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morgana-ren · 4 years

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Come Down to the Black Sea III

Summary: The sea seems to call to you, but it’s not the tumultuous clash of the waves you should fear. Something lurks deep beneath the black waters, something sinister with a piqued interest and ill intent.

Rating: Explicit

Warnings: Siren!Shigaraki, graphic depictions of violence, heavy sexual innuendo, implied noncon, foul language, sexual tension you can cut with a knife, and just general sexual grossness. Joking daddy kink also, if you count that.

PART I, PART II

Here you go! The third installment. Your seafaring friend finds your hot button and decides to plant some lovely ideas in your brain. Listening to them probably is not the smartest idea in regards to keeping your heart beating, but it certainly gets your thighs clenching.

Taglist: @lemonzoey, @babayaga67

You know, it's really rough to explain to your superiors at work why you're so distracted when it happens to be because a mythical being is giving you the cold shoulder.

You’re not entirely certain why it bothers you so much that your last encounter with him ended rather sour. He had made it perfectly plain from the get-go that his intent with you was far from pure. Murderous, in fact. He had almost drowned you on your first meeting and insulted you incessantly during your second. Not exactly a friendly track record.

Regardless, he’s made a permanent home crawling beneath your human skin, like some itch you can’t scratch away. You can try to justify it however you’d like, but you can’t ignore the truth. In a word full of mundane existence, you’ve found an oddity and as much as you’d like to pretend you aren’t, you’re drawn to it. It’s part of why you returned to the beach despite the clear and present danger. You’d found a living, breathing mermaid. Even more impressive, you’d managed to piss him off.

Mermaid? Is that accurate? He’s so sensitive to being classified wrongly, but still never told you what he was. Considering the circumstances, maybe you should be a little bit more concerned about other things rather than offending him, but it still bothers you.

Your ignorance isn’t due to lack of trying. You’ve done extensive research in the spare moments you have during the day, but nothing quite matches his description no matter how deeply you delve into the weirder parts of the internet, even going so far as to browse around on conspiracy sites on the darknet. Mermaid? Merman? Siren? Fish-guy? Some distantly related offspring to that Ripley’s Believe it or Not monkey fish? Relentless searching proved fruitless. Plenty of old sun-crazed fishermen claim to have seen merfolk in the waters or sirens on the rocks, but more often than not, it was a walrus or stage 4 sea madness. No one had a legitimate account of meeting with a real, intelligent creature of the deep. Nothing that came remotely close to him, anyway.

Despite being unable to focus at your job, getting home only doubles the anxiety. Restlessly sitting and twitching on the sofa, repeatedly trying and failing to read or watch some vapid TV show. You’re unable to keep your mind from returning to the ocean, to him no matter how hard you try.

Over the course of time, you become acutely aware that staying home clearly isn't an option, but you're not really sure what to say to him if you see him again. Why do you even care? Aren't you supposed to be ignoring him? You can excuse your obsessive thoughts about him since most people would have the same reaction to seeing something supernatural not once, but twice in front of their very eyes, but a lot of people wouldn’t continuously return to see it especially if it was malevolent.

You love that preemptively planning what to say to a sentient supernatural sea dweller is a part of your day. That's awesome. Can't look that one up on google.

You’ll compromise with your compulsiveness instead. Go a little early and watch the sun set down over the horizon instead of watching the moon rise. Most parents won't allow their children near your rock because it’s slippery and dangerous, and frankly, you don't think he'll show up when others can see him. He’s deadly, but a mob of terrified parents and curious beach goers has few rivals.

Maybe you can get your fill before he appears. It's better to keep away from him anyway. He wants you dead.

He wants you dead, you remind yourself.

And so you do. Tread the sandy trail down to your favorite little hideyhole and plop down on the hard surface. You kick your feet absentmindedly on the rock beneath you, watching the small particles of sand splay and regather with every motion of your foot. The crash of the waves, still tumultuous and ornery, slap the side of your makeshift perch and splash you with speckles of water every few moments. You don't mind. You needed to shower anyway.

You can't help but feel a bit more lonely than normal, even surrounded by so many more people than you usually are. Flustered moms urge their children in from the shore to wipe them down with towels and flighty young twentysomethings hoot and holler, laughing loudly as they pile into their cars to find their next big spot for the night. The moon rises and the beach empties, leaving you alone again. The ocean settles, and even though it feels better, you feel alone.

You close your eyes, resting your head sideways on your knees with your arms buckled around your legs. You're close to the edge, precariously so. You just want to be close to the water. You should move back.

In. out. in. out. in. out. in. out.

The waves seem to move in line with the beating of your own heart, a tranquil feeling that dulls your restless thoughts and engulfs you in quiet solace. The hum of the ocean resonating deep within you with each breath you take of the briny air.

You're aware enough to recognize that the sound of the sea is luring you into a false sense of comfort. The darkness seeping over the horizon doesn't make it easier, and soon your slowly wandering mind is on the brink of unconsciousness. You're dangerously close to falling asleep, and given the circumstances, that probably isn't the best idea, especially since you're precariously close to the water.

You can't help it, it's been one hell of a week. You haven’t slept. Haven’t relaxed. Haven’t felt at home in so long...

Listen, there's no guide online to look at that can help you through what to do when a malevolent fish-man hybrid has decided he wants to drown you. You can imagine it would say something along the lines of 'Stop going near the water then, dumbass' but that's like asking a religious person to stay away from church. It's the one place where you feel any semblance of peace, and you'll be damned if you're going to let the moonlight water marauder take that from you.

Still, it makes things in your life exponentially more difficult when you can't explain to anyone what's on your mind.

'Yeah, I met a mer...thing, and he's decided that he hates me and he wants to drown me, and that makes me sad. The one supernatural creature I get to meet and he doesn't like me. Bummer.'

They'd probably have you committed. That’s a bit much even for your eccentric proclivities.

Your body occasionally jerks you awake, probably its way of saying 'You cannot sleep when there are enemies nearby', but it feels like it's been weeks since you've had a decent night's sleep. The endless procession of days marked by existential crisis with the tacked on bonus of being aware of the existence of a nefarious fairy tale creature makes everything feel awfully surreal. It feels as if you've been running on pure adrenaline and are about to crash. Hard.

If you were smart, you'd go home and try to bank on the feeling of sleepiness currently plaguing you, but you just can't bring yourself to move. Even barring the flaxen haired fish dude just chomping at the bit to drag you under, napping this close to the sea is a bad idea in general. Tides change rapidly and all it would take is a few minutes of you being unaware for the waves to snag you and haul you off to a watery grave. They'd probably never find you, just like the others who disappear here at night.

But that's probably his doing, isn't it?

What does he do with the bodies exactly?

You really wish he wasn't trying to kill you, cause you have an endless list of questions you'd like to ask. What does he eat? Where does he live? Does he sleep at all?

Musing on all the things you'd like to know about him and his life leads you into fantasizing about being a talk show host interviewing him, and one thing leads to another and before you know it, you're conked out cold. You've managed to find an extremely awkward position to slump into, but even the horrid crick in your neck isn't enough to shake you from the dreamless slumber. Your body doesn't even have the energy needed to produce a dream, so instead, you just float through an endless void.

It could have been minutes, or even hours, really. You're not sure. The only thing strong enough to jar you awake is a sudden and intense feeling of dread that blooms in your stomach and gives you a form and sentience again. Your eyes snap open instinctively, and you're greeted with a pair of spiteful red eyes far too close to you for comfort.

"Jumping jesus-!"

Surprised is a nice word for what you feel, an ugly screech emanating from your throat as you kick out your feet, knocking yourself over and almost falling in the water in the process. You hit your head nice and hard on a particularly jagged portion of the rocks, and by the time your vision undoubles, the danger is just barely settling in.

Except danger is too busy cackling to be a threat.

You try to grapple with the panic in your chest and get a grasp on reality again after your literal rude awakening, but it's a bit rough when the sadistic jackass who perpetuated it in the first place won't stop laughing. Apparently he's too amused to take the opportunity to seize you, so you take the moment to scoot much further back and out of his reach, resisting the urge to plant your foot right on his stupid face.

Eventually he quiets down, but the grin never leaves his face. Much like everything about him, it's hostile somehow, mocking and disingenuous.

"Humans really are so stupid."

"Joke is on you, tunabreath. You wasted the perfect opportunity to actually grab me."

He shakes his head, tutting you. "I couldn’t resist. We like to play with our food too, sometimes. Scared ones taste better."

Is he implying he eats people? Okay, you know what? You don't wanna know. You doubt he'd be honest about it anyway, and would probably say whatever unnerves you the most. He seems a prick like that.

"I thought the entire point was to drown me and get it over with. You’re borderline obsessed with it."

He scoffs, little head fins twitching as he waves you off. "If I’m going to waste my time, don't make it so easy. It's less fun."

Okay cool, this is all a game to him; your life is a game to him. Nice. Fun. Great.

Something on your face must have given away your ire, because he simpers at you and another raspy laugh bubbles in his chest.

"It's not my fault you're stupid. You're the idiot sleeping next to the ocean when you know what's waiting for you when you get too close. It’s like you want me to devour you."

"I thought after your little tantrum last night, you were gone for good. You really can throw a fantastic hissy fit."

That wipes the smile from his face.

“Little brat.” He taps a claw on the rock, narrowing his eyes at you. “Tough talk from someone afraid of getting a little wet.” He drags out the final word with a mocking tone, clicking his tongue against his fangs with the final syllable.

“For the last time, I’m not afraid of getting wet-” It takes it a second to sink in but wow this all sounds so wrong. Your face darkens and a familiar tingle worms itself in your gut. Are you really that lonely? “And don’t say it like that!”

His brows furrow and he studies you with a slightly quizzical expression. “Like what?”

How do you explain to a dude who presumably has no cock and no human sexual experience about the sexual insinuations of human expressions? Wow. This is not a talk you thought you’d be having. The entire situation is weird, but this really sets the bar.

“I know you’re probably not familiar with it, but that sounds... weird. It just sounds weird, okay?”

“I don’t understand.” His lips curl downward in annoyance, arching a pale brow in your direction.

“Look, when a human and another human... do stuff, things happen to their bodies and-“ a twisted sense of shame curdles your stomach and you go to scratch the back of your head, avoiding his eyes. Your words trail off somewhere mid sentence. If you were looking, you could practically see the gears turning in his head, but a few seconds later, his face pops in realization.

“I’m fully aware of your human mating habits.”

“Don’t say it like that either! Jesus, you’re so awkward.”

A slow smile spreads over his face and he leans closer to you, tail swishing in a steady rhythm beneath the water. “Why? You’re over the ‘age of consent’, as it’s put, right? A sexually mature human female? Does it make you uncomfortable when I say things like that? Or does it make you something else?”

He trails his claws in a walking motion towards your out of reach leg, and embarrassment isn’t a strong enough word for the emotion that colors your face as you recoil from his wandering fingers. “Knock it off!”

“Has it been a while since someone touched you, little human?”

“None of your business! You’re such a creep! And what do you know about it anyway? Don’t you fuckin’ lay eggs or something?”

He ignores your pointed jab, licking at his chapped lips as he runs his piercing eyes over you a bit too invasively for your liking. “You wanna know, huh? I can show you.” He reaches towards you again and you wiggle back a few more inches, caught between his words and the friction igniting feelings you’re desperately trying to ignore between your thighs.

“I’m getting mixed signals here. Are you trying to drown me or fuck me?”

“Who says I can’t do both?” He tilts his head, gaze lingering on your lips before drifting down to your chest without shame. His attention still feels utterly predatory, but for a different form of predator entirely. “Your death doesn’t have to be entirely painful, you know.”

“S-stop it.”

He’s giving you whiplash with his intense mood swings, but you can’t deny the less than appropriate places his words drag your mind to. Heat ignites inside you, warmth spreading through your navel as your cheeks burn deeper than they did before. You will it away, trying to shake loose the thoughts from your mind. No fucking way are you even considering this.

“Look, even if our bodies were compatible, which they aren’t, it’s not like you wanting to kill me is a turn on.”

He gives you another lilting grin, flicking his tongue and hissing in a foreign laugh. “Are you sure? I know that some of your kind are into that sort of thing. Hard. Rough. Dangerous. And judging by your face-“

Another bout of blood colors your cheeks so intensely that you can literally feel it. Oh God, make it stop.

“-You might be.”

“Shut it, shark bait!”

“And who’s to say we’re not compatible? I know plenty. Something about the beach is an aphrodisiac to you humans. Not to mention~” Another grin, but this one gives off the undeniable air of ‘I know something you don’t know.’ “You have no idea what I can do.”

You can’t help but look back at him as he says it and you can tell he means every word. The unnatural scarlet glow of his eyes seems far too welcoming, calling to you like some sort of beacon in the darkness. The soft gleam of his silvery hair in the moonlight far too inviting. You want to touch it, wonder what it would feel like entwined between your fingers, what it smells like and how those claws would feel like scratching against the sensitive skin of your ass as he holds you steady against his hips.

You bet those fangs aren’t just for show, and judging by his attitude, he’s probably not afraid to use them. You bet they’d feel all sorts of nice scraping and digging into your flesh, biting you and licking that thick tongue up and over your neck, maybe even a bit lower if you asked him nicely. He’s so lithe, so strong, he’d have no problem fucking you against the rock even with the water resistance. His slick skin rubbing against yours, webbed hands squeezing your waist, kneading your tits, pressing the rounds of your neck until you gave yourself over to him completely and the taste of him is the last thing you ever knew.

Okay, you admit it. You are really curious to see just what it is he can do. You’d probably be the first human in history to find out, the first girl to be fucked to literal death by a siren. Would it really be such a terrible way to die? Being dragged under metaphorically and physically and spending your last moments in pleasure wholly unknown to the moral realm?

He smiles softly, watching you toss it around in your mind as he cradles his head in his palm. He’s beautiful, and you loathe it. You hate that you’re even considering this, even toying with the thought as if it’s really an option. What the hell are you doing? This is complete madness!

“You aren’t serious, are you?”

He gestures you forward seductively, nibbling gently on his scarred bottom lip, keeping your eyes squarely trained on his mouth. “Come a little closer and find out. I promise I bite. Extra hard if you beg.”

Another clench between your legs. Shake it loose, shake it loose! “Look, even if I believed for a split second you wanted to seduce me, you really think I’m going to literally die for the chance?”

“What else are you going to die for?”

Oddly deep. Not a thought you wanted to ponder right now. Expertly deflect it with sarcasm and ignore the fact that he has a very good point.

“Of old age, in my bed, surrounded by loved ones and piles of money I didn’t get the chance to spend yet.”

He scoffs, blowing air through his nose. “Sure.”

“Just what is that supposed to mean?”

He shrugs, shucking aside your irritation. “Don’t ask questions you don’t want the answers to.”

“Prick.”

He giggles, finding your crass human mouth oddly endearing. “Well, the offer stands. I told you I’m not going anywhere until you're under the water with me.” He pauses, considering you for a moment before grinning darkly. “I might just do it anyway, but it’s better if you’re willing. Not that I’ve ever been averse to a little struggle.”

“What?”

“It’s hard to say no when you can’t speak. I could easily bypass this little game of playing hard to get, but I want to see you squirm.” He eyes between your legs and you pray to the Gods that he thinks the dampness residing there is because of the watery environment. “I want to see you beg before the light goes out in those pretty eyes.”

“You’re a fucking perv!”

“I told you I’m going to watch you drown, you really put it past me to not take other forms of satisfaction from you while I’m at it?”

He presents a good point. You resent the fact that you don’t entirely feel repulsed by the thought. You should. You should be mortified and terrified and other words that end in ‘fied’. You should run and never come back. You know you should.

You lean forward.

“I’d like to see you try, fish boy.”

A strangely genuine smile spreads across his lips and his face seems to light up at your words. It's still menacing, but oddly cute; like a child getting ready and excited to play their favorite game.

"You really think you can win this, huh?" He muses, looking up at you through those pale lashes. "You sure are something, little girl."

"What do I have to lose? If you win, you kill me, and whatever else, but I won't care, because I'll be dead. If I win, I get to see that arrogant smarminess wiped off your face when you don't get what you want. You'll have wasted all this time for nothing, and I guess that's a small consolation prize alongside my life."

“Time means nothing to me, but if it makes you feel better about the situation.”

From the way he says it, you don't deny it. It dawns on you that you really know nothing about his people. Do they age like you? Do they age at all?

“How old are you?”

"Older than you by far, I promise. What a rude question. How old are you?"

“Old enough. But that doesn’t answer my question. Don’t deflect.”

"No manners, you humans." He ponders it for a minute. "You count the passing of time in revolutions around the sun, right? I'd bet I had been an adult for a very long time while you were still learning to walk on wobbly little legs."

It's your turn to laugh now, and he doesn't seem amused. "You're an old man! Ew! You're an interspecies cradle robber!"

"I'm not old! We live exponentially longer than you! I'll still be in my prime when you're an elder!" His pallid face is dusted slightly red in frustration, and it's almost funnier than his reaction.

"Whatever you say, grandpa! Do you have an undersea walker? Drink sea prune juice? Is that why your hair is silver? Cause you're old?"

Self consciously, he strokes the front of his long bangs between his fingers. "No! You're an immature little brat!"

"Back in my day~" You barely dodge a swipe from one of his claws as he jumps as far forward as he can and swings at you. "Careful gramps, you don't wanna hurt yourself. You’ll break a hip or whatever it is you have."

He sneers at you and you bask in the minor victory.

You sit in silence; him with a scowl tightly pulled across his thin lips, and you with a smug little grin. So it’s not impossible to get under his scales.

He’s a world class pouter, you’ll give him that. He doesn’t strike you as vain, but this is probably uncharted territory for him; actually talking to a human and subsequently being made fun of for his age. He’s probably not used to being mocked in any sense of the word, seeing as he’s a ‘non existent’ mythical creature. Maybe his kind are prideful, if a little childish. He claims to have existed for ages, but he still has the mannerisms you’d attribute to a male around your age. Maybe a tad immature and explosive himself. You guess some things don’t change with the species. Aggression, domination, and sex. And murder, in his case.

Some things are universal, it seems.

He’s making a show of ignoring you now, clicking his claws together in a subconscious attempt to threaten you. They are awfully sharp. You swear looking at them makes the gashes on your arm start to ache all over again. Occasionally the fins on the side of his head twitch in an almost catlike manner, turning toward whatever source of sound can be heard. It’s so strange to you, you can’t help but stare. He looks ethereal, even as impudent as he’s acting. With the backdrop of the ocean and the moon behind him, he looks like a painting that belongs in a gallery. You can’t stop yourself from leering at him.

You’re trying to ignore the fact that he definitely takes notice.

He's angry at you, displeasure still slightly evident in his face, but a small smile crooks his lips. You've clearly offended him but your leering goes a little way towards soothing the hairs you've rubbed the wrong way. For whatever reason, knowing you find him attractive puffs his feathers- er, scales- with pride. Body language relaxes between the two of you and a few minutes of quiet follows.

Yet, it's difficult to keep a pleasant silence when the company you keep is far from familiar. This isn't two friends relaxing on a beach; at least unless most friends are malevolent ocean dwelling creatures with an end goal of filling the other's lung with sea water.

The lack of noise makes you antsy, almost like you're anticipating something but you're unsure of what. It feels false somehow, like you're trying to turn this isn't something it isn't; comfortable. No matter how his casual demeanor tries to lull you into a false sense of security, you have to remain vigilant. One little slip and he'll drag you into a watery grave- among other things if he was serious.

“So… What do you eat?”

He slow blinks at you a few times before grinning, light glinting off his all-too-sharp fangs. “You mean besides you?”

There’s multiple implications to that, neither one of which you want to ponder for various reasons. Your panties are already uncomfortably damp.

“Yes. Besides us.”

Shrugging, he flicks at a small pebble on the rocks edge and plunks it into the water. "Same thing you would if you were one of us. There's plenty of fish down here, only difference is I can eat them raw."

Your nose crumples and you stick your tongue out slightly, imagining him taking a bite out of a still-twitching fish. "Ew."

He rolls his eyes, brushing your obvious disgust aside. "If I recall, don't you humans have multiple dishes you eat raw?"

"Well, I mean, yeah, but it's different. We actually prepare it."

"Sounds like a whole lot of fuss over nothing. Your weak stomach just can't handle it and mine can, and you seem to find that to be some sort of bragging point. Also, don't you humans have a tendency to put things in your mouth that don't belong there?"

“Didn’t I already tell you to shut up about that?”

"I don't know, I'd say the occasional raw fish is a lot less dirty than a human male c-"

“Oh my god! I am so sorry I fucking asked!”

He cackles loudly and you realize that he's officially found your hot button. Even worse is he knows it. "I mean that's not to say we don't have our own filthy habits, but you guys are inspiring-"

"Dude! Make like a tunafish and can it! I don't want to hear any of this!"

"Oh? Is that so? Because around 10 minutes ago, you were half ready to rip your clothes off and jump in here and let me try you even if it meant your death."

"Momentary lapse in judgement. Don't get too excited, grandpa."

He frowns again but seems less offended now that the initial moment had passed. "If you insist upon calling me a nickname pertaining to my age, I'd prefer daddy."

All humor drops from your face. How the fuck does he even know about that?

As if he can read your mind, he responds. "A lot of you humans like to reproduce here. I've seen quite a bit and heard even more. Like I said, you’re absolutely filthy creatures.”

“Ah. Yeah. That makes sense.”

“My offer stands. Come a little closer and I’ll show you just what I learned.”

“Creep.”

“That makes two of us, now doesn’t it?”

"I'm not the one bringing up sex every 3 seconds."

Hey, do you know how awkward it is to be having this conversation? With him? Right now? Do you know how utterly surreal this is?

“No, but you’re thinking about it, aren’t you?”

Your cheeks burn and you know it doesn't matter what you say. Your face is a dead giveaway. He knows it too, crossing his arm and arching a cocky brow at you.

“And I’m the pervert, huh?”

You wrap your arms around your legs again in a subconscious show of defense. "Yes, you are. This is a natural response to embarrassing topics. Topics you keep coming back to."

He shrugs again, his head fins twitching a few times. "I don't deny my nature. If I feel lustful, I act on it. Another reason you humans are inferior. You deny what comes naturally in the name of some form of... shame, is it? I have no bonds holding me back, while yours are pointless and dictated by some invisible and shallow form of ‘morality’ and ‘purity."

He’s… technically right. Still.

"You realize you're saying this to the person you're trying to kill, right?"

"I'm aware. Consider it a parting gift. You can feel what it's like to be untethered before I end you."

You roll your eyes so deeply that you’re almost certain you’ve detached the retina. “Oh, how very kind of you. So thoughtful.”

"It’s not entirely altruistic, but it's better than I was originally planning. I was just going to rip you apart the second I pulled you in. Of course, that was before I got a good look at you. It'd be a shame to waste such a pretty thing without getting a taste first.”

It's a twisted compliment, but you appreciate it, at least as much as the circumstances allow.

“Thanks… I think?”

"It's a good thing, I promise. I won't just touch anyone, you know. Most of your kind repulses me. I'm not an easy please."

"Oh." Another awkward silence. "What makes me so special, anyways?"

His face blanks over, eyes hardening and mouth pursing in a tight line. He opens his lips a few times to speak, but seemingly stops himself. His expression flashes confusion, then rage, then apathy in quick succession. "I don't know. It won't matter for long anyways, soon you'll be dead and I can move on."

“Not if I win.”

"You won't. I don't lose. Besides, I've already almost gotten you twice. It's only a matter of time before you slip up again, and I'll be there to catch you when you do."

"Put it like that and it almost sounds sweet." A smile tugs at your lips despite yourself.

His face flushes and he looks away from you, expression contorting. “It’s not. Don’t twist my words.”

“Spoilsport. Go eat a mackerel or something. You’re not yourself when you’re hungry. Or maybe you are. Either way, you’re cranky.”

"It's hard not to be cranky when there's a meal right in front of me and I can't indulge."

"Quit threatening to eat me. I get the point, it's just weird.”

His thick tongue flicks out and runs across those glimmering teeth and he just smiles. "Who said anything about eating?"

“Give it a rest.”

He swipes a small amount of water at you with his thumb and forefinger. "Deny it all you'd like, you enjoy the attention."

"Definitely. I love being the first human to be hit on by the world's first mermaid fuckboy."

A hybrid mix of a groan and a growl rumbles from his chest. "I'm not a fucking mermaid!"

"Oh, sorry!" The sarcasm is palpable, and he scowls at you again. You love the fact he doesn't deny the secondary insult. "I meant merman."

"Don't insult me. As if your petty, unimaginative fairytales could even come close."

"You have a tail, you live underwater, and you're half human. Sounds pretty damn close to me."

The look on his face is as if you just forced him to swallow something extraordinarily disgusting. "You have no idea what I'm capable of. And I'm not half human. You're half us."

Now that takes you off guard.

“What did you say? What do you mean?”

"It doesn't matter." He pushes himself away from the rocks, his tail slightly flapping above the surface. "Besides, you were right. I am hungry. I should probably find something to eat for tonight, unless you’ve changed your mind." He doesn’t bother waiting for you to retort before skillfully diving down back beneath the waves.

You want to stop him, but he’s gone before you can think of a creative way to say ‘hell no’. The slight dash of silver hair makes out towards the horizon and before long, he's gone. As always, he leaves you feeling more frustrated than anything.

You want to stay, to enjoy the ocean like you used to before he barged his way into your life, but it all just feels too strange now. He won't return tonight, you know that much.

Heaving yourself off your asleep butt, you begin your bowlegged walk back to civilization, left with nothing but the ache of a cramp in your hips and a strangely heavy feeling in your gut.

#Shigaraki x Reader #Shigaraki Tomura #Come Down to the Black Sea #See warnings up top

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pinky-the-elephant-room · 3 years

Text

Incandescent

ϟ AN: I struggled with this one cause I tried to finish it while I was sick, so be kind guys I would appreciate it. The brief mention of Bakugou is connect to: this fic. But you can skip it if you would like.

ϟ Warnings: Explicit smut with aged up Kaminari, mentions of spankings, and rough sex. Please read at your own discretion. Denki x Fem reader

ϟ Summary: He shouldn’t want his innocent and proper ex girlfriend. But sometimes it’s nice to revisit the past for some much needed debauchery.

ϟϟϟϟϟϟϟϟ

It’s been give or take four to five years. He hadn’t thought of her in that way in years. When they broke up, it was amicable. They understood the course of their relationship had hit a dead end. They wanted to date other people and see what life had to offer. The two of them had agreed on this. So why was it that he was unable to look away from Y/N tonight?

She looked gorgeous; Y/N had been a scrappy girl in U.A. Now she was a woman in every sense of the word. She had filled out her costume so well now it was hard not to notice. Kaminari saw the various appreciative looks she was gaining from the various onlookers.

Maybe it was the conversation he had with Sero a few weeks ago.

The two of them and Kirishima met up at a bar to relax. Even Bakugou joined them for an hour before he stomped to the home he shared with his girlfriend. Who knew the first to be in a stable relationship and remain in one for years would be the wild Bakugou? That same feral kid who would continuously threaten and scream “Die!” whenever it fit his fancy.

Anyway, Sero and Kaminari took it upon themselves to do a drinking game, and before Sero knew it, he was drunk. He never could hold his alcohol well.

It was in this state that Sero confessed something that shocked Kaminari to his core.

“L-listen. Doon’t bee madd-d. Me and Y/N had a thingsh for a month,” Sero hiccupped. “I’m shorry. I -hope you’re not mad.”

Even while intoxicated, Kaminari had the sense not to flip out. What was there to be mad about anyway? Y/N and he hadn’t dated in years and weren’t as close as they used to be. Kaminari still was cordial to her and whatever boyfriend she might have introduced to their 1-A group.

Sure, it was weird that Sero and Y/N were a thing. But it was more because it happened out of nowhere. They were polar opposites, people he thought didn’t even know each other’s first names.

“Here, drink some water. You’re wasted.”

Kaminari tried to calm an overly emotional Sero who was trying to smother him with affection. It was usually the other way around. At least, he wasn’t a needy drunk like the taped hero.

“But maaaan I gotta say. Y/N was hot! S-shhe was the best ssseex I had in years. It was too bad it ended,” Sero lamented before giggling at the word “sex”. Then he proceeded to chant it and burst into drunken laughter.

Kaminari spent the rest of the night getting sober before helping Kirishima take Sero back to his apartment. The two buddies then sorted it all out by acknowledging that the night never happened, and it wasn’t something to ever be spoken about again.

But he couldn’t help himself as he checked out Y/N indiscriminately. The sex Kaminari remembered was sweet and vanilla. Nothing to write home about. He had better sex with more experienced partners. But it was great for his first time. Which now, he couldn’t reconcile with the sex that Sero described. “The best sex I ever had” with Y/N of all people? Sweet and sugar Y/N? Now that was something Kaminiari had to check out for himself.

So, making up his mind, he strolled over casually to where Y/N was conversing with a fellow hero.

“Hey Y/N! Long time no see. You look amazing.”

Y/N excused herself and turned around to face him with a smile.

“Denki, I just saw you a few weeks ago at Jiro’s birthday party.”

He sheepishly chuckled. “Oh, right. But I mean it, you look great.”

A soft blush appeared on Y/N’s face before she tried to face away from him. Now that was interesting. Maybe it won’t be so hard to get in her good graces once again.

“A-arigato. Did you need something from me? You’re usually off with Grape Juice trying to score a date at NPHC.”

He casually swung an arm around her shoulder. “Now, why would I do that when there’s already the beautiful Y/N in front of me?”

She shrugged off his arm and pushed him away. “Seriously? You know I don’t like these types of jokes.”

“Heh, you liar. If I remember correctly, you used to love my jokes.”

Kaminari stepped closer to Y/N and curled his arm around her waist tightly.

“You used to love it when I whispered into your ear like this,” he muttered hotly against her skin.

She let out a girlish squeal before pushing him away from her person.

He just grinned when he saw the red hues spread over the apples of her cheeks and ears. Just as he was about to grab her again, Y/N scuttled away from him like he had just caught fire.

Well, it looks like she was still the same Y/N even if she was grown up in other ways. That was more reassuring than he thought possible. Which he felt a little confused by; why did he care if Y/N was still the same girl he dated back in U.A.?

The rest of the evening Kaminari took great pleasure in messing with Y/N whenever possible. When their eyes happened to meet, he sent a heart-stopping wink her way. He brought her champagne only to brush his hand against her ass accidentally. When other men tried to approach her, he managed to intercept them.

“She’s my date for tonight. Sorry guys,” Kaminari joked while he tugged Y/N away from everybody else.

Y/N tried to remove her hand from his hold, but he only tightened his grip. Kaminari maneuvered through the hallways before he pulled her inside an open door. They were isolated in a private bathroom above the National Pro Hero Convention.

“What is going on with you? Why are you flirting with me?”

He took his time locking and securing the door. A bit nervous about turning and answering Y/N’s questions. He didn’t know if she would reject him tonight. Flirting was harmless, but sex complicated relationships. So, he would tread lightly. Yet, there was a confidence in knowing that she already engaged in something with Sero without making it serious. Maybe tonight it wouldn’t end in rejection.

As he walked towards Y/N teeming with self-assuredness, an easy his younger self would have been regarded with jealousy. It was the type of boldness only acquired after years of experience. Funny how he would use that same experience to entice the first girl he ever dated.

Y/N gazed at him as if his eyes could give her the answers she wanted. A litany of emotions flashed across her face. Was she always this expressive?

“Denki- “he cut her off with a kiss.

Kaminari swallowed her whimpers and tangled his tongue along with hers. She tasted vaguely like the champagne he had handed her earlier. He clutched her hips tightly before clasping her bottom. He didn’t remember her ass being so thick. Whatever Y/N was doing, it was working out for her. Perhaps a bit too well. He hadn’t necessarily planned to fuck her ass, but the night was long, and he had full intentions of taking advantage of it.

He separated from her mouth only to go back one and twice more. As if he was afraid to remove himself from her enticing taste.

“Y/N, I need you like. Right. Fucking. Now,” Kaminari gasped out while placing wet kisses along her slender neck.

The gasps evolved into a groan when he felt her tentatively touch his clothed cock. Her touch only served to stir his groin, and he placed his hand over hers to rub more firmly.

There was only so much he could take. He never did have any patience and was tired of being unable to get Y/N underneath him like he wanted. Kaminari cornered Y/N against the wall and pressed his body adjacent to her soft curves.

“Tell me what you want, baby. Yes or no.”

Y/N hesitated as her ample chest quivered, and her eyes glowed with untamed desire.

“If you really want me, then yes,” she whispered before pulling him down to kiss her.

“You know what to do.” As soon as those words left his mouth, he guided her legs around his waist to which she tightly wrapped. Y/N didn’t need any more encouragement as she closed her eyes and concentrated. In a puff of black smoke that quickly dispersed, the duo disappeared. When Kaminari looked up from licking the salt from her wet skin, he realized that the two were in a darkened room looking over Tokyo city lights.

It would appear the familiar bedroom sparked something for Y/N because her body relaxed, and she redirected his distracted face back to her mouth. She let out a low moan and ran her blunt nails through his blond hair.

Kaminari’s breath hitched, and he could feel his body responding to her. Sero didn’t lie, nor did he exaggerate. She had changed and in the most unexpected way. It was always him who would initiative their kisses and dictate their pace. Y/N, in her inexperience, was too shy to voice her needs, so he did his best with what he had. He didn’t mind it at the time because it was fun learning what worked and didn’t work. Now the way her grip was tightening in his hair, he couldn’t help but surrender to her whims instead.

As her tongue was keeping his mouth occupied, he could absentmindedly feel her take off his signature black and white jacket. That fueled the blood rushing through his veins and managed to engorge the hardened flesh pressed against Y/N’s hips. He always did love it when women removed his clothes for him. He loved it even more when they got frisky in the process, like how she flicked his sensitive nub with her tongue when she managed to get his shirt off as well.

Somehow Y/N’s clothes joined his on the floor, and Kaminari ended up on her bed.

“Come on, Y/N. Show me what you got me,” he said with leisure, resting his hands behind his head.

He kept still and tried not to make a sound as their centers connected. It took a while for Y/N to get it together as his cock kept slipping through her wet center. His eyes were tightly closed as his member entered her, and her warm embrace surrounded him.

Kaminari opened his eyes again to see an exquisite sight of a naked Y/N on top of him. He honestly didn’t think that this was something that would ever happen between the two of them. But life was unique like that; you never know when you would feel the itch to fuck your single ex-girlfriend.

Just as he was about to open his mouth to make a smart comment, she started moving. He should have known better to challenge Y/N, though. She might have been shy, but she was notoriously competitive and a sore loser. So, he shouldn’t have been that surprised when Y/N started riding him like a champion.

Many people had commented that he was a certified dumbass. He always disputed the absurd claims because no matter what people thought of him, there was always someone dumber like Mina. But he never felt as foolish as in that moment when Kaminari realized he spelled out his doom when he mouthed off to Y/N. The intensity in her eyes didn’t dissipate despite the rigorous rocking of her body. She was moving like an exotic dancer with the control of her movement and her slams' precision. It was no doubt in his mind that she had practiced until she mastered this particular lesson. Now he couldn’t help but feel overwhelmed by his own choices.

He could feel the telltale signs as his skin heated up and the tingles at the base of his spine. And the more telling signal of his balls getting heavy and tight.

He gritted his teeth and sunk his fingers into her hips.

“Y/N, fuck!” he hissed to her face. Y/N responded with defiance in her eyes alongside vigorous slams of her hips.

He couldn’t lose to her, not right now. Not ever. Especially if he wanted back in her bed in the near future.

That thought temporarily distracted him. Kaminari didn’t realize he was already contemplating a round two. His attention quickly snapped back to Y/N when her inner walls clenched around his cock with a vengeance. He groaned and bit down on his lip to distract himself. It did nothing to deter his pleasure. He knew like the first he had touched himself as a randy young boy that the height of his gratification wasn’t too far behind. But too bad for Y/N that he was no longer an inexperienced teen and knew exactly how to turn this into his favor.

Kaminari flipped her onto her back, and he relished the shocked look upon her face. Just as he was about to reenter her wet center, she cried out.

“Wait, not like this. On my hands and knees,” Y/N urged Kaminari by pushing back against him. Too shocked to argue with her, he let Y/N shove him a couple of inches and watched as she turned around and exposing her ass to his face. Unable to help himself, he clutched her bottom tightly before landing a firm smack onto her skin. Her body jolted, and she swayed a bit but didn’t say anything more.

He let out a chuckle. “Anything you want, babe.”

Kaminari gripped her hips tightly before crushing her smaller body with his. He plowed into her with an exuberance he never knew he was capable of. Instead of concealing her screams as most would, Y/N let pleasure known almost shamelessly. She was so uninhibited at that moment he almost proud that he was the reason that she was screaming herself hoarse.

It was due to all the noise that he didn’t hear what she muttered next.

“Wha-“he panted as he tried to get ahold of himself. “What was that?”

“Pull my hair, Denki,” her sore voice commanded.

There wasn’t any heat nor any threat in her words, but he felt compelled to fulfill her every command. Almost as if the sheer exhaustion hypnotized him that her voice conveyed. Almost as if they had been fucking nonstop for hours rather than it being their first round. He grabbed a fist full of her soft hair and tugged, following the motions of their bodies.

Y/N voiced her approval, and the next words she wailed almost made him lose his mind and spill prematurely into her.

“Harder! I said harder!”

Kaminari fucked her so vigorously that he vaguely thought he would break Y/N’s bed, and she was going to kill him in the morning. As Y/N's orgasm finally pushed her over the edge, her body shook and trembled, all the while receiving his still steady thrusts. His eyes rolled to the back of his head, and he let himself go as the orgasm literally shook him to his core. He rarely lost control of his quirk anymore, but the temporary loss of his senses gave himself and Y/N underneath him a mild shock.

He let out a deep groan and felt his body twitch from his own quirk. Kaminari quickly moved Y/N on her back and checked over her quickly to make sure she wasn’t hurt. Her face pinkened, and her chest heaved almost enticingly, but overall looked unharmed.

The two of them stayed on her bed, breathing heavily and looking up at the ceiling of Y/N’s apartment.

“So, you got any plans next week?”

#kaminari x you #kaminari x reader #denki x female reader #denki x reader #denki x you #bnha kaminari #my hero academia kaminari #kaminari denki #kaminari headcanons #denki headcanons #denki x y/n #bnha x reader #bnha x you #bnha prompts #bnha x y/n #mha x y/n #mha x you #bnha fanfic #bnha fanfiction

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midoriyaizukustan-inactive · 4 years

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yall i get so Tired when i see some ppl complaining abt how “boring” midoriya is like if u could think critically for one second my dude,,

like. stop and think for one second for me. where have you ever seen a character like midoriya before? like, beyond a few similarities? i see ppl compare him to fuckin naruto but beyond their demeanors, theyre not the same character at all

like ok.

midoriya’s smart, not naturally, but because hes observant and a critical thinker. bro is constantly shown to be thinking and calculating and that this is a skill he has honed over the years; where else have u seen a smart main character act like that?

he cares so fucking much its kinda a flaw sometimes (like how hes never held bakugou accountable for his actions). idk this is kinda typical of shonen protags but he’s not a weird dick abt his compassion either; he cares and shows it in ways both the audience and the ppl he cares abt understand

he cries all the time. THATS definitely different. he’s in touch with his emotions through and through and is never really ashamed for it (except for that one scene in the manga where he’s having a rough time and has that whole “heroes dont cry” mantra going through his head, but that doesnt last). i think thats rlly a great characteristic. ppl make jokes abt him being a little bitch but lol,,,sorry a character actually expresses emotions instead of being a ~stoic badass~ all the time

his mom is still alive, which breaks shonen main character cliches (which tbh doesnt have much to do with his character particularly but still its a point in his favor). in a similar vein of thought, he doesnt have daddy issues canonically (at least not yet idk what hisashi/dad for one is gonna end up being djkdjk)

most importantly tho, midoriya had to WORK to get to where he is; he was never some “chosen one”. no one “just had a feeling” about him. literally everyone told him he couldnt become a hero, everyone implied that he could try as hard as he wanted to but that he would never make it, but he persevered despite that.

bc of his hardworking and determined manner, midoriya EARNED every. single. chance and opportunity he was given. bro had to prove himself first even to ALL MIGHT, who ended up being the FIRST person to believe in him. all might didnt just trust him bc midoriya reminded him of himself. no one believed in him until he believed in himself first, and thats why he DESERVES one for all (and respect in general but yall are clowns)

hes a light for all of those kids who felt like giving up. he’s living proof that the situation youre born into, that society forces you into, is not your ending; you can still push on regardless. you can still be happy regardless. thats important for both kids in his society, and in our real one!! midoriya is a guide for so many ppl, real AND fictional.

and some other stuff;; hes socially awkward but still tries his best because he never wants anyone to feel how he felt when he was growing up. this isnt abnormal for protags, but the way he’s socially awkward is both more genuine and also more realistic like. “im a dick but ohh wait i have a soft exterior that you must dig for” is such an annoying way of showing off “social awkwardness” and midoriya breaks that stereotype so thank GOD.

hes baby but hes also an absolute feral child sometimes as well; hes more complex than people give him credit for in that regard. kid literally will only value rules at face value. he works with them only until they go against his interests; then he has no issues whatsoever breaking them

and this last point is v important: midoriya has been through a lot in canon; his once best friend became abusive for ten+ years, before just becoming a prick he could handle himself in high school; his mom is single and trying to work for both him and herself; he was completely alone until he was 14/15; no one, NO ONE believed in him until he could prove them otherwise, and even then, he still received some doubt concerning his abilities, purposes, and intentions (bakugou, aizawa, and nighteye). at the same time though, midoriya’s not angry with the world; hes not really angry at all. despite all hes seen and gone through, midoriya is still kind and optimistic and i think thats really what separates him from other main characters, especially those in his genre

midoriya is a guide. he is a light. ik i make jokes abt him being sunshine but he really IS; his whole POINT of existing is to inspire kids both in real life and in his fictional world and to reassure them that their situation will only end the way they make it; they can get out. they can be safe. they can live up to want they want to be

and thats important. thats inspiring. that is the farthest fuckin thing from “boring” you can get

anyway so if i see one more person saying midoriya is “boring/bland/etc” one more time just bc he isnt an edgy bitch like other main characters, im gonna throat punch someone. stan my boy or die

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divinity-infinity · 3 years

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MAG π: Gallery

Statement of Josh Wheeler, regarding an art gallery.

Inspired by this post by @sexchangelingcastiel, I wrote my own original statement about it!

Content warnings: large spaces, disassociating

See this also on ao3! Link is in the source

I don't understand abstract art, nor the people who appreciate it. They're just color and lines and shapes all randomly splotched onto something and called "art". A child could make some random paint splatters on paper and to me it would look the same as those abstract artworks hung up in galleries. I don't see how people could look at one of those splotches of color and lines and call it art and see some deeper meaning in them. They just don't make any sense!

Or maybe it's just me. I've always had trouble looking into the deeper, hidden details in art or poetry or writing, to me it's just at that. No metaphor for this, no symbolism for that. Trying to look further into something just confuses me. Besides, it's not like I'm going to be an art curator or art historian or literature analyst, so why should I bother reading into things?

But I had to go to that weird abstract modern art gallery. Not my fault. A close friend, Spencer, wanted to go and apparently I was the only one in our friend group who had a schedule clear for the day.

I wasn't planning on doing anything that day and was bored out of my skull but I really didn't want to go. However, as a Good Friend, and perhaps to see if This Time I could finally see into art and figure out the meanings of them, and maybe to get to spend some time with him, I went.

It was a small building. A collection of abstract art from various artists all over, curated by Mx. Halley Hiraishi, some painter they know that's apparently slightly known in the world of art, mostly digital art. Not that I'm undermining his artist abilities, I really just don't know them due to lack of ~artistic knowledge~.

Anyway we went inside and were greeted by Halley Hiraishi themself. He even offered to tour us around the gallery themself. Of course Spencer obliged. They asked us to call him Hiraeth.

He gave us a bit of information about things we looked at for a bit, typical art gallery stuff. I couldn't really get into their explanations having no knowledge of art appreciation or anything, but Spencer seemed to be really interested and listened intently.

I found myself wandering around the room a bit while Spencer and Hiraeth had a lively conversation about the meaning of some sculpture made out of old book paper, something about how the book supposedly contain supernatural power and someone repurposed the book into a sculpture to nullify its effects and to represent how humanity is ever evolving and trash can be art or whatever.

They didn't seem to notice me not-paying attention and I instead looked idly at the different displays. I made sure though to turn back every so often just so I wouldn't get separated from my friend and our guide.

I don't know why but the paintings with their swirls and spirals and patterns, they sort of had a kind of hypnotizing effect about them. Like they were those optical illusions designed to trick the eye. I couldn't stop looking at them.

When I did pry my eyes off of the displays, I realized that Spencer and Hiraeth were no longer in the room. I must've gone into another room without realizing it.

I turned back to where I came, but got into yet another room. In this place the sculptures and paintings seemed slightly bigger somehow, and figured maybe they just sorted the different areas by size.

Still, I tried to go to other areas of the place, that I just knew led back to the entrance, only to lead right into another room. All while the paintings and sculptures and art, and even the room, seemed to grow bigger. I realized that I was in fact lost, which shouldn't even make sense considering the small size of the building.

I didn't know how long I've wandered in those ever increasing rooms and art, but at one point I was in a room so large, like the floor area of a mall at least. The paintings were massive, bigger than murals! My mind just spun thinking about how Hiraishi could have even painted or sculpted or collected such things.

I figured I shouldn't go anywhere else if the rooms were only going to get larger, so I sat down and tried to think of what to do, or maybe to tell myself that I must be dreaming, this wasn't real.

It shouldn't even make sense, I mean for a small building it shouldn't have been able to fit all those rooms that got increasingly larger. All while I was just walking on the same floor! I wanted to think that for some reason there was this shrinking illusion that was supposed to be some performance art that made you think you were shrinking, but no, the doors were still sized for me to fit in, for a human to fit in, and the windows-- yes! The windows! I thought at that point that I could maybe climb through the window and get out.

But as I went to look out the window, all I could see was the cityscape, so miniscule it could be compared to that of a map. I couldn't jump off a height that high, and even so, from what I know I was walking along the first floor all this time! How would I end up so high up? And even then the building was about four stories high at most! There shouldn't be a reason for a four story building to have the fourth floor at this height!

I didn't know how long I was in that room. It was just me staring at the tiny details of the painting now in front of me, getting lost in those splotches of paint that didn't make sense. I thought that if Spencer were with me he'd probably say something like, "we're just the size of a small spot of paint and the bigger picture is so massive. From this perspective it almost seems like a comparison to how small life is and how unimportant things are; they're always part of a grander picture. How unimportant a detail is from our tiny perspective. It didn't matter, how small we all are, how insignificant as a small speck in a place of art."

I would've been surprised that for the first time my mind tried to look at a detail and gave it a meaning, but during that time all I could think about was how much I missed Spencer.

He would've enjoyed trying to insert and shove metaphors into every single bit, trying to give meaning and identity to something so abstract and meaningless, if they were there but me? I hated every second of it, couldn't stand the place and its little metaphors and abstractions that messed with my head.

I tried to go through the door I once came through and once again in the hope that I would finally end up back in the small space of the building I once entered, only to end up in a room whose size was so huge I couldn't fully comprehend its size. I felt like the size of an ant in a large, human sized room.

I wanted to scream, I wanted to yell in frustration and so I did. Didn't even make an impact; the room absorbed it in. The room was nothing but a void of paintings.

And then I saw it, out of the corner of my eye, a figure stepping into a yellow door out of sight! It even seemed like it was Hiraeth who went in there, and I would've followed except...the door seemed to be part of a painting, a massive one that's also been left to dry. The crisp and clear image of the door seemed to be out of place for an abstract, but I saw it! Someone used that door! I went up to the painting in question...and tried to touch it.

At first all my hand felt was the thick acrylic paint. Yellow and black - the handle was painted black - but then I felt something metallic underneath that felt like an actual door handle - so it wasn't an illusion! - I turned the handle and felt the door open up slightly and in my desperation to just get out of the place I flung myself there. I felt myself collide with a wall of paint but I just had the strongest feeling it would get me out of that void.

And it did. Next thing I know I was being woken up by Spencer and Hiraeth looking over at me worriedly. I was sitting near the painting I think I went through, now normal sized and untouched. I want to believe it was just some dream, that perhaps I fell asleep and collapsed, but here's the thing - I was mostly covered in still wet acrylic paint.

While Spencer seemed a bit perplexed as to how I got covered in paint, Hiraeth seemed to be unfazed by it and simply offered a tip that acrylic can wash out of clothes as long as it's still wet. I was still a bit confused by it all and simply did what I was told.

At some point a few days later I tried to explain what happened. He apologized for giving me a rough time but I really didn't care. He seemed to have a good time there and I told him that that's what mattered.

Anyway, about the whole experience thing. While we both had a conversation that we ultimately chalked up to a dream, we still couldn't explain the paint thing, and so he suggested I go here, tell my story for maybe an investigation or whatever you guys do with stories. I just want to get it all behind me.

#tma #the magnus pod #the magnus archives #the vast #the spiral

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inumaqi · 5 years

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top ten tagged by @linkspooky 🍊 explanations under the cut! sorry for rambling xo → rules: name your top ten favourite characters from ten different fandoms, and then tag ten people - @osomanga @kara-suno @anonimarevolts @zeninmaki @wildbishonen @shysheeperz @tkmewthyou @kaldurlenn @joxterism @marshmallowdonutsprinkles

snufkin okay so he’s the only one not from an anime or manga but i had to put him on bc he’s the most important fictional character to me, ever. i grew up watching the moomin cartoons in the 90s and thinking about it instantly calms me down - they used to air the episodes early in the morning when it would still be dark outside: the landscapes were moody and cosy, the characters were so softly spoken and articulate... it’s just peak nostalgia. anyway, snufkin is moomin’s best friend; he returns to moominvalley every year to be with his friends during the spring and says his goodbyes to go adventure again come winter. it upsets moomin when he leaves but snufkin is adamant that quiet and solitude are important and healthy, and it’s not fair to expect him to compromise on his independence - that made a really big impact on me as a kid, especially as someone who never really had their ‘own’ space (twinsies). relationships aren’t weakened by physical distance or time, they’re about communication and understanding. that was important too. i don’t think i realised just how influential it had been until i was an adult but snufkin is an anarchist. he first shows up in the comics when moomin and sniff are talking about opening a bank - he tells them they should plant fruit trees instead. he destroys private property and rescues orphans, he refuses to participate in things that don’t bring him joy. when he’s asked where home is, he replies, “nowhere. or everywhere! it depends how you look at it” - the whole world belongs to him, and the whole world belongs to everyone else too.

yomo renji in general, i like characters that trudge along in the background and do the nitty-gritty work that supports the main story. i like people like that irl too. more than anything else, yomo is desperate to form human connections, even though he’s shackled by self-doubt and self-loathing. he just wants to positively contribute to a community, thinking he’s most useful keeping a quiet eye on people who might need protection/guidance (while still giving them space to grow and act themselves) or foraging for human corpses so that others aren’t in danger or moral anguish doing it for themselves.

bird boy is a total weapon - “the perfect ghoul” - and you’re reminded over and over again but a lot of his growth is about rejecting violence and repurposing his power as something productive that he can use to help the people around him instead of hurting people (the yang to uta’s yin). in the first few chapters, he says he kills humans (he’s a ghoul, humans are food, it’s natural) and yet he’s consistently framed as a scavenger who seeks out ‘roadkill’ [suicide victims] for sustenance, even before coming to anteiku, and implements a system so other people can do the same.

suguru getou i was originally gonna say meg bc i love him but, having just finished The Flashback Arc, i can’t stop thinking about getou and i’m beyond impressed with how akutami has managed to ground him so well, so sympathetically. getou is the sick, warped darkness to the hopeful light that gojou commands but... in an uncomfortable twist, the reverse is true, kind of.

actually, gojou is arrogant and confrontational and hyper individualistic. he’s a dissident. getou is obedient, compassionate, self-aware... he has a sense of social responsibility and passionately believes that his skills should be used to protect those who can’t protect themselves - non-jujutsu sorcerers - and all of the suffering he endures as a result is worth that. idk if others are reading his downfall differently but, from where i’m standing, that overwhelming responsibility never goes away, he doesn’t give up on it - he just starts to view the social landscape differently and begins to see how jujutsu sorcerers are vilified and mistreated in spite of all the good that they do. the ‘weak’ aren’t really weak when they’re able to organise and assert collective power over a minority, and so his sympathies shift.

the nail in the coffin for getou is learning that the hurt and pain could be eradicted from the world by cutting the head of the proverbial snake: non-jujutsu users generate cursed energy, so get rid of non-jujutsu users and cursed energy won’t be generated. it’s all horribly, weirdly rooted in good intentions that weigh him down and misdirect him. shinazugawa genya i feel like the bond that slowly starts to develop betwen tanjirou, and zenitsu and inosuke (in particular) is nicely foiled by genya’s lonely journey towards becoming a pillar. after losing almost all of his family and having sanemi walk away, genya is angry, antisocial, rude, violent, evasive...

he’s characterised as competitive, as if he hates his peers and wants to leave them in the dust as an act of self-satisfaction, a power fantasy or whenever, but this is a deliberate misdirection to cover for the fact that he’s scrambling to be a pillar so that he can reconnect with his brother and prove to him that he can protect himself; that sanemi doesn’t need to shoulder everything alone like he used to. his entire goal is an act of apology.

and in a story where so many characters are able to hone these exceptional skills, genya is uniquely disadvantaged as the only one who can’t master breathing techniques. rather than having a hero moment and powering up, his need to reconnect with sanemi is so strong that he essentially decides to compromise his humanity and become a kind of monster by ingesting the demons he’s pledged to annihilate. amajiki tamaki i wish i had a a longer explanation for this one but it’s actually super simple: tamaki is a really, really, really good portrayal of a person burdened with severe anxiety. the way he physically carries himself, the way he hides his face, his manner of speaking, his dependency on his mirio, how he interprets compliments as trickery, how he needs to be pushed and pushed and pushed before he’s finally able to release his potential... every single scene with tamaki felt deeply personal when i was reading bnha and i knew exactly what he was supposed to be feeling. shinmon benimaru sometimes good, nice people don’t fit a little friendly mould and i like that benimaru is hostile and rough and antisocial, even with people he cares about. he doesn’t expect anything of people, he doesn’t want them interfering with him, and he wants to help and support them all the same because he believes in community. he’s completely oppositional to the special fire force because he thinks it’s a tool to pursue an ideology rather than to protect people, which is why it’s so important when the eighth are finally able to win his approval - they become the only company the seventh consider allies, and it’s proof that their objectives are righteous. despite his reputation as... kind of a nuisance, his skill is acknowledged by everyone and he’s universally regarded as the strongest fire soldier there is. in spite of his antisocial attitude, he agrees that it’s important to share that with younger fire soldiers - he’s incredibly patient and understanding with them, helps them to individually adapt. the way he (and others in company seven) operate in contrast to the other companies when fighting infernals is really cool to me for two reasons: (1) it provides a commentary on how cultures and traditions often struggle to survive when they’re systematically (forcefully) replaced through power and wealth - although the subtext is a little troubling because it’s unclear whether ōkubo is conflating multiculturalism with globalisation which, uh, big nope; and (2) philosophically speaking, the approach to death is interesting. where the other companies essentially perform last rites and offer absolution to the deceased, benimaru personally takes responsibility - at the request of the people in his district - for sending them off in huge public display, kind of like a festival intending to celebrate their life. i think it speaks to how profoundly he values life. akihiko kaji i liked akihiko from the beginning because he’s stoic and introspective and also excitable and dumb. he’s a people watcher and waits for opportunities to softly guide uenoyama and mafuyu when they’re quietly crying out for help but doesn’t interfere any more than he thinks is necessary because he knows they can make their own way to where they need to go. i liked akihiko even more when he got really fucking messy. his relationship with ugetsu is sweet and it’s incredibly ugly and unhealthy because they both fail utterly to communicate with one another - they’re both to blame for avoiding and hurting each other, and i think that’s a really normal issue that people find difficult to overcome. i’m super interested (and really nervous) to see how his relationship with haruki develops. he’s done some horrible things to haruki and i want him to be accountable for those things and have them affect their relationship in a realistic way.

tanigaki genjirou one thing i really, really love about golden kamuy is the way noda satoru incorporates the importance of minority cultures into the story, and tanigaki’s apparent abandonment of his matagi heritage is really beautifully written. matagi hunting traditions shaped his life as a young man, it’s how he was able to really assimilate to the people around him and form relationships and - without getting too spoilery - he divorces himself from it all when he’s overcome by grief and hatches a plan for revenge against the person responsible. so, by allowing himself to surrender to negative feelings and thoughts instead of seeking support and learning to heal from what happened, he becomes a total shadow of himself.

makimura takeshi i know i’ve gushed about it before but i can’t properly explain just how incredible it felt seeing an asexual character in manga dialogue about being asexual, and devils’ line does it twice. the reason i’m so attached to makimura in particular is because he doesn’t seem to have fully figured it out - and he’s kinda... comfortable with that. he wants to be with someone and he wants to be monogamous but he can’t understand why he doesn’t feel sexual desire towards her; he knows his feelings aren’t platonic but doesn’t know whether they can really be called romantic either.

not to go dark mode but i very vividly remember just how lonely and horrifying it was battling with those uncertainties when i was a teenager, thinking i was broken because i didn’t have Normal Human Feelings and needed to be fixed. i was so worried about it that i thought about all the boys i knew, picked the one i thought was the nicest and actively tried to develop a crush on him. it was dumb as fuck but, ten years later, i realise it was really desperate and sad too. i forced myself to have ~my first kiss~ (it was horrible) because i felt like i was getting left behind and i think i would’ve put myself in worse situations as i got older if i hadn’t suffered with such bad social anxiety.

i hadn’t really thought too much about a lot of this stuff for yeaaars but it all came flooding back when i was reading devils’ line. it was bittersweet bc i was remembering all of those shitty feelings but also watching this character grapple with those same questions and go: i don’t know yet and that’s not weird, let’s just grow with it. i still don’t totally know whether i’m ace or aro or bi, or whatever, but i’m trying to be okay with just... not knowing.

misora shuuji anyway, devils’ line isn’t actually a manga with a specific focus on sexuality and gender but shimanami tasogare is and all of the characters are written beautifully. if you haven’t read it yet... then why haven’t you read it yet? misora is only about twelve years old and watching them battle with their growing pains is really compelling - they’re closeted but, through the lounge, they have somewhere to explore their gender and all the questions they have about it. they’re amab and present as traditionally feminine wrt clothes, wigs, makeup, etc. but can’t quite tell if they see themselves as a girl, a boy or non-binary.

with the onset of puberty and anxieties about physical changes to their body, misora’s story puts a lot of emphasis on the pressure they face to just ‘make up their mind’ about something that’s actually incredibly complex and doesn’t have any easy answers. they snap and shout and get upset, especially when tasuku (the protag) tries to push them into a corner because he wants a concrete label or identity he can attach to misora, even though space is exactly what misora needs.

#jujutsu kaisen #given #kimetsu no yaiba #boku no hero academia #enen no shouboutai #tokyo ghoul #shimanami tasogare #devils' line #golden kamuy #moomins #mine*edit

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luxusnoname · 4 years

Text

Glory Is A Whisper (Part One)

Summary: All his life, Braig dreamed of the honor and prestige that came along with being a hero from the stories of old. So when an opportunity to find a legendary weapon falls right into his lap, how can he say no? But if those stories are anything to go by, things never turn out quite as expected. Part one of (?) in a series. For Day 6 of @apprenticeweek : AU.

Characters/Pairings: Braig, Dilan, Aeleus, bg Dilan/Aeleus. More to come in the next part 👀

Rating: T; some alcohol and swears

Word Count: ~2.1k

Author’s Note: Will be posting part 2 tomorrow for the free day! I started writing this as a one shot but it quickly spiraled out of control. You know what they say: once you start using fantasy name generators for your towns and mountain ranges it’s all downhill from there.

~~~

Glory Is A Whisper

“I just don’t get it,” Braig pondered aloud, kicking his feet up on the rough-hewn tavern table as he tipped back precariously in his chair. “What do all of those legendary heroes have that I don’t?”

The fairy-tales always made it sound so easy. Sure, there was usually a dragon guarding the princess or some ancient necromancer with an army of undead to protect a magical artifact, but the hero's path always seemed to lay out nicely before them. Sometimes it appeared in the form of a magical mentor, sending the hero on a quest or guiding them to great power. Other times it was a prophecy, a pre-destined event that one was born and molded for their entire lives. Braig had neither of these going for him. So what then was an aspiring glory seeker to do?

Dilan, one of Braig’s only friends in the village, sighed and sloshed the liquid in his tankard around. How many times had they had this conversation before? He didn’t look up from his ale as he responded sharply.

“Manners, for starters. Feet off the table, Braig.”

The smaller man gave a dramatic groan, but obeyed. “I’m serious! I’ve got charisma-”

“Debatable.”

“-good looks-”

“Don’t make me laugh.”

“-and my skill with a bow.”

Dilan grumbled; he unfortunately couldn’t refute that. If there was anything that could be said about Braig’s potential for greatness, it would be attributed to his keen marksmanship. He was also quick and far more clever than most would give him credit for, but he often acted carelessly on impulse. His personality, boisterous and cocksure, left much to be desired.

He was a man through and through - by all accounts, the least remarkable race in the realm. And if one asked any of the villagers of Dunstead that knew Braig, he in particular was even less so.

“All I’m saying,” Braig continued, “is that there’s gotta be something more to life than… This.” He gestured to the rest of the tavern and its rowdy, drunken patrons. The irony that he was one of them went completely over his head.

Dilan scowled. “You’re the one who wanted to come here in the first place.”

“You know what I mean! Yeah, I like to come here because sometimes people come through with stories. Stories of places and treasures far away from here. But if this is all I have to look forward to for the rest of my life? What’s the point?”

“I think you’ve had too much ale and it’s muddling what little sense you have left.” He shook his head. “Perhaps it’s time we leave. I have to be at the blacksmith’s first thing tomorrow morning.”

Braig waved his hand dismissively. “I’m not nearly as drunk as you think. You can go if you want, but I’m going to stay a while longer.”

“If you say so.” Dilan stood up with a grunt, digging around in his pocket for a few silver pieces. He set them on the table. “Give these to the barkeep before you leave. Do not pocket them.”

“Give ‘em to him yourself then. Aeleus likes you better anyway.”

He watched his companion leave the tavern, and out of the corner of his eye, he saw Aeleus doing the same. Braig rolled his eyes. Their mutual infatuation was so obvious to everyone but each other, yet Dilan called him the simpleton. He kicked his feet back up on the table and closed his eyes, listening for any threads of conversation that might be mildly interesting.

“They’re not so much from me as they are an apology for him having to put up with you,” he quipped, with a quick glance at the ginger man behind the counter. “Besides. He’s busy right now and doesn’t need me distracting him.”

Braig shrugged. “Whatever you say, Dil. Have a good night.”

He had spent many a night like this in Dunstead’s tavern, listening to rangers and travelers and peddlers exchange stories in hopes of finding a legend to follow. Preferably something that required his skill with a bow to slay a dangerous beast or defeat a great foe. His fingers itched for a more challenging opponent than the rabbit he hunted for dinner last night.

But these were not the sorts of stories he heard. Most of them were boring and none were even close to anything he would consider legendary. Sure, killing a rabid wolf that had been slowly picking off members of a nearby village was worth some bragging rights, but where were the riches? The grandeur? He wanted recognition and reward for his efforts, but he was beginning to think the opportunity would never come.

And then the tavern door creaked open and the din of the crowd quieted ever so slightly. Braig cracked an eye open and glanced toward the newcomer. It appeared to be an older man judging by his gait, but a heavy cloak obscured his face. He wasn’t a Dunstead local, that much was for certain. More than a few pairs of eyes followed him to the bar where he seated himself. There was a heavy and distinct air of otherness about him that Braig couldn’t put his finger on. He seemed… Powerful. Important.

Maybe he’d had too much ale after all, because he didn’t even think before he stood from his own table and swiped up the money left by Dilan, making his way to the bar. He seated himself next to the stranger and beckoned Aeleus over.

“A pint of your finest for myself and this gentleman here.” Braig handed him a silver piece with a flourish. “You can keep the change.”

Aeleus nodded and set about pouring their drinks. Braig turned to the old man, who had watched the exchange passively. It was strange; even up close, he couldn’t make out any distinguishing features beneath the cowl.

“I appreciate the kindness, stranger.” The newcomer's voice came as a deep and gravely rasp. “Do you often buy drinks for weary travelers?”

“I guess you could say I’m in charge of hospitality here,” he grinned. “The name’s Braig.”

The man dipped his head in acknowledgement. “A pleasure.”

“Your drinks, gentlemen,” Aeleus interrupted, shooting Braig a brief ‘I know you’re bullshitting this man but I’m going to stay out of it’ glance before setting their tankards down and leaving to serve another patron.

Braig lifted his drink in a toast, bumping it with the stranger’s. “Welcome to Dunstead, my friend!”

As they drank, Braig got the feeling that this reclusive stranger was privy to some secret knowledge or power. He just had a feeling. And so he found himself crafting a very elaborate and very false story about how he was a famed archer in the region and basically the hero of Dunstead. He recounted a tale in which he single-handedly defended a young prince who’d been attacked by bandits while passing through the hills on the east end of the village, and was rewarded handsomely for his valor. Most of the money was donated to widows and poor families in town, of course. He peppered in other small, more believable acts of kindness as well, and the stranger listened with rapt attention.

“A shame your deeds are not known elsewhere,” the gentleman hummed at the end of it all. “It is to be expected, of course. Such heroic men are usually only acknowledged in the pages of history. But it would appear I’ve found a legend in the making.”

“Eh, maybe so,” he shrugged nonchalantly. “But helping others is a reward all its own.”

“Me? A living legend?” Braig laughed, playing up his modesty. “As if. I’m just a guy who does the right thing, regardless of reward.”

“Oh, but that selflessness is what qualifies you to be a hero,” the stranger continued. “You’ve risked your life for others with little regard for your own safety. Don’t you think that’s deserving of something more than just the respect of your fellow man?”

“But what if I told you that it doesn’t have to be?”

Braig’s façade almost cracked as whatever he’d been about to say died on his lips. His shock, however, was quickly covered up with an easy grin. He knew his act was working as intended, but he hadn’t expected to get to this point so quickly.

The man dug around in his robe for a moment before procuring a rolled parchment. He laid it on the bar to reveal a map of the realm. Braig had seen one like it once before, a traveling peddler’s map marked with safe trade routes and profitable towns. But this map… There was only one destination marked on it. An inconspicuous spot at the foot of the Skarnfell mountain range.

“Tell me, Braig, have you heard tales of Whisperwind?”

His jaw nearly hit the floor. Of course he knew of Whisperwind, as did every other child who’d ever heard a bedtime story. It was a legendary elven bow, enchanted so that as long as the target was in sight, its wielder would aim true every time. He hadn’t allowed himself to believe it was real since he was a boy that dreamed of discovering it. Most dismissed it as a legend.

The stranger gave a low chuckle. “I can tell by your expression that you have. Now, don’t you think such a weapon would be fitting for a hero such as yourself?”

“But… I thought the elves left this region long ago.”

“That is what history has told us, yes. But their last settlement before moving on, a city inside the mountain, still stands. And inside, they left behind one of their greatest artifacts.” The man pointed to the spot on the map to reinforce his point. “I’ve searched for it myself, but lack the wits I’d had in my youth. Perhaps you’d fare better?”

“I-I don’t know what to say.” They were the first honest words he’d spoken to the stranger so far, a sure sign of his shock. “I appreciate it, I do, but… Why entrust something like this to me?”

The stranger laid a hand on his shoulder, eyes beneath the cowl silently penetrating his very soul. Was that a flash of gold he saw?

“You are a great man in word and deed, Braig. As I said before, I believe you are worthy of more than just praise alone. This is your opportunity to become something more. A true legend.”

Maybe it was just Braig’s imagination, but was the man’s grip on his shoulder tighter? Or was he just nervous, already imagining the journey ahead? This was what he’d always dreamed of, after all. A legend to chase after. His chance for glory.

His destiny.

“Take this map home with you and think on what I’ve said.” He let go of Braig’s shoulder and rolled the parchment up once more. “A gift, for entertaining this weary old man with tales of valor and generosity.”

Braig stood up, tucking the map into his pocket and shaking the stranger’s hand. “Thank you, mister…” He chuckled awkwardly. “Y’know, this whole time we were talking, I never did catch your name.”

“My name is hardly important. But I’ve affixed the corner of the map with my symbol. If you discover Whisperwind and make it into the pages of history, I would like to be named in your story. My symbol will suffice for such a purpose.”

Braig nodded dumbly, head still reeling from the revelations of the past few minutes. “Yeah, of course. I’ll never forget your kindness, sir. Truly.” He turned to walk away, but stopped short. “Wait, do you have a place to stay tonight? If you don’t, it’s the least I could do to offer you mine.”

The man laughed, deep and rich. “You needn’t put yourself out on my account. I have money for a room at the inn tonight. I’ll be moving on tomorrow morning.”

“Alright, well. I bid you a good night then. And safe travels.”

“Likewise, young man.”

As Braig left the tavern, he nodded to Aeleus, who was doing his best not to make eye contact with Braig. Bless the man, he really did mind his business… Oh right, he almost forgot the tip! Braig stopped just outside the door and dug in his pocket for the silver coins Dilan left, but his fingers found nothing. Huh, maybe he’d dropped them on the way to the bar. They were probably long gone, swept up by some vulture. Not that it mattered, anyway. What was a few pieces of silver to a great weapon from the age of elves?

Braig hardly got a wink of sleep that night. The stranger told him to think it over, but he’d already made up his mind. He packed a bag and was ready to leave at sunrise. The journey would only take a week, so he really had nothing to lose. The most difficult part would be the day spent navigating through Willowmire forest at the northern border of Dunstead. But as long as he stuck to the path, he’d be fine. He had to be, for his destiny awaited him.

#apprenticeweek2020 #kingdom hearts #braig #dilan #aeleus #nobody asked for a fantasy au #but i'm writing it anyway #actually this all was inspired by a single fe character from a game I never played lmao #embarrassingly enough #maybe i will elaborate on that later. we shall see #Xigbar/Braig #Xaldin/Dilan #Lexaeus/Aeleus

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cupofteaguk · 6 years

Text

maybe (m)

pairing: jimin x fem!reader

genre: friends with benefits au | smut

warnings: unprotected sex

word count: 2k

a/n: based on “things you said with too many miles between us” from my old blog

He turns the phone in his hand once, twice, thrice, before he lets the previous thought pierce through his mind. I miss her.

It had been a dangerous idea to play with, of course. Extremely dangerous. Get too close and brew on the concept for too long and it could react like poison, entering his bloodstream and getting into his head and killing him off before he realized he had a problem to begin with.

Only it’s a little different this time because he knows that he has a problem, knows perfectly well that he’s in the middle of an absolute shitstorm, yet he finds himself unable to stop. Or unable to feel that desire to stop, anyways—that desire to stop loving you.

To be entirely honest, he doesn’t really know how he reached that point to begin with. It had been such a gradual experience, too many maybe’s stacked up against him in regards to when he suspected he was beginning to fall.

Maybe it was the very first time he laid eyes on you, at a party of all places: a cliche location featuring a not-so-cliche girl.

He finds you buried amongst the throngs of people, drowned in by the music that dances through the atmosphere, the air smelling of sweat and drugs, yet Park Jimin is use to this as he weaves his way through. It’s interesting how you could be surrounded by classmates, peers, friends, yet still look absolutely alone.

“Not many friends here?” He inquires once he’s sure that he’s within your line of sight and range of hearing.

You look momentarily startled that he’s attempting to strike up a conversation with you; however, you relax your features before he could stare for too long. “Just here with my roommate,” You explain, voice slightly stiff as if you’ve rehearsed this in your head one too many times. “Glad to see that she’s having fun though.”

“You aren’t?”

You shrug, eyes flickering all over the place, lingering across his face for only a moment before you’re taking in the lights and the movement and the music and he feels something pinch his heart at how out of place you appear here. “Parties aren’t really my scene, to be entirely honest with you.”

He tries for a smirk. “Really? How would you be spending an average Friday night then?”

You laugh gingerly. “Probably eating ramen.”

“You like ramen?”

“I love it.”

“Oh man, have you tried that ramen shop on the corner of the campus? It’s pretty out of the way so it’s not that popular, but I’m telling you—the miso bowl is to die for.”

He notices how he’s appeared to have garnered more of your attention from his comment on one of your favorite meals. “I’ve heard of that place, but never had the chance to go.”

He actually manages a grin this time, tilting his head towards the exit of the house. “You have some time now.”

Your eyes widen momentarily. “Like, go right now?”

“Yeah, unless you’d rather stay here.”

He watches the way you take in the scenery around you; it isn’t until you’re averting your gaze from a boy vomiting into a potted plant that you seen to have reached your answer. “No, let’s just go.”

Maybe it was how easily the pair of you could fall into conversation, the way both of you seemed to have collected similar interests over a wide spectrum of topics. Maybe it was the way he looked over at you just in time to see a layer of miso coating your lips and he realized that perhaps he had finally found someone who was interesting.

Maybe it was when he offered to walk you back to your apartment, laughter echoing through the streets, neither of you drunk but drunk enough to feel every step and every word and every movement of your body against his.

“I can’t believe you would elbow a stranger in the chest,” Jimin reprimands with the shake of his head. “Who even does that?”

“Me, apparently,” You say with a laugh, leading the way as the pair of you climb up the stairs to the second floor. “I wasn’t even embarrassed with it happened, I guess I’m just that use to having my day lit up like that.”

“You’re crazy,” He brushes off, smiling, lingering near your front door as your movements decrease to a stop. He’s definitely had his fair share of experiences in this department, so he knows what would follow under normal circumstances. But this isn’t necessarily a normal circumstance, because he actually finds that he likes your company and doesn’t wish to leave your side, not just for the physical sensation but perhaps he wishes to know more about you. “So, this is it.”

“It is,” You reply, pressing your lips together to form the smallest of smiles, a flicker of hesitation dancing behind your eyes. “T-Thank you for walking me back, and for everything else before that.”

“You’re welcome.”

He only continues to stare at you, as you do with him, an unspoken question lingering in the air. Yet, when you move your eyes down for a moment to linger at his lips does he decide to make his move. He takes the few steps forward, crossing oceans to cup your face and bring his lips to yours.

Maybe it was the way the kiss ignited a fire inside of him, in his heart, leaving behind only a strong desperation to taste you more. Maybe it was the way you sounded when he slipped his tongue between your lips.

Maybe it was because he was your first.

“J-Jimin,” You whine, whimpering and quivering underneath his touch as he continues to roll his hips against you, his cock grazing the nerves inside of you that makes your back arch. You aren’t shy about the noises that escape the back of your throat, and he takes more pleasure than entirely necessary in learning what exactly makes you tick and what exactly he has to do to make you lose your sanity. “Nngh, Jimin, fuck, p-please don’t stop.”

He groans to himself at how submissive you sound to him, how you’ve resorted to bunching up the blankets in your fists, eyes half-lidded, desperation singing in them as you watch the way he’s kneeled between your legs, both of his hands clasped around your ankles to keep you open. Normally, he’s not one for slow sex, but it’s hard to resist it this time around, especially when you feel so good.

Without a warning, he release his hold on your ankles, leaning forward to hover over you as he props one elbow over your frame, the other hand coming to rest over your stomach. He starts to pick up the pace with his hips, driving himself in and out of you at a quickening rate in such a way that makes your breath catch in the back of your throat.

You moan his name into his ear, voice trailing up into a high pitched whine as soon as he starts to draw tight circles on your clit. He can just imagine you now: lips parted, eyebrows furrowed, eyes closed, completely wrecked beyond belief, desperately craving more and more, barely able to take everything his body is willing to give to you. “I-I’m so close,” You warn, back arching, body going rigid in his hold as he memorizes every single thing about you right before your release.

“Come on then,” He whispers in your ear. “Let go for me.”

Maybe it was that air of naturality that settled between the two of you, despite the fact that he was your first and you were the best sex he’s had in a long time. Maybe it was because that following morning, you looked at him as if you weren’t expecting anything from him.

Maybe it was because the pair of you seemed to reach an unspoken agreement, egged on by his desires one Thursday evening that drove him to your apartment, something that kept him returning weekly for the promise of relieving some stress on each other.

Maybe it’s the air of comfort that has gradually developed between the two of you, the fact that he never hesitates to answer you ‘come over’ texts or never hesitates to send over a call of his own, the fact that he knows the mapping of your body just as much as you know his. Maybe it’s because things have just been so natural and peaceful for both of you.

“Hey,” He greets breathlessly, stepping in through the doorframe of your apartment and immediately wrapping you up in his arms to give you a kiss that makes your heart stutter in your chest.

“Hi,” You say back, smiling and lifting your arms up as Jimin tugs up at the hem of your t-shirt. “Eager already, aren’t we?”

“I’ve had a rough day,” He complains with a pout, latching his lips to the skin of your neck after your shirt has been pulled over your head and tossed somewhere. “My professor is an asshole and doesn’t know when to give me a break.”

“Mm,” You hum halfheartedly, suddenly focused on the way he’s abandoned his own shirt now and is currently trying to unbutton your jeans. With his lips back on yours, it’s hard to speak or think of anything much, really. “I-I know the feeling.” You help slide the jeans down your legs, stepping out of them, and letting Jimin guide you forward blindly.

The back of his knees hit the couch, sending the pair of you flying backwards as Jimin ends up with his back on the cushions and you hovering over him.

“Kinda reminds me of the time when my professor assigned three quizzes for one period,” You can’t help but muse as Jimin unbuttons his jeans and tugs them down his thighs. His cock springs out of its confides, and he beckons you with firm hands at your waist. “And another professor I know who humiliated me in front of the class—a-ah, fuck.” Even though you’re accustomed to the stretching sensation as he fills you up, it’s no less pleasurable as you rest your hands on his shoulders to steady yourself.

He finds himself laughing tightly at your expression, before throwing his head back and releasing a throaty moan when you start rocking your hips against his.

Maybe it’s the reassurance that there’s no expectation that needs to be fulfilled, no need to discuss a nonexistent relationship—that he can just roll over and wrap his arms around you, not because he had to but because he knows his body is naturally warm and you desperately crave that when you sleep. Because he likes it and finds a secret amusement in the way you find your way into his arms while in a state of unconsciousness.

Maybe it’s because he loves knowing how many breaths you take when you’re asleep, how you look in the morning, how you look in his shirt, how you look kissing him goodbye, how you look when you’re walking away because he knows that you’ll always return back to him.

Maybe it’s because it’s the first time he’s been without you for such a long period of time, a visit home for the holidays seeming perfectly fine in theory, one that he had been okay with letting you attend to. Not that he would have had a say in the matter regardless. And, okay, maybe two weeks doesn’t constitute for ‘a long period of time’, but when Jimin is so use to having every minute, hour, day filled with you, it’s difficult to wake up and know that you won’t be there or that he could send a text and know there’s nothing really you could do about it.

Maybe because gravitating towards you, being with you, thinking of you, has always been as easy as breathing, like coming home.

And just not getting to return to you for two weeks doesn’t feel right, feels unusual, and he hates the stinging sensation he gets in his heart at the thought—a feeling that has nothing to do with lust.

Turning over on his bed, he dials a number he’s spent far too long imprinting into his mind before holding the device to his ear.

He swallows when it rings a few more times and for a blinding second, he thinks that sending the call through had been too much, that you would figure it out and it would be all over.

But then—!

“Hey Jimin!” You exclaim breathlessly, as if you had just run from someplace far away to reach your phone. “What’s up?”

What he thinks: I love you, I love you, I love you, please don’t ever leave me; I know you can definitely do so much better than me, but I need you and I can’t live without you—!

What he says: “Have you ever tried phone sex before?”

#jimin scenario #jimin x reader #jimin fluff #jimin smut #jimin x you #bts scenario #bts smut #bts x reader #repost: workofteaguk #traci writes

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cloudbattrolls · 4 years

Text

As She Made Us

Chimer Latrai | Dimasqa | Present Night

Heat soaks into your veins and bones like it’s trying to live in your cold body, nestle there like a meowbeast in a windowsill.

Civitrecce’s warm, but its tall buildings block out the sun. This place doesn’t have a thing over five stories; everything bigger got bombed all those sweeps ago, and whether through forbiddance or indifference, no one’s ever built things up again.

The city doesn’t need it anyway when it threads through the craters of the ancient blasts as well as on the surface around them. Bridges, psi-lifts, and riders on winged lusii calling out their fares are all happy to take a troll up or down if they can’t or don’t want to use their own feet.

I grew up in Dimasqa, after all.

A meaningless throwaway phrase, or maybe your ticket to figuring out more about the annoying little pissant of a blueblood and if possible, where they got their Chimera statue.

If your informants actually pointed you to someone helpful, that is, and if you don’t get trampled by one of the big beasts hauling supplies everywhere. Unlike your base city, this place isn’t much for tech, and you have to watch your step to avoid actual hoofbeastshit at points.

Disguised in a head covering, which thankfully doesn’t stick out much here (plenty of trolls wear them, especially women) you’re one of maybe five trolls above yellow you’ve seen so far, and three were greenbloods. It’s hard to imagine a pampered cobalt coming from a place like this.

But it wouldn’t make sense for them to lie in front of Yezule about their origin, not when Dimasqa’s about as well-regarded as toxic mold. No reputable troll ever admits to coming from here, and few do anyway.

If they’d wanted some primarily lowblood place to claim as their hivetown, there were infinitely better options.

Your periodic checks to see who’s following you through the winding, crumbling streets are rewarded with what’s probably a pack of muggers who aren’t doing a half-bad job as your shadows as they flit between living buildings and burned-out shells, keeping to the darkest shadows.

They’re smart enough to realize that someone of your height is almost certainly at least teal, and since there’s no identifying colors on your flowing gray and black clothing at all, it’s doubtful you have a higher caste quadrant who’d come looking for revenge.

Not bad at victim picking, girls and boys, but I’ve got better things to do tonight.

All blithe tourist curiosity and idle ease, you wander over to a weathered plaque with a trident engraved into it boasting about the Imperial eradication of the dangerous horrorterror worshippers and study its trilingual inscription intently.

“Turn around nice and easy, lady, and give us your caegers.”

You don’t bother turning around.

“Nah.”

With a flick of a remote you take out of your sylladex, a shimmering dome forcefield encloses the group of vagabonds -

- except the one placed on a wall several feet to the front of you, whose thrown dagger just clinked off your collarbone and bounced onto the stone with a clatter. Fortunately you’re covered with form-fitting body armor beneath your clothes, though the blade probably wasn’t tough enough to pierce fuchsia skin anyway.

You give them a look you know they can’t particularly well through the veil over your eyes, but it’s the thought that counts.

The stunned looking rustblood kid - you can’t tell if they’re brown or maroon, since they’re perched a few feet above you on that crumbling wall - scrabbles back down the blasted brick and runs until you and your long legs put a stop to that.

Picking them up by their shirt, you hold them out like a naughty baby meowbeast.

“Ok, I get this is a real disappointment for you, but if you could just - ”

A long string of curses in two different languages and spit on your face as they try to claw your eyes out makes you realize logic is only going to crash, burn, and leave behind more craters than the city has if you try it.

You shake them a little instead, not too hard, but enough to underline that you have highblood strength.

They go still, wide gray eyes frantically staring into yours. Sheesh, they can’t be older than seven. They’re a scrawny thing with flaky, stubby horns and clothing dustier than an abandoned basement.

You switch to Southern Desert Dialect from your usual Imperial Standard - you’re not very good at it, but you can get through a few sentences okay.

“Give me directions to the scribes’ market, and I’ll let you and your gang go. Or you can stay trapped.”

That’s probably the wrong form of that verb. The kid is certainly looking at you with a real sniffy expression.

You sigh. Everyone’s a critic.

They rattle off directions too fast for you to understand, and you have to make them repeat it twice - obnoxiously slow the second time - before you can understand and write down what they said.

Once you’re a good bit away, trudging down a long, winding flight of stairs down the side of a crater, you release the field around them.

You didn’t actually need the directions, but keeping up appearances in front of any better class of stalker (a few of whom no doubt saw that exchange) matters, as well as not arousing too many suspicions; most trolls don’t just let aggressors off scot-free, even if their attacks had as much effect as a squeakbeast trying to fight a dragon.

If only you could’ve actually helped the kids, but any offers of money or food would be highly suspicious. With any sense at all they’d suspect poisoning or drugs - or counterfeit cash designed to get them arrested.

Even a small increase to the lowblood stipend system could reduce muggings so much. Trolls are violent, and some are assholes with no good reason to be, but you’ve had projections done by people who know statistics and economic caste inter-dynamics way better than you do. Your proposed growth of caeger allowances could cut maroon to yellow crime by 70% in most areas.

Wow that’s an ominous looking arch in the doorway of this building.

Your thoughts scatter as you gaze up at the black stone structure, which stands at least twelve feet tall. Weathered by time but free of the decay and ruin marking so much else around it, it’s covered by spiraling golden script.

Speak with care, say two of the script’s languages - you don’t recognize the third one, strange rough gashes and dots in dizzyingly complex combinations. Words bear the greatest weight.

Not an unusual warning, but your neck still prickles a little as you pass under its shadow.

You blink as you walk in, surprised by how bright it is - there’s a big hole in the roof three floors up, and in the floors between the ground and said hole - so pink and green moonlight is pouring through.

It takes a moment for you to notice the actual stalls stretching on the ground floor as far as you can see - it’s a big dang building, and while it’s much more subdued than where you’ve been so far, trolls still have quiet, heated discussions over paper or parchment, ink and printing molds. Most are covered up as you are, and it’s not hard to guess why.

In Dimasqa, owning the wrong texts is a death sentence.

Wait, doesn’t that gap let rain and wind get in, mess up the books? You look up, squinting in the light, since there’s no clouds to cover the moons. Then you realize - there’s a slight psiionic aura over the hole, white or yellow sparks. Someone must be controlling what passes through it.

“Looking for someone?”

You turn quick enough to nearly smack the person who’s sidled up behind you, your fins puffed up to the base of your horns.

“Jeez, could you give a lady a little warning? That’s my pumper calisthenics done for the night, thanks so much. I’m glad you care about my health, but next time, I could just do water yoga.”

Commodore Weirdo pauses as they appear to puzzle through this one, which gives you a moment to study them.

What you can see of them. Not only are they covered from head to toe, they don’t seem to have any horns, or else they’re the kind that curl down around the face instead of up. They don’t seem that big physically, but their clothing flares out behind them and to their sides so much it’s a wonder people aren’t tripping over them left and right.

Only the glint of white, glowing eyes behind the veil confirms it’s a person under there and not a really elaborate puppet.

“Sorry.” They reply, and while it’s fairly neutral in tone, it sounds genuine enough. “I thought you were more alert than that.”

“Got a little distracted.” You point at the hole.

They look up.

“Some texts can only be read in direct moonlight, or under certain stars. A few require the blinding sun, with dark lenses to protect the eyes. Yet others require special glasses to be seen.”

You’re about to give them shit for sounding like a video game character - though their voice is oddly familiar in some way you can’t place - when they speak again in a more mundane tone.

“Also, we shoot the birds that fly in for food. So, how can I help you?”

“Are you the appointed tour guide? Where’s your dang name tag and badge, you fraud.”

They laugh, which is reassuring. If they’re trying to distract you while someone else sets up a hit, at least they enjoy your quality jokes.

A quick look around fails to locate any untoward interest in you. Everyone is occupied with their haggling or browsing, or curled up with a book in some corner. A few apprentices to what you assume is a master scribe are frantically copying down lines as their master barks at them, her monkey lusus adding its own mocking chitters.

You look up again for good measure, since any telekinetic worth their salt can float, but the higher stories are clear too.

“No one’s allowed to bloody up the stalls by attacking tourists. Bad for business, and the parchment sellers have skinned troublemakers before.”

Shit, are you that obvious? You glare down at the troll, who’s about a foot shorter than you.

They seem perfectly unconcerned.

“Pushing aside that telling some rando who I’m here to meet is really stupid, why do you want to help me? I’m flattered and all, but I was hatched a lot of yesternights ago.”

“I’m bored.”

“You are so valid, and yet I have to find it in my pusher to turn you down. It’s been real, peace.”

You turn around and forge onward into the crowd, looking for the section of the market that has fewer visitors and stands with armed guards, despite that doofus’s chatter about how fights are frowned on here. Maybe in the ordinary sections.

Books with powers lent to them by ancient psiionics. Books that talk about all the highblood castes’ weaknesses, politicians’ secrets and classified Imperial content.

Books of magic and viseralchemy.

Books written by the horrorterror worshippers who once ran the city, and if the stories are to be believed, warped and enslaved the people here to the point where the Empress herself sent her forces to save the last uncorrupted survivors.

By wrecking their shit! Happily ever after, ignore any and all better ways that could’ve been done.

Dimasqa’s never recovered in the millennia since, even if its black market obviously has. But hey - small victories.

After some sign deciphering, you see the one you’re looking for - Suppressed Religious Artifacts for Sale. Even illegal fencers have to be poncy with names, apparently. Does anyone think an Imperial spy would be fooled by a longer label?

Wait a second, isn’t that - oh come on.

The dope from earlier waves at you with what must be an artificial hand, made of some sleek dark gray material with glowing green lines on it.

“Ok, I’m a fan of playing practical jokes, but why didn’t you uh, I don’t know, say you were my contact?”

“You play around so much, I thought you'd enjoy another game.”

Good; they answered in the pre-arranged code.

With a sardonic smile and a flick of your fins, you gesture to the bolted waist-high (to a normal troll anyway) gate leading to the inside of their stall. With a flick of their fingers, it unlocks itself and you step through into the yet warmer confines of wood and tarp.

So they’re at least a telekinetic, and their control is very fine. You keep a wary eye on them while browsing their wares.

There's the usual horrorterror stuff - blatantly creepy monsters and warped troll-like figures standing side by side on the shelves - and more subtle things, everyday objects that make your neck prickle or cause nausea when you look at them directly.

Curled up angels share space with beasts and gods that probably come from minor, mostly forgotten religions. Cups, plates, and weapons engraved with extinct languages and ancient creatures are hung from various-sized pegs, all carefully polished.

Maidel would give his left arm for some of these. Too bad you can never tell him you were here.

“I don’t see what I’m looking for.”

The skepticism and question in your voice is plain.

“I locked it up for safekeeping.” They retort, the ‘duh’ in their voice plain.

If your face weren’t veiled, you’d stick your tongue out. Immature, yes, deserved, also yes. Especially because the heat is really starting to get to you, sweat running down your face and limbs.

You keep both eyes on them as they kneel down, reach under a table and take out a carved wooden box, inset with gems and buzzing with the same kind of feeling you got when you walked under the arch.

It’s not psiionic energy. It’s not any kind of magic you can immediately identify, though you’re not an expert.

It, and their voice, are still tantalizingly familiar. This is gonna bug you so bad.

The box rearranges itself into a small shrine, pieces flicking apart and re-aligning themselves in an upright shape. For the first time there’s a faint hiss and a wisp of white energy as they seamlessly re-align.

That can’t just be plain telekinetics. Matter manipulation? Tyrian tits, who is this troll?

If they’re a troll.

A look at the shrine - and the two figurines in front of it - makes you swear quietly.

Carved from rose quartz, one can only be you, except the face is intricately carved to be more cruel and imperious than your own is (at least, you goddamn hope people don’t see you that way).

You’re aiming a trident at another figure, a blueblood with their arms raised defensively who looks an awful fucking lot like Cherie...but they’re thinner and taller. The face is clearly meant to be more aged, and the horns are bigger.

Unthinking, you reach out a hand to touch them until the vendor swats you.

“Come on, Chimer, you’re smarter than that. What if they’d been cursed, or psi-affected?”

“Yeah, that’s fair - ”

You stop short.

They were never supposed to know your name.

Suspicion over your network and the possibility of being betrayed flares, but then you smile lazily.

“Soooooo. How’d you get ahold of these?”

Eat a dick, eat a dick, eat a barrel of dicks, you mother grub sphincter-sucking asshead.

If they’re a mind reader after all, that ought to get a reaction.

They shrug.

“Is that important? You just want to buy them, right?”

Not a twitch. Either they’re a hell of an actor, or they can’t really see into your head.

You know what? Fuck it.

With a click of your remote, a forcefield springs up around the pair of you, this one trapping all sound inside it and blocking the view of anyone watching.

You grab at their head covering -

- and get swatted down by a feathered wing reaching out, landing flat on your ass.

“Srevni.” You growl when you get your breath back.

They take their veil off, revealing a face that isn’t quite how you remember.

It’s not quite the beast they were before, but not their troll disguise’s either. Some strange hybrid of the two, their second pair of eyes smaller and angled under their primary ones. Their mane has become green tendrils sprouting from their head, and the big ring floating around their neck now rests around their collarbone, a snug fit.

Their orange throat eye blinks at you.

“I didn’t think you’d be pleased to see me, Chimer. I failed you, after all.”

You roll around your feelings in your head, trying to decide how not-pleased you really are.

“Look, I’m a lot more mad at Cherie right now than I am at anyone else.”

They nod, and while their face (less mobile than a troll’s) is hard to read, the drooping of their large pointy ears seems to indicate remorse.

“I figured if you were tracking down Liehde’s cult, it could only mean they’d resurfaced.”

“Hold up, who?”

They blink, and you can see the feathered tip of their tail poke out of the long clothing swaths. No wonder they bundle up so much.

“I thought you knew. Isn’t that why you’re here?”

“I’m here because Cherie popped up and had this in their hive.”

You stand up and take out the damaged Chimera figurine from your sylladex, handing it over to the hybrid creature.

Srevni takes it with careful fingers, their sharply pointed nose - almost a muzzle, really - nearly touching it as they lean in, poring over the thing.

“Only a replica, but they probably have an original somewhere.”

“You will score so many more points with me if you don’t put me through the same cryptic garbage as last time, pal. Please tell me you can talk normally now.”

“I’m getting there.” They huff. “Besides, I don’t know what you want to know because I don’t know how much you know.”

You blink.

“That's a trainwreck of a sentence, but fair enough.”

With a deep breath, you tap your fingers together and think.

“Cherie’s back, and they’ve made noises about trying to help my political aims - lowblood rights, all that jazz. Pure bullshit, you were there during their little timeline stunt and you saw all those helms suffer too. They couldn’t give less of a fuck about anyone below them - or above, given they janked Coloth’s shit up and down.”

As the words leave your mouth you realize this makes Cherie’s claims of teaming up with him weird, given they had no problems taking his stuff behind his back before. If there’s one thing you feel sure of about how they operate, it’s that they never deal directly with anyone unless it’s strictly necessary; the blueblood basically said as much during your last chat.

“Anyway, that’s about it. I mean, I know their bloodline was given their powers by Chimera, and one of them had been involved with making the rift, but beyond that...nothing. I didn’t even know they existed during the whole Echthros business. They almost don’t seem to fit in the picture at all.”

Srevni smiles - or well, you think it’s a smile, hard to tell with that jagged maw - and snaps their fingers, having put the figurine down.

“That’s exactly what drives Cherie. Their bloodline came before you, long before Chimera and Miruka found Tabula and Priori, before the razing of this very city. When the immortal influences found those women after their long search, they abandoned the original bloodlines they made. Those trolls’ only purpose had been ensuring that Alternian bodies could handle such power, so they were useless once they’d found the perfect hosts for their soul fragments.”

Your fins flick up and down, trying to understand, and then you snort.

“Are you saying Cherie feels ignored? Shit, they should be grateful the Dolcez line got left alone! Fat lot of good it did me or Tabula to be the center of attention. I’m glad pangosheep isn’t like that, one is bad enough.”

Srevni, to your surprise, doesn’t join you in mocking the cobalt. It’s weird, given their prior hatred of the troll (and what you suspect was a mega-weird pitch crush on them, in hindsight).

“Cherie’s silly, their original ancestor less so. Liehde - “ They gesture to the blueblood, carved out of what you think is lapis lazuli. “ - seems to have been raised by Chimera from grubhood, if the surviving accounts can be trusted. He took it pretty personally when she left him for you.”

You take off your dang coverings because no one can see the pair of you behind the field anyway and you can’t stand suffocating anymore. Beneath, you’re only wearing swim gear (a fuchsia crop top and black knee shorts, along with a half-skirt) so you don’t die of heat exhaustion, and Srevni looks at the ground for some reason.

Why would a non-troll creature care about modesty, especially when plenty of silly fuchsias wear less than this all the time? They make no sense.

“That’s real sad and all, but I swear Maidel said Cherie did have a lusus - a sugar glider. Why'd Chimera need to raise him? Why did she even care? She fucked right off after making my deal.”

You’re not jealous of this long-dead blueblood with some screws loose, but it does stick in your craw that the fluffy asshole apparently spent sweeps around some guy she was always going to abandon, and then left you with zero explanations or tips about what she’d stuck you with.

They shrug, hands splayed outward.

“I don’t have all the answers, Chimer. Why he had a real humdinger of a grudge doesn’t matter, only what he did about it.”

“Which was...?”

“Remember that cult I mentioned?”

Your mouth pulls back into a very annoyed frown.

“I don’t like where this is going.”

“Remember what Cherie did with the helms? Multiply that.”

A breath gets sucked in through your fangs.

“...he killed a bunch of people by draining them of power to do what, exactly?”

Srevni turns, and taps at the shrine.

The worn, painted images depict light beams coming out of trolls and into the man you now know as Liehde Dolcez. He’s holding up a clock - one that resembles your dear old tick tock.

Dude really was fixated. Must be genetic.

“His temple’s been searched, but no one’s ever figured out what he accomplished - if he managed it at all. There must have been a record somewhere, but it’s been so many sweeps; could be lost or destroyed by now.”

You stare at the images with growing unease.

“What did you mean when you said this was a replica, that Cherie probably had an original?”

“It seems they’ve visited Liehde’s temple themself and nabbed a few things - probably feel like they own them. This is a granite replica of a rare artifact. Originals are made of a material that can hold a low psiionic charge of almost any kind indefinitely. That, and that kind of stone being impossible to find now, makes them so valuable.”

“Ohhhh no.”

They wave a placating hand at you, their wings rustling.

“There’s not enough intact ones around for Cherie to do damage with even if they had them all. They can’t hold much anyway.”

You grit your teeth.

“Remember how Civitrecce is full of tech a million times fancier than anything here, Srevni? I’d bet my ducks Cherie’s trying to find a way to copy it somehow.”

“Even if they did, their actual power level is low, remember? Liehde’s writings whine that it was a way Chimera kept them from wreaking havoc.”

“She should’ve tried harder.” You mutter.

Looking at the creature in front of you is another reminder of why Chimera’s safeguards are worse than worthless.

Their expression hardens, you think, as they must catch yours.

“She didn’t force the Dolcez line to make their bad choices, Chimer. Any more than she forced you to make decent ones. You can’t blame her for everything.”

“Actually,” You drawl, sitting on the floor because you’re tired of standing. “Considering I wouldn’t exist without her and all of this is her fault, I can.”

Srevni sits as well, shedding their own clothing, wearing their more familiar leotard underneath, high-hocked doglike legs crossed and long feather-tipped tail curled in their lap. Their wings extend, fanning out and around the pair of you.

White wings tipped with bright teal. Echthros’s wings.

Your arms wrap around yourself as that night of the reset comes back to you.

“You still have trouble trusting me.”

The barest wisp of hurt runs through the words.

A few fangs sink into your lip, guilt blossoming.

“...does it help if I feel kinda bad about it?”

They laugh a little.

“Blanca stole my body and I had to flee the city. I found an energy source and restored myself to a solid form, but I’m stuck this way now. I’m always going to have her face.”

“Yeah.” You mutter, thinking of Tabula. “I know the feeling.”

“Look on the bright side; people don’t scream or shoot if they see you without a dozen layers on.”

Thinkpan catching up, you raise a finger to stop them.

“Waitasecond, Blanca stole your body? Why?”

They shrug.

“She thinks I’m Echthros and decided revenge would be fun. It was really annoying, but this form’s better than my original, even if...well, it could be worse.”

An uncomfortable pang of platonic pity strikes.

“How can you not constantly blame Chimera and Miruka for everything?” You marvel.

Srevni pulls their clothing back on, hiding their non-troll features again, and gestures for you to drop the shield.

The kid who threw the dagger is shifting from foot to foot at the front of their stand and launches questions at Srevni in Southern. From what you can understand they’re a girl, and also...an apprentice?

She points at you proudly and then gets what sounds an awful lot like a (fairly amused) scolding.

“Hadija says she’s sorry, but next time you should pretend to be hurt - it makes people feel better.”

You squint.

“Did you sic a child on me.”

Their jagged mouth is hidden, but you can feel the creature smiling behind their veil. Then you frown, mild indignation replaced by seriousness.

“...does she...know?”

You wave a hand vaguely.

“Hadija -” They ask her in Standard. “- what am I?”

“Weird woofbeast!” she replies in it proudly, tossing her horns.

“And?”

“Teacher!”

“What do I do?”

“Keeps the weather out!”

They toss her a coin and she snatches it, running off who knows where.

All you can do is blink as you watch her weave off among the stalls and roving trolls.

Srevni looks back at you.

“It’s not that I never resent them, Chimer. I’ve just moved on.”

With a blink, the shrine and figurines are hovering in front of you.

“These aren’t really cursed or anything, right. I won’t start coughing up frogs?”

“They could’ve been.” Srevni retorts, amused. Little shit.

Grumbling, you put them in your sylladex, then take out a suitcase from it.

“So, what do I owe you?”

“Five thousand.”

You take out enough stacks for ten thousand, putting them on a table.

“Feed Hadija and her friends a little more, try to keep them out of trouble.”

They snort.

“I can’t do miracles. I’ll see about the food and some better showers.”

Their sigh well speaks to how much trouble it must be to keep these gremlins clean.

You wouldn’t think a eldritch monster/troll hybrid would make a decent lusus, but this night’s been full of surprises.

An idea strikes as you put your own layers back on.

“If Cherie’s been to old Dolcez’s temple before, maybe they’ll come back. Could you set a trap in case they do? I’ll pay you.”

Srevni shakes their head, but then they speak, it’s with vindictive glee.

“No need. You get that on the hive.”

You grin and clap them on the shoulder.

They look away again, but now that you know what to check for, you see their tail wagging underneath their clothes.

What a bizarre creature.

“It’s been real, Srevs. I’ll contact you if something else comes up.”

“I can’t leave Dimasqa.” They warn. “My power source is here; beyond the city limits I wouldn’t be able to think, or keep my form.”

“I get you. Thanks, by the way.”

They tilt their head.

“For what?”

“Helping.”

They’re quiet for a minute, then speak in a slightly resentful tone.

“I'll always help you, Chimer. Not just because I was made to.”

A couple things finally click in your head and you feel kinda stupid, but also, why would you think they’d feel that way?

Now it’s you who doesn’t know where to look.

“Jeez, Srevs. I swear I never realized.”

They sigh.

“You never did, in all the time I knew you before.”

Then they laugh, and nudge you back.

“It’s fine. Go back and stop Cherie from whatever they’re cooking up.”

Before Srevni can turn away you give them a hug, feeling their wings trying to flare in surprise beneath your arms.

Then they hug you back.

You wave to them as you walk away, then turn, making your way back through the market’s crowds with the moonlight shining down behind you.

END

#cloud writes #chimer latrai #srevni #decipula ex memoriae #this is almost 5k hot damn

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texastheband · 5 years

Text

Sharleen blows her cool

By Nick Duerden Taken from Heat Magazine - 11-17 November 1999

She's our most succesfull pop star and she gets to cavort on beds with male models. So why is Sharleen Spiteri in a bad mood? "Fucking flu" she tells Nick Duerden.

It is a cold, crisp day in the north, and Sharleen Spiteri is suffering from a lack of sufficient sleep. Last night's hotel had an air conditioning system that didn't know its hot from its cold. So the Texas singer tossed and turned throughout the night, one moment sweating, the next freezing. "I thought I had the fucking flu or something," she says.

Nevertheless, she looks delightfully rumpled today in the kind of manner only ever truly achieved by the rich and famous. She strides into a Manchester eatery under an artfully created birds' nest of black hair, and is wearing worn Jeans that are decadently fashionable and, doubtless, very expensive. She is the liveliest of company, picking delicately at a plate of hummus, but insisting on a plate of sausage and mash for heat as a hangover cure. Mash, it seems, is good for soaking up alcohol in the stomach. "You're bringing out my maternal side," she says. Later, she will reveal a fondness for Robbie, and refer to his one time bandmate Gary Barlow as "fuckface". Apparently, on an Italian pop show recently, he accidentally cracked her head open with his guitar, then blamed his attendant security. "If it wasn't for them," says the woman who stands at 5ft 5", "1 would have had him." Texas are here in Manchester halfway through a sold-out UK tour to further promote a very succesfull album. Following the four-million-selling, career-saving White On Blonde, The Hush has already shifted over three million copies in just six months. They are one of Britain's biggest bands, about to set their sights on America which they confidently believe they will crack. This is all a very different story from just three years ago. Back then, Texas were on the brink of ruin. Their record company were threatening to drop them, and they themselves were considering splitting. Since the top ten success of their 1989 debut single, I Don't Want A Lover, and the album Southside, Texas had been on a gradual downward slide. Their second album, Mothers Heaven, performed disappointingly, and very few people even noticed when they released a third, Ricks Road. With the exception of France, who still considered them splendid, Texas were uniformly regarded as a band dull enough to render even Del Amitri as rock gods. But then a very peculiar thing happened. Texas became hip, seemingly overnight. Purportedly steered by her journalist boyfriend, Ashley Heath (then editor of fashion magazine Arena Homme Plus), Sharleen became a sex siren, the band's sole focal point, and someone most adept at pouting provocatively before the camera lens. While the often exotic photo shoots looked like she was selling perfume, she was in fact selling the band. It worked wonders, too: suddenly, Texas were everywhere. And now look at them. Huge. Sharleen Spiteri, svengali boyfriend loitering somewhere in the shadows, has mounted the most successful make over in recent pop history.

How does it feel to have sold upwards of seven million albums in less than three years? How does it feel? It feels very secure. [Laughs] But I also feel incredibly grateful for it, because we were lucky enough to get a second chance. That doesn't happen much these days. I still find it hard to believe that we broke big on our fourth album. Nobody from the record company will admit to it now, but even when we delivered Say What You Want (White On Blonde's first single), no one was particularly impressed. We loved it, but I think they were simply no longer interested in us. It was like they were waiting for the record to fail so they could get rid of us. Instead, however, we sold an obscene amount of albums and suddenly they love us. I tell you, becoming very successful gives you an awful lot of power. Why was the album such a success, given Texas' then somewhat dull image? Simple: because it was a great record. We'd made the best music of our lives, and people were responding to it. The image reinvention certainly helped though, didn't it? I find it funny the way people are so obsessed about my supposed "reinvention". We've been around for ten years, so of course we're going to reinvent ourselves. It's called progression. True, but the suddenly glamorous image seemed very calculated towards making you quickly famous. Everyone is convinced that the record sold because I draped myself all over the press to plug it. In actual fact, I didn't start appearing on magazine covers until the second single, Halo, was already in the charts. We were becoming successful, so there was a demand for interviews, and I gave them. Were the rest of the band happy to take a step back? Absolutely. It took all the pressure off them. Let's face it, an attractive woman in a band is a pretty effective focal point. We were convinced we'd made a great record - the best of our career - and we wanted people to hear it. And the way to do that is to promote it. So I did. Is it true that your boyfriend had a guiding hand in the makeover? Not really. Obviously, having a boyfriend that works in journalism helps to give you an insight into how the whole business works, but I used to be a hairdresser, so I know a fair bit about image myself. We did talk about how to present ourselves because we knew that initially people wouldn't be interested in Texas and we wanted to change their minds. The whole music business Is a game in that respect, and we played it. Wouldn't you have done the same? Wouldn't anyone? Had you always wanted to be famous? No, never had. Still don't, in fact. I've never been bothered with it, to be honest. It doesn't interest me at all. Anyone can be famous. You can be famous for wearing high-heeled shoes, or blowing off presidents. I want people to say I'm a great singer, a great songwriter, that's all. If I simply wanted to become famous, then I would have got my tits out long ago. And I never have. Never will, either. Did it ever feel slightly foolish to be rolling around on exotic beaches like a supermodel merely to sell a band that used to wear woolly jerseys and hobnail boots? No, I had a great time, and they're great photographs. I'll keep them forever and show them to my children so that they can be proud of their mother. Everyone likes to look good in pictures, and those pictures make me look fantastic. Ten years ago I was very selfconscious about the way I looked, but I'm almost 32 now, and I've accepted that I've got a giant nose and other blemishes. But am I going to get major surgery? Nah, fuck it. I'll just ask photographers not to accentuate it and to light me in a flattering manner, that's all. Subsequent collaborations with Rae & Christian and Wu-Tang Clan also seemed like a very determined effort to suddenly become chic. Were they? I met Rae & Christian ages ago through my boyfriend, and I spent years namechecking the Wu-Tang Clan because I was a fan. Both came to work with us because they knew we were good at what we did musically. I've never been interested in being chic or trendy or cool. I just want two things: to make good music and work with people I admire. Did any members of the WuTang Clan come on to you? [Aghast] Absolutely not! But I know what you mean. If you put any man or woman in a room together there's bound to be something, some kind of spark. When they were first told that we'd love to work with them, they were like [adopts cheeky American drawl], "Hey, is that the chick with the funky red dress from that video [BlackEyed Boy]? I like her! ", but they were very respectful towards me. I was in awe of them. They're all huge guys, and they kept calling me "girlie". But then they heard me sing, and they were convinced I was black! [Fondly] Method Man is a lovely guy, you know. Do you feel sexy? Not first thing in the morning, I don't. I can look very rough indeed. But I don't want to be obviously sexy. I try to think what I find sexy in women - and it's not Pamela Anderson - and then work on that. I think the sexiest word in the English language is "no". It makes perfect sense, because everyone wants what they can't have. If you actually look at all the supposedly steamy photographs I've done, I'm actually revealing very little flesh indeed. In the video for Summer Son, you effectively dry-hump a handsome man in bed. Did he leave you, um, tongue-tied? Very funny. I'll tell you why I did that video. It was to suggest that it is possible to be unbelievably sexy and keep all your clothes on. That video was all about the power of suggestion, but ironically it wasn't allowed to be shown on television before seven o'clock because it was too raunchy. What hypocritical bullshit. All I ever see on MTV are women in ridiculous push-up bras, cleavage everywhere, and touching themselves. I wanted to make an alternative, but keep it just as sexy. It is also, presumably, fairly good fun cavorting with a male model of your choice? Well, I have to admit, it's a pretty good way to spend a day. [Abruptly changing subject] Incidentally, did you know that Summer Son has just broken us in Germany? Which is good news because Germany is the third biggest market in the world. We're massive there now. Not bigger than David Hasselhoff, surely? Germany, after all, is his stronghold. Do you know what? I think we're even bigger than him. How about that? Congratulations. Thank you, very kind. You exude confidence the way a teenager does testosterone. Does it ever spill over into arrogance? When I was a hairdresser, people thought I was really arrogant. Now, because of the band, I'm almost allowed to have an ego, but most people tend to think of me as level headed. Well, that's what they tell me to my face, anyway. Put it this way, I've not changed at all. I'm very ambitious, always have been. There are still a lot of people out there who don't like us and probably hate me, but I don't care about them. We're a band who sell a lot of records. That brings peace of mind and, yes, a certain arrogance. But, y'know, we've worked hard to get into this position. I'm not about to apologise for it. One more thing. What, if anything, turns you off in a man? Beards. When they get as big as that bloke's in The Royle Family, bits of food get stuck in thein. Disgusting! My father [a seaman] used to go off to sea for months at a time and come back home with a bloody great bush of a beard. Me and my sister would go after him with the scissors, screaming like banshees.

#article #TheHush #SharleenSpiteri #Sharleen Spiteri #Sharleen #Spiteri #Texas #TexasBand #Texas Band #TexasTheBand #Texas The Band

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anabelle-robinson · 6 years

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Vega is obviously sub tho, with his behaviour around Priya... she legit emanated big dom energy during those 20s scenes

Hello, anon! First of all, I am so happy that you actually messaged me instead of just... never responding ever. 😂

So, Priya is kinda an obvious dom, which already can be seen by the way she treats her houseboys. No arguing here, at least not from my part, even though I can def imagine Priya as a sadomasochist, meaning she doesn’t only enjoy causing pain, but also receiving it. Anyway, that’s a different topic. 😅

My point is... There is no way Vega is a sub. NO. WAY. Not with her, not with anyone. (Even though I can imagine them switching it up since they’re both huge doms.)

Your way of supporting your claim is naming the 20s scenes as examples. Honestly, I’m very willing to analyze them. And I’m happy to do this, because Priya x Adam (Pradam, hehe) is def my OTP and I’m glad to be discussing this with you.

Beforehand I gotta say: I take this very seriously, so don’t be shocked about me dropping a huge ass analysis, lmao. This is a lot of interpretation, and I know it’s very vague, but you mentioned the 20s scenes and this is the info I got out of them, so here we go:

1920s Scene 1, Chapter 13:

“The door swings open, and Vega steps into the warehouse with Priya, his arm wrapped around her waist.”

I’ve done a bit of research on this (I just love them this much), and him having his arm around wrapped around her waist doesn’t only (or at least, most likely) mean boyfriend/girlfrend, it’s also a way of him protecting her, having her close. It’s a way of saying “She’s mine”.

That fits Vega very well, since having his arm around her waist is the closest he gets to being “in control” over her. I mean, they could have held hands as well, but that’d be more romantic, which definitely doesn’t fit the relationship as much. Generally, he’s very possessive. He definitely considered her “his”.

Then, Vega greats Kamilah and Adrian. Note how Priya hasn’t said a single word yet. She’s being in the background, waiting for Adam to take the offensive and introduce her. That, he does when Kamilah asks him who his companion is.

“This lovely creature is Priya Lacroix.”

Notice how he says “creature”? This made me wonder a lot when I first thought about it. Like, why the hell doesn’t he just say “lady” or “woman” or whatever? “Creature” sounds so submissive. It’s usually said by humans to other humans who look or behave extremely odd to the point that their humanity is being questioned. So, why would he call her that?

Then, it hit me. When Priya meets MC for the first time in Chapter 2, the first thing she calls her is... “creature”. The fact of Priya using this to describe her prey clearly proves that it’s a submissive term. Google defines a “creature” either as an animal, or as “a person or organization considered to be under the complete control of another.” Who loves and craves control? Adam. Interesting...

Priya’s response is a happy “Hiya, doll” (to Kamilah), so she obviously accepts this and isn’t surprised or whatever.

Furthermore, there are two ways of Vega keeping Priya “in place”, regarding the whole Gaius situation. Firstly, Kamilah asks why Vega brought her to their meeting, and she says...

“Not to worry. I know my onions.”

This means that Vega has educated Priya beforehand about the whole situation. Gaius, the others, everything. He told her, because he trusted her, which is super cute, and because he would never want Priya to act out of line, especially not in that scene. This is a matter of control. Over her.

That’s supported when Priya asks Kamilah for a cigarette using slang language, which Kamilah has expressed a lack of understanding of. Before she can even react to Priya’s ask, Vega tells her...

“No need to bother Kamilah, doll. I have some.”

Even the act of giving her a cigarette is a form of control. “Don’t bother Kamilah, I have some, so you can’t potentially act up” is a hard way of saying this, but if you think about it, it is what he’s thinking at the back of his mind, consciously or not. This doesn’t mean he didn’t love her, but he definitely controlled her at least in some way, so she would behave, be in no way able to offend Kamilah.

“Vega pulls out a gold cigarette case. He hands a cigarette to Priya and lights it with a match.”

This here is a tiny example of him being a control freak, by not letting her light the cigarette herself. Of course, it’s minimal at best. He’s also a gent, so, yeah. (A bigger one would be his reaction to the Ferals fighting Adrian where even Nicole told him to chill.)

Anyway, later, they talked about their party which isn’t a hint in my opinion, but does make me wonder what kinda party it was. She uses the word “blow”, meaning a party that is wild and crazy, and he says that “the party won’t wait for” them. They’re both grinning... Orgy? 😅😅😂

Regardless, Adam meets the peak of his dominance regarding Priya when she doesn’t bow down to Gaius and asks who he is. For the first time, Adam gets angry. He says...

“I apologize, Gaius. Priya here is new to the Continent and doesn’t yet know the lay of the land.”

He doesn’t let her speak or apologize herself, by speaking for her, about her. He takes everything regarding her into his own hands, the whole time. You’re talking to Priya? Well, you’re talking to Adam, too, automatically. He just makes it his business. The whole situation is new to her, yes, but you can’t deny that Vega takes full control. Especially here:

“Vega nudges Priya with his elbow, hard.”

Vega goes rough on Priya, huh? 😌 Well, quite obviously he has no problems with doing just that to make sure that she acts accordingly, the way he wants her to. I love how they added “hard”. He isn’t the gentle type, knowing she can take it. 😌😂

Priya’s reaction supports just that. She’s not debating him or anything - maybe she has learned not to already? Damn - but lets out a surprised “Oh!” and an immediate bow to meet both the needs of Gaius and Adam without hesitation.

Now, imagine she would have debated him on it. There is no way he wouldn’t have shown her “her place”. Wanting to protect her is the whole reason, of course. I’m not saying he didn’t love her, just that he’s def displaying dominance (over her). 🌚

After Gaius reveals his full plan, everyone is shocked, and I love the mental image of this:

“Priya looks up at Vega, eyes wide.”

Isn’t this totally cute? Her looking at him for comfort and reassurance when she’s unnerved, afraid, insecure? Him being her rock, at least for that moment? Doesn’t that make her a small bit dependent, too? In a way, he’s responsible for this, he brought her into the situation. She trusted him with this, let him lead, guide her. Which he did, throughout the whole meeting.

All in all, regarding this scene, I have not found a single situation of Priya displaying any sort of dom vibes over him, and wonder what you’re referring to? For me, it was the opposite. I mean, of course she’s Priya and generally hella dom, but here she’s “hiding” a bit behind Vega, unconsciously or not.

Regardless, he manouvers her through it. He’s in control the whole time, and unafraid to rebuke her roughly. He wanted her to act a certain way and expected that of her, not to disappoint him and do what he had told her before the meeting (explaining Gaius, etc.). Which brings me to my conclusion: Vega. Is. Dom.

1920s Scene 2, Chapter 16:

Sadly, we didn’t get as many hints here since the scene is mainly displaying the fight.

Firstly, they start off talking and a situation happens which makes me able to refer back to what I said about Adam immediately including himself when someone speaks to Priya.

Here, it’s Lester, reminding her angrily that her complaining regarding the waiting time isn’t helping. Adam makes this his business, taking control, by defending her and saying...

“We are all a little tense, Lester. Leave her be.”

Obviously, he doesn’t let her handle this herself even though she would have been able to defend herself. It’s a way of lovingly protecting her, which I find adorable, but also not hiding behind her or anything. “Leave my girl alone or else...” That is so dominant.

When Gaius asks them if they agree that his plan is bs, it’s a rare moment of Adam letting Priya speak for herself after he himself has voiced his opinion.

The absolute cutest moment is obviously him screaming at Gaius “Get away from her!” when he is choking her. (Only Adam is allowed to choke Priya. 😌😌😉😏)

Even before, he kept his focus on her during the fight, screaming “Priya, look out!” when Gaius gets her, and in the end even risking his life by attacking him.

How cute is that? 😭😭😍😍

Lastly, Adrian gives an order and “the others start to obey, but Vega pauses”. Unlike Priya, bae takes no orders. 💅

Analysis over. 😂

Like I said, there’s no way he’s a sub. It contradicts itself with his entire persona. His need of power was his fall. There is no way he’d give that power and control he craves away to someone else, in no aspect of life. Also, remember she’s a vampire way weaker than him, and was only 50+ while he was 200+.

I imagine they were rough on each other. She’s so dangerous, but not to him. He liked her to “show him what she can do”, but found her cute in the same way. Like, this kinda “She’s so cute when she kills people” thing. This reminds me of an NSFW Alphabet I made for them, in case you wanna check it out. 😂

I hope my analysis kinda supported my claim, even though I know some points are weak, because there’s a lot of interpreting going on. (If you even made it this far, lmao.) Maybe we could continue our conversation via chat, exchange some headcanons? I’d def be down, and thanks for the message. 🤗

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theinkstainsblog · 7 years

Text

On The Subject Of Allyship and The Black Witch

Okay so if you’re even a little bit active in the booklr community you’ll probably have seen posts floating around about the upcoming release of The Black Witch and how problematic offensive and racist this book is. If you haven’t go read this post by Jen @bookavid and the reviews she links to.

Read them? Good. So now you understand how bad this book is. And you want to make sure it doesn’t hurt anyone. Well, how can you do that? By doing all of the things that Jen suggested.

So why aren’t you doing those things?

I think I know why. It probably comes from the same place of hesitation and anxiety that I had, that most of us white people have when it comes to being allies. Emailing the publisher sounds scary. I know. I get it.

I can help with this, if you’ll listen.

I’m a student taking English Literature, English Language and Media Studies. So I like to think I know a fair bit about books, writing formally and engaging with producers of content like this from all of my subjects combined. Let me talk you through this email.

‘I wouldn’t know what to say! They won’t listen to me anyway. What if I’m the only one who does it? I probably would be, so it’s just pointless. I don’t know which email to send it too! Nothing like this ever makes a difference. I’m just wasting my time’

I had all the same worries. I sent Jen an ask and she very kindly searched around to find the appropriate email for me. It’s this one:

[email protected]

Edit: As of this morning Jen has also found a link which will take you to a list of specific publicity contacts on the harpercollins website. if you want a more direct person to talk to about this issue head over here:

http://corporate.harpercollins.com/us/media/publicity-contacts

With everything else I just had to bite the bullet and get over myself. Remind myself that this is not about me and this is so much more important than me and my own anxieties - this is about people of colour and making sure they don’t get hurt. This is about making the publishing industry a better, more inclusive place. This is worth fighting for.

So I sucked it up and I wrote the email and I sent it off about five minutes ago. This is a really rough template you can use based on a watered down version of the email I sent. Make sure to vary it up as much as possible and change sentences to sound like you so it doesn’t look like it comes from the same person. This is just to guide you and give you a basic idea.

Dear Publisher,

I am writing today because I am deeply concerned about / worried by / saddened by / offended by / the upcoming release of The Black Witch by Laurie Forest. (Flesh this paragraph out with details: what drew your attention to the book / why did you feel the need to write / have you personally been affected / where you considering reading the book before this? All of this provides context for the reader, it’s an annoying but important set-up when writing persuasively).

This book is problematic because of the racism inherent within the narrative / This book is offensive to marginalised groups especially people of colour / This book is incredibly harmful because of the real world racism it displays through the lens of fantasy. (For the main body of this paragraph insert several reason why you know this. You can take these from the reviews Jen has linked. Having these solid examples provides evidence so that they cannot reasonably argue with you).

Since you are publishing for a young audience / Since you are a well-known publishing house / Since you are a well-regarded publishing house / (this bit is essentially flattery while simultaneously reminding them of their responsibility to their audience. They’re a business, that’s something they won’t want to fuck up). I feel that it is your duty / responsibility to ensure that young people / your audience are reading books which show positive representation / encourage healthy attitudes to diversity. (If you want to, reinforce your point by saying...) I realise that your intention / the author’s intention may have been ABC however XYZ (this acknowledges a counter-argument before quickly rebutting it, making you seem like you know what you’re talking about even if you haven’t a clue. Good life tip). I trust / hope / am certain that this was not the message / ideology that you as a publishing house intended to promote / wish to be associated with. (Infers that this is bad thing to be associated with. Which of course it is. They definitely don’t want that).

(This paragraph here is for your strongest point about why the book was offensive. If you’ve only talked about the racism so far you might want to bring in the ableism or homophobia also inherent within. Or you might want to stick with one and just talk about the thing that was most shocking to you).

(Time to bring out the big guns: you’ve already reminded them that their a business, now drive that point home and show that you know that and you know how to use it to hurt them). Releasing the novel as it is may well be detrimental to your reputation as a publishing house / Publishing this book will cause many people to reconsider their high opinion of you / Releasing the book in it’s current state could cause your institution to be labelled as racist or problematic. In today’s political climate this is a big topic and there is an ever-shrinking market for such narratives / Issues of identity are huge in the media and negative representation is not appropriate. Already I know that many within the book blogging community are planning to boycott this book / that many have lost interest in the book after this has come to light because they are deeply hurt by the message it shows. (Concluding with this is important: it’s the thing that most hits them where it hurts. And it being the last thing you say means it’s also the bit they see last and so remember most).

Yours sincerely, / Regards, / Anything you like really just keep it formal

INSERT NAME Jane Smith

There you go! Not as hard as you thought eh? Remember to feel free to change these sentences, come up with new ones, switch them about and use them like puzzle pieces (the thesaurus is absolutely your friend).

Now go, go, go. There are no more excuses. You have six weeks to try and help end racism in publishing NOW.

#allyship #email templates #racism #racist books #template #writing help #ally #allies #problematic books #be an ally #racist bullshit #stop racism #do your part

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ocegion · 7 years

Text

(on ao3)

The one and only thing Benny could say with complete certainty in this new life of his was that he loved Dean.

He loved him with every single ounce of himself he had. That was the one truth that guided him through everything now. Everything else was blurry, from who he was, to what he deserved, to what his place in the world was, and even whether he actually deserved to hold Dean close to his chest late at night. If he didn’t have love for Dean overflowing through every pore of his skin, he’d be nothing. He’d be lost.

The love he felt for Dean, he couldn’t even begin to define it. The bond they forged in Purgatory evolved, steady and strong until it was what it became now, but it never lost what it had been. He loved Dean in every single way, with the selflessness of a true friend, the loyalty of a war comrade, the utter dedication of family, and held him as his lover. Dean was all and even more.

He couldn’t function without Dean. He knew that, and was OK with it.

Benny’s lips are pursed together in a thin line as he walks into the room. He looks at the man, who languidly motions for him to sit down, and Benny complies with a sour expression. He could fake a friendlier mood, if he wanted to, but it’s not worth it.

There’s barely any light in the room, so dark that if either of them was human, they couldn’t see each other’s faces. There is one human in the room, though, a young woman lying on the man’s lap, who lets him take her arm and bite into the flesh, draining the blood. He motions it towards Benny afterwards in offer, and although Benny’s pupils widen far more than they should, he shakes his head and grunts.

“It’s been a long time, Benny” the man finally says, smiling faintly. Benny doesn’t return it.

“Not long enough in my book, I’m afraid.”

“Rude.” The vampire shrugs, and doesn’t look too offended. In fact, he gifts Benny with another glinting grin, a hint of mischief to it. “It’s a shame, considering how long we knew each other, right?”

“That was a long time ago, things have changed. I don’t wanna go back in any way.”

“Oh, right. The Winchester boy has got you tamed, or so I hear. Another shame, thinking of who you used to be. In another time, he’d be in your lap just like Isabelle is in mine.”

Benny closes his eyes and fists his hands. Normally he wouldn’t let the taunt get to him, but he’s irritable right now, since the smell of blood is assaulting his nose in waves and it’s starting to get hard to keep his fangs inside his hums. He passes his tongue over them and gazes at his former nestmate and occasional lover again. The sooner he gets this done, the sooner he leaves.

“You call it tamed, I call it having an actual home. Not that it really matters, I’m the one calling the shots in my life.”

The man shrugs again and brings his girl’s arm to his mouth once again. This time, he lets some of the blood fall down to her elbow, and he chases the drops back to the wound with his tongue. He doesn’t miss the way Benny’s eyes fix on the crimson liquid and smiles, although he doesn’t comment anything on it. However, he is the one to speak next.

“I was hoping you wanted to see me for a social visit, but I’m afraid you aren’t being too friendly, so why don’t we get to the point?”

Benny nods and crosses his arms. “Sounds mighty nice to me. Look, I just want you to give me some names, that’s all. Old friends we both know would better be dead. Some have been tracking us, so we thought we better get the hit on the rest of them before they decide to give trouble too. You know where they are, so...”

Benny makes a gesture with his hand to indicate the other to speak. He just scowls a bit and brings his fingers to his lips.

“Why would I tell you?”

“Because if I’m not outside in ten minutes Dean’s coming in and he’s gonna torture it out of you.” Benny shrugs. “Your choice.”

“You brought him here?” The man is suddenly not relaxed, hands turned into claws and leaning forward as he grits his teeth, both anger and fear plain in his face. Benny offers a lazy smile and waves his hand. The vampire forces himself to calm down and nods, although still visibly crisped. “Alright. As you said, they’re better off dead anyway.”

“Glad you’re so reasonable, my friend.”

Five minutes later, Benny is putting away a paper with many different directions written on it in his pocket. The man offers a handshake and a wry smile, but when Benny just eyes it with a raised eyebrow and makes no effort to shake the offered hand, he sighs, slightly disappointed, and drops it.

“You’ve changed for real, Benny, haven’t you?”

“That I have” Benny agrees amiably. “If I’m lucky I’ll never see you again.”

“Do you ever think about it?” the man continues, trying to prompt Benny into something. “The life we used to have, how we had everything we wanted? It was nice, wasn’t it? Surely you miss it sometimes.”

However, Benny knits his brow together, equally confused and appalled. He shakes his head.

“I got someone I love, man. He’s all I need. Not even tempted.”

Dean was a great man, Benny knew that. Not just great in the sense of wonderful and admirable, but important. His name was something meaningful in Heaven and a nightmare in Hell. He had had a place in the history of humanity and changed it out of sheer willpower. In the whole of cosmos, Dean was a giant; Benny, not so much.

Maybe it was just because of a stubborn refusal to believe otherwise, but Benny thought there was a place for him in Dean’s life, too. That it hadn’t been just pure dumb luck that had brought Dean into Purgatory and into Benny’s life. He liked to believe he was in Dean’s life for a purpose, too, even if it was likely just wishful thinking. Dean himself had told him that the great plan for him was over and forgotten.

It wasn’t hard to believe, though. At risk of being prideful and self-centered, Benny didn’t have much trouble seeing why a higher power would bring him into Dean’s life. How likely it was that a hunter met a dead vampire, of all people, in the only circumstances that would allow them to not try to kill one another on the spot and grow close? Because, even if it pained him so deeply, Dean needed him. He needed Benny to be there for him.

Benny hated it, but Dean didn’t hold himself in high regard. No, digging just a little deeper into the cheeky behavior and easy smile, not hard to reach if you just put enough interest in him, lied a sea of insecurities, regrets, frustrations, self-contempt and sorrow. It was at constant storm and near impossible to navigate.

Benny had always been a sailor, though. He could manage it.

It wasn’t like he was the only one who loved Dean, but due to his often difficult relationship with others, Benny was usually the one fittest to do it. He took him in his arms and muttered into his skin that he loved his voice, shivered from pleasure on his laugh, and could stare into his eyes for the rest of his life. That he enjoyed every single one of his silly jokes and puns, that he admired his dedication, and adored both his rough and his kind.

He took that adoration, so deeply ingrained in him, and made Dean understand that every single second of it was deserved. He tried make up for the love Dean didn’t feel feel for himself with the one he did feel, and sometimes he even managed it. It made Benny feel thrilled, and as long as his presence was good to Dean, no matter anything, he’d stay by his side.

Still, he sometimes felt that he was unfit to stand beside someone like Dean. It didn’t matter, though, because Dean loved him all the same, and that was all Benny needed to vanish any doubt from his mind.

Benny is pressing some soft, languid kisses onto Dean’s shoulder as the man in his arms, who is still gasping and shaking, slowly calms down and settles still into his lover’s embrace, enjoying the last moments of the afterglow and going loose. Benny smirks, presses one last, long kiss right between Dean’s shoulder blades, and then slips his hand upwards from Dean’s groin as his arms circle him tightly and he proceeds to simply spoon him, melting into the warmth the human’s skin gives him.

Dean is just as relaxed and happy as Benny feels, at first. However, as minutes marked by kisses onto Dean’s nape go by, the vampire feels that the tension, which he had the intention of chasing away when he started hungrily undressing Dean, is coming back, not as strong as before but still there. He sighs, so weak that Dean doesn’t even notice. He starts rubbing Dean’s arms with his fingertips, his back too inaccessible to rub the tension off there. It works, but not quite enough, so eventually Benny presses a particularly long kiss to Dean’s scalp and talk.

“That was something quite pretty there, what you said about me. You know, the being as worthy as the next winged sonofabitch thing. It moved me, and I’m not being sarcastic here. Thank you.”

Dean and Benny hadn’t been in a hunt earlier that day. For once, they were going out just for the sake of it, have some fun and enjoy their time with each other, laughing and fooling around for a bit. The usual weight on Dean’s eyes had even disappeared completely for almost an hour, replaced by a special shine that was reserved only for Benny. Regardless of it, they still ended up sitting in a cafeteria talking to some weird guy. Of course. It was what happened to them.

It was an angel, wound up and stiff. The derision was plainly visible in his voice as he talked to Dean, who had gone back to tension just from his presence, about wanting his help with some demon big name. They dropped names like Lilith, Azazel and even Lucifer during the conversation, and Dean didn’t even blink at it. Benny was left to look at him in wonder and once more remember just who was the man he fucked into at night.

Dean wasn’t pleased by the angel’s presence. His face was turned into a scowl, and the first thing he asked about once the other was done was why not go to Castiel instead, or why not have him be the one to ask Dean instead.

“We don’t want any contact with him. Even you are a better option” the angel said, although going by the sneer in his face, it was clear his opinion on the human wasn’t that much higher, and he didn’t bother hiding that either. “We know you have a personal hate for demons and you have experience being bait. It should be easy enough.”

“Excuse me, but why don’t we make a lil’ pause right here, man?” Benny interrupted, his friendly words completely unmatching the angry scowl on his face, eyes narrowed and teeth gritted. How did he dare. After the angel’s words, Dean had gone ever more tense than before, eyes cast down in pensive anger. Benny slipped an arm around his shoulders comfortingly, not even thinking about it. “Dean here ain’t no bait. If that’s all you want from him, you can fuck the hell off as far as I’m concerned:”

“And what makes you think that what you think is relevant?” the other replied, setting his eyes on Benny for the first time in the half an hour they’d been there, full of disgust and scorn. “You’re just a dirty dark stain with no business with a celestial being and the righteous man. You should just be grateful I didn’t smite you the second I came close enough to do so.”

All the while, Dean had showed no sign of giving in to the disdain he felt for the angel. When he talked to Benny, though, he didn’t as much as hesitate to grab his half-empty cup of coffee and throw its content into the angel’s face. Other patrons, as well as Benny, looked in shock, but Dean didn’t spare a single glance.

“You know, I was actually thinking about this, but no one speaks to Benny like that. He’s far better than your holier-than-thou ass can ever hope to be, and he’s just as worthy to be here. And you don’t speak like that to me either, for that matter. You can just fuck off and go face that sonofabitch on your own. Hopefully you’ll die on the attempt, and then we’ll take care of it ourselves. It’s not like you angels have ever been good for anything anyway.”

Dean didn’t wait for any sort of reply and left the table. Benny gave the angel a shrug and an easy grin and followed. He didn’t feel like Dean was up to talking about it, so he kept his mouth shut, thinking that they’d work the tension off once back home.

And he managed it. Only now it’s gone and Dean is all worked up again. Benny wishes his kisses were enough to get it all away.

“He was an ass, I enjoyed telling him off. And what I said was true. You’re no unworthy stain, he had no right to speak to you like that.”

Benny pulls a little smile as he makes Dean turn in his embrace until they’re face to face. He kisses him slow and sweet and then locks into his eyes, caressing his cheek.

“Sweetheart, you know I don’t give a shit what he thinks about me. It doesn’t bother me and it shouldn’t bother you either. You’re far too good for some self-righteous glorified pidgeon that’s jealous of you because you, mere mortal, are more important to the whole of everything than he’ll ever be, to affect you.”

“He doesn’t affect me” Dean scoffs and rolls his eyes. His expression sweetens, though, and he pulls Benny in for another kiss before hiding his face on his neck. He doesn’t say anything else, but Benny feels the ‘but’ all the same.

“But it touches a sore point?” he ventures, voice soft, and feels Dean shiver a little in his arms. He won’t get Dean to answer to that, he knows it, so he just smiles sadly and kisses the top of his head, suppressing the surge of anger that rushes through him. “That’s all gone now, Dean. You’re so much more than a tool and I won’t let you forget that. I’ll make sure no one treats you like that. You know that, right?”

He doesn’t see Dean’s smile, but he feels it against his skin and hears the human’s heartbeat flutter in excitement. He knows the smile is genuine.

“I know.”

But perhaps, without taking any weight from everything else, what Benny loved most about Dean was what the human brought out in himself.

Benny didn’t love himself, either. He guessed that kissing some self-love into Dean was hypocritical, in that sense, but that was an hypocrisy he had no problems living with. But the moment he looked at Dean, Benny became someone who could look at the mirror and not hate what he saw for the first time since warm blood stopped running through his veins.

Don’t get him wrong, he’d loved Andrea with everything he had. Andrea, who had accepted and loved him for everything he was. The only thing he would change of what he had shared with her was that he had led her to her death, he thought ruefully; that definitely had made a great contribution to his lack of self-love.

But what couldn’t be denied was that when he was with her, he had denied his nature, had run away from who he was. He didn’t have the chance to do that with Dean, when every day he was so acutely reminded that his life was as far from normal as it could be, and eventually, he found himself realizing that he didn’t mind.

Because what did it matter that he drank blood when Dean had gone from being put off by it to comfortably handling him a pack when he thought Benny might be a little hungry? Was it really that bad that he had fangs inside his gums when Dean offered him a chance to use them to ‘save people, hunt things’ instead of preying on humans? And maybe, if his occasional run ins with former nestmates made him gloomy and pensive afterwards, doubting about his place next to a human so deeply good, he enjoyed a bit too much when Dean pressed against him and muttered that there wasn’t an ounce of bad in him, words between kiss and kiss.

Nor did he see a reason to worry that his body was cold, his blood didn’t flow, and his nose and ears allowed him to catch on far too much, if it made Dean’s skin set his aflame, allowed him get intoxicated in his scent, and made his heartbeat loud in his ears when Benny held him and worshipped his body, making Dean’s pleasure his own.

Benny’s eyes are tightly shut and he has a hand pressed against his lips. He curses to himself and wonders when the hell Dean’s going to come back; each minute feels like an hour. He instinctively takes a deep breath to try to calm himself, and that proves to be a fatal mistake.

The smell of fresh, human blood fills his lungs and he cannot stop his gums from dropping, thirsty and lustful for a taste.

He’s unable to keep his eyes from turning to the woman on the opposite edge of the room. She’s not bleeding badly, but the blood out of her wound is enough to intoxicate Benny. It’d all be easier if Dean was there with him, but he’d run off after the creature while screaming at Benny not to leave her alone. Trusting him not to give in.

Now, Benny’s just a few seconds away from betraying that trust.

With a strength he didn’t know he had, Benny manages to turn his eyes away, but the smell keeps pushing at him, invading his nostrils and reminding him just how delightful the taste of warm human blood is. He grits his teeth and slams his head into the wall, raking his nails against it.

He forces himself to think of something else. The image of Dean invades his mind.

Benny is a weak man, he’s never denied that. He knows he would have given in a long time ago, if he didn’t have someone who he can’t bear the thought of failing. His bloodlust is strong, but not quite as much as the dread that fills him when he thinks of Dean’s betrayed and disappointed face if he saw Benny losing against everything he’s been fighting. Dean who, once again, trusts him so blindly that he hasn’t even thought that Benny would be unable to control himself.

His fangs won’t go up. Instead, he makes them pierce through his own lip. He grunts in pain, but he smirks; the pain takes his mind off the red stains on the woman’s clothes. At least for long enough.

Dean notices the messy, ugly wounds on his lip, of course. All it takes is a look at him and then he’s turning his dismayed eyes to the victim, realizing only then what her smell would do to Benny. He sees a look of guilt on Dean’s eyes, but he shakes his head, and neither of them mention it. However, once in the car, Dean puts his hand on Benny’s shoulder and squeezes, smiles at him, and Benny knows he made Dean proud; he can’t help but grin as Dean leans in to kiss him softly, careful to avoid his wounded zone. He keeps smiling the rest of the way back home, which Dean makes in record time to feed him blood and heal him.

He knows he can’t fail. Won’t fail. Not as long as Dean believes the same.

#benny creations challenge #loveforbennynet #deanbenny #Benny Lafitte #Dean Winchester #my writing #I'm not really satisfied with this but meh

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doctor-who-hears-a-horton · 4 years

Text

Above Ground (Ten x Rose)

Rating: Teen

Summary: On Gallifrey, the humans who were born there are subjected to live below the surface in an underground society, separated from the Gallifreyans. School teacher Rose Tyler aims to change things, even if it costs her her own life.Prince Theta of Gallifrey has always thought there was more to the humans than meets the eye… And Rose Tyler proves him right.

Chapter 2/?

Chapter 1

Read it on AO3 here!

The fact that Rose had not been blown into the sky the second she had come above ground was enough to put her in shock, but the fact that she was now walking with someone that Rubro had called ‘your highness’ made her wonder if maybe she didn’t know the whole story, like she thought she did.

The man who had taken her waved off the others who were staring. “Justice will be served,” he said, giving an awkward thumbs-up. He took Rose by the arm and led her out of the courtyard that she’d come up into from the elevator. Surprisingly, his grip wasn’t rough or too strong, and he was more guiding her than dragging her about.

Outside of the courtyard, the world opened up. It appeared that the elevator had not been in the middle of any major hub, but instead, there was a huge field of red grass. Rose stumbled to a stop, staring out over it. The man looked over his shoulder at her and then past her before dropping her arm.

“Sorry about that. Have to keep up appearances in front of them, but… I can’t say that I think you’re dangerous.”

Rose just stared at him. Was she allowed to talk back to him? Would anything she say be held against her later? She had too many questions, but it was all overshadowed by the view in front of her. The artificial gardens and outside areas couldn’t even begin to compare to this sight alone. She swallowed hard, and stepped forward into the grass. The grass brushed against her legs and feet, touching her skin through her sandals. She felt real wind touch her cheeks and play with her hair. Suddenly, all her fear left her and she laughed.

The man just stared at her, completely dumbfounded. “Are you alright?”

She nodded. “Yes.”

“I- erm, my name’s Theta, I’m the crown prince, and-”

That was enough to snap her out of whatever daze she had been locked into. She felt her eyes widen as she stared at him. “I’d… Figured that you were someone important. I suppose a prince would make sense.”

He seemed to blush a little at that and looked away from her. “Uh. Yes. Well! I don’t mind all that, I barely want to be the crown prince anyway! Although, I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t interested in where you came from.”

Rose blinked. “You want to know about me?”

He shrugged, and didn’t seem to know what to do with his hands. “I’ve never seen one of the humans from underground up here before. I’m sure you’ve got loads of stories.”

She furrowed her brows at him. “Well, we don’t have that many stories. We’re not allowed to go anywhere.”

“A name, then?”

“Rose Tyler. I’m a schoolteacher.”

“Bloody good one, by the looks of it. Time Tots never follow their parents around the way those children were following you.”

“I didn’t coerce them!”

“I didn’t say you did!” Prince Theta held up his hands in surrender. “I’m not trying to assume anything or accuse you, I’m interested in where you came from. I would just take you to the dungeon if I wasn’t!”

She supposed he did have a point there. It would’ve been very easy for him to just drag her down into a prison, which was probably underground, but instead he was asking her questions. This was the opening she’d been waiting for.

She deflated a little bit, blowing your cheeks out. “You’re right, I’m sorry.”

“Let’s walk and talk, then! There’s lots to see, and no one will question if you’re with me.”

“And then off to prison?”

“Mm. I’m trying to come up with a solution for that. I don’t want to jail you for this, and I’m brilliant, so by the time we take a walk I’m sure I’ll have come up with something.”

“Brilliant, are you?”

“Oh yes. Top of my class, I was. The added travelling I did in my youth did help, as well. Don’t worry. You’re lucky I found you.”

He was a little cocky, Rose decided, but that didn’t necessarily mean that he was bad or wrong. He seemed to be genuinely interested in where the humans came from, and that was enough for Rose to offer him a tentative hand in trust.

Prince Theta grinned at her. “Come on, then! Tell me everything. Where do you all come from, what do you do?”

She laughed. “We’re born there. There’s not a lot more to it than that, to be honest. You sort of have to fit a mold, or else you won’t have a job. Not that having a job even matters because our currency is barely real. Crime is up the further underground you go, but we don’t really have a police force to combat it.” She looked up at him and saw concern written all over his face. “I brought those kids up with me because I want the Gallifreyans and Time Lords to understand what they’re doing to us. All we want to do is leave. Go back to Earth. Go somewhere else.”

“They always tell us there’s no crime underground.”

Rose smiled sadly. “Yeah? I guess that shouldn’t be too surprising. Those who come and check on us probably just want you all to think that we’re having the best time. But we’re glorified prisoners. “

Theta frowned. “Oh… I don’t… I never wanted that.”

She was already a bit distracted, staring up at the sky and not really paying attention to what Theta was saying. It was beautiful. It was blue, but there were hints of gold rippling throughout. Rose watched the light, thin clouds pass over her, and wondered how something so far away could look so close. She reached a hand up but pulled it back quickly, thinking about how foolish she must look.

“Ah… Would you like to sit? The grass is soft and there’s no bugs.” Theta gestured to the ground. Rose looked down at the red grass and smiled a little. She sat down without saying anything, still feeling a little nervous to look at him or say anything more.

He sat down about two feet away from her, elbows on his knees, and glanced over at her. “I… I don’t want to turn you in,” he said finally, after several moments.

She looked at him and tilted her chin. “Oh, then what do you want to do?”

“I want to help you.”

She blinked. “You what?”

“I want to help you.”

“How are you going to do that?”

He turned to face her. “I don’t know. But I want to see what you all go through. I want to see the underground.”

Rose blinked. “I guess I never thought about you never seeing it. But if I go back down… They won’t let me back up. I don’t want to risk that.”

Theta shook his head. “No, I- I wouldn’t let that happen. But I need to know more.”

Rose stared at him for a moment. This man who didn’t know her even a bit, had only seen her come up from the underground, and yet he was willing to help her. She knew there had to be a catch, there had to be something. She sighed, and tilted her head a little, regarding him carefully. He looked earnest. He looked like he meant it. But she didn’t know him. “I feel like I need to know more, too. Your highness, with all due respect, you could turn on me at any moment. I don’t know you.”

Theta blinked, and for a moment she thought he would get angry at her, but instead he just sighed heavily and nodded. “Well… We’ll have to find a way to trust each other, I suppose. Here, I’ll show you around a bit more.”

Rose nodded and got to her feet, wiping her hands off on her dull skirt. “Fine, then. Show me the rest of Gallifrey. Or, as much as we can cover for now.”

Theta smiled and jumped to his feet. “Brilliant! Come with me, then!”

Energy firmly back in place, they started walking through the grass, and Rose allowed herself to feel a little hope. She wanted to hope. She wanted to believe that it would turn out alright.

She continued following along with Theta, and while the field they were in was huge, there was still more beyond it. They came over the top of the hill, and from the peak looking down they could see a large city spread out before them. Rose stopped in her tracks, blinking hard. She’d never seen a city from this angle, it had always just been what was right in front of her. It baffled her, in a way, the amount that she had never seen perspective before, really.

“Wow,” she said softly. Theta watched her from beside her, a slight smile on his face. Experiencing something he’d seen a million times with someone who had never seen it before was a bit enlightening, if he was being honest.

The city kept with Gallifreyan tradition, as most of the buildings were encompassed in what looked to be glass spheres. The colors were dull, but she couldn’t keep herself from being completely interested. She wanted to know everything.

“What- What is this?” She asked finally.

“It’s called the Citadel. This is where I live, and most of the nobility as well. Past this is where the more middle-class families live, those who are Gallifreyans but aren’t Time Lords.”

“So… This is where the Time Lords live.”

“Yep!”

“And so… You’re a Time Lord.”

“I am. Not allowed to do a whole lot with it though, since they won’t let me off planet anymore.”

Rose looked to her, her eyebrows furrowed. “And why exactly is that?”

He rubbed the back of his neck with his hand, looking a little embarrassed. “I… I have the tendency to interfere in a way that my superiors didn’t want me to. They said it was dangerous, which I suppose it was, but I’ve always wanted to help people. Rassilon, I’m his successor, said that if I was to take his place I’d need to be alive to do so.”

“I suppose that’s fair.”

“Hm.”

“You don’t think so?”

He tilted his head to the side and squinted, considering. “No. Not really. I don’t want to be the crown prince, like I said. I was sort of chosen for this life.”

Rose looked back down at the city, deciding it would be best to change the subject, even if she wanted to press. He probably wouldn’t be willing to tell her much more than this for now, and she was afraid to make him angry. “I’m guessing if I go down there, I’ll be arrested immediately.”

“Not when you’re with me,” Theta crossed his arms over his chest and rocked back on his heels. “Although we would get a lot of questions. There’s a town a little ways away that has some excellent shops. If you’re hungry, we could make a stop there.”

Rose bit her lip. She was feeling a little hungry, and they needed to gain each other’s trust before they could start working on anything that could even constitute an alliance between them. It would be in her best interest to be in his good graces. He’d taken her this far already.

“Sure,” She said finally, “That would be nice.”

He grinned at her and nodded, leading her down from the fields.

#ten x rose #tenrose #tenth doctor #rose tyler #doctor who #tenpetals #raylu writes fic #ray lu writes fic #raylu ten x rose #raylu above ground

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hopemcilroy · 5 years

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3 Ideas

Idea 1 : 'Casepad'

Printable Phone Case Designs

This was one of my ideas when doing the crazy 8 idea generation exercise, so a very spontaneous one but also one of my favourites. This idea incorporates the idea of the user being able to design their own pattern for their phone case - whether that be a template, free-hand space to draw & create or to purchase pre-designed ones by some of their favourite designers, styles or even photographs. Jumping ahead into the future I thought it would be cool to collaborate with designers and help sell bundles.

The idea is to allow the user to be able to have their own pattern they designed printed onto a piece of card (cut to the model/shape of their device) and have it slot in behind a clear phone case, so the design is showing through. The users could create and, or buy individual prints or bundles of their choice or with themes behind them i.e. Christmas bundles - even looking at a subscription basis i.e. 3 a month.

Pros

I think this is a great way to allow users to create the ideal phone case they’ve always wanted - this idea allows the product to be versatile

It is a great way to explore their arty/creative side - experimenting with the app in all it’s creativity

I haven't seen a product out there like this, so that will help me when selling as it is unique. I also feel like their is a want for this in the market, to have phone case designs that you love.

Cons

It will be hard to decide which market of smart phones to go for, because it is a small business to start I won’t be able to cover all the models out there - could potentially lose customers

I am not that experienced in building an application so I would have to do a lot of research regarding that factor, in order for the buisness to run

This product maybe doesn't scream 'digital' and therefore it may lose credibility over the years

How would it be built?

I think I would use either Sketch or Illustrator, to design the UI of the product. Carrying on from one of the negatives, I am not sure how I could actually build the product, or if I could even do that in the timeframe.

Distributing the product, I’m thinking of starting with just Apple products, going probably as early as the iPhone 6 - just to keep the medium up to date.

Who is it for?

From 12-40, I know that is a broad class of people although with the designs being completely unique I feel it is possible to go quite versatile. Narrowing it down though to creative people, possibly designers who enjoy a little crafty, creative piece of art.

This is more seen as a fun project on the side, and perhaps a way for designers to show their creative styles to a potential employer.

What is the business model?

Initially I would create a few designs of my own to give the consumers a rough idea visually of what my product entails. Regarding pricing again, it could depend on the content the customer is purchasing, designers work could be more expensive than perhaps their own individual design - matters to consider.

I am thinking about selling the designs on the cards, either:

Individually : £2

Bundles i.e. 5 for £8

Subscription i.e. 3 a month for £5

All prices are rough for now, I will also need to think about potentially selling a clear phone case alongside the product also in order for it to work!

Idea 2 : 'Polavoid'

What to avoid with Polaroid and how best to use the cameras.

Again this was one of my ideas in the crazy 8. After recently receiving a Polaroid One Step 2 camera, I have loved it ever since and my passion for photography has grown. When I thought about photography packages and the amount of them, I thought, would this actually be a good idea? Although the more I explored this idea and after a little research, I discovered advice on Polaroid cameras wasn't really out there.

Initally I thought about creating a platform where you could sell your own Polaroid shots and the sellers could make a little money themselves. And then my mind also thought about incorporating or making separately a book/E-book on a few tips on how to create the perfect polaroid shot, what film to use, what model is best for you, the functionality of each etc. all in one place.

Pros

The main advantage of this product is that there are limited resources out there concerning Polaroids so this product would be perfect for those seeking a little more help / advice

I have my own Polaroid so I could use a few of my own shots to reference and give the audience a taster of my style, giving a true opinion

It could potentially be a great way to get your work out there, if I kept the selling point idea on.

Cons

Even though there aren't a lot of resources out there it still could be quite tricky to get my name out there, espeically not being a qualified photographer

The world of photography is changing so I need to be careful I don't create content that will become outdated quickly

Because I am not a qualified photographer it might be hard to help this product look genuine and gain the response I want, or even get clients to trust my opinion

How might it be built?

So for the design of the product, I will use Sketch or Illustrator regarding the UI aspects.

Then for actually selling the product, I have thought about either producing an E-book, a PDF document or a physical book (not digital?). If I keep the selling aspect I will produce that on a website platform, perhaps having a link to the guide of the Polaroid camera product.

Who is it for?

This product will be for those either thinking about purchasing a Polaroid, or those who already have one and want to learn a little more, aimed towards beginners. The target audeince is not age restricted in this case, just those who have a passion for Polaroid photography.

What is the business model?

In terms of selling the product, I think I would give away a small PDF document of a topic within the book and then the more the user would like, then I would start to charge (Freemium). I would charge the users a little each month for using the website as a selling platform, or possibly take a little from their profit as a means of charge.

Idea 3 : 'Subtle'

A bundle of presets used to filter photos

So following on from my love of photography, I thought of creating a set of presets to help edit photos. I have seen influencers post a pile of these and I always thought it would be pretty cool to have my own set - and what better opportunity to do so when we are creating our own digital products.

The idea is to sell bundles, or indivual presets I would edit myself that photogrpahers or even just people with a passion for photography woulld use to enhance their work.

Pros

This will save influencers/photographers a lot of valuable time, also improving the results of their work

It gives me an opportunity to explore new software like Lightroom etc. that I could potentially use in the future and I really think I could potentially make money from this project as a student.

This can enhance a photographer's brand identity, by creating a theme throughout their work - clearly showing the client what way they work, which would be a great way to promote this product.

Cons

These presets will not work for everyone's taste, so I need to make sure I make them individual enough, alongside making on's suitable for most people and so the work of a variety of photographers don't look the same

I will have to work hard to identify the best and most unique edits, to stand out from the thousands of presets avaliable

It might take a little getting used to the new software, but it is a challenge I am willing to take

How might it be built?

I will design these presets in Lightroom, after a lot of research it kept popping up and I am considering buying the Adobe package anyway. I will then have to decide what sort of presets I would like to make, depending on the style I would like to go for - I will consider that at a later date.

I have read of many photographers packaging out their presets to include variations of similar edits in one bundle, offering minor adjustments to their presets to allow variations - this will help present the buyers with a more applicable package of presets, instead of a single preset that they may have to adjust themselves (defeating the whole purpose of the ease of them).

I will then need to create an online store and create a blog to market the presets, primarily on my 'designedbyhope' Instagram page.

Who is it for?

This product will be for primarily photographers, or even just friends that have an interest in photography that aren't fully qualified - even just to edit their Instagram pictures.

What is the business model?

In terms of selling the product, I think I would sell a package of presets at a particular price - a few presets I've seen are around £15-£30 or more experienced photographers are more. Perhaps I will make a few collections and sell them separately depending on the themes, I could also think about selling individual ones alongside the collections - meaning everyone doesn't have to make such an investment. I will also provide examples of it used with my pictures for the customers to see the outcome.

#ixd302 #ixdbelfast

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shamelessmilkshakepanda-blog · 6 years

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Health insurance system in USA?

"Health insurance system in USA?

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