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b-kip · 1 year

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British Slang, Phrases and Idioms!

Finally getting this done! Special thanks to my Pa, because without him I wouldn’t know as much slang as I do LOL, we talk about this kind of thing on the regular, and he's my point of reference for this.

Remember, all of these phrases are very informal/casual, and the point of perspective is from England specifically, some of these words could mean something completely different to someone from a surrounding country. Some are moreso used by older people, while others are typical of a brit of any age. I’ll try my best to indicate as such!

If you have any questions, don't be afraid to ask! Whether it's in the replies, a DM or an actual tumblr ask! I may do another list/add to this list if I remember more later on. Of course, others are free to add on to this, offer corrections or clarifications, etc! :)

Warnings: Vulgar language, very very brief NSFW mentions

Anyway, Slang and Phrases under the cut!!

Nouns

Berk: an insult, a stupid person. Might be more common with people who are older.

Bird(s): Woman/Women ("A couple of birds") - Can sometimes come off as a little sleazy, but not always. Depends on the way it's used. I'd say it's kind of mostly used in reference to women you aren't that familiar with? Can also be used to mean someone's girlfriend "That's X's bird," Used by all.

Bloke(s): A man/men. Again, I'd say it's mostly used in reference to a guy you aren't very familiar with, but it's not always the case. Used by all.

Bollocks: Nonesense, an exclamation used when you’re annoyed/disagree with something or someone. Used by all.

"That's a load of bollocks," / That's a load of bullshit

"Bollocks to it," / Fuck it

Typically used out of anger or exasperation, but can be used in a light-hearted and joking way.

Bollocking: A strong reprimand. Used by all.

Chops: Mouth or jaws, ("Hit him right in the chops,")

Lad: A guy, typically indicates youth. Used by all.

Lass: A girl, typically indicates youth. Used by all.

Muppet: Also an insult, meaning incompetent or foolish. Used by all.

Mard Arse: someone who is sulking. Used by all.

Can also become a verb - "Mardying"/ Or an adjective: “Mardy”

Telly: TV. Used by all.

Trolleys/Kecks/Knickers: Underwear. First two are likely used by older people, whereas knickers is more commonly used by all. Knickers also specifically alludes/refers to women's underwear.

Yank: An American (Used by Ghost in the first MW2) Can very much have a derogatory tone to it. Used by all.

Adjectives

Battered: of an object, damaged by age and repeated use. Of a person, injured by repeated blows/hits. Used by all.

Bonny: Pretty/Beautiful

Buzzing: Very excited and happy, probably moreso used by younger people

Chuffed: Extremely happy or proud. Used by all.

Daft: Foolish. Used by all.

Dire: Very poor quality (Can still be used to mean serious or urgent) Used by all.

Dodgy: Unreliable, potentially dangerous, dishonest Used by all.

Fancy: Want/Like. Used by all.

Flatter than a witch's tit: Extremely flat

Gutted: Disappointed/Devastated. Used by all ages.

Hammered: Very drunk. Used by all.

Jammy: Lucky, getting lucky without effort ("You jammy bastard.")

Knackered/Shattered: Tired, exhausted / Can also be used to describe something that is broken. Used by all.

Minging: Disgusting/Unpleasant.

Pissed/Pissed-up: Drunk (But can still be used to mean Pissed Off/Angry) Used by all.

Piss easy: Very easy. Used by all.

Piece of Piss: Very easy. Used by all.

Thick: Stupid, dumb (Can be extended into a simile Ex, "Thick as pig shit") Used by all.

Verbs

Batter: strike repeatedly with hard blows, beat the shit out of someone. Used by all.

Collar/Collared: Seize/apprehend, or to stop someone in order to speak to them. Used by all.

Faff/Faffing about: Waste time, doing something (typically something useless) in a really disorganised or pedantic way. Used by all.

Kip: to sleep/nap (literally where my name comes from lmao) Ex. "I'm goin' kip," Used by all.

Leg-it/Legged it/Legging it: Run for it. Used by all.

Mouth/Mouthed/Mouthing Off: talk in a loud, unpleasant or rude/disrespectful way. Used by all.

Nick/Nicked: To steal. Used by all.

Scarper/Scarpered: Run away. Used by all.

Shag: To have sex with someone

Skive/Skived/Skiving: Avoid work or a particular duty by staying away or leaving early. Used by all.

Yank: Pull something very hard. Used by all.

Phrases and Idioms

All over the shop:

Can be used to mean "everywhere" ("You're getting it all over the shop!" / "You're getting it everywhere!")

Can also mean to describe something or someone as being in a disorganised or confused state. ("He was all over the shop,")

Used by all.

Armed to the teeth: Carrying a lot of weapons. Used by all.

Bastard: Can sometimes be used in a similar way to "Dammit!" - an expression of frustration. Used by all.

Can also be used like "damn" when referring to something in frustration. (Ex. "Close that damn door!" would be "Close that bastard door!")

Bastard can also be added after an adjective for added effect "Thievin' bastard," / "Mardy Bastard,"

Bastard in general is a very versatile word, it can be used as an insult but also can just be used to refer to someone generally. See it as a sort of replacement for "guy" in some aspects (but not all). ("Poor guy,"/"Poor bastard,")

Combining the above two, you can get the wonderful phrase "All over the bastard shop."

Bone to pick: Having a grievance with someone. In some cases may indicate reprimanding. Used by all.

Built like a brick shithouse: Describing someone who's very big and very strong. Used by all.

By the skin of one's teeth: By a narrow margin, only just, ("Hanging on by the skin of his teeth"/"Barely holding on") Used by all.

Cheers: Casual term for "Thanks" Used by all.

Christ on a bike: Used to indicate shock, surprise or exasperation, a more humerous take on "Jesus Christ" Used by all.

Fuck me: An exclamation used to indicate annoyance, exasperation and frustration. Can also be used to express surprise or disbelief (Kind of in the way you'd use "Jesus Christ") Used by all.

Gagging for it: sort of like "begging/asking for it" / really wanting something/tempting fate. Can be used in a taunting or threatening way. Used by all.

Ex. “He’s gagging for it.”

Give/Gave someone a seeing-to: Similar to battering someone. But can also mean fucking someone (often used humerously in that context). Used by all.

Have a laugh/Having a laugh: Also has two meanings depending on context, used by all.

1. Joking around, generally having fun with something

2. To express annoyance when you think someone is being unreasonable or unfair

Hell's Bells: an exclamation of annoyance or anger. Can be made into an angrier expression by throwing fuck in the middle. Ex. "Hell's fuckin' bells!" - I'd say used by all, but probably moreso older people.

I'll have ya: A threat, similar to "I'll get you," Severity of the threat depends on context, ranging from collaring someone, to beating the shit out of someone to straight up killing them. Can also be used in a joking way between friends. Used by all.

Innit: Short for "Isn't it" or "Ain't it" Used by all ages.

Pack it in: Stop it/Cut it out. Typically used in a frustrated way. Can be emphasised by adding fuck, ex. "Pack it the fuck in!" Used by all.

Pissing About: Wasting time. Used by all.

Pissing it down: Raining really hard. Used by all.

Piss(ing) Oneself Laughing: Laughing uncontrollably. Used by all.

Pissing Oneself: Very scared. Used by all.

Shaking like a shitting dog: To describe someone who's shaking a lot/shaking badly. More of a northern phrase, I think.

Shit/Shat me/you/them up: To scare someone/make them jump

Ta: Short, casual term for "Thank you" Used by all.

Take the piss/Taking the piss: Used by all, has a few meanings

1. Making fun of/mocking someone in a way that isn’t intended to be serious (teasing) (Sort of like “Fuck with,”)

2. To lie about something in a really obvious, sometimes outrageous way. (”What? Really?” “No, I’m taking the piss.”)

3. To describe someone who’s taking something for granted, taking liberties or being unfair.

Rhyming Slang

Tits-up: something going horribly wrong. Used by all. ("It's all going tits-up,")

Wind(ing) someone up: Similar to taking the piss, purposefully being annoying by making fun, teasing or playing practical jokes. ("Where's X?" "He's winding Y up.") May also be used in disbelief when you think someone is being unfair or dishonest ("Are you winding me up?") Used by all.

Wind up merchant: As above, a wind up merchant is someone who enjoys winding someone up, this name is often given in annoyance by the victim

Rhyming Slang gets its own section because it's a wide and wonderful topic. I can't put every possible option, but I'll pick a few favourites. I highly reccommend anyone who's interested to look into it more. Rhyming slang can also just be made up on the spot, and I'd say it's moreso used by older folk.

To use rhyming slang, you just use the phrase in the place of the actual word you're substituing out. Basically just like using synonyms.

Some rhyming slang can be shortened further into just a word.

Bell Ringers/Bellies: Fingers

Boat Race/Boat: Face

Brown Bread: Dead

Butcher's Hook/Butcher's/Butch: Look

Hank Marvin: Starving, hungry

Pat and Mick: Sick

Plates of Meat/Plates: Feet

Septic Tank/Septic: Yank (An American)

Tea leaf: Thief

Two and eight: State (Describing someone who is dishevelled or upset.)

Extra/Misc

Depending on the situation, "fucking" can be turned into just "kin"

Ex. "Fucking Hell" can become "'kin 'ell!"

This also applies to "Fuck Off" which can just become "Koff"

Ex. "'koff with that shit,"

Depends on the situation honestly, sometimes the "fu" sound can be a lot more emphasised. The art of british swearing is a delicate one.

Insults can also be made out of pretty much anything, so long as it's put after "You absolute-"

Cunt can be a little divisive when used (some have no problem using it, others find it to be too abhorrent to use) but it's used pretty commonly.

#simon ghost riley #john price #gary roach sanderson #kyle gaz garrick #ghost cod #cod mw22 #there's definitely a lot ive missed but here we go!#hope these are helpful in some way!#i'm sorry for the sheer amount of piss mentioned in this post #also i hope these are wide spread - it's hard to tell sometimes what's a britishism and what's a dadism #like koff. i don't know if that's just smth me and my dad say or if it is infact a general thing

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faesystem · 1 year

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At the risk of creating another wave in already unsteady waters, I just want to get some clarification about a term I have seen used recently.

Hyper-Complex Dissociative Identity Disorder.

I have not been able to find any medical literature on the topic. From what I know, it is supposed to be a label describing a specific type of complex dissociative structure in systems who have undergone RAMOCA. However, I am very confused by it.

The first point of confusion is what it actually is. A lot of the structures it references, such as high fragment counts, multiple innerworlds, subsystems, ect are seemingly the same as complex-DID.

The only point that I know of that differs is that sometimes it can involve programmed alters. Which, first of all, does not inherently involve complex internal structures. Second, it seems as though it is not an inherent part of HC-DID, just a common one.

But if HC-DID involves C-DID structures + programmed alters, I fail to see how that would only be possible through RAMCOA? Now, do not misunderstand me, I know programmed alters can only happen intentionally, but I am under the impression RAMCOA refers to a very specific type of trauma. I know of someone with programmed alters from an ex of its who realised it had DID, does that mean that it underwent RAMCOA because the person intentionally programmed it? I will admit that is a grey area in my understanding, and if progamming itself inherently counts as RAMCOA I do apologise for implying otherwise.

But I also saw that it does not inherently have programmed alters and that the defining factor is that it is caused by RAMCOA. So, is it just complex-DID caused by RAMCOA? I fail to see what the unique aspect of internal structure that differentiates it from C-DID is in that case.

I even saw the definition that it was DID caused by RAMCOA in general, but RAMCOA does not inherently create complex internal structures.

I am just.

Quite lost.

#syscourse #HC-DID #hypercomplex dissociative identity disorder #discourse

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metal-requiem · 2 years

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If you would please give us divine intervention au plot!!

i ABSOLUTELY will thank you SO MUCH for asking (not sarcasm). sorry in advance but i have been unable to think about literally anything else for three days. i cannot stop rotating these two in my head. long post so buckle up

As for Elesa and Emmet, they were kind of just dragging along and keeping each other afloat for a few years. Emmet was running himself ragged keeping both the singles and doubles lines running, because if he stopped moving he knew he wouldn’t be able to start up again. Elesa was taking on extra work and occasionally running the multi line with Emmet. If she’s not working, she’s thinking, and if she’s thinking, she’s spiraling - so she keeps working. They were mostly both just trying to keep busy while holding out hope that the cops would find Ingo. Both of them refuse to grieve for someone that isn’t dead. At some point around the eight-ish month mark Elesa just sort of. stopped going home and informally move into the twins' house. She starts to hate quiet (the kind that comes with being alone, at least). She stays on the couch. (i see the trio as more of a sibling dynamic btw so that’s what everything should be read as)

The day the officials closed Ingo’s case and declared him dead (which went much longer than usual - around 4 years - just because of how high profile the case was), Elesa came home to Emmet working on research on multiple possible leads at once and didn’t think twice before taking some off of his hands. Emmet is the one who realizes (two days into their bender) that they should call out of work. It’s the first time either of them have used extended vacation time. Also, it’s worth noting that Emmet has not gone nearly as batshit as like, common fanon (which I wholeheartedly support btw i DO think he should be allowed to make his way to heaven through violence to fight god) because Elesa is right there with him from the start. He’s living with another human who has ALSO been steadily reaching the end of her rope at the same time as him. So, like, they’re socialized. More or less.

So basically, Zekrom tunes in to these two humans running entirely on ideals, spite, and coffee and decides this is absolutely a storyline it wants to follow. It's like a shitty soap opera you start watching simply because it's on, but then twenty hours later of straight consumption later you've become irreversibly attached to these characters and fully immersed in their drama. It has a selfless reason for everything it does, including (especially) the more selfish-appearing acts, such as annoying Emmet or purposefully withholding information, since despite its more chaotic nature, it DOES wish to see these two succeed in finding their brother. Especially after it starts to actually like them.

I’m thinking Zekrom is just kinda vibing for a couple weeks, keeping the two on track while also subtly slowing them down. It tries to kick Elesa off the couch and she wins THAT fight by a landslide, to which Zekrom pretty much just goes “okay you’re my trainer now. now find me somewhere to sleep.” Then when the lake trio show up in Unova, Zekrom puts Emmet and Elesa on their trail. It can’t like, straight up tell them where Ingo is (because it doesn’t know) or send them back in time (because that isn’t within its power and also it doesn’t know), but it CAN be a homie. A bro. It’s got connections.

Shenanigans ensue. At some point, they stop thinking of themselves as “Emmet and Elesa” and they become “Emmet and Elesa and Zekrom”, just in time for Bad Things to happen :)

This isn’t actually like, a plot thing, but I like to imagine that Reshiram feels Zekrom disappear from the timeline and goes, “oh you have GOT to be fucking kidding me.”

Which reminds me; clarification, just because I know what the expectation is: Reshiram isn’t involved in this. I see Zekrom as the more social of the two, so it has no problem hopping on board another human’s train so soon, but Reshiram got woken up and then immediately had to work with some kid to keep some OTHER kid from using Zekrom to end the world. It’s on good terms with the champion, but it has no interest in interacting with any humans for the next century, except for like, Sunday afternoon tea with the champion. So, no, Emmet doesn’t get Reshiram. Elesa grabs the Zekrom aesthetic as soon as humanely possible (she needs a new outfit for travel anyway), and if need be, they say it’s her pokemon, but it’s more the third member of their little group rather than one of the humans’ pokemon. The pokeball is just for convenience’s sake, and the moment Zekrom wants to leave it, it will. So think of it more like “creatures of various levels of deification keep moving into Emmet’s house and NONE of them are asking him first” rather than “Elesa gets one of the legendary dragons and Emmet gets jack shit”

Fuck this got long lmao. Anyway, they’ll find Ingo, and it’ll have a happy ending. Eventually.

#divine intervention au #nimbasa trio #submas #pokemon #zekrom #pla #subway master emmet #elesa #AHA YOU FOOL YOU JUST ACTIVATED MY TRAP CARD: asking me about my blorbos #but yea sorry about the infodump #I Need To Share Or I Will Die

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callmearcturus · 2 years

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Hello archtaurus can you talk about the consent situation happening in ktowl asking for a friend

golly gee, for a friend huh

(reminder to all: i lowkey wrote KTOWL as an attack on this motherfucker.)

I know I have a few people still reading KTWOL who are following me. THIS POST ISN'T FOR YOU. DO NOT READ THIS UNTIL YOU FINISH THE MAIN STORY. SPOILERS FUCKING ABOUND.

Also disclaimer death of the author blah blah, you know what it is

Okay lets talk about KTOWL and Consent.

So I tagged KTOWL as "Meaningless Consent" for a lot of reasons and a lot of them have nothing to do with sex at all. But some do!

The most obvious aspect of this is Dave and his tenure at the Umbra and the matter of tokens. I have frequently had people ask for clarification on this, which I'm sometimes a little gunshy to spell out explicitly because I do like leaving some things to the reader to puzzle out and to make inferences about.

But the thing about the Umbra that is a running thread through the entire story is how it erodes people. It rubs off everything that resists it like a constant river rushing over everyone.

In Dave's case, he's in a uniquely fucked position. The Umbra explicitly serves all comers and all tastes, both for a business and because it thrills the Cherubs and fulfills their terrible appetites. Dave is trapped in that system because he cannot leave the Umbra.

"Can't Dave deny someone a token use?" is a very common question people have, and one I intended KTOWL to tacitly answer, thought it's never Stated Outright. Because lets say Aradia is handed a token and she doesn't want to fulfill it for whatever reason. She is contractless and can literally leave the Umbra at any time. She had leverage to say no.

Dave, on the other hand, has no leverage, so he tries to carve out his concessions with a blunt knife. When Karkat gives him a green token, he immediately grabs it and tries to give Karkat a really good time because, in the future, he wants Karkat to keep picking green. Green is way more palatable to Dave than red.

On the other hand, there's Cronus, who wants red tokens because he has pitch designs on Dave. If you would like, you could infer that Cronus once upon a time flush flirted with Dave, but as Dave started to openly dislike Cronus for his many many many many faults, instead of stepping the fuck off, Cronus started employing the red tokens to try and build a pitch relationship with Dave. And it fucking sucks, and Dave is back into a corner because as someone stuck in the Umbra, someone under Calliope's avaricious eye, he doesn't have leverage.

There's a very purposeful recurring theme with Dave and how he interacts with Karkat. Dave enforces his boundaries bodily and verbally with Karkat. He pushes against Karkat's boundaries to see what he'll do. He directs the relationship, both in the sense that Dave is routinely the 'dominant' force during sex, and also that he grows to demand affection and attention from Karkat when he wants it.

So, was Karkat and Dave's relationship consensual from the word go? No, because they're stuck in a place where that is meaningless. What is hopefully admirable is the way they both meet each other and do their best to claw out a space for themselves where they feel like the have control, even if its in a delicate bubble they have made for themselves. As evidenced by how Calliope pops it when she's finally fed up with Dave's moodiness and the fact he's not playing along with her anymore.

SO YOU KNOW WHO HAS IT EVEN WORSE? FUCKING DIRK STRIDER.

And here we come to The Point.

Less hardened hearts may balk at the question: Is Jake and Dirk's relationship consensual?

Nope! But for Dirk Strider, consent is even more meaningless than it is for Dave, and i would character the difference between the two that Dave has wiggle room to carve out something equitable with Karkat, but Dirk's hands are tied and he can't do fucking anything.

In the first Abraxas Intermission, Jake has a conversation with his gran about the Umbra and mentions how he dislikes the desperation. It's a word that gets stuck in Dirk's head and haunts him. When Jake goes to the Umbra to meet Dave, he tells Dave what's been done to him is gruesome, and twice in that chapter, Dave unconsciously repeats Jake's phrasing, like Jake has somehow seeded a virus in his mind.

This is very much at the core of how Jake operates, honestly, and he does it to everyone. He presents a new reality to people and his viewpoint slowly infects them, until Dirk breaks his Executor's Code, until Dave has his full tilt breakdown, until Rose can only entertain the idea of murdering Jake instead of doing the deed. His power is charisma, and I cannot overstate how dangerous it is in his hands. There's nothing more powerful than someone who knows exactly how dangerous he is.

So anyway, back to Dirk. This is made very explicit in the second Intermission, but Dirk has lost everything. The Umbra has eroded more of him than it has of anyone else. He has no desires other than Caliborn's whim and Dave's safety (both not related to Dirk himself, you should note). He has no hobbies he doesn't share with Dave. He doesn't want things. He has been raised to be a tool and then he has been used as a tool for so fucking long, there is nothing left.

I'm trying to put into words the affliction that Dirk has been struck with, that has been forced onto him by the Cherubs. Like, one of the most horrible things that Calliope ever does to my personal estimation is a throwaway line Dirk shares when Jake is interrogating him:

Dirk's voice shook with anger as he told Jake about her: her lingering glances, about the armband she wore that kept her within five miles of Caliborn, about how she lured more people into confinement with her, about the time she said Dave's eyes looked like maraschino cherries, about the time she'd asked Dirk to hold her as she cried over the latest stupid thing Caliborn had done.

Even the sanctity of Dirk's emotions has been violated to the point he doesn't have them. His body, his work ethic, his skills, his emotions have been fashioned into a tool for the Umbra to use as it likes, and he has no end in sight. He is never getting out. He's not even trying to get out! He has no desire to escape the Umbra, just to get Dave out of the Umbra.

[huge breath]

So when I think about Dirk Strider and consent, my truest, most honest thought is "what fucking consent." This is a person who doesn't have anything to consent to, doesn't have anything to consent with, so for him even more than anyone else in the story, Consent Is Literally Meaningless. There is nothing he can give and there is nothing you can take from him, he is a desolation shaped like a man.

Enter Jake "Abraxas" English.

And I want to be very clear: Jake is not and has never been The Good Guy of KTOWL. He was, in my very first draft notes before I wrote a single line of the story, was simply A Comparatively Better Monster, comparing to Caliborn and Calliope.

The one virtue that Jake has, that drives the story and in my opinion makes KTOWL function at all is that Jake does want Dirk's body. He wants his desires. He wants his emotions. He wants his talents. He wants Dirk as a person in a way that is anathema to what Dirk has become.

When Jake drugs Dirk and wrings the truth out of him, it is technically a transgression, but to me it doesn't feel like one. Dirk doesn't even come out of it thinking of it like one because... why would he? He has nothing you can inflict on him.

But that leads directly into what Jake does in the second intermission, of course. Yes, Jake is capturing Dirk to give Karkat the shot he needs to wreck some fucking havoc, but also Jake sequesters Dirk away and--

lol there's a subtle joke about this that some people caught actually, in Rose's POV chapter when she thinks about Jake and Dirk's little 'vacation' she imagines it's very an extremely vigorous sex romp. But in truth, they fuck a few times but mostly...

Jake wants Dirk. He wants to find the core of Dirk that has been neglected for probably over a decade, and he wants to get his hands on that thing. He wants to know what Dirk's scars came from. He wants to see Dirk laugh. He wants to know what Dirk thinks about when he is not thinking about being an executor. He wants Dirk to be a fucking Real Boy again! He sees himself in Dirk, because Jake himself was Made rather than born, and he knows a thing or two about what that's like.

It's not... noble. It's still selfish. It's still rooted in Jake's rule-based morality. He doesn't want to save Dirk and Dave because Rose told him to or because it's the right thing to do, he sees their situation as a severe and dangerous breach of the rules, and he's offended and he's righteous. Jake believes/knows he can do it better, and he will make that happen, hook or crook.

So when I think about "is dirk and jake dubcon? D/s? some kind of 24 hour arrangement of power?" it's all interesting to think about, but on some level I think it's entirely besides the point. You are welcome to disagree, this is my opinion.

Then, KTOWL the main story ends, and Dirk signs on with Jake, and it's not even a question. Now, technically, Dirk.... didn't have to do that. He could have, technically, put the pen down and walked away and been a normal contractor or something. His weregild debt wouldn't vanish, but he didn't have to be Jake's executor.

But the thought never crosses his mind. The ability to say "no" is one of the many things the Cherubs removed from Dirk's mind.

Is that a sad thing? Hm. I'm not sure. Maybe it is for some readers, but to me... it's not a secret that KTOWL is a continuation of an idea I first explored in pump your veins in gushing gold. In GG, Dirk does manage to escape Jake's grasp, but then turns around and puts himself right back into it, on his own terms, and accepts what is basically ownership by a fae.

Jake Abraxas English is not a fae, and yet he's far more dangerous than one. But he is, in a sense, the only person who can handle Dirk Strider. Which... includes Dirk himself.

I'm going to explore this concept in a Dirk-centric coda that I'm working on (and posted a preview of last week I think) but Jake is invested in Dirk as a person and wants to see him.... become a person again. In some ways, Dirk is much more feral than Jake is. (I said in the comments of the second intermission chapter that the core of the Dirk thing is that Dirk feels like he's the sanest person in any given room, but really he's shithive fucking nuts and everyone else knows it.)

But it's a long road, and it's going to be a longterm project, the reconstruction of Dirk Strider. He has spent so long living for Dave's sake, taking that way without any kind of fallback or safety net is frankly extremely dangerous for a man like Dirk. But luckily(?) Jake is ready to catch him and to try and resocialize Dirk into something other than a tool. But he does and will continue to use methods that would be severely fucked up if employed on anyone else.

Because we joke about how Jake is a horny weirdo, but the thing is, so is Dirk. They are the only people who can handle each other. And Jake is an obsessive amoral freak who will put all of his talents and resources into... saving Dirk Strider. Even if it takes the rest of their lives.

And that is why consent in KTOWL is meaningless. /jazzhands

Oh btw is is one of the many ways in which Jake and Karkat are foils.

#swdktowl #long post #talking about writing

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trans-advice · 1 year

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Hi I don't how how to start this but I don't know if I'm like. Trans or if I just hate my tits? They're not bad looking or anything I just don't like the thought of people perceiving my chest. It's kinda. bad to the point where I have Terrible posture. I've meddled around with having One Person use he/him for me and it only feels okay sometimes? Other times it just kinda sucks. I have no problem with being perceived as feminine, I like it in the sense of "oh she's mauling someone" yk? Not "oh she's so pretty" or "she probably likes to do her hair." I fight with my gender every Saturday in an Arby's parking lot and when I get a therapist they're going to want to pull me apart like a baby back rib. Please help.

I love your wit!

To be fair, I think you hate being perceived & this includes your chest.

This ask reminds me of an Audre Lorde quote I saw recently.

“If I didn't define myself for myself, I would be crunched into other people's fantasies for me and eaten alive.” ― Audre Lorde

I used to have imposter syndrome when I was a kid & it was aggravated by having my transition attempt in kindergarten ignored by the schools etc I was at. So like when I would be recognized I had this intense feeling of alienation about how they weren't actually praising me, but they were praising my conformity to their expectations/fantasies for me. So what this meant was that I'd receive awards but then I'd like either rip them up or else avoid showing up to receive them.

Firstly, I'd recommend getting a chest binder since you're very aware of that being a problem for you.

If you can't get a binder or you need more clarification, then my advice would be to work on your presentation/style since your overall issue is being perceived. Often this means a shopping trip, but here's an idea in case you don't have money or safe shops to shop at. Basically, make like a vision board, but with some extra preparation.

First, collect things into folders that spark in separate folders gender euphoria or gender dysphoria. This could be either physically, or on a computer of some sort, or websites like pintrest (or even sideblogs). After a while, sort through it looking for common or repeating characteristics, and go from there. Once you have an idea about how you want this in your life, then make the vision board. Hopefully the rest falls into place.

Good Luck, Peace & Love,

Eve

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ironwoodatl01 · 2 years

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How does it feel knowing one day; you're going to be responsible for all the people considered "Undesirable degenerates." to get marched off to a camp? You would throw a party for yourself and flip through your book most likely. Only stirred when the sound of boots are at your doorstep. Rwde does not fucking like you man. That's where all the toxic sjw go, and they don't even enjoy your presence no matter how hard you try. You don't like gays, lesbians, bisexuals, asexuals and queers in general. You prolly think your some holy saviour or a person whos gonna show the light of jesus to others; when you just give motive to disembowel a bible and burn it... ( No respect for religious trauma in a world where religion places someone in permanent service based on sex) Do you actually think, the trans people you reblog character posts from genuinely wish to interact with you? How about you actually live as Jesus did so that you may find humility and true understanding on the world we are currently walking on now. You waste your life on hatred and the fact that you use the bible as an excuse is demonic on your own part. Honestly what a waste. Idk who beat you as child or deprived you of love to the point that you can only find it in an ancient book; but someone dropped the ball massively and that ball was you man. I Hope you can genuinely find peace in yourself. In hindsight; you will probably ignore/delete this post for your own relief, maybe reply to it and use bible verses to counter it without actually addressing the core criticism. Brushing it off as hysteria from a mentally ill person; which is ableist but I wouldn't be surprised if part of you hated yourself for being different growing up. Hence why wearing cartoons on your sleeves just like the queers you hate and want to see gunned downed or cured. Clarification: Clearly you hate yourself and view this as a peacetime where you can feel heard and help people. Analysis: Perhaps an early divorce occurred in your childhood or marterial problems while your feelings had no place; hardening and being leaned on was not a choice. Conclusion: You genuinely think your hardness and zero sense of acceptance will help save Queer people while head-butting your way into those same spaces seeking comradery. I feel pity for you. I feel as if you see a father in James that you never actually had growing up; or that he reminds you of him despite a possible strained relationship.

Your pity is not necessary, but appreciated. You put in the effort, and that is to be recognized.

I never knew you had mental issues, nor have I ever cared. The fact that you think it mattered speaks more about you than it does me.

As for the trans people and rwde? It also doesn't really matter to me whether they like me, and if it did matter to them they can block me anytime. I like the posts, so I repost. I have a point to make, so I make it. I post for the post's sake. Although I do have to break up my blogs a little to declutter, so thanks for reminding me indirectly.

The salvation of the LGBTQ people is not something I can do anything about, nor is it something I really want to do anything about. God gave his Son to die on the cross and its up to them to accept that gift. All I'm doing is correcting their's and other people's assertions of biblical truth by presenting the bible verses in context. The truth, the correct answer, will always piss people off, but that is the nature of Facts.

There is always black and white because the darkness seeks to destroy the light on its on accord. There will always be enmity not because of my aggression, but because of the other side's hardheadedness.

Harry Potter and Voldemort must kill each other not because Harry seeks the fight, but Voldemort won't quit until Harry is dead by his hand.

Ultimately, you seek common ground on terms I cannot, in good conscience, accept. We are opponents because the lie can't accommodate the truth.

In any case, I'm sure there will be a confrontation between me and the LGBTQs sooner or later. So be it. But I respect them enough to attribute them the maturity to decide when the confrontation occurs. They are old enough they/thems to block me and I don't think they need you to speak for them.

Don't be ableist

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leam1983 · 2 years

Text

On Dissent

TL;DR: don't block someone because they've issued a slight point of contrast to an argument of yours. To paraphrase a lot of concern farmers, that's not a very good look for you, or for the solidity of your starting position.

I've seen a number of people I follow go on long-suffering pleas, lately, that amount to "If you disagree with me or would like to issue a contrasting point, just don't bother. Go ahead and block me."

That's concerning to me. What they're saying is that they're not ready to help someone either reframe a perspective they've shown they have, or not ready to re-enunciate an opinion of theirs for clarity. Either you're onboard from the moment they've hit Post, or you're replying in bad faith, according to their logic. In the worst case, you're a shill for X argument.

That is not how a public space is run. In real life, if someone's opinions bother you, you can tune them out. In extreme cases, you can bar their access to your provided space. It doesn't change the fact that said dissenting opinions or additions can still be said. On here, anyone can put whatever they want on their blog, or reblog whatever they want with whatever addendum or clarification they'd like to submit - and somehow, even if the addition is phrased politely, it's seen as an attack.

Let me be clear: if I reply to one of your posts and my addition strikes you as being contentious, feel free to let me know. I'd rather act like an adult and show clear signs of at least trying to understand how what I would've said could've been concerning, rather than fly off the handle and ask you to block me pre-emptively.

One particular example involved someone discussing certain aspects of gastro-intestinal health, specifically poop. The current pro-health chestnut intimates that voiding once a day is ideal, and someone else came on the thread, stating that dietary habits could impact certain things such as stool frequency. Being a Cerebral Palsy sufferer, I also know that there's some cases of constipation that no common practices said to improve regularity can consistently solve. I wasn't involved in said discussion, but seeing someone admit that stool frequency could vary - and seeing them being called a shill for the diet industry - was concerning to me.

The long and short of it was that, yes, someone was indeed blocked for having an addendum to make about dietary habits. The OP could've replied with a second retraction, or they could've chosen to use a Reblog of their own to add more credibility to their starting position - but nope. Straight to Blocktown they go.

I'm curious by nature. I, like a lot of others, like to ask questions. I don't challenge your held beliefs because I'm a contrarian; I'm challenging them because I want to understand. If this is somehow an issue, then Tumblr is no longer a place where discussion can be had and instead exists as a collection of echo chambers. That's deplorable.

#long post #ethics #debates on tumblr #rhetoric #freedom of expression #cw: poop mention

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your-turn-to-role · 2 years

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I love all your Vax meta, especially the latest Raven Queen deal one, but I do think there’s more of a connection with the first deal to save Vex because Vax makes that connection himself. In one of the later conversations with Keyleth, where she’s talking about the exact wording of the deal, Vax brings up the fact that he wouldn’t try to find a loophole bc he’s afraid if he backs out then the RQ will renege on the first deal. I don’t think she would, but Vax definitely thought so.

can i ask which conversation in particular? i think you mean the one from 107, but asking for clarification in case there's another i'm forgetting about

but we'll talk about 107 for now, specifically this part, because this is what i think you were referring to, and it's an interesting point

Keyleth: Can I ask you a question? What exactly was the deal that you made with the Raven Queen? Was it when we slew Vecna, or defeated him? I have a feeling semantics are becoming increasingly more important.

Vax: She offered me a way back, and it was the only way back. I wasn't coming back, not after that. Not without her blessing.

Keyleth: Even if we found a way, you wouldn't take it. To reverse the deal. I'm not asking. I'm just confirming.

Vax: I don't want to leave, but there are some things that I will not test. Hey. I do have faith in her. And I have faith in you and what you'll do.

now, vax's relationship with the raven queen, and the idea of faith and fate and death is, complicated

(someone has a meta out there about how getting hurt for people is vax's love language and honestly yeah. when liam was asked what personality trait of vax's would always stay consistent no matter what his answer was "vax will never not jump in front of trains for the people he loves" and like. okay vax we know this and we love you. but maybe consider you don't have to??)

first off, this one doesn't actually say he's scared for vex, it says he's not going to push his luck with the raven queen. which i think has less to do with "she'll kill my sister if i don't", and more... he knows he's out on a limb here. the raven queen has given him far more than she would most people by using her power to create him an avatar, even if just for a short time, it would go against his sense of duty and really just common decency to try and use this situation to his advantage.

like, this is the person who turned down gilmore as a romantic partner not even because he was dating keyleth (he didn't think she would agree at the time), but because he told keyleth that if she ever wanted him, he'd be there, and continuing to flirt with gilmore after that wouldn't be fair on either of them. vax does not let his sense of what he owes people get overriden by anything. and he owes the raven queen for the fact that she let him have this time. if he were to turn around and try and find a way to get out of the deal, to use what she gave him and then turn it back in her face, he wouldn't be vax anymore. and as far as he's concerned, it doesn't need to get any more complicated than that

the raven queen told him this is what fate said should happen. and he trusts it.

however. just because he thinks it's right doesn't mean he likes what's happening. and this is where things get complicated, bc he's self sacrificial but he's not suicidal, he doesn't actually want to die, even if he agrees when fate says he should. and this is where the whole vax is emo thing comes from, because he's grappling with that for most of the campaign

i think vax knows that the deal is he becomes her champion in exchange for vex's life. but the raven queen also talks about calling on him for a purpose, and somewhere along the line vax kinda equates that with dying? he doesn't have to die for vex to live, but.... the raven queen first took interest in him long before he made that deal, because he had an innate connection with fate (because of the lucky feat). and, while neither liam or matt knew if vax was going to survive to the end of the campaign, as far as the lore of the world is concerned, i like to think that's where his gut feeling his mission would lead to his death came from. because as far as fate was concerned, he died fighting vecna, the enemy of the raven queen. that's a task for a champion if i've ever heard one

(the other conversation you may have meant is the one in 85? and this is one where vax mentions vex, because he says he wants to spend some time with keyleth "before i have to do whatever the fuck she wants" and then backs it up with "my sister is still walking around and breathing, shocking as that is". so, as far as vax's mindset goes, it's not "the raven queen is going to kill me", but it is "my deal with the raven queen involves me fighting a great evil for her, which will probably end in my death. no i don't know what the evil is.")

and not knowing pained him constantly. he spent most of the campaign running on the assumption he could die at any minute so he might as well make the most of life. he had that whole conversation with gilmore in 73 when it really started to bother him. he was ecstatic when they got to have a whole year of retirement, because he was looking to spend as much time with his family as possible

and then vox machina got pulled back together again in 99, which made him sure this was where that deal would come to an end

(and i think a lot about his conversation with vex there, where he's slightly drunk, and very melancholy, and the two of them are talking about vox machina finally getting back together, and vax just quietly goes "i wonder if it's time", and then when vex asks what he's talking about he changes the subject, like, this kills me)

but if you watch any talks with liam near the end of campaign one, he so hoped vax would survive. going into that vecna fight, he was just thinking all he has to do is survive this fight, we're almost at the end, if we kill vecna without vax dying he gets to stick around. but then vecna hit him with instakill combo of hold person and disintegrate which, yeah, if they fail the first wis save makes it impossible to survive. and vax's +2 wis physically could not have made the DC24 save. so then vax was stuck, because any path he could have taken to stay alive is not something he would ever do. but it wasn't set in stone until that moment

i do think you're right, in that that's probably where the fandom idea of it being a simple exchange comes from? but yeah, it was always a very tangled mess of a problem and vax dying was never a guaranteed part of the deal

#cr1 #ask #vax'ildan #cr thoughts #meta #text

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kedreeva · 3 years

Text

Following over from this discussion because that was getting too long.

@futureevilscientist

I’m going to start with the IG comparison and explain why that’s a bad parallel. IG has a completely different culture than fanfiction, for NUMEROUS reasons, not the least of which is that it’s a visual-based media instead of a text-based media. On top of that, IG deals with a person’s real actual life; in some cases it may be a type of “fiction” considering how many people are presenting only their best sides or even a “persona” to the world, but at the end of the day people posting selfies are posting their faces to the internet. That’s not even on the same slider of “personal/intimate” as posting some text you wrote under a pen name. That’s in another galaxy.

But let’s humor you, and say that for some reason the culture does eventually shift to where fandom is being mainly structured by folks who are uncomfortable with people going through their old fics all at once because of their experiences with people going through other forms of media they’re involved in. EVEN IF that were to happen, it’s not my place to say “it doesn’t matter if you’re uncomfortable with how I’m interacting with your space.” It would become my place to learn to say “hey, I really liked this fic of yours I found and I enjoy your writing, is it okay if I read your other stuff?” Do I think that’s likely to happen any time soon? fuck no, all the writing groups I belong to have said “no, actually we like when people do that” any time someone from another platform has asked, and that’s that. You know what that demonstrates?? People ASKED the WRITERS what THEY want, and then LISTENED to the answer.

It is clearly true, or we wouldn’t be arguing, or there wouldn’t be a lot of people like me going “Wait, giving constructive criticism without being prompted is considered rude now?” You can argue and scream about whether it should be a universal norm, and that’s actually a completely different discussion from whether it is one, or of what should be done to bridge this very real cultural clash.

This is where it shows you are brand spanking new to the conversation, because there have been thousands of people in agreement with “giving unsolicited crit is poor form” and every once in a while some person who speaks up to say “why isn’t anyone objecting to this!!” when the fact is.... it’s because MOST people understand common decency and even if they didn’t know before, after repeatedly seeing writers talk about how much damage has been done to them through unsolicited crit now and in the past, they learn how to be a kinder individual and not do that to people. There’s not “a lot” of people like you; there’s one now and again, spread over years and dozens if not hundreds of posts discussing the shift, and it’s usually some asshole saying “you can’t play in the sandbox unless you’re willing to let me hurt you” (which is, incidentally, why you received such a strong, hostile response).

Has there been clarification along the way? Have there been people who didn’t know? SURE. YES. Of course!! But the vast majority of them have looked at the myriad people going “yeah, that does hurt me and I don’t like it” and said “okay, message received, I will avoid hurting others now that I know.” This is completely unlike the IG example, where people asked and writers said “nope that’s not true, we like that shit, please read all our old stuff.” You said that there should be argument against that, but there WAS. There still is if it’s brought up. by and large fandom culture is already positive toward that.

The thing is, it’s also not really all that new for people to not want unsolicited crit on their fanfiction. By this point it’s years old. But fandom as a whole is huge. It takes time for change to spread. You’re right in that it hasn’t reached everyone, which is actually the point of having the discussion repeatedly. You’ve joined the discussion years into it; and a large majority of the discussion was and still is “this is how it should be done, and why.” And we’ve given you and others “what should be done to bridge” the gap.... literally just don’t give crit unless someone asks. Just get permission to do it before doing it.

You seem to be part of the group that thinks that asking people not to give UNSOLICITED crit means that we are asking people to NEVER give ANY crit in any way. You talk about growing pains, and about improving.... but a lot of people don’t want to improve. If someone enjoys taking a walk, do you come up to them and tell them how to improve their walking? Why is it so hard to believe that for a lot of people, writing is the same sort of enjoyable activity, that doesn’t require a desire to improve in order to do, or to share.

People ceasing to give unsolicited crit isn’t going to make fanfiction “shallow.” You know how I know that? Because people are always going to ASK for crit; maybe not in their story notes, but they’re going to ask for help from beta readers still. They’re going to ask for help from friends they trust. They’re going to ask for help from people who have earned their respect. Concrit isn’t going to disappear off the face of the planet.... this is just authors saying “please let me source my concrit from people who I know have my best interest at heart because I’ve chosen them.”

You, a random person on the internet, has put in no other effort to prove you have a person’s best interests at heart. The fact that you’re willing to say “it’s good for you” to people who are telling you “this hurts me” makes it seem to me like you don’t have their best interests at heart at all.

So let me ask you a question I’ve asked before; what’s your end goal here? What is the GOAL of giving a writer unsolicitied crit on their fanfic?

If your answer involves “helping them improve,” may I suggest asking them if that’s even what they want, first, and then asking them what they actually NEED in order to improve? If you really, truly want to help fanfic writers, why is “unsolicited criticism” the only option you see? Why are you so against just asking before you give crit? No one’s saying you can’t ever, ever give crit ever again; the argument is and has been to make sure that you have permission first, the only difference is that we’re drawing the same consent boundaries as any other situation that requires consent..... it’s a no until the person says yes.

What entitles you to ignore that? What entitles you to ignoring the consent of a fanfic writer, now that you’ve been informed of the boundary? Why is writers drawing a boundary in order to make their writing and sharing experience more pleasant SO offensive to you?

#commenting

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bored-storyteller · 3 years

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uh I love your storys about Uta ^^. You write him so good and in character . Could you maybe write a story about him were him and the reader ( human) meeting at an auction like reader was captured and meets Uta there . But maybe they escape the auction house and meet Uta sometime after this again. I`m sorry I love Uta angst and fluff .

Dear anon. I'll tell you, your request inspired me a lot (that's why I did it right away), but I must confess that I'm not really satisfied with the result and I'm sorry (I rewrote it three times). I have to thank my poor summary skills for this defeat, I don't think I managed to really give you what you asked me. Feel free to send me clarifications or a further request for me to remedy!

43- Tokyo Ghoul, Uta x human!reader

“The bird of ill omen and the broken toy”

You are in front of his eyes, huddled in a corner of the cold and dark container. On your knees, tied up, you are the condemned to death ready to face the gallows, or rather you are a delicious dish wrapped in its most beautiful dress to entice the spectators.

"Oh, look here ... what a delightful creature."

You are not the main article, you are not the rare object, yet your smell has brought him there. Uta is not a glutton, but he couldn't resist the temptation to peek at whoever was carrying such an inviting fragrance.

"This is really a shame ..." his voice is sweet, calm, yet ironic and cruel. Yes, it's a shame that he has to give you to some miserly ghoul.

Uta doesn’t usually prefer a certain type of food, he is not delicate or picky, nor does he have problems eating even his similar ones. But he has to admit that while those bright eyes of yours, shining with tears and desperation, look at him, he really would like to be able to eat them. Yes, it is rare for someone to stimulate his appetite in this way, customers really have to thank him for his self-control.

You are so small in his shadow, and even if you tremble, even if you smell of fear, he sees no hope in your eyes.

You know you have no escape. As little as you may be when it comes to ghouls, you know you can't save yourself. You heard them talk.

You would rather die now than continue that torture.

He feels it, and oh, how tempted he is to grant your wish.

He leans over you, he wants to see you well, he wants to hear you. The demonic beak of his mask brushes against you, rubs against your temple like the muzzle of a mother cuddling his cub, or the muzzle of a lion that is playing with his prey.

Maybe, if he had met you in another situation ... maybe ...

No. He doesn't necessarily have to devour you. Nothing is ever said with Uta, even he knows it, he knows himself. Who knows what would have happened if you had met somewhere else. Who knows who you were, elsewhere.

In conclusion, you were both unlucky: you cannot survive, and he cannot be the one to eat you. You have something in common.

"Uta!"

Roma's voice makes its way, muffled by the metal container in which you are locked up - like a ready meal -

"I'm coming!" It's time for him to go on stage, for you it's time for the final bow.

He doesn't tell you anything anymore, he doesn't need to. He will say goodbye to you that same evening, but he feels a little happy that you are among the last items to be exhibited.

He still gives you a look, you, little shaking puppet, sweet broken toy. Who can fix you anymore?

After that, he leaves you behind, abandoned in the cold darkness of your last hours in solitude, as he plunges into the cold light of demons, ready to entertain his fellow men with his affable ways. What a crazy world you are both in.

. . .

Locked in your cold prison, if you could you would cover your ears in a desperate attempt to get away from the announcements and screams, but it's impossible for you. So you wait, trembling in your shell of panic, not knowing what to do. If only you had at least a vain hope, a false chance. If only you could save yourself, for some reason, any reason then yeah, oh, how dear life would be to you thereafter. But you can't even think now.

And you don't even realize that the noises change. The cries of the victims become the cries of the executioners, and the applause becomes breathless footsteps in search of a safe place. But you don't know it, or at least not until they get closer, more distressed. They are probably running away. But who can save you? Who knows you are there? Who can remember you?

And in fact, no one stops, no one frees you, and the footsteps and the screams brush against you and pass you, without bothering to kill or save you. At least you think so.

But as soon as the silence comes, the creaking of the doors opening makes you lift your face, towards the light.

He is there again, and you wonder if that Bird of ill Omen is not your hallucination. With that bizarre suit, that hateful mask, and those ancient letters around his neck that seem ready to strangle him.

He doesn't talk to you. He is simply looking at you, you feel him looking at you, behind that deadly beak. In the silence that surrounds you, whether it is a real silence or created by mutual presence, he suddenly occupies your every thought in those few seconds of eternity. Maybe it's the touch of death that wanders your mind, but suddenly unusual questions arise in you. Who knows who he is, what he does. What does he like and what not ... does he live in the alleys of the city, or maybe, instead, without that mask he pretends to be someone?

He came to take you and devour you. But it almost seems like a strange barrier is keeping him away from you.

And while you are suspended in this limbo of cold resignation, as he came he disappears, and with his disappearance he takes away from you that sad calm that had enveloped you.

The panic returns as someone approaches.

Don't scream. Don't scream. Don't scream.

"Hey, are you okay?"

Clean eyes, a clean face, no mask is looking at you agitated. You don't know how to answer, you don't even know if what you are seeing is true.

“I'm a human, I'm a CCG investigator. Don't worry, it's okay, we'll get you out of here. "

Without your being fully aware of it, you find yourself in warm, safe arms that take you away from hell behind you. You didn't even realize you were crying.

. . .

He recognized your smell right away.

Even if it's been some time since his meeting with you, it's hard to forget something that has affected him so much, especially if it is something that has particularly touched his sensitivity over that of others.

And it's not that Uta is then easily surprised, he is ready to expect anything from that crazy world, yet you manage to upset him without even knowing that he is there.

You are smiling. And that's not the fact, but at the same time it is. You are smiling sweetly, sincerely. Your eyes are clear and bright, and you are listening to someone talking to you about their petty problems without batting an eye.

That night, that night he met you, he came back to eat you. He was not a ghoul who got lost in gluttony, but given the situation he had a particular interest in the statement "carpe diem".

He hadn't, in the end. In the end he just looked at you. It would have been easy to swallow you, but he had left you there. He had told himself that he hadn't made it in time, but who knows what was really going through his head at that moment.

It doesn't matter anymore, however. What's a broken toy like you doing so quietly exposed? How can you smile at people like that, when surely the world around you has crumbled into millions of little bits?

You make him angry, you know? Humans like you, whom the world keeps getting back on their feet despite everything, provoke anger in him.

And you are there, a few steps away from him, and you do not realize that the one who had the task of trampling your life is watching you.

And no matter how much anger he may feel inside of him, he can't help but look at you, as you speak comfortable words to someone, while you give your attention as if you have no problem.

"Uta?" Renji's voice, intent on looking at him from behind the coffee shop counter, makes him look away from you.

"Nh? Ah… ”His gaze falls on his now coffee-stained lap. The stain is almost invisible on the black sweater, but it is damp and warm.

"Don't laugh ... can you give me a towel please?"

"I'm not laughing." Yet Uta could swear that in the serious voice of his trusted friend a note of amusement is audible even to those who do not know him.

Carefully he puts the cup back on the saucer, making sure not to do any further damage.

This then. When was he ever so distracted for a human?

But when he instinctively looks for you, after all that nice little theater, you're not there anymore. The table you occupied is empty.

Only one object remained abandoned on the shiny surface. A book lies alone, the bookmark sticking out in the middle.

It is placed on the side where you sat. Did you leave in such a hurry that you left it there?

It is not that he has a real reason to do it, yet, while he is about to leave :Re, with all the tranquility that characterizes him, he picks up that literary volume in his hands, hiding it inside his jacket. Even that printed paper is imbued with your smell by now.

. . .

You talk to books, apparently. The edges of the pages are filled with thoughts written in pencil. They are all yours, it almost seems like you use the books as your diary, but there is nothing so personal about you. They are just… points of view. The world told by you, depending on the inspiration that the phrases in the book give you.

"It must be difficult to live in a world where you can talk to your food about your favorite book."

When Uta's eyes had settled on that particular phrase, he had closed. For someone else it might have been a stupid phrase, probably, but for him it was like a punch in the stomach.

He doesn't know if you wrote it before or after the accident, but in any case that simple sentence arouses a mixture of emotions that he doesn't really know where to place. Even if you wanted to, you couldn't understand what it meant to be a ghoul in that world, but on the other hand, the utopia in which Renji seems so hoping could be made up of people like you. If only he believed it, Uta could like that world, as long as there was a place in that world for someone like him.

“Excuse me, did you happen to find a book yesterday? I'm afraid I left it here by mistake. " Your cordial voice betrays a note of alarmism as you speak to the young girl. Your hands grip the counter as if it were a rock of salvation, but your feet are ready to run elsewhere, to look somewhere else in case it isn't there.

"Oh ... no, I'm sorry, I haven't seen any books." Touka's voice is sorry, an apologetic tone hovers between her words.

"Oh, damn ... sorry, thanks anyway!" Your words are so hasty, so quick that he doesn't have time to interrupt them.

The bell rings and the door closes with a click.

"You have it, don't you?" Renji never misses anything - or almost -.

"Yeah, it’s better that I give it back to them before they run all over Tokyo on foot."

"How long have you been so thoughtful?"

Uta allows himself to take a last look at the silver-haired ghoul from over his sunglasses, as he prepares to leave the cafe: "I'm always thoughtful."

. . .

The snow has just started to fall. It is light and silent, the parks of the metropolis have not yet begun to turn white.

You would gladly stay and watch the show from the heat of your home, if it weren't for that damn book you forgot somewhere. Oh, you love your books, but they're so good at hiding. You were convinced you left it in the coffee shop!

"Excuse me…"

A cordial voice caresses your eardrums. It's so warm and peaceful, yet a chill shiver stops the blood in your veins.

Turning around, you meet a man dressed in black. He is strange, but it doesn't surprise you, there are a lot of strange people in such a big city, even people who wear sunglasses on a snowy day.

You had already seen him in the cafe, but you didn't dwell on him. Not because he doesn't get your attention, just… it was an instinct.

“I think you were looking for this. I found it yesterday by chance. "

Clear and tapered fingers hand you your much-desired book. On fair skin, intertwining dark patterns form inexplicable designs, at least for you, but you're sure they have a lot to say, don't they?

Slowly you reach out your hand, and hesitantly touch the cover, to resume what you were looking for.

The night of the accident did not disappear. You are scared. You are afraid of death, but even more of pain, of imprisonment. You are afraid of fear itself. However, you are also afraid of not living, of wasting, of losing.

You are in a limbo that does not let you escape, and you can not help but continue your life, savoring every second, waiting for the Bird of ill Omen to come and get you.

So you push back the mistrust again, and a grateful and kind smile goes to the one who helped you, without asking for explanations.

"Thank you very much." Your voice reaches his pierced ears with such unexpected sweetness.

"It was a pleasure." His smile, decorated with the piercing, is barely hinted at, but delicate - reassuring? -

And for endless moments you look at each other, in silence, without speaking and without thinking. And then, as if nothing had happened, the dances between prey and predator begin.

"Can I buy you a coffee?"

. . .

Your eyes look at him shiny, frightened. You are still in a cage, imprisoned by a body that will soon be ready to consume you.

Uta wonders if you really never anticipated this. All the times you've crossed paths, have you really ever been in doubt? Every time you looked at him, every time you smiled at him or laughed at his words, did you never guess the truth? No, maybe you've always known it from the start, broken toys never work too well.

The mask of that evening, like a macabre mockery - both for him and for you - is leaning on the work table, not far from you, looking at you placidly. It’s a coincidence that he pulled it out just in the morning.

Suddenly the images of that day come back between you two, like a dream. The incomprehensible to you tattoo on his neck has a creepy look overwhelmed by the shadows that the soft lights create on the ghoul.

Fear invades you, like a script. Yet, while the Bird of ill Omen looms over you, trapping you in the corner of the room with his arms, your terror is different from what he had already seen in you. Today it is almost more visible, less controlled, as you tremble beneath him.

Maybe it's the surprise of being caught in a trap by someone who – perhaps- you had slowly begun to love – despite everything-, or maybe, simply, inside you a little hope still survives.

Uta's head bends, and the tip of his nose brushes your neck, smelling the coveted perfume that had so attracted him.

If you're so scared, how did you smile all that time? How did you keep going? How did you keep loving that world?

Beside his mask, as a warning of future torment, your dear book lies silent, ready to say goodbye. You lent it to him last time, he asked you for it.

Your smell is as strong, sweet, delicious as ever - so why is his stomach closing up? -

His jaws open, and as delicate as cruel they enclose your fragile neck. In them, the accelerated beats of your heart, still alive, make him tremble.

One bite and you will be nothing but dead flesh, and he hesitates.

He had to kill you before it was too late, right? Uta should know himself well enough, he had to understand right away what was happening inside him.

A sigh, and then his lips pull away, his saliva stops wetting you. He is not hungry, he has already eaten.

He is still upon you, but now he is only looking at you, with his eyes of blood and darkness. You, like a frightened puppy, remain shaking in a corner for a few moments, lost in his pupils. And then, like a crazy lightning bolt, you run away, as you have always run away. You slip under his arms, and as fast as you can you reach the door of the shop.

Uta watches you go, swallows bitter air, and then bows his head, surrendered.

What will happen now? Will you shut up in fear? Will you tell anyone? Only time will tell.

He slowly gets up, his hands caressing each other's tattooed arms, in a distracted gesture of protection, as he approaches the table. His fingers touch it, and then squeeze it, while he looks at the book that is left alone again, without your eyes on it.

And then, suddenly, as if he had woken up from a dream, he notices something: your smell has not vanished.

Turning his view, he sees you. You are still there, or maybe you are back there.

Now it is you who are on the side of the light, and he is in the corner of the cage. The Bird of ill Omen has become the broken toy, left alone among his masks.

"What's up?" No matter the crack inside, Uta always looks so mature, peaceful, even after he has threatened to kill you.

You take a step towards him, but your outstretched arm continues to secure yourself to the door jamb. If you left he wouldn't follow you, you know that right?

"I ... I think I'm crazy, Uta ..." You too realize how much your behavior is against logic, how foolish it is to remain - to search - in your nightmare. But on the other hand, humans ... no, people, when they are desperate, lose the light of reason, and do wrong things. Things the world says are wrong. That world, which claims to be the only one, when it is nothing more than a facade, a corner of something much larger.

"Yes, I think so too." He really thinks so. You have to be crazy to still be there, at least as crazy as he is. "Why are you still here?"

You shrug your shoulders, hugging yourself more out of shyness than out of fear - yeah, you're no longer afraid, it's as if you've run out of batteries.

"I ... as long as I'm alive I can choose, right?" It came out of your lips so naturally that you didn't even realize it was you who uttered that sentence, yet it's a truth so deep, so intense that it has guided you from that damn night to this day.

"And what are you choosing?"

Your eyes cast a fleeting glance outside, at the glimmer of the city, and without hesitation you gently accompany the door to close, imprisoning you. Imprisoning both of you.

Maybe it's a prison, but this time it's really your choice. You are with that Bird of ill Omen, but you are not tied up, you are not thrown to the ground in a cold corner. You are with him, surrounded by works of art that stare at you impassively, but it was you who decided it.

"I choose not to ignore anymore ..." Your fingers intertwine with each other, you play with them as if you need to keep them busy as you approach him. He is waiting for you. "I want to understand."

"How can you understand?" He would like to tell you, but he doesn't say a word, because not even he can understand you. What kind of mask would suit you? Who knows, yet he has learned enough about you that he should be able to think of at least one. But no, you are always there, hoping for something, believing that after all, living is worthwhile.

So he stays there, even when you lean against him. Not a contact, but a fusion. Stomach against stomach, lungs against lungs, heart against heart. Your hands cling to his arms only to hold him closer, and as he looks at your closed eyes he knows you're listening to him. You're trying to feel his every breath, every twitch of him. You want to get inside him, and he lets you do it - isn't that what he wanted too?

The predator and the prey united in a single entity for an eternal instant.

It's all so against the moral and social rules, but what do you care now? You already know he could kill you. And in that world that goes round and round without stopping, a black writing in an ancient language that also goes around a greedy neck could be your starting point for putting the pieces back together. Maybe it's a disease, maybe it's madness, but deep down, why not? Why not go a little further? Better to die than to be afraid to live, right?

"How much confidence ..."

His voice further softened by his whisper makes your previously closed eyelids lift. His nocturnal eyes look at you slightly narrowed, a slight upward crease caresses his lips without even knowing it. It is difficult for Uta to do something without being aware of it.

He is very beautiful. Beautiful and awful.

"Can't I?"

The world out there, the crazy little world is gone.

"Well, why not ... you are my food, after all."

#tokyo ghoul #uta tokyo ghoul #uta x human reader #uta x reader #tokyo ghoul uta #tokyo ghoul oneshot #tokyo ghoul fanfiction #tokyo ghoul x reader #reqest

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themoonwheniamlost · 3 years

Text

Hello, lovelies! This is a response to a Lgbtmazight defense Anon, I just didn't want you to read the nonsense without a warning in front. Feel free to skip/scroll past this nonsense! It does contain some common arguments that I wanted to debunk!

what did you expect would happen when you decided to repeat the same things the worst of this fandom has cooked up without mentioning how wrong and sickening their behavior is? Did you think for a second before posting about the *server*? Do you know someone posted a list of "supposed" people on this server and people started asking for them to be "exposed" too? Some of these people are not on this server. some are not even remotely close to Len.

You gave these people a reason to continue harassing people. because this move was not about exposing a liar. If you look at the list which is still floating around, it was and is about shutting up the most vocal about racism in this fandom. I can't believe you can't see this. the truth is important, but also the person exposing the truth and their means and behavior is important too, especially in this case, because the people behind this call-out post are the "worst of the worst" . just see how they abused your mention of the server. and please don't tell me it's because they were hurt. If you don't already know the racist trolls of this fandom I don't really know what to tell you.

Hello Anon!

I would have thrown this ask away, however, there are some things here that I think would be useful to point out so please bear with me!

#1 - "Repeat the things the worst of fandom has cooked up,"

Worse than denying genocide? Worse than stealing sacred aspects of different religions to suit your own motives? Worse than lying to an entire community for over a year? Worse than encouraging the harassment of anyone who disagrees with you?

My rebuttal was worse than all that?

The answer of course is no. This is just another deflection attempt. It ties right into the way you try to make me feel guilty about actions that others have taken. Why on earth should I feel guilty about the actions other people have taken, to harm other people, most of which was sparked by one person?

I am not Len. I am not doing anything harmful So there is nothing I need to feel guilty for.

(Harmful and uncomfortable are two different things.)

I didn't name anyone. I haven't harassed anyone. I simply told the truth.

If the truth is that harmful to you, I would look at the way you construct your worldview. And also maybe the shitty person you're aligning yourself with.

#2 - "This move wasn't about exposing a lair"

You're right! This move wasn't just about exposing a liar. This move was about exposing a lying, cheating, stealing, dangerous person who has elevated themselves to a place of moral authority in our community. And I don't know about you, but I won't let that bullshit stand.

Bad people can say things about nice people, and those things can still be true. The schoolyard bully can say that the head cheerleader plagiarizes on essays, and it can be true. It does not excuse the schoolyard bully and it also doesn’t negate the cheerleader's plagiarism. They are both wrong.

I cannot control other people. I can't. Neither can you. I put out a statement and when I noticed a trend of that statement being abused, I put out a clarification. That's what I can do, so that's what I did.

What are you doing to better the situation? Trying to keep everyone quiet? Silencing many voices for the comfort of one? Have you read these words by Martin Niemöller?

"First they came for the socialists..." Even if you have, I would encourage to read it again. Silence makes you complicit.

#3 "The people most vocal about racism in this fandom,"

Don't you think it's weird that a group of White AFAB people are the loudest about racism? Don't you think it's weird that even in films with Black main characters and diverse casts, that Whiteness is still sitting at the head of the table in fandom? Don't you think it's weird that a group of White people are clutching so tightly to the role of being White saviors in this fandom?

Because its FUCKING WEIRD.

Grow up. Do some studying on how racism perpetuates itself, through whiteness. Read more books by PoC. Read more scholarship by PoC. Stop defending a Tankie. Stop blaming people you don't agree with for the wrongdoings of others.

Did you think for a second before sending this ask?

I'm glad I don't know who is behind this ask. Because all in all? You sound rude, self-centered, and surrounded by a haze of White superiority. I hope that gets better for you!

Have a great time of night/day! 🌕🐝💥

#lgbtmazight #em look away #thanks for this ask #That post i linked is from AUGUST 12TH 2020 #Why does it feel like we haven't grown at all?#sorry if this post is kinda rude #im mad lmao #let me know if i need to tag this something else

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duuhrayliegh · 3 years

Text

social media

warnings: none? maybe a smidgen of language? fluffy bucky, bad description of dancing? idk, there really isn’t anything in this one to be warned about it just super wholesome

word count: 2437

a/n: okay so this came out longer than i meant it to, but i’m not mad at it. there’s mention of he/they pronouns and gender identity, if i didn’t do the subject justice please let me know. also tiktok mentions and all creators are tagged accordingly so please go appreciate their wonderfulness :)

p.s.: my requests and tag lists are open!!

if you want to know where these characters are coming from, check out the other parts! you don’t have to read them in any particular order!

ray’s m.list

******************************

Being from the 1940’s, Bucky didn’t have much education in the world of smartphones and social media. When he came out of cryo in Wakanda, Shuri wasted no time showing him the ways of the iPhone. Honestly, he was stunned because there were so many things you could do with it. So much information was available at the touch of his fingers.

Shuri taught him the ins and outs of the phone. He had gotten pretty good at it, if he did say so himself. She had just begun to teach Bucky about social media when Steve pulled him back to the Big Apple. When he returned to New York, he was able to easily contact Steve, who was not as proficient as Bucky was. So when he met the fantastical group of four friends, they began to teach him. This was one of those things that they were incredibly excited to teach Bucky about.

“So you don’t have an account on anything?” Freddie held his hand out for Bucky’s phone.

“No, I have one on something. I think Instant Graham? My friend set it up for me, but she never taught me how to use it.” Freddie smiled and shook his head, dark curls bouncing back and forth.

“It’s Instagram, bubs and that’s a good jumping off point.” He opened the black iPhone and swiped through the pages on the homescreen. Coming across the sunset colored icon, he hovered his finger over it. The screen changed, opening to a white screen with the words, WELCOME to INSTAGRAM, whitewolf. Bucky smiled at the name displayed and Freddie scrunched his brows.

“What is a White Wolf?”

“I’m the White Wolf. It’s Wakandan. We can change it if we need to.” Freddie looked over at Bucky and saw the happiness on his face at the name.

“No, it’s good we can leave it.” He clicked on the profile button in the bottom right corner of the screen. “Okay, so this is your personal profile.” In the top left corner whitewolf was written with a little arrow next to it facing downward. Freddie opened the edit profile section.

“Do you have a favorite picture of yourself? You have to set a profile picture so people know that it’s you.” Bucky nodded in understanding, and then took his phone back to scroll through his pictures. He didn’t have many, just the ones that he took recently. There was hardly any of just him, but he eventually found one he deemed good enough.

“Alright, now what do you want to put in your bio?” Shrugging his shoulders, Bucky leaned back into Cassie’s plush couch.

“What does yours say?” Freddie pulled his own phone out of his pocket. The pale lilac color seemed to shine through the clear case that it wore. Opening his own Instagram, Freddie leaned the phone towards Bucky.

|| he/they || activist || va te faire voir ||

“What does ‘he slash they’ mean?”

“Oh, those are my pronouns.” Freddie received a head tilt from Bucky, so he decided to elaborate. “So, I identify as a non-binary who is comfortable with you using he/him pronouns or they/them pronouns. If you’re talking about me to someone else, you can say ‘he is at the store,’ or ‘they are at the store.’” Bucky nodded, still a bit confused on the subject.

“When do you use each one? Like is there a certain time that you say he and him and another time for they and them?” Bucky was trying to get some clarification on the topic.

“Not necessarily. Usually, when you’re first talking to someone, it’s common practice nowadays to use they/them pronouns so as to not misgender anyone. I know it probably sounds a bit excessive and a small bit over sensitive to you, but to a queer or non-binary person it makes a whole hell of a lot of difference when someone tries to be inclusive.”

“Okay, so like if I just meet someone on the street, I should use the they/them pronouns until told otherwise?”

“Yeah, absolutely. Do you want to include your pronouns in your bio?” Bucky smiled and nodded, happy with himself that he was able to understand that so well.

“So, what does it mean to be non-binary and still use the he/him pronouns? Don’t those two contradict each other?”

“Not really. Gender is a spectrum, as is sexuality, but for someone to identify as non-binary and use he/they pronouns, means that I feel that not everything about manhood accurately describes my truth. On that same hand, I still do identify as a male.”

“Right, right.” Throughout Freddie’s lesson about gender identity, he was able to finish Bucky’s profile and begin to follow the three girls. After clicking the blue follow button on all three of the girls profiles, the group chat between them started blowing up, that was a new phrase Bucky learned last week.

Evie: um, i just got the weirdest insta notif

Penny: me too???

Cassie: I did too.

Cassie: Wait, who is Bucky with right now?

Evie: DANG IT FREDERICK I WANTED TO HELP HIM SET IT UP

Bucky: My name isn’t Frederick, Evie

Incoming Call from Evie

“What do you want, spaz?” Freddie answered on speakerphone. An indignant scoff came from the other end.

“I thought we were all going to help him with that, Frederick.”

“Um, I don’t remember us talking about that.” He laughed as the door to Cassie’s apartment opened, allowing Penny to walk in and smile at the two men on the couch. “Also, when were we going to have time to do that with you being at school and all?”

“We were going to wait until the weekend!”

“Eves, you’ve been saying that for the past like three weeks.”

“Oh my gosh, fine.” Her end of the phone got real quiet, “I’ll be home in like ten minutes. I call dibs on helping him set up a TikTok.” Three beeps signalled to the room that Evie had hung up the phone. Bucky turned to Penny and began to ask about her day.

“Ya know, the usual. Rude customers, bratty co-workers, life’s a dream at the bank.” She slipped out of her nude heels and made her way to the sofa. “What have you boys been up to?”

“We have been setting Buck up with some social media and learning about gender identity and respecting pronouns.” Freddie said proudly as he handed Bucky his phone back.

“Sick! Which ones did you do?”

“All the classics, Instagram, Twitter and Facebook just for PR though because hardly anyone uses it anymore.”

“Right, and can’t do TikTok until Evie gets here. Um, did you set up a Spotify for him?” Bucky recognized the name and the memories of Shuri helping him floated in his head.

“Oh, I have one of those. That was actually the first thing that Shuri helped me set up whenever I got this thing.” He opened the app quickly to prove what he was saying. Penny smiled and gave a small thumbs up. “I do have one question.” The two of them gave Bucky their undivided attention. “What is a TikTok?”

“Right, so it’s just short videos. It’s really pretty cool and a really good way to waste time.” Freddie answered while pulling up his own page on the app.

“Yeah, and the thing that shows you videos is curated to your tastes because it’s based on your likes and people you follow.”

“I’m almost positive that Evie is going to teach you a dance and do a TikTok with you, if you agree to it.” Penny laughed at the thought of Bucky doing one of the dances that she saw on her For You page. The door to the apartment swung open a second time, revealing a winded Evie.

She dropped her school bag on the floor, hunching over while gripping the side of the granite countertop. Evie held a finger up and the group on the couch waited for her to speak.

“I ran--” deep inhale, “I ran from the subway.” Another deep breath as she lifted her upper half, stretching out her back with her hands on the back of her hips. “You haven’t done TikTok yet right?”

“No, your Highness, we haven’t done TikTok.” She smiled big and then plopped herself on Bucky’s left side. She thrust her hand toward him, wiggling her fingers. Bucky cautiously placed his phone in the center of her palm.

“This is going to be good. Okay so since your name on Instagram is whitewolf, we can’t use that for TikTok. It’s gotta be something snappy.”

“I don’t know, I think you can use the same one for both, Eve.” Penny remarked as Evie downloaded TikTok onto Bucky’s phone.

“Well, of course you can, but we’re not going to.” She giggled as the app opened. She looked over at Bucky with wrinkled brows. “Do you have any nicknames?”

“Um, Bucky is my nickname.” He said in a duh tone.

“Well, obviously, but do you have any other ones? Like, what do your friends call you?”

“Bucky or Buck, I don’t really have nicknames.” Evie groaned and threw her head back.

“Okay, well let’s think. You’re a Sergeant. Your real name is James Buchanan Barnes. Superhero name is Winter Soldier or White Wolf. You have a metal arm.”

“You’re literally just stating facts, Evie.” Freddie said from the other side of Bucky, who was nodding along in confirmation to Evie’s statements.

“I know! I’m processing. What about vibraniumjames?”

“That’s disgusting.” “Mm, yeah that’s a no from me.” Penny and Freddie talked at the same time.

“metallicsergeant? jamesbby? Any of those tickle our fancy?”

“The first one isn’t terrible, but it’s not great. Why don’t you just use whitewolf like his Instagram? Or you could do iambuckybarnes.”

“Yeah, I’m with Freddie. I like whitewolf or iambuckybarnes, it’s simple. And I am the White Wolf, so yeah.” Bucky said to a disgruntled Evie.

“Oh my gosh, fine. We can always change it later, but this is fine for now.” She set up his profile, making it match the other ones that Freddie had made. Once she was finished with her work, she turned to Bucky and smiled big again. “Now, I can teach you a dance and if you’re cool with it we can post it on your profile.” Bucky shook his head and pulled himself off of the comfy couch beneath him.

“If we’re going to do this, we need to do it right, so don’t hold back on me.” He smiled as Evie squealed in excitement.

“You know, my school friends were just dying to see the day that you got social media.” This statement confused Bucky.

“And why would that be?” Evie laughed as she scrolled through her TikTok feed, searching for the right dance to do with Bucky.

“Well, for one, they think you’re hot and they’re thirsty hoes.” She clicked on the original dance video, showing the screen to Bucky. “And, for two, they love you. Everyone does.” Bucky shook his head at that. He did too many bad things for everyone to love him.

“Hey, remember what we talked about?” Penny said from across the room. “We don’t downgrade our progress. Most of the general public is more forgiving than we give them credit for.” Bucky nodded then focused his attention on the video.

“This is Cardi B’s song Up. People on TikTok have made a challenge of doing this dance to the song. I think it originated with a girl named Mya Nicole. Anyway! We’re going to do this one, if you’re up for it.” Bucky looked at Evie with one brow quirked. There was so much shaking in this. Nonetheless, he shrugged his shoulders., it clearly was making Evie happy so he wasn’t going to take that away.

“Sickening! Okay, let’s start learning it.” It took a good hour and a half to help Bucky move his body in the way that the dance required. By the time they were ready to start filming the actual video, Cassie had walked in.

“What is happening here?” A large smile spread across her face as she watched Bucky and Evie practice one last time. A breathless Evie turned to Cassie.

“Bucky agreed to do the Cardi B Up dance with me.” She then turned to Bucky, “You ready to do this for real?” The tall man beside her shook his head while laughing.

“Yeah, let’s do it.” From the safety of the couch, Freddie, Penny and Cassie were watching the scene before them unfold. Both Bucky and Evie jumped into frame, with their legs spread wide. Throwing their fists in front of them and then behind their legs in time with the music. Bringing their hands above their head to clap and then jumping again, throwing just one hand up at a time.

Shifting to the side, the pair brought the leg closest to the camera up to their waist while hitting it back down with their fist. They both remained facing sideways as they shook the leg they just hit and ran their hands down their torso. The pair did another vertical jump, bringing their knees up to their fists. Once their feet hit the floor, they folded at the waist, slamming their palms flat on the ground.

Smiles were plastered on both their faces as they finished out the dance, knees bent, bouncing their legs back and forth while tossing their hands above their heads. Loud laughter rang out from the three friends in the living room as Bucky and Evie dropped to their butts. The video ended with Bucky and Evie yelling at the other three in the room.

“You’re definitely going to go viral with that one, Buck!”

“Like an infection?” He asked with wide eyes of concern, more peels of laughter rang out.

“No, like famous, lots of people are going to see it.” That relieved and scared Bucky at the same time. He wasn’t quite sure how he felt about it, but he knows that his friends wouldn’t steer him wrong.

“Now we can caption it something cute!” Evie breathed out as she leaned over the couch next to Cassie, who was now curled up beneath a fluffy white blanket.

“Don’t forget to tag the original creator, I hate it when people don’t do that.”

The video was posted with the caption,

iambuckybarnes: am i doing the tiktok right realpokemonevie? dance cr: theemyanicole

And it wasn’t long after posting that Bucky got a call from Steve that he needed to come into the tower.

***************************

@mishaandthebrits

#twenty first century liabilities #bucky barnes x oc #bucky barnes fanfic #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky fanfic #bucky fanfiction #bucky barnes #marvel imagines #marvel fanfiction #marvel fanfic #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x y/n #bucky x reader #bucky x y/n

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love-and-monsters · 3 years

Text

Necklace for a Dragon

M dragon X GN reader, 5,975 words

A dragon commissions a necklace for his deceased mother, but he is reluctant to open up about her death. Can you help him work through his grief?

The thin, delicate chain in your fingers clinked quietly as you worked on it. The magnifying glasses perched on your nose enabled you to carefully manipulate the tiny gemstones into place. It was a nice piece, you thought. The white and pale yellow gems set against the deep platinum gave the impression of tiny stars in a night sky.

Your gaze flicked up as you worked. It was a habit from before you’d gotten the bell installed on your door to let you know if a customer had entered, so your gaze moved back to your work before you’d really processed anything you’d seen.

Then your brain caught up with your eyes and your head snapped back up.

There was a man standing in the middle of your store. He looked like he’d just stepped out of a fairy tale. His look was oddly monochrome- he had pale skin, white-blonde hair that curled around his ear and under his chin. Silvery antlers pulled back from his head and a shimmering scaled tail tufted with fur coiled and twitched behind him. His clothes were unreasonably fancy and not at all modern- his shirt was ruffled and he wore a heavy, furred cloak around his shoulders. Gems fairly dripped from his horns and the upper curve of his ears.

The little bell hadn’t even rung to announce his entrance. It was as if he had simply appeared in the room.

“Hello,” you said, whipping your glasses off and staring at him. “Can I help you with something?”

He regarded you with ice-blue eyes. His expression was utterly neutral. “I am looking for jewelry.”

Okay. Good start. Your eyes swept over his frame, assessing him as a customer. He was unfamiliar, but given his mannerisms and the general look of his clothes, he was wealthy. That was good- most of the pieces in your store weren’t made by you. There wasn’t enough of a market to buy your handmade pieces in most cases, which were priced high enough to drive away most typical buyers, and those who were rich enough to afford the splurge were few and far between. Most of the jewelry on the shelves was cheaper, more mass-produced pieces. It wasn’t exactly something you were proud of, but it kept the roof over your head.

He wasn’t looking at any of those pieces, though. He had beelined right for the well-lit display case that showed all your custom jewelry. You slipped out from behind the counter and hurried over to him. “See anything you like?”

His gaze swept over the case. “I am not sure.”

“Well, I also take commissions, so if you want a specific design, I can do that for you,” you said eagerly. Commissions were uncommon, but very much appreciated. You could charge a little more for them and you didn’t have to account for the shelf time.

The man turned toward you. His gaze locked with yours and a chill slipped down your spine. Holy shit. With a sudden clenching in the pit of your stomach, you knew that this wasn’t an ordinary monster of Fortune Falls. This was one of the Old Ones.

The Old Ones were not necessarily old individuals, though, even though the one in front of you appeared to be in his twenties, he could be ancient. It was their species that were old, though, ones that had existed before civilization and kept to those old ways. They radiated powerful magic and rarely interacted with humans at all. Even other monsters were uncomfortable around them.

You had only seen one once before, an ancient golden dragon. You steeled your will. A customer was a customer. Even if Old Ones had an irritating habit of paying in extremely outdated currency- you would be lucky if he paid with something from the modern millennium.

“A specific design,” the man repeated, drawing you out of your daze. You nodded attentively.

“Is there anything in particular you’re looking for?” you said. The man exhaled slowly. He had the expression of someone unused to interacting with others- he didn’t seem to be holding a stern expression because he actually felt stern, but more because he had completely forgotten you were supposed to change your expression to let others know what you were feeling. “Maybe you could tell me what the jewelry is for and I can give you some suggestions.”

The man turned back to the display case. “It is for a funeral.”

“Oh,” you said. “For, ah. For you or for the, erm. Deceased?” It was not the first time someone had come to your shop looking for jewelry to bury someone in.

“Deceased.” There was no emotion in the man’s voice, but it was not the lack of emotion of the passionless. It was the sound of someone who had been exercising their emotions so much they didn’t have anything left to give. Pity stirred in your chest.

“Well, I’m sure we can find you something nice,” you said. “There are a lot of nice pieces here.” You gestured broadly at the wall of jewelry. The man peered at the necklaces lining the bottom row. His tail weaved back and forth, flowing like a river.

After a moment, he shook his head. His curls swayed, brushing against his chin and over the tips of his ears. “No,” he said. “Something else.”

You froze, waiting for his next move. Instead of turning toward the door, he turned toward you. You let out a sigh of relief. “Would you like something made specifically for you, sir?”

He lowered his chin in the slightest of nods. A faint flicker of bitterness invaded your mind before you shoved it away; the idea that you were going to make something that was going to have exactly one showing before it was being shoved underground wasn’t something you were overly pleased about. Then again, plenty of the extremely rich had pieces of jewelry made for them only to cram it into a closet after one night out. This was a little more important than that, wasn’t it?

“It would need to be elaborate,” he said. “Something worthy of my mother.”

You sucked in a breath through your teeth. “I’m sorry for your loss,” you said. “I can sketch up a few designs overnight and you can come back tomorrow to look at them. We can work from there.”

The man’s head dipped in a slow nod. “I will see you then.” Not waiting for any response, he whirled, cape swirling around him, and headed out the door.

The bell still didn’t ring. You glared at it until the man left, then pulled out your stepladder and went to check on it. When you tapped it, it jingled merrily. Hm. Weird. You moved the ladder away and experimentally swung the door open and closed. The bell rang every time. Okay. Really weird. But you had more important things to do.

You placed the stepladder away again and sat behind the front counter. There was a sketchpad situated under the desk for situations such as this. Usually, you had a little more idea what the customer wanted. You kicked yourself for not asking any more questions. He had left before you could get some clarification. You sketched out a few designs, most of them similar to ones you already had on the shelf. They were pretty, of course- all your jewelry was nice, and it tended to be difficult to make shiny things look that bad. But they almost certainly weren’t what your client wanted.

Night fell. You closed up your shop, but stayed in the back, eating takeout. You had an apartment, but it was barely bigger than your shop and you spent so much time here that you’d just moved a couch and some blankets into the back room, just in case you wanted to crash for the night. Really, the only practical use your apartment had was that it had a shower you could be sure no one else was using. Given your cooking skills, it was probably safer if you didn’t have access to a kitchen.

You sketched on the pad late into the night, growing more and more frustrated the longer you tried. Nothing seemed to be coming out right, and the things that looked kind of good were too reminiscent of stuff you’d already made.

Grimacing, you rolled your stiff neck and shifted your position. One of your legs was starting to fall asleep. Maybe you should just go to bed. Your mind wasn’t getting any clearer the later you stayed up, and maybe you would get an idea in your dreams. It wasn’t common, but it was better than just sitting around and waiting for inspiration to strike.

You leaned your head back, eyes closing for a moment. The image of the man swam back to your mind. He had been rather beautiful. The silvery sheen of his tail had been almost mesmerizing. It reminded you of sunlight gleaming off flowing water, or maybe oozing mercury. And his multi-pointed horns, glittering with gems had been striking as well.

Inspiration slammed into your mind like a lightning bolt. A sizzling, frenetic energy jumped through your veins. The idea seized you with a frightening ferocity. You had felt this before, the few times when an idea had seized you with a creative fervor. There was no way you were going to be sleeping now. Instead, you scrambled for another piece of paper. You needed to get this down before the idea faded.

It took you well over an hour of sketching, erasing, and fine-tuning before you’d worked the design into something you were happy with. Once it was done, you collapsed into bed, not even bothering to change your clothes. Sleep swept over you in an immediate wave.

You woke late enough that you barely had time to throw on another set of clothes and snag a granola bar before you had to open the shop. Fortunately, the design you’d made the night before still looked good in the morning light. The amount of times you’d written something in a sleep-hazed frenzy only to wake up and discover that it was absolute garbage was uncomfortable to even think about.

Despite your somewhat unkempt appearance and your tiredness, you still managed to make a couple sales. One of them was an engagement ring, one of your own designs, which had you feeling quite proud for the rest of the day. You added a few finishing touches to your sketches with a flush of enthusiasm. The day was nearly over, but the man hadn’t showed up again.

Someone cleared their throat right in front of you. You startled, knocking over a stack of coins and watched as they rolled under your counter. “Dammit.” Grimacing, you looked up.

The man was standing over you. He watched as one of the coins rolled in a neat circle next to his foot and fell over. “You should pay more attention,” he said. He stooped and picked the coin up, placing it delicately on the counter. “It is bad customer service to leave a customer waiting.”

“There’s supposed to be a bell,” you muttered under your breath. If he heard you, the comment didn’t bother him. He watched as you scrambled to pick up the few coins you could see. You could get the ones under the desk later; it wouldn’t do to go crawling around on your hands and knees in front of an important customer.

“I have the sketches,” you said. “There’s a little area we can sit in over here.” You led him over to the small alcove, separated from the rest of the shop by curtains. It was basically just a table in an area that would give the two of you a little privacy. Not that it was terribly necessary- there wasn’t anyone in the shop. But it was nice.

The man swept over to the table and paused. You looked where he was looking and paused. There were two chairs at the table and both of them had tall backs that left no space for a tail. “I might have a stool somewhere,” you said. “Hold on.”

The man lifted his hand, revealing long, elegantly manicured fingernails. “No need. I will be fine.” He sat a little awkwardly, tail curling across his lap. You hesitated for a moment, then sat across from him.

“So, I have a few sketches that I wanted to show you,” you said, spreading them across the table. The man reached out and picked up a few of them, looking over them with a critical eye. His expression was utterly emotionless. You swallowed uncomfortably. It was always weird to have someone looking at your art right in front of you.

Each drawing was examined and he placed it on the table in front of you. The stack of rejected drawing kept getting higher. The back of your neck tickled with sweat. Was he going to like any of them?

He reached the bottom of the pile and paused. Right. Your final drawing. You sucked on your lower lip. His expression was still unreadable. Finally, he placed the drawing on the table in front of you. “This one,” he said in a soft voice, tapping a finger in the center of the drawing.

It was the design you’d based off his antlers. You nodded, sweeping it back off the table. “Great. So, next we’ll need to pick the base metal color. I’ve got a few of them. There’s silver, gold, platinum…” You spread the sample metals across the table in front of them. His gaze swept over them for a moment, then he tapped the platinum band. “Okay. Good. Are there any specific colors you want in it? I’ll try to match the colors as well as I can, and you’ll get approval at all stages.”

The man sat back in his seat. For the first time, you saw a flicker of discomfort cross his face. “Blue,” he said after a moment.

You noted the color down on your pad and gathered your drawings back together. “Great. That should look nice.” You glanced into his face. His expression was still fairly emotionless, but you thought you were getting better at seeing the subtle tension on his face that indicated changes in expression. There was a tension around his eyes and a tightness around his lips that made him look tired. The sort of blank, weary tiredness of someone who was struggling to keep going. “Um. When do you need this by?”

“Four days from now,” he said. “Is that acceptable?”

“It’ll be a rush job,” you said automatically, then cringed. That felt insensitive. The weariness in his face grew a little more present as he bowed his head in a small nod.

“That will be extra?” he said. He started to reach for his pocket, but you waved your hands hurriedly.

“Uh, no, no. It’ll be fine. No extra charge.” It was probably a bad decision. There was a reason you charged extra for rush orders. But he looked exhausted and if it was for a funeral, he was likely going through a lot. It felt wrong to add onto that.

The man stared at you for a moment. He said nothing, but there was gratitude in his expression. “How much do I owe you?”

You told him the price. He reached into his pocket for a moment, then extracted several bills. You held your breath as he handed them over. Bills was a good sign. You’d once been paid exclusively in heavy gold coins and it had been impossible to find a bank that would exchange them for actual currency.

After a moment, in which you were able to reassure yourself that yes, the bills were all modern, you tucked the money into your pocket. “The rest I’ll want upon delivery,” you said. “This is just an advance.” The man nodded. “Also, I’ll need your name.”

“Solomon,” he said. He gave no last name. You didn’t bother to ask for one.

“Then I’ll see you in a few days for pickup.” You smiled at him. He gave a small bow and swept back out the door.

As it turned out, you saw him much sooner than that. You closed the shop slightly early and started heading back home. It wasn’t the best idea, to take a full night off when you had a rush order you needed to complete, but you were starting to feel a little gross. It was time to get some food that was slightly better than takeout.

The air was chilly and it was drizzling as you walked across the street and headed toward your apartment building. Then you came to a stop, squinting at the man standing in a tiny alcove of trees. His clothes were ostentatious and he looked more than a little out of place, like a prince crouching in a stable. His head was tilted back, staring up at the rain dribbling from the sky. It trailed in little rivulets down his sharp features.

“Solomon?” you said before you could think better of it. He lowered his head and turned to face you. His expression was solemn, but there was a new level of exhaustion in it. It looked more like he was too tired to make any expressions other than weariness.

He nodded to you. “Hello.”

You paused, a little awkward. He didn’t seem overly keen to talk, but he wasn’t exactly moving away from you either. “What are you still doing here?”

Solomon closed his eyes and swayed unsteadily. Automatically, you darted forward to try to catch him. At the same moment, he stuck a hand out to prop himself up on a nearby tree. You collided, his hand fumbling awkwardly through the air until it came to a rest on your shoulder. There was a moment of stumbling as you adjusted to his weight. He was heavier than he looked. His tail wrapped around one of your legs as he struggled to catch himself again.

After a few moments of fumbling, the pair of you managed to find a balance. His weight pressed down on you, leaving you panting with the effort of holding him upright. “Are you okay?” you managed.

Solomon’s chest expanded against you as he took in a deep breath. One of his hands pressed against a tree trunk and he slowly lifted himself back up. “I’m all right,” he said. His eyes closed, but this time, he didn’t sway dangerously. He just let out a deep sigh.

You slid away from him, relieved to have his weight off your back. “Are you sure?” You hesitated for a moment, debating the pros and cons, then kept talking. “Do you… do you need some help?” The words came out of you slowly. You didn’t have a lot of experience trying to give other people your assistance; you were solitary by nature and rarely gave or asked for help.

Solomon closed his eyes for a moment. His long, snow-white lashes nearly touched his cheekbones. “I am just tired. I have not been home in some time.” There was a terrible weariness in his voice, like each word was a struggle to get out of his mouth.

“Do you need help getting there?” you said. Honestly, you weren’t sure how you could actually help him get home. Didn’t most of the Old Ones live in the mountains? You didn’t even have a car.

“No,” he said. “I…” He hesitated, then ducked his head a little, looking intently at the ground at his feet. “I have not been home because I do not want to go back.”

The awkward silence grew thicker. You cleared your throat. “Er. Is it because of your mom, or…?”

His lips curled up to show the slightest flicker of fang. “Yes.”

“I’m sorry,” you said again. “Er.” A suggestion floated across your mind. “You could come to my apartment for a bit. You look tired.” The instant the idea left your lips, you felt stupid. You were tired too, and you didn’t really feel up to entertaining a stranger, much less an Old One who likely had never been in an apartment building. On the other hand, leaving him alone on the street felt gross too. Well, he probably wouldn’t take you up on the offer anyway-

“I would appreciate that,” he said. “After you.” He gestured to the sidewalk in front of you.

Well. Okay. This was happening. You walked ahead of him, trying frantically to remember the last time you’d vacuumed. Had it been last weekend? Hard to say. It honestly kept slipping your mind. Oh, god, when had you last dusted? Did Old Ones care about stuff like that?

In no time at all, you were at the front door to your building. You fumbled with your keys for a moment before your door clicked open. Solomon stepped into your building with an expression of mild curiosity.

There was nothing fancy about the lobby to your building. There was a threadbare rug and a slightly shoddy desk in a corner. The doorman, a medusa with massive snakes coiling around his head, looked up. His eyes fell on Solomon sweeping in behind you and he raised is scaled brows. You mouthed ‘tell you later’ and headed for the elevator.

Solomon looked momentarily confused when you gestured for him to follow you inside, but he stepped in regardless. You tapped your floor button and the elevator doors slid shut.

You were already braced for the weird jolt that happened every time the elevator started, but you’d completely forgotten that Solomon wasn’t. He seized your elbow as the floor juddered under your feet. His expression was smooth, but his grip on your arm was tight.

“It’s okay,” you said. “It’s just an elevator.” You couldn’t tell if he understood what an elevator was, but your lack of concern seemed to appease him. His grip on your elbow loosened, though he didn’t remove his hand.

Solomon brushed past you to get off the elevator once it stopped, giving it a suspicious look over his shoulder. You bit your tongue. Do not laugh at the powerful monster. Even if he is looking at the elevator like it might jump at him.

You jostled the lock a few times before your door swung open. Solomon was tall enough to just look over your shoulder into your fairly tiny apartment. It only had a couple of rooms, and both of them could be charitably described as cozy. You scrambled to grab a few of the carelessly-tossed bits of packaging that hadn’t yet made their way to the garbage can and pushed them out of sight. You had definitely forgotten to dust for a while; Solomon picked up one of your books, then hurriedly ducked his head into his elbow to sneeze.

“Sorry. I don’t come here all that often,” you said. Solomon sniffed and put the book back down.

“I have never been inside a human dwelling before. Are they all so…” He trailed off, looking around the room. “So compact?”

“They’re not if you have more money,” you said. “Um. I can get you something to eat or drink? Or get you something to make you more comfortable? You can sit, if you want.”

Solomon scanned the room and his eyes fell on the small, but fairly cushy, couch. He approached it slowly, then, after testing the cushions with a hand, sat down.

It was strange to see him seated on your overly-plush couch. The heavy fur ruff of his cloak and the fine regality of his face were at odds with the barely maintained shabbiness of your apartment. It was like looking at a historical reenactor on break. It just looked off.

“So, uh,” you said, fumbling for something to do with your hands. “How are you doing?”

It was a dumb question, but you were having trouble coming up with things to say. Solomon looked at you. There was something glassy in his expression. You paused in your aimless fidgeting.

“I am…” The words seemed to take considerable effort. He closed his eyes and swayed. You placed the mug you’d grabbed on the counter, fully prepared to lunge for him if he showed signs of fainting.

Fortunately, he only swayed for a moment before his eyes opened again and he slumped back into your cushions. “I have had a long few days,” he said.

“Yeah?” You picked the mug back up and slid it into your coffee maker. You had no idea if he would like it, but you felt like you needed some. “Do you, uh, want to talk about it?”

He gave you a stony look. “Do you know who I am?”

It was such an unbelievably douchey question spoken with such earnestness that you snorted. “No. Not really. You haven’t told me much.”

“I am the Lord Solomon, ruler of the lands from the town to the eastward river,” he said. The words were grand, but his tone was bored. “My mother’s death places me at the top of the line of succession. There had been an enormous amount of political posturing.”

You nodded slowly, trying to process what he was saying. “I wasn’t aware this area had a lord.”

“It may be a bit above mortal understanding,” Solomon said. “We operate outside mortal laws, and our ownership of the land does not fall in line with your understanding.” He flexed his fingers and clenched them into fists repeatedly. His tail twitched back and forth. “Indeed, these past couple of weeks have been stressful.”

“I’m sorry about that,” you said honestly. You picked up your mug, now filled with steaming coffee, and walked over to the couch. He looked up at you as you sat next to him. His eyes flicked toward the mug and you saw him sniff the air curiously. “It’s coffee,” you said. “Do you want some?”

“Yes,” he said. “I know what coffee is.” Your hand was already sort of extended toward him, so he easily reached out and took it from you. Before you could do anything other than stare in surprise, he had tilted it up to his mouth and drained it in a few quick gulps. “Thank you.”

There was one of the Old Ones sitting on your couch and he had just stolen your coffee. Presumably, it would be a very bad idea to yell at him, but you still kind of wanted to. “Okay,” you said in a barely-restrained voice, “Cool. I guess I did offer.”

Solomon caught the irritation in your tone. “I am truly grateful for your assistance. I will admit that I was unwilling to return home.”

“It probably feels weird that she’d not there anymore, right?” you said. Solomon looked at you for a moment, then gave a tiny, hesitant nod. “I know how that feels.” You paused, swallowing hard. “I lost my dad five years ago now. It was rough. I can’t imagine having to deal with lordship on top of all that.”

Solomon kept looking at you with wide eyes. He didn’t seem to believe that you, a lowly mortal human, could comprehend his feelings. You decided to wait until he was feeling better to be insulted by that. “I am sorry for your loss,” he finally said, sounding a little more robotic than sincere. You decided he probably didn’t get out much.

“It’s okay. It was a while ago.” You leaned back on the couch. “You want to talk about it?”

Solomon kept staring at you. “Talk about it?”

“You know. Say all the stuff you’re feeling. It might help,” you said. He kept looking at you. The concept seemed entirely foreign to him. “Um. Like. How are you feeling right now?”

He looked at you for a long, uncertain moment. “Tired,” he finally said. “I am tired. Of trying to manage land squabbles. Of trying to plan my mother’s funeral. From dealing with all the new responsibilities my position entails.” He rubbed his forehead. “And I miss her. I miss being able to see her. I miss being able to speak with her about her responsibilities. I miss hunting with her.” His voice choked and he made a gulping noise that seemed to surprise him. you reached out and tentatively patted his shoulder.

“I know. It’ll get better. But it’s gonna hurt for a long while,” I said. “It’s gonna be hard.” Solomon gave an absent nod, looking down at his cup. “You know, there’s a grief counseling support group in town. If you want to go to it sometimes, I can take you there. I go there still, when it’s bad.”

Solomon looked blank. “A support group?”

“It’s a group of people who all lost someone important to them who get together and talk about their feelings. And they all help each other. You can learn a lot about dealing with grief from going. And sometimes hearing about other people’s problems can make it easier to deal with your own.” Solomon blinked a few times. His eyes were abruptly watery and you realized you weren’t entirely sure how to deal with him suddenly breaking into tears in your living room. You patted his shoulder awkwardly. “It might help? I think? I know you’re not like most of us, but it could still be good. I don’t think grief is all that different across species.”

He inhaled slowly. There was a little tremble in it, like he was still dangerously close to crying. “I think I would like that,” he said. His voice was quiet, but firm.

“Okay,” you said. “It meets Wednesdays.” You paused. “Do you know what Wednesdays are?”

He snorted. “I have a concept of human time.”

“Oh,” you said. “Okay. Good.” You sat in silence for a few more moments. There was still tiredness in the set of Solomon’s shoulders, but he looked more at peace than he had a few moments ago.

Eventually, he got to his feet. “I should return home,” he said. “I will see you again.” He paused. “And thank you.”

“No problem.” You stood up and started to lead him toward the door. “We support each other, you know?” He nodded.

You stayed up for a while after he left your apartment. It felt strange, that such a conversation had taken place between you and an Old One. They seemed so ancient and remote, and yet you had just had a conversation with one on the loss of a parent. And he had seemed utterly normal.

Odd. Not unpleasant, just… odd.

Your shop was quiet the next day, so you spent much of it working on the commission. Your thoughts were occupied with Solomon. How something so powerful had managed to look so vulnerable- it stuck with you.

Solomon didn’t show up for the next few days, which gave you some time to finish the necklace. It was good work, in your opinion, sturdy and beautiful. The long, antler-like branches were designed to rest on the clavicles and twist up the throat.

The necklace was done in time for the meeting on Wednesday, so you packed it into a box and took it with you to your apartment. You usually brought some sort of food with you to the meetings. It seemed polite, and people usually enjoyed it.

When you emerged from your apartment, Solomon was standing there. He was still wearing his heavy robes, with the thick fur ruff, and it was attracting a lot of stares. He didn’t seem to notice it. His eyes locked onto you as soon as you emerged from the building.

“Hello,” he said. “We are still going together, yes?” Despite his serious expression, there was a note of hesitancy in his voice.

“Yeah, we are,” you said. “Come on. I’ll show you the way there.”

It was a cozy little building that the meetings took place in. There were only four other people in the group, and they all stared at Solomon when he walked in. You gave an awkward wave. “Hey. Uh, this is Solomon. We met, uh, recently, and he wanted to come to the meeting.”

The man who led the group, a bulky and intimidating werewolf, locked eyes with you. His confusion and shock were blatantly written across his face. You tried to communicate your own surprise and bewilderment at the situation, but it was difficult when his eyes kept going back to Solomon. Thankfully, the Old One didn’t seem to have noticed. He just crossed the room and took one of the seats.

The meeting went as usual, except for everyone’s glances at Solomon. If he was bothered by their constant staring, he didn’t show it. You occasionally reached out to pat his hand or his leg. Everyone stared when you did that, like you were casually touching the sun itself. He didn’t speak much, except to give the bare basics of his story. But he paid intent attention to the stories of others, apparently interested in what they were saying.

“So,” you said as you stepped outside after the meeting, “how was that?”

“Interesting,” Solomon said. “Everyone just talked about their loved ones and their feelings.”

“Yeah. It helps to talk about the people you love and how you’re dealing with everything. It helps to know there are other people who care,” you said. “Oh, and, uh, by the way, I brought this with me.” You reached into your pocket and removed the small box.

Solomon delicately opened it and looked down at the necklace. He traced its lines with a finger. His lashes fluttered as he blinked rapidly. “She- My mother would have liked it.”

His voice broke. You leaned into his side, letting him rest some of his weight against you. His tail twined around your leg, as if seeking comfort. “You can cry. Remember? We said it was good to cry.”

Solomon shuddered and tears started to drip down his cheeks. He cried in silence, leaning on you heavily. You allowed him to, only speaking to soothe him.

Eventually, he petered out. You offered him a pack of tissues. He mopped at his face. “Thank you,” he said, voice rusty.

“Of course. Like I said, it’s good to have other people you can count on.” You patted his arm gently.

He closed his eyes for a moment, taking in a deep breath. “I was wondering. The funeral is… soon. Perhaps, if you were willing, you would come with me?” You stared. “You do not need to feel obligated. It is just- you have helped me, recently. I feel that it would be nice to have someone there who understands.”

“Sure,” you said. “I’d be okay with that.” Solomon nodded, then reached into his pocket. He retrieved a wad of cash from his pocket and handed it to you. Your mouth dropped open. It was mostly fifties, with several hundred bills wadded up in the middle. “This… I think this is more than we agreed on.”

“You have given me a greater gift than just the necklace, so I feel that I should pay you back in kind.” Solomon squeezed your shoulder. “Thank you. I will see you again soon.”

His form rippled and extended into a massive, serpentine dragon. Its scales reflected opalescently in the sunlight and his antlers gleamed like metal. There were gasps around you, but your eyes were fixed only on him. He looked back at you with a surprising amount of affection for a draconic face, then he swooped upward and vanished. You stared as he vanished into the sky, awe swelling in your chest. “See you again soon,” you said, half to yourself. “And thank you, too.”

#exophilia #dragon #dragon boyfriend #monster boyfriend #monster lover #dragon lover

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