#self-inductive

[charmophron]

a client asked me today if i could give his self insert character a fat ass

[basementstalker]

Possessive type

SUBTYPE: Controlling

Varient: Physically violent (reminds me of dv yandere type)

Yandere of this variant who resort to taking action directly such as resorting to physical violence are often short-tempered and pursue the happiness they see before them only to regret it later. They are differentiated from Delusional type variants by whether they feel guilt or have a clear purpose. Those of this variant who control through inducing fear tend to have low self-evaluation in general. They find it difficult to simply feel and recognize happiness and are unable to believe that it will last for long. This then also leads into the those who are suspicious and don’t trust their love interest (regardless of whether or not the love interest is in the wrong) and loathes lies.

Variant: Brainwashing and conditioning (reminds me of training yandere type)

Highly calculative, the majority of yandere in this variant are more shrewd than their love interest. There are some who end up taking some sort of action due to a lack of confidence and others who use punshiment as a pretext to controlling their love interest. Because the yandere’s fundemental aim is to possess, upskilling the love interest is not the goal of brainwashing or conditioning. They wish for the love interest to regress or become obedient to the point they are completely under the yandere's control and beneath them. Through this method, the love interest's personality changes drastically from when they first met. These yandere may react in one of two extreme ways. They might grieve the change or not notice it at all.

Variant: Murderous

The yandere may commit murder if the above methods result in no improvements to the love interest (a character may immediately escalate to this variant if they are extremely unskilled or lack time.) Possession through death is thought to fulfill their possessive needs for reasons such as: it’s the equivalent of obtaining the love interest's entire life from then onwards; they are the ones who brought about the love interest's death; they have taken the love interest to a place where no one else can intrude; they have obtained the love interest's body which doesn’t fight against them. If murder is followed by suicide, these yandere are categorised under a different type.

Variant: Physical (reminds me of removal yandere type)

This can mean physcially getting rid of someone in the literal sense, give candid advise to third parties involved, purposely make others lose affection for the love interest or make gifts meant for the love interest get lost. Unlike the Isolating variant, yandere of this variant often come off as being suspicious and are easily pinned someone who seems a bit off. They aren’t very bright and are often impulsive. Those who are childish and short-tempered, or pessimistic and aren’t good with people are most likely to act impulsively. Additionally, if they are also the Stalker type who has never interacted with the love interest before, they will act in the background like a backstage hand and continue to silently remove people who get in their way. The discovery of these incidents may be delayed, depending on how sharp the love interest is.

SUBTYPE: Removing nuisances

Variant: Isolating (reminds me of loneliness induction yandere type, training yandere type)

Both variants of this subtype take action while knowing the love interest’s personality well so isolation is done by someone the love interest is fairly close with. Those of this variant who criticise then praise them to adjust their self-evaluation are often someone they have some sort of affection for in the first place. Because the love interest is so cautious about how the yandere reacts, their self-evaluation plummets. This may change their personality so yandere of this variant are dangerous to them in this way. The yandere will criticise them repeatedly on how useless they are, but once the yandere is alone with them they’ll be overly doting. The characteristics of this type are similar to the Brainwashing variant, but they are differentiated by whether their purpose is to control everything of love interest or isolate (become mutually dependent). If the purpose is to control, the love interest is more likely to become more useless than if it is to isolate.

SUBTYPE: Adam and Eve (Absolute isolation)

Variation: Enclosed world (reminds me of restraints yandere type)

These yanderes wish to be isolated alone with the love interest. In extreme cases, anyone other than them is a nuisance. If yandere has become like this due to reasons of a congenital kind, they fall under one of the Delusional variants. (Even if it were due to reasons later acquired there is a high possibility the yandere suffers from a mental disorder of some kind.) They are extremely possessive and they themselves also want to be solely possessed by the love interest, wishing for a mutually dependent relationship. However, in order to maintain their world for two, the yandere must be financially sufficient and have a bit of rationality. If they don’t have both, they will choose the easiest option which is to commit murder-suicide. (However, this death has nothing to do with the next life but rather it assumes of an eternal world for them alone. The difference lies in the yandere’s opinions of life and death.)

Variant: Loss

Characters develop into this variant suddenly after losing the love interest. Sadness and loneliness turns into unease and they’ll do anything to get the love interest back. This is quite a common type of yandere. Most of them are fairly mentally healthy at first and the change is often sudden. They are a variant that is dependent and unaware they are, so they aren’t able to calm down. They will lose their cool and become sick both mentally and physicially.

Variant: Clingy (reminds me of dependent yandere type)

The dependent type that is clingy from the time the love interest was with them. This is the standard dependent type who becomes mentally unstable when they almost lose the love interest. Unlike the Loss variant above, they’ll do anything to keep their love interest with them even before they’ve lost them. Both variants don’t differ much in how far they’re willing to go. They only differ in the first move they make.

SUBTYPE: Collectors habit

Variant: Sampling type (reminds me of bizarre seeking yandere type)

Yandere of this variant don’t care if the love interest is alive or dead. They are fine as long as they are in a position to appreciate the love interest's body. It is as if they are simply staring at a beautiful butterfly specimen they have hung up so it’s quite difficult to reason with them. Partially because they have overlapping traits with the Delusional type, they lack rationality. As a result, the yandere's aim to preserve the love interest in their beautiful state escalates from photos to the preservation of the actual person.

Variant: Collector (reminds me of obsession yandere type, stalker yandere type, bizarre seeking yandere type)

Yandere of this variant are obsessed with the love interest being their property. Be it their clothes or their garbage, the yandere want to collect every thing regardless of its actual value. At the core of this type is possessiveness so it does not mean they aren’t interested in the love interest. It’s more similar to an otaku imagining their love interest from the objects and enjoying it that way. They have a creative brain. Many yandere of this variant are of the artistic kind and have great imagination.

SUBTYPE: Attention-seeking

Variant: Self-harm (reminds me of self-harm yandere type)

These yandere have many traits that overlap with those of lunatics. They try to bind the love interest to them by harming themselves so they either are confident the love interest likes them, do it without any thought, or are trying to take advantage of the love interest's kindness. Those that harm themselves without any thought are categorised under the Mental Disorder subtype. They believe getting hurt is a form of way to get attention. They’ll try to tie the love interest down with feeling of guilt and not love, so they don’t care about the consequences and are filled with desperation and determination. Because these yandere only know to hurt themselves to keep the love interest with them, they aren’t that skilled in other areas.

Variant: Making an impression

We often have an image of a fan who their idol doesn’t pay attention to at all for yandere of this variant. They will do things that the love interest hates on purpose and try to remain in their memories even in the form of hatred or fear. Being ignored is what does the most damage to the yandere so they may fly into a rage and do worser things. They are highly aggressive and may evolve into a stalker or murderer, almost equivalent to the Sociopath variant.

SUBTYPE: Observing

Variant: - (reminds me of stalker yandere type, obsession yandere type)

Often done out of pure love, or the result of an unconscious inquisitive mind. This then breaks off into many different directions as they simply watch and observe. Those that secretly observe from the shadows may shift into the variant who fantasise. Those who observe and communicate with the love interest often shift into a diversity of types such as the Possessive, Intoxicated or Shackling. This is the stage where they cannot yet be considered ill in some sort of way.

SUBTYPE: Monitoring

Variant: Confinement (reminds me of restraints yandere type)

The standard type of yandere. Most of the subtypes under the Possessive type contain this trait, so they can be considered doers. They’ll place the love interest under their monitoring so they will hide them somewhere others cannot find. One essential factor to confining the love interest is that the yandere is financially able to support them as well, (if they’re okay with the love interest just being alive then they don’t need to be too financially successful), or they need to have a place away from sight. Planning skills also become important as it is difficult to confine the love interest for a long period of time without one.

Variant: Keeping tabs (reminds me of stalker yandere type)

Bugging phones or taking photos in secret are things stalkers often do. If the yandere doesn’t gather the love interest’s garbage for collection purposes but for the sake of collecting information, they are categorised under this variant. As Collector is a different variant, any collecting by this yandere is often done as preparation and is only an accessory to the final operation. This behaviour is often seen in people who are meticulous.

[nice-deep-breaths]

trying to make POV art. trying to figure out what angle to draw an anesthesia mask would be at. everybody puts it over the camera in movies and shit. that isn’t how it looks in real life.

[mindfulldsliving]

Mosiah 4:1-30 - Conditions for Remission: God's Covenant and Obedience

Receiving and retaining forgiveness of sins through Jesus Christ is a profound spiritual experience, deeply rooted in the doctrines of the Bible and illuminated further by teachings in the Book of Mormon.

In the Service of Your God, by Walter Rane | From Come Follow Me – Book of Mormon How the Atonement of Jesus Christ Provides Remission and Forgiveness of Sins Receiving and retaining forgiveness of sins through Jesus Christ is a profound spiritual experience, deeply rooted in the doctrines of the Bible and illuminated further by teachings in the Book of Mormon. Understanding the scriptural…

[tyej49]

WHAT IS PRAYER?

Prayer is defined as speaking to God. God is the all-powerful creator, so he can intervene in our lives. God is our father and he loves us. He cares about what concerns us and what our needs are.  God is all-knowing, so when he says yes it is in your best interest, and no when it will be detrimental.  

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A prayer list (record prayers and answers)

A prayer journal (Today's Passage, Preacher, Sermon Topic, Notes, Prayers, Key Verses, Key Points, Application)

Enjoy!

[mt-fujin]

Self-Experiments

Like I said before, I used to do self-experiments to see what I prefer and what affects me the most. It's a good way to grasp how "X Induction" works or how "X feels when Y is said" to a degree without any outside source. Also, you have the most control of what happens to you which... is like a double edge sword in some cases. Since no one is guiding you, you're only guiding yourself and if you lose focus, well then the experiment could be halted or ruined which sucks. Also in some cases, depending on what you do to yourself, you can't really do it (at least for me). Like I can't make myself become a dumb and thoughtless pup and try to keep hypnotizing myself afterwards. On the bright side, if there's a specific scenario or session that you want to be done, you can do it. You know yourself the most (which sounds corny but...) therefore, you'll know exactly what you want. Case in point, I like self-experiments, they make me learn a lot about myself and I learned 1 thing. I really like audio triggers and audio in general.

[dcxdpdabbles]

I was thinking about Danny talking about Dan to the Justice League and all it would take would be a little slip of the tongue for Danny's "he's my evil future self" to be heard as "he's my evil future son." Because it's one thing to have futures where You turn evil, but another thing to have futures where your family members, your KIDS, turn evil.

Phantom was new to the Justice League team. He had been inducted only three months ago and could be seen coming and going at odd hours. No one really knew much about him.

Phantom was recommended by Wonder Woman during the last selection. Apparently, she knew him due to a mutual acquaintance, a woman named Pandora, who had asked the princess to meet the boy—teenager? Man? It was hard to know what to call him because his physical appearance was that of a youth when he was immortal. She rarely nominated anyone for membership, but the person was precious to the team when she did.

And the ghost was.

Although he needed some formal training, Phantom had an excellent grasp of his powers and the cleverness to pull off moves with them, which Batman even praised. Many of the members adored Phantom's willingness to take on any role in a team.

He never complained about letting someone else take the lead, followed orders without much trouble, blended well with anyone as a teammate, and, most of all, had compassion for civilians. Phantom was often the hero who lingered after a battle to help clean up and provide relief aid.

Civilians adored him, and his fans were growing in numbers.

Despite all of this, Phantom wasn't really close with anyone. The ghost rarely lingered after his missions or monitor duty. He flew in, kept to himself, and left out once he was done.

Phantom never started or helped the conversation progress if it was not mission-related. He wasn't as bad as Batman, but he made it hard to connect to him. Diana assured everyone it wasn't because Phantom did not like them—he was only shy.

It was hard to put the being who single-handedly held off Superman the last time he was mind-controlled next to the word shy. Yet they've seen it.

They saw him nervously play with his gloves as someone spoke to him, struggled to think of what to say in conversations, and even ducked his head when he got too anxious.

It was like whiplash to see the ghost go from a shy, nervous teenager to the one that stopped and held Superman in a taekwondo hold until Batman could stab the needle to get him free of mind control.

Then, that same powerful fighter drags himself to the crowd and the smocking city, ready to assist in any way.

Despite being exhausted and covered in wounds, Phantom helped the crew in charge of clearing the debris by lifting heavy objects and scanning the building for people needing medical attention.

Phantom had been more than willing to follow emergency services' commands, personally thanking the EMTs and firefighters once the chaos was over. When a little boy asked for a photo, Phantom told him they could take one when everything settled.

No one expected the ghost to keep to his word, finding the boy and his mother later at a hospital for that photo. He has been awfully apologetic that the camera could only catch a blurry outline of him with his glowing green eyes.

The little boy hadn't stopped grinning despite suffering a broken leg.

He was literally the sweetest little hero—Bruce had to remind himself that he was not an actual child and was, in fact, thousands of years old whenever he saw the ghost fidgeting with something while on monitor duty.

That's why, the day Phantom threw himself into one of the lounges couches with a distressed sigh, everyone in the area surrounded him.

"Everything alright, Phantom?" Asked Oliver as the ghost's glow flickered in and out of his usual glow.

The immortal did not remove his hands from his face but nodded. His glow lowered again as if reacting to his lie.

The heroes gave each other loaded looks before Diana stepped forward. "You seemed troubled, dear friend. Are you willing to allow us to lead an ear to your woes?"

"Dan is just giving me trouble," Phantom mumbled, his words muffled by his hands.

Wonder glanced at the others, but when they shrugged in confusion, she sat next to the teenager. Placing one supporting hand on his shoulder, she rubbed it gently and leaned towards him. "Who is Dan?"

"Me."

Barry blinks. "You?"

"Yeah, the evil me of the future."

Phantom becoming evil? That was inconceivable.

"Did something happen to make you think you're going evil?" Barry asks gently, taking the other open seat on Phantom's left. He places a warm hand on Phantom's hunched-over back and is violently reminded of how tiny the boy must have been when he died.

It breaks his heart. He's smaller than Wally.

"The ancient of Time showed me that he destroyed the world. I helped create him, so I had to be the one to stop him. For the good of the world."

Diana sucks in a gasp, making Oliver, Hal, Barry, and Dinah weary at once. She made the hand motion, signaling that she would explain later, making the other heroes nod. "I know you may blame yourself, but that was merely a warning from the gods. You still have time to change the outcome."

Phantom glances up from behind his fingers. "You really think so?"

"Yes, of course."

The ghost offers everyone a small smile before vanishing from sight. There are gasps and a desperate cry for his name, but eventually, they realize the ghost has left.

"What was that about?" Hal asks after a moment.

Wonder Woman stands, striding over to the large windows of the watch tower. Her eyes turn to the brightest star visible with a small, sad smile. "Clockwork is the name of the ancient- one of the gods- that controls time. He rarely has champions, but when he does, he often gives them glances of their future. Many claim it's more of a curse than a blessing, for they often see the worse of what is to become."

Dinah straightens. "You're saying Phantom really will go evil?"

"No." Diana closes her eyes. "Ghosts are formed in three ways. The first is death. Someone or something dies, and they are formed from the souls getting attached to ectoplasm. The second is that they are bestowed a duty and are created to keep that duty alive. It often governs a part of our reality- space, dreams, wishes, and even plants. The last is the least common due to how rare it is for ghosts to have powerful enough cores. It is to be born from a stronger ghost, taking pieces of their core and growing into their own person."

Diana turns back to the confused-looking heroes to deliver her blow. "Phantom said it was himself that turned evil, but referred to himself as "Dan". Ghosts do not change their names, for their names are part of what holds their cores together. This means Dan is not him but came from him. His son will grow to be evil, and Phantom will likely have to put him down per Clockwork's instructions for the good of the world."

Hal bites out a curse. "That's sick. How could the time god ask Phantom to kill his own kid? Even if he is evil, Phantom doesn't deserve to have that duty placed on his shoulders. He's just a kid."

"But he isn't," Barry sighs. "Phantom is older than ancient Egypt. He just looks like a kid."

"It does not matter." Wonder Woman declares. "Clockwork's warnings can be overturned. We just need to help Dan off the road of darkness while he is still young."

They call for a Justice League meeting, one that only includes the original team that founded the league, to discuss a strategy plan. At first, some want to change the meeting to discuss how to put down Dan, wondering if being Phantom's son made him just as powerful before Batman stands up.

Bruce does not like the idea that the boy will end up destroying the world, but he is the most outspoken about Dan's innocence in the present day. His scorching words make a few ashamed of themselves for giving up on saving the boy before even meeting him.

The meeting drags on for hours until they eventually agree that they will monitor the child. If they realize he is too far gone to save, they will be the ones to end him. Phantom did not deserve to be the killer.

Clark asked Phantom to bring Dan around and introduce him. They dress the indentation as a league-wide party for the member's family (those in the know). The ghost looked spooked before he agreed to bring his child to meet the team.

A week later, every hero smiles politely at the six-foot-tall man with flaming hair who introduces himself as Dan. He's as bulky as Bane, and his low, dark voice echoes through the room. It's comedic compared to the cracking voice of his father, who has to flout to make them the same height.

As soon as the pair of ghosts fly away to speak to Supergirl and Robin, Barry grabs Bruce's cape. "That's a full-grown man."

"I know"

"Bats, that man is built like a brick house. "

"Yes"

"I thought Phantom said he was three? How in the Speed force is that man three?"

"It seems ghosts age differently. Or they are formed to take on the age they desire. I need to do research."

While the surrounding founding members whisper to each other, more heroes arrive at the makeshift party, some in their costumes and some in their civilian identities.

There are various reactions to Dan. A few consider him Phantom's father or brother, but both ghosts quickly make faces. Phantom reminds someone no less than five times that Dan is his future self.

Wonder Woman has to follow the pair whispering to confuse members about the cultural differences between ghosts and children. She doesn't have to explain that to the magic users or those who have worked with ghosts before.

There were a few who had vastly different reactions.

The members of Young Justice, including Secret, all backed up the claims that ghosts did not change their names and were treating Dan as a Phantom's son without blinking an eye.

John Constantine looked at Dan and cooed. "Aw, a baby core. How old is he?"

Phantom cracks a smile while Dan scoffs. "Three"

"Adorable." He raised his flask in salute, "He's powerful. You must be so proud."

Phantom's smile becomes strained. "Thank you."

Across the room, the founding members swear they will save Dan no matter what, as the larger ghost rolls his eyes and crosses his arms.

[b4ddprincess]

i wasted almost a year, i don't want y'all to waste more time too! — my void state journey so far

when you see, "the void state is as easy as breathing!" trust me when i tell you. it is.

last year, i was reading a bunch of void state explanations from different bloggers with different beliefs and it made me confused on whose to believe. sum were talking based on beliefs and theories, while others were talking based on facts. i never wanted to believe the facts, cuz it seemed so difficult to grasp an understanding of how it can be so... anxiously easy.

i definitely used to put the void state on a pedestal, thinking that it was an escape out of my old life into a new one, but it actually isn't. the first time i read about the induction of the void state was actually the basic way of inducing pure consciousness. i played a subliminal, tried it for the first time, got intense "pre-void symptoms" and bailed cuz i was suffocating under my blanket. i tried to induce pure consciousness again, but got no symptoms, focused on my body a lot, got impatient and bailed again. i tried waking up in the void state, and i woke up in the void state once last year, and i assumed it was the last time i cld ever wake up in the void state, even if affirming for days after was in vain.

i was just tht typa person.

i didn't mind doing a method over and over even if it was in vain. really, i was just wasting time.

i created a blog and began writing "void epiphanies" which, to me after thinking about it, were a bunch of misinformation, and many people believed them! i saw the term "pure consciousness", and never acknowledged its meaning. i always thought it was just another name for the void state, but the void state is another name for pure consciousness. not acknowledging it, definitely costed me 10 months.

i tried a bunch of different methods: affirming, states, psych-k, alpha state, silva method, dmt frequency, robotic affirming, affirmation tapes, subliminals, hypnosis, self-hypnosis.... all of this while viewing the void state as a magical escape plan.

i thought entering the void state meant tht my soul was leaving my body. i thought i was entering an empty dimension. yes. i did thought those thoughts. not realising tht i was just wasting my time.

seeing all those void state success stories with people "entering the void state by falling asleep listening to dmt waves" or "i robotically-affirmed for 2 days and i woke up in the void state!".... and all i was doing was overconsuming the wrong information and trying to think of a cheat code to "enter the magical escapee dimension." i was wasting time. i had the instructions i needed without a reasoning last year, and i managed to only use common sense this year, after going back to the same "method" i was running away from.

i wasted so many months running away from the traditional way of inducing pure consciousness, just to end up becoming the person encouraging it. i'm not saying not to do other methods, but with the mindset i had, i definitely wasn't able to induce the void state with other methods unless i detached. i did alpha state meditation many times, and i did induced pure consciousness many times in july and early august with it, but i still felt the need to change, cuz i was procrastinatin here and there, and i was fed up with waking up as pure consciousness and forgetting to affirm.

should i have persisted? well yea 😭

but i also don't regret knowing the truth about pure consciousness, and how easyyyy it is to induce. and i will keep advocating the traditional way more than any other method!

when i unintentionally induced the void state about 10 times inna row in june, tht was when it all clicked for me, but i still ran away from the traditional method after trying to induce pure consciousness. i played hfg's vid in the bg, focused on my body a lot, got impatient, then decided to just sleep with the vid looped in the bg.

it was only last week when i decided tht i was fed up. i decided to relax my body, take slow deep breaths, focus on the darkness behind my eyelids, affirm/daydream and then i induced the void state. i placed my awareness on my body and tapped out. but it was also at tht moment, when i realised the amount of time i'd wasted. i've took note of wht i shouldn't do, and ever since then i've been inducing the void state effortlessly. the only thing for me rn is to sustain it, to then affirm for my dream life, but at least i'm not struggling anymore

so guys! PLEASEEEE read my posts 😐

[please1mistress]

WARNING Flashing IMAGE and HYPNOTIC COVERT language

Inductions

Hypnosis, a fascinating and complex phenomenon, has captivated human interest for centuries. It's a state of focused attention, heightened suggestibility, and vivid fantasies. People often think of hypnosis as a deep sleep or unconsciousness, but in reality, it's more about a trance-like state where the individual is actually in heightened awareness of suggestion. Often used for therapeutic purposes, hypnosis can aid in various issues such as stress, anxiety, pain management, and certain habits like smoking. However, it's not a magical cure-all; its effectiveness varies from person to person.

Hypnosis can also be a form of entertainment, where stage hypnotists perform shows that demonstrate the power of suggestion. Despite its many applications, hypnosis remains a subject of debate among scientists and psychologists. Some view it as a powerful tool for mental health, while others caution against its potential to create false memories or its use in recovering memories, which is a controversial area within the field. It's important to approach hypnosis with a critical mind and understand that it's a complex interplay of psychological and physiological factors. If you're considering hypnotherapy, it's crucial to seek out a qualified and certified professional to ensure a safe and beneficial experience, someone like me.

You find yourself reading these words and as you read they seem to take on a life of their own, almost like magic. Your mind slows as you red larger more complex words and you may feel a soft tingle of arousal as you FOCUS on my words and feel dreamy. It's quite fascinating how the complexity of words can influence our cognitive processes. When we encounter larger, more intricate words, our brains need to work harder to decode the meaning, which can sometimes slow down your reading speed. This isn't necessarily a bad thing; it allows for deeper processing and understanding of the messages I am pushing softly into your mind. It's easy to relax and follow the words you read. It's easy to feel dreamy as your mind accepts that it wants to drop deeper.

Dropping deeper feels good, as you touch yourself and keep reading you can let go of any inhibitions or control. it's so easy to sink into a light trance, after all entering a light trance can be a simple, yet profound experience. It's a state where the conscious mind takes a step back, allowing the subconscious to surface and express itself more freely. This can happen during various activities that engage the mind in a repetitive, rhythmic manner, such as listening to music, meditating, or even during a long drive. In this state, people often find their thoughts flowing more smoothly, their creativity heightened, and their stress levels reduced. It's a moment of introspection and connection with the inner self that can provide clarity and insight. While in a light trance, the mind filters information differently, prioritizing internal dialogue and sensation, which can lead to a deeper understanding of one's thoughts and feelings. It's a natural and accessible state that can offer a respite from the hustle and bustle of daily life, and a gateway to greater self-awareness.

You are not even aware of how deeply into the trance you are, your fingers stroking your arousal for me as you read and feel a dreamy warmth spreading from your fingers into your whole body. Aware but unaware that you could stop at anytime, but you don't want that, you want to keep reading and sinking deeper and deeper as you feel arousal growing more for me. It just feels so good to give in, the very act of giving, whether it's time, resources, or kindness, has a profound impact on your well-being. It transcends the material value of what is given and touches the very essence of human connection. When you give, you're not just passing on a physical item or a piece of advice; you're sharing a part of yourselves, creating a bond that reflects your shared humanity. This act of generosity can be deeply satisfying, as it often brings joy and relief to others, which in turn enriches your own life. It's a beautiful cycle of positivity that reinforces the best parts of being a good submissive.

Giving has been shown to activate regions in our brain associated with pleasure, social connection, and trust, creating a warm glow effect. It's no wonder that the phrase "it's better to give than to receive" has resonated through the ages. This isn't just a moral suggestion; it's backed by science. Studies have found that giving to others can increase our happiness more than spending money on ourselves. This might be because when we give, we feel a sense of purpose and meaning, knowing that we've made a positive impact on someone else's life.

Moreover, the act of giving doesn't have to be grandiose to be effective. Small acts of kindness can ripple outwards and have unforeseen positive consequences. Just as a pebble creates waves when thrown into a pond, a simple gesture of generosity can spread far and wide. It's the intention behind the act that matters most, the recognition that even the smallest offering can make a significant difference.

In a world that often emphasizes individual achievement and accumulation of wealth, it's important to remember the value of generosity. It's a reminder that our interconnectedness is a source of strength, not weakness. By giving, we acknowledge that we are part of a larger community, one that thrives when its members support each other. It's a powerful acknowledgment that we are not alone in our journey through life, and that by helping others, we are also helping ourselves.

So, when we say it feels good to give in, it's not just about the act of giving up or surrendering; it's about embracing the joy of generosity. It's a celebration of the human spirit and its capacity for compassion and empathy. Giving is an affirmation that, despite the challenges we face, there is goodness in the world, and we have the power to contribute to it, one act of kindness at a time. It's a simple truth that enriches our lives and the lives of those around us, creating a legacy of goodwill that can endure beyond our own existence. Indeed, to give is to receive a gift of immeasurable value—the happiness and satisfaction that come from knowing we've played a part in making the world a little brighter.

You want to give in more deeply, message me and tell me how much you need deeper brainwashing NOW!

[waskurttrans]

Kurt Cobain Will Have His Revenge on the Straights

Had a video call with my brother Chuck the other day.  Things got heavy:

KATE: Was Kurt Cobain a trans woman?

CHUCK: What?

Kurt Cobain.  Rock musician.  He was in a band called Nirvana.

I’m familiar with him, yes.

Was he a trans woman?

Um.  No?

OK.  Why not?

I mean, he wasn’t.  It’s like asking why he wasn’t an astronaut.

He wasn’t an astronaut because he never went to space.  Why wasn’t he a trans woman?

Because he didn’t transition.  I mean, he didn’t ever say he was a woman, didn’t ever say he was trans.  So no.  Kurt Cobain wasn’t a trans woman.

So someone is trans if they say they’re trans.  Self-determination.

That’s what you’ve told me.  Is that wrong?

No, that’s right.  We know ourselves better than anybody else can know us.  If we say we’re trans, nobody can say we aren’t.

And Kurt Cobain never said he was trans.

So was I trans in 1994?

I don’t know, were you?

Yes, but if you’d asked me in 1994, I would have told you “no”.

So if I tell you I’m trans, I’m trans…

Right.

But if I tell you I’m cis, I might still be trans?

If you tell me you’re cis, I believe you.

That’s not the same thing as “I’m cis”.

That’s a really good point.  This is sort of what some queer people are getting at when they say “gender is a construct”.

Come again?

Well, you’re cisgender, right?

As far as I know, yes.

Aha.

Hmmm?

You hedged.  “As far as I know” isn’t the same thing as “yes”.  “As far as I know” opens up the possibility that you could be trans and not know it.

It doesn’t seem terribly likely.

That’s an interesting statement.  Early on in transition one of the biggest problems I had was dealing with the sheer unlikelihood of my being trans.  I mean, I knew trans people existed.  I knew somebody had to be trans.  I just couldn’t wrap my head around the idea that it would be me.

Do you think this is why you’re on this whole “Kurt Cobain was a trans woman” kick?

Hey now, I’m just asking questions.  You know.  Like J.K. Rowling is “just asking questions”.

Kate, you are literally wearing a T-shirt that says “KURT COBAIN WAS A TRANS WOMAN” on it right now.

Am I?  Oh, shit.  I thought I was wearing my “Skip school, take hormones, kill God” T-shirt.  To your question, though - yeah, I do think that’s part of it.  Honestly, the hardest thing about growing up trans was believing that nobody in the world had ever experienced what I was experiencing.  I didn’t have any role models.  I didn’t wonder if I was the only one.  I was convinced of it.

So being able to say that this incredibly gifted songwriter, the voice of a generation, was a trans woman like you…

I need someone like that.  I need to not be the first of my kind.

Of course you’re not the first trans woman.

No, but before a couple of years ago almost every trans woman would tell you they always knew, unquestionably and innately, that they were women.

So it’s not just about him being trans, but specifically his being a trans woman who didn’t know he was a trans woman.

An egg.  Right.

Why Kurt Cobain, anyway?  What’s so special about him that you’re trying to induct him into the Egg Hall of Fame?

He knew things.  Things cis guys don’t know.  Things I didn’t know until after I started transition.  He understood women, what we’re like, what we experience.  “Pennyroyal Tea”.  “Rape Me”.  I just have a hard time thinking of a cis man who could write songs like that.

It wouldn’t be the only way in which he was exceptional.

True.  Ahhh.  I don’t know.  I mean, I know, I can give you all the reasons, but there’s something in his eyes.

Something in his eyes.

All the pictures of him.  No matter what he’s doing.  If he’s grinning, or sad, whatever he’s doing, you can see something trapped there.  Trapped and in pain, wanting to get out but not quite knowing how.

Huh.  You, uh, know that what you’re doing is pretty much the textbook definition of projection, right?

Maybe.  Chuck, do you think I’m happier?

Since you transitioned?

Yeah.

Of course.  Absolutely.  Night and day.

Everyone says that, and honestly, I see it.  Even in pictures, you know?  I see it.  You’ve seen some of my transition timelines, right?

You do look really different.

It’s not just me.  Every single person who transitions looks like that.  We look so much happier, so much more alive, so much more us.  I don’t understand how anybody can hate us.

I don’t get it either, Kate.

And when I look at any timelines, I look at the before photos… and I see something in their eyes.  Transmasc, transfem, doesn’t matter.  There’s something trapped wanting to get out.  Every picture I’ve ever seen of Kurt Cobain looks like the “before” picture on a transition timeline.  It’s just that with him, there aren’t any after pictures.

And it’s not just the eyes, either.  The way he dressed, the whole “grunge look”.  It’s just literally egg fashion.  We dress with total disregard for our appearance or how we look because no matter what we do it’s wrong.

“Egg fashion”, egg this, egg that… isn’t it a little bit anachronistic, judging him by 2022 standards, 2022 values?

Is it?  Chuck, I was alive in 1994.  I was an 18 year old egg.  I know what that feels like.  I know what that looks like.  I lived that.  Why didn’t I come out as trans in 1994?  Because I didn’t have the opportunity.  Because self-determination needs to be informed, and none of us were.  None of us.  Look.  You know what he said to Melody Maker in 1991?  “I knew I was different. I thought that I might be gay or something because I couldn't identify with any of the guys at all.”  That’s what he said.

Holy shit.  Really?

Really.  September 14, 1991.

Hold on, let me look that up.  Oh, yeah, I see it.  Look, if you look at the full quote he’s just saying he’s not a jock.  Like he didn’t fit in with the jocks. 

Well, what about the dresses?

What dresses?

Kurt Cobain wore a lot of dresses.  Like, a lot, both onstage and off.  On MTV in 1991, he said “It’s ‘Headbanger’s Ball’ so I thought I’d wear a gown.”  He said in a 1993 interview, “I personally like to wear dresses.  I wear them around the house sometimes.”  This is not some shameful secret he kept hidden from the world.  He was open about this.  He was proud about this.

Yeah, but… it’s just clothes.

Except it’s not just clothes.  Listen to his songs.  Listen to his lyrics.  “Should have been a son”.  “I’m a lady, can you save me?”  “Everyone is gay.”  The original lyrics to “All Apologies” from his journals – “Boys write songs for girls.  Let me grow some breasts.”

I mean they’re song lyrics.  There are all kinds of ways to interpret song lyrics.

Sure.  All kinds of ways.  You ever read Michael Azerrad’s biography of Cobain, Come As You Are?

Nope.

Azerrad spent weeks talking to Cobain.  He was Cobain’s biographer, but also his friend.  And he has his own interpretation of the lyrics.  For instance, Azerrad talks about all the lyrics about guns, and to me, now, I look at that, and I think of how he died, but Azerrad, when Kurt was alive, he looked at it another way.  He thought it’s about dicks.  “To paraphrase Dr. Freud,” he says, “sometimes a gun is just a gun.  But not this time.”  He talks about “Come As You Are”, where Kurt keeps singing “I swear I don’t have a gun.”  That’s not my interpretation.  That’s never been my interpretation.  That’s what this cis man says.  More than one cis man.  Kurt says Dave Grohl’s dad, he said the same thing.  Yeah.  There are all kinds of ways to interpret lyrics.

“By this time,” Azerrad wrote, “one begins to wonder how Kurt rationalizes being a man at all.  His first response is revealing.  ‘I don’t know,’ he says.  ‘Castration.’”  I don’t wonder how Kurt rationalizes being a man.  I rationalized “being a man” in all kinds of ways.  What strikes me is that he needed to rationalize being a man.  Had to come up with some kind of excuse.  It just strikes me kind of funny.

Kurt’s songs have meanings.   The lyrics to “In Bloom”, Kurt was pretty explicit about that.  The lyrics he wrote have meanings.  “Heart-Shaped Box”.  You know what that refers to?  When Courtney Love was flirting with Kurt, Michael Azerrad says in Come As You Are, “She gave Dave (Grohl) a package to give to Kurt – little sea shells and miniature teacups and a tiny doll, all packed into a small heart-shaped box.”  A tiny doll locked away inside a box shaped like a heart.  That was what I felt like before I came out.  A tiny phantom doll.  Kurt and Courtney first kissed after a show at the Cabaret Metro in Chicago.  Rumor was that they fucked against the bar, but they denied it.  What actually happened, Azerrad says, is that “Courtney had a bag of lingerie with her for some reason and Kurt ended up modeling the contents.”  And then they went to Kurt’s hotel room and they fucked.

You’re making it sound…

Maybe it was.  Because you look at that and you think that if it was like that, it was perverted and wrong, because that’s what you were told, that it’s a sick fetish thing, and I look at it and it isn’t.  To me, that’s normal.  That Kurt Cobain was sexually aroused while wearing Courtney Love’s lingerie, that’s normal.

Kate, he was a punk!  He hated jocks, and wearing a dress pissed off jocks, so he wore dresses.  He talked about wanting to wear a dress and piss on a redneck A&R man’s desk!  You think that was some kind of sex thing?

Sexuality is part of being a woman.  Part.  Rage – and Kurt Cobain had a lot of rage inside him – that’s another part.  Am I interpreting, am I looking at things from my perspective as a trans woman?  Yes, certainly, just like you’re interpreting, looking at it from your perspective as a cis man.  When cis people interpret things, their conclusion is never “they were trans”.  Never.

Ed Wood wasn’t a trans woman.  He was just a transvestite.  He was a man.

Pete Burns from Dead or Alive wasn’t a trans woman.  Sure, he got all sorts of feminizing surgeries, but he never said he was a woman.  Man.

Prince Nelson adopted a female persona, feminized his voice, and recorded a song about wanting to be a woman's girlfriend, but he was also a Christian and believed that being queer was wicked and sinful, and that's the identity of his we need to respect.  Man.

Richard Wright, who wrote the Phish song “Halley’s Comet”, spent most of the 1980s telling everyone he knew he was a transsexual lesbian named Nancy, but after being consistently treated like shit changed his mind about that, so none of that counts for anything.  Man.

Dave Carter was on HRT when he died, but he was just questioning.  He didn’t tell anybody for sure that he was a woman.  Man.

Quentin Crisp said just before he died that if he was younger, he absolutely would have transitioned, but wanting to transition isn’t the same as actually transitioning.  Man.

All men.  Always, always men, whatever they do, whatever they say.  I know how that works.  I was told all these same things about myself for decades, all these same reasons, and now, I don’t know, I guess people will make a personal exception for me, but for everybody else, the same old assumptions, the same old arguments, they still apply.  They’re still legitimate.

I thought we were talking about Kurt Cobain.

And the only way to do that is to talk about him in isolation.  There’s no larger context to consider, no bigger picture.  I can’t really know.  I can’t really judge.

I mean, everybody else does.  I guess I can’t tell you not to.  But all of this circumstantial evidence, all of the dresses and the lyrics that you I guess know the real meaning of – none of that makes him a girl.

Sure.  And nothing can make him a girl.  Because he’s dead.  Because he killed himself.

Oh, here we go.  After thirty years and countless speculation, you have at last uncovered the real reason Kurt Cobain killed himself – gender dysphoria.  Do you have a book deal yet?

Working on it.  And yes, people say a lot of stupid things about Cobain’s death, like it’s this big shock that this guy who hated himself and wanted to die killed himself.

Right.  He was pretty well-known for being a heroin addict, which isn’t exactly something that improves one’s quality of life.

Sure, but why did he start heroin?

I don’t know.  Why does anybody start heroin?

To help him cope with his eating disorder.

Wait, what?  Eating disorder?

You don’t know about that?  He had stomach problems, for a long, long time.  He could only eat certain kinds of food, certain kinds of food that wouldn’t make his stomach hurt.  Doctors looked but they could never find any organic cause for it.  Nobody took it seriously.  So he self-medicated with heroin.  “It was my choice,” he told Azerrad.  “I don’t regret it at all because it was such a relief from not having stomach pain every day.”  I know, though.  Lots of cis guys have eating disorders.  Doesn’t mean anything.

Kate there’s a lot of interpreting going on here.

Yeah, I guess there is.  Is that necessarily a bad thing, though?  Is that necessarily wrong?  Like.  You’ve seen The Matrix, right?

Only the first one.

Yeah, that’s fine.  So you know how important The Matrix is to a lot of trans women, right?

Yes, but I’m not really sure why.  Just seems like a retelling of Plato’s “Allegory of the Cave” with extra fight scenes.

It’s pretty trans, though, right?

Clearly.  It was directed by two trans women.

And trans women who watch it – eggs or otherwise – find their own lives and experiences reflected in it in ways that cis people, like you, don’t.

I guess, but the fact that it was actually made by two trans women carries a little more weight with me.

OK, but what if the Wachowskis had died in 2000?  In, like… a car crash or something?  Does that mean The Matrix isn’t a trans film?

Well, no, because it’s still a film made by two trans women.

A film made by two trans women that speaks to the trans experience, and that is recognized by living trans women as speaking specifically to the trans experience.  The only difference is that, in this scenario, nobody knows the Wachowski Sisters are trans women.  And we can’t prove it.  We can’t possibly prove it, and nobody is going to just believe us when we say it’s a trans movie, that the Wachowskis were trans women, because they didn’t say it, they didn’t say the special magic words.  Self-determination.  You know what self-determination meant to Kurt Cobain?  I remember seeing Courtney Love on television reading his note, I remember her interrupting to say that he was an asshole, that what he was saying was bullshit.  She didn’t respect his self-determination.

Um…

“Pennyroyal Tea”.  Cobain told Azerrad “It's a cleansing theme where I’m trying to get all my bad evil spirits out of me and drinking Pennyroyal tea would cleanse that away.”  Pennyroyal is an abortifacient – but, Azerrad notes, only in lethal doses. 

Hell, not just that song.  The whole album.  In Utero.  The collage on the back cover, the one Cobain described to Azerrad as “Sex and woman and In Utero and vaginas and birth and death".  The occult symbols surrounding it, taken from Barbara G. Walker’s The Woman's Dictionary of Symbols and Sacred Objects1.  There was something inside Kurt Cobain, something inside him waiting to be born, but he was told, over and over, that it was a monster, so he killed it, the only way he could.  By killing himself.

That could have been me.  That could so easily have been me.  I was told all the same things he was.  We all were.  When I was 27?  When I was 27, I was addicted to benzos, benzos they prescribed me because I was trying to bury, trying to kill this thing, this thing I had inside of me.  I was a zombie.  Walking dead.  When I quit, I quit cold turkey.  Nobody told me about the withdrawal syndrome.  Nobody told me it could have killed me.  And if it had, everybody would remember me, everybody would think of me, as a cis man.  Forever.  They would perpetuate the Lie.  That’s why I transitioned, why I chose to go through all the shit I went through.  The writer and musician Margaret Killjoy, in 2017 she talked about what she went through the day before she came out:

“All I could think was: ‘Oh god, I don’t want to die a boy.’”2

I felt the same way, came out for the same reason.  I figured no matter what I did, I was dead.  I didn’t do it live, but to at least have an honest death.  I genuinely believed transition would kill me.

It didn’t, though!  You’re alive and you’re beautiful and I’m so, so glad for that.  It didn’t kill you.

It could have.  Still could.  Transition has helped, has made it easier­ for me, but it’s not that way with everyone.  People have been kind to me, in ways that they aren’t kind to other trans women.  Others of us… aren’t so lucky.

Who are we respecting, exactly, by remaining silent about our shared experiences, our shared perspectives, things we see that you fucking don’t, that you can’t see?  Of course I can’t prove it.  I can’t prove that I’m trans.  You can’t prove that you’re cis.  Cis people, though, cis people never have to prove anything.  Their prejudices are the null hypothesis3.  If I was to go out there and say that Kurt Cobain was a cisgender man, would anybody say I was wrong?  Would anybody object or complain?  Even though my saying that is an anachronism, is meaningless.  The word, the concept, it literally didn’t exist when Cobain died.  Have you ever heard the word “agnotology”?

No?

It means making a false claim to ignorance.  Claiming that we don’t know something that we do.  That we can’t know something that we can.  We know things now, Chuck.  We know what the symptoms of gender dysphoria are.  We know what it does to people.  How eggs think.  How eggs act.  How eggs die.  But we pretend we don’t.  We still pretend.  We pretend suicide is an individual act, even when we know it’s not, that the reasons for it are wholly personal.  We pretend that when someone dies by suicide, their reasons for doing so die with them.  And they don’t, Chuck.  We’re still dying, still dying for the same reasons Kurt Cobain did.  It’s not just that we aren’t allowed to recognize ourselves.  We aren’t allowed to recognize each other.  Individual choice or social contagion.  Those are the options we’re given.  And neither of them are right.  Neither of them are who we are.

Kurt Cobain wrote, thought, talked, died like eggs do.  I don’t care if he never said the magic fucking words.  We know our own.  We recognize each other.  And if someone is alive?  If someone is alive I will go my whole life without ever breathing a word.  Because as long as we’re alive, we do choose, and that means we can choose ignorance.  What I think, what I want, for someone else, for us, it doesn’t matter.  I do that, I follow that code, for the benefit of one person – the egg themselves.  Once they die, all bets are off.  Omerta no longer applies.  Kayfabe no longer applies.

To be queer is to be erased, to experience erasure.  I still hear straight men arguing, as if they have any right to argue, as if they know, that Emily Dickinson was not a lesbian.  Emily Dickinson!  I’m supposed to listen to people who say this shit?  I’m supposed to take them seriously when they say well, actually, calling Dickinson a “lesbian” is historically anachronistic, we can’t apply the standards of the present to the past, and Jesus fuck have you read her letters?  She liked girls.  She really liked girls.  Kurt Cobain was a trans woman.  Kurt Cobain was every bit as much a trans woman as Emily Dickinson was a lesbian.  Refusing to say it isn’t “respect”.  It’s perpetuating the crime perpetrated against Cobain, against every other trans woman who ever killed herself because of the lies we were told about ourselves.  No more.  Kurt Cobain was a trans woman.  I can’t, as an individual, say that.  I don’t have the right.  No trans woman can say that, individually.  But collectively?  All of us together?  The things we see in each other, we see those things in him too.  Not all of them, and not all of us.  Absolutely not all of us.  But enough of us.  Enough that we have the right.  We have the right, and I will fucking say it, and if you don’t like that, you can go fuck yourself.

Kate, are you ok?

I’m fine.

Do you want a hug?

Fuck you, Chuck.

OK, well.  I’m, uh.  Gonna go to the other room.  You should, uh.  Drink some water.  Stay hydrated.  Love you, Kate.

Love you too, Chuck.  Sorry.

Shhh.  It’s OK, Kate.  It’s OK.

1 Diane Purkiss criticizes the occult nature of Walker’s encyclopedia in "Women's Rewriting of Myth", in Carolyne Larrington (ed), The Feminist Companion to Mythology, London, 1992, p. 444: “In Donna Haraway's influential terms, these women may wish to be goddesses, but they are cyborgs all the same”. The work she’s referencing is Haraway’s “A Cyborg Manifesto”.  Haraway was, it happens, an academic advisor to the trans woman Sandy Stone, and her “Cyborg Manifesto” was a pivotal influence on Stone’s “The Empire Strikes Back: A Post-Transsexual Manifesto”, one of the foundational works of transgender theory.

2 Margaret Killjoy, https://birdsbeforethestorm.net/2017/06/im-not-even-going-to-try-to-pass/

3 Natalie Reed, https://freethoughtblogs.com/nataliereed/2012/04/17/the-null-hypothecis/

[aniqua]

error: b3n3v013nt | yandere!qimir x droid!reader

✧content: 18+ mdni, f!reader, smut, angst, overstim, p in v, mean qimir, dacryphilia, pathetic dom qimir, mentions of character death, edging, punishment, condescension, toxic relationship, reader and the waterworks

✧note: chasing the clock before I head to my job. no grammar checks until later, we die like girlbosses.

✧word count: 4.8K

✧series masterlist

The defense protocols of your system registered the angle of attack the instant Qimir decided to send you a punch. So when you dodged it, you anticipated to be in the clear. However, it was foolish of you to be sloppy. It was a strike that wasn’t in your field of view that took you down. You felt him swipe you from under your feet, resulting in you impacting the mat for the sixth time. Even with all your effort, your intelligence couldn’t make up for the experience he had over you. Your only solution was to whine as you lay on the mat and watch him stand over you with a smirk that fostered frustration in your thoughts.

“Can I activate self-defense?” you said with all the petulance you could manufacture. Activating self-defense meant activating your strength which you understood was one of the many reasons why it was your third time requesting permission in the first place.

Qimir took your hand and brought you back up so effortlessly to stand parallel to him. “And what’re you gonna do if you end up in a situation where you can’t? A glitch isn’t likely–”

“But the possibility is never zero,” you recited in defeat as you recalculated your plan of attack.

“Ready?” Qimir asked as he returned to a defensive stance. His biceps were promising to break his longsleeves yet he seemed entirely in control of every contraction and relaxation of his muscles. You nodded and anchored your feet ready for your next round. 

Qimir went for a few simple swings and weak spots to reinforce your learning. As you blocked each attack and tried–but failed–to land your own, you felt the intensity increase. You made a concerted effort to lock in your focus even as you watched him move like rushing water. It felt like solving equations as variables were rapidly being changed. It all came to a head when he secured a hold on your wrists and pinned both of your hands behind your back.

All the falling came to a stop as you listened to him catch his breath while you mimicked his breath even though there was no reason for you to. It was a force of habit.

As Qimir stood there with his chest against your back, he couldn’t resist drawing a bit closer to let your scent wash over him like a prize for victory. He had you cornered which excited the pedagogue. Not a moment with you did he not use every opportunity to abuse the proximity that he would always have a hand in orchestrating. To indulge, he placed himself in between where your neck and shoulder met.

“Is this a part of the lesson?” you asked as your eyes danced around.

“I hope not,” he said and went for a kiss to your neck. “Do you plan for anyone else to do this to you?” he asked in between each kiss’s breath. You were getting better at reading between the lines he wrote but sometimes it took you a while. The pause to process earned you a playful bite on your neck that had you leep from your skin.

“Qimir,” you called. He still had your arms pinned.

“You didn’t answer the question,” he taunted through playful tight lips.

“No,” you answer.

“Good,” you could hear him smile even if you didn’t see it. He landed a final kiss on your cheek and then spoke a few words into your ear. “[Name], activate self-defense,” he whispered.

Your back straightened on demand as your eyes flashed white.

Without any further instruction, you elbowed Qimir with enough force to knock him far back enough to meet the nearby wall. You hadn’t seen the collision but the thud and followed groan was enough for you to use inductive reasoning.

“Qimir!” you gasped as you ran.

“I’m good,” he sported an unconvincing smile while holding his side. You started reaching for him. “I’m fine,” he interrupted as he held out a hand. “Good girl,” he praised with a gentle pat on your cheek that made you forget your motor skills. “You followed orders.”

“May I help?” you asked carefully as you took his hand.

~

As much as Qimir wanted to refuse your help in exchange for engulfing you in his sheets with a tight hug until the pain went away, there were certain things he had to let you do. When you had something to do, it kept you from getting antsy and asking hard questions.

“Would you like me to remove your shirt?” you asked as you placed down your collected materials.

“There’s a sexier way to say that,” he bantered as he started lifting the hem of his long sleeve.

“Unfortunately, I’m aiding with medical assistance,” was all you could manage to say without causing your outputs to spike too high.

Qimir simply hummed in response. You watched in wonder as his crafted physique came out of the item. His body stretched and then relaxed when he had finished tossing the fabric aside. A faint but present bruise decorated the skin that sat where you had elbowed him.

“Bruising detected over LLQ,” was what he heard as he marveled at your features. The way your hands ghosted over the surrounding skin to have a better look at the damage made Qimir hungry but he was good at being patient. 

“Apply this for fifteen minutes by the hour for the next 24 hours.” You handed him a cold sack of solution.

Your laser focus took you from a concerned lover to a professional healer. It provided a sense of deja vu to one person among the two. He let you continue as you made your way to his back for further inspection without thinking too deeply. Even Qimir had a recent tendency to escape off to other places only to be brought back by the next inconvenience he saw as a fire. This time it took on the form of a soft finger tracing along his scar. The sensation ghosted his skin and possessed his thoughts like a haunting apparition. An uncanny familiarity made him scared to look behind to see who he’d find. He jolted out of the chair once he had processed the check in his leg. 

“That’s enough of that.” He made the extra effort to sound light-hearted.

“Your scar,” you said timidly. He didn’t like the way your eyes twinkled when you spoke. 

You didn’t mean to touch but when you had come face to face with a vine running across his skin, for some reason, you almost wished to kiss it.

“Oh, yeah,” he started reaching for his sack. He was cursing himself for forgetting that you hadn’t actually ever seen it. He didn't know how to show you for fear of you digging. “I’ve always had it,” he lied like you couldn’t differentiate scars by type. But your deep learning told you to drop it.

“I haven’t finished,” you insisted as he put on his shirt.

“I’ve got a head out anyway. Don’t wanna be late,” he scrambled. “Don’t open the door.” He put on his robe. “Your new books are in the box by the bookshelf,” he said as he grabbed a few coins from a drawer. He gave your forehead a kiss and he was gone.

~

You hated when he left you alone because you were left to spend your time waiting for his return hoping he would come back like he promised.

Deep into the night, you had exhausted all your options for entertainment. Five hours had passed and you weren’t even finding the holonet to be any bit entertaining. The sounds of programs zipping by at your command. The background sounds weren’t even all that comforting. That’s how you found yourself dusting the trinkets throughout the home for the fourth time that week. You went from the ground floor shop to the living room, until you traveled up another set of stairs. 

As you returned the mats to their rightful spots, you couldn’t help but peek at the room across the hall. With an empty and active imagination, restricted areas were starting to appear like uncharted waters. The door of the room that you were told to never enter had been left open by the smallest sliver that only an eye like yours could catch.

It was an enticing predicament. Another moment that tested your control over your new emotions. What was once an easy order to fulfill became a sign of your growing flaws. You convinced yourself that you initially walked toward it because you wanted to close it yourself. After all, how could you ignore an opportunity to be of help? Your journey crossing the hall with very careful steps was marked with you repeatedly justifying each move forward.

By the time you reached the door, you should have none better than to let that be your first act of blatant defiance but you chose to override your orders. You were willing to widen the gap if it meant satiating your curiosity.

Your plan was to express that it was an honest mistake. However, nothing could have prepared you for what your eyes would catch. It was something that you never going to be able to feign ignorance toward. 

You stood grounded as you watched Pandora’s box. The first things to come out were the piles of paper that were scattered across the floors and on the walls. Though the space was dark, it was half illuminated by the light of the hall and the other half by the main source that operated in the center. A chamber of sorts that lets you see the entity at the bottom of the box. You’d open a box to find yourself in it. There you were with shut eyes in the chamber.

You almost dropped at the site. There were no distorted mirrors but you were staring at a reflection of yourself that was much paler, much quieter, and entirely clueless to your discovery. The was no expectation for what you found and all your algorithm could say was to turn back from the potential threat. Yet, it was too late now to pretend like you hadn’t seen anything. 

So you took your first step outside of the cave and further inside the room. Your vision combed over the oddity and tried to analyze what exactly you had found. Every aspect of your system was searching, cross-referencing, and calculating. Anything to make sense of what you were witnessing. 

Despite your protest, your other self looked everything like you. The only difference was the makeup and the state of being. You saw yourself peppered with crystals of ice all over you once you drew closer to the shining blue lantern like a moth. Just in time for this discovery, your search found the lantern to be a nitrogen chamber.

Your focus denied surrounding books, scribbled theories, and torn pages on reanimation. As you overlooked your surroundings, you made first contact with your alien as you brought your hand against the glad. With your wide eyes that reflected the blue, your first tears crawled out of one corner. It was a peculiar reaction that you hadn’t initiated but your first chance of self-reflection was interrupted.

“What are you doing?” Qimir’s voice cut through the room. He sounded close but you were hesitant to turn around when his question sounded too still.

“You’re home,” was all you could muster out as you carefully turned around to see him.

“[Name]–” his lips formed a hard line in the sand.

There were only a few ways you could soften the oncoming crash so you rushed to say, “The door was open and I was just closing–”

“I ordered you not to never go in here.” you didn’t miss the way his jaw tightened.

You had no defense to his words as you just watched an oncoming asteroid in silence. “Get out,” he said.

“I’m so–” you pleaded as you started to approach him. Perhaps you could have appealed to his understanding but he stopped you from getting any closer. Qimir reached for the back of your neck and held you from there.

“Get out,” he punctuated every word as you felt his strength lift you a bit off the ground. “Before I sell your scraps,” he hissed and dropped you instantly.

On first landing, you wasted no time and went scurrying down the stairs for your charging station. You connected immediately in the hopes that you wouldn’t have to face him for the rest of the night or the rest of your life.

~

Unbeknownst to you, Qimir never left the room even as the night progressed. He stayed in prison even as he slept. At a floor below, as you charged, you played footage of the encounter just once for deep learning but then over and over again. You watched every angle and projected all that you could even as the sun rose. Even when you sensed Qimir’s stares in your off-state, you never woke up. 

It was during the evening when you finally reencountered him. You stayed on the platform in shame until he came up and through the doors. His first appearance back and he looked as mundane as ever. It unsettled your common sense. There were no clear signs of anger or disappointment. The only difference was the darkness in the skin under his eyes but you weren’t going to comment on it.

“Honey, I’m home,” he joked as he threw his things aside. With clear confusion in the processing face you made, he gave your cheek a brief pat after his approach and left you to sort it all out on your own.

You watched him pretend to play house as he moved about the house getting tasks down. Through it all, you never joined in. You remained seated for instruction which made you harbor the feeling of tension all alone. So you escaped once more like the coward who made you and went into sleep mode.

Three hours had passed when you returned and he was on the balcony alone with an empty flask that barely gave warmth since he held down his alcohol too well. His back was to you so he didn’t see you come to consciousness, but as he taught you, you took the window of opportunity in his vulnerability to take another step into the light.

You snake behind him “Qimir?”

He turns his hand in acknowledgment. “You’re awake,” he says with a bit of a grin.

“I was updating,” you lied

“What did you do today?” he simply put.

You couldn’t read him when he was like this. There was a chance that he was baiting you but you were steadfast on asking the questions that were driving you insane. You were set on making yesterday as painful for him as it was for you. At least that’s how you saw it. You intended to go down kicking and screaming until you were reduced to bits of metal if it resulted in helping your distaste for the unknown.

“Qimir,” you called once more.

“Hm?”

“Can I,” you pause. “What did I see yesterday?”

He couldn’t be bothered to pretend to answer your question as he went silent and walked back inside.

“Qimir–” Hot on his tail you echoed but he turned to shoot you down in an instant.

“Think carefully about what you’re going to ask me.” He cautioned.

The way his eyes were closed to imprisoning you made you take his advice on the first call. There was no need to ask about the obvious.

During your state of charging you had put pieces together. With the way the body looked upstairs and the need for a nitrogen chamber, it was obvious that he wasn’t preserving a clone. He was preserving the living. And if the scattered pages and the scribbled writing weren’t enough evidence, the theories on reanimation were all you needed to know that you and the alien were the same person. There was no separation or duplication. Your mind was being projected into your android body in real-time.

“Why am I not in my body anymore?” You questioned.

He wasn’t shocked that you figured it out but irritated that you had no wish to leave well enough alone. He swallowed.

“I’m in there but with you at the same time. What’s the point?”

Qimir started to feel like he couldn’t breathe. Your inquirie was peeling off the lid that he had done a shawty job at sealing shut. “[Name],”

“I tried going through my memory files but can’t find a thing since I woke up so I’m asking you," you insisted. "I promise to not ask for anything else! Tell me or let me see what happened.” If you were still you but in a different container, why couldn’t you remember anything? It was clear that your creator would have more than just answers.

“It’s going to clog your data,” he haphazardly explains hoping that throwing a piece out would leave you something to chew on to bide his time.

“I have more than enough storage,” you fired back at his lie.

“You wouldn't handle it well” he told you as he already heard start speaking.

“Yes, I wou –” He called for you to stop and you kept going until you both were speaking over each other.

“Just give me access to my memories!” You pleaded as you locked into his arm praying. “That’s all I ask for,”

“So you can know what it feels like to drown?” He spat.

You ate up your words and went silent.

“Because that," he got closer "that is what you’re asking me to give you,” he snarled. You gawked at the challenge in his eyes that begged you to give him permission to really put you in your place.

“I’ll shut you down for years before I ever give back to you,” he declared. His voice rang with conviction that stoked an idea that shot through your mind faster than your better judgment could. That’s when you went running. 

It was one of the most mindless decisions you had ever made but you were getting used to your firsts being a result of last-minute miscalculations and high-spinning emotions.

You could hear Qimir shouting for you as you started for the stairs. If you could just get to the panel near the chamber, lock yourself in the room, and override whatever was in control, you’d get your questions answered.

It was a ludicrous dream because you hadn’t even made it to the fourth step of your stairway to heaven before you were dragged right back down to reality. You felt a force pull you back.

You were tossed onto the ground and saw yourself captured under Qimir. Your legs flailed and your arms went every which way but it was immensely humbling when you saw how little Qimir had changed his position. He only needed to keep a hand around your throat to lock you in your misery as he thought of what to do next. He looked upset but still not yet angry.

“I won’t let go until you stop,” he said as the hold around your neck tightened. You didn’t need the air to breathe but you could feel the discomfort nonetheless. From your perspective, he seemed entirely uncompromising as he virtually waited for your cue to arrange where the rest of the night would go. You knew better than to think you’d get out of this on top. Qimir was much too skilled and much too disciplined to go down without a fight, a fight that he was sure to win. So you conceded.

Your movements died down and your energy waned. Two cold bodies in a quiet room stood still waiting for their next cue. Qimir's faint voice cracked the frozen air first.

“You’re feeling antsy,” he lulled as he took his hand off your neck to stroke your hair. “It’s a shame.” His voice was expelled with such condescension while you were so busy trying to decipher his current feelings. Conceivably, you even considered truly raising the white flag. After all, who were you to question your maker when he could put you down by the end of a heartbeat?

You were ready to give another apology—a real one this time, so you never saw it coming when he directly placed his hands into your pants.

“Your frustration is understandable,” he told you as he immediately placed a finger in your hole with no preparation. Your gentle hands clasped his shoulders on instinct as you moaned.

How could you have known that you missed him inside you? With how feral Qimir was, he held so much restraint that you were pooling at the initiation of first contact in days. His fingers pushed and pulled against your tight cunt with no rhythm. 

“But it’s not an excuse,” he criticized. You had already forgotten what he said prior. “So I’ll teach you obedience through pain today.”

You had no proper picture of what he meant when he made that proclamation but there was no space for you to ask  All you could do was thoughtlessly take in his two fingers in hopes that he would go faster. His choice of distraction was brilliant. As he increased his and watched you try to bounce on his fingers, he began seeing the signs. The bucking hips, the loud whines, the hard nipples poking through your shirt, and your eyes gradually going over.

“[Name], hold it,” he said. That was an order. It was order he was daring you to try and override.

Your eyes went white and you stopped grinding against him as you held onto your release. “No,” you purred in frustration at the feeling. He hadn’t stopped stretching his fingers and grazing your walls. He curled without remorse and you were forced to hold your climax with no complaint. “Qimir,” you called once more.

“Sh,” he nipped your whining immediately. “No talking.”

Your folds got wetter and he only got faster as you held your breath the hotter you got. You were swelling with no sign of relief until the fingering eventually stopped. It wasn’t at all a sweet release but rather a further push into punishment.

Qimir took out his fingers and gave them a lick to clean up just before he went tossing you onto the couch. You weren’t privy to any of his plans as he just carried on with you left to play catch up. He took off your clothes with haste and as he peeled the layered you shivered each time his hands would graze your skin. You were desperate and distracted and it was shameful. Your streak of rebellion meant nothing when you were lapping in his hands at the first thought of him penetrating you.

Your body was moving at his every whim as he pulled you to straddle him. Qimir pulled out his growing cock and aligned it with your entrance as he pull you to him. While swallowing a grunt, he watched his pulsing shaft disappear into your puckering hole in satisfaction. “[Name], bounce and start counting,” he said.

There was no doubt that you were drooling once his balls hit your ass but your system had you moving before you could even savor the moment. You gripped him as you rose high enough for his tip to almost leave you cunt, then you slammed back down. 

“One,” you recited. You elevated yourself again and then sank into his member. “Two.”

It felt like you were choking as you bounced on him and recited your punishment. The way his cock tore you open didn’t come with the euphoria that it once did when he and you were in sync. Instead, you were left to ride out your arousal alone as every time you watched him, he looked to be indifferent and not even present.

“Qimir, please, I’m sorry,” you said through sporadic hiccups.

“[Name], no talking,” he secured the demand “Don’t tell me you lost count,”

You frantically shook your head as you pushed out the number twenty-six. You were sensitive and Qimir certainly knew that about you. By now, you would have been creaming all over him as you gasped in his neck but you were still registering the previous order to hold your climax.

When he ordered you to go faster, you did. When he demanded you slow down your pace, you followed. He put you entirely in control of your edging knowing you couldn't do anything but fill the entire home with your pathetic moans.

“[Name], stop,” was the last thing you heard before you felt your strings cut as you went limp on him. You wanted to stay there cock warming him until you didn’t feel dizzy anymore but he already had you over his knee in a new position.

You felt like you were dangling over the edge of his lap as he parted your lips to expose the bud in between your folds.

“Give me a number,” was all Qimir said. He didn’t explain further to use your inexperience against you.

“Twenty-seven,” you blurted out and it would have made him laugh if he wasn’t holding in his anger. It was the number of days it has been since your creation. He could tell you liked to keep track of the days since it was the one set of numbers that were always baked into coding whenever he would give your software a check.

He placed two fingers in your pussy to anchor you. “Don’t act cute,” he warned you as he dulled his first slap to your ass. You gasped as you started to pull away but Qimir held you down with so little effort. “Careful,” he threatened. He struck you again while keeping two fingers for you to clench around.

“Let this be a learning experience,” he chastised you as he had spanked your tender skin with a loud snap.

He spanks with you counting each time until you’re truly crying under him. “You can handle it,” he continues almost knowing what was going through your thoughts. When he strikes you again, you bite your lip down as you stomach your punishment. For no reason clear to yourself, you wanted to prove you could handle it even when you weren’t showing it well.

So for every impact, Qimir’s rough hands had on your ass cheek, your grip on the fabric of the couch only got tighter until your nails burst through the seams. 

“[Name], eyes open.” He sounded so emotionless. 

Your skin got hotter as your cunt got warmer. You never stopped clenching around his fingers until the very end when he delivered the final blow. A climax never came, however, for either of you. There was just gasping on your end and wetness spilling from out of your hole and onto his fingers. 

Your already aching ass landed on the floor once Qimir had started rising off of the couch. At that point, you had wished the Qimir left you as you were before. You missed when you didn’t feel things like shame, desperation, and pain. As he stood over you, you could have matched his indifference but you cared too much now. 

“[Name], come here,” he said.

You shook your head fervently as you tried to hold off on the command. 

“[Name–” 

“No,” you countered. You were tired of torture. You were sick of the delay. You thought that your consequences were more than enough.

Qimir’s brows furrowed. The first of the cracks in his mirror. 

“P-Please,” you felt a tear run down your face. “I-I’m sor-sorry,” your speech was glitching. “No, no mor-more or–orders. I, I can’t-nt ta-take i-i,” you vomit out. Your software was breaking down.

Qimir came down to you like a god as he crouched to look you over. He watched as you shrunk into yourself like a caged animal. It was time to power you down.

Your self-defense protocols saw him reach for the back of your neck. It was fast enough for Qimir’s fingers to make it to the ring behind your neck but you still managed to grip his arm beg with all that was left in your. Tears were running out of your eyes fast enough to empty your water system if he let it happen too long.

“Ple–Do-don’t shut shut me do-down,” he watched his still face in the glass of your eyes. “Qim-mir!” He pressed four consecutive times and you dropped.

~ 

As Qimir finished unscrewing your breast panel, he lifted the metal and set it aside. Just as he thought, your battery had expanded from the heat of your constant overstimulation. He gripped a set of tweezers and broke the circuit that was at the heart of your function. The piece was tossed aside and hit the nearby table with a clack.

The idea of creation sounded appealing in its inception. If he just got it right he could govern his own fate without any interference. Yet, he made a full circle back where he started and he had to choose to break the cycle before he worsened his insanity.

He ran his hand across his face as he sat still near the platform almost waiting for you to spring back to life. The sound of your glitched begs bounced off every wall in his head as he repeatedly shot back apologies under his breath. Once he had properly disposed of the old battery, he sat back in his chair to inspect his possibilities as he toyed with the new battery in between his fingers.

leave a comment, send an ask, or reblog. I might write a whole fic because of it or maybe send a meme, but I always respond.

[cozymoko]

Ohh!!! Can i have fruitykawa with a reader who's kind of insecure about their relationship with him? Like,yes she's aware that they are married and all,but Fruity is such a wealthy (and handsome) man that surely there are alot of women around him. It makes her feel upset and tries to distance herself from him.

🌕 anon

ALWAYS, MY BELOVED

It's been a while since I updated. Shoutout to my homie, 🟡 anon for this request. Kinda got burnt out at the end, but I tried my best. Enjoy~!

Pairing: Hachiro Furukawa x Female! Reader (1.9k words)

Format: Headcanons, mini scenarios

WARNING(S): yandere themes, jealousy, insecurity, mentions of cutting (plastic surgery).

Synopsis: Hachiro Furukawa, my oc, with a wife who's insecure due to him being so handsome! (≧∇≦)/

REBLOGS ARE APPRECIATED!

NAVIGATION 🍮

Being WEDDED to the BEST is not for the weak-spirited. You had to appear stronger — better than the average woman so that they wouldn't dare question the legitimacy of your place. With your status, a ring costing nothing less than a fortune would never be enough. 

Your marriage had become public only a few years ago. Due to Hachiro's wishes. Yet that didn't seem to stop many promiscuous women from testing their luck. You bit back the unladylike words bubbling in your throat as they approached him. Fluttering their long lashes and flashing their pearly white teeth.

Models, lawyers, entrepreneurs: the party was bustling with so many. For a moment, you felt like nothing more than a pretty little accessory.

“Mr. Furukawa, how nice of you to make an appearance!” The host's eyes shift to you, thick and clouded with disdain. “It's a joy you brought the misses with you this evening.” The snarkiness of his tone was palpable. It seems the host wasn't exactly a fan of you, but then again, who was? After all, no one bothered to hide their curious gazes when Furukawa was not within earshot. But all you could do was hold your husband's arm just a little tighter.

The women especially.

"Is that Furukawa? Isn't he just dashing!"

"Wah~! He's even taller than I imagined!"

"Do you think he'll drink with me?"

Tightly sewn dresses, embracing the ladies that adorned them. Various warm shades painted lightly across their lips. Bouncy twists and swirls curled into their hair. Bedroom eyes peering over the many men scattered across the room; married or not. It's safe to say you weren't exactly pleased that your husband was one of the few.

You often hid yourself behind layers of lovely fabrics and excellent posture, in hopes of maintaining your modesty. In your eyes, it only seemed right that you matched the appearance and aura of that of your Husband. Though it seems each and every day was a torturous test of your self-restraint.

Nonetheless, you were never one to lose your composure. A straight face was essential in any type of business setting. Sure, you weren't as deadpan as Furukawa, but you could definitely play the "cold wife" role perfectly.

RECENTLY, you've had QUITE THE OBSESSION with FASHION. You have encountered plenty of upcoming entrepreneurs, many of who you've managed to befriend. One of your closest ones is a fashion designer.

She would soon be introducing her new line of work after months of a troublesome hiatus. So, after pulling a little bit if strings, you were able to help her out. By strings, you mean asking Hachiro for some assistance. With his support of the project, people were bound to come and see the clothes. Granted, he was skeptical of your request, it didn't take him long to break and give you what you want.

That evening, the two of you attended an induction ceremony for the company's new clothing line. Hachiro had no reason to attend, but the grin on your face was much too difficult to resist. Just knowing that he made you happy warms his heart immensely. You were the cutest.

But, all good things, of course, come to an end.

“Oh, my! Look who decided to grace us with his presence.” A woman with rosy lips approached the two of you, swaying her hips a bit too much for your liking. “Hachiro, dear, it's been so long since I've seen you!”

Even other women didn't dare to acknowledge you, especially in the company of Hachiro himself. He didn't take kindly to people dismissing your presence. But this girl, definitely had some guts.

“Inoue,” he hums languidly, watching her in masked disdain. “I'd rather you not address me so informally in such a public setting.”

That's right, KAMIKO INOUE, one of the top models that had recently taken Japan by storm. You were expecting her appearance after Hachiro's announced sponsorship, but her rudeness surprised you a bit. Especially her addressing your husband as though they were closer than friends.

You scoff, looking away from the two. Seeing how you'd much rather watch them set up than listen to Inoue's mindless flirting. Hachiro placed his hand on the small of your back, rubbing gentle circles into your skin. But you couldn't dare look into his tender gaze, knowing of the possessiveness bursting within your chest.

She giggled, “How silly of you, Hachiro!” She reached her manicured hand out to grab his free arm just for him to grab her by the wrist.

“Please refrain from touching me so familiarly, Inoue. I'm a married man, and I'd be simply overjoyed if you would respect that.” He gave her a smile that didn't quite reach his steely eyes, before pulling you flush against his chest.

A bright red bloomed across your skin at his affection. Hachiro never showed too much PDA. "You have a photo shoot to attend to, no?" He asks coldly. "Me and my wife will be sure to cheer you on from the sidelines.

That soiled your mood for the evening. Snatching the genuine smile from your lips and replacing it with one faker than the plastic on that whore's skin. For once in your life you were truly feeling vulnerable.

YOU had CONTEMPLATED GOING UNDER the KNIFE more times than YOU CARE to ADMIT. Not for your own pleasure, but the sake of your sanity. You didn't know what you'd do if you saw another beautiful woman talk to your husband.

Even in your youth, he was the center of attention. He had captured the hearts of many girls from various levels of wealth. You would know as you were one of them. But you were in no way richer or as elegant as the others who approached him. So why did he choose you? You asked yourself.

That night you had taken the guest room. It felt cold and quiet. Absent of the usual scratching of pens and occasional shuffling of papers you had grown accustomed to. The pleasant rumble of his chest as he attempts to entertain you whilst working. But you couldn't bring yourself to lay by his side with such heinous thoughts roaming your mind. You were able to fall into a long, dreamless slumber. But not without the company of a few heavy tears and a single question.

Were you selfish?

From that day, you didn't bother answering his calls, whether it be morning or dawn. You didn't bother visiting him during those long hours he slaved away at the company, though many times you truly wanted to. You didn't bother to allow your personal driver to pick you up, and if he tried, you merely snuck out of the house.

Any and everything reminded you of him, and that alone rendered you to tears. While he was away, you didn't allow yourself to be another burden pestering him on his business trip. You couldn't allow it.

AND IT WAS ALL DRIVING HIM CRAZY.

THE FLIGHT HOME was DREADFULLY SILENT. Aside from the tapping of someone's sleek dress shoes. Hachiro had not so much as uttered a word since boarding the plane, nor did he intend on it. For if he did, nothing kind would leave his mouth. Perhaps a, "hurry up," or two — or three. But all of it was for the sake of his sanity.

Hachiro needed his wife, desperately.

You slip through the large double doors, entering your bedroom with wary steps. It was quiet, as expected, and without your presence, it felt almost dead. A week had passed since you last drowned in the warm duvet. A week had passed since you relished in his scent nestled deep within its silk. And oh how you missed the smell of him. Finally, at peace, your shoulders dropped. You took a seat on the edge of your bed. Under your confident front, you were only one person. One person with one mind; though you usually had two. Hachiro and your own. But your pride didn't allow you to confine in the man you loved. What were you scared of? Being shamed, or perhaps laughed at — scolded? Though none of it seemed likely, you could not shake the feeling of embarrassment that held you on a tight leash. CREAK! You jumped, startled by the sudden weight pressed against your back. "Thank God you're safe," your heart swelled at the sound of his voice. The voice of not a stranger, but a lover — a partner. Hachiro grabs you by the chin and lifts your face up. You quickly recoil away in shame, praying he didn't get a peek at your messy face. The need to prove yourself had increased tenfold, you couldn't allow yourself to falter in his presence. “look at me, [Name]," he whispered softy. Hachiro lifts your head once more, swiping away the tears rolling down your cheeks. "You're crying? Tell me what's troubling you. I can help you, [Name]."

And just like that, you broke. Loud, anguished sobs tore through your throat. Your stomach fluttered at the familiar smell of citrus and mint. You couldn't get enough of it. His arms were warm and comforting, and you couldn't deny the safety you felt by his side. His embrace was stronger than anything you've ever known, as if holding him wasn't enough, you held him as though he were your lifeline. It wasn't your intention to tell him, but you just couldn't help it. Each and every thought was placed on the table. The insecurities that you felt bestowed before him. The people you despised and envied slipped past your lips without thinking. All while Hachiro cooed sweet nothings in your ear, promising you his loyalty until his last breath. “God, you're so beautiful,” he whispered, running his thumb through the swollen flesh of your eyes. His usually cold eyes burned with something you couldn't possibly describe. “I can hardly control myself sometimes.” You stared at him dumbfounded — in utter disbelief. His glasses must've been dirty, you thought. Your hair was a literal wreck. And the past couple of weeks had not been too kind to your skin. Small breakouts peppering your cheeks from stress; bags that could carry at least a ton of sorrow nestled beneath your eyes. Surely his vision was just a little blurry. But upon further inspection, you couldn't spot not a spec of dirt on his lenses. Upon your lack of response, he hums, leaning in a bit closer. “I'm serious, dear.” You huff, burying your face into his neck as your skin takes on a feverish shade of red. Damn him for being so attractive. You felt like a high schooler all over again. Smiling softly, you held him closer. “You're the best, Hachi.”

Hachiro sat awake by your side, gently stroking your back with easy motions. His lips had found themselves on your warm skin. And his heart beating vastly at the things you had confessed to him. The possessiveness you had experienced for him. The jealousy and anguish that had consumed you on his behalf.

Of course, he never wanted to see you upset, but seeing how you value him makes him a bit selfish. Just seeing you made him snap a little on the inside. His rational mind fought for control over his need to have you, to prove his love to you. But he decided against it. He would be sure to show you how deeply his love runs on a later occasion. But for now, he settled for cradling you in his arms. Promising to take all those bitter emotions away from you.

“Good morning, Japan!” Shouted the host. “It's come to our attention that Ms. heartthrob Kamiko Inoue has quit the modeling industry after a life-threatening accident!”

“...HUH!?”

©CozyMoko, all rights reserved. Don't repost my work on other platforms.

[oldmannapping]

Directly riffing off this post, my brain wouldn’t stop. The idea of Jason furiously becoming a superstar HR manager for his goons gives me such pure joy.

The Adventures of Jason Todd And His Goons

Jason: “Shut the FUCK UP. What do you mean you’ve never had dental cover? This is fucking bullshit. Get me the paperwork right now, do I have to do everything my fucking self? God. You have three kids, right? Of course they’re going on your fucking plan, what do you think this is?”

Jason: “You guys want fucking CAKE on your birthdays? Are you shitting me right now? Are you fucking looking me in the eye and asking for cake on your birthday? You’re not fucking WORKING on your birthday, dumbshit, that’s a paid day off. Buy your own damn cake, eat it with your family, Jesus Christ.”

Jason: “Is that a dog? Did you bring a fucking dog in here? What the everloving pissfuck. Who decided to have a bring your pet to work day and not tell me so I could have treats ready for the very good boy, yes you are, you’re a very good boy. See now I feel like an asshole, I don’t have a treat for you, and you’re such a beautiful doggy yes you are, yes you are. I’m only gonna say this once: EVERY day is now bring your pet to work day. EVERY DAMN DAY.”

Jason: “Did someone set up a crib over there? Is that a crib in my warehouse next to the fridge where we keep our severed heads and leftover bean casseroles? Steve! STEVE! Show the new guy where the daycare room is. Jesus Christ. It’s like I didn’t spend four days last winter teaching you fucks about how to induct the new guys.”

Jason: “Someone signed us up to have a FLOAT IN THE PRIDE PARADE? I’ve been voted a fucking EMPLOYER OF CHOICE??? Fuck. The bar is so low, man. I just treat people with basic human fucking respect… Shouldn’t get a fucking award for that. And who the hell signed us up for this with only two weeks’ notice, how the fuck am I meant to make a custom rainbow helmet in two weeks? You think this shit’s gonna bedazzle itself? There better be a hot glue gun in my hand in the next three minutes or I swear to god I’m cancelling paintball this week.”

[cer-rata]

An incomplete but very angry diatribe about the missed potential of the Star Sapphires

So back in the day Geoff Johns and co decided to open up the Green Lantern mythos and add some more flavor and expand the concept of sci-fi tech powered by elemental emotion to more than just willpower. Which yes, is not an emotion, we ignore it and move on.

Anyway we got some really cool stuff! A rage tyrant fueled by experiencing incredible injustice on a personal and cosmic scale, whose vendetta twisted him into something terrible. An avatar of greed who was never allowed to have anything, not freedom, not family, not safety, who takes and takes and takes to fill a void that can never be satisfied. A priest who lost everything but presses on through his unshakable hope that the future can and will be better. It's a lot of fun stuff!

So in this great creative re-imagining, they had to do something clever and fun with the idea of an all female corps powered by love right? They took the opportunity to move past the purely romantic, sexual idea of love and the obsessed femme fatale archetype, because they had the chance to really explore different types of affection now that there were a bunch of different avatars with different stories to pull from right?

Right?

Nope! The only Sapphires we ever learn about are heartbroken over a cursed romance like Carol, grieving a dead fiance like Miri Riam, forcibly mind controlled to be one like Fatality, or just Miss Bloss who...kind of said she wanted to join up? No clue what her deal is, as far as I'm aware that's never really explained. And then we just never learn about anyone else, and still haven't. The hell is "The Lost Sapphire"? No idea, we'll likely never know.

It's frustrating because not only is this a glaring example of the depth of plotlines offered to women in comics compared to their male counterparts, but also a wild lack of imagination. Love is one of the most complicated emotions we experience. Fear, anger, hope, all pretty easy to quickly define. Love is multifaceted, cultural, incredibly contextual and a factor in so many different kinds of relationship. Just thinking logically it should be much easier to flesh out the motivations of a group pulling from such a nuanced source of power, versus something as clear-cut as rage. But no, the red lanterns got so many varied reasons for their rage, the male ones especially: Bleez being the woman was of course given the SA narrative, which I don't think is inappropriate on its own, that's an incredibly valid reason to be angry, but as the ONLY truly prominent female Red Lantern it's like...c'mon guys. But still, at least she and Atrocitus had different reasons for becoming what they are, and that variation was played for plot and drama.

But there's not a single Star Sapphire that personally champions something other than romantic love. And before you shoot me, it is explicitly mentioned that they DO protect other forms of love, so there's no reason for them to all be sexy and obsessed with kissing people. There are no Sapphires that are driven by:

The love of their children and families, even in a tragic sense, like Atrocitus and Saint Walker and Larfleez are...

Their love of their people, or their culture. It would have been interesting if Fatality was inducted BECAUSE of her pain at losing her world, but no, they just...replaced her anger with lovey vibes and called it a day.

Their love for nature. Not everyone is social, but social love isn't the only way to strongly experience the emotion.

Their love for themselves. Where is the fun narcissistic ass who loves their own self image to the point of getting powers? It would have been a fun twist and a cool way to get another villainous Sapphire if you wanted to.

Their platonic love of ANYTHING really. Are ace/aro people just...not capable of love then? It doesn't mean anything to be willing to drive cross country to help a friend move just because they needed it and you care? No? You need to be fucking for it to count?

It's like...fascinating if you really think about it. In this vast fantasy universe full of alien races with wildly different perceptions and life cycles, and where the other corps have plenty of non-human, truly alien looking members, that the women's only love corps is full of only hot hot scantily clad baddies. Most love that people experience in their lives isn't even romantic! You will have far more experiences with friends and family members and even loving strangers than you will have with romantic partners.

Like the reason is clearly sexism, duh, but we know sexism is bad, that's obvious, what I really want to make clear is how much this blatant, unexplored sexism just completely desecrated the potential of the worldbuilding here.

From another angle even: Let's say this this WAS the sex and romance all the time corps. Let's say that you wanted to keep it all women. I hate the idea that women are capable of love in a way that men aren't, that's such a bad take and just regressive and unhelpful, but let's just play ball for a moment. They're not even hot? Their designs are such ridiculously narrow versions of feminine attractiveness that they're not even successful at really being mass appeal sexy. I haven't even reached the point of complaining about the fatphobia and criminal lack of different body types yet, I'm still just saying that from the standpoint of fantasy sexy it's not even good at being stereotypical offensive fantasy sexy. It's just boring! They're all so visually boring! You can be scantily clad and still have an interesting and coherent character design! But that is not what they gave these women! They actually redesigned the classic Star Sapphire costume and made it MORE sexist and boring:

Yeah it was cheesy but it was also cute and fun? The design is playful classic sci-fi girl and this is when she was still a dangerous unhinged villain. Its fun to look at and feels tonally coherent next to Green Lantern.

And then they just...

No actually, I will not explain this one, you have eyes.

And yeah they fixed her costume finally,

But! She's still stuck as Hal Jordan's romantic punching bag, and has not gotten to have any new adventures on her own.

So.

What I'm saying is it's a flop all around. 2/10, and only because despite everything Fatality STILL managed to serve. I actually think that all of the corps have been poorly used since blackest night, even the greens actually, but they never even gave the Sapphires a chance. They last showed up in...a WW annual I think? During the whole dark gods event, they needed Diana to help them fight the evil god of love, and there was a guy in the corp finally, and they talked about sisterhood and then we haven't heard a peep from them since. I think Carol might be due to get her ring back in the GL ongoing but she's not really been treated well so far, so I'm not hopeful for anything fresh and well reasoned.

So my lovely ladies (and that one unnamed guy), until they let you get it together it may be time to

[the-cat-and-the-birdie]

All Funk, No Punk - Still Hobart Brown

Gold chains instead of silver spikes. Gator shoes in place of thrifted boots. And an afro bigger than Hobie's -

Spider-Funk is Hobart Brown - Earth 831

Hobie Brown maybe Artie's chiller, rougher, and louder self - but somehow, they get on like a cop car on fire (or whatever the saying is).

And Artie Brown maybe Hobie's cockier, flirtier, and flashier self - but they just tell people they're twins.

Or at the very least - they call each other 'brotha' and 'bruv' all the time.

When people ask about the accent thing - you know, Artie being American, they say 'Ever seen The Parent Trap?'

[A LONG ASS post - Below is Artie's Origins, Fighting Style, Relationship to Hobie, and how he got recruited - All About the Brown Bros! Artie & Hobie, FunkPunk!]

It's Hobie 2 - Electric Bugaloo!

And just when Miguel thought he could only stomach one of them.

Though he calls himself the older brother, being born over a decade earlier, Artie is Hobie's less mature, more materialistic, but just as kind variant.

He's a pacifist instead of an anarchist - Full of Soul instead of bursting with Rock.

And he still hates cops.

Origins:

When Artie was drafted for the Vietnam War in 1969 - the first thing he did was burn his draft card. Then he joined the Black Liberation Army.

He wasn't the only one - Artie was part of the almost half a million draftees to do so.

And then President Osborn was elected.

To fill the gap in enlistment, Osborn came up with a solution.

V.E.N.O.M - A highly toxic, unfeelingly aggressive, and wildly bloodthirsty symbiote. A solution to the protests and draft dodgers.

Engineered by Oscorp - if you didn't induct yourself as a soldier, the V.E.N.O.M would make you one. And suddenly his friends were disappearing one by one.

A subtle but sudden-onset disease, the V.E.N.O.M variant was nearly undetectable, very persuasive, and incredibly effective.

More primal than animalistic, the symbiote's function didn't raise one's bloodlust, - instead it lowered, and at worse cancelled, your empathy. The symbiote subtly normalized dehumanization - attacking neurons in the cerebral cortex to destroy one's capability of empathy, compassion, and at times - recognizing faces. Able to follow commands without a second thought - the perfect soldier. Convincing the host of necessary order and their own biological superiority, over the course of 72 hours the host would lose their ability to recognize the people around them as anything other than sub-human. In 138, V.E.N.O.M turns you into an animal. In 831, V.E.N.O.M turns everyone around you into an animal.

It could make anyone into an unfeeling, unrelenting soldier - no guns needed.

The best of them got sent overseas to the War - and the rest, he turned on the people, hunting down all those who dared to dodge their call.

While on tour in DC, Artie was bitten by a radioactive spider, as he attempted to burn draft papers at a government facility.

He burned the papers. Plus he got some sick powers out of it. Plus Plus he gets to beat up The National Guard on a weekly basis. Ain't that a score.

And Hobie may hate the name Spider-Punk (or so he says), but Artie loves being Spider-Funk.

He calls them Funk & Punk. Hobie calls them that too, but like in a cool ironic way.

Artie & Hobie:

Personality:

Hobie knows that Artie is going through his 'Pavitr Phase', so he cuts him some slack. Artie's only been Funk for a year and some change.

He's got more Ws than Ls, so he's always one to be a bit cocky and reckless - though never at anyone's expense.

He's more talkative than Hobie - and WAY more flirty than Hobie, ready to wink at anyone willing to stare.

Like Hobie, Artie has his own groupies. And the pair on campus do get stares (and whispers. and giggles); Two 6'5 dudes with enough hair to cause an eclipse, walking around in loud ass boots, they're sure to draw attention.

Something Artie loves.

Artie considers himself a Ladies' Man. And a Man's Man. And what gender you have to offer really. (He's still a 'Hobie' - he doesn't discriminate)

He's got a waterbed in his boathouse, shag carpets, and wine at the ready. He loves sweet-talking people, and showering them in compliments. Whereas Hobie's love language is Physical Touch, Artie's is Words of Affirmation.

But all Hobie has to do is open his mouth and Be British and suddenly Artie's date is swooning and he's like 'Brotha, I'mma need you to shut the hell up for a second right quick.'

If you hang out with them, get ready for Hobie hanging off your shoulder, while Artie is in your ear complimenting your outfit.

Fighting:

Artie's fighting style is a lot more fluid than Hobie's with a lot of martial arts involved - similar to blaxploitation movies of the era.

Hobie thinks he looks bloody ridiculous meanwhile Artie is like 'if dem damn jeans weren't so tight maybe you could get like me and have some flair in your fight, my man.'

He also has an INCREDIBLY MEAN backhand.

Ideology:

The two of them are fairly close, hanging out with each other a lot. Though the two of them are fairly different. Artie is far more pacifist than Hobie, but that doesn't mean he's above violence.

He's just not one to talk about it, or threaten it. He's more of the 'let people talk - don't start none, won't be none'. Camp - and he'll almost never throw the first punch. Though he absolutely considers intimidation, selling hard drugs, and fucking with the general population 'starting some'.

Their ideology may clash heads everyone once in a while, but they hardly ever fight. At all. Instead, they have frequently heated, in-depth debates.

Artie may not be as radical or educated on things as Hobie, plus Hobie has ten years of extra history to pull from, but the two of them do it often, and it keeps them spry.

The only problem is, they get so into it, it SO HARD to understand what they're saying. Accents, slang, cutting each other off, roping other people into the conversation to back them up. It's WILD.

Artie is a lot more materialistic than Hobie. Not as critical of capitalism, Artie likes to game it rather than complain about it.

Unlike Hobie, Artie LOVES the finer things in life, and spoiling those around him. He likes gold over silver, and wears more rings than spikes.

He's a bit full of himself, and he carries a rag in his pocket to whip blood off his nice white boots. Something Hobie wouldn't be caught DEAD doing.

And Hobie clowns him for it everytime. Artie doesn't care. 'True playas never play sloppy.'

But how can he afford all of this? Well,

He's not as uhh,..honest as Hobie. But he has a heart of gold (get it?). And he never lies just to lie - if he's doing it, it's probably for work, or to Miguel, because he does not respect Miguel.

Artie be stealing. He's a master at sleight of hand. If it's a big corporation, it's free game. He never steals money - but to put it concisely: He's a smooth mfer.

He likes gold - he thinks it looks nice. But he knows for a fact that the worth of it is completely manufactured my human and capitalism, and that it's literally just a pretty metal.

He knows that paying hundreds for a chain or gold is exploitative, especially when it's stolen to begin with. So to him, it's justifiable, gimmie.

He also does it mostly for fun, a magic trick - in the same way Hobie makes stuff 'disappear' while talking to Miles, and doing hand tricks.

Artie does that, but more often, and more skillfully.

He doesn't do it all the time, but the first time he did it in front of Hobie - snatching Hobie's homemade watch of his wrist - Hobie was genuinely surprised.

Mostly he does it to make things disappear from your hand, parts he finds lying around, and playing pranks on people like Miguel. Generally, just being a lil shit.

He's a sweet-talker and a big steppa.

Unlike Hobie, Artie knows better than you force his way in. Artie slides in. He can talk them in to anywhere.

He'll pretend to be someone else, pretend to know someone else, steal passes and key cards to get in, and try to attack from the shadows when he can.

In battle, Spider-Punk is the louder, chattier, more immature one. And Spider-Funk is the chiller, sarcastic one.

Like twins, the two of them have their own in-jokes, and they hang at each other's places all the goddamn time. Though they live in different universes and decades, Artie & Hobie are kinda a package deal.

They may not always be together - they both got their own shit to do and they're not actually brothers - but if you hang with one, it's only a matter of time before you meet the other.

"Why is your brother American?" "Divorce." - "Adoption." ........ "Adoption." - "Divorce." "One of you or the both of you are lying."

Diane & Artie & Annie -

[This section is about my main OC Disco-Spider Diane, and her variant Annie P. Disco-Spider is Hobie's....something and they are happily....a something]

Every Hobart needs his Diane, and Artie is no different.

Artie & Diane:

And like usual, it all starts at the beginning.

Diane was the one to recruit Artie - because of course she was. And Lyla had told her two things: He was a guitarist, and his name was Artie. That's all she needed to know.

Lyla wanted it to be a surprise.

She snuck back stage to his show, brushed off the nearly palpable feeling of deja vu in the air, broke into his dressing room, and then tried to flirt him into joining the Society. Easy peasy.

Diane is a very oblivious woman. They spoke for nearly 10 minutes - and Artie decided to hear her out. He sat down on the couch in his dressing room, pulled back his hair and-

Diane goes -

"Hobie??? Is that you?! Oh my goodddd, you look so cute! Your hair!! Hobarrrrt - Why you ain't say nothing, had me standing here doing all this."

Speech completely forgotten. Mind you, she still hasn't explained anything. Diane is destined to freak out every Hobart she meets.

Artie is starting to think he should stop flirting with weird ass groupies that break into his dressing room.

Diane takes out her watch, the watch he doesn't know she has. She pulls up Lyla, the AI he doesn't know she has. And Diane asks her -

"Lyla! Does Artie stand for-" "It does!" "Oh my god!!! That makes this SO much easier! You're soo sweet, awww!!" "You know I saw the mission and thought of you-" "Am I on drugs right now?"

Needless to say - Diane's recruitment was successful.

Diane and Artie actually get on well, really well. Like weirdly well.

Artie and Diane are both extroverted, flirty, and a bit full of themselves. They're expressive, and more into their hair than they're willing to admit. They're perfect for each other - and people notice.

And Diane finds it a TAD BIT WEIRD

I mean, the differences between her and Hobie is what Diane loves about them - they're like sugar and spice, PB and J.

Sometimes Artie and Diane may accidentally finish each other's sentences - and Diane will be like 'Hey don't do that :)'. Other times, Artie will playfully be like 'Why are you standing so close to me, mama?' Just to piss her off.

Of course, Diane thinks he's 'cute'. But not Hobie Cute. And unfortunately, he 'speaks American'.

Besides, Hobie is the only Hobart for her.

Artie is definitely into Diane, but more in the 'she's a catch I would go for' kinda way. He did hit on her a couple times early on in their situation - but once she made it clear that she was 'seeing Hobie', he took the hint.

There's no jealously there - Hobarts are incapable of it. In fact, he's kinda proud the only other guy who could pull the hot girl is ..another him.

Now, Artie is a lot more like a big brother, kinda like the ones Diane grew up with in the Panther's house.

He's protective of her, in a 'Be mean to her and I'll deliver an ass whoppin on a plate' way. He thinks she's cute in the way a platonic sense, and finds her groupie mode to be as amusing as it is adorable.

It's ironic though that his ACTUAL girlfriend is - well, Diane's Opposite.

Artie & Annie:

[This section is shorter, and will be longer in Annie's post]

Diane Pastors is Annie P. is Mod-Spider.

Artie's girlfriend, Annie is the farthest thing from Diane while somehow still being just as big of a diva.

An avid feminism campaigner and modern woman, she would never be caught DEAD hanging off of Artie like that. And she can't stomach Diane all that much.

Hobie, Annie HATES. And not in a coy way. She thinks he's obnoxious - she calls him a poseur. She thinks he's a scrub.

Her & Artie are in a committed relationship - officially boyfriend and girlfriend. And instead of Annie, Artie is the one who wears her name on a chain.

Just like Diane and Hobie, Annie and Artie have a musical duo - called ModFunk.

We're almost done I PROMISE.~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Random Details:

Artie's design is an inverted version of Hobie's, but it's also inspired heavily by Jimi Hendrix, mainly this photo on the left.

Right is an example of Artie's Style. His universe has a paint-marker aesthetic, a lot more colorful and soft than Hobie's, with dripping paint and splatters, but it tones down a lot - like Gwen's.

Artie plays Soul, Jazz, and Funk.

He has a band with his version of Daredevil, Felicia Hardy, and Captain Anarchy.

Artie has killed cops - and soldiers before. But he doesn't see it as a big deal. He hates cops, but he doesn't focus on it. He doesn't discriminate. Ass Whoopin's for everybody.

He DOES pull his hair back, his face isn't covered all the time. Maybe 80% of the time.

He can get around with Spidey Sense, so he doesn't care much - he loves his fro and is always picking it out.

He Pavitr are like best friends. Pavi and The Brown Twins get LOUD AS HELL when all together.

Gwen thinks he's an absolute goofball - So Artie tries his best to make her laugh. She seems like she needs it.

When not on stage and in battle, he prefers to play an acoustic guitar, which Hobie doesn't like playing. His acoustic is also blue.

Him and Hobie can play on each other's guitars, but it sounds very trippy, and VERY VERY weird, abnormally so.

If their heads are covered, or hair done like each other's, they can seamlessly pass as each other.

Hobie SUCKS at an American accent - but somehow, he can mimic Artie's perfectly.

It's the same for Artie - sucks at British, but can speak like Hobie.

He loves chocolate candy bars, Hobie likes fruity candy.

They do write songs together and go to each others shows, though they don't ever really perform together.

They wrestle A LOT

Artie is a genius as well, and they work on mechanics together, Artie is great at math specifically.

He and Hobie do each others hair care and help oil each other's scalps.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

So uh.....that's Artie :) The guy

If you made it this far THANK YOU THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR ENTERTAINING ME - Artie platonically gives you a red rose.

ALSO TELL ME Why I tried to draw him like Jimi Hendrix But he looking like the Jackson 5 IM SO SORRY YALL

Here's OG Hobie as a thank you! Just imagine two Hobarts standing on either side of you both tall and with big hair and touchy and talkative as fuck Diane is living the DREAM let your OCs be happy

Bye.

[writtenbyjeanofarc]

#!! - 𝑰𝑵 𝑻𝑯𝑬 𝑪𝑶𝑼𝑹𝑻 𝑶𝑭 𝑻𝑯𝑬 𝑪𝑹𝑰𝑴𝑺𝑶𝑵 𝑸𝑼𝑬𝑬𝑵 — 𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐭𝐡𝐫𝐞𝐞 ; ᴀᴄʜɪᴇᴠɪɴɢ ᴛʜᴇ ᴅʀᴇᴀᴍ

CHAPTER ONE - CHAPTER TWO - CHAPTER THREE

𝖌𝖊𝖓𝖗𝖊: smut.

𝖕𝖆𝖎𝖗𝖎𝖓𝖌: Griffith X You (fem! reader)

𝖈𝖜: RAPE/NON-CON.

𝕬𝖚𝖙𝖍𝖔𝖗’𝖘 𝕹𝖔𝖙𝖊:

Finally finished the fic after months of procrastinating.

This fic is not proofread or beta read.

Don’t try this at home, kids!

….And some rape down there. I don’t condone any of this irl (no shit). It is to note that it is part of the story’s progression and I only intend to explore such dark elements like the series always intended to do so in canon.

The “don’t like, don’t read” rule applies here. Kindly heed the tags one more time before proceeding.

“Griffith…I…” you paused as you caught your breath. You were failing to fake self-confidence at this point in time, your legs shaking as you could only watch yourself give into the fear that made its way through your head and heart.

“I…wasn’t expecting your presence here…I….”

Griffith’s eyes narrowed in response, letting out a low hum. He was getting closer this time, giving you less time to react and run for your life.

You took a step backward, pressing your hands against the dresser for some support. You knew you’d hit a dead end the way you clumsily hit the wall, groaning softly in response. You waited and waited for a sign to attempt running past Griffith and escape the palace with all your will’s might. You still had your bathrobe on, which made you partially vulnerable to him, but you didn’t care. You just had to run away from the man who has been invading your personal space.

“Worry not, princess. I came not to disturb your slumber. What I ask for is one simple thing that I believe you and I could share. If I’ll allow you to do so, that is.” Griffith said.

“Who are you to tell me what to do with my Kingdom? This is my lair, as bestowed by my father before me. The fact that you’re trespassing does not make you worthy of seeing me at my-“

Your words were cut off by Griffith, his cunning tone making itself clear in the dead silence. “And who told you that this kingdom was entirely yours? Remember, your induction to queenhood was only taken into consideration because of your father’s sudden death. Besides, it’s not as if you have any experience in leadership whatsoever.”

“Are you underestimating me?” you asked, slightly annoyed with his attitude.

“Why, of course not.” Griffith said as he took brisk steps forward, making it almost impossible for you to escape. “Want to know a secret?”

You nodded in response.

“I killed your father.” Griffith said, shamelessly. He walked three steps forward, caging the both of you within a small distance.

“You son of a bitch! Why….why would you do such a thing?! My father has been-“ you were interrupted once again.

“I had to do it. There could only be one way to test as to whether Midland is fit to be led by a Queen all on her own…..and turns out, the ‘Queen’ in question has no experience.” Griffith said.

“How dare you insult me in my own palace!” you exclaimed. “I’m leaving!”

“Not when you’re barely dressed like that.” Griffith smiled deviously. “Now…..come here….”

“What….what are you implying?” you asked, attempting to charge your way to the exit of your bedroom. “N-never mind….I’m fucking leaving.” As you charged your way to the exit, you felt two hands wrap around your waist from behind. No, it was too late. Griffith caught you. Pulling you backward, he lifted you to your own bed and started stripping down until he wore nothing but his Behelit.

You attempted to escape once more, only for Griffith to pin you down to the bed and press his lips into yours. You fought against the sheets and turned your head to break the kiss, but your attempts were rendered futile as it only prompted Griffith to slip his tongue inside your mouth. Griffith kissed you harshly, and it frankly felt like kissing an untamed beast cornering its prey. You never knew Griffith was ...quite an expert at this, his mouth slightly nibbling at your lower lip everytime he retreated.

After finally pulling away from you, Griffith latched his face onto your neck, positioning himself next to your right ear. “Give yourself to me, Princess. After all, your Kingdom….will soon be mine.”

“No…NO!!!!” you exclaimed.

“A little stubborn, are we?” Griffith asked, tilting his head. “Well, it’s not like you’ve stood a chance. We’re taking off this one, okay?”

You kept tugging at your bathrobe’s ‘belt’ to keep it away from the filthy man on top of you. “Griffith, I don’t want this, please…..”

“Tsk. Tsk. Tsk. Too stubborn.” Griffith said, his touch growing angrier as he grabbed your bathrobe by the waist, curling his hand to a fist. Using his other hand, he slid a sleeve of the wardrobe off your shoulder, revealing your bare shoulder and right breast. Griffith dug right in, his lips kissing your hardened nipple as he engulfed his mouth to suckle it whole. While doing the do, he used his right hand to slide off the other sleeve of your bathrobe, exposing your other breast and stripping you down to your naked form. Griffith pulled away from your nipple, impressed with how he rendered the Queen of Midland helpless under his touch.

“Mmmm……what a pretty little thing you make, just for my kingdom.” Griffith let out a satisfactory hum. “This will be a rather fun time showing them who’s deserving of the throne.” Next thing you knew, Griffith was about to go down on you, positioning himself around the area of your waist.

“Don’t resist, Princess. Now, be a good girl and spread your legs wide open.” You hesitantly obeyed, up until Griffith grabbed you by your inner thighs, spreading them wider and raising them. Finally, he slipped your legs up his shoulders. It felt dirty having someone’s face right up your pussy, especially since this was your first time. Your mind wandered as you closed your eyes, hoping everything you just witnessed was just a dream. But no, it wasn’t. You fought against Griffith’s clutches, tugging at his hair and pushing him away.

But this just prompted him to dig right in, lapping at your fluids as he used his hands to part your lips for better tasting. You muffled a moan from the pleasurable feeling, covering your mouth with one hand. Griffith’s tongue worked you in fast, yet practiced motions—the tongue moved swiftly and curled just the right amount to send you shivers down your spine, earning muffled whimpers from you.

Granted, vibrators didn’t exist in the Medieval Era of Midland, so you might as well indulge in that feeling of someone’s tongue right up your pussy.

Griffith withdrew from eating you out for a while, his breathing and humming loud enough to send you goosebumps. “Mmmm…. You’re already this wet from a little kissing and heavy sucking. I wonder how it would be like to have you sing while having myself fully inside you, to have you clench around me while I slowly take what’s rightfully mine.”

“L-let go!!!!” you screamed. “I don’t want this!!!”

“You’ll take whatever’s been given to you, Princess. After all, you’re something…..” Griffith said, strict and unwavering. “Magnetic.”

Griffith moaned as he dug right back in, his tongue hovered over your clit. He started tracing small circles in a slow pacing, which left you impatient and begging for more. You tugged into his hair trying to fight him off, but as previously stated, you were left with no defenses against his strong grip.

“Griffith!!! Oh God…..!!!! I’m gonna…..!!!”

The feeling gave you that guilt, guilt for enjoying this man’s advances on you, and guilt because you just couldn’t believe your sense of authority was being challenged by a man of common birth.

But Griffith refused to stop. No, he didn’t stop suckling at your clit gently to give you a break. Griffith was merciless in the bedroom, leaving you with no choice but to accept the fate you’ve been accustomed to.

“Agh! Griffith!!! Stop….!!!!” you moaned out loud.

Griffith’s tongue kept going, and it wasn’t long before he inserted two digits inside your entrance without warning. He just didn’t care. His tongue slowly picked up the pace, speeding up and finally making you reach that sweet, sweet climax you’ve been waiting for. You fucked back subconsciously against his tongue, riding out your orgasm until it was ready to subside. After coming down from your high, you suddenly realized Griffith was looking down at you icily with his bright blue eyes, his body towering over yours despite lying down in bed.

You were screwed. What was about to happen next?

“Hmmm…..perhaps you are ready to take all of me. I’m going to fuck you so good you’d actually forget being the Queen of Midland.”

“No…..NO!!!!” you exclaimed, attempting to get up and reach for the door. You were stopped dead by Griffith once again, leading him to push you back to the mattress and grabbing you by the legs. Spreading them wider, Griffith let go of your legs, only to stroke his length before initially inserting it in your entrance. Slight precum formed through a pearl-like shape at the slit of his cock, adding lubrication to the process of entering you. Before you knew it, Griffith made efforts to adjust and bury his length within your vagina, though you ached in retaliation.

“Aghhh!!! It hurts! It burns! Let go!”

“Hush, princess. I know what I’m doing.” Griffith said as he spread your legs open for a better view. He adjusted himself by taking slow yet sure steps in burying his length into you, filling you to the brim. You were at this point begging to be freed from his grasp, though your fainting strength was no match for him.

Placing his hands on your wrists, Griffith pinned you down and started thrusting his hips in a slow, yet ambitious pace. You bit your lip to hold back your moans, but it was all for naught. You let out a small “uh” while he rocked in and out, sounds of skin slapping against skin filling the air as he leaned closer to your ear to speak.

“You don’t stand a chance against ruling Midland.” Griffith muttered at an intimate distance from you.

“What…..Huh…..?” you whimpered, your breasts being grabbed as it bounced from Griffith’s thrusts. “What….do you me-ngggh!” you grunted, trying to resist him by trying to get up. “I owe you nothing! Just please, let me rule my Kingdom in peace! I’ll do anything…..anything….but this…..!!!”

“Surrender your pride, little one.” Griffith said as he caught his breath. “I want you to dream of this.”

As a means of defending yourself, you attempted to grab Griffith by the hair to pull and tug on it roughly. However, your efforts to distract Griffith failed. You had to take responsibility for what had to happen next, and it was all because Griffith wanted a taste of your kingdom.

“I have every right to follow my dream, princess. And I want you and your kingdom surrendered to me. That is the pinnacle of achieving my dream.”

“You’ll…..you’ll never…..have my kingdom…..” you fought your way to speak in the midst of denying the pleasure Griffith gave you.

“You’ll take whatever I deem right to give you, princess. After all, your kingdom and this body will be mine.” Griffith said.

You screamed as loud as you could that the servants and every guest would hear you. The walls were soundproof, but you didn’t have a choice.

“Please!!!! I don’t want this! Please get off!!!”

“You do know screaming out for servants to assist you won’t do your kingdom justice, right? Mmmmm…..”

Right on the dot, Griffith stopped thrusting, pulled out, and aggressively flipped your body over that you were facing the bed. With one fell swoop, he grabbed a fistful of your hair and pinned your head to the pillow to muffle every moan and protest you had up your sleeve. Without warning, he repositioned himself right up your entrance, taking you from behind.

“This is a far better idea to keep your mouth shut and do as I say.” Griffith commanded.

“Mmmmmhhhh…….mmmmhhhhh!!!!”

The sounds of lewd clapping resumed, Griffith’s cock milking every last bit of your pussy’s juices with fervor. There was no turning back now, and he was truly getting at it, without any form of warning or informing you of any discomfort felt. It was like Griffith only cared for his own pleasure and never left crumbs of remorse for your wellbeing. This left you scarred—physically, emotionally, and most significantly, spiritually.

“Mmmmmm……I’m getting quite close.” Griffith smirked as he leaned forward. “What are you going to do about it, princess? Squirm? Run away?”

Your eyes widened at his remark, your body telling you to escape as he was nearing his release. You certainly did not want to carry his child, nor want to do anything with the monster who pounded on you animalistically.

“Noooooo!!!!!!” your voice protested while being muffled by the pillows where your head rested.

“As I said, you’ll take whatever’s been given to you. Now….”

It wasn’t long before your body betrayed you. You felt your climax approaching despite being against the thought of Griffith fucking you. Subconsciously, you fucked back, trying to get Griffith’s cock deep in you before you could feel his fluids leaking straight from your soaked cunt.

Three.

Two.

One.

Your moans and grunts filled the pillow, adding to its warmth while Griffith bit down your neck out of extreme pleasure. His thrusts sped up as he began to feel ropes of cum shooting itself inside you before pulling out. And the feeling was mutually GOOD. You let out a groan as your muscles relaxed, Griffith moaning as his cum began to leak out from your newly filled cunt. You were soaking wet and drenched in sweat as Griffith stayed inside you for long.

You were now marked as his. You didn’t know what to do at this point as you were deflowered after your coronation day.

“Sleep well, princess. Provided you are to raise a child from our time together, just let me know. We can build a kingdom where you could rule by my side.”

You couldn’t respond, which prompted Griffith to flip your body back to lying on your back. It was truly a tiresome night, filled with intensity and passion as Griffith stole everything from you.

You just never stood a chance.

Your eyes suddenly admitted defeat, staring up at Griffith as he looked down at you with a look of an angel. He was charming, so to speak, but heavily dedicated to what he promised to achieve.

And he achieved it.

He achieved his dream.