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gatheringbones · 7 months

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laura s. brown, from lesbians, weight, and eating: new analyses and perspectives, from lesbian psychologies: explorations and challenges, edited by the boston lesbian psychologies collective, 1987

["Lesbian fat activists, a non-client population, seemed to be women who are comfortable with their lesbianism. My lesbian clients who are fat, although not necessarily activists, seem to be generally unconcerned about their weight and are for the most part physically active women who perceive themselves as healthy and attractive. I have noticed a relationship between healing from homophobia and reduction of negative self-concept where weight is concerned. For example, a lesbian client who entered therapy from a position of great internalized homophobia could not comfortably say the word 'lesbian' and avoided associating with other lesbians. Her weight was greater than average for her height, although within the norms for women in her family: she consciously perceived her fat as one of the indicators of her lesbianism and her undesirability as a person. Therapy focused on issues of internalized homophobia as it affected self-concept and interpersonal functioning. However, a side effect of the therapy was that this woman came to embrace her lesbianism in a more positive manner, she also began to see herself as attractive at her current weight. She changed her hairdo so that her face, which she had previously stigmatized as looking fat, and had tried to hide with her hair, would be more visible. She also purchased clothing in bright colors that she had always liked but had avoided buying for fear of bringing attention to her "fat, unattractive" body. She took up exercise, which she had loved as a girl but abandoned after puberty as her body assumed its (apparently) genetically determined larger size. She became active in the lesbian community and often commented in therapy sessions about her amazement that there were so many attractive women who were also fat. Her relationship with food also changed: she began to be more careful about what she put into her body, and paid better attention to foods that left her feeling uncomfortable and off center, rather than simply to caloric content.

Such anecdotal and clinical observations must be made cautiously because the empirical data is sparse. The trends that I and my colleagues have observed clinically when we consciously attend to the relationship between homophobia and fat oppression are suggestive. They point to some directions that lesbians and therapists, and therapists who work with lesbians, may wish to consider in working with lesbian clients around issues of food, eating, and body image and size.

It is essential for therapists to examine internalized myths of fat oppression as we apply them to ourselves and our clients. Do we, for instance, assume that fat women are fat because they are eating in an out-of-control manner? Do we assume that women who are not fat are not concerned with their weight and are eating in ways that are healthy and functional simply because the result is one of normal size? Do we accept the ego-dystonic nature of a woman's fat as proof of the need to lose weight, or do we ask the same questions that are not asked about so-called ego-dystonic homosexuality as a diagnosis? Do we secretly envy women with bulimia because "they can eat as much as they want and it never shows"? Do we fat-oppress ourselves by shaming ourselves about our own pleasure in food or by engaging in self-punitive actions such as compulsive dieting? Do we fat-oppress fat women by assuming that they want suggestions about diets, or by telling them "I feel fat, too"— pretending empathy with the real-world aspects of discrimination against fat women by virtue of our own participation in the process of fat oppression? When we hear lesbians derided as fat and ugly, do we protest that "we're not all fat," or do we examine carefully the relationship between the devaluation of fat women and the devaluation of lesbians? Until and unless the therapist examines and changes her own internalized fat oppression, she is likely to fat-oppress her clients, in either overt or covert manners.

In re-examining our fat oppressive norms, we must also make the personal connections to our internalized homophobia and from there, to the misogyny that lies at the basis of them both. A woman who nurtures herself with food, and who does so without guilt, shame, and self-hate has challenged a very basic message given women against feeling worthy of love and sustenance. A lesbian who loves herself and her love of other women and does so without guilt, shame, and self-hate breaks another such rule, that of compulsory heterosexuality. A woman who is spending time and energy on her own pleasure by feeding herself lovingly, by using the resources available to her, by taking as much space as her body grows into, is as clearly revolutionary as is the woman who loves, values, and commits her energies to the love of women. It is quite natural and healthy for women to rebel against the woman-hating inherent in both fat-oppression and homophobia. So-called "eating-disordered" women are the most obvious causalities of that battle. The struggle to be able to stay thin enough while still eating enough to satisfy hunger is often manifested in the alternative bouts of bingeing, purging, and laxative abuse found in bulimia, or in the swings between compulsive stuffing and compulsive dieting found in other women who feel too fat."]

#laura s. brown #the boston lesbian psychologies collective #lesbian literature #cw disordered eating #cw weight mention #transcribed

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blissfulip · 6 months

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—Legion

On AO3

Priest!Viktor x F!demon!reader

Rating: Explicit

Tags: Priest Kink, Blasphemy, Self-Harm, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Self-Flagellation, Demon Sex, Demon Summoning, Demon/Human Relationships, demon reader, AU - Canon Divergence, Post medieval era, Dubious Science, Church Sex, Roman Catholicism, Catholic Guilt, Improper Use of Catholic Rituals, Shameless Smut, Masturbation, No use of Y/N, third person.

Cw: mentions of Child SA, allusions to the witch trials

Words: 3.1k

[A/N: Sorry for making the bishop so annoying I made myself angry proof-reading this lmao (let me know if you want to be tagged or removed in future fic updates!)]

Tags: @ihopeinevergetsoberr @chemical-killjoy @jinxed-jk @bobobomao @queen-of-elves @thedustybunny @syren201 @thayfass @thehistoriangirl @hypocritic-trash-baby @zaunitearchives

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II.

Noon had started to crack, and Viktor sat still at the edge of his bed, his left leg throbbing with a persistent ache and guilt consuming him as he grappled with the weight of his recent actions. His mind swirled in a tumult of self-condemnation and regret as the looming certainty of facing Father Isidore when he would eventually be called up to the kitchen for lunch weighed over him.

How could he, entrusted with the guidance of others, find himself so lost in the labyrinth of his own sin? It was so easy, too, to feel like the absolutions he offered were hollow, his own inability to forgive himself casting a shadow over the sanctity of his role. And amidst this turmoil, the relentless ache in his left leg—probably due to kneeling for a prolonged stretch of time, but that in the wake of what he had just done felt more akin to divine punishment—served as a reminder of his frailty, both physical and spiritual.

But pain is purification, suffering gives way to redemption, and penitence is salvation, so isn’t pleasure the correct response after all? If martyrdom is the ultimate act of love, then why shouldn’t agony be met with enjoyment? That was the lie Viktor soothed himself with before deciding to be a step ahead of the altar boys and make his way to the kitchen.

-----------------------------

His leg protested with each step, but it seemed insignificant compared to the stinging feeling on his back now that he had the rough fabric rubbing against it. What lingered wasn’t nearly as pleasant as before; however, he felt undeserving of making a fuss about it, it being a punishment—ironically—for a self-inflicted punishment that he shouldn’t have delighted in.

As he entered, the comforting scent of freshly brewed coffee greeted him, mingling with the faint aroma of incense that clung to his robes and clashing with the uninviting presence of Father Isidore, who sat at the table, steaming cup in hand.

“Viktor, my son,” he exclaimed in a voice that sounded sweet and as sticky and treacherous as molasses, “I trust you have...repented.”

Viktor clenched his jaw, a wave of trepidation washing over him as he felt his judgmental gaze on him. Viktor severely disliked the special way Father Isidore enunciated; emphasis on certain words never seemed like enough for him; he always made it a point to hiss and spit; his lips thinned out and tense like he was holding in a growl. It didn’t match his childlike guise, and this made Viktor weary of him ever since he was a kid.

“I have,” he replied tersely, taking a seat opposite his superior’s robust presence.

"It seems, however, that some of us struggle more than others with the concept of self-control," he remarked, his words dripping with a subtle veil of aggression.

Viktor's stomach churned with resentment. "I am aware of my shortcomings, Father," he retorted, his voice tinged with bitterness.

“Don’t misunderstand me, son. It is never my intention to prohibit your studies or peg your enthusiasm for learning; you know our monastery has always valued knowledge of the great arts.”

“Until it challenges one of your universal truths, that is.”

“Precisely, are you trying to imply we should challenge the dogma?”

Viktor stayed silent.

“Tell me, do you think you are above us all?”

“Of course I don’t, father.” but he did, and this whole lecture was starting to get old.

“Then you must clearly think you are above sin. So holy and pure that you are able to read such heretic words and not be tempted by them?” He said this as he got closer to Viktor, his face slowly turning beet red: “unde et corda filiorum hominum implentur malitia et contemptu in vita sua et post haec ad inferos deducentur.”

And then he did the same eyebrow raise he used to do when Viktor was a child, and he was testing his knowledge of the scripture. Viktor sighed, partly in defeat but mostly in annoyance.

“‘Hence the hearts of the sons of men are filled with malice and contempt in their lives, and after this they are brought down to hell’,” he answered as he instinctively leaned back on the chair, the scorching sensation reminding him why it was a terrible idea.

“I can tell you are in pain; why must you still be so stubborn, even when you are enduring your penitence on the flesh?”

“I see no malice in curiosity.”

“Even when you intentionally seek the words of miscreants, knowing full well the danger it presents?”

“I don’t seek dangerous ideals; the universe is, and I simply try to understand it.”

“You are lost, Viktor.” Father Isidore’s lips curled up into a grin of contempt, a show of mockery that made it clear his concern for Viktor’s soul came from a place of scorn.

“Temptatio vos non adprehendat nisi humana, something something, and God will not let you be tempted beyond what you can bear and, eh, I forgot what comes after,” Viktor recited, quiet but defiant.

“To me, you are nothing but a test of resilience, Viktor. If I have to tear you down myself to build you back up as a God-honoring servant, I will.” He said this as he visibly struggled to disguise his frustration. “Come, I would like you to meet someone.”

--------------------------------

As they made their way through the narrow streets of the small town, the bustling activity of the market greeted them. Vibrant stalls lined the cobblestone paths, their displays of fresh produce and handmade goods drawing Viktor’s attention. All the while, he wondered who this mysterious person and possible weapon of torture would be.

Father Isidore walked with an air of authority, his presence commanding respect as he exchanged warm greetings with anyone who crossed their path. Soon they came upon an elderly woman sitting by a small table, adorned with a meager assortment of goods. Her weathered face bore the deep lines of a life well-lived, yet her eyes sparkled with a warmth that belied her frailty. She smiled weakly as they approached, her gnarled hands clasped tightly in her lap.

"Good morning, Father!" called out an elderly woman, her face lighting up with a smile as she approached. "Blessings be upon you."

He gave back a smile that could've fooled anyone, but Viktor couldn't shake the feeling that there was something calculated in his demeanor. "And to you as well, my dear," Father Isidore replied, his tone tinged with a hint of forced sincerity. "How are you faring today?"

"Oh, just getting by as best I can, Father," she replied, her voice barely above a whisper. "Times have been hard, but the Lord provides."

"Indeed, He does, and speaking of such, have you been able to fulfill your tithe to the church this month?”

The elderly woman's smile faltered slightly, her gaze dropping to her lap as she fidgeted with the worn fabric of her apron. "I... I'm afraid not, Father," she admitted, her voice barely audible. "Things have been tight lately, with the harvest being poor and all."

His expression hardened imperceptibly, though his tone remained gentle as he pressed the issue. "I understand, my dear," he continued. "But you must remember the importance of supporting the church, especially in these trying times. Perhaps there is something else you could sacrifice to ensure your tithe is met."

Viktor watched in silent anger as the elderly woman's shoulders slumped in resignation, her eyes downcast as she nodded in reluctant agreement. Despite his own discomfort, he couldn't help but feel a surge of rage at the ease with which Father Isidore exploited the vulnerability of this woman for the sake of the church's coffers.

“If I may, Lucida,” Viktor interjected. Different from his superior, he knew the members of their community; he had taken time to know them and had offered his friendship along with his guidance. “You must be forgetting; your daughter has already come to offer lithe on behalf of your family.”

This was a lie, but be it because Lucida’s age was betraying her memory or because she had taken the hint of what Viktor was doing, it didn’t matter. Her mouth shaped into a round O as she nodded at both of them. Father Isidor looked at Viktor with suspicion but did not press the issue any further either, simply dragging Viktor by his free arm to continue on their way.

A modest house was nestled along the path. Father Isidore announced himself with a drawn-out knock on the solid wood of the door, and the figure of a weary woman appeared as the door peered open. When she saw the men, her feeble demeanor swiftly morphed into visible uneasiness.

Viktor knew her; she had been at the cathedral at least once, and multiple times she had made herself present at Viktor’s masses in the small town parish. She had never reacted this way to him before, so Viktor knew it was the man beside him who was causing this woman concern.

“Father Isidore, I’m sorry; I did not expect to see you here,” she cried out, trying to hide the tremble in her voice.

“Fret not, dear; I haven’t come to collect her yet; I simply wanted Viktor to meet her.” He scrutinized the inside of the house from where he stood before gently pushing the woman aside to enter the house, uninvited. Viktor gave her quiet apologies and small awkward smiles, following close behind him when she gave him a sign to invite him in.

The woman took them to the other side of the small house; there, the threshold of what seemed to have been a door in the past separated this expanse from the rest of the house. In the dimly lit chamber, a young teenage girl sat on the edge of her bed, her long black twin braids cascading down her shoulders like a dark veil, so dark that if you looked at it under the right light, it might even look blue.

Her posture was slumped, and her slender frame seemed to wilt under an invisible weight. The room around her felt heavy with silence, broken only by the faint sound of her shallow breaths. She looked up to look at them as the three entered, but her once vibrant eyes, now dulled and distant, gazed blankly ahead, unfocused and unseeing.

“Darling, Father Isidore has come to see you; will you say hi to him and his friend?” Her mother asked delicately as she sat down on the bed next to her. Viktor was stumped; he didn’t remember seeing this girl at any of the functions before or around the town as he ran errands. The girl’s hands lay limply in her lap, fingers absentmindedly tracing patterns on the faded bedspread as she looked at Father Isidore.

And very subtly, her once empty gaze welled up with noticeable rage.

“What do you want, sheep?” Her voice sounded so sweet, yet her words were so filled with venom.

“Careful now; I’m not here to take you yet, but I might change my mind if you decide to get nervy with me.”

She squinted slightly before giving Father Isidore an empty smirk and snapping her head quickly to look directly at Viktor. “Are you in trouble too? I’m only ever used as an example.”

“I-eh, I’m not sure.” Viktor pondered her words for a short second: “An example?”

“For what not to do.” She scoffed; she now seemed unaffected by their presence, giggling at Viktor’s confused expression, like he had told her a joke. “What did you do? Illegal medicine?” she asked, and she continued when she received no response. “You’re a priest; did you lay with a woman? Oh, oh, oh, a man, perhaps?”

The amusement in her tone was not enough to cut the tension in the air. Viktor wondered why no one seemed to care about what she was saying, but he figured Father Isidore was attempting to make a point out of this, and her mother was too afraid to do anything that might upset the bishop.

“I would ask you if you touched a child, but they care considerably less about that than they do about banned...That’s it, isn’t it? You—” She said, now wiggling her feet like she had reverted to an earlier stage of her life. “—are a man of science; I can see in your eyes that you know what heliocentrism is.” She giggled her way through those words and looked at Viktor with wide eyes, awaiting a response.

A tense silence hung in the air, broken only by the soft shuffle of feet on the worn floorboards as the mother stood by the door, her expression wrought with fear, while Father Isidore's features were etched with thinly veiled frustration.

Suddenly, the girl spoke, her voice soft but tinged with defiance. "You can't stop me, fawner," she said, her words cutting through the heavy silence like a knife. "I won't let you."

Father Isidore's eyes narrowed, his lips pressed into a thin line, as he shot the girl a warning glare. "Enough," he admonished. "You know the consequences of disobedience, and you know what awaits you; don’t make an effort to rush your departure."

With a sense of urgency, the mother hurriedly ushered them toward the door, pleading and apologizing on her daughter’s behalf, and in the onslaught of their departure, Viktor felt a small object slip into his hand. Startled, he glanced down only to see the girl’s swift fingers pressing something into his palm and a pair of brazen eyes that quickly snuck back onto the bed, unnoticed.

He didn’t dare to look, not as long as he had eyes on him, so he clenched his fist around it, as if something told him he ought not to lose it. Viktor's mind raced with questions, his confusion mounting with each hurried step as they silently walked the path back to the parish. As they climbed the small steps to go inside the building, the bishop spoke.

“She is being taken to undergo a trial for witchcraft, but I’m sure what you saw made that evident.”

“She doesn’t look like a witch.”

“What do witches look like, son?”

“Wretched, evil, hateful...”

“And is it not evil to go against the dogma of our faith? Is it not wretched to seek deranged ideals like ‘heliocentrism’ and ‘geokinesis’, mad, truly mad things for someone who is fearful of God to believe, and especially wicked for a woman to believe?”

Viktor did not answer.

“God has great plans for you, Viktor. Do not stray from your path, and you’ll be able to avoid an end like hers” He said, punctuating the last word with a hefty—and ignobly intentional—pat on his back.

The wounds, still fresh and tender, protested vehemently against the sudden contact, each movement a reminder of the agony that plagued him. He visibly winced and took a sharp breath through gritted teeth, doing his best to suppress the urge to cry out in pain. But it wasn't just the physical discomfort that gnawed at him. Beneath the surface, a simmering anger had been bubbling.

-----------------------------------

Alone again in the confines of his quarters, Viktor sank to his knees in front of the small wooden crucifix that adorned the wall. His hands trembled as he clasped them together in prayer, his lips moving silently in fervent entreaty.

“Pater Noster qui es in caelis, sanctificetur nomen tuum…” He began automatically, but he didn’t know what he had prayed for.

When the prayer ended, there was silence.

“Ave Maria, gratia plena, Dominus tecum, benedicta tu in mulieribus…” He started once again, perhaps a mother would pity him.

Silence.

Anger burned within him like a smoldering ember. The rotund face of Father Isidore plagued his inner thoughts. How could a man of God, a shepherd of the faithful, wield his power with such callous disregard?

But beneath the anger lay a deeper, more insidious emotion: guilt. Guilt for his own weakness, for his depravity, for his inability to rise above the turmoil and find solace in his faith. With a frustrated sigh, Viktor bowed his head lower, his hands clenching into fists as he fought to contain the tempest raging within him.

"Why?" he whispered, his voice barely audible in the silence of the room. "Why do I pray, day after day, only to be met with silence? Have I been forsaken, abandoned by the very God I serve?"

But as the echoes of his words faded into the darkness, there came no answer, and in that moment of profound solitude, Viktor felt more alone than ever before, until he remembered the small object he had managed to slip into his robes.

A brass coin, small and thin enough that he could break it with his bare hands if he was not careful. It appeared to have worn off with time, the original color having faded into a dark green, corroded shade. As he held it up to the dim candlelight, the symbol etched into its surface seemed to shimmer—a circle with small letters around its circumference that he couldn’t read. In it there was a smaller circle, and inside of it, even smaller, a strange swirly shape with five triangles on its flat top and a cross in the very center.

He knew, deep inside, that he recognized what he knew to be the symbol of a creature of darkness and forbidden knowledge. His instincts screamed at him to cast it aside, to rid himself of its tainted influence, but a curious fascination held him captive. In a surge of frustration and desperation, Viktor closed his eyes and clasped the coin tightly in his hands, his lips moving in silent prayer.

“God has failed me; let this be the time I am acknowledged.” For a long moment, nothing happened. The silence stretched on, broken only by the soft whisper of his own breath. But then, just as Viktor's hope began to wane, he felt a strange warmth emanating from the coin, spreading through his fingertips.

Like a heavy shroud enveloping the room, suffusing the air with palpable tension, the atmosphere shifted, thickening with an otherworldly energy that seemed to hum with ancient power. A chill ran down Viktor's spine when he felt a small hand on his shoulder. As he summoned the courage to gaze upon the figure behind him, he found himself confronted by a sight that defied all comprehension.

The figure of a woman, alluring and terrible but terrifyingly familiar, stood before him. A surge of primal terror mixed with a morbid fascination compelled him to stand his ground, and then he heard her voice.

“Curious, very curious.” She whispered.

#viktor #arcane viktor #viktor arcane #viktor x reader #arcane #arcane au #legion

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tsuunara · 8 months

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,, BSD FANDOM STOP FUCKING MISCHARACTERIZING CHUUYA FOR ONE SECOND CHALLENGE

i need to get this out of my head because i can't do this anymore with ppl who mischaracterize chuuya so much

tw ; opinion and lots of stormbringer and 15 spoilers! i think it's safe to put that here (also sorry for my poor wording of this i'm trying my best here sob sob justice for chuuya!!!)

"chuuya would be a red flag in relationships because he has incredible anger issues and gets violent!"

,, what a bullshit statement LOL i'm (not) sorry for saying this but i really don't think chuuya has any anger issues whatsoever?? NOW JUST HEAR ME OUT FOR A SECOND being short-tempered ≠ having anger issues!!! ,, having anger issues is something you CAN'T control and causes you to say or do things that can cause harm to others. chuuya does NOT have anger issues!!! we relatively don't see chuuya taking his anger out towards ANYONE with NO CONTROL over his actions whatsoever (arahabaki excluded, it's literally a god of destruction)

,, "but he takes it out on dazai!! he fought with him!!"

,, chuuya mentions that it was to SPITE him. when dazai and chuuya are together, i'd say chuuya is more pissed and annoyed because dazai is usually pushing is buttons. he's just a bit short-tempered and loses it a little more easier than others! of course he also does loses his temper a bit whenever he's stressed as well (that one cannibalism arc episode!!! where he said "son of a bitch") but he didn't particularly go KABOOM KABOOM, ifykwim. ,, we can also see him relatively calm and serious with his work in some episodes too!! he's not yapping and exploding all the time, because obviously he's a 22 year old man. throughout these 7 years, chuuya WOULD'VE learned to mature himself and control his emotions ESPECIALLY after going through his trauma.

,, "but chuuya is violent all the time!"

,, "all the time" ? bffr LMAO. okay sure, chuuya is MAFIA EXECUTIVE and that's part of his job. but that doesn't mean he's always killing this and that!! literally in the official wiki it mentions how chuuya isn't "impossible to reason with" when dealing with his enemies!!

,, ALSO FURTHER PROOF THAT CHUUYA ISN'T SOME COLD-BLOODED KILLER WHO KILLS EVERYONE HE SEES!! in stormbringer, we're up to the scene where N literally tells chuuya that he wasn't human and literally TORTURES HIM, verlaine - the man who KILLED off all his friends - gets him to kill N. but guess fucking what? CHUUYA DIDN'T!!! he tried to go for verlaine instead!! and he also sympathized with him because he KNEW where he was coming from as well!!

,, also!! when he was betrayed by the sheep in the 15 arc, dazai gave chuuya the choice of what to do with them when he was ordered to kill both the sheep and the GSS. and chuuya told him not to kill any of the sheep - most likely due to the fact that he actually still sees them as his family (give this man a break wtf) ,, even if we see chuuya angry at times, at most we can justify his anger - i mean who wouldn't go feral if you had to face the man who killed all your friends or the man who literally killed off your original self, tortured you and told you you weren't human? if anything, it's a very human thing if im being honest. (further proof that chuuya is human) ,, now, bringing back to our bullshit statement - why would chuuya need to get angry or violent if he loves his s/o? chuuya may be a red flag and has his flaws but i REALLY don't see the need for him to take any of his anger out on his s/o. he's really not angry 24/7 all the time, nor does he always NEED to use violence even as being part of the mafia - and just so you know, it's confirmed that chuuya would treat women the best out of everyone!!!! so let's just call it a day and go home guys 🤗🤗🤗

tldr; there would be no need for chuuya to get angry or violent if he loves his s/o, being a mafia executive does NOT necessarily mean he is violent all the time as he sympathizes with others, chuuya does NOT have anger issues and just loses his temper a little more easier than others (especially when it comes to dazai), and asagiri literally confirms he respects women.

thank you for coming to my ted talk. have a good day, evening or night ^_^

#thank you for coming to my ted talk #u may not know it but i am COMING FOR YOU said person who said that statement #fuck you btw u stink for that #(almost) slash half joke because we're actually friends...#i will defend this man for my LIFE #justice for chuuya #i love him a normal amount i promise #bsd #chuuya #bsd chuuya #chuuya nakahara

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itsabouttimex2 · 4 months

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Heyyyy, it’s ME again!! I was just wondering if you take requests for Yandere Alphabets? If so can I get one of Huntsman, Syntax, and/or the Mayor?

(I know this is like my third request I’m so sorry I’m so starved of fanfic content of these three in any shape or form it is CRIMINAL 😭)

Yandere Alphabet: Huntsman

(No worries! I don’t mind at all! And sorry if updates have been a little slow- I’ve recently acquired a rescue cat, who’s been a little clingy!)

Authority: Do they see themselves as above their obsession?

No. Huntsman wants someone who is explicitly equal to him- in power and drive and skill. If Y/N is weak or small, he won’t have any interest in them.

Bread: Can they cook or bake? Is Y/N responsible for their own food?

I imagine he cures and dries most of his hunted meat, spicing the strips to be sharp and energizing. He’ll share- especially if you behave well enough to earn a hunt with him. And honestly? Huntsman would love to teach you to prepare it with him.

Probably not too good with modern appliances, though. He can use them, for what it’s worth- he just doesn’t like to.

Cruentus- How do they respond to Y/N being hurt, both slightly and severely?

Given their probable capability for self-defense, Huntsman isn’t too worried about his obsession’s safety. If he’s interested in Y/N, it’s because they make for a good rival- they have to be able to fight back and escape from danger.

If harm somehow comes to them in captivity, the arachnoid does see fit to tend your wounds- perhaps a bit roughly. Many natural remedies- honey as an antibiotic, aloe vera to soothe burns and rashes, poppy pods as a painkiller, ginger for nausea, etc.

Disengage- What’s their response to being ignored?

Mild distaste for what he perceives as ‘childishness’. When he catches Y/N, he expects them to accept it with some measure of grace. Sure, they don’t have to start cheering, but Huntsman would appreciate it if they were more mature.

Besides- he can ignore them right back, especially since they’re the one in cage.

Enclosure: Where do they keep Y/N?

Hung on his wall like a trophy- even if he has to take you apart piece by piece and put you back together like a puzzle.

Or a steel-wrought and dead-bolted cage, with just enough room to pace around- even with a shackle of black iron around your neck.

Decisions, decisions.

Facade: Are they good at hiding their true intentions?

I’d say no, but saying no implies that there’s an undertaken effort being failed- and there isn’t. Huntsman just… doesn’t care.

And franky? Neither does the Spider Queen, or Syntax, or Goliath. (Although the big guy will make sure you don’t starve while his workmate is out.) Nobody cares for your plight, leaving your hope of escape infinitesimally small.

Garment: Do they take control of Y/N’s clothes?

No, not really. As long as the gear you wear is practical, Huntsman won’t so much as bat an eye. Comfort and function are equally important, and that’s something he understands quite well.

If he does manage to catch you, expect to be given “luxury” clothes made from the bodies of his previous quarry. His webbing holds

Handicap: How do they handle Y/N being or becoming disabled?

If the disability occurs before he catches them, Huntsman may well drop his current obsession and find a new one. After all, he’s not looking for a pitiful cripple- he warns a powerful warrior! Why remain with someone who can no longer deftly escape his grasp?

If it happens afterwards, the arachnoid simply takes it as a permanent mark of his victory over you. You’ve got a limp or a shaky wrist or a few missing fingers- and he smiles wide when he see the struggle you undertake.

Proof of the colossal task surmounted- how could he not be proud of himself?

Intertwine: How physical are they? Do they enjoy skinship and touch?

His touch is rough and challenging, constant spurring towards a vicious fight and a potential attempt at escape- keeping you as a caged little bunny is just no fun. If our dear Huntsman can push until you snap and lash, he’ll be all the happier for it.

Just remember- this isn’t a game, and he won’t be going easy on you.

Jaunt: Are they willing to take Y/N out? Where do they go?

Not unless you’re willing to hunt, butcher, and cook little animals with him. If you are, Huntsman enjoys taking you out on little trips out to local forests and woods.

Kindness: What brings out the best in this yandere?

His kindest scenario involves a young and wild Y/N, feral and furious. He takes you under his wing to train properly, honing the skills you’ve obtained in the wild. Your transformation into a spider demon is inevitable, in this scenario. Huntsman would treat you more like an apprentice than a target, maybe taking you in as his own heir.

Limitation: What holds them back? Work? Family obligations? Physical weakness?

Very, very little. A mild and ever-thinning sense of duty to his queen, but that thread is gossamer. You come first, above all else.

Morals: What lines are they not willing to cross?

Torture. Admittedly, Huntsman isn’t a great person. But I don’t think he’d push that line into physical or psychological torment- he’s got his limits, especially when it comes to someone he actually sort of cares about.

Nausea: Can they tend to an illness, or would they rely on a doctor?

If natural remedies and rest don’t work, he’ll take you to Syntax to have your symptoms properly examined. Huntsman doesn’t want to threaten a doctor into seeing you, or run the risk of an escape while bringing you out, so he’ll just steal the needed medicine.

Obcordate: What reminds them of Y/N?

Rabbits scurrying to their burrows. Doves flying to their nests in fright. Fawns sheltering behind their mothers. Little prey animals running to hide away until the dawn rises once more and offers comfort from lurking shadows.

Pacify: How do they comfort Y/N? Do they even bother trying?

If you’re on the younger end (15-19), Huntsman will rummage up a little bit of pity to offer you cured meats and a fur jacket to wear. It’s not much, but it’s proof there’s a little bit of kindness in his heart somewhere.

If you’re on the older end, well… tough luck.

Queue: Do they have something of equal or greater importance to Y/N?

No. His loyalty to the Spider Queen comes close at first, but he eventually ditches her to pursue you more viciously.

Unless… he goes yandere for Sandy, too. With a younger Y/N and a budding obsession with the big blue sweetheart, I could see Huntsman trying to build himself a little family- however crude and forced.

Redemption: Could they grow out of their obsession and make amends with Y/N?

Dear lord, no. There is literally one circumstance in which he gives up on utterly decimating or owning you: the two of you fighting off the Mayor together and fighting the Lady Bone Demon alongside him.

The above mentioned scenario makes him behave more kindly, but he won’t give up the obsessive desire to possess.

Sobriquet- What nicknames do for they have for their obsession?

Morsel, little minnow, little dove, fresh meat… anything that makes you sound small and mouthwatering.

If you’ve animal attributes across your body, expect him to refer to you by whatever collateral adjective applies to your lineage.

Troop: How many people do they obsess over? Is that obsession spread equally?

One or two- it’s either you, or you and Sandy. If it’s both of you, his time and effort is split roughly half-and-half.

Underdog: Who‘s on the yandere’s side? Would they help out?

No one is explicitly helping him (unless mutually yandere Silktea is a thing, and then Sandy does enable him, unfortunately) but no one is stopping him, either. None of his fellow spider demons care whether he has you or not, leaving Huntsman virtually free to do as he pleases while pursuing you.

Vocalize: How do they justify their actions?

Huntsman doesn’t bother to do so- what he’s doing is wrong, but he revels in it anyhow. Why care about mortal laws or logic? All they do is hamper his fun.

White Whale: Why do they pursue Y/N, exactly?

If you’re strong and capable, you’ve got a chance of catching this spider’s eyes. That’s about it- he wants someone just as vicious and powerful (or at least as capable) as he is.

Xanthous: What do they really want?

A way to elevate his skills, and that’s about it. When it comes to his ‘yandere’ side, he’s high on obsession and low on love. It’s one of the reasons he’s willing to kill Y/N- their worth to him is mostly temporary, based on their power and techniques.

Youth: How old is Y/N in comparison to them? Younger, same age, or older?

Same age, maybe a little older. A child won’t have the experience he’s looking for- this arachnoid specifically wants a good hunt. There’s no joy or triumph in butchering a helpless child.

If you do happen to be a child who impressed him, he’ll abduct you. Maybe a few weeks will be spent waiting in a dusty, web-covered cellar, only for him to come in and stab a venom-drone into the base of your spine. A little hunting buddy doesn’t sound like an awful thing to have, after all.

Zealous: Do they pursue Y/N doggedly, or are they more laidback and casual with their approach?

It doesn’t get much more zealous than viciously pursuing someone as though they were a fleeing beast. Every night is spent fortifying your defenses and prepping weaponry, all to meet him in the morning and fight desperately to ward the demon off.

Author’s Choice:

#Platonic Yandere #Yandere Lego Monkie Kid #Yandere LMK #Yandere Huntsman #Yandere Alphabet

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desultory-novice · 5 months

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hey des did you know that magolor soul is cannon bc in opening cutscene of the magolor epilogue it's magolor soul

Oh, Anon XD

:taps the sign:

"Dess firmly believes in the 'everything is cannon, just happening in alternate timelines' theory of what is and isn't Kirby canon, so arguing proof/non-proof just feels like tedious nitpicking to me."

Ahem! That aside, you know, I am a little amused they decided to go with that path for the Epilogue. I mean, it feels like they had very little choice! Magolor Soul leaves a much greater (heartcrushing...) impact than boring 2nd Form Magolor. And Magolor Soul is a better choice for the event that leaves Magolor as such a raggedy wreck!

Though, one is left to ponder, with the Magolor Soul route being the, as you say, canon event - the timeline that gets to continue - what the heck happened in the non-Hard Mode version of RtDL that let everyone avoid Magolor Soul in the first place? And what kind of make-up and become friends did the gang have after that?

.........or DID they become friends again...?

Is the reason Magolor never chose to over-charge the Master Crown's power (going EX mode) and never became fully consumed was that he just didn't CARE as much about Kirby as he did in Hard Mode?? (His feelings of affection he couldn't express becoming twisted into wrath by the Crown.) He certainly doesn't bother to admit as many truths about who he is and what he really wants to do with himself in Normal Mode as he does in Hard Mode.

What if, when combined with the fact that the possession and loss of control he felt in Normal Mode wasn't quite as bad (at least in comparison...) Magolor didn't feel as indebted to Kirby. Didn't feel like he had anything to apologize for, or any reason to come back to Dream Land? Maybe he decided to flit off and try again elsewhere?

Or maybe it is the Normal Mode Magolor that goes on to build the Dream Collection theme park in Dream Land...? The one he frames as an apology (and only in English) but really sounds like he built it out of selfish, self-aggrandizing boredom?

...If he was never fully consumed and, by that token, fully saved from the Crown, perhaps he never fully regained his true wish. Thus, Normal Mode Magolor stops short of making Merry Magoland.

Heh. It's fun to think what happened in the non "canon" paths! We know what Hard Mode Magolor did, eventually growing into Manager Magolor but where IS Normal Mode Magolor now, and what is HE doing? Has he learned his lesson or does he still manipulate people and shy away from true friendship? Does he feel fulfilled or is there still a crown-shaped hole in his heart? His lifelong dream doomed to a be no more than a series of tepid races and challenge rooms?

#Kirby #Kirby series #Magolor

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rin-and-jade · 1 year

Text

I'm Definitely Faking: A Post about Self Doubt

Alright, i get it. Many people had done things like these but it won't stop me from taking this topic deeper than anyone had done (as i ever read them too) so, for any of you who are interested, or attempt to find a dedicated answer/discussion around this topic, please and PLEASE read it, you will not regret this.

I'm very sure most of you are doing your usual routine, until a thought strike at you fast as lightning, "wait, what if i'm just faking __", or if you knew something you "shouldn't" (say, being a system) then it makes you spiral down the rabbit hole, right? And it is not beautiful, it's extremely taxing both emotionally and mentally. Nobody wants to lie accidentally to people, what if we're actually fine? How would you know? Are you tricking people to get the attention you never received as a child?? How would you actually know?? And etc. I will tell you how. It will stop those doubts for good.

Where it all started..

First of all, anything can be the starting point to where it all goes down. But, generally speaking i think it stems from how people think of what being a system is like, and i mean it in a personal view. Too rare to have one? Probably faking, Good communication? Faking, aware of other presence of parts? I'm faking, can't switch? Faking again, darn it. You get the idea here, right?

About that crippling doubt of mine..

Why would someone panic when they think they’re faking, when real fakers never gave a fuck? The problem is not on the disorder but more on the lack of proof for certainty,, and because you start to doubt from it, you then think you’re actually faking. I have a few to say about how it attacks, so bare with me:

Tendency to think on extremes When you start to think that having something means needing to suffer for like every single second.. that one minute period of ease and relieve will be the bullet in the gun to trigger a thought of "faking". Getting a better view that, for example how depression means you can laugh or feel good from a comfort show, does not mean you don't have depression due to that particular moment.

Focusing on the wrong dot What if i tell you, that you might be looking at the wrong side? Be it only looking at one side of the coin (biased towards looking for clues to prove yourself wrong, e.g. alters are not distinguishable from each other, and so it means you're not a system) or focusing too much about how other's experience is like and if you don't relate then you're not real, or maybe you have your own assumptions/expectations about how the disorder should look like and when it doesn't meet the criteria.. well.. you know what to say.

"I feel like.." When emotions hits to the roof, logic gets thrown out from the house. Tell me who can think well in stressful moments,, the answer is no one, some can appear more collected or have a higher tolerance before they can panic but you get the point. We all have feelings at the end of the day, no one is unfeeling and no one can escape from it,, i'm not saying you have neglect it, more like i want you to be aware when those said emotions are controlling (more like affecting) your thoughts. Too much of it can throw off the balance in rationality, easier to dismiss proof, and worser decision making. So, if you feel overwhelmed,, make a quick choice on calming yourself down, it will be easier to challenge the worries and negative thoughts once you are aware and actively practicing.

This isn't my first time..

You guessed it. Sometimes one assurance won't do the trick anymore after a few weeks, it comes back with more and more bullets to shoot you down, who says the bullets are gone when someone makes a post about people that their experience is valid? You have to work on yourself, because one day, you will doubt about something people never post and you are alone,, dealing with all the murky thoughts will be less harder, if you follow these tips:

Everyone is different, the disorder never look static and same for everyone. Having a different struggle or way of functioning never equates to being a fraud. Tell yourself that.

Focusing on evidence, not on what you don't experience or have, being a green apple does not make you a pear,, you are still an apple because of its shape and taste and overall appearance. Not just because you're green, it invalidates every other evidence of what counts as an apple.

Throw away all those unhelpful confirmations, you don't need to constantly check wether your other parts are real, you don't need to know having a blackout means you're still not faking, you don't need anything related to this? Because we are going to heal and learn, confirming becomes obsolete,, as things will change, clinging onto an image on how you should be or live like will do no good. Seeking constant assurance does more harm.

Never downplay your own experiences. Easier said than done but i know someone will say right on my face that being beaten up regularly by a father is not that bad to develop trauma or a system (for example) while it darn is. If things are downplayed more often and to many aspects, you will be more prone to thinking that you're "faking". Due to the nature that developing this disorder requires severe and ongoing trauma, and guess what,, trauma comes in all forms.

With this, it will be much easier to accept you have a disorder,, and accept that it's not all black and white, actually this can be applied with anything, but my point is that. Practice more compassion for yourself, by understanding and being aware,, and not resorting to self negativity or elses, this will not be a major problem for you ever again. Also noting that yes its alright to relapse and question everything again, but this time you fight back,, you hear me soldier?

Do you copy that, *walkie-talkie sound*

- j

#did #actually did #did community #did osdd #did system #dissociative identity disorder #plural #system stuff #sysblr #jeducates

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magicalbats · 2 months

Note

YES more pathetic boys sadly cumming in their pants is exactly what I need and desire ｡ﾟ(｡ﾉωヽ｡)ﾟ｡ did you have any characters come to mind? I'm personally a little hyperfocused on wind breaker boys atm...

Oooh, can you clarify what you mean by wind breaker boys? I don’t think think I’ve heard of that before and now I’m curious!

And hmmm, tbh I think there could be a few different flavors to this. The sort of pathetic simp boys you’d kind of expect this behavior from anyway and the sort who come as a surprise. Their demeanor makes you think they’d have better self control than that but whether because they’re particularly weak for you, specifically, or because they’re so repressed and touch starved they just can’t help it!

I think Scar falls into the latter category of being specifically weak for the person who’s captured his obsession, and he’d kind of ride that line of being pushy and confident while also being incredibly pathetic about it at the same time. 🤤

For HSR I see Sunday firmly residing in the repressed and touch starved camp fkekdkdksk and imo he’s especially delish to think about for this because he’d try his damndest to reject it and keep up the pretense of not being so easily swayed by the urges of his body right up to the very moment he’s staining the front of his pants. Extremely shameful and embarrassing for him.

Could also see Sampo being very easily teased to that point too, especially in the sense that like … he hasn’t exactly been shown to have simp tendencies in the game but I don’t think it’s outside the realm of possibility for him and tbh I think he’d very much enjoy being on the receiving end of his favorite persons attention like that. He’s got that vibe about him imo that sets him up to be either the predator or the prey and he’d have fun either way. 🤭

And finally the big ace up my sleeve … I REALLY think Blade would do this, completely by accident and against his will. He’s so touch starved and isolated that I could see him losing hold of his self control very quickly if you started teasing or rubbing up on him. He’d be big grumpy about it ofc but that’s what I meant by different flavors. There’s many physiological factors that might lead to a man cumming in his pants!

For Genshin, I think both Xiao and Diluc would be similarly affected by even just the slightest bit of teasing and yes, they’d be grumpy about it! Like Blade, they’re not totally thrilled about showing their own weakness like that but the proof is quite literally in the pudding.

Thoma is one of those guys you’d kind of expect it from, he’s just so sweet and unassuming with submissive male-wife leaning tendencies. You really wouldn’t even have to try very hard to get him riled up and excited, and even less effort to have him making a mess of his clothes. Tbh I’d also categorize Kaveh here too, except you can fully expect him to cry about it afterward. 😮‍💨 Hell, maybe even while it’s happening.

I think Neuvillette could easily fall into the repressed and touch starved category too, but actually getting him to soil his clothes like that might take a bit more effort than the average man. 🤔 Same with Al-Haitham tbh. Which is not to say he’s repressed in the usual sense but rather that his self control is so strong he’d present a real challenge but … I not only think it’s very possible he could be made to cum in his pants, I also believe that’s what he deserves. lol

Honorable mentions; Aventurine, Argenti, Gepard, Itto, Childe, maaaaybe Wriothesley if you got him worked up enough. 😏

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anony-mouse-writer · 8 months

Text

Okay okay okay. This is literally gonna chew on my brain, so.

Here I list the tenets that guide the blooded sword:

I. May all that you face have a fighting chance. Any sword raised to the innocent or unarmed in cruelty is blackened by its shame.

[If he won’t move, move him. This must be done.]

[He could shove Tanguish back against the wall, stun him with the blow, and his sword would be in his hands before Tanguish knew what happened.

II. May your wrath be stoked only by the Saint's wrath, tempered by the Saint's fire, and quenched by the Saint's blood. A fool are they who, gifted the Saint's power, use it in wrath or malice alone.

His body still shook like the innervated sparks of a kicked campfire, but the parts of him that mattered, that controlled his voice and his will, felt so near to nothing it was startling. Transcendent. There was just a simple surety: he was going to make Wels pay for this.

[Do something.]

III. May you meet every adversary with honor, nor despise them for their challenge. May every battle prove your glory, and every accepted challenge prove their equal.

“He’ll make you kneel like that t-too and he’ll kill you, and you won’t be able to do anything to stop him!”

“Then I won’t give him the chance to command me.”

IV. May you be steadfast and know no retreat, for the back turned is once wounded and twice deserving. May every wound won show no proof of running.

V. May you meet every obstacle with courage, for just as all that emits light must endure burning, all the courageous must make a brother of their fears.

Helsknight felt his breath begin to heave, the silent determination of his wrath giving way to something nastier and more desperate.

VI. May your word be law, as binding as chains, and as chains may it drown you when bound in deceit.

“I didn’t promise that.”

“You did!”

…

“Then it's a promise I’m breaking.”

VII. May you seek the counsel of your elders, those more versed in the order and its ways, and respect their word once given, for their communion with the Saint is long, and their wisdom earned.

VIII. May you persevere to the end of any enterprise begun, for the folly is theirs that, through unfinished business, never gain wisdom from deeds done.

“You said we were in this together,” Tanguish said quickly. “Keep your promise and stay.”

IX. May you respect the honor of your fellow helsmet, that none may know you cruel or slave to vice. For no creature, be they sibling of order or beggar or king, is ever deserving of dishonor or pain.

Tanguish was so small, and so fragile. And he was so scared of pain, maybe all he really needed to do was turn around and grab the knife off the table, and then Tanguish would run.]

X. May you treat all siblings of sword and order as your own, held accountable as you would so hold yourself. A villain are they that stray from their tenets, and a villain they that allow it.

- Redstone and Skulk, @silverskye13

…

okay, so now that we’ve gone through all the ways Helsknight broke his tenets this chapter, lets talk about the WoG confirmation that the red text is the will of the his Saint and his accusation that Tanguish is twisting his tenets.

…… yeah I mean, he kind is. He’s admitted to it in the past too.

Like, obviously I am deeply unwell about this series in general, but Helsknight’s devotion to his Saint is so fucking fascinating to me personally. Holding to a code no one else has to is hard as shit and the Saint’s code is pretty vicious. But part of the code also addresses getting help from others and I don’t even know if there are others of the order?

BUT what there are others of, is the champions of the arena. And Helsknight has been forgoing their help for a while and the Hand calls him out on it. Helsknight just now realizing that he doesn’t have a lot of things grounding himself to him instead of Wels (and self-admittedly ignoring several of those things of late) isn’t healthy and he needs to reach out and he needs someone to hold him accountable, either to his tenets or whatever internal logic he decides to replace them with, and I don’t think it can be Tanguish, because I love him, but he’s absolutely a manipulative little shit who will use Helsknight’s code to his advantage in tense situations.

Hels doesn’t get much in the way of happy endings and I’m not entirely convinced that the ideal scenario for Helsknight to follow his tenets to the letter at this moment would be to muster up his allies and a battle plan and then march on hermitcraft to duel Wels or something. Which would be lowkey highkey horrible for everyone involved, not gonna lie. But I also have to wonder reallly strongly about how the red text of the Saint’s will directly violated several of the tenets and what that means for Helsknight going forward.

#rns #no dont mind me its fine im fine #*kicks personal baggage and investment under the bench*#this is a very fine and reasonable analysis #and not at all just me purging the screaming from my head #mcyt #helsknight #the saint of blood and steel #op

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yujo-nishimura · 9 months

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The Escape - Part 42 - FIN

Part 1 - Part 2 - Part 3 - Part 4 - Part 5 - Part 6 - Part 7 - Part 8 - Part 9 - Part 10 - Part 11 - Part 12 - Part 13 - Part 14 - Part 15 - Part 16 - Part 17 - Part 18 - Part 19 - Part 20 - Part 21 - Part 22 - Part 23 - Part 24 - Part 25 - Part 26 - Part 27 - Part 28 - Part 29 - Part 30 - Part 31 - Part 32 - Part 33 - Part 34 - Part 35 - Part 36 - Part 37 - Part 38 - Part 39 - Part 40 - Part 41

Warning: Buggy x fem reader, not proof-read - I am not so happy with the last chapters of this story, but I will still share it with you guys, since you all have kept on reading until now. Thanks. <3

That is the final part, thank you all for reading and sticking around - you are all amazing!

As you stand by the ship's railing, gazing out at the vast expanse of the open sea, a familiar presence interrupts your solitude. Cabaji, holding a glass of wine, joins you, extending a toast with a forgiving smile.

"So, he took on the Straw Hats all by himself?" Cabaji inquires, a hint of amusement and disbelief tinting his voice.

"Absolutely!" you respond, affirming the tale with a smile. You recognize Cabaji as Buggy's trusted right-hand man, probably aware of all the happenings on the ship and beyond.

"I'm glad you're back, Y/n. After Crocodile took you, our Captain was a shadow of his former self. He tried to act nonchalant, as if he had struck a perfect deal, but we all knew the truth. He was suffering from your absence," Cabaji confides, his words laced with genuine concern.

You fall silent, taking a sip of your wine, contemplating Cabaji's admission. The weight of trust and the challenges it poses hang heavy in the air.

"It's difficult to regain trust once it's been broken," you finally respond, your gaze meeting Cabaji's eyes, acknowledging the shared understanding.

"It is indeed," Cabaji agrees, his expression mirroring your sentiment. "And Captain Buggy will likely dedicate the rest of his pirate life to earning back your trust. And probably even try to find the One Piece just for you..”

A mixture of emotions swirl within you—apprehension, hope, and the lingering pain of past betrayals. Yet, as you stand there, the sea breeze caressing your face, you feel just relief. You had part of your life under control again. You would not let go of this now.

The two of you stand there, united in your understanding, silently sharing the weight of the journey that lies ahead. The open sea stretches out before you as you silently nip on your wine.

Back at the festivities, music fills the air, carried by the skilled hands and nimble fingers of crew members who have mastered a variety of instruments. The rhythmic melodies entice even the most reserved to sway and dance, their steps guided by the infectious energy of the moment.

As the night progresses, the ship becomes a haven of joy and camaraderie, a sanctuary where burdens are momentarily set aside. Laughter and song intertwine, creating a symphony of celebration that resonates deep within the hearts of those in attendance.

As the night sky blankets the ship in a comforting darkness, Buggy approaches you, taking your hand and sets aside his own and your glass of wine. “Follow me..!”, he whispers and then leads you to a secluded corner, away from prying eyes and the lively festivities that continue to resonate throughout the vessel. Here, in the hushed embrace of solitude, he gently pushes you against the wall of the ship.

The air is heavy with anticipation as Buggy's hand delicately grazes yours, his touch sending a shiver of warmth down your spine. His gaze, filled with a mix of adoration and vulnerability, seeks solace in the depths of your eyes.

With a tender yet nervous smile, Buggy takes a step closer, closing the distance between you. His voice, barely above a whisper, carries a weight of sincerity as he speaks:

"Y/n, I can't deny the depth of my feelings for you," he murmurs, his voice laced with a mixture of longing and vulnerability. "Every moment we spent apart made me realize just how much you mean to me. You are the anchor that keeps me grounded amidst the chaos of the pirate's life."

You smile: “I hope I am not the kind of anchor that drags you down…”

He laughs gently and shakes his head. “No, never..”

A gentle breeze rustles through the sails above, intertwining with the beating of your hearts. The world around you seems to fade into insignificance as Buggy's words resonate in the stillness of the night.

"I've made mistakes in the past, hurt you in ways I can never undo," Buggy continues, his voice tinged with remorse. "But I want you to know that I am committed to changing, to becoming the partner you deserve. Loving you is not a burden or a game to me. It is a privilege, an honor that I cherish with every fiber of my being."

His words hang in the air, suspended between you like a fragile bridge. Yet, there is an undeniable sincerity, a raw vulnerability that emanates from Buggy's every word and gesture. This is the first time he has spoken to you like this. You don't even blame the alcohol tonight. You realize it is simply because he had lost you once and was afraid of never being able to meet you again.

And then, with a trembling yet determined resolve, Buggy leans in, closing the remaining space between you. The world around you fades into obscurity as his lips meet yours, a tender and passionate kiss that speaks volumes of his love and devotion.

In that stolen moment, time stands still, encapsulating the depth of your connection. The weight of his words and the tenderness of his touch affirm the sincerity of his confession. He hasn't been this gentle with you before. You enjoy every second of this new, kind Captain Buggy.

“So, shall we go to my cabin now and continue with what we had to interrupt earlier? I think no one will notice now when we are gone…”

As the whispered invitation lingers in the air, Buggy's eyes meet yours, a hint of desire flickering within them. The playful banter between you continues, charged with a mix of anticipation and mutual consent.

A mischievous smile dances upon your lips as you respond, teasingly pushing yourself against his chest. "Take me, but this time it's on my terms. No more decisions against my will," you whisper, the words filled with playful defiance.

Buggy's expression softens, a glimmer of understanding shining in his eyes. "Whatever you wish for," he replies, his voice carrying a hint of reverence.

In a sudden flourish of movement, Buggy detaches his arms, placing them strategically under your knees and behind your back. With a gentle push, he guides you to fall into his waiting embrace, capturing you securely against his chest. Laughter bubbles forth from your lips, knowing full well that he would never allow you to stumble or falter.

As Buggy reattaches his arms, he holds you close, swiftly carrying you towards his cabin. The ship's corridors become a blur as you surrender to the exhilaration of the moment, the rhythm of his steps in perfect synchrony with the pounding of your hearts.

At the threshold of his cabin, Buggy pauses, his hand resting on the doorknob. He turns to face you, a mixture of vulnerability and strength in his gaze. "Last chance to turn back, to live a different life," he murmurs, his voice tinged with a hint of uncertainty.

You meet his gaze, your eyes filled with a newfound sense of liberation and determination.

"No, Buggy. Today is the first time I truly feel free.”

#one piece #buggytheclown #buggy the clown x reader #one piece buggy #buggy x reader #buggy x you #long fanfic #long reads #nanowrimo 2023

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genderkoolaid · 1 year

Note

Honestly, there’s something that I’m struggling with, I’m like salmacian, and I have bottom dysphoria, that’s like really really really bad, and I’m planning on getting bottom surgery, but honestly, I kinda don’t know how I’m gonna deal with the whole isolation aspect of it all. Cause like, the queer community HATES us bro, so while I love the idea of finally feeling free in my body it sucks because it makes me feel like I have to choose between my life and my community; my bottom dysphoria has been making me wanna kms, I mean like literally curl up in a ball and drop dead, and then you see people on Twitter and shit saying “if you feel dysphoria in this way you *SHOULD* kill yourself” and that’s really challenging for me, I can’t really go to irl queer spaces or transition right now (toxic family situation) but it’s crazy for all these queer spaces to be about “being your true self” just “NOT LIKE THAT” I hope IRL queer spaces will be better, but like I can’t just die because other queer people don’t like my dysphoria, but it’s also kinda hard to find others like me.

Like, what do I even do here?? Do I just pretend I’m cis? Do I publicly ID as nonbinary and pretend I’ve never had bottom surgery, do I pretend I’m like binary transmasc, and also like, in this vein, I think it’s funny (horrible) how nonbinary people literally get hate no matter what we do, we don’t transition? Then we’re bad cringy transtrenders and the reason cis people hate trans people, we transition? We’re evil incarnate, we just can’t win lmaooo. 💀

First of all, I’d recommend distancing yourself from spaces that promote anti-salmacian bigotry and trying to engage yourself in online pro-salmacian spaces as much as possible. Do whatever you have to in order to disconnect from the people who hock the idea that salmacians are bad or salmacian transitions are somehow immoral. If you haven’t checked out r/salmacian, I would highly suggest it– its the biggest (and really, only) community of salmacians I’m aware of and it can be really refreshing to be in a space entirely centered around us and our desires and needs. Connecting with other salmacians can be so healing, especially getting to see people who have physically transitioned and reminding yourself that it is possible to have that body and be happy. It also reminds you that there are so many of us out there– pretty much everytime I talk about being salmacian on here, I see new people who have never realized that “its a thing” and there’s a word for it. It is so much more normal to be salmacian than bigots will make it seem.

This post on the subreddit talks about dating as salmacians, and the consensus seems to be that the trans dating scene seems to be pretty accepting of salmacians– obviously that’s not going to be the case everywhere, but weird queers have existed since time immemorial. When you are surrounded by (especially online) regressive bigots, it really warps your view of reality and makes it hard to truly believe that that isn’t the universal standard. Its near impossible to thrive when you are in the situation, which is why its so vital to surround yourself with proof that that isn’t the standard. I promise you that you will be able to find a community that will find the idea that your dysphoria is “evil” to be fucking ridiculous and support your salmacian identity– you might even find other salmacians, or help other people realize its an achievable option!

I strongly agree with how nonbinary people get treated re: transitioning. Obviously binary people are not overall treated better but it really does suck there’s no way to be nonbinary that doesn’t involve hate– either you don’t transition (or don’t “really”/”fully” transition) and get seen as a transtrender who doesn’t know what its REALLY like, or you have a “weird” transition and get treated like a weird fetish-chaser or a TLC short and not, like, a person who just wants to control their own body. Tbh I would love to see more nonbinary/genderqueer-centered community stuff, along with more discussion of exorsexism that isn’t just “diet transmisogyny/transandrophobia” or “general transphobia.” Ik a lot of post-bottom surgery trans people feel disconnected from the trans community, and I myself have thought about how I’m going to go about… engaging with others and identifying myself post-op. Honestly I would love a salmacian4salmacian relationship but idk if that will ever be in the cards!

& when it comes to salmacians & exorsexism there’s so much stereotyping us as horny freaks (which is a bad thing apparently!) whose dysphoria/euphoria is Evil and Twisted and like… 1. thats just Transmisogyny 2: Electric Boogaloo 2. as if its our fault that 99% of salmacian rep is in fetish porn, so there are so many of us whose only exposure to the concept of being salmacian is through that lens. Or as if its inherently evil to feel sexually satisified with a body that brings you joy? (also this doesn’t even get into the way that so much discussion around transness is not prepared for altersex transitions & the reality of nonbinary people who are physically androgynous and how no, you can’t just slap binary theory onto our bodies and assume its going to cover our experiences, which is why while I would not call myself intersex I do feel a strong sense of solidarity with intersex people bc of the shared “stop assuming your forced rebinarization of myself and my body is okay or coherent”… but anyways!)

I’d love to see a stronger salmacian community, and know that you (or anyone else!) can send me asks about being salmacian, whether to learn more or for advice or just to share experiences/vent and I will be overjoyed to respond. I love talking about being salmacian and helping other people learn about it.

#m.#ask box #salmacian #salmacian propaganda

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testingthewatersss · 9 months

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Knocks Trigger warnings for PTSD, mentions of war, torture, winter solider stuff etc. Winter Solider x F Reader Chapter 1/3 3100 words Angst, more angst, comfort. 18+ MDNI Originally written as a 3 part prelude to Adjustment. Maybe storage is kinder

The Solider had started turning up at her door more frequently than before.

He’d knock three times, and wait- like he’d been trained to do, and she’d open, and bring him inside, no matter what time it was.

She began to suspect that he was rushing through missions in order to speed up their visits.

There was no proof, but even the wounds he was sustaining seemed to be worsening.

He was getting sloppy, she’d thought.

Luckily, HYDRA didn’t care about his physical condition, as long as his jobs where finished, and now that he was besting even his own records, they seemed to be giving him more missions than they ever had before.

He was speeding through the tasks, one after another, which in turn meant he was spending much less time on ice.

Y/N had noticed how much less time when she’d gone to clean a deep cut on his flesh palm, and he’d held her hand.

Her heart had broken, then. When she’d looked at the face of the brainwashed man, and seen his brow creased with concern.

“Are you okay, solider?”

He’d hesitated, he’d blinked up at her, face suddenly ladened with confusion.

“do you have a name?”

“Y/N” she’d smiled, watching as he gave her a small nod, his hair had fallen in-front of his eyes, and she’d wondered if they’d given up on trying to cut it with him awake.

“I don’t think I have one.”

His voice was small, and unexpected-

and god, it hurt.

Y/N had thought that hearing him say that, had been worse than any torture HYDRA had subjected her too.

She’d blinked emotion away from her face as she’d met his gaze.

“I’m sure you do” Y/N had purred quietly, “I’ll try and find it for you, if you try not to think about it too much, okay?”

He’d looked at her curiously, so she’d offered him another small quirk of her lips,

“I don’t want you gettin’ in trouble.”

She’d been worried that he didn’t understand, but then, he’d given her a small nod, and let his palm unfurl in her hand, so that she could complete her task.

That’s when she’d first begun to feel hopeful that he had some concept of what kind of relationship she was trying to build.

Y/N had been hopeful that him beginning to risk questioning things so openly with her, was a sign that trust was starting to blossom between them.

The Solider seemed to be aware that he wasn’t supposed to be thinking, as much as he had been, he seemed to know what’d she’d meant when she’d told him to try to lay off on his own self-questioning. She wondered if the others where picking up on his shifting mood, too, or if he was managing to hide it well enough to avoid anyone pulling him up, either way, Y/N decided to follow through on her end of the bargain, regardless of wether his handlers might begin to worry that he was slipping too much and wipe him again before they next spoke.

All in all, it hadn’t taken her long to find his identity.

Her handlers ignored her, for the most part- She was at best a pet, and at worst a means to an end, a disposable piece of their puzzle, so sneaking into places where folders where kept was never a challenge, it was amazing how blindly they trusted their mind control techniques, she’d almost found it comical as she’d palmed open ‘the assets’ hand book.

Sergeant James Buchanan Barnes.

There where pictures clipped to the faded pages, along with scrawled notes regarding possible weaknesses, fears, and already completed training.

She scanned everything, trying her best to memorise anything that she’d thought might hold any importance; codewords, phobias, triggers, even family members, that where all long dead, save for one younger sister, who was supposedly in her 70s, living in a home in Texas.

A picture of the sergeant posing next to a young, but still recognisable Captain America had also caught her eye.

She’d heard about Steve Rodgers, from Natasha, she hadn’t heard much, but her sister had talked about the man with something akin to fondness, so Y/N had decided it would have been unlikely for him to be involved in the continued containment of his old pal, even though HYDRA where quickly infiltrating SHEILD, where Y/N was sure that he was still employed, he’d been on payroll, last time she’d managed to sneak a look at their database, anyway.

Her suspicions had been almost totally satiated by time and more pondering when she was surprised by three firm knocks on her door.

Odd, she’d thought, The Asset had been in her office this morning, post mission but otherwise fine, there’d been barely a scratch on him…

She’d had to swallow a gasp when she’d opened the door,

The solider was hurt- badly, hurt. He was bloody, lip split, tactical vest removed, metal arm tightened around his own ribs, and he was leaning obviously over to one side.

She’d hidden her alarm, and ushered him inside, making a point of locking the door behind them.

“Report, Solider-”

Y/N had kept her voice soft, much softer than she’d usually make it sound when she was giving him a command like that.

He’d panted, blinking up at her with a rabid look behind his eyes.

That’s when she’d realised that something was really wrong.

The Solider wasn’t meant to feel fear, he’d had it trained out of him over nearly a hundred years, and although sometimes his eyes or his arm betrayed him, Y/N had never seen him as blatantly petrified as this.

“I don't know.” He’d barely grunted, eyes still darting around in assessment.

“Does anyone know you’re here?”

He’d shaken his head.

Fuck.

“Did you receive commands, in terms of where to go?”

The asset had straightened up a fraction then, and Y/N had thought it looked awfully like he was trying to decide wether he was safe to tell the truth.

“to get cleaned up.”

Y/N nodded calmly, letting out a slow breath as she accepted his statement.

She could swing that, if she had too, if someone found them, they could make that seem like an order taken the wrong way.

“You’re afraid?”

His voice had been thick, and dry and Y/N had found herself pausing, hand hovering above the medical supplies that she’d already made her way too.

“A little.” She’d replied honestly, grabbing her tray and gesturing for him to sit on stool that was lower than the table where he was usually placed. “But not of you.”

“Why not?” The Soldier had asked, skimming over her quickly in an attempt to assess her, “You are not strong enough to stop me, you are weaponless.”

Y/N had hummed in agreement, setting a damp cloth on the surface next to where she was now kneeling.

“I will not hurt you.”

He’d sounded certain, and she had nodded quickly, to enforce that belief.

“And I won’t hurt you.” She’d promised, “Sit, please.”

He’d obeyed instantly, folding down onto the afore mentioned stool with inhumane swiftness.

Y/N had reached up to tilt his chin to the side, to get a better view of the clear damage to his jaw.

He looked shocked, then, as he realised that she wasn’t going trying to worsen his condition.

Y/N had realised he was expecting to be harmed further, so she’d realised him.

“Tell me where it hurts” she’d requested quietly, knowing that she didn’t have the time to examine his body fully and still get everything done that she needed to.

“Clarify orders?” The solider had countered blankly, “Unable to comply.”

Y/N’s heart had dropped as she’d seen the shaking of his body.

“Are you saying that everywhere, hurts, solider?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Does anywhere hurt worse?” Y/N had pressed, trying not to let emotion taint her voice.

The man before her had closed his eyes for a moment, and she’d thought that that, was the first time she’d seen, the James Buchanon Barnes from the photographs.

“face, shoulder, leg.”

He’d nodded to the left side, and Y/N had nodded calmly, dabbing warm water over the cuts on his lip.

“You have a nice voice” She’d hummed, not wanting to stay silent while she was so invasively cleaning his cheeks, “do you remember where you’re from?”

That had been risky. She’d known that, even back then, but still, it had seemed worth it at the time, for the information, if nothing more.

“They tell me I’m from Brooklyn. Pierce says I sound like an American boy.”

Y/N had cringed at that, at the way that she could picture the crueler officers taunting him that way.

“Is he the one who did this?”

The solider had been silent for a few minutes in the wake of her question, and she’d worried that she’d gone too far, she didn’t have authorisation for that kind of report, he had no reason to reply, especially so soon after he’d clearly been on the receiving end of some kind of ‘correction.’

“He told me to comply- the others want to make me a better solider- I must’ve done something wrong.”

Y/N’s breath had caught in her throat, and she’d hoped he hadn’t noticed.

“Do you remember how many of them there where?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

She’d chuckled then, despite herself, at the way he’d answered her so bluntly.

When she’d finally looked up at him again, she’d thought that there might have been a hint of a smile on his face, but she couldn’t be sure, and it seemed awfully unlikely, given the circumstances so she’d shaken it off.

Her palm was hot against his jaw, she could feel the broken bone pulsing beneath his skin, the idea of him speaking with it in such bad shape made her feel strangely guilty, but she couldn’t help but talk to him further-

“how many?”

“12”

He’d told her quietly.

Y/N kept her hands moving, she was making quick work of disinfecting his open wounds, but the evidence of his fractured bones was plainly visible underneath his skin, and she couldn’t help but feel utterly useless when she‘d realised there was little she could do to make that kind of injury any better for the man who was clearly risking everything to trust her.

“You know who they are?” She’d wondered, eyes flicking over the scar of his shoulder, he’d said that was one of the areas that hurt most, yet she couldn’t see any signs of damage to the tissue, that filled her with an awful sense of dread.

Her fingers had flittered over to his scar in search of any hidden wounds.

“Field team three” the solider had reported, seemingly unfazed by her prodding “they are working with me on my mission tomorrow”

Y/N had hummed and sat back on her heels, there’d been nothing sinister lurking around the prosthetic, so she’d decided to examine her work so far.

There was a pile of copper stained rags on the ground, and the man before her was still clearly in bad shape, but at least he was no longer covered in blood.

The lack of red only highlighted the abnormal swelling of his jaw, it was mottled deep blue and green, his eye socket was shiny too, but that was already hallowed with yellow that signalled that healing was close.

“You’ve had a lotta’ missions recently.” Y/N had commented, packing her things away, “you must be tired.”

His metal arm snarled loudly, but the solider stayed eerily still.

“Do you want to put me away?”

His words had hit her like a hammer on a nail, he sounded so hopelessly defeated that when Y/N had turned to face him instantly, her hands empty, she’d been surprised to see his posture still so open before her.

“No, solider.” she’d assured him, “I’m not someone who decides when you get put away.”

He’d known that, she’d thought, but when he’d nodded, and lowered his eyes a fraction she hadn’t been able to stop herself from reaching out to stroke his hair back away from his face.

“Please”

His voice had been gruff, and quiet, but she’d heard it all the same.

“What?” Y/N had pressed, her fingers lingering by his ears.

He’d huffed out a breath, averting his eyes subserviently.

“I should not have spoken.”

No, No, No. That wouldn’t do. Y/N hadn’t been able to accept that.

“You have permission, Solider. Speak freely.”

He’d looked almost hopeful then, as he’d let himself look back at her face.

“Please don’t pull my hair.”

God, Y/N’s heart had broken. She knew she’d never forget the hollow ache that his whispered plea had stirred inside her chest.

“I won’t” She’d promised softly, taking a risk by carding through the dark locks again, “I promise, Solider, no pulling.”

He’d let his eyes flutter closed, and even though the trusting gesture had only lasted a moment before he’d blinked himself back to reality, it had helped ease the pain in her gut.

“Thank you.”

Y/N shook her head, sitting back away from him again.

He’d looked so sad, so awfully lost, that the urge to take him in her arms and assure him of his safety had been almost intolerable.

but he wasn’t safe, neither of them were, and she’d known better than to lie to him, he’d had enough of that, already.

“You’ve been out of cryo awhile, huh?”

Again, she hadn’t really expected a response, but after a breath the solider had nodded and muttered out “5 weeks”

She’d nodded in understanding. That was too long, according to the handbook she’d read, much too long.

“I found your name.” Y/N had said, unable to hold back in the silence.

His head had snapped up then, to observe her more closely.

“m-my name?” He’d whispered, as though he couldn’t quite understand the words that had been on his tongue.

“It’s James.” She’d cooed, “but don’t tell anyone, okay?”

His brow had been furrowed in concentration.

Even with his distorted profile, Y/N couldn’t help but notice how out of sorts he looked.

“that- that doesn’t sound right” he’d mumbled, more to himself than to her. She’d been able to see the distress growing behind his gaze, she’d been able to hear the intense whirring of his arm.

“Shush” Y/N had soothed, reaching out to stroke his hair again, “don’t worry, it’s alright.”

He’d frozen under her touch.

He’d sat like a statue as she ran her fingers across his scalp.

“Sergeant James Buchanon Barnes” she’d whispered, “that’s who you are.”

His eyes had met hers, and suddenly, he’d looked like he remembered.

“Bucky.”

“What?” Y/N had asked, confused by not only his changed expression, but also the word he’d uttered so suddenly, “What’s Bucky?”

“I think that’s what-” The asset had whispered, “I think that’s what people called me- my- my friends.”

Oh, god. He’d definitely been off ice too long, he was definitely due a wipe.

She’d suddenly felt obscenely guilty, for the part she’d played in his current lucidity.

“Stop, now Solider.” Y/N had murmured, “You can’t think about that too much.”

He’d looked at her blankly for a second, until she’d tried to retract her hand from his head, and he’d reached across with startling speed, to hold her arm in place.

“Bucky” The Asset had corrected softly, “You’re not going to hurt me?”

“No” Y/N had promised, raising a brow as he’d lessened his grip, “No, Bucky, I’m not going to hurt you, but you’ve got to be careful, not everyone is-”

“a friend.” he’d mumbled, understanding. “It’s not my name anymore.”

Y/N had nodded, and been somewhat relieved.

“When we’re alone” she whispered, resuming her stroking of his skull, “When nobody else can hear, I’ll call you Bucky, if you’d like.”

He’d hummed in agreement, that was excentuated by the way he’d nodded a fraction.

“You’re a friend?”

The man had seemed so lost, then. So alone and afraid that the idea of anyone abusing him had made Y/N’s stomach ache.

“I’m a friend.” She’d confirmed, “You like this?” Her eyes had gestured towards her fingers.

The Solider- Bucky- had just hummed again.

“I- I don’t think I am supposed to like things”

His voice had seemed strange, compared to the monotone, certain tone it normally held, he sounded young, now, unsure and vulnerable.

Y/N had known then, that she was going to do her best to keep him out of trouble, until she could find a way to get them both out of there for good.

“Friends don’t tell secrets.” She’d told him softly, not overtly telling him that this whole interaction had to stay as one. “Are you still in pain?”

Bucky had shifted a little before grunting a quiet “It’s better.”

“Your bones should heal soon” Y/N had told him, easing up a little to pull back in place. “We’ve been quick, we should have some time before people come looking, if you’d like to rest.”

“Rest?” The man had seemed utterly shocked by her offer.

“Mhm” She’d confirmed, “just lay down, you’re safe with me.”

“Safe?” that word had sounded foreign to him, too.

“Yes, Bucky” Y/N had watched his reaction to his name with curiosity, “You’re safe, you’re with a friend, remember?”

He’d offered her a cautious nod, before looking around the room, in search of somewhere to settle.

“Will you come with me?” The Solider had asked, “to rest?”

“Would you like that?”

“I think so.”

Y/N had lead the way over to her make shift bed. She’d nodded down and helped the injured man to fold down until he was flat on his back, staring at her with piercing intensity.

She hadn’t wanted to get too close, to spook him or trigger something unpleasant.

But when she’d moved to sit next to him, he’d pulled the covers that she’d tucked in around him back, and ushered her against his unharmed side.

“I’ll protect you.” He’d promised, as soon as she’d settled into position. “I won’t hurt you.”

Y/N had rolled over to look at his face. He’d been frozen, stiff on his back, his eyes still aimed up at the stones above them, but he looked certain again, confident and committed.

“I know” She’d agreed, “I’ll protect you, too- I won’t hurt you, either.”

“I know.”

[ x ] [ 2 ] [ 3 ]

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gaysindistress · 1 year

Text

When Night Comes - twelve

Summary: Who would win in a staring contest? New York’s resident mob boss and master of the side eye Bucky Barnes or the daycare teacher who really wants to go home and smoke?

pairing: Mob!Vampire!Bucky Barnes x reader

warnings: mob!vampire!Bucky goes hard in this chapter, smut (fianlly, I know I know), blood, drinking of said blood, vampire sexy times, a n g s t because I don’t know how to write without it, ummmm probably more that I’m forgetting so be warned y’all

word count: 2.6k

eleven | masterlist

tag list: @elizacusi-blog @mal-adaptive-dreams @thebuckybarnesvault @unaxv @hidden-treasures21 @buckybarnessimpp @cakesandtom @vonalyn

a/n y’all I’m about to fight the mobile app. For the last 2 hours, it has been fighting me when it came to saving and posting this chapter. I’m literally about to throw hands with it so please let me know if you want to be tagged and you weren’t.

disclaimer: credits to original creator/poster of image/gif. found on Google/Pinterest

“I can’t keep guessing if it’s me,” Bucky whispers as he leans up to ghost his lip over hers, “you want.”

Her eyes flicker down as she tries to come up with something, anything at all to bring his lips back to hers when she settles on the ring that adorns his middle finger. Letting her fingers brush against the metal, she allows herself to think about him, to think about THEM for the first time. The cool ridges chill her fingertips while she fights an inner battle she’s losing rapidly. What little self-control remains dwindles as she becomes more engrossed in the details of his ring. Just as she had let herself look at him and see him, her resolve is falling because she was in the throws of temptation to let him in. Would it be so bad? Would letting him have her the way they both want? Would becoming one be the worst outcome? The sudden movement of his hand when he brings it up to the rest of her chest has her eyes darting to meet him. Tapping begins in time with her heartbeat. Each time her heart beats, the ring lands softly on her chest albeit through the thick material of her worn-out sweatshirt. Having barely escaped, she left with little but the clothes on her back and the few articles she packed. The UCLA sweatshirt, worn and broken in, had engulfed her in comfort but now the tapping of Bucky’s ring replaced it. His other hand draws her in by her neck even though they’re already impossibly close. “Am I the only one you think of?” He asks, his own fears rising to the surface as he feels her pound louder against his hand. She hums in response, eyes focused on his darkening eyes. She repeats his own question and earns a small nod in response however she’s not satisfied. “Prove it,” she challenges. His proof is in the way he pushes off of the window seal to fully embrace her in a kiss of hungry and unspoken devotion. The force of his standing pushes Y/N against the opposite wall and she becomes pinned by his body. Her hands grip onto the front of his shirt while he wanders across her body and under the sweatshirt. When she breaks away for breath, Bucky takes the chance to take off the offending article of clothing and sets to work kissing down her neck. The allure of her blood tempts his self-control and years of practice as he nibbles at the delicate skin. Her moans grow louder however her constant shifting alerts him that something is wrong. “Couch,” she says breathlessly when he leaves her neck to look at her. Nodding, he returns to her lips and backs them off of the wall to sit. He drops first but she’s quick to climb on top of him and takes off her bra in the process. He doesn’t take this display of trust lightly and guides her back to his lips whilst his hands work on her chest. The contrast elicits deeper moans and his name from her as she drops her head against his forehead. Tugging at the hem of his shirt, she gets him to take them off so they’re evenly undressed. He presses soft kisses to her wrist while she takes in the sight of his chest covered in tattoos. Across his torso is an array of kilim symbols, runes, and what looks like various orthodox imagery. Feeling her gaze, he nips at the palm of her hand, effectively drawing her attention back to him. “Later,” he promises as if knowing that her curiosity has been struck. One hand moves to sit on his left shoulder while the other falls to the waist of his pants as her attention goes back to him and pops the button with ease. “Are you sure?” His sudden words freeze her for a second so she can look at him. “Yeah, are you?” “We can’t go back from this.” “I know, I want this, I want you,” she tells Bucky as she slides off his lap to rid herself of her bottoms while he kicks off his pants and boxers. Gripping her by the hips, he has her back in his lap in seconds and the tension is becoming unbearable for him. Their lips crash into each other again, faster and devouring each other this time. He sneaks a hand in between them to feel her wetness and she lets out another heavenly moan much to his enjoyment. His newfound favorite sound rings throughout the room when he slips two fingers inside and his thumb catches her clit. “Bucky please… please.” “Tell me what you want Y/N,” his breath is hot against her ear as she shudders above him, hands gripping tightly on his shoulders. “I want you… fuck I want you.” She whines as he removes his fingers but is quickly replaced with groans when she feels him slide his cock against her slit. “Anything for you,” his voice cracks when he is fully sheathed inside of her. Their chests rise and fall as they get used to the feeling of each other. Nature takes over, causing them to move desperately to reach their highs. The daze from their newfound fondness of each other slows the moment down, allowing them to feel every sensation and react to every emotion they’re feeling. Lust is what fueled their initial interaction but now the need for intimacy and belonging is what drives their actions. Quickened breaths and rising voice volumes make it clear that neither is going to last much longer. That familiar knot tightens in her stomach when he groans her name against her neck. She can feel the sharpness of his fangs against her neck even though he desperately tries to keep them hidden. “Bucky,” her gentle voice fills his ear, making the black veins take their rightful place under his eyes and down his cheeks. Her hands leave his body and find a place in his hair. She calls to him again as she tugs on his hair, “Bucky.” With fluttering eyes, he looks at her in all her glory riding him within an inch of his life and his body threatens to betray him at the sight. Her hair frames her familiar yet foreign features as bliss consumes and sustains her at the same time. The call of her voice is that of an angel’s and in this moment, Bucky has what he thinks is the closest thing to a religious awakening he can imagine; the woman he’s longed after for months asking him to BITE her while he takes her. His brain shortcircuits for a moment and he stares blankly at her with his mouth gaped. To urge him even more, she tosses her head back to expose her neck which forces her chest into his face in the process. “Do it,” she gasps out when he greedily draws her back and prepares her neck with harsh bites. He soothes them with his tongue and sloppy kisses however the marks remain. One particularly painful bite causes her to claw his back and let out a downright filthy sound. Bucky’s resolve finally breaks when she pleads with him one more time and at last he sinks his fangs into her. Feral. Feral is the only word to describe the absolute animalistic desire that takes over him when he finally tastes the sweet nectar that pumps in her veins. The feeling of her life bleeding into him causes the dam of release to break within the both of them. An abundance of emotions wash over them as he feeds from Y/N and fucks up into her; desire, attraction, want with a hint of more but she forces it down. With the growing pace of her hips against his, she does what she can to keep conscious but her eyes start to grow heavy as her moans grow more pornographic. Bucky, on the other hand, fights himself to release her because he knows that soon it’ll be too much. It had happened before. The first time he fed on Celeste he had dipped her too close to the brink of death and he swore to never do such a risky thing again. Sensing her heart slowing to a dangerously still rate, he shoves himself back against the couch and instead watches her with wide eyes. She has her head dipped low, her eyes squeezed shut, and her body is moving in slow fervent motions. Now able to focus on more than his animal hunger, Bucky grips her hips and bucks up into her as they chase their highs together. In a string of Romanian and barely coherent words, they meet their releases at the same time. His chest heaves at the effort and she all but collapses into him. Two tiny streams of blood trail down her clavicle and onto her breasts, smearing where their skin joins. With little energy left, Y/N does nothing to clean it and doesn’t even seem to notice. Bucky does and bites his wrist to offer his own blood to her. She makes a disgusted look, wrinkling her nose and shaking her head at the sight. “Just drink. You’ll feel better.” Bucky nearly has to force her to do as he says but she does regardless and drinks from him as he had her. Within moments, her body regains what it had lost and more, it rejoices in the newfound source of energy. Her heart picks back up and with it, his hunger grows.

“Good girl,” Alix mocks to herself as she reads over the message from Peggy. A huff comes from the other side of the cot and she looks over to see a disgruntled look on her partner staring at her, arms crossed as they stare at each other. “You praise a Strigoi whore but not your own Lycan?” she questions as she begins to grow self-conscious of her naked body hiding just beneath the worn blanket. Alix rolls her eyes before tossing her phone away to turn her attention back to the woman. “Isabel,” she whispers to her, lulling her into a false sense of security, “You know you’re my good girl. Let’s forget about all of that and get back to us.” Isabel giggles when Alix descends upon her and Juliette groans from the other side of the room, pulling her pillow further on her head. Although it’s thin, it does what it can to block out the horrendous noises from Alix and Isabel.

Maybe it’s unfair to both of them for him to imagine a whole life together, full of happiness and love, and not even tell her. But who is it more unfair to really? Bucky or Y/N? She’ll never know the life he planned for them, the vacations from heaven, the house that they call home, or the love that is shared between them.

Who is really suffering here? Bucky or Y/N? She’ll never know the nights slow dancing in the fridge light, the early mornings talking about everything and nothing as the sun comes up, the late nights they stay up trying to catch the other before they fall asleep, or the mid-days spent at the park eating lunch together.

Who’s really hurting here? Bucky or Y/N? She has no idea how much he loves her, how deeply he feels for her, how unexplainably and hopelessly he wants to be able to hold her in his arms.

Who’s really in misery here? Bucky or Y/N? She’ll never know the future that he can see every time he look into her eyes. She’ll never know the joy he feels when he catches a glimpse of her hair. She’ll never know the happiness he feels when he sees that smile or hears that laughter or hears that voice. She’ll never know how much he wishes that they would be wearing matching rings. She’ll never know how much he loves her.

Who’s really in pain here? Bucky or Y/N because he can’t tell anymore. They all say he’s in just as much pain as her even if she doesn’t want to admit it just yet. They tell him that she and he look at each other in the same way, the longing and sad kind of way. But how can he believe them? There’s no a chance that they belong together in this world or even the next. There’s no a chance that this life will allow them to be together no matter how beautiful their life may be together. This life isn’t cut out for them and he is starting to believe that he’s going to have to be content with loving her from afar no matter the pain. Even after finally having her in the most biblical way possible, Bucky has resigned himself to never fully being able to have and love her the way he wants.

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ranchthoughts · 1 year

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I love the conversations in ITSAY that are about things other than what they seem

And the scene where Teh and Ohaew float in the ocean, before having their first kiss underwater, really struck me in particular.

First we get Teh's perspective:

"This feels good. I don't have to think about anything. I want to stay this way.

I love it when the seawater touches my back. I feel like something is holding me up."

Teh doesn't want to think. He's hiding from all the thoughts he's been having, avoiding self-reflection and putting a name to his feelings. We see that in the next part of this scene, when Ohaew pushes for definition and confirmation and Teh can't say anything more specific than "Isn't it nice, what we have now?" When Ohaew first reveals his feelings for Teh in the hammock, and indicates he knows Teh likes him too, Teh doesn't actually say anything, he just doesn't contradict or protest what Ohaew says. Teh doesn't say aloud he likes Ohaew until the last episode, while talking to his brother, and we can see how difficult that is for him.

In the ocean, laying like that, Teh doesn't have to put in work. The saltwater supports him, keeps him afloat. Why change what's already comfortable? Why dive into the unknown (break up with Tarn, confess to Ohaew, etc.) when he can keep doing what he is doing.

Teh feels like he's drowning, body contorting, breathing deeply like his lungs haven't had air in too long. He reaches out for Ohaew whenever he can, gulps lungfuls of his scent, anything to get close to him, but he won't take the plunge and vocalize his feelings.

I think it speaks to Teh's relationship with others and especially his mother too - he says "I love it when the seawater touches my back. I feel like something is holding me up." Teh is so concerned with what the people in his life would think if he reveals his feelings for Ohaew and dates him. When he is spilling his heart to his brother about Ohaew in episode 5 he says "If I date him, how can I tell my friends? All my friends date girls" and "If I dated a guy, would [Ma] be ok? What would Ma think of that?" He fears losing his support network, the people who "hold him up," if he is honest and takes the plunge to confess to Ohaew.

So as a result, Teh chooses silence and stagnation. He doesn't verbalize to Ohaew his feelings (despite signaling them in all his gestures and actions), he doesn't break up with Tarn or tell her how conflicted he is (beyond saying "I'm confused"), he tells Ohaew he wants things to stay the same between them. It's easier to remain, at least outwardly, the same Teh he's always been - heterosexual - rather than change his understanding of himself and update others on who he is now.*

When Teh visits Tarn's house to ask if she still loves him, desperate to find some sort of proof, a reason, to forget all the feelings he's been having about Ohaew and return to a (heterosexual) normal with Tarn, she challenges him to tell her he loves her back. She yells "SAY IT!", a desperate plea to have Teh vocalize the thoughts and feelings he's been having - but he doesn't, just like he doesn't say anything to Ohaew. "It's your turn" she says, and I'm sure Ohaew would yell the same. They are tired of being the ones thinking and talking and taking the risks - it's Teh's turn to take the plunge. "Why are you so quiet?" Tarn asks. "Why are you doing this?" and it's true, Teh is only hurting himself and the people he loves by choosing to float, unthinking, unchanging, staying where he is.

Now for Ohaew's perspective:

"But you need to hold your breath all the time with this posture. Sometimes it gets uncomfortable.

And when I don't want to control anything, I release my breath, and let myself sink."

Ohaew points out that Teh's approach isn't as relaxing as he makes it out to be. It still takes work to float, even in saltwater. You have to tense your body and hold your breath to stay above the waves. And we've seen that in Teh, how tense he is, how he writhes around as if desperate for release but he can't quite reach it.

In contrast, Ohaew says when this existence gets uncomfortable, you have to surrender to the waves. Stop trying to hold on even when it's causing pain and relinquish control. Ohaew has many things he is stressed about, like his grades, making his parents proud, getting into university, etc. but there's many things he is more comfortable with than Teh. He seems confident in his sexuality (he knows he's into boys, has no fear at confessing to Teh his crush on Bas, dates Bas openly, etc.), he share his life with others freely on Instagram, he studies but asks for rest days, etc. He takes the plunge and tells Teh he has feelings for him and that he knows Teh has feelings for him too. He's often the first to reach out for Teh and move into his space, directly challenge the boundaries of platonic friendship.

In fact, times when Ohaew is least comfortable are times with Teh: when he waits for Teh to open up about his feelings, when Teh pushes him away, when Teh says he wants to continue as friends, when Ohaew considers how he can't change for Teh.

So Ohaew relinquishes control: he can't change how Teh feels and acts, so he lets Teh go and tries to move on with Bas. He's still caught up in his feelings for Teh (especially since he knows they are reciprocated but Teh is unwilling and unable to step into the unknown) but he's trying to move on, let the tide take him where it would, find happiness elsewhere.

This conversation floating in the ocean tells us where they are coming from, and the next bit shows us where they end up:

Ohaew puts it out there: he tells Teh how he feels, he initiates non-platonic contact, he pushes Teh to open up as well. Teh fights it, tries to remain floating "effortlessly" on the surface, keeping everything just the way it always has been, though the water keeps pulling him under and he's been holding his breath for months.

Ohaew practices what he preaches and surrenders to the waves, takes the plunge, and, after a moment, Teh follows.

*side note to say this reminds me of some of the thoughts I've had about Tinn from MSP (here) and how it can be hard to challenge other people's expectations and preconceived notions of you even if they don't quite fit anymore

#itsay #itsay meta #itsay images #ranch thoughts #i told sunset about you

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crisalidaseason · 2 months

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Ninth entry: Exhausting nights.

Waking up earlier and sleeping later. The exhaustion catches up to you fast. Of course, a few hours of sleep can replenish the energies just fine…if you can sleep peacefully.

Ever since Liam became Violet’s shadow, general meetings in Xaden’s room were moved to at least an hour later than usual - to everyone’s annoyance. That night would not be any different.

After making sure Violet entered her warded room, Liam finally took a well deserved shower and decided to rest for a few minutes. The events of the night set an uncomfortable weight on his shoulders, a mocking proof of everything Liam was trying to avoid. The feeling of self doubt was brewing inside him and shame settled on his stomach, he did not have time for any of that but there was nothing rational about emotions.

That doesn’t mean you can’t hurt me.

Violet’s words still rattled in his mind. No matter how subtly - or not so much - Liam tried to convince her that Xaden cared, only his brother could be the one to actually build trust. And no matter how hard Liam tried to push Xaden towards Violet, only she would be able to slither through the iron walls he built throughout the years.

But Xaden was convinced distance was the only answer and Violet was too busy trying to survive the next challenges.

The devilish eyes Barlowe sent her haunted Liam more than he cared to admit. He knew the man stood no chance against him or Xaden, but the pure hatred in that motherfucker’s eyes could not be forgotten. That would be a problem, a real one. Liam considered for a moment if he could challenge Jack since killing him on the mat would be within Codex. He would have to ask Emetterio for the challenge.

And Xaden…Liam had honestly lost hope. His brother was making a mistake like no other and it could cost Violet’s loyalty. Liam was ready to put his hand on fire to prove she would join their cause, but he also knew the woman enough to understand how detrimental hiding the truth would be. Hiding the real threat beyond the wards, the deal with her mother, hiding Brennan Sorrengail. If someone had hidden Sloane from him after years of mourning…he would be fucking pissed.

Liam shook his head, looking for his pocket knife and block of wood. His emotions were all over the fucking place.

“Liam”

The voice startled him, the shame now bubbling through his face at the startle. He was distracted. Liam bolted to open his chambers' door immediately.

“Bodhi?”

The man was leaning beside his door, hair damp and dressed in night clothes, though he was likely ready to head to the meeting. Fuck, Liam was supposed to report before everyone else showed up. He motioned to leave the room, but Bodhi pressed a hand on his shoulder.

“Xaden canceled the meeting and also your reporting. Don’t ask me why, he did not explain”

Liam frowned at that. It was odd for Xaden to just cancel a meeting out of nowhere, and even more strange for him not to demand for a full report on Violet.

“Good news is that we get some blessed sleep, Mairi” Bodhi joked.

Maybe being Xaden’s cousin probably meant that sleep deprivation was a part of their blood, considering Bodhi seemed to be on the verge of collapsing. His dark circles were prominent and the shoulders were slumped, a mirrored image of his cousin indeed.

“Thanks” Liam replied “get some sleep”

He clasped Liam’s shoulder, bidding him a quiet goodbye. He watched as Bodhi disappeared to the next corridor, leaving Liam alone in the hallway. He was about to close his door and have a deserved sleep when the door next to his opened quickly, revealing his favorite ward.

“Violet?”

Liam frowned at the sight of her, his farsight more than capable of catching changes in her appearance. Her eyes, normally a very pale shade, were almost completely black. Her pupils had been just as dilated earlier that night but in that moment they were taking over all the expansion of her amber-blue hue.

Tairn.

He thought she had it under control, she was able to do so back in the gym.

“You all right?” he asked again once her silence did not break.

Her eyes quickly focused on him. She already had a frightening stare normally, but it was ten times worse in that state…and Liam was fucking uncomfortable.

“Are you sleeping in the hallway?” her voice is strained.

Deigh, is there something we can do?

Not necessarily. It’s her dragon’s emotions, her burden.

Yes, but…she looks strange.

“No” Liam replied to her “Just hanging out here before turning in”

She assessed him, in a more animalistic version of their first real interaction months ago. Her eyes were rapidly moving over his frame…as if she was considering him prey.

Liam shivered. What the fuck was Tairn sending her?

“Why are you looking at me like that?” he asked, pocket knife and block of wood long forgotten in his hand.

“Like what?” she said, but her mind was clearly not present.

Like she wanted to eat him or something.

“Like…Like something’s going on. You don’t look like you feel—you know—like yourself”

His words seemed to hold some effect since the pale shade of her eyes grew a little, pupil fluttering like a cat adjusting their sight. Her focus less animalistic and a hint of panic spread through her features.

“I’m good! Go to bed!” she managed to grunt, closing the door forcefully.

Liam stood there for a few minutes, not a single clue of what just happened. All he knew was that Violet had been overtaken by Tairn’s emotions again…but that particular time it did not seem to be rage that overcame her. He tried to remember if Deigh had ever sent anything other than anger through him, but with no success within his memories.

Do we all look that creepy when dragon’s send unsolicited emotions?

We do have a tendency of heightening your instincts, physically and mentally. Deigh answered.

He knocked on her door, too worried to just leave her there to deal with it on her own, but she did not answer.

The little woman is safe now and you cannot run to her aid whenever Tairn overpowers her senses. Deigh’s voice rumbled inside his head, slightly irritated.

It feels wrong to just let her be. She would have helped me!

Were you not the one who promised to trust her judgment? And we shall admit you would not accept her gesture of help anymore than she would.

Deigh was not necessarily wrong. There was scarcely anything someone could do to bring Liam back from Deigh’s rage. Violet was able to separate herself from Tairn before, he had to trust she would be able to do it again. Besides, whatever that was, Liam never wanted to experience being on the receiving end. He was still shivering while closing his door, deciding that he would deal with that in the morning, after a few hours of peaceful sleep.

Though sleep was far from peaceful.

Liam had grown used to the night terrors after five years living the same flashes over and over again. He was used to how the relic burned in sync with Codagh scorching his mother in a disturbing repetitive cycle, his heart gutting at the memory of the lifeless eyes of his father, the stabbing guilt as he witnessed - for the millionth time - Sloane’s crying features as leadership ripped her out of Liam’s arms.

That night though, his nightmares learned a new face. The body that it belonged to resting on his lap, the pale familiar face with pale eyes staring at him. Liam frowned as he watched her lips move silently, mouthing the same words over and over again. Wetness stained his left hand resting on her stomach, the horror settling as the red liquid seeped through her armor.

It’s too late. It’s too late. It’s too late.

A familiar laughter called his attention. Laying on his back was Jack Barlowe, throat slit - though the wound did not seem to bother him. The fucker stood, towering over Liam and laughing quietly, a bloody knife on his hands. Liam looked at Violet once more, but it was not her face staring back.

It was Xaden’s.

Liam gasped into the early morning. The room was bathed in the blue shade announcing dawn. He continued to breathe rapidly, pumping air into his lungs and forcing his heart to beat slower. Sitting on the bed, Liam tried to shake the nightmare off of his memory before it consumed and distracted him from his duties. No good in letting the cruel images his consciousness conjured haunt him throughout the day.

The mind is a formidable enemy, do not yield to it. Deigh whispered into his mind.

Did I wake you with?…you know, Liam asked

Your panic did, though I suppose nothing can be done about such involuntary behavior.

Sorry nonetheless, he tried.

Deigh did not reply, but he could feel the comfort through the bond. The dragon was not one for comfort, but he was a strong anchor whenever Liam seemed to wander. He sent a wave of gratefulness back to the dragon, impulsed by the interaction enough to leave the bed and prepare for the day. By the luminosity of the room, it was nearly time to leave for the archives. Liam dressed quickly, making sure to slide his latest finished sculpture in his breast pocket. Buttoning the shirt of his uniform, he slipped outside of the room, already hearing Violet’s door open.

“Good morning” he greeted, swallowing at the flash of the nightmare.

He focused on Violet’s face, finding her thankfully pale eyes full of life. There were dark shadows under them and he grimaced at the thought she might have had a terrible night dealing with Tairn’s emotions once again. He felt guilty, maybe he should have insisted in helping her.

“Good morning” she whispered, a shy smile on her lips.

“Are you feeling better?” he asked.

She nodded, but her eyes did not meet his.

“Violet” he began “I’m sorry, I should have helped you-”

“No!” she blurted louder than advised considering there were cadets sleeping around them.

Liam startled at her tone, eyes blinking.

“Sorry” she whispered again “just don’t worry, ok? There was nothing you could have done anyways, and you already do too much”

“Did you get angry again?”

She sighed, heading to the quadrant’s library to retrieve the cart. Liam followed her, but his eyes never left her face. Violet looked at him through her peripheral vision, pale cheeks flushing a deep red - to his utter confusion.

“Not really, Liam, but I ‘m also not comfortable talking about it” she muttered “just know that I got it under control really quick, don’t worry”

He nodded, not very happy about being left unaware of something, but it was probably the irony of life considering he kept worse secrets from her.

“You seem…unwell” she told him after they retrieved the cart, beginning their journey to the archives.

Her eyes focused on him completely and he had to look ahead to avoid comparing her face to the one of his nightmare. She was alive and well.

“Way to make a man feel desired” he teased.

He took the cart from her hands, allowing his hands to be occupied to hide their trembling. He was too on edge to carve anything - and the figurine was complete anyways.

“Trouble sleeping?” she asked.

He nodded, no point in lying. That was a truth he could tell her without Xaden’s nonsense. He was not comfortable talking about the contents of his nightmare though, nor would Violet be happy knowing she was indirectly the cause of his troubled sleep.

“Standard nightmares” he simply replied “I got used to it, but sometimes I wished I had a break”

Violet’s eyes continued their assessment of him, at least she was staring at Liam humanly that time.

“I know some concoctions that may help” she replied “the ones that just knock you the fuck out”

He chuckled slightly at her suggestions. He did not like sleep aid drugs, but maybe he could use one to recover for a night or two.

“I’ll take the offer” he said “though I do have some resistance to sleeping draughts”

She snorted.

“Believe me, I know drug resistance better than anyone. I’ll get you something that puts me to sleep whenever my body flares too much”

He laughed out loud.

“I’ll probably sleep for days then”

She chuckled and he felt some of the tension dissipate from his shoulders, the remnants of the nightmare were a dim light in his head.

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#Liam Mairi #Violet Sorrengail #bodhi durran #love this man so much #the empyrean #fourth wing #liam's survival guide to being a shadow

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