#the end of generations does NOT exist in my mind AND NEITHER SHOULD IN YOURS. | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

practickles · 8 months ago

Text

HarukAiri Tickle Headcanons

Some of these got LONG. Maybe potential fic ideas.

Tickle fights with these two get REAL.

They are both competitive, stubborn and have ridiculously good physical stamina.

Even panting and teary-eyed, they just. keep. going.

Giving up and admitting defeat doesn't even cross their minds until their voices are hoarse and even the slightest touch has them giggly.

Usually they both either claim to win and “agree to disagree” because they don't want to admit how tired they are OR call it a draw and have a rematch a couple hours later.

There is somehow not EVER a decisive winner.

Anyone who didn't know them might find it moderately concerning.

One of the rare soft forms of competition is typically during movie night/any scenario where they’re holding each other on the couch. One of them will be relaxing and idol-ly (ha) stroking the other’s back before she gets the twitch which is all but a declaration of war.The game then begins and is operated on a set of unwritten rules because to write them would mean admitting they exist. They sit there and geeeently trace each other’s back/shoulders until someone giggles and then has to get absolutely WRECKED. Neither of them have ever acknowledged it to the other.

They don't tickle each other often enough to really consider it something significant in their relationship. Just another form of affection.

Airi ends up ler more often than not purely because she just happens to lean more ler. She very rarely actively craves tickles, at least not in the way Haruka does.

Airi also gives KILLER tickle bites. Haruka is very sensitive to mouth tickles on her stomach and Airi is consequently very good at making her girlfriend’s life hard.

*Can* do raspberries but prefers acting like she’s going to and instead nibbles to her heart’s content.

Tickling is one of Airi’s favorite approaches to Haruka’s body image issues, assuming she’s not in the mood to be serious about them.

Airi generally uses tickling as a way to get Haruka out of her own head.

She also does not hesitate to do it in front of other people too, which Haruka finds flustering to no end. Especially in front of Minori and Shizuku who are two separate flavors of “awwwww!”

Minori does it in an adoring “my idol is so cute right now! She should smile like that all the time!” way.

Shizuku is more of a “what a cute moment between my two dear friends!”

Either way Haruka just wants them to stop cooing at her. (no she doesn’t)

When Haruka is in a lee mood, conceptually, asking Airi is no big deal until she’s in front of her. Something about her big eyes and smug look reduce her to absolute rubble.

Airi, of course, NEVER helps fill in the words. Haruka isn’t getting what she wants until she CLEARLY utters the EXACT words.

“Aw, c’mon Haru! You can be clearer than those mumbles! You do it on stage all the time! In fact maybe we should practice your projection right now too…”

She likes to tease as if tickling is just training. “Oh you’re babbling a lot, aren’t you? A good idol can talk through any amount of strain” And then she doubles down, making her tasks downright impossible.

They are complete opposites on the “scary ler” spectrum.

While Airi is more “everything all at once” and goes for worst spots and stays there before switching up out of nowhere, Haruka tends to be more meticulous, taking the time to find out exactly what the best approach is.

They both have a “ler voice”, I'm not sure how to describe it, but sometimes they'll switch randomly into a tease-y flirty voice and the other knows they’re done for.

I know I’ve talked about precise ler Haruka on here before so I won’t say more than that but I cannot emphasize enough just how bad that is.

One of my favorite pjsk tkl headcanons EVER is that Airi’s stomach isn’t at all ticklish so people will poke once or twice then give up in favor of somewhere different. The actual death spot, however, is in her belly button. No reaction anywhere else on her stomach EXCEPT for there.

Haruka was the first one to figure this out (including Airi herself) and frequently uses it when Airi’s being grouchy.

Haruka uses a lot of “cheer up” tickles. This basically translates to “Airi please take a deep breath and calm down before I have to tickle you to bits just to see you smile.”

Airi doesn’t feel fear often, preferring to deal with her problems head on instead of running away. Haruka in a full tickle monster mood though? She becomes a COWARD (totally justified) It doesn’t happen often, so a lot of energy gets built up at once and then explodes out all at once.

Sometimes she’s just wound up and fidgety, sometimes Airi needs to be knocked down from her podium, really anything can trigger it and it’s sometimes as much a surprise to Haruka as it is to Airi when it happens.

The primary problem is that Haruka both A: Knows EXACTLY how to get to Airi and B: Knows she can take it.

The fact that Airi lers more is more than made up for in pure intensity.

Haruka also, language-wise, has a scarily good memory and likes to throw Airi’s word right back into her face.

“Look how strong I’ve gotten! It’s not fair unless you get the same training.” “What’s that? I thought a good idol was supposed to talk through anything”

Airi is a screamer and Haruka will never admit the self satisfaction that she feels if she can get silent laughter from her.

Same goes for giggly Airi. Just not something that happens.

I made them both seem super mean throughout most of this and maybe they are… a little bit. But it’s out of love! They’re each confident in each other’s ability to withstand it and both know the other (especially Airi to Haruka) needs to let some fun into their life, even if it has to be forced.

----

Ignore the date ignore the date guys just ignore the date ignore th-

#project sekai tickles #tickling #sfw tickling community #airi momoi #haruka kiritani #pjsk tickle hcs #tickle hcs #lee!airi #ler!airi #lee!haruka #ler!haruka #practickles 2.24

15 notes · View notes

broken-clover · 6 months ago

Text

SolAxl Week(ish)- Day 7

Okay I am learning a lesson about doing these week-type challenges. They are fun! But I feel bad for the organizers for having to put up with my shitty pace. Promise I never mean to, it just...sorta happens...

Free Day time! I like open-ended options, fun to stretch the creative legs. I decided to whip out something I haven't really used before, the pantheon/god AU. I sorta used it for another prompt fill a while back, and in general the au is sorta unfinished and half-baked, it's fun trying to assign domains to characters and forming a little ramshackle structure of deities. For what unfinished and undecided stuff I have, I am very attached to Axl being a death god, as a jovial reaper who does his best to make the passage comfortable, and Sol being the god of war (among other things), so their work often overlaps and they spend a lot of time around one another.

Content warnings for discussions of death and one (1) sex mention

Historically, during the American Civil War, particularly during the 1861 Battle of Bull Run, onlookers set up picnics overlooking the battlefield. At first, civilians had assumed the ‘war’ would be a short one, a casual affair, easily dealt with. They thought so little of it that they chose to treat it as a spectacle, an amusement. Families brought their baskets and blankets to watch death unfold in front of their eyes.

Now, over 200 years ago, a duo was re-enacting that twisted tradition. A pair of men sat on the grass as they overlooked a field. Below, little had changed in the decades passed. Two factions throwing themselves at one another, swords and guns ablaze, frothing at the mouth to draw blood. In their frantic violence, bodies, dirt, and munitions were thrown every which way, even up the hillside. A few bits of debris came close to the onlookers, but neither paid it much mind. They didn’t even bother moving their feet. It was easier not to care when they had no fear of dying.

“They’re still on it down there?” Asked one to the other. Of the two, he would most easily pass for a normal man. His attire was simple, casual, the sort you’d see on some random pedestrian you passed along the sidewalk. His eyes shimmered like galaxies, and a handheld sickle dangled from a chain on his belt, but unless someone was looking for them, those oddities went unnoticed by most.

“Of course. Practically what humans do best.” His companion, in contrast, was more readily odd. As he opened his mouth to speak, smoke poured freely from a glowing throat. His taloned feet made him stand taller than any mortal man, instilling unease even in some of his fellow deathless. His stature and presence commanded attention. His slitted eyes commanded submission.

Despite it, the being at his side regarded him with the offbeat calm of an old drinking companion. “Does it make you happy?” He asked, folding his arms behind his head.

“What makes you ask?”

“I mean, this is your domain, after all.” He shrugged.

The smoke-spitting oddity shook his head, an air of solemnity in his stance. “Doesn’t mean I gotta like it. More deaths mean more work for all of us. You should know by now how much I hate workin’ hard.”

“Mmm. Maybe not all of us. Milly’s been starved for work lately, y’know. Not much merciful death to be had ‘round here. And sure as hell no beauty or solace, neither.” The other replied.

As they conversed, neither faction noticed the two’s presence. Even if they weren’t embroiled in life-or-death conflict, the strangers’ existence would go entirely unacknowledged.

“Maybe we can whip up one of those virgin orgies? I know she ain’t as freaky as she used to be back in the day, but…”

“Tch.” The dragon-man scoffed, sparks flying from his lips like struck flint. “She’ll be pissed if you say that. ‘N then if we did, we’d gotta be sure Johnny won’t show up and screw everything up again."

“Or screw everything again.”

“Yeah. Exactly. He doesn’t need any damn encouragement.”

A mortal shell was lobbed across the field, exploding in a burning ball. Several bodies, some alive and others already gone, flew back under the force. It served as a brief punctuation for the fight, as both parties quickly fell back into gunfire.

”You glad about it? You’re always talkin’ about those reunion ragers.”

“Mmm.” The cosmos in the man’s eyes were dull. “Y’think I don’t know how much humans hate it? I’ve seen it firsthand for millennia. I just try ‘n make it as fun as I can. ‘m not content to be miserable. It’s good when I lose. They all come to me eventually, I’m fine with them takin’ their time.”

“...I doubt they’re going to ‘take their time’ down there.”

He sighed. “Nah. Always in a rush to die, humans. Never made any sense to me. Might sound strange comin’ from me of all people, but…”

“Eh. God of War thinks most wars are idiotic, you can do the same about your own job. We do a lotta work for those flimsy little flesh bags, don’t mean we gotta forget who’s the omnipotent ones here.”

“Fair enough, chief! Fair enough.” Smiling death stretched his arms to the sky. He clicked his tongue, the way a spirit he’d reaped four centuries ago taught him. “Prolly should get to work soon. Gonna sit and watch?”

“I’ll come.”

“Huh? Y’ sure?”

“Beats sitting and waiting.” The joints of his talons cracked as they bent. “Besides. War and death walk hand-in-hand, I heard someone say.”

His companion snickered. “I’ve heard someone say something like ‘they sleep in the same bed.’ Depends on the night though, eh?”

“Don’t push it.” His fellow god elbowed him in the ribs.

He took the weapon from his belt and twirled it. “Hopefully they come easy. Try not to scare ‘em too much, okay, chief?”

“Fine, as long as you can get them all before dinner.”

“Deal. Say, what’s Jam making tonight, anyway?”

“Oh, everything, same as always. Some of Dizzy’s temples out west left some good offerings for the harvest she gave them. Those’ll probably get served, too.”

The light came back to his glittering eyes. “Mortals might do some dumb stuff, but they know how to make damn good food.”

#frog writes #guilty gear #sol badguy #axl low #solaxl #solaxl week 2024

8 notes · View notes

raspberrysunshinebby · 2 years ago

Text

Jewel Of Autumn

Chapter 2

Pairing: Cassian x Vanserra!Reader

Summary: Many had excepted High Lord Beron to immediately marry off his beautiful daughter when she came of age, maybe even before, but when instead she’s kept out of the public eye and confined to her chambers many are surprised he does not use her to improve relations with other courts. Instead he fears that when he does eventually marry his daughter off she will be corrupted and the horror of his ways will settle into her mind causing him to keep her as a prisoner in her home, a girl who doesn’t even realize she is one. When he brings his daughter to the High Lord meeting neither of them realize of the mating bond that has just clicked for the General of the Night Court.

Warnings: Sexist views, unhealthy father-daughter relationship, abusive and toxic families, Isolation

Word Count: 3076

I learned that the place we were in was called the Court of Nightmares, it was sort of separate from the rest of the Night Court but not entirely. Cassian described it as more of a place over but not what it was placed over, it was a little confusing but I just sort of listened as he talked. He also began to explain a place called Valeris, where the Inner Circle lived and had only recently gone public in knowledge, it was always a hidden place until now. I wondered how that was, to be able to freely live in a place that was hidden and not have to spend fifty years confined to your chambers in an attempt to not have your existence be known.

Cassian and I walked through corridors together while he spoke and spoke, he quite enjoyed just talking which I didn’t mind because if he stopped talking I knew I had nothing to say and then I’d be fully sent into my thoughts and probably have a panic attack because I was left alone with a male that wasn’t my family. Something strictly forbidden in the Autumn Court, by law we should have a chaperone but I’m too angry at my brother to ask him to be one for me. He started talking about the Townhouse they lived in and we ended up outside in the gardens. They were dark and a little scary but I pushed through.

I had to admit I liked Cassian’s voice, he spoke in a hushed tone to me which helped soothe me some from my anxiety and made me a lot calmer when I was angry at my brother, there's a good chance that it wasn’t his voice but instead the bond.

A cold breeze passed through which made me shiver, “Are you cold?” I heard Cassian ask.

I nodded, “A little but im fine.” I wrapped my arms around myself as we continued walking, Cassian’s silence now beginning to eat at me. I felt something move and wrap around me and quickly realized it was Cassian’s wing, it did warm me up but the thought of how It’d be seen in the Autumn Court made my heart pound into my ear, “I don’t think that's appropriate,” I said turning to him, “Anyone from the Autumn Court would freak out if they saw that.” I moved to push the wing away but before I could he began recoiling it.

“There's no one here to see us, besides that isn’t a thing here.” Cassian said in I think an attempt to calm me down, I knew he could feel my panic from the bond.

“It's a thing where I’m from though, and that's important to me.” I said a little snappy, I also realized how hungry I was getting. Cassian nodded to me before heading toward a part of the garden where the breeze would be covered, so I wouldn’t get cold.

I tried to listen to what Cassian was saying, I really did but I could only imagine what my father would think if he knew I was alone in the gardens with a male. He’d be so angry at Eris for allowing it and I couldn’t imagine what he’d say to me, or considering what I say a few nights ago, do. Now i couldn't help but think about what happened that night to Magnus and how I’d realized that he’d done that to my other brothers as well.

Everytime I’d thought about that they consumed my mind completely until it got distracted and this time was no different. I would’ve felt bad for not listening to Cassian but I couldn’t even think of that.

I began to pick at my cuticles, “I wanna go.” I said, interrupting whatever Cassian was saying. “I’m sorry but I should really go home.”

I felt Cassian’s hand on my forehead, “You're sweating, like really bad.” He stood up from his seat before helping me up as well, I stumbled a bit before following him wrapping my arm to his in order to keep myself up. I felt weak and uncoordinated.

I’m not sure how long we walked before I heard Cassian yelling Eris’ name and then saw Eris rushing toward us, a worried expression on his face. “What did you do?” Eris said, angrily.

“I don't know, she started freaking out while we were sitting down. I think she really needs to go home now.” Cassian responded, now clutching onto me as well.

Eris gave Cassian a look, “Give her to me.” Cassian held onto me for a minute before letting me go, allowing Eris to pick me up like you would a child. It didn’t bother me though I enjoyed the comfort and wrapped my arms around his neck.

“You remember what I said? Right Cassian? This is her choice and if she doesn’t ever want to see you again you will respect that, I swear to the mother I will fucking kill you if you ever go against her.” Eris threatened Cassian before winnowing away.

I don't remember much after, only changing and falling onto my bed before Eris took the clothes away and left but not before kissing the top of my head. I fell asleep soon after and woke up hungrier than I’d ever been.

The first thing I did in the morning was bathe, as I was scared I smelled like Cassian after he’d clutched onto me like that and I didn’t want my father to have even the slightest of ideas of the bond.

After scrubbing my body practically raw I grabbed a sage green robe and walked out of my bath to go to my wardrobe, wanting to dress quickly so I could go down to the dining room and feed myself. I also hoped I’d be able to go early enough so my brothers weren’t fighting, but I knew that was unlikely as if father wasn’t there they’d fight and father never went down to breakfast or lunch and only occasionally going down for dinner with the family. I’d had dinner with him countless times recently in his office but I wondered if I even wanted to do that anymore.

I had a towel to dab my hair dry in my hand, knowing rubbing it would make it frizzy and look weird. I enjoyed my hair, so I didn’t want it to look bad. I noticed those shadows again, realizing they left something on my bed. I dropped my hair towel on the end of it before climbing on it and noticed a note sitting on it with messy handwriting.

Dear (Y/N),

Hello my mate, I feel as if it's appropriate to apologize for the night before, I feel as if I acted inappropriately and was far much too rapid with my approach with you. I have to admit I was just excited to meet you and really wanted to speak with you in private because I felt it’d be more intimate which led me to ignore how you felt about it and your traditions in the Autumn Court. I feel as if I made you nothing but uncomfortable. With respect for you and your customs, if you choose to meet me again I’ll ensure your brother will be a chaperone for it. I’d also like to say I’m not normally this formal but I’m trying really hard to impress you right now and I also know your brother is important to you so I’m trying to impress him some as well.

With that as well I’d like to express how much I enjoyed watching you hit your brother, I didn’t enjoy seeing you as hurt as you were but the slap was very enjoyable.If you chose to meet me again I;d like to let you know I’m doing my best to plan our next meet and incorporate your brother into it.

I hope we’ll talk soon, write me back if you wish.

-General Cassian.

I couldn’t help but smile at the note but I also felt bad because he thought that he was the reason for my little episode or whatever it was, i found the note so cute though. I went to reach into a drawer to find a paper and pen to write back to him, he really deserved it but I quickly shoved the note into the drawer and closed it when I heard a knock at my door. I composed myself and went to open it, seeing a maid outside the door.

“Princess, your father is requesting you in his office.” She said, bowing. I said ‘thank you’ before closing my door to quickly change, not wanting to keep him waiting.

I allowed my hair to remain damp as I went to my closet to find a simple brown dress before pulling it on and putting on shoes to make my way to my fathers office, I ran my fingers through my hair on my way to make it look more presentable and ran my fingers down my dress to remove any wrinkles on it.

It wasn’t too long before I knocked on his door and made my way inside, ignoring the thought of the last time I saw this room. I shut the door under his instruction and made my way to a seat that sat in front of his desk.

He put away some documents in a cabinet before turning to me, a strange expression on his face. He sat in his chair before speaking, “I’ve waited too long for this my daughter and I worry on how you will take this.” He said with a sigh.

I smiled at him, “take what? What are you talking about?”

He took a breath, “I’ve had contact with a King in the continents for a while now for an alliance, but with the mountain the alliance hasn’t been,” he paused, “it hasn’t been stable due to promises I’d made to him. About you.”

My face dropped, “What do you mean?”

“I’ve had intentions to marry you off to King Taron for a while but have had it on hold because I didn’t wish for… her to find out you existed.” My father said,

I paused for a moment, “so you're marrying me off now. To a man I haven’t even heard of, you're just marrying me off like that.”

“I made him agree to let you two get to know each other first, he won’t be a stranger when you're married.”

That didn’t make me feel much better, I thought about telling him about Cassian, telling him I can’t marry this King Taron because I had a mate that I was beginning to like. I got up from my seat, I felt nauseous. “I’m going back to my room.” I said, voice quiet.

“You’ll be woken up early tomorrow, your first meeting will be tomorrow.” This made me feel only more ill.

I didn’t say anything else, only stumbling out of the room and doing my best to keep my composure down the hall before making it to my room to cry.

I collapsed onto my bed before beginning to let my tears fall, I wasn’t sad or grieving I was scared.

It was mid-afternoon when I got up from my bed, I wasn’t sure if I feel asleep or was just laying there but my mind was jumbled and my head was pounding, I also felt so fucking sick.

I hadn’t eaten all day, I skipped breakfast after the news of my engagement was broken to me and it looked like it was past lunch. It didn’t matter much though, I didn’t feel like eating.

I slipped my shoes on before making my way out of my room to make a bee line to Archer's room. I wasn’t sure which one but I passed by one of my brothers but ignored them. I marched my way to my brother's room and began to pound on it before walking in without a care.

“Shit!” I heard Archer yell, “What are you doing?”

I made my way over to a chair in his room, ignoring my brother still in bed in mid afternoon. “Did you know?” I asked.

Archer rubbed his eyes, “What are you talking about?” He said before mumbling about how his head hurt, clearly hung over.

“Father is sending me to the continents to marry some King.” I sat on the chair making myself into a ball on it..

Archer now sat up, “He’s doing that? Like actually?”

“Did you know?” I yelled.

“Fuck no I didn’t.” I heard him mumbling curse words. “Do you know if Eris knows?”

I shrugged my shoulders, “I’m meeting him tomorrow. I’m already terrified of him.”

I looked at the ground as Archer got up from his bed, I think putting pants on before walking over to me with a blanket from a drawer and wrapping it around me. “I’m getting Eris, I’m not letting father sell you off like that.” Archer said before exiting the room.

I was being shoved down a road by Archer in the middle of the night, it couldn’t be later than one in the morning. We moved as fast as we could, apparently going to some cabin in the woods that Eris owned, I guess for some sort of discussion happening that they didn’t want father to learn about.

My feet were killing me as I only wore thin slippers and I was cold only having my night dress and a robe that made me look appropriate. Archer said we’d be unable to winnow to it so we had to walk, which made me want to jump off a cliff.

It wasn’t long before we approached a giant circle of trees looking to be covering something I could only assume was the cabin, which now makes sense as to why we can’t winnow to it. It looks like nothing to someone who's not looking for a cabin and with Eris’ paranoia probably as a ward around it.

Archer began rubbing his hand along the trees before he stopped at a certain part and pushed his hand through, grabbing mine and pushing us both through. I saw a beautiful cabin by a lake, I saw a swing on the large porch and chairs by the lake. I could only assume this place was like a sanctuary to Eris and part of me loved he was showing this to Archer and I.

Archer practically dragged me into the house where I saw Eris dressed down with a glass of wine in his hand looking stressed, I noticed two more glasses on the table by where he sat.

He looked up to greet him and motioned for us two to sit with him, which Archer and I swiftly followed.

Archer sighed before pouring the two glasses of expensive wine and handing one to me, “Father doesn’t allow me to drink.”

Archer rolled his eyes, “Father isn’t here, and believe me sister you're gonna need it.”

I took it from his hands, only allowing myself a small sip.

Eris rubbed his temple before he got up and grabbed a file before sitting back down with us, “King Taron, King of the Graboki which is the leading market for goods like spices, teas and farming supplies but they are also the leading market for illegal products. They’re law enforcement is known to abuse their power and they’re king is known to be just as bad. King Taron is known to abuse his servants and people of his Court, he also has a liking toward married women. Hell blackmail them in order to have them do,” he looked at Archer ``favors.”

I wasn’t sure what the purpose of this conversation was, all it had done was put a void into my stomach. Eris had figured out this information in less than a day, my Father had to know and he was willingly marrying me off to this man? I put my wine down, feeling sick to my stomach and extremely uncomfortable. I knew exactly what Eris meant by “favors” which made my stomach turn even more.

I felt Archer's hand on my shoulder, “you're not marrying him.”

“Father already made the arrangement,” I replied, “if I don’t it could cause a war. He made the agreement years ago.”

“We’re gonna figure it out, you're not marrying him.” Eris said sternly.

“Why don’t we just pull the mate card? Have her marry the Illyrian instead?” Archer said.

“Because it’ll be the exact same thing, either way we’ll be throwing her into the wolves. We would need time to make sure she wants to marry him and we don’t have that time.” Eris said.

As much as I quite liked Cassian, especially after the letter, I knew Eris was right. I needed to know Cassian before I committed my life to him, I couldn’t just marry him because he’s my mate.

“What are you gonna do?” I asked.

“Right now our best bet is assassinating him and blaming it on an enemy country. I’m aware they have a resistance in Graboki so maybe we could offer support there.” Eris replied.

“Now the support part might be too risky brother,” Archer said.

“I never said we’d make it public,” Eris said in a snarky voice.

I picked up my wine and began to drink some more, wanting something in my stomach so at least when I threw up I’d throw something up.

“How long do you think we can push the engagement out?” I asked, “I would really like to avoid killing someone and it’d give me more time to know Cassian.”

“Not long,” Eris said, “Father’s already been prolonging it and King Taron won't want it prolonged much longer. Father told me he’s been getting angry about it.”

Archer smirked, “(Y/N) could poison his drink. I think that’d be fun.”

I gave him a look, I knew I could never do it, I couldn’t imagine killing someone. Even a horrible man like King Taron.

“Okay here’s what you're going to do for now sweet sister, you need to do nothing but listen to both me and Mother. Do not believe a word that comes out of Father’s mouth and just stay low and whatever you do please do not allow anything King Taron says to get in your head.” Eris said in a soft voice. I heard Archer say “What about me?” but he was ignored as I nodded to Eris.

#acotar x reader #acotar #cassian x reader #cassian

99 notes · View notes

molinaskies · 2 years ago

Note

When do you think Sonic decides he's ready for that relationship, if you think he does/will?

I don’t think we’re that far off, to be honest, but I’m not sure we’ll ever see it in the series because Sonic exists in a floating timeline. Ages don’t exist anymore, but if Sonic’s 15 now, then I think he’d consider something more significantly by ages 16-17.

I’m gonna tag this as a spoiler post to be safe, but to speak as vaguely as possible, Sonic Frontiers ends with Sonic in a bit of a state of longing for his three best friends. He seems more open and ready to let them into his life, right when they’re all getting really busy. I don’t think this will result in any kind of conflict in the series, but I think it’s setting the stage for Sonic to start working on deepening his relationships with people—and that includes Amy.

That said, though, I don’t think it’s gonna be a formal thing for him, at all.

This post sums up the current state of them now, after sonic frontiers (spoilers)

This post sums their dynamic up in general

This post expresses why their dynamic works

If you wanna skip the homework: Sonic and Amy are both thoroughly aware of their feelings for each other, but neither of them are really doing anything about it because they don’t feel the need to. They’re both still kids, so there’s no need to rush into anything. So, they’re just two little hogs in love.

With this in mind, I think the way Sonic falls into a relationship with Amy is entirely accidental. There’s no conversation about it. Instead, as time goes on, they start gradually acting on their feelings more and more (and not really with intentions to, either). They spend more time together, give each other the cute couple affections (like handing holding and other physical affections, more overt flirting, and other things as they become more comfortable expressing them to each other), and kind of slip into a more legitimate relationship. I don’t think it would have a “label” for a long time, but they wouldn’t need one because they’re not playing games with each other.

Relationships are complex and scary, and a huge part of this big, scary thing we call “commitment” is not just “tying oneself down” (as that’s not really relevant in this relationship), but being able to articulate one’s feelings clearly and confidently. (This, at its core, is what I Love You-Come With Me is about). I have a strange anecdote to make my point, so bare with me.

In my Canadian high school health classes, growing up, one of my teachers taught me that “if you can’t walk into a pharmacy and buy condoms or other contraception (and not at self-checkout—at an actual register with a person) without feeling embarrassed, you should not be having sex.” Why? Because you’re not ready to handle the emotions, risks, and consequences of sex if buying condoms is too stressful for you.

Not only is this good advice, but it applies to relationships as well. If you’re unable to express your emotions for someone you love in a comfortable, confident way, you’re not ready for a relationship because you’re not able to show the love and affection as liberally as a relationship requires. Sonic (and Amy) are aware of their emotions, but they’re not perfectly able to express them, yet. Amy’s more well-along than Sonic is on this path, but they are BOTH well on their way.

So, TL;DR—Sonic commits soon, but it’s not deliberate. And that makes it better, in my opinion!

#sonic the hedgehog #amy rose #sonamy #sonic headcanon #sonic headcanons #send me your sonic asks!#molinaskies #sonic asks #sonic frontiers #sonic frontiers spoilers #kinda #this one gets kinda weird my bad! lmao

79 notes · View notes

destinysbounty · 4 months ago

Note

hey if you still have that ask i sent in about avery, you should go back to it and answer 3 more questions from it

(Fanart for Avery here and the previous ask here)

What are three(+) songs you think describe Avery?

Caffeine by Jeff & Casey Lee Williams - this one is mostly based on pure vibes, this just feels like an Avery song. Like when I think Avery songs this is the one that comes to mind immediately. I can't put into words why it suits her so well, but it just does. (Maybe one day I'll finish my amv using this same song, but with my disappointingly long WIP queue it's anyone's guess when that will happen)

Take Me to War by The Crane Wives - POV you grew up in a dystopian post-apocalyptic hellscape and were thrown decades into the past by your magically brainwashed friends, and you neither know what a "healthy coping mechanism" is nor how to acquire one.

Freaks by Surf Curse - the reasoning for this one is kind of a combination of the top two, but also I feel like it lowkey kinda fits her emotional situation after being tossed into the past and having to learn how to trust and rely on all these new people. Also I just really like this song lol

Is she more of a morning person or night person or somewhere in-between?

Equally tired no matter the time of day. I don't think she's ever gotten more than 3 hours of sleep in her life and she is equally miserable late and night and early in the morning. I guess she functions best around afternoon/midday, but even that is putting it generously. She's a walking dumpster fire at all hours of the day and we love to see it.

If she existed in a no-powers/modern au, what job would she end up with?

Hmm, Avery strikes me as the kind of person who would really struggle to keep down a job for very long. She'd probably bounce around between entry-level positions, usually in retail and food service.

Thanks for the ask!

#ninjago oc #destiny post

4 notes · View notes

hasufin · 1 year ago

Text

This is my first attempt at creative writing in over a decade, and entirely unedited.

I also have NO IDEA where I'm going with this. I just sorta get scenes in my head and write them out.

Imagine, if you would, a man. He is walking through what must seem a completely black void. It is lit only by ornaments, tiny spheres composed of some intricate glowing filigree. They hang in midair, unchanging and unsupported. He walks deliberately, inspecting each one, considering a few more closely, passing by others with derision. His is the manner of the art critic; judging the ornaments by some unknown criteria. Finally, having passed by innumerable seemingly identical such tchotchkes, he finds one that ignites actual interest. He takes it in his hand, holds it closer, looks into it deeper than he did any of the others.

This is not how our story begins.

This is nothing like what happened. It is merely the closest your mind can imagine what occurred. There is no man – I am no man. I was not walking through a dark room. Indeed, “walking” barely makes sense. There is neither floor nor ceiling. There is a floor only by the convention that I chose to proceed in a methodical fashion. I did not proceed along a plane, nor in a straight line, because such conventions of geometry do not exist. There is no room. “Space” does not make sense in this context, it’s merely a term those on the Inside would offer. And I am Outside.

These orbs, these baubles – they are what you would call universes. Knots in that-which-is. Eddies of causality. Some are simple: they blip into their existence, find a closure, and blip out. Others reach something like a static state within their own context. Some loop themselves into an endless cycle. A rare few even manage to create other universes, spawning variation, however trivial. There would be an infinity of such. There is, I suppose, but that doesn’t exactly matter.

Me? I perceive them all. Time and Space are trivial matters which only bother those who are Inside. Those whose existence comes from within one of those universes. To me, all of these universes are, in their way, static. I see each point in their existence at once: beginning, end, and all in between. Some simply have more than others, that’s all. You might say they’re bigger, but of course they aren’t.

I’m not alone. I should mention that, I suppose.

There are others like me. We exist Outside. We are all, in a way, completely identical. But we are also all completely alien to each other. Some of us simply came about here, Outside. Some were formed by the actions of others. Some even come from Inside; beings who transcended the limitations of our original existence.

I don’t interact with the others. What would be the point? Anything we might say or do, we know. Any knowledge that can be had, we hold. By dint of our timelessness and spacelessness, we exist at our pinnacle. Because we have everything, we also have nothing.

The only interest to be found is in limiting ourselves. In enforcing restrictions and struggling against that restraint. It’s amusing… in a way.

But even I will admit, true enjoyment can only be found Inside.

Some universes are beautiful in their own right. Delicate symmetries and patterns worthy of contemplation. Others, for what they produce.

And thus begins our story, because I have chosen to introduce time into my existence, if only a little bit. I’m not a barbarian. I’m not going to experience it like someone who lives Inside. I’ll just see what they see, a little bit.

I’m not limitless. I’m not truly omnipotent. And I’m very glad for that, it sounds awful.

One limitation we have, those of us Outside, is that there are really only two ways we can change an Inside.

The blunt, brutal method is, we don’t. If we find a universe which doesn’t suit our fancy, we unmake it and – if we so desire – rebuild it to our liking. This is generally considered a bit crude. Impolite. And, if it happens to be a universe which spawned someone Outside, one of the few meaningful acts of violence we can actually engage in.

The universe I’m holding is one such universe. In truth, no one would mind if I, personally, unmade this universe. I have the right. Others have done the same, in circumstances like my own. They would say I should.

That is unacceptable to me. Call me sentimental. I know this universe will yield quintillions of sentients. Beings who will never achieve my own perspective, certainly, but still worth preserving. Few universes are so fecund as this one.

But.

It has a flaw. It’s good enough, granted. And it has certainly served its purpose. Yet I feel it could be better. And moreover, I feel like it should be better.

And so, I will engage in finesse.

There is only one way to modify a universe without remaking it.

From Inside.

So.

I begin – and I mean truly begin – by deciding a number of things at once. I select a time and a place, which are within this universe the same thing. I navigate the subtle eddies of gravitation and chance, and I limit my own immediate perception to a singular Place. I choose my own vectors – inhabitants of Inside don’t realize, but they’re truly moving in all dimensions at once. It’s one of the greatest beauties of this universe, that everything is always moving. Nothing is at a rest. There is no center, no border.

This does, admittedly, make it modestly challenging to go Inside, as I need to simultaneously select roughly a dozen starting points, directions, and velocities.

With that, I had an existence Inside. At least, enough to properly perceive it in the way its inhabitants would. I did not exist in any relevant way. I was simply narrowing my own perceptions.

There was a star system nearby. One of trillions just like it. Dwarf star, a handful of rocky planets, some gas giants, a cloud of debris. Slightly unusual in how it was structured, allowing the inner planets to go longer without orbital bombardment than was statistically average.

Of course, I knew all this. I’d not given up being Outside. Nor would I, not ever. It’s a hard-won privilege.

The star system was, in the manner of this universe, a few lightyears away. An insurmountable distance by the laws of set down within this universe. Provided you don’t find clever ways to bend them, of which there are so very many.

For myself, I simply moved my perception there, giving myself the appearance of traveling. But, having no mass, no actual existence at all, I was not limited. My perception crossed the sparse interstellar void in a second. And, seeing as I’d opted to experience “time”, a second is actually relevant, for once.

Although I’d traveled far faster than the speed of light, I’d not yet violated any of this universe’s laws of physics. It was time, though, for me to change that.

Once within any reasonable limit of the star system, I began to gather the copious elements available. Modifying the laws of chance, that more and more protons and neutrons would form as a cloud within my perception. A cloud of hydrogen hurled itself toward the inner system.

By the time I passed the innermost of the gas giants, I had brought together, oh, perhaps a few kilograms. Not much, yet. I could have gathered more, or simply created a form by sheer force of will, but I was being subtle. Violating the laws of physics, unavoidably, but in the most subtle of ways. Such would be my approach.

My intent was that from the Outside, it would look as if nothing had changed at all, as if this universe was unchanged and untouched. Our own nature works against us: if it seems possible, it is possible. My changes would be obvious Inside, but if they ever reached the point of being able to perceive them, they would understand, and have no objection. Certainly, I never did once I knew.

Within the asteroid belt, I could gather heavier elements. Helium, Silicon, Carbon. Iron and Fluoride, and precious, precious Oxygen. Rather than a simple amorphous cloud, I could begin offering it structure. I formed proteins and lipids, nucleotides and a calcium substrate.

By the time I reached the atmosphere of the third planet, I had a rough sort of body. Nothing like how this planet’s inhabitants made their own bodies, certainly – nasty, grotesque method if I must say – but sufficiently like them to see a similarity. I clothed it in crystalized silicon, no sense in my hard work going to waste. As I navigated the careful approach to the surface, assuring I didn’t cause a catastrophe, I refined my form. I passed through the magnetic belts, the thin halo of ionized gas, and descended through the cloud layers. By the time I gently placed the quartz vessel on the ground, in a landing whose delicacy would not be matched for millennia, I had constructed a body which was indistinguishable from those on the planet.

Well. Cleaner, and perhaps a bit less hirsute. Biologically identical, anyway.

I stood, for the first time, on the surface of the planet. I had chosen to arrive at night – approaching as I had from space. This spot on the planet would not face the star for another few hours, and artificial light would not be invented for millennia yet. Even fire thus far eluded the vaguely-sentient creatures here. Fortunately, I had furnished my own body with far superior sensory apparati. Not only could I see, hear, and smell better than they ever could, in a more accurate way than they could imagine, I had added sensory organs of which they had not dreamed. It’s not like I needed the brain space for mere thinking.

I saw no particular need to modify the sense of touch, though. Why bother with the paltry matter of physical contact when I could consider the waves of potentiality someone gave off?

Which made it shocking, when the very first sensation I experienced from this body arose from that sense. I had enhanced sight, but lacked light. I had unparalleled hearing, but language would not arise for many more centuries. I could smell from a mile away, and identify anything by taste, but there was nothing of interest to taste or smell. I could entangle with any thinking mind within a kilometer, but had intentionally set myself hundreds of kilometers from anything that thought about more than food and mating.

And so. I knew what it was, to be sure.

But I had never felt rain on my skin.

2 notes · View notes

olesiaivanova · 2 years ago

Text

I would like to dedicate this blog to the movie "The Boy in the Striped Pajamas". I believe that the Holocaust should be talked about to this day. Well, let's get started! I have already reviewed most of the best films that have been released. Good in my opinion, of course. Such films excite the mind, and do not allow you to break away from the screen and penetrate extraneous thoughts into your head, they absorb you completely, turn your consciousness and leave an imprint for a long time. I want to review such films. I have a list of my favourite movies. It is quite large, but it is being replenished less and less often because I meet few worthy paintings now. "The Boy in the Striped Pajamas" is an exception. I must say that films about the war (even if indirectly related to this topic) stand in my special place. I have always been attracted to films and books about the fate of people before, during and after the war. While watching this movie, I always cried, starting with Bruno's farewell to Berlin friends, and ending with the last scene of the gas chamber. For what, why, and how so?.. How can such cruelty, and injustice exist in the world, how can there be a war in the world that destroys lives, families, and destinies? An 8-year-old boy doesn't understand this, and neither do I. The boy Bruno is a ray of light in the dark realm. Researcher. And the whole story is shown through his eyes, maybe that's why I want to be so indignant at injustice and cruelty. This makes the film even more heartfelt. Bruno is waiting for 'everyone to make peace' so that the same 8-year-old boy with the 'strange' name Shmul could come to visit him on the weekend. But Shmul can't. He is a Jew, an 'enemy of the people who must be exterminated' and is behind barbed wire on a 'farm where everyone wears strange striped pyjamas'. The boy does not understand this; he rebels against such rules in this world and wants to change everything. Throughout the film, we see how Bruno grows and changes, his perception of the world changes, although sometimes he is thrown in the wrong direction. And who knows how the boy's fate would have ended if... But I will not tell you the finale of this drama. Bruno's parents are also a kind of camp. In this picture, I ask you to notice a very clear manifestation of orientalism: 2 camps - a merciful and sympathetic mother and a military fanatic father. In general, it should be noted that in all respects there are two warring parties - Bruno's grandparents, mom and dad, and even Bruno himself and his sister, they are just still small, and this difference does not interfere with friendship and love. Family relationships reflect the relationships in the world in which these people live. And they make it clear that good people also could not accept this state of affairs and did not consider it normal. It gives hope. The problem of fascism, Nazism and genocide is shown in such a way as to touch the soul of the viewer. After this movie, a sad residue remains on my soul, but it's worth watching it. Necessarily. Look at the world through the eyes of a child. Sometimes it seems to me that this is the only way to perceive reality. The critical point of view and analysis: Racism and orientalism in this film are expressed in the most "vivid colours". The plot of the film implies the superiority of one nation over another. And this superiority does not just put pressure from one side on the other but turns out to be a threat and an attempt to destroy all Jews. As far as I remember from history lessons, about 6 million Jews were exterminated. "Nazi racism" is a concept that I understand as the Nazis' belief that Jews were a separate and inferior race. The basis of this concept lies in the prejudices and stereotypes of the Nazi German government (racism is the basis of German state policy at that time).All the actions show us the inequality, racism, and orientalism. I recommend you to watch this film and deeply feel this tragedy now, in 2023.

3 notes · View notes

eddiemunsonsmiddlefingers · 2 years ago

Text

Oh my god I had a massive post written and Tumblr ate it. I don't think I have the heart to rework it entirely, so shorter (but still long) version:

Geographic separation from the rest of the world means that America doesn't have the influence of several dozen immediate neighbors to change its approach or perspective even when it really should.

Internalized American exceptionalism means a lot of people think the American way is the best way despite all evidence to the contrary. This is important because the US was founded on principles of individualism, liberty, and capitalism that stand in sharp contrast to socialist concepts.

Our most active voting population is older than 45. They can and do single-handedly swing election results in their favor even if doing so would actively damage future generations. (This is a very solidly researched theory with plenty of empirical evidence to back it up, for the record.)

For people older than 45, the Cold War was a major part of their youth. Young people might brush it off now, but the threat of nuclear war was real and Communism was genuinely scary. Socialism is not communism, but propaganda does what propaganda does, and the echoes are felt for many years after it ends...especially given how Vladimir Putin and Xi Jinping lead their respective countries.

The United States has a first past the post electoral system, which means that whoever gets the most votes wins the election and there are no consolation prizes. This is a problem because it inevitably leads to a two-party system where voting for a third party actively damages a voter's interests. You can learn more about why this is the case in this fantastic short video. (Seriously, it's six and a half minutes long. Go watch it.)

Two party systems lead to extreme partisanship, which leads to people identifying so strongly with their party that they are completely incapable of seeing the truth about either party. This is how things like "Joe Biden is a Commie" come about: the Republican party paints Biden as an extremist in hopes of scaring centrists away from voting for him, while remaining deliberately blind to the actual extremists in their midst. The Democrats do the same thing with Republican candidates, for the record—neither party is blameless in this.

Politicians and parties are rational actors; that is to say, they're looking out for their own interests, which happen to be "get/stay in power and stay there." If they don't win the election, then they lose power, so they adjust their actions to attract as many voters as possible to achieve that goal. Since the largest voting population in the country dislikes the very idea of socialism and consistently votes in individually self-interested ways, there is currently no incentive for politicians or parties to veer further left, and every incentive for them to veer further right.

The easiest (edit: okay, not easy) fastest possible way to break out of this trap and get some real left-leaning stuff into our political landscape is for people younger than 45 to vote en masse, especially if they're liberal.

So. Get out there and vote in every election. Get your friends to vote, too. Fuck shit up. Show the existing parties that they need to care about what we have to say not because we're loud on social media, but because we will punch them where it hurts when voting time comes around if they don't.

Please. I'm begging you. I cannot scream loudly enough about how absolutely mind boggling it would be to political scientists (and political party leaders) if we pulled this one off.

I dunno I mean I knew a lot of Americans were against it but I assumed they were all elitist right wing weirdos.

What's the mainstream left wing position then if it's not socialism?

#politics #life and times of a political scientist #salt and burn

66K notes · View notes

smqazi · 5 months ago

Text

Waiting period (‘IDDAH)

TO WHOM IT MAY CONCERN

When I was in high school, I used to look after my younger brother, who was also my friend, My father did not like me pushing him too much. He told me to “leave him alone and mind your BLOODY business,” using his British English.’’

I am passing the same message to all of you, Please for God ’s Sake, leave Bushra Bibi ALONE, because she is the only one who knows about her periods according to the Holy Qur’an and Hadith and she must be believed.

Does anyone has an instrument or a thermometer of some kind, which he can insert in her private part and find if she had periods in 1918 or now?

How crazy is someone who presented this foolish idea to the Judiciary. That person really should be in a mental hospital, where he belongs, forever.

Unfortunately, the courts, the judges and the lawyers also do not know that this case belongs to a Shari’ah Court, if they have one existing or which is still working.

As far as the courts are concerned, it is not under their jurisdiction according to the Constitution of Pakistan. Therefore, these courts have no right to interfere in the personal affair of a respected old lady, a citizen of Pakistan, and come in between the relationship between her and her current husband,.’’

I wonder if the so-called ‘ulema of so-called Islamic Republic of Pakistan, which by definition is neither Islamic nor Republic, unfortunately, are still sleeping or are dead.

Why don’t they give their Fatwah under the rules and regulations of Shari’ah, which will stop this nonsense being spread around the people of Pakistan once for all, which is also making a fool of Pakistan all over the world.

END OF THE STORY, PERIOD!

According to the Islamic Shari`ah, the iddah is a waiting period with certain exigencies required of a woman when the appropriate condition exists; either divorce or death of her husband.

In Islam, ’iddah or iddat (Arabic: العدة, romanized: al-ʿidda; "period of waiting") is the period a woman must observe after the death of her husband or after a divorce, during which she may not marry another man. One of its main purposes is to remove any doubt as to the paternity of a child born after the divorce or death of the prior husband.

The length of ‘iddah varies according to a number of circumstances. Generally, the ‘iddah of a divorced woman is three lunar months (i.e. about 89 days), but if the marriage was not consummated there is no ‘iddah. For a woman whose husband has died, the ‘iddah is four lunar months and ten days (i.e. about 128 days) after the death of her husband, whether or not the marriage was consummated. If a woman is pregnant when she is widowed or divorced, the ‘iddah lasts until she gives birth.

Islamic scholars consider this directive to be a balance between mourning of husband's death and protecting the widow from criticism that she might be subjected to from remarrying too quickly after her husband’s death.This is also to ascertain whether a woman is pregnant or not, since four and a half months is half the length of a normal pregnancy.

COMMENTARIES

Imam Suyuti's commentary, Tafsir al-Jalalain: And as for those of your women who read allā’ī or allā’i in both instances no longer expect to menstruate if you have any doubts about their waiting period their prescribed waiting period shall be three months and also for those who have not yet menstruated because of their young age their period shall also be three months — both cases apply to other than those whose spouses have died; for these latter their period is prescribed in the verse they shall wait by themselves for four months and ten days.

Tafsir ibn Kathir, says of this verse,

Her Iddah is three months instead of the three monthly cycles for those who menstruate, which is based upon the Ayah in Surah Al-Baqarah. (see 2:228) The same for the young, who have not reached the years of menstruation. Their `Iddah is three months like those in menopause.

The Tafsir al Jalalain co-authored by the scholar Imam Suyuti says of this verse

And [as for] those of your women who (read allā’ī or allā’i in both instances) no longer expect to menstruate, if you have any doubts, about their waiting period, their prescribed [waiting] period shall be three months, and [also for] those who have not yet menstruated, because of their young age, their period shall [also] be three months

REFERENCE:

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Iddahhttps://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Iddah

0 notes

jonathankatwhatever · 1 year ago

Text

Let’s see, this 17 Sept 2023, if this is as easy as it plays in my head. What is a set? Whatever is in the xyR, which translates into whatever is in the room. That allows expansion to building, and thus we can da everything from inferring all the xyR are the same to all of them are different from this xyR, and that would be true if we were in any other xyR or maybe not.

What is a category? It’s the nature of the xyR, meaning it’s function within the Storylines that use the Things within the Room to make up stories. That again enables scale, because each xyR contains Not.

How does this relate to tangible Objects? They’re the stuff surrounded by less stuff so they’re distinguishable. A dim hallway, banging into what was that in the dark? Again, running from completely empty, featureless, every adjective one can imagine, to a version so crammed the characters suffocate. That’s a nice, dark one, meaning the idea of darkness in the mind opens up a perspective that’s new: that higher awareness gives individuals the space they need to not feel so crammed in the space they have in their heads, in themselves. It gives you a place to go which is yours, where you feel safe, so you can relax into whatever you are doing better.

Over the past hour or so, my left hand has taken control over my physical activity. It unloaded the dishes, and put itself into a position I didn’t know existed as an option and performed with ridiculous ease. I’ve been taking short breaks to tension, which is really slow motion dances and the positions which need to be enabled to connect the beginning to a key frame to another to another. This means there is some amount of grace because the key frames should be approaching ideal for each capability level. That last groups by the size of the potential at each state, of each existence in a chain of existences. As in, today I did some back twists with my back arched far enough backward that I could reach my elbow higher into the sky while rotating, then switch arm up to down, repeat. It isn’t much of a move if you’re young or trained, but it’s a lot for someone who is neither.

The nature of the Not defines the tObject. The tObject not seen in the dark. A tObject in bright focus, so there’s very little of Not visible. The tObject is an End, and thus has characteristics beyond that of a point. An End is actually an infinite dimensional Thing which constructs in grid squares so it can be represented by a point or node or however you choose or need to identify that aspect of its existence as an End. That means an End has potential within Storylines, and that is a form of Boundary, the idea being that there is a general Storyline Boundary together with Storyline Boundaries that occur within the xyR. That’s another way of stating incompleteness because we can equate Storyline to counting: there are countable Storylines because we are in grid squares and all Storylines reflect the potential which might exist, which is uncountable, to what is actually a Storyline within the xyR. Example would be that we can imagine each tObject can be another, but that’s imaginative use of the tObject, whether as a tool for the body or the mind or both, not actually making the tObject into a different existence. Like the spoons can’t become a kick line of chorus girls. That’s the difference between a tObject and an iObject, and that’s why we use Thing to mean both: metaphor and other ways meaning Attaches.

Isn’t it cool that we can visualize Attachment now? We draw a line connecting a spoon to a person or to a representation which suggests dancing or marching or some other animation, and that is contained in the orthogonal gs nSquare. That is why the statistical approach to pain has worked so well for me: picture a nerve as carrying signals when this particular act, including not moving, sends an ouch, so if you make more moves which don’t set off that ouch, then you set the ouch off less often. At the least, you give yourself time to heal by not working whatever makes the ouch. Then it can be worked through.

I’m working through something I did to my left elbow earlier this year while clearing the yard mess. Because I wasn’t in the correct position, I strained a relationship that runs from my damaged fingers to my elbow. That has turned into pushing and pulling my hand and arm into positions, while working my body to free the left hand and arm from the constraints established over decades. By establishing more pathways, I’ve been discovering these latent capabilities, like when I realized I could crack eggs with my left hand though I’d never done it before.

I need to go to bed. This has been fabulous.

——————-

I was musing about cardinals, particularly the infinite ones, and realized I didn’t write any of it down. That said, we can explicitly construct hierarchies of infinite cardinals. And infinite ordinals.

The immensity of that is just now striking me. It took a lot of work to reach this understanding. A lot of anxiety.

Needed to eat after that.

Now I’m musing about transcendental numbers. I’d say the key phrase is ‘not the root of an integer polynomial’.

————-

A transcendental number is a question which remains open into the infinite. Like π as Boundary always remains testing the essential question of in or out, of edges over the 1Space. Did I miss that before? It’s glaring: over 1Space means it flips potentially to either 0Space. That is extraordinarily lovely mechanics.

What about e? Counting from 1 to 2 with each count generates a new association from 0, which means you don’t close in on 2 but instead get further away. Or at least generates a higher level of association. Wait a second. A 2Square generated by e and by the orthogonal gs. See how they fit all those permutations from 1 to 2 across a 0 to 2? Is it 0? It is and isn’t. It’s the 1-0Segment: start with 1 and cut up is a 0 for the cutting up.

Note how the scale increases in the inverse, so this intangible grows larger as the calculated result gets smaller. That fits mechanics.

———————

I just realized that the typical conception of real is only part of what is real. That idea has been hanging around in my head. Now that I see it, I get it.

0 notes

21stcenturymen · 1 year ago

Text

Men Are Lost... ish

Christine Emba’s op-ed about men lacking a good roadmap forward struck a chord with me. Particularly toward the end where she and her sourced experts rang the bell that aging men have a responsibility for both adapting to a changing world and acting as valuable role models to a younger generation presently wading into a vacuum filled - mostly - by right-wing misogynists like Jordan Peterson and Andrew Tate.

This was meant as a limited-run blog, but then this isn’t a limited-run issue. And particularly in the last few years, American culture has really started to grapple with the question of “What is good masculinity?” Ultimately (as Emba points out) that exists on a spectrum between complete denial of both established social moors and biology and utter, dreadful misogyny. We can be healthy, whole humans without hating over half the population... or ourselves.

But what, truly, is the roadmap? No one knows. Even when the Washington Post Sunday email blast claimed that Emba had found such a treasure map, the article itself is lacking of just such a thing. And perhaps that’s for the best. Claiming to have a defined solution to a problem this complex would run afoul of the same hubris and chest thumping of people like Peterson and Tate. So, false advertising aside, Emba does provide (what I believe to be) a real answer to the question: we gotta live in that gray space of trying and not knowing at the same time.

With that in mind, I want to invite readers of this blog to an event! In the spirit of articles like this one (that acknowledges masculinity is something that craves definition and in the absence of a good one will find a bad one) I’ll be performing a piece about masculinity and aging between August 4th and 12th at The Phoenix Theater in Minneapolis. Five performances, and here are some instructions on how to purchase them:

Go here: https://minnesotafringe.org/shows/2023/phoenix-presents#info

On the “More Info” page, you can see the dates that align specifically to my show: Aging In An Age of Change.

Write down the date and time that works for you.

Then purchase your ticket on the “Ticket Options” tab. Note that only 1/3 of the performances are for my show, so make sure you’re selecting the one that aligns with the date and time you picked on the “More Info” tab.

As with Emba, I can provide reassurance, empathy, and a starting point for how to move forward, and you should absolutely read her op-ed. But neither she nor I can provide an absolute roadmap. Anyone who claims otherwise is taking advantage of you. I hope to see you there!

#ageofchange2023 #mnfringe #wapo

1 note · View note

uh-oh-its-bird · 6 months ago

Text

Back on my bullshit w some more context on how I'm thinking they got into this mess, kind of long fic overview under the cut:

Rolling with the "yokai, big and small, are generally accepted to exist in this world" for baseline, the mission both Tobi and Izu were individually sent out to take care of was some small little "spirit problem" belonging to a tiny village rather notorious for calling in false alarms on spirit shenanigans.

Super superstitious little corner of the land of fire, has a real tendency to blow any reports of spirits way out of proportion. They're screaming kitsune at the sight of a regular fox and everyone in the surrounding areas know it.

So they call in a mission from both the Senju and the Uchiha, and due to a stroke of bad luck Izuna and Tobirama have this mission given to them as something like their first 'public' missions. Seperate from currier missions, supply runs or helping patrol their lands, this is them cutting their teeth on a proper solo mission that should be pretty safe -- if the countless previous similar missions to subdue nonexistant yokai from that village are anything to go based off of.

So they bump into eachother and are immediately like "oh FUCK."

After a near scuffle they basically come to the consensus of "I refuse to let my first ever solo mission thats already so beneath my skill level go wrong bc your dumb ass couldnt keep your sword in your sheath." and form a tentative truce that theyre both very sure will last like 3 minutes tops but ends up going? Pretty well? Neither of them want to fight right now, not really. They're miles from home in unfamiliar forests and heavy rain, so if the fight turns ugly unless theyre getting away without much damage (unlikely) theres just as much of a chance that theyll trip into a ditch somewhere and bleed out in the cold than make it back in one piece.

And say what you will, Izuna and Tobirama both are smart enough to see this is a stupid time and place to start a scuffle.

Anyways, spirit time!

I think it'd be funny if there was a bit where Izuna accidentally traps himself into saying he doesnt believe in spirits, and despite knowing hes being stupid, is forced to double down rather than admit he's just saying shit to say shit.

Tobirama scowled. "I doubt there's any real yokai here. People in these small backwater villages are always calling for help dealing with yokai and it always ends up being nothing. The spirits have better things to do than haunt grannies and steal pies." Izuna quietly agreed with him, (a horrifying thought on its own) but his pride refused to let him do so outloud. So instead he found himself opening his mouth to scoff and blurt out— "Hah, You believe in yokai?" Fuck. Why would he say that, that's just asking for bad luck. Red eye's snapped to him, almost comically shocked. It was the most expressive he'd seen the Senju, his usual cool anger wiped off his face and replaced instead with pure disbelief. "You don't?" No, no Izuna definatley did. It was stupid to not believe in yokai, and even stupider to announce your disbelief outloud, that was just asking for a trouble of all sorts of variety. Not to mention the fact that the Uchiha were an especially superstitious clan. Izuna had been raised on stories heavily featuring yokai and the fact that you were to give every one of them, big and small, as much respect as possible. For your own safetys sake. But Izuna refused to take back his words, not to this Senju bastard. Not even with his self preservation in mind. So despite the fact he could feel his face heating with the incredibly stupid lie, he tossed his hair and rolled his eyes "Of course not! I believe in, uhm, science." "Science." Tobirama said flatly. "You." "Psshh, yeah. Have you ever seen a yokai before? I haven't. Thus it must not exist!" Oh god he was going to get eaten in his sleep by a tsukumogami for this. "I've never seen the daimiyo before, does your science mean that mean he's not real either then?" Tobirama snipped, and Izuna doubled down even further. "Maybe not! Yokai, the daimiyo, who's to say if they exist or not! I'll only believe it when I see it with my own two eyes!" "You know what Izuna, maybe you're right." "Wh— I am?" Izuna blinked dumbly at the sudden 180° "Yes, after all, I haven't seen your brain before. Clearly that doesn't exist either." "EXCUSE ME—?!"

To both of their genuine surprise, there is some sort of spirit to be found in these woods!

A floating ball of light that they debate first what it even is, then how they're supposed to take care of it in any way. An actual yokai should be taken care of by some sort of priest or shaman or something, not two teenage shinobis who were more sent to disprove rumors and calm the over-excitable locals, and maybe kill a bandit or two if they happened to be disguising themselves as yokai to steal (something that happens more than you'd think)

So they just kind of stare at it dumbly, then at each other, then back at the light, and I don't know how or why exactly, but for some reason they end up touching the damn thing.

Maybe it overheard Izuna's comments about not believing in yokai and decided to teach them a lesson. That's definitely what Tobirama is going to be very loudly blaming their misfortune on for the rest of this adventure.

And as it turns out, this little ball of light is no simple speck but apparently an interdimensional ball of light. Because when it touches the boys, they're officially launched into their ✨besties road trip of doom ✨

Launched into the multiverse at the speed of light! Slingshoted into the time stream and back out again! Evicted from their plane of reality and into the next!

The whole adventure is basically them chasing after this little ball of light, which seems to fade in and out of existence and can only interact with / be touched by the boys. Whenever they touch it they get launched into a new time or dimension, and they can only hope that eventually they'll be slung back into their own.

They end up visiting all sorts of realities — early Konoha in a world where Izuna died; another Konoha where Tobirama died instead; Konoha in Kakashi's time where they definitely freak the fuck out of the entirety of Konoha's political circles when they just sort of appear in the middle of what looks like a clan head meeting; Maybe an omegaverse just for the comedy aspect; That one really climatic battle with Madara; A genderbent universe where neither of them die and Konoha has to deal with toxic lesbian madatobi (this one sends both of them into epileptic shock get them OUT OF HERE); A modern AU that caught them very off guard and left them very confused; An incredibly traumatic visit to the night of the Uchiha Massacre; A world where there is no war between their clans, where all their sibling are alive, which leaves them feeling things and having thoughts; Etc.

Some of the worlds they visit are directly connected, with them literally time traveling in a single world. Others are completley disconnected worlds. Some of the worlds have super obvious, immediately noticeable differences and some are impossible to tell apart.

I think theres a bit where, in the worlds where Izuna dies and Madara looses it, Tobirama calls him Izuna's "psycho brother." Then they visit a world where Tobirama died instead and Hashirama somehow managed to lose it to an even greater and more terrifying degree than Madara ever did and now Izuna gets to rub the "psycho brother" label back in Tobirama's face (they are both terrified.)

There's more than one very tense scene with Madara, having lost his Izuna, maybe losing it a teensy bit when he sees our dimension hopping baby Izu. But his twitches and clear consideration at stealing Izuna away do NOT compare to the absolute freak out evil!Hashi goes through when he sees his own baby Tobirama, that whole chunk of the adventure gets ugly.

A big thing about this adventure is that in seeing all of the different worlds out there; All the different potential endings, good and bad, Izuna and Tobirama do not know what ending their world has in store for them. There is no moment where they learn Izuna dies and Madara looses it and resolve to just not kill Izuna or anything like that.

They are their own people, and their choices are still theirs to make. Their futures are still being molded, each step that they take. There is no clear "right step" to get that one world they might see as the "good ending"

They end their adventure, laying on the floor of the forest, almost instantly drenched in the rain. Not a single second has passed in this world, for all that they are both now months older than they should be. The ball of light they'd chased through world after world blinking at them one last time as if saying good riddance before disappearing.

They're . . . well, they're friends now. No matter how much they may deny it out loud. They've been through too much, seen too much, now know too much not to be.

The story ends on them deciding to share the walk home, lingering on the themes of their futures being their own to shape. Every choice matters, every bond they make — starting with this one, right here, right now — enough to change the world itself.

Fic idea;

"Tobirama and Izuna's super spectacular BFF road trip through time and space"

In which a vuagley 14/15ish Tobirama and Izuna bump into eachother on unrelated missions and get hurled through time and space, visiting multiple (sometimes connected sometimes not) events in time, alternate universes and more ✨️

And just ruining so many peoples days along the way, like, so many.

For Reasons(tm) they agree to stick together and instill a temporary truce as they stumble along this (road trip from hell) super spectacular amazing besties field trip.

Like I need you to imagine the Uchiha / Senju feud but also they're like 14, Izuna is yelling about them being ultimate rivals, Tobirama is done with everyone's shit, and they're very quickly moving past genuine attempts on eachothers lives into slap fighting territory. Also like 8 times out of 10 when they bump into any version of an older Madara he makes eye contact with Izuna and almost immediatley has different flavors of the same mental breakdown and Izuna is kind of concerned and kind of terrified and ahahah wow this is awkward but I kind of need to go now

At first they're trying to take it seriously but after the 3rd or 4th time of running into the same fucking scene in a slightly different universe they're kind of just speed running their way to the next time and or universe (in the hopes that it will be their original one) and throwing subtlety out the window

Like they COULD be careful not to disturb things and potentially upset the balance of time but they sort of already fucked that up. Uhh. Like 3 times now actually. And there weren't really any consequences and look they're really tired so how about they just kick in the door and take this round by storm yk

120 notes · View notes

the-hidden-pages · 4 years ago

Text

Misread Affections - Laszlo Kreizler/Fem!Reader SMUT

I started at midnight. I had 0 words. It’s 4:30am. I have 4643 words because I have fallen deeply for Doctor Laszlo Kreizler. Forgive me for this.

Synopsis: With all your history together, you and Doctor Kreizler believe you understand each other. Yet when you believe him to be infatuated with Karen Stratton, and he believes you to have affection for Marcus Isaacson, you’re both stunned when you find yourselves to be proven wrong.

Warnings: NSFW. Desk Sex. Dirty Talk. Patient-to-Friend-to-Lover. Definite depression and general self-loathing.

SPOILERS FOR THE SECOND SEASON!!!!!!

You had always admired the man Doctor Laszlo Kreizler was.

He championed those who could not champion themselves. He worked tirelessly to understand the minds of criminals. To those very same criminals, and many others that lived as outcasts to society, he would offer kindness and understanding. At his best he was beyond intelligent and, daresay, sweet.

At his worst, he was ruthless, and his own self-loathing would have him come across as unempathetic most days. While preaching to others to care for himself, he would often forego his own care. While offering an ear and a receptive mind, he would refuse to offer himself the same.

You knew this within mere days of knowing Doctor Kreizler. And such facts made you rather fond of him.

A fondness that was not helped by his handsome build, his dark locks, his scrutinizing gaze.

And yet no part of you could justify ever acting upon this fondness.

You had come to him both as a patient and a colleague. You had always been aware of a darkness within yourself, ever since you were a child. This darkness had only grown, too often all-consuming, leaving you. a dysfunction wreck of a human being. However, you had an obligation to keep going, a promise you had sworn to your sister to continue your own existence. So, exist you did.

While your family’s fortune wasn’t enough to send you to Harvard, like the Doctor himself, it did allow for you to be a reasonably educated woman of the times. A deep fascination in understanding your own darkness led you to the work of alienists, and eventually to the work of Doctor Kreizler.

While you couldn’t often justify breaking societal rules to such an extent, you found yourself motivated enough to call upon the Doctor with a proposition – should he aide you in understanding your own illness of the brain, you would offer any services you could to the Kreizler Institute.

You could tell he was curious of you. A woman of your standing did not often make such demands with such authority, nor so blatantly admit to her own illnesses. He quickly agreed, eager to study why you considered yourself so damaged, and happy to take on an extra set of hands with the children he looked after.

Over time, you begun to slip effortlessly into Doctor Kreizler’s life.

You met the likes of Cyrus and Stevie, along with many others that worked at the Institute. You were then blown away by the strength within Miss Sara Howard, and the pure, undiluted love that Mister John Schuyler Moore could show others. You were even called upon on several occasions to be a fresh set of eyes, the murders of young boy prostitutes and kidnappings of babies not deterring you, to the surprise and reluctant joy of the Doctor.

And as Doctor Kreizler studied you, you studied him.

You slowly learned of all the emotion he kept hidden behind the façade of professionalism. The kindness, the love, the anger, the fear. While he showed none of these most days, occasionally a concoction of such feeling would burst in an overwhelming outpour.

In offering him a platonic safe space, a place for him to talk through such outbursts should he wish, he in turn aided you.

The darkness you felt for so long began to subside some days, and between the efforts of him and a passing remark from John, you learned of an outlet for your darker thoughts – writing.

While expressing your own emotions and turmoil did not come easy, you found it far simpler when written down on paper, as opposed to spoken aloud to a judging room.

Doctor Kreizler gifted you a beautiful leather-bound journal a mere day after this revelation, with the request that you record your thoughts. He promised he would not read it unless you requested him to as an act of therapy.

For many days, you allowed him to read any thoughts that came to mind.

Thoughts of blood, of death, of pain and anger. Thoughts of a stolen childhood, of worthlessness, of longing.

Many days when he read your pages, you would be silently crying as he did, fearful of his judgement. But it never came.

Instead, he would close the book silently, and offer you professional advice.

One particularly rough day, in which your narrative was beyond vicious to you, he closed the book before finishing, and offered you something you didn’t expect – an embrace.

He hugged you so tightly, that for once…

Your inner monologue ceased.

His own, however, raged on.

How could you think so lowly of yourself, he wondered? While he could understand mindsets built from trauma, he couldn’t help but wish you could see yourself through his own eyes. Your empathy when you cared for the children in the Institute. Your intelligence when conversing with Miss Howard. Your artistic delight when laughing with John. And the perspective, the warmth you offered such a broken man such as himself.

Neither of you knew, in that exact moment, that the other was realizing the fondness you both held in your hearts for each other.

And neither of you knew how truly broken the other felt at their core.

Two souls, believing themselves to be undeserving of love, finding it in their hearts for the other.

When the beautiful, cunning Doctor Karen Stratton entered the picture, you asked Doctor Kreizler to refrain from reading your journal.

He was hurt by this, but profession and courtesy claimed that he could not show it.

You began to withdraw from him, placing your entire focus on the case of the stolen babies and your focus on the children in the Institute. Kreizler, in his own difficulties of potentially losing the said Institute, took notice of your own withdrawal from your sessions, but held enough hope that you had found stability to care for yourself. You still conversed with Sara, you smiled with John. You had even been introduced to the Isaacsons, and he had wondered if you had taken a liking to Marcus.

You deserved a young man such as him, he told himself, heart heavy. A whole, young man with enough strength to support you.

And on the night of Marcus’ death, he believed it to be confirmed.

He found you alone, in his study where you so often had your sessions with him. You were curled inwards on yourself, clutching your journal as though it were your lifeline, sobbing uncontrollably.

He moved to console you, arms holding you tightly.

“It’s all too much,” you choked out, unable to articulate much more.

Doctor Kreizler nodded, waiting for you to be able to go on.

You regained some breath with difficulty. “I just…I can’t stand to lose a friend. Not after everything else lately.”

“I know how difficult it can be, to lose one you love…” Kreizler began, not noticing how your sobs stopped in confusion. “After Mary, I…Well I swore I would never again…The point is, I-“ he stopped short.

You had spluttered out a laugh.

Your hand covered your mouth immediately, noticing what had just happened. You immediately moved to cover it up, wiping away your tears and standing up away from him. “No, no, Doctor. Heavens, Marcus…well, he was loved but, I saw…I see the Isaacsons as brothers I never had. He was dear to me but…not in the sense I suspect that Mary was to you.”

“I…see…” Doctor Kreizler pulled back, sitting in his study chair as he gazed at you. “Apologies, I seem to have misread your relationship. Nonetheless, his death has greatly affected you, as it has all of us. I suspect it will be a very difficult grieving process, but…” he manages a soft, rare smile that warmed your heart. “We will endure it together, as we have these cases.”

“Will we?” your voice grew empty as your thoughts swirled.

He titled his head, unsure of where this was leading. You gathered your courage to question him.

“Rumour has it, Doctor Stratton has asked you to join her in Vienna. I wonder if you’ll go.”

Silence falls over the room.

Laszlo couldn’t understand what this had to do with anything. Your crying, your distress over Marcus. What did his leaving have to do with any of your distress?

“You’re greatly upset by something,” he eventually said, gazing at you with a more analytical eye than before. “I’m afraid you give me too much credit, if you think I know the specifics of it.”

“I-“ you stopped, clearing your throat as you choked up. Your knuckles turned white on your journal’s edges, hands shaking. “Doctor Kreizler-“

“It’s been months since we’ve known each other,” he interrupts, “and we haven’t held a session together in nearly five weeks. Would it pain you to call me Laszlo? Are we not…friends?”

You gaped at him, but his face remained unreadable.

You shake your head. “Yes, it…it would pain me. It would pain me a great deal, Doctor – it does pain me a great deal to hear you call me a friend when…”

“When what?” he prompts you sharply, and you inhale quickly.

“When I feel I’ve been dishonest with you, unkind to you…” had the room not been dead still, Laszlo might have missed the next words you whispered. “I feel I’ve been perverse to you.”

If he was confused, he didn’t show it. And you were talking now, the words spilling out, a cascade unable to end.

“I feel as though…had Marcus not…died…tonight, I might never have done this. But then my mind, it began spinning so quickly I couldn’t stop it, and I couldn’t help but imagine countless scenarios in which Libby, in which the Dusters, in which…well, in which any number of causes might take your life as well. In which you might die before…before I can confess…” You huff, your words getting caught once again. With a determined move, your arm shot out to pass your journal to him, and Kreizler takes note of a particular page being creased.

He looks up at you, but you don’t meet his eye.

“I’ve marked where I want you to start reading. Just…go from there. Inform me when you’re finished.”

You walk over to the window, desperate to be distracted, as Doctor Kreizler opens the book and reads at your request.

He can’t comprehend what he’s reading at first.

While he had grown accustomed to your twisted perception of yourself, he hadn’t realized just how ruthless the self-loathing could take you. Endless doubt of your friendships with the team, with your position as a caretaker, in your abilities to be a friend. And as words continue, he realizes your doubts in being a partner, a lover.

If he grows flustered at the words he reads, he’s determined not to show it to you.

He reads your envy of women like Sara Howard, able to move forward with such strength and certainty, and of Karen Stratton, so brash, so forward. Your envy is strong towards her, in her abilities to understand sexuality, passion, human desire, and in…

In her connection to himself.

His eyes widen as your own ramblings seem to uncover a truth you hadn’t explored before – your attraction to the Doctor that had aided you, offered you employment. The pure taboo of such affections, yet your inability to stop it. Your adoration, your admiration for the intimidating, raw man that he was. How you felt unworthy, that you would hold him back, that he deserved a woman as delightful as Doctor Stratton, a woman who could stimulate him academically, that could pleasure him physically. How you felt so deeply ashamed of harbouring such elicit fantasies of the man that had been nothing but kind to you. How you loved him so deeply it made you want to die, because you would never be deserving –

You heard the journal snapping shut, and you couldn’t bring yourself to face the Doctor, knowing what he must’ve read, dreading what he must now be thinking.

The silence lasted far longer than you would’ve liked, but you couldn’t bring yourself to speak.

“I find myself taken aback more often than I like,” Kreizler’s voice shatters the still air. “I believe myself to be so wise, so understanding of the mind, and yet I come across a mind such as yours that I…I truly cannot fathom how you think what you think.”

“I’m sorry,” you start, voice breaking as tears begin to flow again.

You nearly jump out of your skin when you feel a hand on your own. You don’t dare to turn around, frozen like a rabbit having been sniffed out by a hound.

“You think me to be attracted to Doctor Stratton, am I correct?”

You nod. Of course, he was. Was it not obvious?

“Karen and I are colleagues, and friends, should I be too bold to assume so. I can recognize that she is a physically beautiful woman, yes, and I’m sure some day she will make a man a very happy husband, should she wish. But her and I have a kinship, a partnership, not unlike what I believe you and Marcus might have had, that I too misinterpreted as love.”

You sniff, closing your eyes tightly. What was he trying to tell you?

Doctor Kreizler spins you around slowly, leading you to face him.

“I do not harbour half the affection in my heart for Doctor Stratton as I do for you.”

You freeze. “Doctor-“

“Please,” he reaches up to cup your face, wiping away several of the tears that had fallen. “Please call me Laszlo. You are not the only one to have an epiphany after the loss of our friend, my dear. If you are being so honest with me, I feel it only right to offer you the same.”

“Laszlo…” you whisper, meeting his eyes for the first time since he read your words. His heart breaks with the pain within them. “How can you do this? Look at me, hold me, when you see how broken I am? I’m undeserving-“

“You would choose to love, to care for a cripple, a shell of a man in the eyes of society. A man who has too often neglected the children he cares for, often spat in the face of those he dares to call his friends. If either of us is undeserving of the other’s love, my dear, it’s me.”

Your brows furrow angrily, reaching up to mirror him, cupping his own face with both of yours. “Laszlo Kreizler you stop that right now, I won’t hear any more of…you’re smiling. How could you be smiling?”

He leans into one of your hands affectionately, a rare, dashing smile lighting up his features in a way you cherished to see, despite the circumstances. “Perhaps we are both wrong. Perhaps…perhaps we need each other, to use each other’s eyes and hearts to understand who we truly are. We both have such lowly opinions of ourselves but…perhaps it was meant to be.”

Your own smile was beginning to form, despite your best efforts, as your brain’s screaming of all that could go wrong began to quieten.

“I hesitate to believe in fate, Doctor…” you trail off, taking a step closer, your heart filled with hope and eyes filled with wonder. “I hesitate further to admit to needing someone, and yet…my brain is only ever kind and quiet when I’m around you.”

Laszlo’s weaker arm rests on your hip, while the thumb of the hand caressing your face moves to trace your chin. “My language is not as…poetic, as yours, my dear,” he confesses, and you both chuckle, “but I very much would like to kiss you, with your permission.”

“Laszlo, you could do anything to me,” you confess, reaching forward to finally meet his lips.

It’s messy, and uncoordinated, but any lack of experience the pair of you may have is made up for by the pure, electric eagerness that overtakes the both of you. You’re both exploring, testing each other, in some give and take dance that does not seem to quell any emotions within you, instead quite the opposite.

You could kiss him forever, you quickly realize.

But by some cruel twist of fate, you have to pull away, air taking priority.

You stare wildly at him as he breathes heavily, eyes darker than you had ever seen, with a sense of uncertainty that you hadn’t ever seen about him before.

A teasing smile finds its way onto your face, as you can’t help but test your luck.

“How far, exactly, did you read in my book?”

He blinks at you a couple of times, uncertain of your line of questioning. “I read of your jealousy, of your shame, I don’t…I don’t believe I finished it all, I found I had to address the issue before I continued –“

“Would you like to know what else was in there?”

Laszlo appeared flustered as you led him back to his plush chair, and you knelt down between his legs to pick up the book that had fallen to the ground. You don’t offer it to him, however, instead putting it aside.

“My dear, I don’t –“

“I ask you to stop me, if my advances are too…forward to you, Laszlo.”

You slowly rise from your place, moving to lift your skirts so you might position yourself above the Doctor, straddling him in his chair. As if on its own accord, his good hand rises to situate on your waist tightly. You gently grasp his weaker hand, his “broken wing”, and lift it to your mouth, delicately kissing the palm, each finger.

Laszlo mutters your name, transfixed by your mouth’s movements.

“I would love every part of you,” you begin, continuing your assault of affection as you whisper against the part of him, he views as most broken. “I would care for you in every capacity in which I’m capable. I would strive to be deserving of you in every which way.” You drop his hand and lean forward, hands grasping the back of the chair as you hold his gaze. “I would have you claim every part of me, I would have your marks for the world to see, if you wished. I’ve dreamt of you and I in the most compromising positions that I dare not say, on nearly every surface of your study, my bedroom, the Institute. I would give you every single piece of me, Laszlo, every ounce of my attraction. I would give you my darkest sins and my deepest pleasure, if you would allow me too. Please, Doctor Kreizler, let me please you.”

You didn’t know what you were expecting from your confession.

Perhaps you wondered if he would push you away, exclaiming that your desires were too much, your words too sinful, and that he would cease associations with you immediately. Perhaps you thought he would scold you for being too wanton, too unbecoming of a woman of your standing. Perhaps you hoped the worst that would happen is he would kiss you softly and instruct that you both go to bed in separate rooms, that more carnal needs could be discussed at a later date.

Never in your wildest dreams did you expect to feel Laszlo shift and harden beneath you, eyes growing so dark they were nearly completely black, and have him reach his hand to curl around the back of your neck.

And you certainly didn’t expect the deep growl that escaped him as his lips, tongue, and teeth clashed with yours frantically, animalistically.

Neither of you had experience, you both knew this.

But you both knew what you wanted, what you needed, and that would be enough to motivate you.

You both took what you could, Laszlo leaving your lips to reach what he could of your neck, lavishing it with lips and tongue. He explored expertly, quickly learning what you liked based upon the quickening of your breath, of your pulse. What was left of his analytical mind was fascinated by the chain reaction of events, how you spurred each other on.

When he nipped at your ear, your hips rolled uncontrollably, and a rough groan escaped him unconsciously.

Fascinating indeed.

He panicked slightly when you stood, wondering if he had stepped too far. The panic raised as you strode across his study, heading quickly to the door.

“Wait, my dear, I-“

“Calm down, Laszlo,” you hushed him, and he heard a loud click of the door locking from where he sat. “I merely don’t wish to be interrupted. If this is still what you wish.”

He leans back in his chair, breathing heavily, observing you as you stand once again before him. “I should be asking you what you want, my darling.”

You grin, shaking your head. “Was my speech before not enough for you to know what I want, Doctor Kreizler? Can you not infer exactly what I want from you from the writings in my journal? It’s your turn to share, else I might just leave you like this.”

His good hand involuntarily juts forward, grasping yours desperately.

“Don’t you dare.”

You giggle, and he smiles at the sound.

“Then, tell me what you wish, Doctor.”

“I wish…” he trails off, watching as your hands move upward to begin slowly undressing yourself.

“Yes?” You prompt him teasingly, continuing your motions. “Don’t mind me.”

Laszlo shifts in his chair, erection clearly visible by the bulge in his slacks. “I…I wish…” his voice trails off again as his eyes take in every inch of your skin that’s uncovered. “I wish to be with you in every manner. Intellectually, spiritually, physically. I wish to connect with you in a way I never will with any other living creature on this Earth. I wish to feel you around me, to bring you to climax. I wish to fill you, to be yours, to fuck you, to make you Mrs. Kreizler…”

He stops at that, only becoming aware of his own ramblings you straddled him once again, completely nude.

The faintest voice in his head wondered if you made him stupid, but it was silence as his eyes took you in completely.

“You are the most gorgeous specimen I’ve ever been graced with seeing, my love.”

You pull him in to a languid kiss, gently tasting each other as your hand travels down his chest.

“You speak of love, of my being Mrs. Kreizler…” you start, almost losing your train of thought as you feel him twitch beneath you, your hips rolling to meet his. “Another day I’ll ask you to remind me of those words. But for now…” you lean forward, mouth grazing his ear, causing him to shiver. “I need you to fuck me, Doctor Laszlo Kreizler.”

For all of your faith in him, you don’t expect the next feat of strength.

With only his good arm he manages to lift the pair of you from the chair, quickly placing you upwards and onto the desk of his own study, mindless of the papers underneath you, of any others that might be in the building as you shriek in surprise.

He captures your mouth with his, more forceful, captivating, as his good hand explores your form, grasping both of your breasts before heading downwards to the warmth between your thighs. His fingers collect some of the wetness that had escaped your folds and examines it with an almost mocking scientific fascination.

“Is this all for me, my darling?” he questions, and you find yourself at a loss for words as he curiously lifts his fingers to his mouth, his tongue slowly tasting you off of them.

“Fuck, Laszlo,” you whisper, reaching forward to pull him in for a kiss again as he chuckles darkly against you.

His teasing ends when your hands wander downward, now working at the buttons of his slacks frantically, your palm grazing across his length through his pants, causing him to gasp.

“My God,” he pants out, and you pull him out of his slacks. He’s hard, warm, rigid in your palm, with veins and girth that you hadn’t imagined in any of your fantasies, but was now all you could imagine filling you, ending that emptiness that you felt.

“Please,” you whimper, and he gently removes your hand, before lining his cock up with your entrance.

He meets your eyes, checking one last time to ensure this was what you wanted.

“Laszlo, please –“your begging is cut short as he breaches you slowly, pushing his full weight forward as the pair of you connect.

It’s unlike anything you’ve ever felt.

A tantalizing combination of pleasure and pain, your mind repeating an endless mantra of “Laszlo”, which you realize, when he’s fully inside, flush against you, that you’re muttering out loud.

“Oh, my love,” he breathes, his damaged arm lightly resting on your thigh, his other gripping your hip so tightly you knew there would be marks.

“You feel so right,” you mindlessly breathe, and you can’t help but moan at the feeling of him twitching inside you at the comment. You would remember that he likes praise, but…

“I don’t know that I will last long, my love,” Laszlo warns, his voice low, gravely, warm against your neck as he buries his face into it, pressing kisses into the skin of your shoulder.

It crosses your mind that you’re completely nude and he’s fully clothed, but the thought fills you with warmth rather than disappointment.

“Nor will I, but this will happen again, won’t it?” you question, a hint of doubt crossing your voice.

The Doctor silences it immediately, kissing you deeply. “Every night, every hour if you would let me, my darling. You are so wonderful…”

“Then please, fuck me Laszlo. I want to cum, I want you to fill me, I – oh!”

The first snap of his hips was relentless, and it was only more intense from there.

He was strong, sure of his movements, chasing his own pleasure and encouraging yours as much as he could, pressing kisses into your neck, your breasts, your lips, his good hand finding your hair tightly. Broken moans left you as dark, rasping breaths escaped him, and it was all too soon before you felt your peak approaching, familiar with the sensation from lonely nights with your own hand curiously working against yourself.

“Laszlo, Doctor Kreizler, I-“ at your moaning of his title, something in him snapped, and his teeth sunk into where your neck met your shoulder.

A deep cry left you as you reached your climax, a white-hot rush waving over you.

As your cunt clenched around him, Laszlo lost himself, growling his native German tongue as he lost his rhythm, heat filling you as he came.

You two didn’t have much time to come down from your highs, as the door to his home could be heard opening and closing from the floors below.

“Doctor Kreizler?” Sara Howard could be heard calling.

Your eyes wide, you rushed to put yourself back together, close wrinkled, roughly thrown back on and your hair being a wreck. You hoped you could pass it off as merely the result of a rough day, an intense mental break.

You turned to Kreizler, who was a picture of perfection, seeming to not be rattled by the events before…almost.

“Back to the case…?” he trailed off, his voice filled with uncertainty, and you smiled fondly at the terribly awkward, intelligent man before you.

You step forward and kiss him softly, the warmth between your legs and bruises on your thigh a reminder of what had just occurred.

“Back to the case. We can continue our escapades when it’s all over, Doctor.”

He chuckles, confidence returning to him as he nods. “I look forward to it.”

#x reader smut #laszlo kreizler #laszlo kreizler x reader #laszlo kreizler imagine #Laszlo kreizler fanfic #smut #godpleaseletmerest #Ineedsleep

763 notes · View notes