ojovivo
macklin celebrini has autism
No title available
bliss lane
Show & Tell
shark vs the universe
Monterey Bay Aquarium
YOU ARE THE REASON
❣ Chile in a Photography ❣
Cosimo Galluzzi
occasionally subtle
sheepfilms
Product Placement
blake kathryn
Game Changer & Make Some Noise
Discoholic 🪩
Jimmy Eat World
The Bowery Presents
Jar Jar Binks Fan Club
ellievsbear
seen from Singapore
seen from Türkiye
seen from Tunisia
seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from Singapore
seen from Jamaica
seen from United States
seen from Türkiye
seen from United States
seen from Ukraine
seen from Türkiye
seen from United States
seen from United Kingdom
seen from Japan
seen from Costa Rica
seen from Malawi
seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from Türkiye
@justoneperson-passingby
yesterday was a funny day on twitter XD
https://twitter.com/GailSimone/status/1061786484028596224
There’s been an update:
Aaand another update:
Update #3:
Update #4:
Update #5:
Update #6:
oh good we finally got there
THIS IS MY FAVORITE THING EVER
It got better!!!
hi can u recommend any old/non modern queer books. i need to find something to read haha :) no specific time period or mood btw..
hope ur doin well and ur writing is cool asl
What counts as 'non-modern'? Anyway. Here is some queer lit that's more classic, that I liked. I have put * next to my absolute faves.
Tipping the Velvet (1998)*, Fingersmith (2002) and The Night Watch (2006) by Sarah Waters - all f/f historical. She has other works, but these three are my favourites of hers.
Nightwood (1936) by Djuna Barnes* (bizarre, but it's stayed with me, I can't describe some of the lines)
The Well of Loneliness (1928) by Radclyffe Hall
The Colour Purple (1982) by Alice Walker
Fried Green Tomatoes at the Whistle Stop Cafe (1987) by Fannie Flag
Carmilla (1872) by Sheridan le Fanu (there's also a great Youtube mini series fyi)
Annie On My Mind (1982) by Nancy Garden
Fun Home: A Family Tragicomic (2006) by Alison Bechdel
Giovanni's Room (1956) by James Baldwin*
The Picture of Dorian Grey (1890) by Oscar Wilde*
Maurice (1971) by E.M Forster
The Charioteer (1953) by Mary Renault
Masterlist
I finally got around to making a masterlist! It’s a bit long so I put it under the cut. I think I’m gonna put asterisks next to my personal favorites, because there are definitely some I like more than others. Let me know yours!
Keep reading
Masterlist
I finally got around to making a masterlist! It’s a bit long so I put it under the cut. I think I’m gonna put asterisks next to my personal favorites, because there are definitely some I like more than others. Let me know yours!
Keep reading
hello! recently, i watched this really sad film, and i was wondering if you would take this suggestion of the hq boys - as your ex, attending your wedding :(
thank you, and have a good day! <3
HAIKYUU BOYS REACTIONS WHEN THEY HAVE TO WATCH YOU MARRY SOMEONE ELSE
characters — timeskip!miya atsumu, bokuto kōtarō, iwaizumi hajime, sakusa kiyoomi, suna rintarō
a/n — warning ⚠️ angst. i totally never write angst but sometimes i like to just bust in and hurt my own feelings every once in a while, but atleast your guaranteed some extra fluff after :(
☾ ATSUMU he should never have came, he thinks to himself. but he never expected it to hurt this much when you rounded the corner, and he’s not surprised that he suddenly feels overwhelmed, as he fidgets with his own trembling hands because you’re still beautiful. you’re smiling, and when he’s looking at you through glassy eyes it almost looks like you’re smiling at him, but he knows your eyes only crinkle like that because your heart races at the sight of the grey eyes waiting for you at the end of the aisle, but you look happy. so he smiles, even as the first tear of the night trails down his cheeks and you look at him with a soft smile because you’re sorry you don’t love him, but every night atsumu falls asleep knowing that if he was ever in the position to fall in love again, he’d fall in love with you all over again.
☾ BOKUTO it’s genuine when he shoots kuroo a bright grin and a shakey thumbs up from his place at the side of the aisle, hoping that his friend doesn’t notice the trembling of his lower lip and how his smile gets even brighter when you come into view. he’s always loved you, but he knew that kuroo loved you too, but bokuto loved you enough to notice that your eyes always glimmered a little brighter when it came to hazel eyes and a witty smile. it’s okay, he tells himself as he shuffles on his feet, his heart beating in his chest as he wipes away a stray tear because when you beam at him, he knows you love him but you’re not in love with him, but he doesn’t hesitate to smile back and mouth a you’re beautiful back at you, because this is okay and he will be too.
A dating service where matching is based on people’s search history exists. You’re a serial killer. You go on a date with a writer.
Serial Killer: metaphorically, if you were to kill someone, how would you do it?
Writer: Air shot between the toes, it’ll look like a heart attack.
Serial Killer who is obviously in love already: *sucks in a breath* ok
Writer: how long would it take to die if you were to potentially stab someone in the guts
Serial killer: anywhere from 2 to 30 minutes
Writer, already bringing a ring out: *shaking* thanks
A++ addition
Writer: *shows the serial killer the murder scene they’re writing* babe, i’m not sure if this would actually work?
Serial killer: *kisses writer on the forehead and leaves, comes back later, a suspicious scent of blood coming off them* it works baby, you’re doing great
I LOVE THIS
Oh no, murder comedy is my jam
I love this, I love all of this, but quick question, does the author know? Like are they aware that their significant other is a serial killer or do they just think that they have a morbid sense of humor? It’d be even funnier if the author had no fucking clue, like how Aurthur Conan Doyle was apparently stupidly gullible, and on top of it they’re a horror or crime novelist. Like the serial killer works at a butcher shop or something so it’s completely normal for them to come home smelling like blood, no murders going on here, no sirey. Just my darling coming back home from a long day at work.
Now fast forward a bit and the author has managed to get their first book published, with loving support from the serial killer who helped them fine tune all the murder scenes, and it’s a big hit. Enough so that a detective with the local police department has noticed some disturbing similarities to several active cases, including details that were never released to the press. Obviously he brings this up to his superior and convinces him that there’s something to the theory, but it’s all circumstantial right now. He stakes out the author’s home and is super convinced that the author is the murderer, but they don’t seem to do anything??? Like they literally are at the house all day, that’s it. Most they do is leave for groceries.
So you get this dynamic of the serial killer mining the author for creative murder schemes, the author being lovingly encouraged by the serial killer, and finally the detective who is just so sure that the author is the killer and that if he sticks it out long enough he’ll FINALLY have proof.
Plot twist, The serial killer and detective use to go out so it gets sub what personal.
“You need to stop seeing them. I think they are a serial killer.”
Serial killer breaths in. “Look-”
…perfect
I don’t like actual murder mysteries, but this is perfect
THE ORIGINAL POST HOW DID I GET SO LUCKY
Oh my god I would watch/read the hell out of this shit
You have been sentenced to death in a magical court. The court allows all prisoners to pick how they die and they will carry it out immediately. You have it all figured out until the prisoner before you picks old age and is instantly transformed into a dying old man. Your turn approaches.
I think I’d have minded less if I’d committed a truly heinous crime. Something that warranted death. Or even if I was the kind of person who would enjoy flinging a last defiance at my execution.
It was all just a show, anyway. They did it every year. They brought out a selection of criminals, and the Sorcerer who ruled us showed his power by bringing about their deaths by magic. Just to show, every year, what happened to anyone who crossed him.
There was a time, probably, when the people he executed really were rebels or assassins. In latter days he had to take what the dungeons offered. I was dragged up in chains between a pickpocket, sobbing in terror, and a man who’d killed another man in a brawl. There were few criminals of any note, by then. So instead of choosing the wickedest criminals, they chose based on appearance. The man who’d been in the brawl had a face like a clenched fist, and looked like a ruffian. The pickpocket, aging and with hands beginning to tremble, was a different kind of example. As was I.
“There aren’t many pretty ones, this year,” the man who chose me had said, examining me. “But this one will do. Not young, but not old, a woman, well-favoured enough for the gallows… what was her crime?”
The warder shrugged. “She tried to kill one of the sheriffs.”
The man looked down at me and I shrugged. “I hit him with a washing stick, because he tried to extort money from me, and he was a baby about it.” I refused to treat this as anything but pathetic, even after my sentencing. “I didn’t even break any bones.”
“Treason, then,” the man said, nodding. “Attacking the servants of the law. That will look well on the list. Send her.”
I had been debating ever since what to choose. Something quick? Something painless? I considered demanding that I suffer the attack I supposedly made on the sheriff, but then I realized the Sorcerer would only give me what the man had said I was going to do, and that was not a pleasant way to die. I had all but decided on something swift and relatively painless. Beheading with the sharpest of blades sounded good. It would be quick.
Keep reading
I always see the “where else would i find this but on tumblr” thing said about things that are funny, but I can’t think of anywhere else where I can randomly run into a short story that shakes my core
just had a flashback to me in 3rd grade absolutely blissed out just staring at this pic
Reference for writers
2 years ago, tired of all the bugs in your house, you made a deal with a spider. He would protect your house from pests, and you would not kill it or drive it off. When you made the deal, you could have held the spider in your hand, now, it is much bigger, and its definition of ‘pests’ is also.
oh sorry i forgot which blog i sent the last request to (aro ace whumpee) but it’s the same person, i was wondering if maybe you can write a version of it when the whumpee doesn’t manage to escape
(yeah sure! i’m just gonna copy paste the first part and change the rest)
(tw: 18+ noncon under the cut only, acephobia, female whumpee/male whumper, blood, restraints, cursing, kidnapping)
“So…what do you say?”
Whumpee was in shock. Whumper: her best friend, for longer than she could remember, had just asked her to be his girlfriend as they sat on the couch together in Whumper’s apartment.
“I…”
Despite being friends for so long, she had never told him. Whumpee had figured out she was asexual back in her first year of college, and she never had the guts to tell Whumper.
“Well?” Whumper held Whumpee’s hand in both of his, looking at her hopefully. “I think we’d go really well together, and…I mean, we’ve known each other for so long.”
Whumpee didn’t have the heart to pull her hand away. She looked away to escape Whumper’s piercing gaze. Better to tell him now than never.
“Whumper, um…I have something to tell you.” Whumper only nodded, waiting expectantly for Whumpee’s answer. Whumpee swallowed.
“I, um…i-it’s not you, I promise, I just…” She saw Whumper’s face fall and she got even more nervous. “I…last year I realized I was…that I was asexual. And I promise it isn’t you! It’s just my general preference.”
Whumpee expected Whumper to get angry, or sad, or storm away and never speak to her again. What she didn’t expect was for Whumpee’s calm smile to return. A smile she always recognized and found comfort in, except…there was something dark behind it.
“Oh! Well that’s an easy fix.” Whumper’s grip on Whumpee’s hand got tighter.
“U-Um…” Whumpee then tried to pull away, to no avail. “Whumper, you’re…you’re hurting me. Please let go.” Easy fix? What the hell is he talking about?
omg i have a request abt like the boys are dramatic abt catching the “cuddle bug” or sumn along those lines and they just take advantage of that to smother u in love or sumn 😭😭
atsumu, oikawa, suna? and others ur choice ?
if this is too similar totally disregard me :D
HAIKYUU BOYS WHEN THEYRE CRAVING CUDDLES
characters — timeskip!miya atsumu, oikawa tōru, suna rintarō, iwaizumi hajime, sakusa kiyoomi
a/n — pls i’m a little rusty but i hope you enjoy bby ! i kind of tweaked it a little so it was a little easier to write i hope that’s okay 🥺🥺 <3
☾ ATSUMU you hear him groan from the couch as he pouts up at you, his body haphazard thrown on the cushions as one of his legs fall off the side, his arms falling limp by his sides “angelllll, cmeer a miss ya!” “‘tsumu i’m right here.” “so what ‘ts too far, ya ain’t in ma arms!” he whines a little when you giggle from your place in the doorway, hauling his body up as he tries to smooth out his messy hair from trying to get comfortable, even though he knows he’ll always be comfiest with you. “yer killin’ me here, ya know that.” you roll your eyes when he stomps towards you, the grumpiness evident in his voice. his arms wrap around your waist quickly as he nuzzles into the crook of your neck, leaving a few kisses against the skin before he’s guiding you back to the couch, flopping down again except this time pulling you on top with a giggle before stealing a kiss “yer just too comfy, angel a can’t get enough of ya!”
☾ OIKAWA you giggle from your place at the foot of your shared bed as your boyfriend falls back dramatically with a whine, back of his hand resting against his forehead “y/n-chan, i can’t believe you just rejected me.” “tooru, i said i had to go to the bathroom.” “exactly! how CRUEL, i was comfy you know!” his lips jutting out as he grabs the blankets, wrapping himself in them before turning away from you, a dramatic sigh following the movement as he tries to get comfortable again, only to start whining when you go to leave “this isn’t fair y/n-chan, we need better blankets, they’re not the same!” hes petty enough to pretend to be asleep when you come back from the bathroom but you don’t miss how he nuzzles closer to you every few minutes before he ‘wakes up’ and demands apology cuddles because he’s too pretty to be left cold and alone.
SOUR: A KENMA KOZUME SMAU.
Pairing: Streamer!Kenma Kozume x Kitten Rescuer! Reader
Summary: As a rainy night hits the streets of the New York, Kenma finds a group of newborn kittens with no mother in the middle of the street. After talking to some of his friends, they help him contact a kitten rescuer, who happens to have a boyfriend. Still, that doesn't stop him from falling for her.
Trope: Strangers to friends to lovers, SMAU only, influencer/celebrity AU!
Warnings: mentions of pet grief, toxic behavior in the gamer community as well as social media, manipulation, gaslighting, emotionally absent partner. Each warning will be tagged in post.
A/N: LOOK LOOK, this is something I've been wanting to post for a minute and I couldn't figure out the plot of American Cliché so, this is the result! You'll find all the posts about it under the tag of #sourkenmakozume! Send me an ask to join the taglist and pls if u don't wanna see that block the tag "#sourtaglist" !
status: ongoing taglist: open (33 places left, send an ask!) updates: every week!
MEET THE RESCUERS || MEET THE STREAMERS [TOMORROW]
I. A GIFT UNDER THE RAIN.
II. TRAITOR IN DISGUSE
III. I ONLY CARE ABOUT CAT PICTURES
IV. BRUTAL
V. TRAITOR
VI. DRIVER'S LICENSE
VII. ONE STEP FOWARD
VIII. BETRAYAL
IX. THREE STEPS BACK
X. CALM BEFORE THE STORM
XI. AN OPEN SECRET
XII. HAPPIER
XIII. A BIG LOSS
XIV. DEJA VU
XV. SMILE, TRAITOR!
XVI. SKIN
XVIII. ENOUGH FOR YOU
XIX. AN ADDITION TO THE FAMILY!
XX. THE QUESTION.
EPILOGUE.
© MATTSVN 2021. All rights reserved. Do not repost, modify or claim as yours
You’re Not A Villain
“I didn’t expect to ever see you again,” Villain’s voice bounced off every wall, making it impossible to know where exactly he was.
Hero swallowed, daring a step further into what she often referred to in her own mind as ‘my lure to Hell.’ “You say that every time.”
The voice seemed to dash to the right, even as Villain emerged from a hole in the cave straight across from Hero. “Because it’s true every time.” This wasn’t the first week the hero had been making these little visits.
Why would Hero return to such a dingy place? One where a man appeared as a beast- a heathen sent from only the universe knew where- to her. Villain was burdened with cruel appearances, being seen- always- as the worst possible image the viewer could imagine. Hero always saw a demon-ish looking creature in Villain; it made him want to ask her what the story behind such hideous monsters was. Him asking her would probably only freak her out more, though.
“So, why are you here again? This is the second time just this week. And I won’t even mention how many times last week.” Villain lifted his hand, attempting to rake it through his hair. He met a pair of horns half-way through the task. Grunting, and dropping his hands uselessly to his sides, he continued. “You should be running for your life at a random sighting of me. Instead, you deliberately walk yourself into my dome of isolation. It’s hard to run away in a cave, you know?”
“I know,” Hero squeaked, “but I- I…”
She did this every time- strutted in like she was made purely of confidence. Hero posed with it as she entered the largest ‘room’ of the cave, but her posture always fell when Villain’s voice echoed around her, when she realized she would be trapped with her greatest nightmares.
Why, Villain had to question again. Why does she keep coming back? He was a horror, a creature which caused the most deeply rooted trembles and speediest beating hearts. There were enough times that he made his visitors pass out from fear. It took some getting used to- frightening people to their near deaths.
Villain was a man once- and he was one now…just not to everyone else.
When Villain was alone in his cave, he was the greatest version of himself- gloriously human. One with curly locks and straight teeth from those braces he wore back in junior high. One with the heaviest pocketed dimples and freckles on his nose. One who was average in height, but strong from all the lonely workouts. He was regular, normal, average…but it was better than anything he could ever wish for when his reality now was so…so cursed.
Hero flinched, undoubtedly seeing something new sprout from Villain as her nightmarish imagination ran untamed. The last time she visited the cave, Villain felt a heavy weight on his shoulders.
Wings. It had been leathery bat wings- like something from Hell. Villain would have liked to fly with those wings had they not disappeared as soon as Hero turned her back on him.
Now, however, Villain was presented with something different. “My horns are on fire?” he guessed, as his head had become warm, to which Hero confirmed with a fast nod. “Lovely. You might like to make me fire-proof in that mind of yours, then, yeah?”
“I don’t- I don’t know if I can.”
Heaving a sigh, Villain took a seat on a large rock on the ground- could it be considered a boulder if he were tall enough to sit on it without having to climb? “You’re afraid it would make me invincible? Afraid I’d attack you without pause?”
“No.”
But she was. Villain knew Hero was or else she would have cooperated the moment he asked.
“Give me lead feet if you’re that afraid. My scalp is burning.”
“You’re hard- hard to talk to,” Hero said. At least she was able to get a grip on herself enough that Villain’s head slowly began to cool off.
“And yet you keep returning.”
“Because I’m a hero.”
“I suppose that makes me a villain.”
Her response was to take the teeniest step forward. Villain could see her foot shaking even as it just barely left the ground.
He was the cause of that tremble, and many others.
He couldn’t help it, though, and that’s what killed him. Villain didn’t want to be like this. If he had any choice in the matter, he’d be as average as anyone- below average even- if only it meant being loved, cherished, and- and cared for. This…this demonic presence that he lived as around others…it was painful- not just physically, but mentally as well.
“You’re not a villain,” Hero said, inching forward another frightened step.
Villain sat nearly perched on his rock-boulder, watching with an inclined chin and squinted eyes. What was Hero doing? “If I weren’t, you wouldn’t be so scared, nor would anyone else be. I’m a monster.” His voice wasn’t broken- as much as he felt that trait on the inside. Villain trained himself long ago to remain numb on the outside, to encase himself in a shell that screamed ‘self-preserved.’
Hero said, “I’m showing you that you’re not a villain.”
She was getting closer. Oh. Oh, Villain didn’t like this. No one ever got this close to him- even if it were in as slow steps as Hero was taking now. This wasn’t- this- “What are you doing?” The numb Villain worked so hard to achieve was crumbling to pieces the closer Hero got. Was he…was he shaking? “Step back, Hero. This isn’t a game. I could- I could hurt you. You should run and you know it. You want to run. I’m- I’m scary and I’m a monster.”
“Who told you that?” Why was Hero’s voice gaining more courage whereas Villain’s might as well have been a holey rag in the rain above someone’s head?
This isn’t right. This isn’t right.
“Who told you that you were a monster, Villain?”
He squeezed his eyes shut. No. No, she shouldn’t be this close. I’m a monster. I’m a monster.
“Who?” Hero pressed again, and this time…she laid a hand on Villain’s shoulder- on Villain’s bare shoulder. Taking a deep breath, Hero told the man beneath her hand, “You’re no monster to me, Villain. You don’t have to be a monster to anyone.”
Ever-so-slowly, Villain’s eyes blinked open. The first thing he saw was the veiny arm extending out from Hero. She was still nervous, but…but- “You’re touching me.” His voice was an exasperated and disbelieving whisper. “You’re touching me,” Villain said again- this time with an astonished chuckle. “They said this would never happen. Said I’d be alone and starving- craving what I can never have.” His eyes met Hero’s. “Do I…do I still have horns?”
The question of ‘Who-dunnit’ no longer mattered. “No, Villain. The horns are gone.”
What happened in the next moment likely shocked them both, though Hero’s might have been in more fright than surprise…Villain pulled his saviour close, nose tucked into her neck, tears flowing freely down his cheek and onto Hero’s back.
See, Hero was still afraid- and she always would be. But the fear was worth it to make Villain human, to make him see that he wasn’t a monster, for it isn’t the skin of the man which makes him a beast, but the absence of morality. It is only when moral judgement is vacant that Man can be considered Animal.
You’re Not A Villain
“I didn’t expect to ever see you again,” Villain’s voice bounced off every wall, making it impossible to know where exactly he was.
Hero swallowed, daring a step further into what she often referred to in her own mind as ‘my lure to Hell.’ “You say that every time.”
The voice seemed to dash to the right, even as Villain emerged from a hole in the cave straight across from Hero. “Because it’s true every time.” This wasn’t the first week the hero had been making these little visits.
Why would Hero return to such a dingy place? One where a man appeared as a beast- a heathen sent from only the universe knew where- to her. Villain was burdened with cruel appearances, being seen- always- as the worst possible image the viewer could imagine. Hero always saw a demon-ish looking creature in Villain; it made him want to ask her what the story behind such hideous monsters was. Him asking her would probably only freak her out more, though.
“So, why are you here again? This is the second time just this week. And I won’t even mention how many times last week.” Villain lifted his hand, attempting to rake it through his hair. He met a pair of horns half-way through the task. Grunting, and dropping his hands uselessly to his sides, he continued. “You should be running for your life at a random sighting of me. Instead, you deliberately walk yourself into my dome of isolation. It’s hard to run away in a cave, you know?”
“I know,” Hero squeaked, “but I- I…”
She did this every time- strutted in like she was made purely of confidence. Hero posed with it as she entered the largest ‘room’ of the cave, but her posture always fell when Villain’s voice echoed around her, when she realized she would be trapped with her greatest nightmares.
Why, Villain had to question again. Why does she keep coming back? He was a horror, a creature which caused the most deeply rooted trembles and speediest beating hearts. There were enough times that he made his visitors pass out from fear. It took some getting used to- frightening people to their near deaths.
Villain was a man once- and he was one now…just not to everyone else.
When Villain was alone in his cave, he was the greatest version of himself- gloriously human. One with curly locks and straight teeth from those braces he wore back in junior high. One with the heaviest pocketed dimples and freckles on his nose. One who was average in height, but strong from all the lonely workouts. He was regular, normal, average…but it was better than anything he could ever wish for when his reality now was so…so cursed.
Hero flinched, undoubtedly seeing something new sprout from Villain as her nightmarish imagination ran untamed. The last time she visited the cave, Villain felt a heavy weight on his shoulders.
Wings. It had been leathery bat wings- like something from Hell. Villain would have liked to fly with those wings had they not disappeared as soon as Hero turned her back on him.
Now, however, Villain was presented with something different. “My horns are on fire?” he guessed, as his head had become warm, to which Hero confirmed with a fast nod. “Lovely. You might like to make me fire-proof in that mind of yours, then, yeah?”
“I don’t- I don’t know if I can.”
Heaving a sigh, Villain took a seat on a large rock on the ground- could it be considered a boulder if he were tall enough to sit on it without having to climb? “You’re afraid it would make me invincible? Afraid I’d attack you without pause?”
“No.”
But she was. Villain knew Hero was or else she would have cooperated the moment he asked.
“Give me lead feet if you’re that afraid. My scalp is burning.”
“You’re hard- hard to talk to,” Hero said. At least she was able to get a grip on herself enough that Villain’s head slowly began to cool off.
“And yet you keep returning.”
“Because I’m a hero.”
“I suppose that makes me a villain.”
Her response was to take the teeniest step forward. Villain could see her foot shaking even as it just barely left the ground.
He was the cause of that tremble, and many others.
He couldn’t help it, though, and that’s what killed him. Villain didn’t want to be like this. If he had any choice in the matter, he’d be as average as anyone- below average even- if only it meant being loved, cherished, and- and cared for. This…this demonic presence that he lived as around others…it was painful- not just physically, but mentally as well.
“You’re not a villain,” Hero said, inching forward another frightened step.
Villain sat nearly perched on his rock-boulder, watching with an inclined chin and squinted eyes. What was Hero doing? “If I weren’t, you wouldn’t be so scared, nor would anyone else be. I’m a monster.” His voice wasn’t broken- as much as he felt that trait on the inside. Villain trained himself long ago to remain numb on the outside, to encase himself in a shell that screamed ‘self-preserved.’
Hero said, “I’m showing you that you’re not a villain.”
She was getting closer. Oh. Oh, Villain didn’t like this. No one ever got this close to him- even if it were in as slow steps as Hero was taking now. This wasn’t- this- “What are you doing?” The numb Villain worked so hard to achieve was crumbling to pieces the closer Hero got. Was he…was he shaking? “Step back, Hero. This isn’t a game. I could- I could hurt you. You should run and you know it. You want to run. I’m- I’m scary and I’m a monster.”
“Who told you that?” Why was Hero’s voice gaining more courage whereas Villain’s might as well have been a holey rag in the rain above someone’s head?
This isn’t right. This isn’t right.
“Who told you that you were a monster, Villain?”
He squeezed his eyes shut. No. No, she shouldn’t be this close. I’m a monster. I’m a monster.
“Who?” Hero pressed again, and this time…she laid a hand on Villain’s shoulder- on Villain’s bare shoulder. Taking a deep breath, Hero told the man beneath her hand, “You’re no monster to me, Villain. You don’t have to be a monster to anyone.”
Ever-so-slowly, Villain’s eyes blinked open. The first thing he saw was the veiny arm extending out from Hero. She was still nervous, but…but- “You’re touching me.” His voice was an exasperated and disbelieving whisper. “You’re touching me,” Villain said again- this time with an astonished chuckle. “They said this would never happen. Said I’d be alone and starving- craving what I can never have.” His eyes met Hero’s. “Do I…do I still have horns?”
The question of ‘Who-dunnit’ no longer mattered. “No, Villain. The horns are gone.”
What happened in the next moment likely shocked them both, though Hero’s might have been in more fright than surprise…Villain pulled his saviour close, nose tucked into her neck, tears flowing freely down his cheek and onto Hero’s back.
See, Hero was still afraid- and she always would be. But the fear was worth it to make Villain human, to make him see that he wasn’t a monster, for it isn’t the skin of the man which makes him a beast, but the absence of morality. It is only when moral judgement is vacant that Man can be considered Animal.
TW!!! TORTURE, BLOOD MENTION AND IMPLIED DEATH, SCROLL IF YOU DO NOT WANT TO READ!!
Writing Snippet #10
O Positive
Ok so @im-a-wonderling had a FANTASTIC idea for a snippet, but I’m putting the ask below to not cause spoilers lol:)
Special thanks to @im-a-wonderling as well for the beta read, edits, suggestions, and expert medical knowledge to help make this way more realistic than my original draft! You’re amazing!!!
—————————————————
Hero shifted from side to side as she stood in line, fingers clutching a bottle of orange juice.
“Well you’re prepared.” Hero’s head shot up as the attendant waved her forward. “Normally people wait until after to go for the juice.”
She chuckled nervously. “That’s me... prepared.”
“ID?” She scrambled through her wallet, making sure she didn’t grab either of the two aliases she’d already used at different locations that morning.
She would have used the same ID, but last time she’d tried to explain that she healed super fast- a result of her powers- and could donate more, the resulting argument had lasted nearly an hour, with nurses questioning whether her “magic blood” could even be used at all (it was perfectly normal blood thank you very much), and they’d still only let her donate the normal amount.
She handed him the correct ID, and he shoved a clipboard full of paperwork at her. A phlebotomist led her to a reclining chair. Even though she’d filled out the information twice that morning, it still took approximately twelve years to finish the stack of forms. The phlebotomist returned, and began asking her an equally long list of questions. She only half paid attention to the stream of questions.
Have you received any blood transfusions?
No.
Have you traveled in the last 6 months?
No.
Are you free of HIV or any other blood diseases?
Yes.
Have you ever been pregnant?
Yes.
Wait! No!
The phlebotomist chuckled as she snapped on a pair of gloves. “Ok let’s see that arm.” Hero held out her mark-free arm. After the first donation that morning, the needle mark and resulting bruise had been gone in a matter of minutes. After the second, she’d had to wait over thirty minutes before the signs of her deception to fade. The phlebotomist wrapped a tourniquet above her elbow before consulting her paperwork.
“It says here you’d like to do a double donation?”
“Yes.”
“You have to be 150lbs in order to donate that much sweetie.” The older woman eyed Hero dubiously.
Her throat went dry. “I know. I am.”
“I’m just going to take one bag today; you’re looking a little pale, honey.”
“But the other phlebotomist let me—”She cut off and cleared her throat. “I mean, last time I donated. It was fine.”
The phlebotomist shook her head as she felt the inside of Hero’s arm for the vein.
Hero forced a cheery smile. “This is important. I’ll be fine.”
By tomorrow, she added silently. Or the day after that...
Last time she’d only been able to get in one regular and one double donation before she’d gotten called into help with a work emergency. She’d spent the rest of the day in bed, but had woken up fine the next morning. Of course, that was only half the amount of blood...
The woman narrowed her eyes before shaking her head.
“The shortage is the worst it’s been in years, but I’m only going to take one bag today.”
“But—”
“Unless you’d like to go stand on that scale over there?”
Hero blanched, then mutely shook her head.
The woman muttered something that sounded suspiciously like ‘I thought not,’ before raising her voice to a normal volume. “And make sure to take it easy and drink that orange juice you’ve got there.” She nodded at the bottle in Hero’s hand as she swabbed her arm with an alcohol wipe and picked up a needle.
“I will.”
————— 30 minutes (or so) later —————
Hero made it ten steps out of the building before she collapsed against the wall, head swimming. She peeled the tape and cotton ball off her arm. Blood immediately began to trickle down her forearm.
She struggled to unscrew the cap of her juice, hands shaking. Finally, she succeeded, the cap slipping through her fingers and bouncing against the sidewalk. She brought the bottle to her lips, but only managed a few sips before her stomach revolted. She clamped a hand over her mouth and closed her eyes, willing herself not to throw up.
She closed her eyes and leaned back against the wall, ignoring the curious stares from pedestrians on the crowded downtown street.
She needed to get home.
A quaking boom shook the ground, and Hero cracked open her eyes to see a plume of smoke a few blocks over.
Hey! I adore your writing. If you’re up for it, could you do a nsfw snippet with demon x angel? Preferably both male, but it doesn’t matter too much.
It's not NSFW, lol. Its pre-NSFW. Because I tried and failed. But hey, enjoy hopefully.
"I forgive you," the angel said.
The demon stared at them for a beat, a mixture of rage and - too many other things - burning in the pit of their stomach. It was the type of feeling, of heat, that could scorch the world.
"You forgive me." It came out a snarl. He took a stalking step forward in his current vessel. "You don't get to forgive me. Take it back! Don't you - don't you dare -"
The angel watched him steadily, silence a dare with in itself, because of course Azariel dared. They had met in many forms over the centuries, but Azariel always dared. Heaven might cower, hell might fall to its knees, but Azariel dared.
The demon clenched his jaw. "I hate you."
"I've always had a weak spot for you too, yes. But god himself could not blame me." The angel wet their lips, eyes burning with that same storm. "After all...look at you."
The demon faltered at that, swallowing hard, hands flexing uselessly at his sides. Human-looking hands. He'd never wanted his claws more, to rend and defend and shatter through the expression on the angel's face. To swipe away the feelings.
The angel closed the gap between them, caressing gentle fingers along the line of the demon's arm. Even through his pitiful disguise of mortal clothes it made him feel touched to the soul, if he had such a thing. Shivering and exposed and raw and gasping for air. His knees went weak. He caught hold of Azariel's hip to steady himself.
Damn that angel, damn him. Damn them both.
He couldn't have said which one of them kissed first. Kissing seemed a clumsy mortal thing, still not anywhere close enough, keeping them at bay with their parcels of skin and muscle and sinew. He wanted to crawl into Azariel's bones some days. He wanted to nestle against his lungs and hear him breathing, to know he'd never ever stop breathing again-
Kissing wasn't enough, but it felt good. It was a drop of water in a desert. It ached and promised and soothed and taunted.
Even the angel's kisses tasted like absolution, like salvation, like that stupid forgiveness that everyone thought was such a nice sweet thing but forgiveness was a heavier weight that anything in the world and -
The thoughts snapped away as Azariel caught hold of a fistful of his hair, as he felt the brush of some invisible and massive wing envelop him possessively.
"I'll always forgive you," Azariel whispered. He nuzzled against the demon's neck, sweetly, only to bite down with a graze of teeth. "So long as you always come back."
"Stop saying that." He chased after kiss, because maybe that might shut the angel up, because he couldn't bear listening to that because he didn't deserve it. "I don't accept-"
The angel caught hold of his jaw in one swift moment, meeting his eyes. His voice turned silky. Sure, but silky. "You'll accept whatever I give you tonight, Zee."
The demon gulped, grip tightening on the angel's hips.
The angel flashed him a smile, so blindingly beautiful that a better man would have felt they had to look away. "Won't you, love?" Azariel pressed.
The heat spread from the pit of the demon's stomach, all of the way up to his cheeks where it was only too visible. He tried for another kiss to avoid answering.
Azariel held him still with an ease belied by his generally harmless appearance. He raised a delicate eyebrow.
The demon could have whined for loss of Azariel's lips on his, for that touch, and they'd barely even started.
"Yes," he muttered. Not that Azariel had ever really meant it as a question - he just wanted to hear Zee say it.
The angel rewarded him with another kiss, and then with a flicker of grace they had vanished.
The demon landed on a soft bed, his angel on top of him, making far less attempt at humanity now. Azariel all but glowed beneath his skin, radiant and powerful and he wanted Zee, he always wanted Zee and it seemed impossible but unmistakable in the way that the angel looked at him.
The demon's clothes vanished next and it still wasn't enough - maybe it would never be enough - even as the drag of the angel's fingers and the claiming scrape of his nails made the demon arch and gasp all over again.
The first time lasted only minutes. It had been much too long.
They didn't leave the room for a month.
