dreamily, and you could feel his grin growing as he hid his burning face in the nape of your neck. 'Don't worry sweetheart. One day, once I find the perfect one, I'll give you a ring of your own.'

The two of you sneak out and share cigarettes out the back door a lot, where Sanji steps forward and kisses you like a man possessed every time you pinch the stub from out of his mouth and draw it along your bottom lip teasingly. When you try to get him to go back in, he just wraps his arms around your waist and lifts you up, spinning you around to stop you from leaving him alone. Laughing, you try to shove him off, swatting at the hands that form a tight clasp over your belly button, until his large fingers finally slide down to hold your waist. You glance behind you, smirking at the way his eyes are tightly shut in euphoria as ducks down, chest nearly enveloping in his desperation to reach your face again. His kisses become sloppier: smoke stained as they leave wet trails up your jaw, before he finally gives in and tries to make you laugh one last time by nibbling at the lobe of your ear.

Whenever he has a fight with Zeff, you have to hold him afterwards. The feel of your fingers curling the hair at the nape of his neck, or rubbing soothing circles into the sore muscles of his shoulders stops the furious darts of air from flaring his nostrils almost immediately.

Man has blaring heart eyes 100% whenever he's in a fight with rowdy customers, and you get to kick the flashy knife out of the last one's hand before the pirate could launch straight for Sanji's neck. He tilts his head at you with those amazed eyes, a gentle smile growing almost shyly on his face like a secret wink, before he throws his now empty plate at the pirate trying to sneak up behind your back. The crash echoes out through the booth area, a cry so furious: so full of rage that anyone would try and dare hurt you, that it makes all the remaining pirate crews crawl out towards the door on their hands and knees.

Stitching each other up afterwards is a motherfcking mess though, that Zeff straight up just abandons all hope of being able to use his kitchen. With a defeated rub of his pounding temples, he lets the door slam shut on his heel because he just can't deal with the two of you. He'd much rather pick up a brush and start sweeping bits of crushed and splattered asparagus off the floors than have to watch you to battle it out in a stiff competition of who could be more sickeningly, maddingly in love with the other. Between you standing between Sanji's entrapping thighs, closing you in tighter so you could have full access to kiss his bobbing Adam's apple as you use a rag to swipe bits of dry sauce off his neck, and him throwing his head back and whimpering, Zeff was going to go insane. Even worse, as soon as you're finished, Sanji's reaching between your fingers to lick split consomme off your nose.

The two of you are literally insufferable, and if every one apart from Zeff doesn't find it the cutest thing I-

When Luffy comes and wrangles Sanji into joining his crew, the chef's first thought is to be distraught. He seeks you out straight away, nearly breaking some poor fisherman's pole as he tries to hurdle over it and grip onto your shoulders, making you drop the barrel of dried meats you were carrying from Luffy onto the planks and watching Luffy nearly dangle off the edge of his ship to stop it from rolling into the ocean.

'Y/n- I- I can't go!'

'You're hardly scared!'

'I'm not scared of going, I'm terrified of going without you!'

You let him pour his heart out for a moment, before stopping his rambling, near sobbing mess of a sentence by bopping the tip of his nose. You giggle, swiping some hair from his forehead. 'Sanji, Luffy asked me to come first. I promised I wouldn't go without you, and I meant it.'

You manage to unlatch his twitching hand from your left shoulder, and give it an almost imperceptible squeeze. The tears that threatened to fall from his eyes finally cascade down, although he's so relieved that he's smiling through the blurriness. You swipe them away with your free thumb, finally, after all these years, feeling the squeeze of your hand that Sanji gives you back, before he envelops you in a breath taking hug.

'Awww, you guys are so sweet!', Luffy calls out from where he's hanging by his sandal off the railing of his ship. 'But could someone give me a hand before my hat falls into the waves? That would not be very cool.'

The first thing the two of you do once you're on The Going Merry is to find your bunk. Sanji isn't very subtle when he kicks your door shut with his heel, and comes scampering towards you like an upended sand crab, pinching for you until he's hefted you up over his shoulder and has unceremoniously landed you in your shared hammock. He's quick to jump in, straddling you as the hammock sways back and forth with the commotion.

He nearly starts crying again when he sees a flash of silver poke out from underneath your neckline; he grazes his hand over the chain, recognising it as his father's ring you had taken months ago. The one he had hated so much. The one you had tried to save him from. A small piece of him. A weight you tried to bear for him. A reminder of how much he was loved.

A confused Zoro, not realising there are new crew members on board, follows the sound of Sanji's voice crooning out how much he adores you, and how he loves you more than every star in the sky, down past the window on your bedroom door. Let's just say, he's not very impressed when he catches sight of the hammock swinging wildly from side to side, and an array of clothes thrown out and discarded in a mess around it.

#one piece #sanji #one piece imagine #sanji imagine #sanji x reader #sanji headcanons #opla #monkey d luffy #zoro #vinsmoke sanji #vinsmoke sanji imagine #vinsmoke sanji x reader #vinsmoke sanji headcanons

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webslingingslasher · 1 year

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omg i need to see “mutual friends alerting the other about something they definitely deserve to know” and “anxiously waiting for them to come home so that they could give them a piece of their mind” please!! i love your angst it’s soul crushingly delicious 🫶

whew i got carried away, but this is a fave out the gate

It started as a dare, a shitty, drunken, jokeable dare.

“I dare you….” Flash hiccups then burps in his hand, he chuckles and throws it at MJ who gags, “I dare you… Y/N…. to kiss Parker.”

You made eye contact with Peter, it was a dumb dare, you were new to the group of friends, but even you could play into the game. You shrug like, ‘what’s the big deal?’ Peter acts the same, he’s not in highschool anymore, he wasn’t scared to kiss girls.

“Okay, let’s go Peter.” You stand to wave him over to the closet, Flash stops you with a buzz sound. “Nope, right here where we can all see.” You look at him oddly, “that’s weird but okay.”

You and Peter are friends, he’s cute sure but you weren’t hungry for his attention, you just thought he was kind and funny, and quiet, but somehow full of charm so when he spoke you made sure to listen. But it’s not like you had a crush on him or anything.

Peter stood in front of you, you stepped closer and pulled his neck towards you.

“Pucker up, parker.”

And… holy shit.

The kiss was like fireworks, a feeling like you’ve never had before. It made your entire body buzz like when you whack your funny bone against a doorframe. Neither of you could pull away, both experiencing what true blissfulness was made of, forgetting the dare you lost yourself into Peter.

Until the group laughs, it makes you feel like this was a set up.

“Not bad, Parker.” You’re breathless.

“Not so bad yourself,” he is too.

You shrug, “a dares a dare, right?”

“Anything to please the peanut gallery,” Flash chugs his cup while Ned counts down.

Something in both your eyes told each other it wouldn’t be the last time.

Safe to say, it was no one's question how you’ve found yourself in Peter Parker’s bed for the hundredth time.

Friends with benefits sucks, give someone the girlfriend benefits, she’ll think she’s the girlfriend. It really, really hurt to find out you weren’t, no matter how aware you were the reality check hit you hard.

“Uh, I don’t…. Look, you and Peter are hooking up right?”

You could deny it, but that would be dumb. The friend group knows it, you both won’t confirm or deny, but when you hook up with someone who’s roommate is in the friend group, people are gonna know.

“Something like that.”

MJ sniffed, “but, you’re not serious right, like you’re not secretly dating or anything?”

You don’t like that she’s asking questions, MJ was one of those ‘the less I know the better’ people, so her asking gave you an edge, there was a reason for the interrogation.

You narrow your eyes, did Peter put her up to this? Does he want to know if you want more, or maybe he’s trying to see if you caught feelings.

“Who’s asking, did Peter put you up to this?”

MJ looks sad when you say that, a small frown pulls at the corner of her lip. “No, nothing like that. I just want to make sure you guys aren’t a thing.”

Why was she acting so odd, this was an one eighty from her normal self.

“What’s with the interrogation, trying to get a job with the FB-”

“Peter’s hooking up with another girl.”

MJ’s voice was rushed, like she had to say it right then or it would be taken to the grave. She gasps for air, like the admission choked her. Your ears ring, head feels hot and fuzzy, your chest clenches, you think you’re going to puke.

MJ repeats your name, you can’t stop reciting her words.

She snaps, you blink. “Oh.”

It shouldn’t hurt like this. It was friendly, it was not supposed to be serious. But then the line between friends with benefits and dating started to blur more and more and suddenly you were only reminded you weren’t dating when you were around your friends. But there was trust, it was supposed to be about trust, and part of that was not hooking up with anyone else. The rules were if either one started to hook up with other people it would stop, but he broke the rules.

You never took Peter Parker to be a rule breaker.

“I’m sorry. I wasn’t sure if it was serious between you guys but when I saw him kiss her I-”

You held up a hand, you didn’t want to hear the rest of it. It didn’t matter, he broke a promise, and so did you. No one was supposed to get hurt, and yet here you are ready to break down the second you’re able to get alone.

“Fuck.” you whisper the words, nothing else comes to mind. You just wanted to disappear, everything was numb and you wanted to go back in time three months ago and just take a shot instead of participating in Flash’s dumb dare.

“MJ, I’m sorry but I have to go, I think I have to break up with Peter.”

Her shoulders slump, “do you want a hug? She’s not even a fan of physical affection but you look desperate to be comforted, you wave her off, you tell her if she touches you you’ll cry. She apologizes, she hates that she had to be the one to tell you.

You tell her it’s fine. You say it enough to yourself you start to believe the lie, all you have to do is erase Peter from your place, then he can leave your mind. So, the moment you enter your own apartment, you pick up every piece of his and stow it in a box.

Clothes, games, books, a toothbrush, a watch, even his spare phone charger. Nothing of his was to stay, to solidify the importance of this decision, to prove that you were serious you stripped your sheets and made a trip to the laundry room before sending a text to Peter.

“Come pick up your shit.”

He answered with a question mark, you didn’t even give him the satisfaction of seeing a read receipt.

You felt ballsy, and you even had the fire in you for a minute. But the idea of seeing Peter any minute, and having to confront him, look in his baby brown eyes and pull the plug aches you. It hurt to know that if he had begged and asked for a do over there would be a large chunk of you that would dare say yes, anything to keep him.

But he broke the rules.

Without rules it’s only chaos and destruction, you didn’t need that with him.

You imagine how you’ll do it.

Throw the box at him, tell him it’s over and make him leave? No, you’ll have to see him again.

Tell him he’s a lying piece of shit that broke your heart? No, you’ll have to see him again.

Ask him why he’d do this with you knowing you’d catch feelings? No, you’ll have to see him again.

Yell at him? Curse his name, tell him he’s a monster, that he broke the most important rule? No, you’ll have to see him again.

Tell him you loved him, and you thought he did too?

No, you’ll have to see him again.

It all ends the same, you’ll have to see him again knowing what you had and what he did. Or, you just leave the friend group, it would suck not having friends but you could make new ones, ones you didn’t sleep with no matter how cute, or how good kissing them feels, no matter if they promise they won’t hurt you like the others did.

You washed down the imagery with a glass of wine, nothing felt right and you had no reason to be anxious. You pour another half glass, swig most down, then head to the building’s basement to put your sheets in the dryer.

Nothing feels as right as Peter, you hate that he’s making you do this.

You felt your stomach knot up when there was a knock on the door, you knew it was Peter. Your roommate was at her girlfriend’s and had a key, you only invited Peter over for the night, you wonder if it might be MJ but she would never show up unannounced.

He knocks again, you finish the second glass of wine.

Peter’s face lights up when you swing the door open, his eyebrows rise and so does his grin.

“Hi, baby.” He’s cheerful, dressed in gray sweatpants and a hoodie, his white and blue Nikes poked out the bottoms. He looked adorable and you hated it, you were supposed to hate him, not hug him.

You pointed at his box of things on the coffee table.

“I packed your shit up.”

Peter stepped through the door, looked at you then the box, then you, then the box. Finally, “why?”

“So it’s easier to carry out, silly.”

You wish your sheets were done, your hands need something to do, they’re starting to shake.

Peter shakes his head like he’s trying to wash the response from his head, “why would I need to carry my stuff out?”

This wasn’t a scenario you dreamed up, just being blunt.

“Because I’m breaking up with you.”

Peter’s face twitches, you raise a finger to continue.

“Correction, I’m ending things. To break up we’d have to date, you just fucked me.”

Talk about blindsided. Peter thinks he’s been shot, puts a hand on his chest and slumped in the chair next to the table with his things. He’s checking to see if his heart is still there, it feels like it dissipated the second the words left your lips.

His head falls into his hand, he rubs at his jaw.

“I…” He didn’t know where to go with that.

I thought we had something?

I thought this meant more than that?

I thought I loved you, and you did too?

Instead he sighs, he can’t make you change your mind.

“Okay. Um, okay. Sure.” He slaps his thighs then rubs at them, he doesn’t want to leave, it will feel real.

Finally he looks towards you, “why?” Peter’s voice cracked, he was distraught, if you weren’t so upset yourself you’d want to console him.

You round the corner, you look at his things tucked in the box. Small things, but held memory. The first shirt you slipped on after he came to yours, the toothbrush you made space for on your counter, a comic book he had read you, his wristwatch. It was bulky and digital, you found it on your desk while he was in the shower, you strapped it on but it still loosely dangled, you ran into the bathroom to rip the curtain back, you remember shoving your arm in his face.

“Look at me, I’m go go gadget.”

You didn’t realize you had it in your hand until the watch face blinked at you, that’s when you noticed you were crying.

You were supposed to be tough, he wasn’t supposed to see you cry. You were supposed to hold it together and show that you didn’t need him.

But you weren’t tough, and you were crying, and the one person who could make the hurt go away was the same one that caused it.

“You broke the rule,” your words wavered, you tried to say it strongly.

Peter’s mind is racing, what rule, what rule, what rule?

“MJ told me you hooked up with someone else.”

Confusion fell over his face, if you didn’t trust MJ as much as you did you might question if she made the whole thing up.

“No, I didn’t… I didn’t break the rule.” Peter’s head shakes slowly, he’s trying to piece together the information, he didn’t hook up with anyone else, he swears on it.

You sniffle and wipe at a stray tear, Peter looks at you sad, you know he wants to hold you tight.

“MJ said you were kissing someone else.”

He’s still searching in his mind, you can tell. The new information races through his memory, he’s searching for a kiss, then it clicks, he knows what MJ’s talking about.

“Oh!” He jumps up, he can save this.

“I know what she’s talking about. Yes, MJ is not lying, I did kiss another girl.”

Your face drops, it felt like a suckerpunch when he admitted it. Peter sees the hurt cross over your face, he reaches out for your arms but you shy away, he hates that you won't let him touch you.

“Peter, I don’t… this meant something to me, something really big, and I thought it did for you too.”

Peter doesn’t like how this is going, he can save this, he knows it.

“It did! It does! Just, hear me out, please?”

You don’t say anything but your glance at his face is taken for a go ahead.

“It was at the Bjorn party, I went with MJ and I swear it all makes sense cause she was giving me the stink eye the whole ride home and I had no idea why. But there was this girl there and I swear to you on everything I just walked by and she grabbed me.”

You scoff, “real believable, peter. Next you’re going to say you had no control over it and she threw herself on you?”

Peter winced, “kinda, but not really. She was quick with it, I did pull back but she pulled me back in and I could just see she was… I don’t know, terrified. She looked absolutely petrified and I just knew she needed someone she could trust and I gave her a second to explain. Her ex-boyfriend was at the party and he’d been stalking her and she couldn’t find her friends and she said she was with her new boyfriend but she didn’t have one and he’d been following her around to prove she didn’t have a boyfriend,”

He was just rambling and confusing you now, “where is this going, peter?”

Peter sighed, this time when he reached for your hand you let him grab it.

“She asked if I would kiss her to get her ex off her back, that’s it. MJ must’ve seen me at the right time, but I promise that was it.”

You looked him up and down, he seemed sincere.

“I didn’t even get her name, we didn’t make out either. It was just a peck that lasted like ten seconds, and I would’ve told you, I swear. If I had ever done anything with anyone at any point during this I would’ve told you, but I forgot about it. It was like a favor, and I just didn’t think about it like that.”

“How did you kiss her?”

Peter’s eyebrows turn in, “I just told-”

“No, show me.”

He looks surprised but he won’t ask questions, actually he will ask one.

“Do you want me to replay the exact scene or just the kiss?”

Your eyes sparkled, “if you’re offering a theatrical rendition I won’t say no.”

He looks behind him and pulls you over to the wall, he spins you so your back is against the wall.

“Okay, so I’m gonna walk past you and you need to pull me in by my shirt, got it?”

You bite back a laugh and nod, he returns a grin and jogs backwards. He gets into character and clears his throat, then begins to walk by. You do as he says and reach out, you pull the pocket of his hoodie and tug him into you, on instinct his hand hits the back of the wall and he looks shocked, he pulls himself away.

“Pull me back in, closer this time.” He spoke from the corner of his mouth, you follow instruction. His hips brush against yours, he tries to move away but you improv and hold him to you. “Now start rambling off about your creep ex boyfriend and you want me to kiss you.”

If he wants damsel in distress you’ll give it to him.

The back of your hand comes up to rest against your forehead as you swoon, “oh, mr handsome hero man, please help me, my ex boyfriend, you see, he’s been watching me and i’m all alone and scared and I need a big strong man to bravely kiss me so he’ll leave me alone, are you up to the task my knight in shining armor?”

Peter nods along with your words, “that’s exactly how it happened.”

“And being the man up to the task, I spun her like this,” he pulled at your hip so your right side was pushed against the wall, “so he could get a view, and I kissed her like this,” his hand came up to cup your jaw, but there was no softness. His thumb didn’t brush over your cheek like it normally did, he didn’t brush your hair back or look in your eyes and smile softly, like every moment before kissing you was just a lead up until he could. He just grabbed your face and pulled you in a little, mostly he was leaning to meet you, and placed his mouth against yours.

No flow or movement, just a holding kiss against your top lip. At the last second he pulled and gave you a little movement, nothing more than a few seconds. At max, a ten second kiss. And it lacked everything Peter normally gave you, it was disappointing to say the least. Frustrating and pathetic at most.

Peter could read on your face you absolutely hated that, he understands, it was a shit kiss. But it also wasn’t you he was kissing, so he gave nothing, and he’s showing you exactly how it happened.

“I pulled away first, by the way. And-”

“Peter, I’m gonna need you to kiss me for real, I need to wash that down with something good.”

He hummed, “sure thing, honey.” It was a real kiss, a Peter kiss, the one where he pulls you in delicately, he looks over your face and smiles, his thumb wiped under your eye catching a fallen eyelash. He captures your bottom lip, and breathes into you, you follow his mouth with each movement. He won’t pull away first, he’s already on thin ice, he thinks that for the next week absolutely anything you want will be granted.

When you broke off and his eyes opened you couldn’t help the blush that took over. There’s that love, you say to yourself. You need to hear the rest of the story.

“You may now continue the tale my noble knight,” you bow to him.

“It worked, when we turned around he was gone. She thanked me and then told me she hoped my girlfriend wouldn’t mind me helping her out.”

You raised an eyebrow and crossed your arms over your chest, a hip cocked out. “Girlfriend?”

Peter laughed, he held a hand over his chest. “I swear to god, she said the only way I would kiss her like that was because I had a girl, she said she could tell and that's why she could trust me. She said something about girl code and helping sisters out but I wasn’t a sister, so that part confused me.”

At last you reached out to hug him, “your girlfriend isn’t mad and she’s glad you helped a sister in need. She also will put your things back where they were.”

Peter’s arms wrap around you just as tight, “did you just become my girlfriend?”

You nod against his chest, your cheek squished against his chest, “yeah,” you dragged out.

Peter squeezed you, like he’s won a golden ticket he mumbles against the crown of your head, “sweet.”

You shove him back in panic, an alarm bell in your head.

“Oh shit! My sheets!”

#peter parker x reader #tasm! peter parker x reader #peter parker blurb #tasm!peter x reader #peter parker angst #peter parker fluff #tasm!peter parker fluff #my writing

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awkness · 2 months

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Some Ben headcanons (the character from serial killer! platonic! yandere older brother story) bc I'm procrastinating writing the final chapter <3

Content Warnings: talks of murder, animal death, child abuse, manipulation, isolation, kidnapping, emotional dependency, and general yandere behavior

He would never admit it, but he wants your approval badly. So much of his life revolves around you, and to have you upset with him makes him feel terrible. Like soul crushingly terrible. He would do anything to get you to not be mad/upset with him

But at the same time, the fact that you hold so much power over him absolutely scares him. He loves you and they way you can bring out the more human parts of him, but hates how vulnerable you can make him feel. The very thought of you getting hurt/leaving him/or just plain not paying enough attention to him is enough to make his skin crawl

He copes with this by taking an incredible amount of control over your life, often through the use of manipulation. Suffering from paranoia and early signs of agoraphobia? It's sad to see you upset, but if it keeps you in the house, then it wouldn't hurt for him to enable it. After all, you can't leave him if you're always home! You want to go into the basement? That's just silly, you'll only spook yourself, besides, you have no business down there anyway. Leave all of that stuff to him. You want to make a new friend? Well, he won't ever say no directly, he may even encourage it. He'll even be there to comfort you when they inevitably die leave, reminding you that friends will come and go, be family is forever.

He will use force to keep you with him if necessary, but only as a last resort. So much of his identity is based on his concept of being a good brother, which was shaped in his early years to contrast his father's behavior. To him, it means being supportive, unconditionally loving, dependable, in control of his temper, and above all, non-violent to those he loves. Doing anything that breaks these rules of how a good brother should behave would send him down a spiral of self doubt and hate as he wonders if he's truly any different from his father, or if he's doomed to end up like him, a lonely bitter man with all his family hating him. This will usually end with him flying into a rage, which he'll take out on whatever poor victim he can pick up off the street. By the time he's done killing, dismembering, and disposing of his latest victim, he's cooled off enough to address the problem in a more rational manner

He had a very stereotypical start to his serial killing. He was (and still is) an outcast who had a difficult time emotionally connecting to his peers because he simply couldn't relate to them. One day, he killed a stray animal and realized he felt absolutely nothing over its death specifically, but felt panic over if this act of violence meant he was like his father or not. So, he did everything he could to keep himself from harming/murdering another living being. But an obsession with death/murder began growing in the back of his mind, especially as he was forced to deal with his father's abuse constantly. One day, it all reached a boiling point, and he decided to kill his father, and it was such a thrill for him. He decided that it was so exciting, that he should kill another. And then another. Until it became a habit. Whenever he felt the urge, he would go out at night when reader is asleep and pick someone he thought no one would miss to kill

The reason he's so attached to reader is because he was pretty much forced to raise them. In the beginning he wasn't really thrilled, and a lot of the raising in your early years was actually done by your mom. But she was pretty emotionally negligent, and your dad was a shit show, so that left only Ben for you to seek out for love and comfort. He would never admit it now, but that used to annoy him so much as a kid. But he also knew it was more work to leave you alone as you would cry for him to come and hold you and play with you, so it was easier to play along

As time went by, he began to notice how happy you got when he walked into a room, how excited you sounded when you said his name. He could do just about anything and little you would be over the moon, taking about how amazing he is. You were the only person in years to hug him and say I love you. He increasingly became dependent on you and you on him, becoming each other's sole force of familial love and emotional validation. So much of what he does is to get you to continue to look at him with the unquestioning and unwavering love like you did as a child

If you were to ever say you hate him, he would be distraught. To him, hearing that would be nothing short of pure, raw pain. It would be a blow to his self-esteem, and he would be scrambling to try and find a way back into your good graces, and there's very little he wouldn't do just to get your approval again, whether thats by giving you expensive gifts or manipulating you into apologizing. He would pretty much be acting like a kicked and lost puppy until you said you were sorry and told him you loved him again

If you were to ever leave, he would be absolutely devestated. One moment he's feeling this soul crushing emptiness that has him unable to function, then he's going into a blind rage because you're his sibling, how dare you leave him? Why would you betray him like that? Didn't he take care of you and love you? Wasn't he good enough for you? There will be times he'll be dissociating so badly he'll lose hours and not be able to remember them. And in between all that, he'll be hunting you down whenever he can. The only thing that could make him stop is if he were dead

Speaking of dead, if you ever died that would absolutely break him lol. Like his entire personality would be broken down and he would have to spend years painstakingly trying to pull himself back together and rebuild his concept of self in order to be half as functional as he is now. Buts that's only if he wants to try and move on from you, which I have my doubts on. Most likely it'll get to the point were he becomes so consumed by his grief and lost sense of self that he just says "fuck it" and kidnaps a look alike to take your place. Deep down he knows it isn't the same but at this point he's mostly managed to delude himself into believing that this is the same as having you around. Well, that is, until your look alike does something that doesn't align with his perception of you and he has a breakdown over it. He might end up killing the look alike in a blind rage, which brings a whole other level of pain and grief to the table (until he kidnaps another look alike and deludes himself into believing everything is fine again lol)

#is it a headcanon if its your oc? these are all pretty much canon to his personality lol #anyways hes a mess <3 #yandere #platonic yandere #yandere original character #yandere oc #yandere platonic #oc: ben

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spacebarbarianweird · 6 days

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The Dhampirs of the Sword Coast - Chapter 5

Alethaine Ancunin tries to retrieve the stolen spellbook from a very partular warlock.

Asmodea belongs to @vixstarria ! It was fun to write her, but hey, Ossie isn't going anywhere from this story!

Read on AO3

Link for Part 1, Part 2, Part 3 Part 4

Thanks @themadlu for beta-reading!

The List of Chapters

Masterlist

Headcanons

Alethaine (High Elf/Necromancer) - age 25. Astarion's daughter. Lawful Neutral.

Theris (Tiefling/Bard) - age 27. Chaotic Neutral.

Asmodea (Half-Elf/Warlock) - the owner of the traveling cabaret.

Elren Goldenroot (High Elf/Ranger) - age 24. One day he will become the High King of Elves and Alethaine's husband but in the meantime he is just a young elf with sad wet eyes.

13 years ago

10-year-old Alethaine watches the necromancer closely.

The necromancer, Nris, watches her in return.

“So?” He asks, “I am going to teach you some basics, then I’ll head off.”

Alethaine nods. She feels guilty but can’t explain why. Three weeks ago, she accidentally resurrected a dead kitten and now she feels inferior, sick, and cursed. Necromancy is a dark art, and people are afraid of it.

Will they be afraid of her too?

“Astarion was ‘oh so kind’ to save me from the devils but I didn’t expect him to be a fucking lawyer and force me into a pact with you. And now I am stuck as your… teacher,” Nris spits.

Alethaine doesn’t like him. The man, only fifty years of age, is obese, bald, has trembling hands, and is definitely not that powerful. In addition, he definitely has something against elves.

“Dad made a pact with you,” Alethaine corrects.

“Him? Oh no!” Nris laughs. “Astarion made it specifically clear that he CAN’T release me of my duties unless you want him to! And if it weren’t enough, you are just a tiny, pre-pubescent girl who I wouldn’t remotely allow to make important decisions!”

Alethaine feels like she is about to cry. Why is this wizard so rude to her? She didn’t do anything wrong!

But before she starts sniffing, her mother, Tiriel, enters the basement to see who her husband has brought home.

Astarion follows her but remains on the stairs.

Tiriel watches Nris.

Nris watches Tiriel.

And then…

“YOU FUCKING MORON!!!” Tiriel grabs the wizard and punches him to the floor. Alethaine squeaks.

“Wait… who are you?” Nris mutters, scrambling around the room to hide from the raging barbarian.

“I AM THE ADVENTURER YOU REFUSED TO PAY!!! Year 1476, rings any bells?!”

“Oh fuck…” Nris whispers. “I am so sorry, I will repay you! How much was it? 20? 30?”

“Ninety gold! Astarion! How much would it be with interest?!” Tiriel demands.

“Well,” Astarion does some mental math. “It was 46 years ago, so I would say 600.”

“What kind of math is this?” Nris objects. Tiriel puts her knee on his ribcage.

“You are going to work as my daughter’s teacher till you fucking pay it.”

“Teachers are not paid that well!”

“Good, so my daughter will have a teacher for a very long time!” Tiriel finally lets him go and turns to Alethaine. “Kitten, he is all yours until you get all the knowledge out of that bald head of his!”

Present day

The Travelling Cabaret of the Last and First Days occupies a significant part of the area and reeks of some insane fey magic.

Alethaine tried to take the spellbook back from the half-elf, but the woman playfully casted Frostbite and disappeared.

And now they are stuck here.

“What is written down there?” Theris points at the other sentence right below the name of the cabaret. “I suspect it’s not the exact elven translation.”

Alethaine reads the name of the place and snorts.

“What does it mean?” The fourteen-year-old human boy Mierni demands. “In Elven!”

Alethaine decides it’s worth a laugh.

“‘For the first f*ing time!**

Only two goddamn days a year!

Where the hell do they come from? F*** if we know…

The F***ing Shitshow Circus**

Mind-blowing bullsh*t magic tricks!

Clowns that make you wanna punch a wall!

Soul-crushingly awful performances!

You'll hate yourself for wasting your time and money!’ Ah, it’s actually funnier in Elven”

Ulsha covers Mierni’s ears. “Alethaine, he is fourteen!”

“So what? All my human friends became free workforce by nine and were married at fifteen!”

“I don't know what place you grew up but in cities, a fourteen-year-old is a kid!”

“Hm,” Theris adds. “I did not think the elven language could be that vulgar.”

Alethaine sighs tiredly. “Theris. Elven is complicated and multidimensional. It’s both about epic poetry about ancient heroes and vulgar attempts to fuck someone's brain out. Learn it, you will like it.”

“I am sorry, I am a hell-touched individual. Me and feywild shit are planes away from each other,” Theris contemplates. “Wait! I’ve changed my mind! How to say ‘You are a dirty orc’?”

“Ci orch ‘waur,” Alethaine translates heading toward the gates.

“Are you kidding?!” Ulsha bellows.

The gates are closed and a tired ticket seller sits in his small boot. His hat covers the bearded face and the human reeks of cheap whiskey.

“We are closed, m’lady Asmodea told me to not let anyone in,” the man grumbles. “Go away!”

His voice sounds familiar to Alethaine.

No, what are the odds?

“You, idiots!” He screams when Alethaine snatches his wizard hat. “Oh no…”

Theris looks at the ticket seller. Then he looks at Alethaine. “You know each other, don’t you?”

“Mae govannen,” Alethaine says. “Teacher Nris!”

“Oh no, no…” Nris tries to run but stumbles. “Not your fucking family again! Your mother let me go! What do you want from me? I don't have anything left! I am … bound.”

“Well, first of all, I don’t remember letting you go,” Alethaine says. “Mum threw you out of the house one day, I didn't have a say in it!”

“Because you, you stupid girl, didn’t want to learn anything!” Nris yells. “Yes! When I realized I was still bound by your father and you, I tried to set myself free! And… well… made another pact.”

“Are you an idiot?” Alethaine enquiries.

“Idiot, yes,” Nris admits. “Asmodea is a warlock and her fey patron decided it would be hilarious to see which pact is stronger. So I am still bound to you and now I am also bound to this fucked up warlock and her fucked circus!”

Theris exchanges a glance with Alethaine. “Tell him to let us in.”

“Yes, Nris, let us in.”

“I am not your servant, I was supposed to teach you!”

Alethaine bares her fangs. “And how about me telling my dad that you mistreat me? I am very good at getting what I want from him, he can never say no to me.”

“Alethaine, I lived with you for two years. Don’t play this ‘vampires’ princess’ farce with me. I perfectly know that your parents would punish you.”

“So what?” Alethaine doesn’t give up. “I can go to my dad now and say, ‘Oh I got a job to retrieve an item and that asshole of a teacher doesn’t let me.’”

Nris sighs. “Alright! But you release me after this! You break the pact and I forget your family like the nightmare you all are!”

Nris approaches the gate and opens the.

“Just go straight to the main tent, she is there. But if I were you, I wouldn’t do that.”

Alethaine enters the cabaret, or rather, the fucking circus.

“Mierni stop!” Ulsha yells but the little wizard has already disappeared after noticing half-naked dancers resting near the stage. “Gale will kill me.”

“You know, you would catch him if you used your vampiric reaction,” Theris points out.

“I will never break my oath!” She frowns and disappears among the tents.

Alethaine quickly notices the bigger tent and moves to grab the tiefling’s hand, but he has already disappeared, too enchanted by a huge stall filled with some suspicious powder. Theris presses his nose against what looks like a huge glass snowball.

“Mierni, close your eyes!” Ulsha yells in the distance.

“But I wanna look!” Mierni protests.

Alethaine decides not to waste any more time. Besides, she will probably do things better alone.

Alethaine pulls the curtain back and steps into the dark tent. At the wooden table sits the red-haired half-elf Nris had called Asmodea. She rests her head on the surface, holding an unfinished bottle of fire ale.

“Oh, guests! I told that moron of a necromancer that he has to guard the gates. I am not in the mood.” She adds a word in elven that means “drinking hard till your mind goes blank for a few days in a row.”

“Well, according to the pact my dad made for me, Nris has to follow my orders until I decide he doesn't,” Alethaine lies, hoping that that contact really does work this way. “My name is Alethaine.”

Asmodea watches Alethaine closely. The dhampir feels an uneasy sensation when someone probes her mind.

“Stay away from my head!” Alethaine screams.

Asmodea chuckles.

“Oh, interesting. The dhampir.” Asmodea finishes the bottle and throws it into a pile of glass behind her. “And what does a creature of the dark want from me?”

“The spellbook,” Alethaine says. “The spellbook you stole from me? After… I’d stolen it from the ogres.”

“Gladly.”

“Really?”

“Unfortunately there are forces beyond me,” the half elf laughs.

Alethaine sits in front of her.

“You need something, don't you? I can help!”

Asmodea turns her head as if someone else were present in the room. She cringes and shakes her head.

“Listen, kid. Honestly? This book is a mess. I doubt I can learn anything from it. But, there are things I can't control. The spellbook will stay here. Just use your natural charm to persuade the quest giver to pay you for the unfinished work. What?! Just give me a break. No, I am not giving her work? Look at her, she looks like she’s been starved!”

Alethaine concentrates on the magic in the tent.

“What did your… patron say?”

“The Fuckface said that we can give you the spellbook if you finish the vampire who seduces my dancers. I wouldn’t agree if I were you. I suspect the little fella on my shoulder just wants to have fun.”

“But I will get the book?” Alethaine inquiries.

“Maybe. Maybe not.”

“Can I sign some papers with you?”

Before Asmodea answers, Theris appears out of nowhere covered in pink powder and small pieces of glass.

“I leave you for one second,” he hisses. “And you are already getting into the warlock-ish pyramid scheme.”

“I just want to be sure she won’t fuck us up.”

“She is a warlock, she will fuck us up either way!”

Asmodea puts her legs on the table. “I can perfectly hear you both. And I also heard glass shattering.”

“It wasn’t me and It was already broken!” Theris tries to pull Alethaine out of the tent.

Asmodea clicks her fingers, making the entrance disappear.

“Sit,” she orders. Asmodea doesn’t sound drunk or deranged anymore. “I have a proposition.”

Theris flips her his two middle fingers. “Last time I was proposed to by an older woman, I lost my virginity!”

Alethaine pushes Theris away and sits in front of the warlock.

“So? What is your deal?”

“Kill the vampire. Or at least, scare them enough to let my dancers go. I will pay you. Hope it will be enough to let me keep the spellbook. And I wouldn’t do anything stupid. My pact has lasted for over half a century, and you are just little kids.”

Theris opens his mouth but shuts up, accepting his destiny.

“300,” Alethaine demands.

“250.”

“270 and you can keep the necromancer.”

“I would gladly use him as bait for vampires. 260.”

“Deal, but he isn't afraid of them,” Alethaine points out.

Theris gets impatient. “Shall we go? I don’t want to find myself chained to a bed like last time. And…” He suddenly gets serious. “I am sorry for that glass ball. I got excited.”

“That’s ok,” Asmodea asks. “We all do stupid things.” She clicks her fingers, re-creating the entrance. Theris steps outside. “Lovely fellow. I think I could find a better job for him rather than prancing in the dirt looking for treasures. Alethaine, this is your name, right. Would you like a tarot card reading?”

The dhampir shrugs.

“Do I have to sell my soul to you?”

“I suspect you don't have one. I just like doing card reading.”

“Alright. Tell me about my future. Distant one.”

Asmodea retrieves the magic deck and scatters it on the surface of the table. “Pick a card.”

Alethaine abides. And take the first card.

“The Tower,” Asmodea comments. “The end of all hopes. Take another. The Judgement. Monsters will follow you, Alethaine.”

Alethaone shivers but keeps picking cards as if her hand had a mind of its own.

Seven of Wands.

Eight of Swords.

Three of Swords.

Ten of swords.

And then – The King of Swords, Two of Cups, and Ace of Pentacles.

Asmodea looks perplexed.

“Interesting combination.”

“What does it mean?”

Asmodea rubs her nose.

“It means that you will have a lot of hardships, little Dhampir. You will suffer. For a long period of time. Heartbreak and loss,” Asmodea points at Three of Swords and Eight of Swords. “Unable to control your life,” the warlock takes the Tower. “You will lose faith in everything, including yourself.”

Alethaine feels tears pricking her eyes. Asmodea points at the Judgement and Seven of Wands. “Something bad, something scary and dangerous will arise in your lifetime and you will have to fight it to survive.”

“And?” Alethaine asks. “Will it end? Will I be… happy?”

Asmodea looks at the rest of the cards and smiles. “The King of Swords.”

“Will I defeat some monsters?”

“You will meet this King of Swords. He is waiting for you in the darkness. Two of Cups – it means that you will be together and together you will defeat all the monsters you’ve encountered.” Asmodea takes the last card. “Ace of Pentacles means you will greet the new beginning. Hand in hand.”

Alethaine frowns. She’s never been interested in any form of relationship. “The King of Swords? Like, a literal king?”

“Maybe, who knows. Maybe this person will be like a king to you. Maybe to everyone. But to meet this … whoever they are… You will face the hells.”

Alethaine stands up. She feels the night coming and, should they hunt a vampire, now is the time.

Asmodea takes a new bottle of ale. “Have a good fight.”

Alethaine leaves the tent and goes searching for her friends.

The King of Swords, she thinks, what a dumb idea. Cards are all trickery and bullshit!

The same day, the Greenfields.

An elderly half-elf, once a renowned adventurer and now just a poor farmer, sits on a bench and listens to his human wife's complaints.

“Leth! Please! Tell him not to go! He will get killed in some swamps and we won't even know!” Rayna sits close to him. “He is an elf, what is it for him to wait for 30, 40 years! When we both die, he can go wherever!”

Leth sighs.

“We can’t stop him.”

“Just ask! Please! My heart aches every time I think about what dangers lurk out there!”

Leth puts the pipe out and enters his house. Well, at least he will try!

“Elren!” The half-elf calls his nephew. “Are you here?”

“Yes, I am in the barn!” He immediately answers. “Is anything wrong?”

Leth finds Elren preparing the traveling sack. The twenty-four-year-old elf, barely an adult, wears his new trousers and shirt. His golden hair, a gift from his Sun Elven ancestors, is loose and his blue eyes, inherited from Moon Elves, are focused on his traveling kit.

“Your aunt worries that you are leaving.”

Elren stands up. Even though he is an elf, he's as tall as Leth.

“I… I will be fine… I just… I really wanna go. Otherwise I think I will… hang myself in this barn like my mother did.” He tries to make it sound like a joke, but Leth brought the boy up ever since he was two.

Leth sighs. “Be careful, out there, alright, kid? And if you feel anything wrong, come back. I love you as much as my own daughters and not only because I gave your mother my word that I would look after you.”

Elren grimaces. “I will be careful, don’t worry!”

Leth looks under his own feet and contemplates.

When the Goldenroots, Elren’s paternal clan, were massacred, his mother managed to save only one thing. The only thing the poor elven orphan has got from his ancestors, the only thing that connects him to his blood and nature.

Rilyamacil, The Sword of Stars.

No, Leth decides. Not now. There is something wrong with that thing and Elren has enough to bear without being given an artifact of unknown properties.

“Go to Neverwinter,” Leth says. “Find my guild and tell them you are my nephew. If they ask how I am doing, tell them I am rich and fat and have a lot of sons.”

Elren laughs.

“I am not a good liar.”

“I don’t ask you to lie. It will take you months to get there even with your elven trance and fast sylvan legs. Just persuade yourself that it is so.” Leth hugs Elren. “I will miss you.”

“I will miss you too, Uncle Leth.”

The embrace is interrupted by the loud voices of three girls, Leth’s daughters. They are 21, 19, and 17 but each of them is more mature than their older elven cousin.

“We made you a gift,” the oldest says.

“Even though you are such a bad brother for leaving us,” the youngest adds and receives a slap from the middle one. Then, she unfolds a green cloak decorated with elven symbols.

Elren touches the fabric.

“Where did you get it from?” he asks, barely hiding his awe.

“I bought the elven fabric,” the oldest says.

“I made the cloak,” the middle one continues.

“And I found the protective symbols elves use to adorn their clothes,” the youngest finishes.

“Thank you!” Elren smiles and hugs his cousins. Then he puts on the cloak.

Now he looks like a traveling elf who accidently got stuck among humans.

And he is, Leth thinks. No matter how much he is loved and cared for, he will always be a stranger. The girls will soon wither and die. Their descendants will become ash and bones.

And Elren will still look the same, walking the roads of Faerun.

… At dawn Elren, wearing his new cloak and carrying the traveling sack and the bow, waves his human family goodbye.

Leth forces his wife and daughters back before any of them try to run for Elren and gaslight him into staying.

“He will be fine,” the half-elf says to the crying woman. “He can stand up for himself. At least, he will have to come back one day for his sword!”

Elven dictionary

Mae govannen (Sindarin) - Well met!

Ci orch ‘waur (Sindarin) - You are a dirty orc!

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jackfromthefairytale · 3 months

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Erra recommendations or music recommendations in general?

I get to go off about erra!

id say that cure (the most recent album) is a good starting point, it's got ambience, breakdowns, a beautiful vocal balance and a healthy amount of erra-typical riffage and structure-fuck. i honestly couldn't give you individual song recs because they're all so different and all have a highlight. i do know that you'll probably like slow sour bleed seeing as you liked anything > human (and I think you also like nine inch nails?)

next, the 2021 self-titled, which is outright some of the best stuff in modern metal. snowblood is very metalcore, gungrave features the riff of all time, shadow autonomous is a complex, weirdly calming masterpiece, electric twilight is weird, eidolon is separately beautifully tranquil and crushingly heavy, vanish canvas is the prettiest heavy song ever written (and the deluxe includes the reissue featuring courtney laplante on guest vocals!), and i'll also mention remnant, lunar halo, divisionary, scorpion hymn and nigh to silence. and memory fiction which isn't a metal song but is one of the most beautiful pieces of music ever written

they also released two standalone singles - eye of god (2019) and pull from the ghost (2022) which are some of the band's best work and serve as a kind of bridge between albums

of their previous stuff, it's not as polished as their current stuff but is also pretty mind blowing. drift (2016) is melodic and pretty and neon (2018) is a darker, heavier follow on from that. my favourites from those include luminesce, drift, breach, ghost of nothing, safehaven, sleeper, unify, irreversible, skyline, hyperreality, expiate

their first two albums are a bit different, with the band having a mostly different lineup - the screamer and second guitarist left at the end of 2013 - but they've been considered some of the best in metalcore (with too many fans being unable to move on). i'd say pattern interrupt, the architect, heart, and white noise off impulse (2011) and pulse, hybrid earth, ultraviolet and augment/dementia off augment (2013) (i personally consider dementia to be one of the best songs ever written...) (I also don't really listen to their older stuff as much as their newer releases)

for other recs, staying within this vein of progressive metalcore i'd suggest invent animate - they're also very technically minded and are "sad boi metalcore". they're also a band that erra take on tour a lot and jesse co-produced some of their stuff and featured on their song naturehold.

another band are red handed denial. again, they're progressive metalcore but are really good at the pop blend without sacrificing the heavy. lauren babic is one of the best combined sing/scream vocalists in the game and one of my personal inspirations, and their 2024 album "a journey through virtual dystopia" is one of my albums of the year.

and obviously, as this is an erra post, i can't go without recommending jesse's alt rock solo project ghost atlas. dust of the human shape is one of the albums of the year, and other standout tracks include cry wolf, legs, sacred organs, sleep therapy, vertigo, mirror room, and elixir of life

#we're never gonna see peak erra because they keep completely outdoing themselves each album #this is so wordy i'm so sorry i am incapable of not uncontrollably yapping #and i'm so sorry for taking forever to answer this #kiran.ask #kaminokilljoy #erra

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takoush · 8 days

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I should be sleeping, but instead I'm thinking too much...

I don't even know if anyone will even see this since its been so long since I've posted on tumblr, but if you do, I hope it does not perturb or scare you. I guess this is sort of just me journaling some personal shit I've been grappling with. I've been feeling hyper isolated, and still quite raw from a particularly scary mental spiral, but in my more stable moments, I've tried to plant footholds in my brain for future improvement... But even those moments pass, and sometimes the sadness wells up again. The hollow ache that bleeds in my chest, the silence that is deafening to a mind stuck ruminating.

So I try to redirect, as many times as it will take. I want to feel safe, I want to feel better. So I set up reminders to light my way again when I feel like darkness is closing in all around me.

But yeah, journaling...

......I often feel like don't have much to offer when it comes to friendship.

I'm not all that bright, relatively poor at what talents I do still have. I haven't drawn in months, and not in years have I made art of the caliber I used to. I'm not particularly skilled at cooking or videogames or any other hobby really. I'm really dense sometimes and kind of a simpleton, and I grapple with a slew of mental issues that really nobody deserves to endure hearing about. I'm so dense that I can't pick up on obvious shit, but evidently I am not dense enough to NOT second-guess every single thing I say or do. And uh... I don't even have anything really going for me physically to make up for these internal deficits, either.

I guess... what I can offer is... loyalty. If I love you, I'm your staunch ally and friend forever. No matter how much time may pass in correspondence, I will still hold feelings of fondness for you if we are friends.

I like to think I'm a safe place to if you need someone to talk to. If you need to vent and need someone to listen, I won't ever judge, I know the value of getting that shit out and just having someone to listen, to tell you its gonna be okay if you need to hear it. If people have a bad time or make mistakes, I can handle hurt and can forgive if they genuinely want to change... in fact I'm probably way more forgiving than I ever really should be. But even if my trust has been hurt in the past, who am I to deprive others of patience and forgiveness if they truly work for it, right? Humans are messy to begin with, we don't need to make things even harder for ourselves...

I'll be your biggest cheerleader without even thinking about it-- it sounds cheesy but if you're my friend, I just want to support you from the bottom of my heart. Your hopes and dreams, your creations and enjoyments... I just love to see the people I adore happy. Call me a people pleaser if you wish, but nothing I do has anything other than an earnest motive. I offer to help without thinking, the words of appreciation and admiration fly out of my mouth before the thoughts fully form. Its just... instinct. If i can make someone's load lighter even just a bit, light up their day in even some small way... it feels worth it.

I don't want to toot my own horn... but I can at least love myself for having nothing but earnest intentions regarding those I love and care for. I may be profoundly broken and flawed, and I may mess up a lot, or talk too much, or cling too tightly... but at least my feelings of friendship are genuine and profound.

I know its not much... but its honest.

And maybe my heart just tells me that if I can't have that sort of thing in my life, then I will become that sort of thing, or at least try to... so maybe others will never feel crushingly alone, or bereft of deep and abiding patience and love and care, like I have felt sometimes.

I want to recognize and work on my faults, but maybe sometimes I need to remind myself of the little good things I have inside me, too.

So while I have a stable moment, and firmer grasp of my anxiety-ridden noggin jello, I want to tell myself that come what may, I want to keep love in my heart and try to hang on to hope, even if more hurt may come from it, even if I shrink down and diminish myself for a time for the sake of my own stability. I want to foster the faith and trust I placed in those I love, and who in turn placed such in me, and I want to live up to the privilege of carrying that faith.

I want to be better. For all of you, and for myself. So that faith will never feel misplaced.

Thank you for loving me, as messy and burdensome as my mental baggage can get. For having patience with me and my mistakes, for treating me kindly when I forget what it is to be kind to myself, for letting a little piece of me into your heart, and for giving me little pieces of you to hold and cherish in my own.

I love you, my friends. Deeply, earnestly, and more than I can possibly articulate.

I apologize again if you read this and felt irked or anything. I feel terrible for even indulging in writing all this... but I'll be the first to admit, I'm far too weak to keep my feelings bottled up forever. But I don't want my spiraling to make me do something I'll regret, so these words and thoughts that run in circles and strings need to come out somewhere I suppose. At least here, one can choose to read it, rather than be forced to witness a nervous breakdown. So I can read it too, and remind myself in a weak moment that maybe I do have some goodness there inside me that's worth remembering.

tbh, its fucking 3 am, my head is pounding, my eyes are swollen from days of on and off nervous crying, and I can hardly think anymore having gotten this thought spaghetti out.

I just need to keep telling myself that all things shall pass, as cliche as that sounds. My anxiety spikes will fade, and I will feel stable again. I will.

#takoush talks #dusting off my tumblr #idk if this is venting or introspection or just documenting my racing thoughts #but its still something I suppose #will be important for therapy soon maybe #takoush journal #maybe some part of this is something someone needs to hear too for their own depressive spirals idk #but if it helps someone else out there then good #depression

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awhoreintheory · 2 years

Text

Snowball's Chance in Hell

Lance had grown complacent with his situation. It had been around for so long it's no wonder, honestly.

Middle school with bright orange braces? Yep, present. Highschool, without the braces, but instead constant growing pains? Also a resounding yes.

If you hadn't guessed what he was talking about by now, it was his all-consuming crush on the one, the only, Keith Kogane. (which was 100% Keith’s fault. If he didn’t want people to fall soul-crushingly in love with him, why was he just so damn lovable?)

Point was, it had finally become an issue. Lance has almost blurted out a confession at least three times today, and at least seventeen times this week alone. And Lance? He is ok with being the butt of a joke, if anything, he's accustomed to it. But being the butt of the joke, “Oh, ha ha, Lance fell in love with his best friend and rival!" didn't sound very appealing, and neither did the chance that it might make Keith uncomfortable.

Sure, Keith was, without a doubt, gay. That man was no straighter than Allura’s parallel parking. But Keith? In love— no, even fucking liking Lance of all people? Not a snowball's chance in hell.

Lance sighed. Gosh. It was so hard loving someone so much. Seriously! The amount of calories Lance probably burns thinking (fantasizing, one might even say) was truly ridiculous. How no one had picked up on his dreamy sighs and swooning eyes and called him on his bullshit was surprising. Or, maybe, the fact Lance actively flirted with anything that could give consent— his heart belonging to another or not— because, be honest, who would think you have a crush on one of the many people you flirt with on a daily basis?

But here Lance is. Stuck on the back of Keith's motorcycle, (that he built himself, how freaking cool is that?) getting ready to leave their college campus. Was Lance possibly, maybe, tipsy? It’s a possibility, that’s for sure! A possibility that was not his fault! Some douchebag slipped something into the orange juice in the cafeteria, and Lance loved his orange juice. Best thing on this earth. And— yeah you get it, Lance drank a lot of it and was less than sober.

"Keeeiiiithhhh…" Lance whined nuzzling into the back of Keith’s neck, wiggling and shifting where he sat. It was just so hot and uncomfortable.

“‘M waaaarmmmm… An’ you’re hoooot …” Keith snorted, revving up his engine and turning around to fight Lance’s helmet on.

“Thanks Lance, didn’t know you thought that way about me— put the damn helmet on, you twat!” Keith’s sly (but not incorrect) statement set something off in Lance’s tipsy mind from where he wrestled the motorcycle helmet away.

“I don’ wanna wear it!” Lance whined, pushing the helmet away.

“Lance, you have to wear it! I have to wear one too!” Keith pushed back, and honestly it was sad how he was losing a wrestling match against someone who was tipsy and slighter than him.

Lance suddenly leaned in really close, so close in fact their noses’ brushed. “I wanna wear you.”

There was a long and heated pause, Keith physically unable to breath, feeling as though the air was punched out of him. Lance’s eyes darted down, and Keith felt his own eyes to the same. Lance’s lips looked soft, if not a little red from where he was chewing on them. Keith’s own lips felt as dry as his mouth did right now. Lance leaned forward, eyes glued to Keith’s lips, getting closer… and closer… and just a bit closer, and their lips—

Lance let out a surprised shout as the helmet was shoved on, pouting as Keith turned back around swiftly.

“Keep the helmet on.” Were Keith’s last words before he took off, forcing Lance to latch on so he didn’t go flying. Not that Lance was complaining, but Keith’s heart certainly was.

The damn thing was just about ready to beat out of his chest. Because— that was flirting, right? Lance was flirting with Keith? Well, Lance is always flirting, but never like that. It’s usually akin to playful banter, but this time— it was different. Keith knows Lance, ok, they’ve been friends since middle school, and that was not normal for him.

#mini vent bc im literally head over heels for this one chick ive been friends w for 2 years #someone hit me w the gay shame chancla #im sad and lonely #lance voltron #lance mcclain #keith voltron #keith kogane #klance #voltron oneshot #voltron #voltron legendary defender #vld fandom #vld #vld shitpost #my writing #fic fragment #voltron fic

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adamwatchesmovies · 3 months

Text

The Plague Dogs (1982)

Although The Plague Dogs is often crushingly sad, I could actually see someone calling it their favorite movie. It isn’t exactly the kind of animated film you’d randomly watch but it’s so skillfully made it becomes uplifting despite the dour subject matter. Animal lovers beware, this one will likely have you in tears.

Rowf (Christopher Benjamin), a labrador-mix, and Snitter (John Hurt) a smooth fox terrier, are used for experimental purposes at an animal facility in the Lake District of north-western England. When they escape, they have to face the difficult realities of life in the wild: not only do they have to find food and shelter, but their former captors are after them.

Based on the novel of the same name by Richard Adams, The Plague Dogs makes its agenda clear from the start: vivisections and animal research for its own sake are morally wrong and needlessly cruel. The first scene shows Rowf paddling in a tank of water until he is exhausted and falls down into the water to drown. He is then revived by the “white coats” and brought back into his cage. The humans comment on how long the dog took to succumb to fatigue. Immediately, the scenario you just saw flashes through your mind over and over. We don’t know how many times Rowf was subjected to this experiment but it’s enough to have given him a phobia of water. At least you can sort of see why the scientists put Rowf through - in theory anyway. Not so much for Snitter. A brain operation performed on him makes him prone to sudden blindness and hallucinations. More than once, he is unable to discern whether the room he’s stepped in is a new place, the home of his former master (whose death he blames on himself) or the laboratory he escaped from. What purpose could that procedure serve?

You’re starting on a downer with the two emotionally or physically damaged animals. Then, they escape. You think maybe the film will get a little lighter in tone… but it doesn’t. There are very few- if any - moments of respite as the dogs contest with the cold and hunger. We’ve seen many films with talking animals. Most of the time, if you really take a long, hard look at these stories, you’ll see that the animals are not real animals. They’re merely people in costumes given ticks that make them resemble our four-legged friends. Not here. When Rowf and Snitter see snow, they don’t understand what it is. When they encounter other dogs, they struggle to comprehend why they watch over sheep. There is so much about the world they don’t understand that you doubt they’ll make it through the winter - even with the help of The Tod (voiced by James Bolam), a fox who agrees to teach them to hunt in exchange for a share of their kills.

There's a glimmer of hope in The Plague Dogs. It has to do with the protagonists' escape and what it will mean for the animals remaining in the facility. As Rowf and Snitter encounter people, rumors that they carry the bubonic plague (hence the title) reach the media. The longer they evade capture, the more unwanted attention is directed toward the laboratory from which they escaped. It’s not much and writer/director Martin Rosen even doubles down on the tragedy by changing the ending of the book - in what I would call a good move because it feels truer to the story.

Before you start thinking that this film isn’t for you, that it’s too much of a downer, know that The Plague Dogs does not lump all of humanity together. Several people are very sympathetic towards the dogs. It’s just that unfortunately, their hands are often tied or that they are unable to do anything but leave the animals alone. Also, understand that this film was made in 1982. This is a movie that's been seen and that has moved people. This guarantees that things have improved significantly since.

The Plague Dogs is likely to make you cry. At the very least, it will make you sad and upset. On the right day, that might be exactly what you’re looking for. On every other, it’s a well-made film that makes you think and that ending - it’s unforgettable. (On Blu-ray, January 20, 2023)

#The Plague Dogs #movies #films #movie reviews #film reviews #Martin Rosen #Richard Adams #John Hurt #Christopher Benjamin #James Bolam #1982 movies #1982 films #animated movies #animated films

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precious-little-scoundrel · 4 months

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We’ve talked about Ida and Maureen’s recovery from everything post-war…but what about smith? How does she work through some of the trauma she’s been through? What are her thoughts on sex after being assaulted and raped? And what’s the recovery like for gaining a positive relationship with sex?

Fantastic question, in honesty not fully set or enlightened on this one myself but here’s a little ramble.

Tbh, i think sex was a rather hazy and abstract concept to her before being raped. Which is crushingly sad. It was something married folks do, and should do, and some people enjoy it before hand and it gets them in a heap of trouble. Watching roosters push hens faces into the dirt and pluck out their neck feathers never gave her a hankering for it. Romance and kisses and a fade to black is far more what she’s anticipated and wanted from men.

So, I can see this fracturing her mind two ways. Both very different but in need of healing.

1. Utter abhorrence is likely with that being her first and only experience and it being utterly brutal and shocking, and repeated. And witnessed. All the things.

2. She hardly registers it as sex. Sex is something god gave people who love each other. Particularly as -dark warning- it wasn’t just plain rape for some? Ida had objects put up her, the dog got involved with Smith’s. But then you have Lu observing Kendeigh who was raped, traumatized and still likes and seeks out sex with Cleven. Because she loves him and he’s a good man. Men using their bodies to hurt Lu could be shocking, for sure, but just as they coulda used their fists -doesn’t meant she hates good men’s hands.

Ok but either way, if she were to marry or get down to being frisky at some point in the future, I can’t imagine it’s seamless. Injury alone is enough to make her skittish. But she’s also plucky for sure. I think shame might be greater than her fear.

But! I think she wants kids. Always pictured herself having a few. She joined the Air Force not to break her traditional female bounds so much as to fight for what’s right. She can continue her interests and be a mother, in her opinion. And making kids require sex. I can see her enjoying being wooed by someone she already knows well. Someone she doesn’t have to tell “hi this happened to me please don’t freak out and make me comfort you when I’m the one who was assaulted”.

Of course as I’ve said before, I like to cast Benny Demarco in that role.

Going off that bio I mentioned earlier about the Dutch woman taken as a Japanese sex slave- she said she didn’t enjoy sex for a very long time. With her husband it was neither painful nor even awkward after awhile, she simply had no ability to learn enjoyment of after having her virginity taken so brutally. But she enjoyed his enjoying of her and it made her feel powerful again. And she’d actively encourage being intimate for that alone, the closeness it gave, the way it replaced violent memories and the children he gave her.

I can see that being smith for a few years. I can see her calling Ida a lot before she gets married, asking her how she’s doing herself. And Ida would be unusually candid for her old friend. Even admitting she sometimes wished Robert had rushed her a little more, so that she wouldn’t have delayed them so long by being lost in her own head about something she wanted to reclaim deep down.

#Benny x Lu #tw: rape #Tallulah smith

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musicismymoirail · 8 months

Text

warnings: talks about family death and grief. just needed to get some thoughts out.

When my dad passed away, everyone gave me advice about grief and pain. About how it would hurt, and it'd keep hurting long after you’d think it would end. How it’ll ease up and then blindside you on some random Tuesday just because. And that was okay. It happens to everyone, and it’s okay to feel grief.

Except it doesn’t happen to everyone. It didn’t for me.

We had a complicated relationship. One of love. One of neglect. One of trauma. He never got over his demons and I’ve always accepted he was a well-meaning but deeply flawed man.

His funeral was sad, but not heart-breaking like people told me it would be. We made jokes and ate pizza outside of the funeral home. I sang Avocado, Baby off-key on the steps in between bites. Lots of people came, and it was nice to see.

The first year, all the holidays he loved and hated, I felt nothing too heavy. Life moved on and no heart-ending grief ever hit me the some way it hit everyone else every so often.

Years later, I only ever remember the anniversary of his death because my cousins still text me well wishes, and I feel like a dick and an awful child for forgetting. It should be important, engraved in my thoughts forever, but October is still the month our dog Duncan died in first in my mind, not the month my dad died.

Grief and pain skipped me, it feels, and I wonder why when people still give me advice and well-wishes, so many years later.

The one exception is my birthday, and barely that. It’s the first hour of my birthday. Because I always remember he’d try so hard to be the first one to text me happy birthday, being so so proud and bragging that he was first.

He never was, mind you. Wrae Ann typically won that race.

But I liked those messages. It was silly but sweet he’d wait up until midnight to 1am to text me. To be first. And still failing. Typical Joe.

And now, my first hour of birthday is only time I feel a bit sad. A bit sorrowful. Not soul-crushingly so, just sad enough to notice.

That sometimes I do miss my dad a bit.

It’ll be gone tomorrow when I wake up though, and I’ll once again feel sad than I don’t feel sadder too.

Grief is weird, and performative grief even more so.

#gabe stfu #it's just twelve something on my birthday #so it's on my mind again #every year like clockwork

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contentloadingandstuff · 2 years

Note

Hello! I was wondering, in the post where you listed your current asks you said you have a few other fic ideas for after you were done with requests (I think it was angst fluff and smut). I was wondering what ideas you had for those? Like what characters you plan on using or what the fics were gonna be about

Hello there! If I recall correctly, I mentioned two angst drafts. But yes, I have a plenty of ideas from all three genres. Let me open up my word doc, where I keep my ideas, and list a few.

Hurt/Comfort: Shinobu x M!Reader

Desc: Shinobu has a breakdown in the Chasm, her stoic resolve shattering under the realisation that she might as well die there. R is there to help.

A cute little idea I might get around to writing some day. Why Shinobu? Because best girl, that's why.

Angst: Breakup HCs for Beidou and Ei

It's about 95% done - it has been for over a month by now. Why didn't I release it then? Well, I'm not satisfied with how Beidou's part turned out. But then again, I'm not satisfied with most of my writing, yet you guys seem to enjoy it. When I finish requests (4 left as of now, 3 smut and 1 fluff) I'll take a look at it.

Angst: Issues of Genshin girls

Characters: Jean, Eula, Rosaria, Keqing, Ganyu, Ayaka, Miko, Shinobu, Sara

I have a draft of it on Tumblr, but I focused on doing requests lately. I'm of an opinion that 'the best food is made by a hungry chef' applies to writing as well. The best fluff comes out when you're happy, the best smut when you're thirsty, best angst when you're soul-crushingly sad. It's back to school time (I had two weeks of winter break) so writing angst is a lot easier. Haha... :(

Smut: Childe & M!Reader x Keqing

Desc: Childe gets some highly valuable blackmailing material in his hands, and wants to use it to have some fun with his best pal on an otherwise boring day. Keqing has to make a choice.

A nasty little fic with blackmailing and dubious consent included. The '&' is quite important here, as it would be straight smut, with no action between Childe and R. Will most likely remain unwritten.

Smut: Yae Miko x M!Reader x Gorou

Okay, this one might be a surprise. The fic would inculde awful stuff like mind break, brain washing and slavery (you can guess who's the victim). I know I said that I only write hetero smut, and I stand by that - I'm not certain if I like the idea enough to make an exception. But I have considered it.

Don't ask where I got these ideas. Past me clearly thought these were worth writing down, so here we are. He is quite weird, that guy.

Smut: Empress!Ei x Shogun!M!Reader x Sara

Desc: Ei and Reader reward Sara for her loyalty and uneding devotion.

Because Sara deserves it. This is the oldest smut idea I've written down.

Smut (Warhammer Fantasy): Karl Franz x Miao Ying

Desc: Karl goes on a trip to China to establish trade relations. When he gets to the palace, it turns out he left his wallet at home. How will he pay me now, thinks the dragon empress, already having a different form of payment in mind...

This idea came to be because of one diplomacy line. And the fact that, out of all the ordertide leaders, it is Franz that gets the damsels. It is confirmed by SEGA, Games Workshop, and Marek Suski. Don't check that, just trust me.

Whump: Abusive!Rosaria x M!Reader

Desc: Rosaria comes home drunk, and her kidnapped boytoy is in big trouble. Beating, cutting, and a pair of long nails are involved. I'll leave it up to your imagination where the nails go.

Very horrible idea, 'inspired' by the movie Grotesque. Don't watch it under any circumstances. It's very nasty.

Art: ModernAU!Shinobu smoking on the rooftops.

She is just such a vibe. Maybe, maybe in a year's time I'll do it. I still can't draw.

Okay, that's the first page of seven. Maybe some of these will see their own posts. But I don't know.

#asks #asks answered #requests #genshin asks #genshin requests

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miraclesnail · 2 months

Note

Will you ever continue the patientam operatur AU?

I will one day 🥹 I just know if I put in a fraction of the effort I do for 1000 ways for this series it would definitely be further along. But I just get writer’s block so easily 😭 and in 1000 ways if I get writer’s block I can just hop to a different character in a different year with a different plot. I can’t with chronological fics.

But I do have up to three chapters done! Andddddd I’ll just chapter one under a read more.

Attempt 1

It always starts on the chariot — where it all began, where their story really began to kick off.

He would smile that crooked smile of his, laugh in that carefree way, poke fun like he always does, tell his stories that are ten sentences too long. He would sit on top of the chariot’s head and swing his legs mindlessly like he’s not thousands of feet above the ground. He would hold the reins loose in his nimble fingers, body angled straight ahead at the horizon, face turned to him as he hops into the next story without a break. And they would stay like that for a minute or two — a tranquil and fragile peace.

Then, like clockwork, the chimera arrives and shatters the tranquility. It crashes into the chariot, the metal box rocking back and forth. The pegasi whine and buckle in terror.

But history diverges here.

His hands wrap around the bow slung on his back. His mind is clear rather than panicky. He draws the string back and it feels natural, not awkward.

He focuses and aims the arrow with practiced ease. Then he releases.

It hits true.

The danger is gone.

Lollypop and Starlight fly straight to Camp Jupiter, alive and well.

Travis is alive too, crushing him in a hug that he can never imagine properly and saying words he can never grasp. The touch is faint and unreal, the words fleeting, but Will grabs onto them tightly and pulls Travis closer to him by the shirt until they’re nose to nose.

Will presses forward just a bit more, enough to feel just a faint ticklish breath caress his mouth and he hesitates, he always hesitates no matter how much he tells himself not to, before leaning the last few inches to seal their—

But it’s always here that Will wakes up and violently remembers.

Xxxxxxxx

Will denies it for so long. For days and weeks and months afterwards. They’re not dead. They can’t be dead. How can they be dead? It just can’t happen. They’re a staple. Hermes Cabin is literally defined by them. How can there be a Cabin 11 without those duo troublemakers?

But he forgets. Demigods die young.

It’s a fact all of them have come to learn, experience, and accept.

Lee. Michael. Bianca. Beckendorf. Castor. Connor. Travis.

Demigods die and they die young.

It’s sad. And depressing. But life moves on.

The camp mourns. The cabin makes two shrouds and burns them in honor of their longest counselors. People cry. Cecil is announced the next counselor. Then everything goes back to normal. Not a single hiccup in the daily activity, not a single word about the pranksters, not a single possession of theirs left in the cabin, all leftover belongings bagged and stowed in the attic alongside all the other tossed and ignored memoriphilia.

Life moves on.

Forcibly.

Vigorously.

No time for grief. No time to think.

No one talks about them unless asked, just like they all did for the others.

Demigods die and life moves on.

It’s soul-crushingly depressing to think about so Will pushes it out of his mind and just lives his life like nothing is wrong. It’s not going so well, but Will’s a great actor and an even better pretender with an excellent poker face. Hardly anyone can tell he’s upset and crashing inside.

Xxxxxxx

Wake up. The archery range. Fail and try again only to fail again. Get the cabin ready. Breakfast. Lessons. The range again. Fail over and over. Rinse and repeat. Rinse and repeat. Get his emotions under control. Stop spiraling.

Smile. Laugh. Converse. Nothing is wrong. Everything is fine.

Lunch. Free time. Dinner. Campfire songs.

Jog. Go to the range one more time. Fail. Shower. Brush teeth. Get everybody to bed. Wait and wait some more then sneak out for another quick practice. Fail. Fail. Fail. Sneak back into bed. Sleep. Dream happy, impossible dreams. Then wake up to do it once more.

Day after day. The same thing over and over. It’s monotonous and simple. Normal even.

That’s why the notepad stands out to him even with its generic, unassuming white lined papers and cardboard bind and back. It’s a common item you buy at OfficeMax or a stationary store. It lays in the center of his bed. Will flips through it with disinterest, all pages empty. He flips it to the back and sees the words printed in comic sans: pick a date, pick a time and see for yourself — From your awesome Dad.

Will just rolls his eyes, scribbles the first date that comes to mind, and leaves his cabin for the archery range.

Xxxxxxx

That night the dream starts like all the others — on the god-forsaken chariot. Except… it’s different. The world is brighter and saturated. The sun is beaming into his eyes that has him squinting. There’s air rushing around him, a strong breeze pushing his hair back. The reins in his hands, they’re frayed and rough in his palms and the sky is blue with little poufs of clouds far in the distance and the ground far below is nothing more but a blur and Travis is here beside him like all his other dreams. Except this time—

“Solace! Hey! HEY!”

This time Travis is —

“Stop spacing out!”

Travis is strangely —

“Behind you! It’s right behind you!!”

Travis is inexplicably, unexplainable, for some strange reason, 240 turn 1080hd, so very much in detail like everything else.

Right down to his messy, unbrushed, chestnut-brown hair. Right down to his sea-blue eyes that’s wide in panic for some reason. To his ten-beaded camp necklace hanging above his orange camp shirt that’s fraying at the seams from years of use.

Travis is in detail in a way that he never dreamt of before, in a dream that felt more real-like than all the others, and Will doesn’t know what to think other than that Travis looks great. He looks amazing. He looks really handsome actually and —

Oh wait.

“What are you doing just standing there?!”

That’s right. The chimera.

“Get down!”

He feels rather than see the chimera breathing down his neck. No time to dodge. No time to duck. He just raises his arms to protect his head and hopes for the best. A paw the size of a basketball knocks him off his feet, claws slicing deep into his flesh. His back hits the metal rail of the chariot with enough force that he topples over the side.

“Will!”

And as he falls, Will stares at the familiar chariot leaving him as it straggles forward.

Starlight is limp. Lollypop is struggling to stay afloat. Boxes are falling out of the chariot, lids flipping open, and Will sees pencils and brushes falling out. Oh, he forgot about the art supplies they were delivering to Camp Jupiter. There’s droplets of blood (oh hey, that’s my blood, he realizes) falling with him albeit slower.

And Travis.

He sees Travis, leaping onto the chariot’s back ramp, a hand clinging to the frame, hair whipping back and forth from the wind, his eyes searching the skies for a moment before meeting his own.

They harden with resolve as Travis slings his backpack to his chest and tighten the straps.

Then Travis takes one step back, jumps, and dives for him.

Xxxxxxxx

It’s like a nightmare and a daydream all at once.

Starlight is dead before his eyes, Lollypop is going to die soon, he himself is hurt and the pain is incredibly, indescribably, insanely real-like. Not to mention excruciating. When Travis tackles him mid-air it actually jolts his arms and fuck, now it hurts ten-times more.

Travis is bear hugging him with one arm while his other is digging into his backpack. It hurts. Travis is squeezing him way too tightly, but … warm. Travis is warm and he’s talking, apologizing, ranting, complaining as they’re freefalling thousands of feet through the air.

Will can’t move his hands or twitch his fingers. Either the pain is frying his nerves or they have just been sliced off all together. The fact should bother him more probably. But all he does is close his eyes and bury his face in Travis’s neck and imprint the smell in his mind.

He hears Travis yell in triumph, the flap of the winged sneakers, and their fall slowing from breakneck speed to break-leg speed. But Travis hugs Will tighter to him and flips them around so Travis is at the bottom. Will wonders why and opens his eyes to see the canopy of trees within arms length.

Oh.

That’s why.

The first jolt is the worst. The branches of the pine tree they land on cracks and splinters. The second branch did no better. Nor the third and fourth before they hit the ground. Will knows Travis took the brunt of the force, is probably unconscious with a broken rib or punctured lung or dead (no no no not again) or something.

He needs to check. He needs to get up, to do something, to stop being useless like he always fucking is.

But the fall knocks the air out of Will and it’s taking all his effort to just even stay awake.

He’s not going to stay awake.

It’s too much.

He’s going to pass out in a few minutes.

The chimera breaks through the canopy a few seconds after them, branches and pines falling and hitting his face. It lands just a few feet from them and already, it’s roaring and charging towards them.

The last thing he sees is Travis in front of him, struggling to his feet, with that familiar ice pick in hand, bleeding all over, a bone sticking out from his left arm, right ankle mangled and bent, but still trying to protect him.

Xxxxxxxx

He wakes up in his bed in his cabin, sore and tired and arms burning, with Austin kindly ripping his sheets off him.

“You’re late for breakfast,” he tells him, tossing his sheet over his head.

Will tugs it off, wincing as his head aches.

“Huh?”

“You overslept. But don’t worry, Kayla and I got everybody up and ready. We’re all waiting for you at the pavilion.”

“Oh.” Gods. His head is killing him. “Uh, thanks. It’s okay to wake me up if it happens again. It’s my job to do that. Head counselor and all,” Will says as he swings his feet off the bed. He stands and immediately his knees buckle. His scarred palm from that Fury attack scrapes against their floor and he recoils back as it stings and aches and burns. It takes all he has to just hiss rather than howl. Maybe if he was alone in the infirmary, he would shed a tear or two. But Austin is right there in front of him and he already troubled his brother enough.

“Fuck! This is why we let you sleep in, Will,” Austin scolds as he helps him to his feet.

“I’m fine,” he fibs, “I just had this really … a really weird dream. Everything’s fine.”

He smiles to top his white lie off but it feels unnatural and fake.

And it doesn’t appease Austin either. He scowls further, crossing his arms. “Well, you’re overworking yourself and none of us like it. Training yourself to the bone. Studying random and obscure hymns dead into the night. And now drawing these — these — these weird, gibberish scenarios? We’re worried about you and we all think you should go see a therap—”

Will’s head shots up. “Wait, what? What scenario?”

Austin points to the notepad on his bed, no longer empty and blank. There’s a drawing of a crude chimera and two stick figures with Xs over their eyes. Below that are three lines in neat, printed Greek text that’s easy on his dyslexia.

Xxxxxxx

August 8, 2010 11:01 AM

Condition Violated: Will Solace died.

Attempt Terminated.

#asks #thanks for the ask!#and also thanks for the interests 🥹#it makes me super duper happy 🥰

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