#scrabbling to remember what it feels like to be a human and have Things that you enjoy
Photo
zzzzzz
#let them sleep#the owl house#huntlow#willow park#hunter#draws#let ME sleep#week 8 and there is so much work to do in advance of midterms next week ;_____;#scrabbling to remember what it feels like to be a human and have Things that you enjoy
301 notes
·
View notes
Note
might i request ur thoughts on cock warming the whb kings + amon perhaps
Bark bark bark cockwarming!!!
Aaa
Whb Kings+Amon
Cockwarming reaction!
NSFW mdni
You ended up tying him down because he didn't want to be a good boy and sit there patiently.
Satan
To his credit, he did last for a little while. You heard all the delicious sounds he made while his hands roamed and groped your body. It felt good at first. A feeling he had never felt before, their walls snug around his cock; he felt so warm, so hard. But after a while, it became agony. Especially when you would clench around him; you felt so good... All he wanted to do was move. He was gritting his teeth, grumbling in protest when you would discipline him for pushing his hips against you.
Oh yeah he can get behind this, He can't stop running his fingers over the little bulge in your tummy from his big heavy cock nothing right up against your warm walls. Look at you sitting pretty in his lap your ass on display for him to grab. And the best part is, He could admire all his possessions while you use him like one.
Mammon
You're 100% in control of this large beast of a man, even though it really doesn't feel like it. Especially when his big cock stretches you so good even when you're not moving, every twitch makes you clench and gasp.
This is terrible! But it's so good. Oh Fuck- you're clenching! And his eyes are rolling back. It hurts so good! He doesn't even remember the last time he has been this hard. Hes fucking throbbing. That you feel so warm. Every slightest movement which he hates so much, because it's not fair! He's so jealous that you're still allowed to move your hips even though he can't move it all. But he can't tell you to stop. Because when you do move ever so slightly, that painful, heated pleasure hits him tenfold. He's losing his mind and it's your fault! He's almost at his limit if you move one more time, He's going to throw you down and fuck you till you pass out.
Leviathan
What the fuck, is this torture?! Please!! Please move he'll do anything!! Beel is whimpering begging moaning for you to move your hips. Tied down with no real way to move, He realized on you for his pleasure; too bad you're a sick and twisted human!!
Beelzebub
You feel so good, so tight, so warm. He wants more!! He needs more! Like Satan you had to tie him down and he still tries to move his hips. Acting more like a beast than a devil his eyes glazed over with lust. There was nothing left but hunger has he still tries to struggle and break the binding so he could fully have you.
His nose nuzzling into your shoulder, His arms wrapped tightly around you pulling you against his naked body, his hand slowly roaming every part of your body feeling every part of your soft comfy skin as he lays against it like a pillow. His cock at home deep inside you, so warm so soft.
Amon
"mmh So good for me."He murmurs against your neck. He could fall asleep like this. He wishes all of his naps were like this.
Now that he knows that something like this exists. That he could just stay inside you for however long he wants; fucking you and resting at the same time, that he could fall asleep and feel this good at the same time.
He wants to have you on his cock always. When you're sitting down next to him Amon will rap an arm around you pulling you closer. Trying to convince you to warm his cock for a while.
So sinful, how is he supposed to pay attention to his paperwork while you're sitting so pretty in his lap. You're so small and you fit around him so good. Your skin is so soft. The softest thing he have ever felt in his life as an angel and a devil. With his arm wrapped around you his head buried in your hair the pen scrabbling on the paper begins to slow. A whimper escapes his throat as he tries to grind himself deeper.
Lucifer
"You're not supposed to move."You say with a cute smile that's sinful looking your eye that he is grown to love.
#smut#whb beelzebub#whb satan#whb#what in hell is bad#whb x reader#whb lucifer#whb leviathan#whb amon#smut otome#adult otome game#whb fanfic#whb headcanons#whb x mc#what in “hell” is bad?
226 notes
·
View notes
Text
Thoughts about Ada. Is it coherent, I don’t know? You tell me. (PART 1)
I’d like to start this off by saying I’m not in my right mind right now, it’s sort of like— literally 5am in the morning as I write this and I have not slept a wink, but this is the sort of thing I’ll sacrifice for my latest obsession! Haha, okay but anyways. This is just a little character post, sharing my thoughts about a certain one, and in no way do I consider it to be up to par with any of the other existing analyses within the Nevermore fandom. I don’t do this often, so forgive me.
Ada, to me, is an amazing antagonist. I believe she’s incredibly well written, so much that she (almost) seems human. At first you think she’s annoying, which you’re meant to, but then somewhere down the line you start feeling something similar to remorse. Guilt. And then you immediately become annoyed again. I know exactly how Morella feels.
First off, we can talk about her background. What Edgar Allan Poe work is Ada based on? That’s right, Tamerlane! And what exactly is Tamerlane about? To put it short, it’s a poem about an important man who falls in love with a peasant girl who’s conveniently named Ada, who he takes for granted. We can already infer so much from this, and it’s reinforced by the Mystery Manor arc which does hint at it before it’s basically confirmed. I mean, how else would she know that the servant’s staircase were the quickest way to get round the mansion, if not from experience? And the way she responded to Lenore when she’d asked what a peephole portrait could be good for: “Uhh, privacy, obviously?” followed by, “These old manors have all sorts of secrets like this!”. (Taken from episodes 56 and 57). This isn’t something people with status would care to know about or remember.
When it’s shown outright in episode 69 through a memory triggered by Prospero’s rejection, we see Ada in maid attire, denoting her status. She has presumably been lured into the forest by this man, the man she loves, the man who is wealthy, and the man who is holding a hatchet and has already struck her. Well, sliced her to be exact. Right in the stomach. A lot of people theorise this to be due to an accidental pregnancy and an affair, which is something I agree with and what I believe to be the most probable situation. Continuing on, Ada’s bleeding out, in tears, and understandably confused. Was her pregnancy, or whatever it could be, not something to be happy about? Even though she’s dying, the last thing on her mind is the pain. What she cares about is what the man thinks. All she can think about is why he’s doing this to her.
Ada was dealt an awful hand in life. She’s never been fortunate ever, not even in death.
What did she want from this relationship?
Naturally, as a person born so low down, you would want to live better and be treated better. So you take any sliver, any scrap, of anything that comes close to that. You fall in love with that rich man, that’s nothing, but if he loves you back or says he does? I’d scrabble to my knees just to get the chance. Hell, I’d accept it without even thinking twice.
I think their interactions might have been almost fairytale like, the man acting like a prince, at least in her eyes, explaining her attitude towards the whole thing.
And Ada continues to go for it in death because she’s unfulfilled. She wants to be satisfied for once in her life, in so many different ways. This game the Deans are playing is what she thinks is her chance to finally change things.
How does her background affect her? What does it do for her character now?
Her insecurity is rooted in classism. The likely reason she was killed was because the man couldn’t be caught with someone of a low class, and of course Ada would know that. You’d be made to know your place since the day you were born. That insecurity only grows worse upon entering Nevermore. When you’re afraid of one thing, you start fearing more. The way she acts towards others because of that earns her insults and adds even more salt to the wound. I think she came out more insecure than when she arrived 😭. Like all the precautions she’s taken have all been wasted because they don’t even have the effect on others that she wants. Nobody likes her because of it.
Also because of her background, she’s unable to stand up for herself when she really needs to. Yes she’ll fight it at first, pretend she’s as good as the rest, but it’ll fade fast. There’s no point in fighting it when it’s the natural order of things, right? What she’s been before is what she’ll always be and nothing can change that. No matter how much she dreams. Resigning herself to others is what she’s used to doing. Ada can’t defy her authority, can’t defy anything even if she feels guilty.
She wants to be loyal and worthy. She craves validation so desperately it’s insane.
What is so relatable and real about her?
The cycle she’s stuck in is something I believe a lot of people can relate to, or something a lot of people have seen others go through. She’s self destructive, and I don’t think I even need to explain that. You can easily identify what, where and when.
The fact that she’s vulnerable. All of these things have made her unstable and easy to manipulate and use, and I don’t think she’s aware of it either, or maybe she is deep down, but doesn’t mind it because she’s getting what she wants, or what she supposes she wants.
Her actions seem almost reasonable now when you take into account her living life and her circumstances, but it doesn’t make it okay obviously. It makes you sympathise with her. Kind of like a love/hate thing. R&F did really well with that, the expressions and all the little things make such a huge difference/impact. I can tell exactly how she feels in her lowest moments.
Help. We’re stopping here because if I continued there’d be so much more.
I don’t know. I think it’s the fact that you can think this much about her that proves she’s an amazing character? Because wow she is thought provoking. This is all nonsense actually, I’m afraid of looking at this after it’s posted.
31 notes
·
View notes
Note
(This ask started getting a really close to treatment of real-life indigenous peoples in my head so don’t worry if this is too much)
How would Spider, raised by mama Neytiri and the rest of the village, react to having his head shaved if the humans had captured him and decided to go that route? For a kid who has a large part of his love and personality tied to his hair, how might that affect him in the moment and in the months that followed?
Did he have beads made by his parents and siblings in his braids, now lost forever? Did he try to save them keep them hidden? Did he feel like a part of himself was lost once his hair was cut?
And the prime angst of it all, how would the family react to having their brother returned to them with shorn hair?
spider fought tooth and nail to keep those demons away from his hair. he kicked and scratched and bit, screamed at the top of his lungs, begged and pleaded and cried. he made sure not one person responsible for this would ever forget, he would imbed his fury in their skin and ingrain his anguish in their hearts.
he did everything he could to keep the beads, scrabbling amidst the clippings of his hair to collect as many as possible, ugly tears running down his face. he heard the laughs of the bastards that shaved him, watched them as they stared, as his father watched on seemingly completely out of his depths. he held what he could gather to his chest, knowing each bead by feel alone, knowing when and why they were placed in his hair.
the second the clippers went to his head it felt like something was severed, the tie to his people cut as if it meant nothing. now he was just any other skyperson, you couldn't pick him out of a crowd.
he felt like he had just been stripped, left for all eyes to see. his hair had been his tie to his family, his people, it was his purpose; there weren't many things he could do within the village, his human body was a disadvantage to him no matter what his family said, but he could braid, he could braid his people's hair. his own hair held his mother's love, his father's attention, his siblings touch. his mama had taken care of his hair since she was a baby, taught him to love it, to cherish it. he remembers her kissing the top of his head comparing his golden hair to rays of sunlight, assuring him that he was perfect, his hair was perfect. his mother put those beads in his hair, his father carved them, his siblings were the ones who had found the sticks and rocks that made ups his collection. what little he had left of them was taken from him, leaving him alone and bare, all for the world to see.
he thought he would feel too light after his head was shaved, but the guilt, the pain, the anguish bore down on him like stones, the weight of it all crushing him. he was gutted and angry and he felt empty, lost, without his hair. no one around him, no matter how hard they tried, if they tried at all, could understand how one could be so devastated by the loss of their hair; devastated to the point they went catatonic, on a hunger strike, dug their fingers into their scalp till they bled.
the only reason spider feigned 'recovery' was so quaritch could take him into the field. but even then, spider was a shell of himself; one can only be stripped of so much until they are forced to give up. take his home, fine, take his family, great, take his autonomy, so be it, but to strip him of his hair, his sense of self, it tipped the balance.
the recoms would have to handle a much more broken, shut down, aggressive, and depressed boy. a boy who would do whatever it took to protect himself and the few beads he managed to keep. he acted like a husk, though always in perfect order, never once stepping out of line and risk losing the beads or bring stripped over whatever else they could think of. he did what was asked of him, interacted enough, ate enough, lived enough that they didn't feel the need to punish him or send him back there, and that was it. he made everyone worry, his dad, the recoms, even some of the people back at bridgehead. but nothing they did helped, not promising he could braid them back in when his hair grew back, not promising that he didn't need to fear punishment like that again, not even indulging in the culture himself. he didn't need that, didn't want it either, he wanted his family, he wanted his mama's hands in what remained of his hair, to feel her lips against his hairline as she sang to him. he wanted his family back.
when his mother saw him again, she sobbed, not only out of relief, but out of great sorrow. hair meant so much on its own to her people, but to spider? his hair was the one thing he felt confident in, when all else failed his hair tied him right back to his family. to find him whispy headed like he was as a baby again broke her whole heart, the way he poured the beads out of a small pouch kept close to his heart and cradled them in his hands like they were made of glass, promising he never let them go, that he was sorry he failed. she swore right then and there that they would all pay for what they did to her baby, for the pain they cause and damage they did.
"how have you failed my sweet child?" she would ask, ever so gently, cradling him, as if he might crumble to pieces.
"I... I shouldn't have let them... I could have- I could've fought harder... I didn't stop them and... and I couldn't find all of the beads and... I didn't always behave so they took more a-and... I'm sorry," he choked, holding onto her, fingers finding her hair, no longer in his braids but her own.
"you shouldn't have had to fight at all my child, this isn't your fault, it never should happened, ever." she assures, knowing that it will do nothing for him, that the damage was done after months in the hands of the RDA. "I know it is not the same, but it will grow back, and we will make new beads, and I will put these ones back in. you were strong, stronger then you ever should have needed to be. but you are home now, and we are together, and you don't need to be strong anymore."
and almost instantaneously, spider broke; the hate, the anger, the guilt, the sorrow, everything he had bottled up over the last few months poured out of his mouth, his eyes. he crumbled and let his mother hold him together. he still felt like something was missing, part of him was gone and he was unsure if it would ever truly come back, but he had his mother, he was going back to his people, so maybe, just for a second, everything could be ok.
jake is heartbroken, maybe not to the level that neytiri and spider, he didn't have the same connection to or understanding of the significance of hair that his mate and child had; but the anguish of the pair alone was enough to bring him to his knees, let alone the memories of spider sitting in his lap for hours as he carved the very beads his son was clinging to.
he takes the two close, reassuring his son that everything neytiri said is true, verbalizing the promise she had already taken, making sure spider knows that no one will ever hurt him like this ever again, and that no one will get away with what they did to him.
when they take spider home, much to their displeasure, not the omatikaya village, but back to the seaside village they had resided in, they have to see their children's distraught faces as they lay their eyes on spider for the first time in months, only to find a broken boy with a fuzzy head. spider has to face them while still feeling bare and vulnerable in ways he can't explain, even if the hair had already grown back a couple inches, and its hard. the looks on his siblings faces is enough to make him want to collapse all over again, the heartbreak in kiri's eyes, the way neteyam's hands lack confidence when they pull him close, avoiding touching his head like he always did. the way tuk crawled into his lap, or how lo'ak, instead of trying to mess around, only held his hand in a way they used to do when they were little and it would rain so hard and thunder so loud they were sure they were going to die. such a seemingly little thing destroyed the family, surely in a way that they could one day recover, but in those few moments gathered on the floor of the family pod, no one felt whole, and that was ok, because while much was lost, stripped of them, they still had their fuzzy-headed boy with hair like rays of sunlight.
#spider te suli tsyeyk'itan#spider socorro#miles socorro#miles spider socorro#neytiri#jake sully#kiri sully#lo'ak sully#tuk sully#neteyam sully#avatar 2#avatar the way of water
145 notes
·
View notes
Note
uhhhhh for the kink prompts i think some beejhawk and praise would be delightful 👀
(prompts now closed)
(Anon I promised I tried to go for full praise kink here but it went a bit softer than that and I hope you can forgive me and enjoy it all the same!!)
"Christ, Beej, the way you take cock, it's so..." Hawkeye digs his teeth into BJ's trapezius, muffling a shaky growl. As BJ scrabbles at the headboard like he's trying to find some kind of purchase, it triggers a response inside Hawk to keep him closer, fuck him faster. Hawkeye wraps an arm around BJ's waist and squeezes tight enough to make him cry out. He feels like a feral creature—not human, not animal, but possessed by an entity who would stop time to live in this moment for years.
They've been at it for hours, honestly. It's their first shared pass to Seoul since the dams broke and sent secrets, lust, and need spewing through the cracks, and there's no more trying to steal five minutes in supply or an hour in the Swamp with their sounds muffled and the door locked. No one's going to interrupt them, and honestly if they tried, Hawkeye would throw them out the window before he let them get his hands off of BJ for longer than thirty seconds.
Hawkeye has let BJ have the control since they got here, of course, as is their usual rhythm—he's never seen a man quite so frenetically compelled to perfect sexual acts in as short a time as possible, and they've only checked off a few things that Beej has groaned out a desire to experience—but the moment that Hawk woke from a twenty-minute nap to find his lover grinding his ass against him, he'd rolled him over and snatched the power right out of his grasp.
Hawk may have spent over a decade devoting himself to sex, but it has never been more necessary than in this moment. If nothing else, Hawkeye needs BJ to leave this room knowing the unfathomable depths that this adoration reaches.
He drags his palms up hot skin and soft, lush hair until he cups BJ's pectorals. His fingers pillow into them as he drapes his body over BJ like an umbrella protecting him from the storm. He's not sure what there is to protect BJ from here besides the ferocity of what Hawkeye wants to give him, but even still, he holds him here, nuzzling between his shoulder blades with a hum. "You know how good you are?" Hawk prompts, barely waits for an answering wordless whine before he shifts his angle just a hair to fuck more directly up into him, right over that sweet spot that has Beej punching the headboard just the once to shake his energy out. "God, you take it so well. Like you're made for it. I've never fit this good in somebody before, you know that?"
When BJ covers his mouth and muffles his moans, something flickers through Hawk's head, and he knows it's stupid, and he knows he's courting danger, but the last thing he needs is for Beej to hide himself like this while Hawkeye's filling him with cock and praise alike. Hawk grabs both of BJ's wrists and pulls back on them, holding BJ's body as taut as a drawn bow while he picks up his pace. "Fucking beautiful. Hot, tight..." It's never even once been said that Hawkeye is quiet during sex, but he struggles to let the words pour out of him now, careful to hold certain ones at bay, things he's not sure BJ's ready for.
BJ lets his head drop onto Hawkeye's shoulder, his mouth lolling open. Every thrust shoves a moan out of him like lava bubbling out of a volcano, like he doesn't know how to stop himself either. They're feverish fuel, each goddamn one of them, something for Hawk to put to good use.
"I-I gotta tell you more often," Hawk manages to grit out. "When you, when you look at me, I just..." His tongue goes thick in his mouth as he forces himself to slow down, to keep himself from cramping up. He wants this to last. Wants to remember what it feels like to be buried so deeply in him that he's forgotten how to break free. "How'd you put the fucking stars in your eyes, Beej? How'd I get lucky enough to find you?"
"H-Hawk," he whispers, a thready tone that's barely audible, but though Hawkeye waits for more, BJ melts into wordless, pleading sounds of pleasure.
As Hawk hooks his chin over BJ's trapezius, he gets the prettiest picture of Beej's hard cock, flushed and weeping for him, just for him. It's painfully erotic to see how it jolts with every thrust, how when Hawkeye releases his wrists, his hardness twitches, seems to curve more sharply toward BJ's stomach. The sheer physicality of this man feels more potent than any substance on the planet. It's unreal that so much sensuality could be contained within him, but from his broad shoulders to his powerful legs, he ripples with it all the same. Every lift of his hand, every step that he takes, they're a fluid kind of dance, hypnotic to watch and impossible to look away from.
He thinks sometimes that he could be content just to sprawl back on his cot and watch BJ go about his normal routine while stark nude. It'd be greedy, really, an opportunity to study the flex of his gastrocnemius, his jutting scapula, even visibly trace every rippling tendon in his neck as he turned his head.
The permission to stare. To know he never would have to look away.
"I love that you let me have you," Hawk breathes. He traces the tip of his tongue along his throat and groans at the taste of sweat. As BJ cranes his neck as an offering, Hawkeye's eyelashes flutter, and he nuzzles right against his jugular like a wolf preparing to go for the kill. "You feel so... The way that you..." There's too much to say. I love you. I can't imagine life without you. Words more lethal than poison. They'll taint this fragile moment and make it lose its strength with every second until it collapses, spent, unable to be revived.
BJ's skin vibrates when he murmurs, "You make me feel priceless," a dream of a sentence that nearly brings tears to Hawk's eyes.
"You are." His heart kicks up, urging him on. When he rocks forward, BJ grabs the headboard again and clenches around him hard enough to make Hawkeye squeeze the base of his cock. Not yet, not yet. Instead he zeroes in on the shape of his other fingers around BJ's waist. "You're a dream come true."
With a shudder, BJ lets his head hang between his supportive arms. "Don't stop, Hawk. God, don't stop..."
He could ask Hawkeye to do the impossible right now and he would. Anything. Anything for you.
Hawk drives himself now. Chases BJ's pleasure. He wants to go drunk on this man, madder than a maenad. It almost seems necessary to dull his own ecstasy, but that's a laugh. There's not a universe in existence where just getting to hear BJ breathe wouldn't thrill Hawkeye to the depths of him. Harder, harder, harder, pounding, skin slapping, gasps rising up and barely audible over the sound of the thudding headboard.
When BJ slaps the wall with a choked sob, Hawkeye covers his hand, slams into him, then stills. He reaches to feel along BJ's jaw, his chin, his cheek, finally coaxing him to turn his head so Hawk can see his face. Hawkeye holds him there, leaving kiss after kiss that makes his lips burn from the stubble, gently rutting against his ass.
"I wish this could last forever," Hawk admits. The words are too raw, too real. He buries his face in BJ's neck and picks up a lazy rhythm. He's intentional with the angle of his hips, rolling them as smoothly as he can manage even as his thighs ache and his abdomen clenches from his focus. It can't, of course. Even if he could somehow last physically, there's a world beyond these walls and an immutable future.
"Hawk?"
He expects censure. He shouldn't have hinted at that, shouldn't have—
"I want you to come," BJ whispers. "Want you to hold me. Wanna wake up in your arms, just like... Just like we're home, okay?"
What? Hawk's throat burns. No, there's no way he heard that right. But there's nothing else those words could've been. They were crystal clear. He sniffles, hates himself for not being able to hide his equal measures of hope and grief.
"And we're gonna do it again. And again. And it's not gonna stop. It's not." The certainty in his tone is unfathomable. Hawk's never met somebody who can lie to himself like BJ can.
But he admires that determination too. They've still got two days. Yeah, they're gonna have to eat eventually, take showers, maybe even drag themselves outside for a breath of fresh air, but forty-eight hours is a hell of a long time. He'd rather be doing this than fifty hours of straight surgery any week.
"It's not gonna stop," Hawkeye agrees, grinning despite himself at the pleased sound that rumbles through BJ. "I'll fuck you whenever you want, Beej, you just say the word."
"Will you..."
That isn't a question. Hawkeye can all but read this man's mind; picking out the nuances of his voice is easy. "Will I what?"
BJ whips his head around so Hawk nearly gets a mouthful of his silky hair. "It's stupid. Don't—" When Hawk brings his hips to a sudden stop, BJ tries to fuck back on him, but the angle makes it tricky. "Don't stop," he whines.
"Tell me." Hawk puts his lips right against the shell of his ear and breathes the words softer than a prayer. "Let me give you what you want, Beej."
As he curls his fingers around the headboard until his knuckles go white, BJ sucks in a deep breath. "W-Will you, uh... Goddammit, Hawk." The little laugh is more nervous than the bright humor that Hawkeye is so addicted to. "Make love to me?"
Time freezes. The words drift down like the gentlest snowflakes. And then a thunderous storm overtakes him, pressurized, making Hawkeye whimper as he locks his arms as tightly around BJ as he can. They fall forward until Beej is on his knees and forearms, until Hawkeye is rocking inside of him with deep, desperate strokes. "Oh, Beej," he whispers. He can't breathe. Can't even see or hear anything but the man who had him at Coleman Hawkins. "God, Beej, yes, yes, anytime, always, let me do that, huh? Let me love you."
"You sure?" So much is buried in two little words, and he hears it all—are you sure I'm worth it? Are you sure you want to deal with all my bullshit? Are you sure you're not going to change your mind if it gets harder? Are you sure it'll last?
"All of it," is all Hawk can find the ability to say. Maybe it's senseless but maybe BJ can hear what he means too. I'll give you everything.
His orgasm isn't transcendent, isn't pleasure striking him harder than lightning, but when he lets go, Hawkeye feels as though he rips his ribs open all the same and lets his bare beating heart rest on BJ's skin. As he noses along two vertebra, his tears drip, fall, leave long marks that dry cleanly. But as Hawk reaches around and takes BJ in hand, his frantic whispered words—"Ohh, yes, Hawk, like that, that's perfect, you're perfect."—tattoo themselves on him, invisible but not impossible to forget.
Hawkeye only has a moment to wipe his hand on the blanket before BJ rolls them back over and almost crushes him. "Jesus," Hawk snaps, trying to complain, but he can't stop himself from laughing either. "You wanna kill a guy or something?"
BJ flops on his back beside him, then drags Hawk into place, chest to chest, forehead to forehead. And as Beej caresses his cheek, he grins and his eyes shimmer, sapphires that gleam only for him. He opens his mouth as if there's something he wants to say, something that has Hawkeye holding his breath. But at the last moment, BJ gives his head a little shake and draws him in for a kiss that tells Hawk everything that he needs to know. One day, it'd be nice to hear the words, something to obliterate the fear that he can never quite dispel about what comes during infinite tomorrows. All the same, he can feel it, that if he's slipped his heart inside of BJ's chest, then he's protecting his lover's inside ribs of steel, and he dares someone to even try to take it away.
#anyway hot men wildly in love having hot and affirming sex just like they deserve. this is my kink.#hawkeye pierce#bj hunnicutt#beejhawk#hawkbeej#hunnihawk#my writing#ask meme replies
15 notes
·
View notes
Text
taylor swift asks!
i made this in lover era but adding a couple new ones/made adjustments for newer days. enjoy!
debut: when did you find out your life’s passion?
fearless: what is one thing you did that scared you but you did it anyway?
speak now: what is something you did by yourself that you are most proud of?
red: what life event put through through hell but you ended up better for it?
1989: what makes you feel most free/at ease?
reputation: have you ever had a bunch of people believe a lie about you? how did you deal with it?
lover: what type of love means the most to you right now?
folklore: have you ever shocked the people around you with a surprise project/life event?
evermore: what was your lockdown escapism?
taylor's version: which taylor's version do you like the most/are you looking forward to most?
i'd lie: if you know the unreleased songs, which do you hope taylor releases from the vault?
beautiful eyes: what cheesy/lame thing gives you joy?
the holiday collection: what is your favorite holiday?
meredith, olivia & benjamin: do you have a pet?
13: what superstition do you hold on to the most?
polaroids: what retro/vintage thing do you particularly enjoy?
hot glue gun scar: what is the funniest injury you ever got?
mean or shake it off: do you like to stand up for yourself to people who are rude to you or do you just move on from them?
b-stage: what acoustic/lowkey song gives you the most comfort?
sparkly dresses: what is your favorite unconventional clothing in your wardrobe?
baking: what is your favorite food to make? includes drinks, food, dessert, etc.
grammys: what is your biggest achievement?
tim mcgraw: what old work of yours are you still proud of to this day? it can be a poem, an edit, a painting, an essay, an award you won in elementary school!
love story: what classic tale would you want to change? fairytales, plays, movies, etc!
long live: do you have someone who has been your rock for many years? the answer can be your mom, your cat, your best friend, even you!
all too well: what do you remember like it was yesterday?
clean: have you struggled with letting something/someone go? how did you get out? or how do you plan on letting go?
i did something bad: what is something you did that people told you you shouldn’t have but you nonetheless enjoyed it?
a girl called girl: what did you create when you were young that you are surprised by today?
jersey shore: did you have any summer traditions with your family or friends growing up?
christmas tree farm: how did where you grew up shape you into who you are?
human-sized bird cage: do you have decor that is a little (or a lotta) out of the ordinary? what is it?
scrabble: favourite board game?
wonderstruck: what ~fancy~ word do you like the most?
wonderstruck enchanted: what is your go-to perfume?
taylor: how do you reference Taylor Swift to your friends/family? first-name basis? her full name?
secret messages: what does no one know about you? this can be lighthearted!
F. Scott Fitzgerald: favourite author?
the story’s got dust on every page: what is your favourite book or short story?
red lipstick: what style choice does everyone know you for?
so overnight you look like a sixties' queen: which taylor album aesthetic do you like the most?
sharpie eyeliner: what beauty faux pas have you made?
candid: favourite candid?
superstar: favourite red carpet look?
old fashioned: (if you have had alcohol before) favourite cocktail? if not, favourite soda/carbonated beverage?
drinking beer out of plastic cups: (if you have had alcohol before) favourite beer? if not, favourite juice?
i'm spilling wine in the bathtub: (if you have had alcohol before) favourite wine? if not, tea or coffee?
chicken tenders: what could you eat everyday?
cheesecake: favourite food?
love actually: favourite movie?
little mermaid: childhood hero?
12/13/89: what is your birthday? bonus for telling us your astrological sign!
country accent: what old habit did you have makes you cringe now?
chai tea eggnog cookies: favorite dessert?
double jointed elbows: what is your “party trick” or just a weird thing you can do/your body does?
teffy: what weird nickname do you have/have you had?
got a long list starbucks lovers: what is your starbucks order?
track 5: favourite track 5?
f.r.i.e.n.d.s: favourite TV show?
129 notes
·
View notes
Text
monimolimnion said: you are the only person on this site that understands me. can I PLEASE suggest nandor hanged man?
-----------
OKAY SO LIKE I definitely see where you’re coming from with this! Nandor definitely has issues with stagnation, hesitation, and an inability to move forward.
That said. Counterargument. Jackie Daytona Hanged Man and Hermit Nandor. Bear with me. Let me explain my logic.
The Hanged Man is a card that can represent Nandor but I don’t think describes something intrinsic about him. Nandor can actually move past things, if given proper incentive. He just has a bad habit of spiraling.
Jackie Daytona, though. I saw someone present this idea like… a year ago. And I honestly do not remember who it was but I’m indebted to them because it’s a great idea. Jackie Daytona is intrinsically a Hanged Man. Sure, we have the imagery of what might be a convict at the gallows, but it’s more than just that. The Hanged Man is a card that can be about being stuck, but it’s also a card about taking pause and looking at things from new perspectives.
Jackie Daytona is a character that purely exists as escape. As a pause. A suspension. A chance to sort through new ideas and come to new conclusions. He only exists as The Hanged Man. He has only ever been a two-week pause in Laszlo's grand, perverted journey, and he was a well-needed break. Like he said, he was a whole different person.
And that person is The Hanged Man. Liminal, stuck, between two worlds. A pause, a suspension, a campout at the fork in the road. He's not quite human and not quite vampire and that gives Laszlo the freedom to reinvent himself -- but only briefly. Jackie Daytona can only exist until a decision is made, and isn't that really the point of The Hanged Man? That you are trapped hanging between worlds until you're able to move past what's trapped you?
For Laszlo, that was his tendency to run away from his problems, and his hanged man is one that is constantly scrabbling at the rope. Love that for him. Love Jackie Daytona.
As for Nandor... Look, I know it sounds counterintuitive to suggest The Hermit. Nandor, more than perhaps any other character, is desperate for interpersonal connection.
But The Hermit is about more than just physically withdrawing (something that I'd argue we often see him do) -- it's about a sense of internal solitude, a quest for answers you just can't quite seem to reach. Nandor has always longed for connections, but seems to be unable on a fundamental level to create them. He makes up these fictional versions of relationships in his head, then gets depressed when they don't line up with his real life. That means he's running after people who don't actually love him (like Gail), and ignoring the people who actually do (like Guillermo). That means he's thrown into a spiral when the person he's decided is his best friend doesn't feel the same way back. (...despite him clearly actually thinking of Guillermo as his best........ man, rather than Laszlo.)
It means that Nandor is always very, very alone because he has this odd internal gulf between himself and others. He's terrified of true meaningful connection even as he craves it, which is why he can't seem to put his relationship with Guillermo into words while easily spouting flowery bullshit at the wife he can't stand. He's most comfortable with concocted intimacy; he doesn't really know what to do with the real thing. He hates those feelings of vulnerability and exposure, so he withdraws emotionally.
And even all that aside, he is so in his own head. The Hermit is a card about spending time with your own thoughts, and jesus christ is that a bad thing for him. He is constantly mired in his own thoughts and fantasies and philosophizing and existential angst. He's on this quest for meaning, and while he makes overtures towards looking for that meaning externally (through dating, traveling, etc.) he never really follows through, does he? He always ends up back on that couch alone and in his own head and miserable.
The truth is that I believe Nandor will only ever find his purpose through relationships with others, and that's why he's having such a hard time now. He's not allowing himself those genuine human (so to speak) connections, so he's really struggling to find his way. Like -- fuck, the man couldn't even form a meaningful connection with his own ghost, and that's a metaphor right there.
Nandor is, much to his detriment, The Hermit. And while he might be pulled kicking and screaming into relationships with his housemates eventually, I do think that inability to connect with others because he's so lost in his own thoughts is something that's always been with him (as evidenced by his poor familial relations even in life) and is probably something intrinsic to his personality. He loves other people and really longs to reach out and touch them.
But alas. He pulls that cloak too tightly around himself for anyone to get too close.
good thing Guillermo has experience undressing him
23 notes
·
View notes
Text
‘the maidens’ by alex michaelides, and a bunch of irrelevant tangents about my life because I find myself that entertaining
Much like people, there are some books that you find when the stars align. It’s like the Fates themselves intervene to provide you with a pocket of time that you’re so unoccupied and there’s literally nothing else better to do than the book equivalent of a one-night stand.
‘The Maidens’ came at the right place and the right time (lol that’s what she said): a Scrabble competition, everyone else being very good at Scrabble and me being very bad, and no other pdfs on my phone.
In retrospect, it’s a solid 6/10. I’ve read worse (hello Wattpad), but I’ve definitely read better, and as far as books go, it’s pretty… forgettable. I have the rare luxury of not having come from The Silent Patient to have a bias about Alex Michaelides’s work (despite me being told numerous times by numerous associates to read it. I have this thing where the more you tell me to consume a certain piece of media, I either don’t do it, or I do it out of spite. It’s called being a petty motherfucker), so the only opinions I had were nice cover + cool font. Which are the only opinions you should have about a book before you read it, in my opinion.
Spoilers ahead, so be warned. Be very, very warned. Also, trigger warnings for pretty dark subject matter, which anyone who’s read the book already knows, so I’m gonna include that under the spoiler umbrella.
I’m a tad hesitant to call it a dark academia, although I feel like that’s what was attempted. Sure, there are a couple of references to Greek mythology and literature sprinkled here and there, but it’s more like a bad sitcom referencing pop culture than anything that provides substance to the plot. It’s one of my biggest gripes with the whole book- everything from the title to the synopsis is a red herring; and, like, not that you can’t do a little hoodwinking here and there, but this is just disingenuous.
It’s the most obvious and yet the most vexing mystery ever, because- it’s kind of obvious that it’s Zoe. But her motive, and the way she goes about it is so… it just doesn’t sit quite well in my stomach.
Being traumatized does not excuse someone from traumatizing others, and there’s a discussion to be had about media villainizing traumatized characters. On the other side, there’s a way to craft a, for lack of a better word, ‘evil’ traumatized character that still humanizes them and doesn’t make them come off as a Scooby-Doo villain. Zoe’s gone through some pretty horrific shit- losing her parents at such a young age, a paedophilic uncle, and that uncle manipulating her even post mortem. And then she went on a killing spree, and tried to frame her professor for the murders, and almost killed her aunt- which, as we can all agree, are Bad Things to Do. And here’s where I came to the realization that, ah. Alex Michaelides is a dude.
Another discussion: can male writers do justice to traumatized female characters?
Because Zoe isn’t the only one. Which brings us to our heroine: Mariana, whose beauty never scared me, but it did make me want to put my head through drywall.
It’s the white woman in a horror film all over again. And it’s especially agonizing, cos this bitch is supposed to be smart. But she’s not. And it bothers me (picture me saying this in an increasingly whiney voice).
She suspects Edward Fosca killed those girls? What better way to deal with this revelation than having dinner with him alone! And getting drunk! She’s dealing with a patient who’s definitely harming himself and potentially a threat to others? Eh, forget about him (also, leave Henrys out of this, they get such a bad rep). She constantly acts on impulse and it’s painful to watch- telling literally everyone she meets and has one (01) conversation with about the Super Kool Mystery she’s solving, attacking Edward Fosca for some inane reason I can’t even remember, and fancying herself a member of the Famous Five when she’s more Secret Seven.
And the writing is just one step away from E. L. James’s inner goddess, cos Mariana’s reading facial expressions like tarot cards and I get that it’s probably meant to rub in the fact that she’s a therapist but imagine you’re reading a book about a dentist and they start talking about the oral hygiene of every person they see. It’s corny as hell, reading about the anger in whoeverthefuck’s eyes and the complicated look in someone else’s like. Give it a fucking break.
Honestly, the other characters are pretty irrelevant, and are either red herrings (Edward Fosca) or mostly irrelevant (Sangha, Clarissa, the other Maidens) or supposedly relevant but still end up being pretty irrelevant (Sebastian, who is, as the youth say, problematic, but also too romanticized initially for me to ever believe in him).
It’s easier to be lenient with this book if you came in expecting a digestible thriller, but if you were expecting a dark academia like I unfortunately did… expect to be disappointed.
10 notes
·
View notes
Text
Algol Whispering
Guiding Stars
+++
Andra was fascinated by the alien queen.
She was a beautiful creature. Many-legged, like a spider three times over, but with thin, spindly limbs that chimed softly where they skittered over the hard dur-steel of the brig’s containment cell. Her body was mostly clear, but thin threads of blue wove though her like a network of nerves that glowed from within. Her body was made up of several larger sections, but the way she moved was more serpentine than anything, and she held the front section off the ground. Four of her limbs, forked and mobile, offered utility. Two more were shaped into razor-sharp blades.
When they first released her into the cage, which was lined in every known psi-dampening material known to humanity, she spent a while flinging herself from side to side of the cage, scrambling and scrabbling to escape. Andra had watched her then too, worried that the precautions, made for a rogue psionic, not an alien hive-mind, would not be enough.
Finally though, after hours of increasingly desperate attempts to escape, the queen backed up into the furthest corner from the door and hungered down, chirring and coming to herself.
That’s where Cygnus found Andra, twelve hours after the queen’s capture.
She was sitting on a bench just outside the cell, watching the queen fidget and shift about. He didn’t know there was a bench down in the brig, but it made sense. They almost never had criminals on the base, which meant that the cell was more often filled with young psionics who hadn’t entirely gotten their abilities under control. There was another cell, fitted similarly with psi-dampers, but designed for comfort, in the medical wing.
They all agreed that this alien queen did not need to be in he medical wing, closer to their most vulnerable residents.
“You’ve been down here for two hours,” Cygnus said as he greeted Andra with a green-apple-colored mental kiss and presented her with a bowl of the fruit itself. She loved apples, and he got them for her whenever he could. She beamed up at him, mind sparkling with champagne bubbles of gratitude and took the bowl. “Learned anything interesting?”
“I can still feel her,” Andra revealed between bites of apple. Cygnus pulled an orange out of his pocket and began peeling it methodically and listened to her even as he tracked her conflicting emotions through their bond. “The queen. She’s trying to reconnect to her Hive, but she can’t find them through the dampeners.”
“Glad they’re working. We worried they wouldn’t.”
It had been a real risk, putting the queen into the cell and then letting go of their hold on her, but they couldn’t keep holding her psionically either. Only he and Andra were powerful enough to manage her, and they had to sleep sometime. The cell had been their best chance at taking the queen alive. If she had shown any sign of escaping, they would have had to kill her.
The loss of the chance to study her would have been painful, but not as bad as letting her rampage through the ship.
“She isn’t afraid exactly,” Andra said. Cygnus slipped into her mind and she welcomed him there with rose-gold love, then showed him what she was feeling. Since her capture, her empathy had been higher, although still not as high as her telepathy or other skills. All the same, it was one of Cyg’s weakest abilities, and he was interested that it was so useful now. “I don’t think she feels emotions the way we do. Fear is human. She does seem to know that we caught her, and she’s intelligent, but… it’s so inhuman that I can’t connect with her at all.”
“You’ve been trying? It was the last thing Cygnus expected, considering how Andra felt about the aliens in general and the queens specifically. Of all of them, the few survivors of Asteroid Base 42 were some of the most bloodthirsty where the aliens were concerned. “Why?”
“I think it’s why they broke me so badly,” Andra explained as her mind colored with the shocking lime green of remembered pain, sparking like fireworks through vivid, blinding blue. “They thought we’re like them and that I was just being stubborn. A queen from a different hive. If we can figure out how to speak, how to actually speak, we can at least ask them why they came for us. All I ever learned was that they thought we’re like them, and that they hate us.”
“But not why,” Cygnus murmured. Andra had, in starts and stops, shared what she survived on the alien ships. For her sake alone, he wanted to burn them out of the sky. For her sake, he would try to figure out what this queen wanted, and why she risked coming to Blood Star Base. “We still don’t know what they want. They destroy planets, but we’ve never been able to get close enough to see what they do after.”
“They want the resources I think, but it’s probably more complicated than that.”
“I imagine so,” he said and offered her a section of his orange for a few of her apple slices. She smiled and took the trade willingly. He ate while he thought, aware of her following his thoughts like a dragonfly skimming over a deep lake. There was no need to dig deeper. Not when he would part the waters of his mind and let her in if she asked. In reply, she scattered gleaming silver snow through his mind and he smiled at the feeling of it. “Alright. I’m here now. Want to try together and see what she does?”
“Not really, but better us than anyone else,” Andra said and set her bowl aside with a sigh. “No time like the present. Let’s see what an alien mind feels like when they’re not the one in power.”
+++
Guiding Stars:
Procyon Moon
Altair Chariot
Vega Dignity
Cappella Besieged
Canopus Emergent
Nihal Collision
Spica Interlude
Polaris Eclipsed
Sirius Empowered
Mizar Orbit
Dabih Risen
Ankaa Igniting
Leporis Crush (Subscriber Only!)
Porrima Chain
Menkent Ripple (Subscriber Only!)
Atrea Rest
Arcturus Rally
Acrux Resonance
Adhara Leap (Subscriber Only!)
Cujam Defendant
Heze Attack
Acamar Shield
Avior Triumphant
Algol Whispering (New!)
+++
MASTERLIST
#Writing#writing prompt#story#novel#romance#love#spilled ink#spilled writing#spilled romance#spilled feelings#writeblr#lee hadan#LGBT#inspiration#long post
7 notes
·
View notes
Text
Hi, yes, can i interest you in part 2 of the thing? Figured i may as well spend my time on the bus doing SOMETHING.
Sorry idk how to add readmores anymore, especially on mobile
Content warnings: animal death (deer), implied vore, sfw vore, safe vore, fear play(?)
When they wake, the first thing they notice, is that they're sticky. Uncomfortably sticky. Dried leaves and dirt stick to them in scratchy clumps that they barely have the strength to swipe from their face as they sit up.
It's early morning, the sky still dark, but the air crisp, and the crickets calm in the dew soaked grass. It's ... peaceful
The second thing they notice, is a burnt smell. They look towards the fire, brain fuzzy and struggling to remember what had happened. A handful of logs still burned, weak flames licking over charred wood as they scrabbled for life - over them hung the pot they had been cooking stew in. Their stomach growls and tightens painfully, reminding them they were hungry, and they begrudgingly get to their feet to stumble forward to inspect what might be left.
The stew had devolved into a thick sludge, the water having mostly evaporated and the meat dried into a former husk of itself. They stir it, the potatoes falling apart to become part of the sludge - and their mind strays to unpleasant thoughts. They wonder if that's what it's like to be digested, to fall apart and become an unrecognizeable sludge, forgotten and used to fuel something else much larger than themself.
Their heart skips a beat as they remember -why- they're sticky. They remember the giant, his fangs framing their view, the cavernous depths of his throat...They remember the feeling of being swallowed, of laying in that dark, heated chamber awaiting the worst...
The spoon drops back into the pot noisily and they realize they had been staring at nothing for a minute. They shake the thoughts from their mind and reach into the cooling 'stew' to fish out a piece of dried meat. It's not great, but, they needed something, and they needed it now. They pretended it was the blandest jerky in the world and managed to swallow the scratchy chunk.
"You're eating that?" Comes a disgusted voice from behind them, making them freeze.
"It's not bad." They lie casually, not turning to face him. "Better than airline food." Not that either of them knew what airline food was.
There's a skeptical pause. "If you say so..." He doesn't believe them.
Frustration spikes through them suddenly as they look down into that pot at the saddest stew on the planet. "I just...really wanted this." They sigh, unable to hide their disappointment. "No point wasting it..."
Another pause as they shuffle around for another chunk of meat that may as well have been dry grass. "I don't know much about humans, but I know just smelling that is making me sick...."
They ignore him and shove another chunk into their mouth.
There's a disgusted sound before a shadow falls over them and they are being pried away from the pot.
"Don't eat that" the giant chastises as he settles back onto his knees and plops them down in front of him. "Making me regret letting you go. Almost feel like it would have been a *mercy* to eat you if you're just gonna eat...whatever that is and die anyway."
They wince, unable to look up at him still. They're confused and scared, but most of all, they're upset. The stew would have been perfect if he'd just let them eat it earlier.
"What else am I gonna eat? If you'd just let me eat it earlier, if you'd just -" They find themselves snapping before mentally kicking themselves and putting their head in their hands. They're tired, their body aches, and most of all, they're hungry. "I was really looking forward to it..." they say, deflating. They bite their lip to keep from crying...God, imagine, crying over burnt soup...stupid. They could have died, they still could, and yet, all they could focus on was SOUP.
The giant sits silently stunned a moment, not expecting this reaction from his prey. Normally, people in this position were terrified of returning to their former occupation of 'food'. They should be thanking him, they should be running away, they should be...a lot of things.
Still, he notes the crack in their voice, the defeated posture, and he remembers his own frustration when he had missed meals....
Humans. Pathetic.
He sighs and gets to his feet. "Stay here." He rumbles, annoyed before vanishing into the trees, leaving only crickets and stillness.
They wait for him to return for a time, uncertain of how he'd react if he found them eating from the pot after telling them not to. Would he kill them? Would he eat them again? They mull over the possibilities far too long before their hunger wins out. They eat a few more chunks of those disappointing meat cubes while he's away. They're unsatisfying, and tough to swallow, but it's something to take the edge off their hunger. They spend the time alone collecting thoughts, collecting questions. They wonder if they'll have the courage to ask them when he returns. They wonder if they should even voice them... They wonder alot of things.
A low vibration runs through their bones after some time, soundless and deceptively light, and a moment later, the giant appears from the brush once more. There's a buck in his grasp and a roundness to his belly that wasn't there previously.
"Here." He tosses the carcass onto the ground near them, causing them to scramble back in fear of it falling on top of them. "That should be more than enough, right?"
They eye the buck, then tilt their gaze to the man as he settles cross-legged nearby. Their brows furrow as even more questions fill their head.
"Thank? You?" They say tilting their head, feeling uncertain.
"Your welcome." He says plainly, looking judgementally at the pot of burnt stew until they were certain he knew of their 'crime' and was going to punish them for it. He never says a word.
They spend the next hour and a half processing the body, they'd spend even longer fleshing and preparing the hide later, but for now, they simply butchered it and seperated the parts. Once they'd cleaned the pot out in a creek nearby, they filled it and set the salted meat water to boil. They may not have any more potatoes, or much more than spices to put into this, but meat soup would work just fine. What they didn't put in the soup, they would smoke later as jerky.
They settle across the fire from the giant as they wait for the stew to finish. He'd closed his eyes at some point, but they knew he was still awake. They wondered how to breech the topic they wished to discuss... Eventually they decide, fuck it, just ask. They doubted he was going to eat them again - at least for today, not after he had hunted food for them.
"Why did you let me go?" They ask more meekly than they liked.
He doesn't respond right away, he doesn't even hint that he had heard them. They wonder if he dozed off... He takes a deep breath through his nose and exhales slowly.
"You were giving me a stomach ache." He shrugs out.
They furrow their brow and look away from him, unclear how they feel about that statement. On the one hand, they lived, on the other hand, did that make them so disgusting they were inedible? Their brain buzzes in self deprecation, but they focus on the fur in their hands, and a follow up comes to them.
"And...the deer?" They ask, looking up.
A long pause, a frown. "Couldn't stand your whining."
A lie. They think it's a lie anyway. They don't know why he'd lie about that, but it's a comfort, and they'll take it.
He rubs his stomach and their eyes catch on the movement. Did his stomach look like that when they were in it? What had he eaten to fill it now? Who? Were they in pain? Something stirs in them, dark and distressing. They look away and tuck those feelings in a box, never to open again, they hope.
They focus on scraping the fat from the fur for a moment, content to lose themselves in their work. They had more questions, but, they could wait.
After about ten minutes, they feel like they're being watched. They look up to see those silver eyes on them, watching them, the giants brows furrowed as he mulled over something.
"Why are you here?" He asks, finally. "Like, of all the places in this land, why come back to a place you knew you could die?"
They feel their face redden, though they aren't sure why. "I didn't know where else to go..."
"You have a home, don't ya?" He asks, raising a brow. "A place in that town a few miles to the west..."
They open their mouth to answer - then close it and look away. "It's gone."
He blinks and boggles at this. He opens his mouth to ask for clarification, but he's cut off by the answer.
"I was out of town for a few days," they press their thumb into their palm nervously. "And when I got back...it was destroyed."
He tilts his head, thinking, remembering something. "Is that what that was...?" He murmurs aloud.
"What?" They ask.
He debates answering them, but, eh, why not. "A month ago I smelled a group of monsters in the woods. A lot of them. Like, more than 10." He does a swirl with his finger. "Scents get too hard to follow at a certain point, but I know it was a lot. They seemed in a hurry to get somewhere. I -uh" he pauses, suddenly uncomfortable. "I didn't feel like I asking them about it."
They tilt their head again. "And you think they did it? But why?"
An exasperated sigh. "I don't know! I just told you, I didn't ask."
A pause, they look away. "Sorry."
"For what?" He asks, sinking back against the tree and crossing his arms.
They don't know how to respond.
"Annnyway" he continues, looking away and changing the subject. "So, you return and your first thought is "'Ah yes, lets go to the woods with that man eating giant. Getting eaten seems like a great idea!'" He snorts.
"I was...scared..."
"Of what?" He scoffs baffled by this human. "Because it's clearly not of me." A tinge of frustration tarnishes his tone.
There's a long awkward pause as they decide how to answer. "I'm unfamiliar with the world outside of that town and these woods." Green eyes focus back on the giant. "This was the only other place I felt comfortable being - even if a grumpy jackass made it his home." They grin, hoping he takes it for the playful jab it was meant as.
He blinks - not understanding.
"Besides, i thought, maybe it'd be nice to-"
They cut themselves off and look away, bashful and unwilling to say their second reason.
"Nice to what?" He prods, curious.
Their throat tightens and they work the flesh in their hands, focusing on the cold greasey feeling and the softness of the contrasting fur.
"To see you again." They murmur so low they hope the giant doesn't hear.
The giants ears twitch and he goes through an array of expressions, doubt, thought, confusion, more thought, disgust - it settles on confused. "You *wanted* me to eat you?" He asks, disturbed.
It's their turn to splutter disbelief. "N-no!" They correct, eyes wide. "No! I just. It's just - I've never seen anything like you before, and you hinted at there being more things like you - or maybe not like you at all. You hinted at there being More and I just..." their articulating flustered gestures with their hands "I wanted to learn more..."
He blinks blankly at them. "But I told you-"
They roll their eyes, exasperated with their feelings on this matter. "I know! I just...kind of hoped...you wouldn't..."
Another series of blinks. "So you just hoped...I'd find you and...- what?... Be friends or some shit?"
They feel their face redden and they can't look at him, "I know it's stupid, but..."
He stares at them blankly a moment before he can't hold his disbelief any longer and belts out laughing. "You've got to be either the dumbest or the -boldest- human I ever saw."
They grin sheepishly but don't look up. "Boldness and stupidity often go hand in hand..." they say more to themselves.
He wipes at a tear in his eye, struggling to speak as the laughter comes and goes. Eventually, it peters away and, after a few deep breaths - "You're prey." He says simply, amused crooked grin on his face. "That's all you'll ever be to me. Prey."
They frown down at the pelt in their hands, a sadness eating at them.
"Buuut-" he breathes out as he stands and stretches, the weight in his middle shifting in an uncomfortable looking way as his shirt pulls up over it. "If you really have nowhere else to go - I suppose you can stay here. I wouldn't stay out in the open if I were you though." A pause, a pointed and hungry look "Afterall, this is still my territory - and as long as you stay here - I will hunt you."
They tense and slouch in on themselves, their heart twisting in a painful way, dejected and shattered. They can't speak, they know if they try, they'll just start to cry, so they say nothing.
"Enjoy your soup." The giant huffs, readjusting his shirt over his middle. "You know the rules. Next time..." he snickers grimly, "Well, you know"
They sit hunched for sometime, even after he leaves, something inside broken and painful to swallow. Morning birds begin their songs, squirrels rattle the branches above, and as the sun breaks the horizon, a dam breaks and they begin to sob into the fur clutched in their hands.
32 notes
·
View notes
Text
Shasur-Tor had been a Knight for so long, he did not know how to be anything else. But, he didn’t need to be anything else than what he was, and he reveled in that.
Now that he has been Risen, it was harder not to be anything else. More was expected of him, more tithes were required of him, to prove his loyalty. He kept his head down. Do your own work, and no one else’s. It’s all you could do.
He did not remember his past. Unlike his brethren, he had not wanted to find out. He remembered that strange Titan that had been there when he was first Risen, how they had cupped his face and told him he was beautiful. He still felt those small hands on his chitin, even now. But why? He didn’t know. He wondered if he’d ever want to know.
His Ghost had been very kind to him. He had named her Wyrm, after an old tablet he’d read once that had told about the Worm Gods. It felt fitting, that such a small thing of Light should be given a powerful name. He kept her safe, and she watched his back. They were a good team, and he felt very strongly about his little light, and had threatened on several occasions to prove just how far he’d go for her.
But, thankfully, he hadn’t had a reason to follow through. Yet, anyways.
Shasur had been assigned to protect one of the temples that littered the underground of the Throne World. He was thankful for this position, for even though it was horribly dangerous, it came with a certain amount of prestige, particularly since this was one of the few temples that Savathûn had wished to keep safe from the Scorn.
He kneeled there, in the center of the cathedral like temple, his shredder held up in front of him. He felt an odd sort of peace here, like everything was as it should be.
Like a blade shattering glass, the silence broke. Something was flying above him, scrabbling to reach the terrace above, trying not to alert anyone below. It wasn’t a Wizard, and definitely not an Acolyte. It was a Lightbearer, a Titan. And a familiar one at that.
Shasur-Tor howls an alarm, letting a few warning shots loose, just missing the Titan’s arm, as he stands. He can feel a rush of movement around him, Acolytes rushing up the steps to cut off the encroaching Titan, Wizards hissing their songs, calling on their magic to stall the Lightbearer.
He had neither the Acolyte’s will to prove their valor, nor the Wizard’s magic. But, he did have something neither of them had.
He can feel his own Light burning within him, and with a single movement he had leapt up the stairs, leaving a trail of vibrant void energy behind him. The Titan had been backed into a corner, just a few feet away from the portal that would have taken them to safety. Their glaive flashes as they slice the Thralls down, making a desperate run for the portal.
The Knight growls with rage as the Titan disappears in a flash of green light, and he follows through the portal, running so hard he almost crashing into the Guardian.
The portal had closed behind them, and the Titan was making a lot of distressed noises, but Shasur-Tor did not rush his kill. He would savor this.
The Exo’s helmet had been dislodged, and it was babbling something in that grating human language, backing away from the giant Relic Blade held in the Knight’s hands. “Please, please, Shasur-Tor, you know me! Please.”
He raises the blade above his head, feeling the pause just before he swings it down, like the whole throne world was holding its breath.
Finally, a familiar voice breaks the Knight’s focus.
“Ah, yes. The Lovers; In-Anâhn’s Folly, and Clovis Bray’s Madness.”
Savathûn’s shade loomed above them both, the well of memory before them coming to life with the touch of the Titan’s hands.
“I knew you two would meet again, but when and where, well..”
A Knight had appeared, projected up from the well, and beside it, a Titan, clasping hands with the Knight.
“Now, I know you don’t remember, but that doesn’t mean your lover forgot. In fact, I’d go so far as to say your forgetting only made your dear Guardian remember all the more. Isn’t that just sad? Guardians are so caught up in the remembering and the forgetting that they don’t see everything in between.”
Darrix’s mouth was hanging open, eyes locked on the projections coming out of the well. Shasur-Tor felt his hands twitch. What nonesense was this? A trick of the Guardian’s? No, this had the Witch Queen’s magic written all over it. What was this, then?
“See, you two were once quite the pair. It’s funny, really, that two such different things could bond so closely.”
He lowers his sword, his gaze moving from the well to the Titan still on the ground before him. He could feel something rattling around in his brain. A memory, a thought, a dream.
“And what will you both do now, hm? Will you both part ways? Will you destroy each other, as all Hive will? Call me curious.”
He kneels down, slowly, letting his blade fall to his side.
“Who are you?”
The Exo’s voice was shaking when he finally responded, clutching the mark around his waist so tightly his hands were glitching.
“I-I’m Darrix.”
3 notes
·
View notes
Text
Entangled Webs
Warnings: Creepy elements, minor character death, mentions of someone getting eaten, drinking, and disappearances
————————
When you awoke, the monster was gone. For a moment you missed the protective feeling you had felt with his presence nearby.
That vanished almost immediately.
Sitting up, you gazed around for a moment. The sun was shining through the large front window, glinting softly off blue cobwebs, yet not penetrating into the depths of the room, or the rafters.
The sunlight did not reveal the swaying bundles.
You stood shakily, making sure all of your limbs and body were intact.
It was quiet in this room, the only noise being the soft squeezing of mice in the walls.
And the approaching of many legs.
Tip. Tap.
Tip. Tap.
Tip.
The arachne stood in the doorway, eyeing you as you stared at him in horror once again. The pang of fear that jolted through you, seeing it once again in daylight. The only thing discernible from this distance was the shape and the glowing blue tear lines, streaking down from glowing eye sockets.
"YoU'r3 aWaKe." The glitched voice was calm. He approached, striding into the corner, watching you as warily as you were him.
Sweat pooled in your hands, wiping them on pant legs.
You felt like you had to say something to him.
The sun did not expose the red splatters on his legs.
Did he introduce himself last night?
You couldn’t remember.
No, no, he didn’t.
What to say? Thank you for not eating me?
He might still change his mind.
“Ar3 y0u juSt gO!ng to sTaND th3Re or wH@t?”
His voice snapped you to attention, tensing. He snorted and began to walk towards you.
Your feet acted before you stop yourself, scrabbling away as he settled himself in the nest. He didn’t seem offended, only stretched his arms above his head before looking at you, your eyes locking onto his pupils.
There was something attractive in his eyes, you mused for a moment. As if they were human and not that of a monster.
You shook yourself. It didn’t do to associate feelings and empathy with something that would be surely exterminated when you left and reported the spider to the police.
Yet…
An eye for eye. A life for a life.
You didn’t like the feeling of guilt at the thought. He clearly had feelings.
“Erm, no,” you stammered, answering his earlier question. “I’m going to…”
What were you going to do?
The arachne huffed. “TyP1caL huM-M-M-maN.” His voice glitched oddly, static overlapping the latter part of his sentence.
As if he was choking out the word.
Silence was your best friend, you decided. He shifted to pull a small blue string bag from his side, placing it down at the edge of his nest, nodding at it. You craned your neck to look inside.
Blueberries.
Did he… pick food for you?
”WeLl?” He asked, irritation starting to harden his words.
Deep breath.
If he wanted you dead, he would have killed you already.
The floorboards squeaked as you stepped forward, now noticeable when you weren’t terrified for your life.
You brushed a finger against the bag, keeping an eye on the arachne.
The bag didn’t stick to your fingers, so you plunged your hand in, grabbing a fistful and shoving them into your mouth.
Your legs seemed almost to give out in relief, plopping on the floor to rest.
You might have not been entirely sober when you first entered this place, and finally tasting real food made you ravenous.
Speaking off…
You cast a glance at the outdoors, mentally cussing out your so called friends. They hadn’t even appeared to check in on you.
“We’ll be right behind you as you go in!” They giggled as you had downed the rest of your drink and stomped up the front steps. You had mockingly saluted them before opening the door.
And now look at where you were.
He shifted, legs adjusting themselves.
“Wh@t is y0uR naMe h-h-huM@n?” You started.
Your name? Why would he want to know that? You didn’t want to give him it, even if he was feeding you and giving you shelter-
“1 don’T haV3 aLl dAy,” he interjected.
”Y-Y/N.” You cursed the stammer in your voice. He didn’t comment on your fear or make fun of it, turning to instead stare at you.
You were sitting much closer to him than you thought you were.
A shaky breath steadied you.
Focus. Focus on getting out.
“Y/N.” His eye sockets widened for a moment, pinning you in place. “Ar3n’t yOu g0inG to aSk f0-0-0r mY naM3?”
You didn’t want to. You were already likening him too much to something somewhat human. A name would make this all so much harder. But at the threat of offending the monster, your heart balked.
“What’s your name,” you whispered.
He grinned. ”ErR0r.” He seemed pleased, straightening and beckoning you over with a finger.
Did it seem the red on his fingertips glimmered like water in the light?
Your gut screamed to run, yet your mind obeyed, standing and walking towards him. Error hummed before poking your side with a finger. You jumped a little at the sensation, keeping in a squeal of fear, before squeaking as he grabbed you, rubbing his skull into your stomach.
He inhaled and exhaled, deep breaths tickling your skin.
Your fingers found his arms wrapped along your sides, subtly trying to pry them off, to no avail. His grip only seemed to tighten. Swallowing the scream in your throat, you held your breath as his skull traveled up to your neck, nuzzling into the crook of your shoulder.
You couldn’t help squirming at the ticklish feeling, triggering a glitched chuckle from his rib cage.
He seemed to mumble to himself for a moment, hand reaching to comb through your hair for a brief moment.
“Can- can you let go?” You asked tentatively. Error didn’t answer, but he loosened his grip to bring his skull to meet your face, eye lights seemingly tracing over curve and crinkle of your face.
“YoU do n3ed to gO hom3, d0n-n-n’t YoU?” He hummed. You nodded, hope swelling in your chest.
“On 0n3 cond1tIoN.”
You froze.
“YoU c@nnOt teLl aNyon3 abOut th1s plAc3. Or elSe.”
You whimpered a bit, cowed by the low growl at the end of his sentence.
”I won’t.” You were proud for not stuttering.
“Go0D.” He set you down, standing himself. “G0 doWn th3 stAirS At thE r1gHt and yoU w1ll seE the do0r oUt.”
“Thank you, thank you,” you gasped, backing away in the direction of the door, watching him turn away. The moment his eyes were off you, you turned to grasp the edge of the door-
You heard a soft moan, as you had nearly gotten yourself out the first door.
You peeked over your shoulder.
Error was on the ceiling, standing by a large cocoon of shimmering blue silk. A hand was sticking out of the cocoon, the fingernails a bright orange with black stripes.
You knew that hand. Just last night, with your companions, the one you had thought was your one true friend had brandished her nails in pride, declaring it was support for her little sister’s team.
She would never see her sister again.
Error sank his fangs into the cocoon.
You ran.
Down the stairs, out the door, throwing up onto the lawn, clutching your stomach as you ran, ran, run, run as fast you can!
You sobbed to yourself within your home, scrubbing your body raw to rid yourself of the feeling of fuzzy feelers.
You felt vile, leaving them there to perish. Why else had none emerged.
And why were you alive and not them?
I didn’t tell. I didn’t tell.
I didn’t tell.
You told yourself as you watched an extermination team exit the abandoned house, shaking their heads as they watched the remnants of the gas leak through the walls.
“Whatever was in there is long gone,” one of the men said, shaking his head in disappointment.
The police had knocked on your door.
“Any bodies?”
”Remnants and little trinkets.”
You had given them your story, though different from the real events.
“That webbing is awfully familiar though.”
“Don’t see much colored silk in the Arachne family.”
You told them you had all went into the house. You woke up in the kitchen, having seemingly collapsed. You, hungover, had stumbled back home, thinking everyone else had made it out again.
“Maybe it’s that specimen from the Southern Abyss.”
”This far north?”
They believed you.
I didn’t tell.
The exterminators left, giving you a statement to give to the police officers waiting in their car. You signed your name and watched as all drove away, declining a ride home.
You began to walk, chanting the words under your breath.
”I didn’t tell, I didn’t tell, I didn’t tell…”
The next day, another missing report was made.
——————
MISSING
Y/N L/N
Height:
Hair color:
Eye color:
Last Seen: 404 Thread St, Mt. Ebott, (Country/State)
Went missing on (XX/XX/XXXX), please contact your local authorities if you have any information on wereabouts.
——————
CASE CLOSED
—————
@octopus-is-octopus
#error sans#error!sans#error x reader#Arachne!Error Sans#reader insert#creepy#thriller#Errortale#gn reader#skidder#monster au#undertale#sans#mc#xreader#not a happy ending
36 notes
·
View notes
Text
Forgotten Curse: Sukuna x Curse! Reader: Chapter 4
"Where did you hear that name?" Gojo asks.
"I'm not sure but I remember..."
"Have you even met him?"
"Not in the way you would think." She says turning away from him.
"What do you mean by that?" He leans further on the chair interrogating her.
"It comes in pieces...The trigger I'm not sure of but I feel like if I speak it things will change." She places a hand over her mouth but drops it back to her side.
"Does it have anything to do with Sukuna?"
"It all leads back to him. I hate him."
Gojo perks up from the sudden change in tone. He reaches over to touch her shoulder but stops. "Can you turn this was for a second?"
"What is something wrong?"
Gojo chucks the chair aside and the curse watches it slide across the floor. He rests his hand on her head and says, "What are you doing?" He lifts up his blindfold and glares at her.
"..." Raising her hands palm up she covers her face. "I don't know." Crimson irises peek through the gaps in between her fingers.
"Your negative energy is overflowing right now. Don't force yourself to remember anything, who knows what might happen." Gojo withdraws his hand and gives his classic smile along with a thumbs up. Then he lowers the blindfold back over his eyes. "I'll tell Itadori that you woke up, he'll be overjoyed."
***
"Hey Itadori. Itadori~, Wake up."
Itadori gasps and gives the room a once-over not finding anyone there. "Sukuna what do you want?" He questions and goes to rub his face and stops when he feels a mouth on one side.
"Who is she?"
"Who are you talking about?" Itadori asks confused.
"You know who I'm talking about."
"Oh, her. Why should I tell you?"
"Because if you don't..." Sukuna uses Yuji's hand and raises it his throat. "I'll kill you."
"I won't go down without a fight." Yuji snatches his arm; his fingernails sinking into his skin. But Sukuna overpowers him wrapping Yuji's hand around his neck. "Don't you dare--"
"Why not? You know something is strange about her, I don't like it. Last time I was speaking with you I was driven back. I don't intend on letting that happen again." Sukuna's nails break the skin and blood drips from Yuji's neck.
"Are you telling me she's a threat to you?" Sukuna squeezes his neck and Yuji coughs out a laugh. The pressure increases and Yuji gasps for air. He uses his hand and scrabbles to get out of Sukuna's hold.
"She isn't a threat. Just a nuisance. I don't have time to waste on her."
Yuji's vision turns dark and his hearing fades as he desperately scratches at his hand to stop Sukuna. Suddenly his neck is released and a rush of air comes in triggering a coughing fit. "Are you done?" Yuji says.
"Do I need to keep going then?"
"If you do, you'll never get any answers."
Sukuna laughs at Yuji's response. "Then I'll find another way, idiot."
"Anyway, I don't really know much about her." Yuji rubs his throat where finger marks start to appear.
"Oh, you know more than you think." Sukuna replies.
"So, what is your question?"
"Where did you meet her?"
"In an alleyway. On the mission where you fought that other curse."
"Don't lie to me!" Sukuna goes right back nails slicing against Yuji's neck making a fresh open wound.
"She was...Gojo...took her away before you fought with the curse. That's why you didn't find her." Yuji says pondering. "Wait...How do you know about her if you haven't met her yet?"
"It's none of your business, human." Sukuna clicks his tongue.
"Actually, it matters to me you've never been awake long enough to grasp the situation."
"I have nothing left to say."
"I'm not finished yet..." Yuji's eyes droop and sleep overtakes him.
***
The sheets are thrown off the bed and Sukuna breaks down the door. "It's time to have a little fun~." Wandering the dorms he lets his hand drag along the wall. Wood splinters and chips under his strength.
"Unexpected but...I'll make the most of this." He retracts his claws from the wall and tears at Yuji's uniform ripping the shirt to pieces. "Fushiguro, this time we'll fight." His laugh echoes throughout the hallway.
Sprinting to the end of the hallway he surveys the area before getting on Megumi's trail. "There." Sukuna takes a running start and leaps onto the roofs to find the building he is looking for. "She can wait, this comes first."
With one final leap he smashes through the roof catching Megumi off gaurd.
"What the hell...Sukuna, how?" Confused Megumi slowly steps back from the hole in the ceiling.
"Tch, how annoying. I missed." Sukuna frowns removing his fist from the ground and smiles at Megumi's shocked expression.
"Divine dogs!" Megumi shouts moving his fingers into the shape of a dog head. He twists away and dodges a slash from Sukuna.
"Are you going to keep running?" Sukuna glances at Megumi disappointed but keeps his attacks coming.
"Of course not." Megumi slides his foot pivoting to the side when Sukuna makes an attempt to slice at his hand. Megumi manages to get a hit in but keeps getting pushed back. So, he goes as fast as his feet can carry him.
Sukuna on the other hand decides to rip part of the wall up and use it for his next attack. The wooden boards come at Megumi like daggers.
Megumi rushes the wall using his hand as leverage to keep his momentum while he avoids flying planks. Upper left, lower right, he goes round and round constantly going backward to avoid close confrontation. That is until he runs out of wall. "Wha..."
"I've got you now!" Sukuna goes for Megumi's heart. His claws gouge Megumi's chest and he grunts in pain. They roll to the ground in a bloodied mess and Megumi kicks Sukuna back with what strength his has left.
"Kon." The wolf shikigami springs on Sukuna but it gets jabbed with an elbow being thrown back.
"Nice try. But that's not enough to win. Let's raise the stakes." Sukuna plunges his hand into his chest ripping out his heart. "I don't need this but Itadori does." He says with a smile throwing the heart to the ground.
"You can't!" Megumi signals the shikigami to charge. The wolves manage to tear the skin but do minimal damage.
"Is that all you got?" Sukuna brushes his hair back staining it with his blood.
Megumi makes another hand sign and prepares to use to some life force.
"Finally, things are getting fun. Too bad time is almost up."
"I disagree." Y/n slams Sukuna into the ground and he coughs up blood.
"You." Sukuna's eyes become slits.
"We'll be seeing each other soon." She removes her claws from his chest and blood drips down on him.
Her claws and her eyes are the same as mine. And the markings...
***
"He's gone." Megumi says dropping to the ground.
"This isn't over that's all you need to know." The curse seizes Yuji's body by the legs and flings him over her shoulder.
"Where are you taking him?" Megumi questions ready to sick his demon dogs on her.
"Where he needs to go." She darts back to the infirmary.
Megumi doesn't move to get up, he sits in silence, unable to chase, exhausted from battle.
***
"Here. I can sense them." Mahito draws in a deep breath smelling the bloodshed he created. In his wake lays warped humans begging for death. Strolling further into the shopping center he whistles a cheery tune. "You're already here?" He beams at the curse paying careful attention to the marking on her arms. "Did you perhaps come from a battle?" He questions seeing the blood-stained shirt.
"So, what if I did? Just tell me what you want."
"Do you want to join us?"
"Ha, are you joking? Like hell I would Mahito." She says nudging a piece of hair behind her ear.
"You know my name?" Mahito stands there in awe.
"That's not relevant." She clenches her hand nails digging into her palm.
"Clearly you know more than you are telling me." Mahito flings one of his experiments at her. It was the size of a doll and it transformed into something less than human by the time he was done.
She dodges to the side avoiding its attacks. While Mahito makes his way closer sneaking a few more of his experiments along the way.
"These things are disgusting." The curse crushes one of the creature's heads beneath her feet and blood splatters across the tile floor with a splat.
"Well, this isn't a battle about looks, is it?"
"Don't be fucking sarcastic with me bastard."
"Why the hate? We only just met?" Mahito finally reaches her and touches her.
She jerks back kicking Mahito in the chest.
"A few more times and I'll--"
"Transform the shape of my soul? I don't think so."
"I know you protected your soul but--to know my power too." Mahito smiles. "This is getting more and more interesting."
****A/N Fun fact #3: Here's where the canon divergence comes into play. As time goes on you will see the parallels to the original manga within this story, but by then it will be all about Sukuna. Heheh... Make sure to like and add to your library! You can find me on Tumblr, Wattpad, and AO3. Jujutsu Kaisen and its characters belong to Gege Akutami.
#sukuna#sukuna x reader#Sukuna Ryoumen x reader#Jujutsu Kaisen#slow burn#fear versus love#rodivi#philosophical#action#adventure#CANON DIVERGENCE#fanart#fighting#drama#depression#jjk
7 notes
·
View notes
Text
Emotional Revolution: My Hallmark As A Leader
This is the second entry to my e-journal. I am Donna, and to know me better, you can scroll through my past posts!
One of the mentioned phrases last time in our Psychology 170 class, Human Development, is delayed gratification. Our professor defines it as resisting the desire for an immediate reward in favor of a better one later. This concept resonates with me, and I mentioned various times I used this approach. For instance, I practiced delayed gratification for the UP Fair 2024. I budgeted and saved, allowing me to have more cash to spend and buy what I wanted at the fair. However, I am realizing I might be doing this too often. Similarly to what I did last February, this semester, I am (or maybe the current life events are) putting off my "happiness" and accumulating negative feelings until vacation break. It could be the stress talking, but I have a feeling the next few weeks hold something good!
The past week has been a relentless and brutal bombardment for me—academic loads and deadlines, family matters require attention, and mostly, personal commitments (organizations matter) pile on. Exhaustion gnaws at my 101% energy, emotions run high, and my focus on many things scrabbles. In the midst of this "hell week," all I can feel is the magnetism of a most awaited long break coming up that it becomes almost unbearable to wait from Tuesday to Saturday to happen.
However, I thought to myself, what if, instead of simply impatiently waiting for my awaited salvation (AKA the long break), I invest in equipping myself with knowledge to navigate these challenging times or at least help myself feel a little bit better to go on and face a lot more challenges ahead? That is, instead of seeking a little less challenge than what I am facing, I embrace these challenges as opportunities to learn and grow.
Mastering Self-Mastery
The saying goes that mothers are our first teachers, and that holds true for me. My mother took a strict but hands-on approach to my education, especially from a young age. I vividly remember her teaching me to spell my name. Her attentive and competitive spirit, mostly during Kindergarten, might be why I loved attending school as early as four years old. I thought it was fun; I got to always write on the board, colour, draw, sing and dance, recite (in all ways), and learn. Yeah, I was a 'bibo' kid. But despite being the bibo kid, I did not graduate valedictorian, not even a salutatorian. I was just active and participative.
In elementary school, the most vividly recalled memory of my highest achievement was being the rank 4 of my class for a quarter. Excluding my vaguely remember being second in first grade, perhaps because my grandmother taught me cursive early. Throughout elementary, I noticed a pattern in my performance. I tended to do well in the first quarter, followed by a decline in the second, and then bounced back in the third. This pattern continued until senior high school, making me wonder if I subconsciously conditioned myself to act upon my academics this way.
However, even keeping an occasional higher ranking, I always managed to be in the top 10 and active in my extracurriculars for different monthly events, such as, but not limited to, Buwan Ng Wika, Nutrition Month, United Nations Month, Girl Scout, Sports Fest, etc. Behind these extracurriculars is my supportive mother, and somewhere along the line, I picked up her competitive spirit a little too well. From then on, the school stopped being my playground and turned into a battlefield for grades and academic achievements. It was not her fault she and my father never pushed me towards specific goals. In fact, even though she was strict before, she never pressured me to be this or that and celebrated every accomplishment. But for me, it was not enough. I became fixated on wanting to be like my excelling classmates, my teacher's favorite students, the role models, the A1.
As a grade-conscious kid, I remember vividly crying during prayers every night, desperately wanting to excel in math. Sure, being "good" was fine, but I yearned for the coveted title of "math wizard!" I still remember how I felt while asking God to give me wisdom to be good at that subject. Perhaps people might find it silly to get so emotional over a school subject. But at that time, for me, intelligence equaled academic prowess and success (i.e. with lots of academic achievement), the kind that earned praise and recognition from teachers. Maybe it was the large class sizes in our small public school that I felt that way, but trust me, that teachers' praise and favor were the reason the same students (whom I considered intelligent kids) seemed to bask in a constant spotlight that landed in every quiz bee and competitions from kindergarten to sixth grade! Every time, I felt a little less below these kids—kids who boosted the morale of our school.
I always thought these instances made me angry with my teachers and their bias toward teaching and guiding their favorite students. These happenings also made me overthink that my teachers do not like me. I remember being a class Peace Officer whose job was to list the noisy and standing classmates. I recall being so dedicated to that position that I even memorized all the policies and homeroom rules that we had; a long list front and back! Being in a position was so satisfactory. I thought that by this, at least my teacher would know I have potential, too! While our teacher was out, I would joke around and even playfully "ship" classmates with each other when I caught them talking or being noisy. Then, when my teacher returned, I would proudly report on the "happenings" and hand a written list of students. However, one time, instead of the positive response I expected, my teacher got frustrated and yelled, 'You should have run for PIO (Public Information Officer) instead!' in front of everyone. At that moment, all I could think about was how my teacher hated me and how this would affect my built potential. Since then, I stopped bombarding them with updates, even though they seemed nonchalant about the incident by the next day. These experiences made me insecure about my teachers' approval and how this might affect my academics until high school.
Recalling this, I realized something. Maybe I was not resentful of my teachers, maybe I was jealous of my classmates. I was envious because, as early as elementary, they got to improve themselves and train to be champions representing our alma matter. I was envious because they did not need to prove themselves to teachers to notice them, just like I did. I was jealous because they were favored. Thus, they were the only ones who thrived in different subject areas, like Math, Science, English, and even Arts, and got offered and had a chance to go to good High Schools. They were the only ones who always competed and represented our section or school, leaving no room for us, average, to stay where we were, just like when we first entered the school. Hence, they were consistently in the Top 1 to 3; legit academics, huh? They were my classmates, never me, the wizard kids in different subjects.
Looking back, it is clear how warped and fixed my mindset was about intelligence. Heavily influenced by my environment, it paved the way for traditional IQ to be the sole benchmark. Now, my definition of "intelligent" has evolved. It is no longer about conventional academic success but rather a more holistic view. I have learned that intelligence is multifaceted, surpassing even academic components of it. It encompasses a variety of forms, and this has led me to embrace and appreciate my strengths. Based on the Multiple Intelligences Scale, I possess high Bodily-Kinesthetic and Intrapersonal intelligence. Also, my colleagues and friends often highlight my improved Emotional Quotient (EQ). I may not have seen it before, but these different intelligences are all beneficial in college, especially for a leader like me.
Check my Grit Scale and MI Scale results here:
____________________________________
0 notes
Text
Sunday, May 20, 2007
Today I was a long way from home...
We landed on a spaceship in this place called the Torajii system. The sun was alive and possessing people. Like I said, long way from home.
I remember the time I first came home from Uni. The hardest thing about it wasn't seeing that mum and dad were close to splitting up but it was suddenly realising that we were all changing. Suddenly I had this thing of not quite knowing what to say to them because we no longer had this shared experience of life that we'd had up until then. We talked about what I'd been up to and what they'd been doing but it was all a bit awkward and we had to kind of scrabble around, trying to find something we'd all watched on the telly. It passed, of course after the first night everything was pretty much back to normal but it was so strange suddenly feeling a bit separate from them. Something like that happened today. Basically, I thought I was going to die. Actually I knew I was going to die. So I phoned mum. And I didn't know what to say. Obviously, I couldn't tell her what I was doing (she has enough of a problem with the Doctor without me making it worse) but because we didn't have anything immediately in common, because we didn't have the time to settle into relaxing and chatting normally, it just felt so odd. Like we were living such different lives. She sounded distracted (presumably because of work) and I knew I was going to die (I didn't, of course. The Doctor saved me). You'd think, knowing you were going to die, that it'd be like something on Holby City. I'd have some huge speech about loving my family and how they shouldn't feel sad and that but... I didn't. So, yeah, that was scary.
Something even worse happened though. And, again, it reminded me of something that happened when I was growing up. Do you remember that time you first realised your parents weren't perfect? As a kid, you think they know everything and they're flawless and all that. Then, when you start to grow up, you start to rebel but deep down you still think they're right but then, one day, you suddenly realise that they're human and fallible like everyone else and it's kind of scary. Well I had something like that today, only so much worse. The Doctor was possessed by a sun and... he was scared. He told me that he was scared. Which, again, you'd think would be a good 'finally he's not being such a bloke' thing but it wasn't. It was probably the most terrifying moment I've experienced since we started travelling together. Just him saying those words, made the Universe so much bigger and... yeah, basically it was terrifying but, hey, some good came out of it! I think it's brought us even closer together as I did, kind of anyway, save his life. And he thanked me which is also a first! I'm slowly chipping away that at that barrier!
But, yeah, seeing him just being so... vulnerable. I just wanted to hold him and tell him that everything is okay but... sorry trying to think of the words and I don't have much time... but yeah, it was like when you first have to comfort your mum about something. I had to do it when my cousin died. I was upset, of course, but mum was devastated and it was me that was hugging her and comforting her and in one way that's great but in another it's terrifying because it feels wrong. You realise that we're all the same. We all get scared. We all get upset. We all need comforting. And, sometimes, you have to be the grown-up. Sometimes, you have to be the Doctor.
Anyway, enough about families and stuff! I've got to stop getting what Tish calls so emo! It isn't normally in my nature to be like this but I guess everyone's human.
More soon!
0 notes
Last Seen Blogs
greet-ed
greeteedddd
simonhilliard
Simon who likes to tumbl
neko-ni-okaka-photo
neko-ni-okaka＝下手の横好き
puuta-heinaa
Vaik en oo allright, oon silti online
inmoonlightpoetry
Untitled