#meraki writing | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

petrichormeraki · 1 year

Text

Tips For Writing C!TommyInnit, From A Loser With Brainrot

Tommy is LOUD. Whether he's angry or excited or playing around, he's usually yelling. He is not aware of how loud he is unless he's specifically raising his voice to overpower the conversation (which he usually only does when he's angry at someone/thing, or to make a point). He's only quieter when he's serious, at peace, or very very sad

TOMMY IS SMART!!! He thinks things through when he has time to do so. He is strategic and considers other people's behaviors when he plans something out (ex building the tower overlooking the prison slowly, so Sam didn't get as suspicious, and making a point to only inhabit it when it was dark to be less noticed). Tommy knows how people act/think if he's familiar with them, and he uses that to his advantage.

However, Tommy's very impulsive, and his emotions overrun his brains very often. This happens the most when he's angry or scared.

Tommy lets people take pity on him 80% of the time. Unless it's a serious situation and he's trying to prove himself, (ex Logstedshire) he LOVES free shit and he very easily falls into the "oh poor little TommyInnit, he has no family to his name and is dirty and cold, won't you spare some netherite for his poor soul?" narrative.

Tommy is childish. He bickers over things that don't really matter and is the epitome of "he started it!!" when he gets in trouble. He also constantly nags at people until they cave to get what he wants. I have no idea how CC!Tommy plays being a youngest sibling SO WELL since he's an only child but that is exactly who C!Tommy is

Tommy is not brave. He hides behind people to avoid danger and he runs away from conflict if he can. The times where this didn't happen (Exile, Final Disc Confrontation, November 16th) were because he was backed into a corner, literally or figuratively, and was forced to fight back.

more under the cut bc this got very long lmao

Tommy is not very private UNLESS it concerns his past trauma. He will talk about what he's doing, every thought in his head, and what he thinks of everything he sees, UNLESS it's recounting what happened to him. Getting information like that from the source is like pulling teeth, even for people he trusts completely. The reasoning for this (best as I can tell anyway) is that he simply just doesn't want to relive it.

Tommy has a very black and white way of thinking about his allies. If someone helps his enemy, they are his enemy too. He doesn't really care about personal motivations or reasonings unless they're close to him (Tubbo) and he does not forgive easily.

However, he also recognizes power. When Tommy ran from Logstedshire, he ran to the person who killed his best friend because he knew Technoblade was very powerful against Dream. Another example is when he ran to Phil when Dream escaped prison and went after him, even though Phil destroyed L'manburg WITH Dream AND killed Wilbur, two things that Tommy vehemently hates him for. Tommy seemed to not be thinking very clearly when either of these events happened, so this may have been a purely impulsive decision made out of fear.

Tommy squirrels away his riches. He only breaks into his ender chest when he really needs the resources, ie diamond armor and weapons for a showdown. He actually has quite a lot of diamonds and gold if I recall correctly, but he still resorts to stone/iron tools and no armor in his day to day.

Kind of related to above, Tommy keeps momentos of people he cares about in his ender chest, where no one can reach them but him. He is terrified of losing these things because they remind him of when times were good, and he had people he loved. (This was actually said by him, I just don't remember the stream sorry ;;w;;)

Tommy is very stubborn. He doesn't cooperate very often and views the way he does things as the best way. The only time to my memory that he defaulted to someone else was when Wilbur was alive (L'manburg, Pogtopia)

Tommy likes maintaining his surroundings. This includes harvesting crops and replacing them, patching up creeper holes, and replacing missing blocks from his house or the Prime Path. He does these things without anyone telling him to, on his "down time" if you will, and doesn't really call attention to it

TOMMY LOVES ANIMALS. He doesn't like killing them and tries to eat carrots instead of killing for meat (although he doesn't seem to have qualms with eating meat that other people give him)

Tommy has a soft spot for kids/small creatures. He tried very hard to hate Michael because he was bitter about Ranboo and Tubbo's friendship but he broke almost instantly if I remember correctly. He fawns over "cute" things and gets thoroughly distracted from whatever he was doing if he notices a baby chicken or something

Tommy is rarely still. He almost always is doing something with his hands (ie building, chopping trees, etc) if he's in conversation with someone. The only times where he actually sits down and stops is when he's watching the sunset on his bench, or having a self reflection moment/processing heavy information.

I'll stop here, but I plan on making another post that more goes into his speaking mannerisms and whatnot. I hope this helps somebody trying to write C!Tommy, feel free to send me an ask if you have specific questions!!

#meraki post #dream smp #c!tommy #idk how to tag this lol sorry #writing advice #??#i love him a lot i hope this helps someone

716 notes · View notes

soulinkpoetry · 3 months

Text

Take pride in everything you create no matter if anyone else recognizes its worth or not.I believe it was Van Gogh that only sold one painting while he was still alive. Ultimately we create for ourselves and nobody else.

#creativity #comes from the heart #meraki #our souls #take pride in it #soulinkpoetry #poetry #thoughts #she writes #feelings #poets on tumblr #poets corner #writers and poets #poets community

46 notes · View notes

arts-and-drafts · 9 months

Text

Home Again (Hermempires Crossover)

(In which Tango and Jimmy stargaze on the roof of their new ranch in Tumble Town, and reminisce. This one is unbelievably sweet, it rotted my teeth writing it. Enjoy!)

CW: Mentions of death

"It's beautiful, Jimmy." Tango said, for what felt like the millionth time.

And for the millionth time, Jimmy smiled wide and flushed, shyly turning his eyes away from Tango's to the ranch he built earlier that day. Tango kept it up for two reasons; the first being that the ranch really was beautiful, and nostalgic, and the fact that Jimmy built it solely because Tango was here meant a million unsaid words.

The second reason is that Jimmy rarely smiled near the end of Double Life, and Tango missed it with an ache that surprised him. Now that they didn't have to expect death at every moment, Tango tried to make Jimmy smile every chance he got.

Turns out, when he wasn't fearing for his life, it was extremely easy. Jimmy smiled so much, and it never lost it's novelty. Not to Tango.

"I'm so glad you like it." Jimmy beamed, tipping his hat upwards to take in the cobblestone "R" at the very top. "I figured it fits right in."

"It sure does." Tango agreed warmly. He didn't feel like it was fair to attribute Jimmy's whole western aesthetic in this server to the short few weeks they spent together previously, but it was a beautiful coincidence. The ranch fit right in with Tumble Town's theme.

Jimmy's hat and badge suited him even better. Tango could tell his Soulmate stood a little taller with that title on his chest, and the responsibility fit him well. Now that he saw the person Jimmy had grown into, Tango couldn't imagine him being anyone else.

He hoped Jimmy was as respected as he looked he deserved to be. He had always deserved respect, to Tango, but the imp hoped that his Soulmate's appearance commended it from the other rulers in this server.

Jimmy was looking at him again, his smile turning shy. "What're you lookin' at?"

"Uh, nothing." Tango coughed, and turned his eyes away. "The hat is just very impressive."

"Isn't it?" Jimmy agreed with pride, readjusting it on his head. "That blue fire is something else, too, man! It's cool!"

"'Cool', you say?" Tango grinned cheekily and gestured to the frost pattern on his robes, and Jimmy laughed.

It was like sunshine, his laugh. Jimmy practically emanated light as he doubled over, hiccuping and giggling, and Tango had never felt warmer in his life.

"Stop," Jimmy giggled, getting ahold of himself and turning back to the barn as he waved an enthusiastic hand over his shoulder. "Come on, I want to show you the best part!"

Tango followed him, smiling all the way, as Jimmy started to climb a ladder propped against one of the barn posts. "I had to wait till it was getting dark."

Once Jimmy was a decent amount ahead, Tango started to climb as well, his excitement building purely from Jimmy's reaction.

Tango's head breached the trapdoor at the ladder's top, and he looked around to find Jimmy already smoothing out a blanket on the stable roof.

"Woah, a stargazing spot?" Tango grinned and climbed onto the roof to join his rancher.

"Yup!" Jimmy said, rising to his knees as he finished laying out the blanket, and turned his eyes to the sky. "It's also got a pretty good view of Tumble Town!"

Tango followed Jimmy's point and saw that yes, the part of town that was this side of the mountain was perfectly in view without strain. Illuminated by the softly glowing lanterns placed at the fronts of the buildings, it looked unbelievably quaint. If Tango didn't know better, he'd have easily believed this town had been here for at least a decade.

But he did know better, and he knew Jimmy built this whole place with his own two hands. It made the feat unbelievably impressive.

"It's beautiful." Tango said, for the millionth-first time. Jimmy's face lit up at the praise, just as before, but this time it was echoed by something soft.

"Thank you." The sheriff said, his eyes fond as they traced over the buildings. "It means a lot."

Jimmy's hand touched Tango's, and the imp curled his pinkie finger over the sheriff's and pressed their shoulders together. "Remember when you said you weren't a builder?"

Jimmy laughed, his eyes scrunching up. "I do! And I'm still not."

Tango gasped, and pulled away to whip around and stare at Jimmy like he was terribly offended. "Are you nuts?! Look at this place, Jimmy!" He waved an exaggerated hand at the sight before them, and Jimmy giggled again.

"This is downright beautiful! It's rustic!" Tango pressed, a smile pulling at his lips as he watched Jimmy's laughter. "And the way you used the stripped logs to make texture--'not a builder', I can't believe you!"

"Alright, alright!" Jimmy gasped through his laughing, pushing Tango's arm back down. "Thank you, I get it!"

Tango chuckled along with Jimmy's giggles, the two of them fading into a comfortable silence. Jimmy's hand had traveled from Tango's bicep to his hand, and he didn't pull away.

"I--I missed you." Jimmy said, quietly, and didn't meet Tango's eyes when he looked at him. His focus had turned to the stars, and Tango saw the whole sky reflected in Jimmy's eyes.

"I missed you too, buddy." Tango smiled softly, and maneuvered his hand to hold Jimmy's properly. They were close enough that the imp heard Jimmy's breath catch at the movement, and for a moment he worried he overstepped.

But then Jimmy's hand squeezed his, and a rush of a different heat than Tango was used to warmed his chest.

"Do you still--" Jimmy cut himself off and cleared his throat, staring stubbornly at the sky. Tango furrowed his brow. "...Still what?"

"We're not Soulmates anymore." Jimmy said plainly. "You don't--I mean, you don't have to be here anymore."

Tango blinked. Jimmy's hand was solid as a rock in his own, as if he had tensed it so it wouldn't shake.

"I'd argue we are." Tango said, softly, and Jimmy's gaze snapped away from the stars to look at him with wide eyes. Tango smiled in response.

"I can't feel your pain anymore, but you--the portal I went through lead right to you." Tango continued. "Can you imagine the chances of that?"

Tango squeezed Jimmy's hand gently. "I'm pretty sure that means the universe wants us together, man. And...I do too."

It was Tango's turn to look away, heat flushing his face. "If--if you'll have me."

"Yeah." Jimmy said, immediately, his voice sounding a little strangled. Tango turned back to him, and saw Jimmy's eyes were shining brighter than the stars above combined. "I would."

END.

#surprise! i CAN write things other than angst!#this was originally gonna end in a kiss but i thought it was so sweet in that final paragraph that i left it there #hermitcraft fic #empires fic #team rancher #trafficshipping #tangimmy #meraki post #tw death mention #just to be safe lol #im never going to stop thinking about these guys they've permanently altered my brain #you're honor they're home to each other #do i tag double life? it only mentions it #hmmmm

64 notes · View notes

twstchaos · 11 months

Text

“im making gyros, anyone want”

I wanted domestic Idia X Kore, so I made myself domestic Idia X Kore with a heaping side of me craving gyros.

Characters: Kore Meraki (OC) and Idia Shroud

Word Count: 1,659

I referenced a lamb gyro recipe for this fic and you can check it out here~

I am opening up writing requests and am willing to write pretty much anything within reason.

Please enjoy~

~~~

Kore laid out the various ingredients over the kitchen counter, additionally taking into the count the collection of spices stored in the cupboards. She picked up her phone to check if anyone responded to her text. Nothing.

“Guess, I’ll just make for myself…” she mumbled to herself, sliding back to the recipe tab. Kore read the directions to herself before starting. As if by instinct, she pulled upon the oven door, checking if it was empty before preheating.

“I–I would like one…”

Kore spun around to see Idia standing in the doorway, twiddling his thumbs.

“Alright, you could’ve just told me in the chat, though.”

He shook his head.

“I also wanna maybe help you.”

“You? Wanting to help me cook?” She placed her hands on her hips. “Who are you and what have you done with my dorm leader?” Kore teased.

“Oh hush, I’ll let you know that I passed the Master Chef course.” Idia crossed his arms over his chest and huffed.

“And I’m so proud of you for doing so~” Kore laughed. “But sure, you can help. The recipe is on my phone, and I just preheated the oven.”

Idia nodded as he picked up her phone, nearly dropping it after the screen lit up, revealing her wallpaper. No matter how many times he has seen the picture of Kore kissing his cheek, he still gets butterflies in his stomach.

“Didya read it yet?”

Idia jumped when he saw Kore standing in front of him.

“Ack, not yet.” He quickly unlocked her phone and skimmed through the recipe. He tilted his head to the side as he read the ingredients list. “Hm? You don’t usually use lamb.”

“Wanted to try something new,” she responded with a shrug. “Okay, so Mister Master Chef, what’s the next step?”

Idia read over the recipe again, then he looked over the counter. “You didn’t set up the pan.”

Kore smiled at him. “Good eye.” She dug in one of the bottom cupboards for a suitable loaf pan. Then, per the recipe, she lined it with aluminum foil. “Alright, what’s next~?”

Idia reread the recipe to himself again. “It says to mix the ground lamb, grated red onion, and all the herbs and spices together in a bowl.”

Kore placed a large mixing bowl on to the clear part of the counter, then she plucked a red onion from the dish of various vegetables.

“I still don’t understand why it’s called a ‘red’ onion when it’s purple.” Idia commented, watching as Kore removed the red skin, discarding it into the brown paper bag.

Kore chuckled as she brought out the grater from a cupboard. “Did you actually want an answer to that or are you just saying things?”

“Yeah, yeah, I know miss ‘historically, there was no such thing as purple, so they used other colors to describe it’.”

“Good to know that you do listen to my historical rants.” Kore grated the onion into tiny pieces.

Idia cautiously eyed the sharp metallic surface and her fingers. As her fingers dipped nervously close to the edge, he winced as if his own fingers were sliced.

Kore watched him out of the corner of her eye.

“Don’t worry, I won’t slice myself.” She placed the half-grated onion on the cutting board, then she turned towards him, placing a soft kiss on his lips. “Plus, I have you to care for me if I do.”

His hair flashed pink as he hid his blush in the crook of her neck. “Stop,” he whined. Kore giggled, hugging him closer.

“Well, this looks like enough ‘redness’ for this recipe.” She teased, letting Idia go to return back to cooking. He fumbled with his girlfriend’s phone to look over the recipe again.

“...and all the herbs and spices…could have specified what they meant by ‘herbs and spices’,” complained the Ignihyde dorm leader.

“That usually means that you can use any seasoning blend.” Kore grabbed two plastic bottles and two shakers from another cupboard. “So, we could use this for the ‘herbs and spices’ and some salt, pepper, and garlic powder.” She placed the four containers on to the counter then grabbed a knife from the block and sliced open the plastic wrap and plopped the raw lamb into the metallic mixing bowl.

“Would you like to do the honors?” Kore held out the dish filled with the grated onion to Idia.

“Uh, sure.” He took the dish from her and dropped its contents into the bowl and turned back to Kore. She was busying herself with measuring out the seasonings into smaller dishes.

“Go ahead and add ‘em in while I finish measuring out the rest.” And he did, piling the emptied dishes in a neat tower in the sink. Kore added in the last of the seasonings before returning the bottles and shakers back into the cupboards.

Idia cringed as he recalled the next step in the recipe and his experience during the Master Chef program.

“Ugh, I don’t wanna touch the raw meat,” he whined, pushing Kore towards the bowl.

“Fine, you big baby, I’ll mix it.” She rolled her eyes, digging through a drawer for a pair of gloves. Kore slipped the gloves on and began to squish the ingredients, mixing the raw lamb, grated onion, and seasonings together.

Idia watched in silence as she mixed the food. His arms snaked their way around her waist and his chin rested on her shoulder. Kore chuckled, leaning her head against his.

“This feels nice,” she said as she continued to mix. “Very domestic.”

“Yeah,” Idia agreed, hugging her tighter.

Once the ingredients were sufficiently mixed, Kore pulled the loaf pan closer, sliding in the mix. She hummed to herself as she flattened the meat to fit snugly into the pan. Still with Idia attached to her, Kore rolled her eyes as she dragged him towards the oven.

“Idia, you gotta let go.”

“Nah.” He squeezed tighter. Kore sighed as she pulled open the oven door and slid in the loaf pan. She turned around in his arms, facing his front and wrapping her arms around his neck.

“Now we wait half an hour for the meat to cook. Have any suggestions on how we should spend our time?” Kore teased, pulling his head closer, their lips nearly touching.

“I have one…” Idia mumbled while slowly closing the space between them.

“And I have another one.” She smirked, pulling away. “Prepping the toppings.” In response, Idia pouted with a huff. To which, Kore chuckled.

“Alright, one kiss, then prep.” She gave him a kiss before turning back towards the strewn about ingredients. Idia finally let go of his beloved, taking his place next to her to attempt to help prepare the toppings.

“So, what do we need to do?” asked Idia, carefully following Kore’s actions and pulling a random knife out of the knife block.

“Well, first, we gotta grab you another knife, because that’s the good bread knife.” Kore took the knife from him, slipped it back into its respective slot, and pulled out another, smaller in size with a serrated blade. “This one is mainly for slicing up veggies, so that’s what you’ll be in charge of.”

Idia nodded as the knife along with a wooden cutting board, two tomatoes, and the remaining half of the red onion were laid out in front of him. He picked up the knife in his left and awkwardly held down a tomato with his right. Slowly, Idia began to saw into the red flesh.

“Don’t forget, you’re dicing that, so make four slices.” Kore reminded, watching as he cut into the tomato. Idia painstakingly slowly sliced the tomato into four uneven slices. She then instructed him to cut up the slices in a grid pattern. The first clump of diced tomatoes came out wonky but as he sliced up the other three, his technique improved. With a confident smirk, Idia slid the diced up tomatoes to the side and began work on the second with much neater cuts.

Idia giggled, satisfied with his accomplishment. “I did it.”

“Good job.” She moved the diced tomatoes off of the cutting board and into a small bowl. “Now, let's see how you handle the onion.”

Idia glanced beside her and noticed that the head of lettuce that once sat in front of her was now completely deconstructed and shredded in a plastic bag next to his bowl of diced tomatoes. He wondered to himself how she was able to get that done so quickly.

“So, how do I cut this? Also diced?” He grabbed a paper towel from the dispenser and wiped the tomato juice off of the knife.

“The recipe calls for sliced, but you can dice ‘em if you want to. I’m fine with either.”

With an eager smile, Idia held down the onion and prepared to dice.

“Dicing onions is different from dicing tomatoes.” Idia stopped, just barely breaking the skin.

“To dice an onion, y’see that weird rooty bit? That’s the root, face the tip of the knife towards it and cut vertically.” He did as Kore told her, the cuts coming out wonky and uneven.

“Alright, hold the onion tight and carefully cut horizontally into it.” Idia was hesitant. He awkwardly held the onion, doing his best to avoid slicing into his fingers.

“Now, face your knife parallel to the root and chop to the root.” Idia watched as after each slice, the onion fell into tiny bits till all that was left was the diced up onion and the root end in his hand.

“Congrats, you now know how to dice a tomato and an onion,” Kore said with a smile. She checked the timer for the lamb on her phone. “Hmm, we still have a lot of time before the meat is done.” Kore smirked, hugging his waist and pulling him closer. “Wanna circle back to your idea to pass the time?”

#michi writes #kore meraki #twst oc #idia shroud #idia shroud x oc #twst fanfic #twisted wonderland #disney twst

10 notes · View notes

west-tokyo-incidents · 8 months

Text

I want to write Mother but I also don't want to break the illusion of mystery for what he is, DOES THAT MAKE SENSE??

#like i want to write garion crying to him like a child cries to god #or father performing carnal acts of worship for mother #or Meraki singing with him #BUT ALSO LIKE???#i feel like if i describe mother in any way its gonna like. destroy whats in my head #does that make sense #ress talks

2 notes · View notes

uaravsh · 9 months

Text

meraki

[may-rah-kee] adj. •Greek

--------------------------

when you do something with soul, creativity or love ; putting a piece of yourself into what you do.

#meraki #definition #beautiful words #dark academia #tumblrpost #literature #word of the day #writing #relatable #lit #art

3 notes · View notes

michellegflye · 2 years

Text

Meraki, a risk worth taking.

lol. Of course. I have sold literally dozens of a certain book recently. Great news, right? (Keep in mind I don’t sell dozens of books usually.) Except I don’t actually like this particular book… It’s not a badly written book. I don’t write bad. It’s even got a more complex plot than some of my simpler romances. It’s just that I tried an experiment with this one and I don’t think it worked.…

View On WordPress

#haiku #learning curve #love #magic #meraki #nature #photography #poem #poetry #romance #villanelle #words that mean something #writing

2 notes · View notes

meraki-yao · 7 months

Text

RWRB Movie Analysis: The Placement of Alex's Speech

Alright I’m really fucking sick of people complaining about the placement of the speech. (I swear, I write half of these essays out of irritation. But I’m happy while doing it so it all checks out)

Two things.

Regarding Henry’s consent

Use context clues people. Henry says, “Your speech was beautiful. Made me very proud to be your boyfriend.” It’s clear that Henry approves of the speech.

Again, what can be shown explicitly is restricted by the format. The point of Henry’s montages during the speech is to show how trapped and helpless he is in the situation. (for more, I wrote about it here.) The scenes need to keep that atmosphere/feeling of isolation and pain. If let’s say, we have a scene where the prime minister asks Henry about admitting and coming out, it would take away the consistent feeling of Henry’s pain. Cinematically, it won’t work. But that doesn’t mean in universe, it didn’t happen.

Also, Alex fucking loves Henry with every inch of his soul. He’s willing to fight for them, but he’s also willing to be patient for him. After getting his feelings sorted out and knowing with 100% clarity that he’s in love with Henry, he is never, ever going to do something that so obviously would hurt Henry. He would rather get hurt himself than hurt Henry. (Corresponding Book Quote: “Alex wants to go to war for this man, wants to get his hands on everything and everyone that ever hurt him.”) He wouldn’t make the speech without knowing Henry is okay with it. He just wouldn’t, that would straight up be out of character. So the fact that he did, means one way or another, he has Henry’s consent. And Henry later approving the speech in the piano scene, proves that. (It’s completely possible that the script itself meant to explain it this way, but if at any point they might have explicitly discussed coming out, my guess would be the Kensington breakfast scene, Prime, I’m coming for your hard drives—)

Regarding the placement of speech

There are two reasons for this.

One irl reason, is again, the format of the medium, and movie story telling. You want the tension to continuously build, increase and move upwards, then get a big but concrete resolution, and then this part is over. Having the speech as a conclusion after the balcony wave will not feel as well resolved as directly having the speech, then ending this part of the story with the big, big protest and balcony wave.

But there’s a diegetic/ in universe reason as well.

A lot of people, especially those who complain that Movie Alex is a himbo (also spite writing an essay on that, WIP, stay tuned), forget that Alex is a budding politician, and in fact, is a damn good one.

He, despite being kind of confused about his sexuality (read this essay for more), figures out Miguel’s flirting is mostly trying to get his statements for his articles, and in a fairly polite and classy way, Alex declines. (The state dinner slip was because he was way too entranced by Henry) He was a speaker at the DNC. His Texas campaign ultimately won Ellen the election.

When is comes to these things, he knows what he’s doing, and he’s good at what he does.

Making the speech before the crown can make a statement, was a strategic move.

Henry told Alex about his grandfather’s stance on this during the Paris date. He also told, well, yelled at Alex about the pressures he has from the crown during the Kensington confrontation. Alex knows the King will disapprove of their relationship and attempt to shove Henry into the closet.

So he has to be the one to control the narrative. He needs people to listen to, and believe in his, or rather, their side of the story.

And here’s a bit about human psychology. When receiving a new piece of information, our first impression and subsequent judgement of said information tends to be persistent. If we are provided with a second piece of contradicting information, we will tend to treat the second piece with much more criticism and suspicion. The mindset would be “prove to me the first one is wrong” instead of “Which one of these is right”.

Therefore, for Alex to get more people on his side, he must speak first.

(I almost imagine this is the reason the White House blocked communication with the palace. That bugged me for a while, until I thought, if the White House doesn’t block communication and receive a demand from the palace, they aren’t really on grounds to refuse it without a diplomatic mess. It’s the equivalent of avoiding talking to someone you don’t want to approach with the excuse “Oh my phone was off sorry”)

Imagine it. If the crown does what the King originally proposed and claims all the emails are fabrications and denies that Henry is gay and in a relationship with Alex, then Alex’s speech will be viewed through tinted glasses of “this is a fabrication, this is a lie” and it will take much more persuading for people to believe in Alex, because their first judgement of the issue, would be the crown’s lie of a narrative.

But by making the speech first, people’s first judgement of the issue, would be Alex’s explanation, of it being an invasion of privacy, and of it being true. Even if the crown denies it, with the first judgement being Alex’s narrative, it would make it much easier to see through the lie, because in people’s head, they already assumed that Alex is telling the truth.

By making the speech first, Alex has won both himself and Henry, the pen to write history.

Making the speech first is in no way Alex disrespecting Henry.

By playing politics and strategy, Alex is protecting Henry in the most familiar way he knows.

#rwrb #red white and royal blue #rwrb movie #alex claremont diaz #henry fox mountchristen windsor #henry hanover stuart fox #firstprince #nicholas galitzine #taylor zakhar perez #rwrb thoughts #i am so sick of people criticising these things without actually thinking #alex fucking loves henry alright #i usually write from henry's pov because I get him more #first time writing alex pov #fun though #got to pull out my psyc notebook for this lol #rwrb analysis #meraki essay

268 notes · View notes

merakiui · 7 months

Text

while in captivity, floyd encounters a human and unintentionally pair-bonds with you during a moment of biological vulnerability.

(cw: gender neutral reader, nsfw, omegaverse/abo, heats, captivity)

The marine lab has recently acquired a unique specimen—unique in that he is half-human and half-fish, hailing from deep, dark, indescribable depths. An eel merman, to be exact. You’ve only ever glimpsed merfolk in outdated textbooks and fairytales, the latter of which depicted them as whimsical beings capable of feats beyond scientific understanding. Magic. Although in the realm of biology, such folly is never entertained and so what the world calls ‘magic’ other fields built upon the foundations of research refer to it as a ‘miracle’. In your eyes those words are interchangeable, but then the idea of a miracle is far easier to digest than the concept of magic.

Merfolk have always been elusive, covert creatures, hence why there is hardly any conclusive data on them. In fact, they’re so secretive that they were believed to be mostly extinct—a figment of dreams and hallucinations. Most of what humans know stems from the tattered notes of long-gone sailors, their presences nearly lost to time itself, and for a while all anyone ever knew were four key details:

They are spread throughout the sea, living out their lives in frigid fathoms.

They are hypnotic and deceptive.

They are predatory.

They rarely interact with humankind unless absolutely necessary (e.g. to hunt or observe).

But with plenty of promising technological advances, some of the theories and myths surrounding merfolk have been bolstered or disproved, respectively. Merfolk are just as diverse as the rest of the animal kingdom. Some live in solitude. Others thrive in groups. Some make their home out of caves and grottos. Some dwell within the labyrinths of volcanic rock formations. It is every marine biologist’s dream to come face to face with one of these mysterious creatures, if only for just a few minutes to glean more information.

That dream is made reality today.

The eel mer was discovered off the coast of a tiny island, entangled in fishing lines and plastic litter. His large, winding body, snake-like in its sleek build, was littered with scars and scrapes. There was a hook lodged up in the folds of his gills. Despite his thrashing, his tail swishing wildly in the sand and nearly knocking down three researchers like they were bowling pins, he was wheezing and gasping, drained of energy and air. When the first bucket of seawater came down upon his dry gills, he settled briefly, wide, crazed, mismatched eyes flicking from face to face. Likely assessing the situation or counting the amount of bodies, the report claimed.

He fell still after that, and it took two teams of ten people to load him onto the lift so he could be flown to the lab.

After he spent a week in recovery, where he healed surprisingly fast, he was transferred to a much larger and wider tank, its depths far deeper than the average swimming pool. He doesn’t swim to the surface much, and he only ever pokes his head out at night, scanning his surroundings with intelligent, keen eyes. And then he turns and disappears below. It’s a pattern he’s stuck to for weeks now. No one really understands it, and they haven’t had the opportunity to try. He’s uncooperative and unpredictable. It’s much too dangerous to send a diver down there.

So they transfer you to his enclosure, assuming you might have more luck. You’re not sure and you can’t make any promises of potential success, as you’ve only ever interacted with marine mammals. A merman is…different. Not only because he’s half-man and, by that same logic, likely possesses a human brain that is capable of a higher level of thought, albeit one that is wired to suit his mer biology, but because he’s bigger. A lot bigger.

He could kill you.

You saw the documentation. The serrated teeth, the powerful claws, the dangerous jaw, the bulky, muscular build that cuts through water like a bullet. He is a predator in every sense of the word, and you’re supposed to look after him. Coax him to the surface. Get him to trust humans. Interact with him just inches from the edge of his tank and hope that he doesn’t get hungry or violent.

He might kill you.

But there are safety measures put in place for these things. Ethics to be followed and whatnot. It’s a slippery slope because he’s part human and therefore could possibly have the same level of intelligence humans have, in which case it would be wrong to trap him here. There may be ways to skirt around it with other animals, but he’s not like other animals.

For now, he’s kept here under the pretense of recovery and scientific study. The lab treats him like the big fish he is, going so far as to buy a shark suit in your size and instruct you to wear it even though you’re not going to get in the water. “It should prevent him from biting through,” they had said, “but it won’t lessen the force of his bite.”

“What good will that do? I can’t fight him off.” Though you knew it had nothing to do with anything, you added, “I’m an omega. Merfolk might not have the same sub-genders as we do up on the surface—or maybe they do; I don’t know—but if he were human he’d definitely classify as an alpha. Put that into perspective. I can’t. Fight. Him. Off. It’s biologically impossible.”

“So you poke his eyes. Dig your fingers into his gills. He should let go of you then.”

“That’ll hurt him,” you protested, clutching the suit to your chest.

“Not as much as he’ll hurt you.”

You suppose it’s a clinical priority. Survival of the fittest, but it’s the human who has to live. The lab could afford to lose you, but they don't want to. And if they did, they might put the mer down. Shoot him up with enough tranquilizers to keep him comatose. Maybe it only bothered you because, yet again, he’s half-human and no one on the team knows the extent to which he thinks and functions.

To simplify it, they consider him a shark. But like any creature, sharks learn and adapt as they go. Death is instinct.

He will kill you.

But you don’t want to think like that, which is why you put on your best smile and trudge into the enclosure he’s being kept in. The tank looms before you, seawater clear and beamed through with streaks of light from the harsh, glaring LEDs above. The deeper the water gets, the darker the shadows. You press your palm against the glass, observing the murky darkness with a frown. Somewhere in this tank, at a depth you can’t even imagine, is an eel merman. A big, strong, powerful, scary eel merman.

You swallow a steadying breath, curl your fingers into fists, and climb the spiral staircase to get to the attached platform. Your reflection follows you with each step, countenance set in grim confliction. Once you reach the top, you peer out at the surface of the pool, listening to the droning hum of water filters and other hidden machinery. There’s a very shallow part of the tank, a dip in the design that allows for the mer to lounge if he so pleases. You’re reminded of the dolphins in live shows, who slide up onto their stomachs to face an awestruck audience. You doubt that’s what he’ll use this ledge for. If anything, it could allow a researcher to kneel in the shallows while they interact with him at an intimate propinquity.

You don’t plan on being that researcher.

Instead, you pace a healthy distance away from the edge, holding a bucket of his breakfast in one hand and a notebook in the other.

“Um!” You cringe at your voice as it reverberates around you in a nervous echo. Cautiously, you inch towards the water. “I have your food!”

You wait three seconds, expecting him to come bursting up from the darkness like the shark everyone wants to delude themselves into thinking he is. The water remains still and unbroken. You wonder if your voice can even reach such a depth. If not the sound, the vibrations might. Or maybe he’s resting. It’s still relatively early in the morning. Perhaps his sleep schedule is thrown off. Yours would be if you were taken from your home and dumped in a manufactured version of your habitat.

You lurch forwards with the bucket and watch as a collection of shrimp, crab, and small fish soar through the air in a sloppy arc before landing and sinking into the waiting depths below. Nothing happens. The tension in your body ebbs away, and when it becomes clear that he isn’t coming up to greet you and feast on your offering you relax completely, collapsing against the wall with a great sigh.

If they really want to study him, they should just watch him on the security feed, you think, peering up at the camera in one corner of the room, its red eye fixated on you and the surrounding enclosure. He’s not going to come up during the day. Not when there are humans walking around.

Still, you wait your shift out, scribbling nonsense in your notebook and occasionally glancing up to gauge the state of the water.

The mer doesn’t show, so you resolve to try again.

Try you do, and try you have.

It’s been one week of perfunctory routine, arriving and feeding him at the same time in hopes that he might understand what you’re doing and come up to investigate. Or, at the very least, recognize you’re a recurring figure in his chapter of captivity. You don’t intend on befriending him. You only wish to fulfill your duties as a researcher, however skewed they may have become. Even though you know you ought to be grateful the mer hasn’t caused any problems, you want something to happen. Anything! At this rate, you’d sooner tire yourself out playing with rowdy sea lions than sit around in silence while waiting for an appearance from him.

It’s a quiet Tuesday afternoon when the first beat of unrest hits.

The mer’s enclosure is kept at a comfortable temperature for humans; it’s the water that’s freezing below the surface. So when you step up onto the platform and peer into the chum-infested deep, the empty bucket now set aside, you feel warmer than usual. Odd, considering the room is normally so chilly. Not extremely so, but chilly enough to give way to a pleasant cold.

Tugging at the collar of your shark suit, you cover the distance to stand under a large fan situated just near the dip in the pool. Cool air kisses your heated skin, providing you with much-needed relief, and you peer up at the propellers that spin in endless circles. Around and around and around. Your eyes follow the motions until you dizzy yourself, and you step back on wobbly legs. Your foot misses the metal platform and instead slips into the ledge built in the tank. With a startled yelp you fall backwards, landing in the shallows on your rear.

“Of course,” you mumble, bitter with embarrassment. “Leave it to me to fall right into the predator’s tank.”

You scoot further up onto the ledge, staring at the water below. It’s quite calm here, where the shallows lap languidly at your waist. If you were delusional, you might think this was a jacuzzi pool that you could dip your toes in. It’s not. Of course it isn’t. Not when there’s a beast lurking just below. But while you’re here, you run your hands through the saltwater while your own body temperature rises as if it’s a hungry flame in a stone hearth.

You place your hands on either side of the ledge, intending to push yourself up and onto the platform, when something tightens inside of you. Your heart stumbles in your chest and you lose the strength in your arms at once. With a noisy splash, you flop back into the shallows, your compromised body rigid and shaky with a tingling, all-encompassing warmth. Horrified, you raise two fingers to your pulse to feel it stutter wildly beneath your skin.

Swallowing thickly, you lower your head onto your arms and wait for the feeling to pass. The seconds slip by and in that short amount of time your state seems to worsen. Your temperature is volcanic, your every sense restless, and you’re sweating through the shark suit as if you’ve just run a marathon and more.

“Not now,” you hiss, slapping your hands upon your face. “Please not now. Anything but now…”

You intend to haul yourself up and out for good this time, desperate to get as far from the pool before your brain is completely overrun by your encroaching heat and robust omega instincts, when fingers brush against your leg. Something chitters behind you, a low, slow sort of sound that is shot through with curiosity. You turn as if you’re frozen in ice, your heart in your throat and senses on high alert.

The eel mer is right there, clutching your ankle in a firm grip. Not to hurt you, but to keep you there. And you’re not at all in a hurry to leave. Not when those claws are so close to your calf, capable of shredding through to your very bones. Even with the shark suit, you worry. He stares at you with narrowed eyes, his head angled in a cute, childish way. He appears confused and rightfully so, considering you’re a creature he’s likely never interacted with so closely before. You mirror his befuddlement, your brows furrowed, lips creased in a thin line.

For a long while, the two of you watch each other. If you look past his predatory design, he’s quite pretty with his smoky teal coloration and dark stripes. Your gaze pans over to the water, where a long, powerful tail disappears below. The paranoid side of you says he’s going to drown you, but then he doesn’t seem outwardly malicious in his intentions.

“Um…”

He flinches at the sound of your voice, his head snapping up to your throat and then your lips. Your attempt to pull your captive leg back is thwarted when he lurches, rising out of the water to grab hold of your foot. You gasp and shake your head at him, your senses sharp and dull all at once. Your heat-addled mind just barely parses the threat of danger, looming and ever-present.

“Please,” you beg, your tone sticky and breathless. “Don’t…”

The mer tilts his head the other way. The fins where his ears might be if he were human shiver, as if listening to the desperation in your syllables. He chirrups, lips widening in a sharp-toothed smile, and then he’s dragging you towards him. Panic seizes your nerves and you dig your palms into the smooth basin in an effort to get away. His expression falls when he notices your struggle and he lifts himself onto the ledge with you, draping himself over your legs like an oversized rug.

“Wait… H-Hold on; get off!” You grunt and weakly prod at his chest. He doesn’t budge. “You… You’re heavy!”

His webbed hand closes around your waist, steadying you in the shallows, while his other arm cages you beneath him. Instinctively, you arch into his touch, your breath coming in tiny, frenzied huffs. He clicks at you, and words that you can only assume are meant to be gentle and soothing are produced in a sweet melody. It relaxes you more than you’d like to admit, a lyrical balm to your terror.

You squeeze your eyes shut and brace yourself for the worst. For the searing pain and the stinging agony. For the blood that will color the water a dark, foreboding red. For the sight of him merrily tearing into your jugular, his maw spattered with crimson. But none of that ever comes. He cradles your face next, his thumb running along your cheekbone, and slowly you peel your eyes open. His face is inches from yours, looking on with an intensity that’s almost primal.

Warily, you lift your arm out of the water and touch his hand. It’s much bigger in contrast to yours, but he’s handling you with such immaculate tenderness.

“You’re not going to hurt me…” you mutter, amazed. “You’re just curious.”

As if responding, he chitters. You nod even though you have no idea what he said. He doesn’t smell like an alpha or an omega or a beta. You’re not even sure if he’s capable of releasing pheromones, but if he were you’re certain it would have driven you much crazier than you already feel.

You hold his stare and reach up to pat his cheek, and he leans into your careful touch. Your hand soon trails down to trace his lateral lines, which earns you a pleased hum. You watch in awe as the gills on either side of his body flutter.

Led on by your own wonder, you follow the pattern to his waist and press your thumbs into his hip bones beneath smooth, slippery skin. “How fascinating… I wonder if it’s possible to take an X-ray. Would you allow—oh!”

Clumsily, he lifts you into his arms to embrace you, rolling his hips against the chainmail shark suit. Your breath hitches, and you fumble to grasp his broad shoulders.

“Ah, w-wait. I’m not… You can’t…”

He clicks thrice and lowers you into the shallows, his face scrunched in annoyance. You think he might’ve understood you, but then he’s palming between your legs and it occurs to you that he wants the suit off. Carnal delight shivers through you at the prospect of being wanted to such a degree, and though you know it’s the heat muddling your sensibility you can’t help indulging him just a little. You undo the zip at the back and slide it from your body, revealing your shoulders and bare arms for his wandering, mismatched hues. He leans in to nose at your scent glands, chattering happily as he inhales. You can’t understand a word, but he sounds pleased—even more so when he runs his hands along your arms, squeezing and petting in equal measure.

His tongue laves across your neck, and what fragile restraint you have left snaps. You cling to him like he’s your anchor, meeting his searching hips halfway with every awkward thrust that doesn’t quite connect as it should. You chew your lip, tamping down a torrent of filthy moans. Your mind is clouded with lust and instinct, and you dig your fingers into his hair, holding him against your neck while he continues to lick and nip.

It feels right up until the haze parts momentarily, allowing temporary sobriety when you spy the tip of something poking free of its encasing. Dazed and inquisitive, you reach between your bodies to prod at his slit, hoping to coax more of his prehensile cock from out of its folds. But then the door below opens and the mer lifts himself from off of you, his head turning in the direction of the sound at an alarming speed. You blink up at him, lazily following his line of sight. His lip curls up in a silent snarl, the beginnings of razored teeth peeking out, and then he slithers back into the water, his hands lingering on your ankles.

Despite the dizziness you sit up, your arm outstretched. “Wait, don’t go!”

I didn’t get to cum yet. You didn’t even claim me either…

He peers at you, neutral for all of a minute before swimming over to you. He presses his face into your palm, chittering softly. There are footsteps on the stairs, and he grits his teeth, withdrawing completely before turning and diving under in a spray of seawater.

You fall back into the shallows, panting like a starved, feral monster. A researcher comes to your aid, her expression equal parts shocked and disturbed. You don’t catch her questions, each one tacked onto what feels like a ceaseless rant, while she helps you to your feet. Something about danger. About heats. About omega biology. About how the researchers watched the both of you on the cameras, swelling with queries of their own.

“I’m not sure,” you mumble as you’re helped down the stairs, stumbling in a heat-drunken stupor. Thankfully, your fellow researcher is an omega like you and that relaxes the hypersensitive part of you—the part that fears being taken advantage of when you’re vulnerable like this. But the needier, greedier part of you wants the mer—wants his hands and mouth all over you, ripping you free from your suit and indulging in the bare skin beneath. “I think he...wanted to help…”

No one can explain his behavior. But it seems promising.

While you’re led from the room, the eel mer stalks you from the gloomy confines of his tank.

In the days following your heat, you return to the marine lab with your head on your shoulders and are immediately barraged with requests. Amongst all of them, one common demand stands out: You have to get him up to the surface again. Part of you doesn’t want to face the mer again. When you truly mulled over that day, tossed the memory of it around in your mind like it was a tennis ball, you were hit with shame.

It’s not…normal. Researchers do not tangle themselves in sexual situations with their subjects, especially when said subject was an eel mer from the Coral Sea. It’s unheard of. Luckily, the team of researchers you work with swears to secrecy. You were out of it and your judgment wasn’t in the best state. That’s the excuse they’re using. It works enough to push the humiliation from your thoughts.

You wonder if you should feel disgusted by the events. Rather, you didn’t mind it. For all of his rough, scarred, monstrous edges, he was gentle.

You press your fingers to your scent glands, recalling the feel of his tongue.

Today you’ve donned your usual work attire, foregoing the shark suit and any other protective gear the lab expects you to wear. Something tells you you won’t need it anymore. Not after everything that happened the day you went into heat.

Feeling rejuvenated and refreshed after your mini break, you trudge up the staircase with a food bucket, determined to finally fill your notebook with data. You’ve only made it up four steps when color flashes in your peripheral. You turn and find the mer is at your eye level, following you up the spiral staircase adjacent to his tank.

You pause and wave experimentally. He watches your hand move to and fro and then he mirrors your actions. He swims the rest of the distance to the surface, breaching it just as you make it onto the platform.

“Good morning, Mister,” you greet, bending down to empty the contents of the bucket into the water.

Disinterested, he watches bits of shrimp sink deeper. And then he looks back to you, his mouth opening and shutting. “Fu… Fu…” he forces out, his face scrunched in concentration.

“Fu…? Food?”

He nods and then shakes his head, hissing at himself in what you think might be admonishment.

“Fu…ro…”

“Furo?” You set the bucket aside and scoot closer to the edge. “What’s that?”

He tries once more before the syllables fizzle out on his tongue and, with a few frustrated clicks, he swipes a fish from the surface and stuffs it in his mouth. You giggle, and the sound has him tilting his head. Without a shred of apprehension, he meets you at the ledge. You watch him munch on the fish between his lips, content to observe in silence. He polishes it off rather quickly before procuring a handful, which he dumps onto the ground beside you. You shake your head at him, smiling weakly.

“Thanks, but no. It’s all yours.”

The mer shrugs and indulges without you.

“I should thank you for not hurting me back then,” you add. He pays close attention to your lips; you think he might be attempting to read them while listening. “Um… But don’t get the wrong idea. I’m not sure if merfolk are like humans, but we have this system… Or not a system… It’s more like…groupings? Secondary classifications?” You frown. How can you explain the complexities of sub-genders to a mer who doesn’t even speak your language? “Basically, I was in trouble and you helped me out. Kind of. In any case, thank you.”

He stares at you for a while, chewing and swallowing. You think he might swim back under once he’s finished, but instead he places his hands on the ledge and hoists himself up on his arms. He’s in your face next, all eager smiles and chitters.

“Fu… Furo. Furo…ido. Furoido,” he sounds out.

You read his lips in the best way you can before it finally clicks. “Ah! Floyd, right? Is that…your name?”

Floyd points to himself, makes a few upbeat clicks, and then nods. He’s pointing at you next.

“And me? Oh, my name is (Name).” You take your time sounding it out for him, and he repeats it with an awkward tongue. You smile and nod encouragingly. “That’s it. That’s me.”

He flops back into the water with a celebratory trill, a wild smile tugging at his lips. You watch him swim laps from you to the opposite end of the pool and back. Ditching the shark suit was the right call. You’re no longer uncertain. This time, you know for a fact that you’re going to be getting along very well with him.

And you look forward to fostering this flowering friendship.

#meraki mumbles #fluffy floyd hours #n/sfw #tw: abo #tw: omegaverse #he's so cute >w< i love floyb orz #okay now it's back to tmdg!!!#jade is going to kill me for writing about his twin when i should be writing him ;;;;

541 notes · View notes