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ohmyeyesmyeyes · 7 months ago

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quiet night in listening to you speak another language (it's so casual)

summary: it's the eve of christmas eve and nate's somehow found himself listening to you speak french (he's not complaining)

warnings: swearing, tension?, mentions of christmas celebrations

the series!

< this was originally going to be longer but i need to rehash the lore first >

In all actuality, Nate hadn’t actually realised that he’d even owned a book in French. He’d scoured past every title and spine of each single one at least three times before, and not once did he clock the French one. In his defence, the title was pretty misleading – that was in English – and still, according to you, the inside pages were all in French.

French. He’d shaken his head, and if it had been anyone else, he might have scoffed and not believed them, but he was beginning to get the hang of reading your body language and facial expressions pretty well in the five or six months you’d been friends – and he’d yet to decide if that little skill of his was a good thing or not. On one hand, it let him know exactly when to shut the fuck up (now, for instance), and on the other…well, the more he thought about it, the more he was coming to the realisation that there wasn’t much to not like about getting to know you more.

But now? You standing in his living room because you’d both miraculously managed to get back to Cole Harbour for a few days at Christmas? If he was being completely honest with himself, it was kind of driving him crazy.

And for the life of him, he couldn’t work out why.

It might have something to do with the fact that he was a little bit tipsy; it might have had something to do with the fact that maybe he found he wasn’t entirely too bummed out that he’d just made a fool of himself in front of you; or it might have had something to do with the fact that he’d just realised your voice changed when you spoke French.

Was that something that happened to everyone who spoke more than one language? He couldn’t remember. He’d heard Jo speak French on a number of different occasions, even you when he’d met up with you in Montreal, but with the close proximity forced by lowered inhibitions from the alcohol in both your systems, he was just now figuring it out.

Your voice was deeper, but somehow softer. And Nate found himself wondering if it changed yet again if you spoke a different language. He found himself wanting to find that out. Actually, that seemed to be a recurring theme lately: you’d say something or do something, and he’d stop for a moment, his mind soaking in that new piece of information – the calm before the storm – until his brain would ultimately spiral into a smattering of different thoughts and questions, all of them pertaining to you.

He’d considered writing them down and making a note of them, but the risk of someone accidentally stumbling across such a list was slightly mortifying, and the only thing he could do was promise his future self that when things stopped being a little bit awkward (i.e. silences where both of you would remember that the person in front of you was still a stranger and not in fact an old, good friend), he’d just start asking them. Out loud. And without shame.

Take this moment, for example:

It was the day before Christmas Eve. He’d spent the morning dropping off presents to non-family in the local area (mainly Sid and some other childhood friends that he still kept in touch with), and along the way he’d received a phone call from you and walked home to the sight of you huddled on his doorstep, clutching a bottle of wine with the excuse that you thought it’d be more bearable to drink with someone else than alone.

And if he was being completely honest, when his phone first lit up with that incoming call, he felt himself perk up, a grin already on his face when he answered – of which he was entirely sure you could hear in his voice down the line. Though, that was nothing compared to the actual proof of you on his doorstep, nothing at all.

He’d had to keep his hands from shaking when he stuck the key in the lock, and stop himself from staring for too long, because you’d clearly come from some sort of dressy-gathering and were wearing pretty, formal clothes and you’d clearly had a good day already because you were practically already glowing.

Needless to say, it hadn’t taken much for the two of you to eventually settle in his front room, a Christmas movie on low volume in the background as you trawled his bookshelf with curiosity. That was when the little debate had started, and it was also when you’d rather unapologetically rolled your eyes and shoved the pages under his nose to prove you were right, because what else would you have done?

What would he have done? Probably the same thing. It wasn’t the first time he’d seen your competitive side, either, and if every little discussion ended up with you sitting right next to him, your legs folded underneath you as you held the book in front of your face, eagerly rattling out sentence after sentence in French – he figured maybe losing this kind of this wasn’t such a bad idea. He also figured he could cope with going a little bit crazy every now and then.

(Nate hated losing, that should be known.)

Though, one thing he found sufficiently annoying was his own inability to understand just what it was you were saying. He’d always wanted to learn French – he’d have probably ended up on a different team in his youth if he had known French – but he’d never really committed himself to picking up the language, not even when he met Jo. Sure, he knew basic phrases, as did most people, but this was something else.

Every sentence or so you’d have to reread what you’d just read in French in English for him to understand, and even though he wanted to know the translation, he also wanted to batter his child self for ever turning those lessons down, because hearing English after speaking French was incredibly…well, as much as he liked the English language, it lacked the unique beauty of the French language.

“Do you want me to keep reading, or–”

“Yes please.” He instantly regretted interrupting you – not only because he was honestly so eager to keep hearing you talk, but because of your own reaction to said eagerness. He didn’t even need to be looking at you to feel the heat of your amused stare into the side of his face.

Though, he also knew, at least some unconscious part of him did, that it was also because he liked being close to you in this way: a kneecap pressing into the side of his thigh, one sock-clad foot under said thigh, and your shoulder leaning against his bicep from where it had previously (already) been outstretched across the back of the couch. After all, you’d put yourself there. Initially to prove a point, but you hadn’t moved, neither of you had.

The glasses on the coffee table were empty, as was the bottle, and it was getting pretty dark outside already. The fire was on, While You Were Sleeping was playing, and he felt comfortable. Infinitely more comfortable than he would have done if he’d have just come home to an empty house, though he half suspected that if you hadn't been here he’d have just asked to have dinner at his parent’s house, but you’d sorted that too with a few clicks on your phone.

He rather liked having you around, it was something he’d recognised from the very beginning but he seemed to be reminded of it each and every time you saw each other – which wasn’t very often at all, not often enough: you were in Montreal and he was in Colorado, and very rarely were the two of you ever in the same place at the same time. Not unless he had a game in Montreal or you had to visit the chain in Colorado, or you were both at home. Other than that, your friendship was strictly limited to the confines of technology, and even then there was often a small conflict with the time difference.

Two hours wasn’t much, but with his constant travelling and your workload, you’d come to learn it was no easy feat trying to organise a video call – hence, texts just seemed to be the easiest thing to do.

Yeah, he found himself thinking, fuck knows when you’d get to see each other next.

It was why he took the chance of sounding like a bit of an idiot: if he wasn’t honest then it’d take forever to actually get to know each other properly, and he wasn’t going to have that, at least, not if he could help it too much.

“Does your voice sound different when you speak Spanish than when you speak French?” He wasn’t looking at you when he asked it, but the burning of his cheeks did intensify when you slowed to a stop, the book lowering to your bent knee.

When he did look at you, your head was tilted, a careful look of consideration melted into your features. You rested your head momentarily on his arm and he had to fight to not react to that.

“Probably.” You settled on, voice rough from the alcohol, “You have to use your facial muscles differently to produce the sounds depending on accent, rhythms and intonation patterns.”

Your head lifted off his arm, and for a second his mind went blank.

“What does your Spanish sound like?”

You raised your brows, eyelids heavy, “You want me to speak Spanish?”

He just nodded, fighting off a cheeky grin.

“What do you want me to say?”

“Anything.”

“Cualquier cosa.” You muttered, watching his face carefully for any indication your voice had changed.

It was a little odd to admit, but there was something entirely endearing about watching Nate react to things – whether it be something you said, or something that happened. It was fascinating: the way his mouth would twitch or his brows would dip down or raise, or the different creases that would appear. It felt like a game trying to predict what would change on his face to formulate a complete reaction, but it was weirdly adorable.

Though, your favourite thing just had to be his nose – mostly because it was the one constant: you could always rely on the sharp slope and slight curve to stay the same. The relevance that had to your previous observation was little to none, but…you liked it.

This time his mouth twisted, and he glanced away from you momentarily, like he needed the extra few seconds to replay the moment in his mind to make the decision. In truth, you already had an idea of what your own voice sounded like speaking different languages: part of the learning process was to record and talk and relisten to improve pronunciation, and it was then that you’d realised for yourself that you sounded slightly different.

Spanish was a higher pitch, probably because you found it less comfortable than speaking English and French. English was a nice medium to refer back to, and French was lower even then, probably because of the accent itself, and the fact that you’d been speaking it just as long as you had English.

Still, it didn’t take ten minutes for you to notice the differences like it had Nate – it took a good couple of days.

“Spanish is higher than French and English.” Nate turned back to you, confident in his answer, and for the sake of not showing just how shocked you were at that, you nodded.

“A propósito, tu cabello se ve bien de ese modo.”

He blinked, eyes lazily focused on your mouth as you moved, and his lack of reaction to the unfamiliar phrase prompted an unintentional blush to warm your cheeks – the sheer intensity of his eyes and the mix of his slightly parted mouth (either out of curiosity or lack of self-awareness) bringing something a little heavier to the moment. You attempted to distract him from the colour of your cheeks by nudging his thigh with your kneecap.

He swallowed, mouth closing, “What does that mean?”

And because he usually had pretty pale cheeks, the flush of the alcohol blended seamlessly into any further reddening making it almost impossible to distinguish if he was the least bit embarrassed about you having caught him staring so unashamedly – if it weren’t for the tips of his ears burning.

“It means ‘by the way, your hair looks good that way’.” You muttered a little sheepishly, lifting the book up to hide the bottom half of your face, eyes peeking over the top to spy on his reaction whilst also trying to appear nonchalant.

You watched his eyes widen a little bit, jumbled mind digesting your compliment, before running a self-conscious hand through his waves. They were probably the most messed up you'd ever seen them: unruly and a little floppy. It wasn’t exactly a sight that screamed ‘Nathan’ to you, but you weren’t lying when you said it looked good. He looked good.

Only, he didn’t seem to agree, because he frowned, fingers twirling the ends of his hair, eyes cross-eyed as he dragged strands down to his own view, “My hair’s a mess.” You heard him mutter rather confusedly, and you lowered the book once more, leaning your head against your fist, mindful not to knock his arm off the back of the couch.

And maybe it was because you were also tipsy, or maybe it was because you didn’t want him to start fixing it, or maybe – just maybe – there was a small part of you that needed him to know you weren’t teasing, convince him that you you weren’t just saying it for the sake of saying it, “Stop fussing with it.”

“I can’t, it’s pissing me off.” He groaned, using both hands to scrape his hair backwards, which did nothing but draw your attention to his features: the shadows under his eyes from the light and his lashes; the prominent hook of his nose; the precise groove of his philtrum; the shape of his mouth; the soft stubble decorating his chin.

You were staring.

And he opened his eyes, the clear blue startling you to look sharply at the TV, now acutely aware of the fact that you were tucked against his shoulder, pressed against his thigh and under his thigh, all in pretty close proximity to say you’d only known each other for a few months.

Usually it took you a while to get comfortable with someone as a friend, even in the physical sense: hugs weren’t usually a comfortable thing – you didn’t know why, you just weren’t like that – though alcohol was the only thing that made you more comfortable with that kind of thing.

The common denominator.

“When do you go back to Colorado?” You spoke as you turned your attention back to him, speaking the first thing that came to your mind to get his sudden frustration away from his hair.

“Christmas morning.” He sighed, thumb scraping his eyebrow, “What about you?”

“Christmas evening.”

There was a lull in conversation after that, the both of you quiet as you took in what it meant. Usually you hated uncertainty and having such a lack of control over future plans, but it was something you’d had to quickly accept and adjust to if it meant you wanted Nate in your life. You didn’t know when you’d next see each other after this holiday. It could be weeks, it could be months.

You swiped your phone from the coffee table, pulling up your calendar app and scrolling through the dates. You knew he didn’t have any games left in Montreal, which left (at least, up until the play-offs) it up to your own work schedule. Sometimes your boss would have you travel to other branches across Canada and the US to implement training or just to evaluate how different departments work in your division – maybe you could learn more efficient techniques etc. But that was rare – you’d been down to Colorado once in the last seven months, and it was only luck that Nate was at home then.

Which put you up to Summer if the Avs clinched the playoffs, and even then it was fifty-fifty as to whether or not you’d be able to take holiday, obviously not to just see Nate, but to spend time with family that you didn’t get to see as often as you’d like. Though, your holiday leave tended to be used for birthdays.

You switched off your phone, running a hand through your hair and placing the book on the coffee table, untucking yourself from Nate to sit next to him instead, a suitable amount of distance separating you on the cushions. It wasn’t an obvious gap that you’d placed, but it was appropriate enough.

“Two days to spend time with the family.” He murmured, arms crossed over his chest.

“I think that’s the thing I miss most about not living here anymore. But I’m always ready to go back to my little apartment – I hate feeling like a kid again.”

Nate hummed in agreement, though a part of it felt fake. He knew what you were saying, he understood where you were coming from, but it felt fraudulent to sit on his couch in his house and agree with you – you who had to go back to your parents and probably get pestered (lovingly) as to where you’d been all day, before getting told not to go to bed too late. He hadn’t had that in years. He’d spend days at his parent’s house, but he’d always come back here.

“You can stay here tonight, if you want.”

He’d said it quietly, a part of him wanting to be drowned out over the sound of the movie, and despite wanting to come across as it being a casual suggestion, he couldn’t help the note of sincerity seeping into his tone. He supposed it was that that had you hesitating, eyes carefully roving his face.

“I have a spare room already made up, it’d be no trouble.” He shot you a wry smile, shrugging helplessly, before turning back to the TV to give you space to think.

Only, you just sighed and picked your phone up again, before throwing him a glance out of the corner of your eye, “Are you sure?”

He nodded, offering a small, reassuring smile, “I’m sure. I can drop y’off in the morning.”

#nathan mackinnon x reader #nathan mackinnon oneshot #nathan mackinnon imagine #nathan mackinnon fic #nhl fic #nhl oneshot #nhl imagine #hockey fic #hockey player x reader #funny how life works out

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adrianthevampire · 10 months ago

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A Somewhat Comprehensive List of Horse Video Games

I will be editing this original post with new games, new information, and so on. If you see a reblogged version of this post, it is worth going to the original post to see if updates have been made.

Ahead will be a list of games that either were released recently and/or are being actively maintained. I have not personally played all of these games. Do not take this list as my personal recommendations.

If you have games you would like to suggest for this list, please let me know!

Some games are listed in both the Single Player and Multiplayer sections. This is due to them having the capability for either.

Single Player

The Ranch of Rivershine [Steam]

Horse Tales: Emerald Valley Ranch [Website, available for PC and consoles]

Rival Stars Horse Racing [Website]

Astride [Steam, Website]

Horse Club Adventures [Steam, also available on consoles]

Horse Club Adventures 2 [Steam, also available on consoles]

Wildshade Unicorn Champions [only available on consoles]

Tales of Rein Ravine [Steam]

Multiplayer

Rival Stars Horse Racing [Website]

Astride [Steam, Website]

Horse Isle 3 [Website]

Alicia Online [Website]

Star Stable Online [Website]

Star Equestrian [Website]

Browser

Horse Reality [Website]

Ropin' Ranch [Website]

Wild Horses Valley [Website]

Hunt and Jump [Website]

Mobile

Wildshade

Equestrian The Game

Star Equestrian

Rival Stars Horse Racing

Star Stable Online

Equestriad World Tour

Honorable Mentions

These are games that are not horse games technically but may have good horse gameplay, either in the base game or via user created content.

Red Dead Redemption 2/Red Dead Online/RedM

Minecraft

Roblox

The Sims 3 Pets

The Sims 4 Horse Ranch

Black Desert Online

Upcoming

Some but not all of these games have demos or paid beta testing, though none are officially available yet.

Fernhoof Grove [Trailer]

Unbridled: That Horse Game [Website]

Horse Life Simulator [Patreon]

Canter Crossing [Steam]

Pro Show Jumping [Steam]

Horse Project [Website]

Horse Trainer [Video]

Windstorm: The Legend of Khiimori [Steam]

Details about some of the games:

Rival Stars Horse Racing

Rival Stars has two versions. Desktop via Steam and Mobile. While the gameplay itself (e.i racing, breeding, etc) are identical there are massive differences in how it functions. Mobile has micro transactions and limits on how much you can do a day without paying money. The desktop version has no micro transactions and no limits on how much you can do at any given time. Desktop, however, does not get updated as often as Mobile. I could go on and on listing various pros and cons between the two versions, but ultimately I personally prefer Desktop due to the lack of micro transactions or wait times and in addition Desktop has the ability to make custom horses, which is quite fun. It's worth checking out the mobile version first, however, so you can see if the game appeals to you as the Mobile version is free to play.

Astride

Astride is in "early access" on Steam, though that can be misleading. What is currently available is little more than a tech demo. You can create a horse and ride around an area on it, utilizing Astride's unique jumping system, and you can given play with friends. However, it is extremely glitchy, the lighting looks awful right now, and overall it just... isn't good. That said, it is still in progress and I personally have hopes that it will become a full fledged game as promised someday. That day is not today and so I personally recommend not purchasing it until it has gotten a few good updates, unless you just really want to financially support the developers.

Horse Isle 3

Oh boy. I'll just point you towards this article about some of the issues with the community management of HI3. Be warned if you intend to play, moderators are inconsistent about the rules they enforce and you can very easily get banned for saying harmless things. Personally, I stay out of the chat and I'm careful with what I name my horses. Horse Isle 3 is a one of a kind game, sadly, that allows for extremely detailed breeding. Realistic genetics combined with the ability to breed for all sorts of shapes makes it a very compelling game, which is why so many people continue to play it despite... the issues. It is free to play, though there are paid aspects to it. However, you can earn the premium currency within the game and utilize paid features without ever paying your own money.

Minecraft

Minecraft can be a fun horse game using mods or server plugins! The mod SWEM adds a lot of content that makes for good realistic horse roleplay, though doesn't fit well in survival style gameplay. The mod Realistic Horse Genetics actually doesn't change much of the horse functionality, making it a really good fit for survival gameplay, but adds lots of realistic genetics and a better system for inheriting stats than vanilla minecraft. The mod Genetic Animals will be adding horses soon.

Red Dead Redemption 2, Red Dead Online, and RedM

While it is not intended to be a horse game, RDR2 has horses that feel so very real. They are well animated so they feel alive and they respond to their environment in realistic ways. Many people purchase the game purely because of the horses. There are mods you can use to improve the horses in Single Player, though I've never used any so I can't offer suggestions. Personally, I really like Red Dead Online for the horses because the horses can't die and there are a few more breed options. You also can look into joining a RedM server. There is one called Rift that is specifically meant for horse enthusiasts.

Roblox

I know nothing about Roblox personally, but I know there are several worlds (games? I don't know what they're called) in Roblox that revolve around horses.

I will add to this as I think of more. If you are viewing this as a reblogged post, it's worth checking the original to see if it has been updated.

Please feel free to request more information or suggest games or add your thoughts.

#adrian the vampire original post

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lenores-2nd-wife · 2 months ago

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DRAMA POST!!

Only read if you want to see my side of my grooming allegations (that are false), take care of yourself.

TW: Sexual Language & Mentions of Grooming, and Death & Dox Threats (Long Post Warning)

“Hello everyone.”

Sorry I’ll be serious.

This is a response addressing a post calling me out that I have reposted on my blog. Please check theirs out for reference if you want a peek at all the lies they’re spreading about me/want the context of what I’m talking about. I want to make sure you see their (Albeit misinformed) side before you see mine to be as transparent as possible.

I honestly never thought I’d have to make one of these things but let’s get this over with.

To start off, I would like to say that this is NOT an apology as I have no one to apologize to and nothing to apologize for. This is me debunking every single lie that person put in their post. With screenshots of course.

With that being said, I’m very sorry to ABBY AND ABBY ALONE for being dragged into this and whoever made that callout is horrible for what they’ve done. (And to rnf & their mods as they seem to be the main target of that callout even though I’m the one being labeled as a groomer.)

[I will be giving the poster the benefit of the doubt as it seems they got all of their information from a separate party. I truly want to believe they just want to do the right thing and the person giving them the information is the malicious one. I understand trying to protect minors as you seem to be one as well (I was checking in on their account and their bio said 14 at one point? I don’t think it’s still there), but I promise it wouldn’t kill you to send me a DM to see if your information was correct.]

As for a warning of sorts, I will say that the messages between me and Abby were very sexual and I’m not exactly censoring myself going forward. So TW for sexual language/and mentions of grooming again. The only reason I’m not marking this post as explicit is because I want to make sure some people see it as I have literal grooming allegations against me, if it was anything less serious I would have.

Now let’s start with the elephant in the room.

ME AND ABBY ARE BOTH CONSENTING ADULTS.

She is 19-years-old, born in 2005. Refer to the screenshots above. She even sent me her ID to get into the NSFW part of my server. Meaning she is not only an adult, but came to me with full interest in talking about sexual topics. (As she is very much so allowed to do as an adult, I just want to get that out of the way before the poster possibly pulls out a “well you were probably making her uncomfortable” accusation out of their ass. If Abby was ever uncomfortable she would have told me and I would have listened. Boundaries are something I take very seriously.)

Speaking of the NSFW side of my server, the poster claims that I was saying sexual things in front of the other minors in the server when everything, and I mean everything, was in the adult section of my server that requires ID verification to get into. I’m in fact very strict with sexual content on my server and IN THE CALLOUT POST they literally show me handling a member who posted a screenshot that contained a friend of theirs saying “I want ___ to eat my ass”.

(This was an easy mistake mind you and they didn’t have sexual intentions, they were just trying to be funny and share something crazy that their friend said. This is in no way trying to call that minor in my server out, don’t try to find them and leave my server members out of this. I just want to provide context as the member had their message deleted.)

As for their claims of me being racist. I am not. Simply put, I am not, they have provided no screenshots of me saying anything racist and I will not even entertain this statement any longer as it is baseless and downright ridiculous. Don’t include claims if you don’t have evidence to back them up PLEASEE.

Also, the document at the end with all of my shittily made drabbles is VERY misleading. “Dub-Con” WHAT? I promise you that just because Annabel is tied up does not mean she is not consenting. I can maybe see how it can be taken that way but my horny brain at the time wasn’t thinking “Oh and then I’ll make it dub-con!” DO NOT PUT THAT SHIT ON ME. 😭🙏

I am genuinely between being really angry about you posting my embarrassing as hell drabbles and fucking laughing. The “TW Cheating” TAG YOU ADDED IS SENDING ME. ITS OC X CANON I DON'T KNOW WHAT YOU EXPECTED, IM SORRY? I wasn’t aware that was a cancelable offense since Monty was mentioned one time I’m losing it.

Now that I have addressed all the claims they have stated. It is now time for me to prove that every single one of their screenshots involving sex and things of that nature are in fact Abby. Warning once again that these screenshots get sexual as both of us were in what we assumed was a safe space to share down bad thoughts and fantasies involving the Nevermore characters and Abby’s OCs.

I will be posting each one of their screenshots in order (I'll try as much as I can running on 2 hours of sleep anyway), and I will explain the context for them of to be as transparent as possible:

Just sexual OC x Canon shipping. You will be seeing a lot of that as we were having fun with Abby's super cool OCs and we talked about them very often.

Joking around about one of the roleplays we were doing & more context for me sharing my splatoon fic with her..

OC x Canon shipping.

Embarrassing, but talking about kinks...

OC x Canon shipping.

Jokes about how calm Ada's relationship was (With an OC!) vs Lenore x Annabel's. (Previously mentioned that Lenore was being dragged into the closet by the ankles) & More OC x Canon.

More jokes about how much we want to smash Lenore & Annabel (Sue me), and me asking sexual questions about her OC.

I’m a person that wants to enjoy Nevermore media in peace with other adults with similar interests in role playing, not a stain on the human race, the only truthful thing you said in your post about me is that I'm a bit of a freak.

I will admit, in a lot of those screenshots I was very out there and really oversexulizing the characters and I can totally see why someone could be made uncomfortable if they saw it. In fact the poster included some of the tamer messages between me and Abby. However I was doing it in a safe manner, in a place people gain access to with the intention of being sexual. So I wasn’t just shouting out every little idea I had to everyone in my server, no one was being forced to look at what I was talking about.

Unlike Crimson, who you are clearly trying to group me with, I’m a normal fucking person who happens to lust after the characters. I’ve posted smut on my Ao3 often and even advertised some of it (With the proper explicit tags) on my blog. It is no secret that I am attracted to the characters, and I honestly don’t feel like I have to repent for that.

My only bad intentions were my sexual ones with the characters who are proven to be 18+, whether you agree with the kinks shown in the screenshots or what I’m into in general does not matter (Not that any of my kinks are problematic as far as I’m aware? But I am very willing to learn if they are).

I did not deserve to be labeled a groomer.

Abby did not deserve to have her business outed to the public eye.

I hope, REALLY HOPE, that this was posted with good intentions, but seeing how it was handled and what your page is dedicated to my interests on the side seem to just be a pawn of yours to get at rnf & the mods to incriminate them for not “handling me” when there is nothing to be handled. Speaking of the mods, now I’ll most likely have to explain and let them know I'm not a pedophile. Thank you SOOO much for that btw.

Leave me, and other bystanders in the fandom minding their own business out of this.

One more thing, though more so directed to the fandom, you guys can leave my inbox now? At this point I know it's not the same person and I need you guys to calm down. I genuinely had a few people ask me if I was lying about the death threats and I cannot make this shit up.

Your desperation for more drama and what you’re willing to do to make an already bad situation worse disgusts me beyond words and I’m actually really worried about drama pages now because this is not the first time blatant and dangerous misinformation has been spread in this fandom. Of course, that’s just me being emotional and making a whole lot of assumptions about your morals, so don’t quote me on that. Besides, the post didn’t get a whole lot of attention so I’m probably REALLY overreacting.

In conclusion-

(Also as horrible as this is I find it funny that in all the screenshots I have that same Annabel Lee pfp on with the tiny bow. 😭😭)

#Nevermore Drama #grooming allegations #misinformation #i'm so tired #The Nevermore fandom is going insane #tw: suggestive #nevermore #I don't even know if I can count this as Nevermore drama..#I made sure it was easy to skip #Take care of yourselves yall!#nevermore webtoon

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shannaraisles · 5 months ago

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Worth Fighting For - for @queenofthyme

For the charming @queenofthyme, who requested something flirty and epistolary for a pre-relationship Fem!Shepard x Kelly Chambers, and gave me the opportunity to play in the Mass Effect sandbox for a little bit. Thank you, lovely!

Worth Fighting For

TO: ShepardCommander FROM: ChambersYeoman SUBJECT: Preferences

Commander,

Forgive the informality of the request, but I neglected to ask during our conversation what pronouns you prefer to use, and how you would prefer to be addressed. Your comfort in command is a high priority during these first days of our mission. How would you like to be referred to among the crew?

Kelly Chambers

TO: ChambersYeoman FROM: ShepardCommander SUBJECT: Re:Preferences

Kelly,

Call me nuts, but I prefer my subordinates to be the comfortable ones around me. Commander’s good, doesn’t need to be any more fancy. Shepard once you’ve earned it. She/they, doesn’t much bother me either way.

Shepard

P.S. See? Doesn’t take much to earn it. And, by the way, you’re much more fun to look at than a janky V.I.

TO: ShepardCommander FROM: ChambersYeoman SUBJECT: Checking in

Commander,

Your visits to the lower decks have gone down very well. Most of the crew seems very reassured that you don’t consider us to be your enemy, despite your experiences with Cerberus. I would like to discuss those past experiences with you, if it would be at all possible. Your past trauma may be something we can soothe through information sharing exercises

Kelly Chambers

P.S. I hear you kicked ass at Skyllian poker last night. Shame the stakes were so tame.

TO: ChambersYeoman FROM: ShepardCommander SUBJECT: Re: Checking in

Tame? Would you have preferred to see him running for the dorms in nothing but his skivvies? It’s very doable, just say the word.

I have it on good authority that dinner tonight is going to be not only edible but enjoyable. Come join me in the mess, you can finally get that in with Joker and the doctor you’ve been hinting at. Maybe even a conversation with Garrus if he’s done with his calibrations for the day.

Shepard

TO: ShepardCommander FROM: ChambersYeoman SUBJECT: Re: Checking in

That wasn’t an answer to the main question. I am here to facilitate your needs, not only when it comes to the administration of your work, but also to assist with your recovery following the traumas you have already experienced.

Don’t make me schedule an appointment in the diary.

Kelly Chambers

TO: ChambersYeoman FROM: ShepardCommander SUBJECT: Re: Checking in

Don’t threaten me with a good time. Because that will not be a good time. I can handle it, Kelly. I’d much rather enjoy the view from my terminal than avoid it because you’re openly psycho-analyzing me. Call me crazy, I prefer the stealth approach when it comes to me. Just don’t pop up unexpectedly in my shower.

Shepard

TO: ChambersYeoman FROM: ShepardCommander SUBJECT: Aliens vs. humans

Kelly,

You mentioned you don’t see race or gender, just character. Does that only apply to aliens, or can I stop pretending to be a supposedly normal, well-adjusted human being in your presence? I can definitely guarantee I have a whole lot of character.

Shepard

P.S. Grunt has promised not to crowd you in the elevator so long as you promise not to smell so good when you walk past him. That’s his compromise, so I’m going to find you a perfume that turns krogan stomachs. No offense.

TO: ShepardCommander FROM: ChambersYeoman SUBJECT: Re: Aliens vs. humans

Commander, that subject line is very misleading. But thank you for speaking with Grunt, it is very much appreciated. I believe the line of perfumes made by Goddess Essentials are particularly repugnant to krogan, though I would not like to cause him any actual harm. Perhaps I should just take the service ladders instead.

Kelly

TO: ChambersYeoman FROM: ShepardCommander SUBJECT: Re: Aliens vs. humans

Have to give Miranda something to get excited about before disappointing her with the actual subject matter. And yes, I know you’re reading my mail, Miranda. I will find a way to stump you.

As for you, Yeoman Kelly Chambers, was that a note of disapproval I detect in this highly unemotional, non-contextual manner of communication? Perhaps you should reprimand me in person if you don’t want to hurt my feelings.

Shepard

TO: KellyGrrl FROM: JShepReborn SUBJECT: Privacy at last

Well, hello there, KellyGrrl. At last I have tracked down your private comm. (I tracked it down, you did not give it to me. That’s the story and we’re sticking to it, no matter what Mr Illusive might say.)

That said, are you sure you’re doing okay? You seemed very rattled by what happened with the Collector ship trap. Not complaining about the hug - in fact, feel free to hug rather than salute - but you know you’re allowed to have an emotional response to a stressful situation too, right? Hugs go both ways. I have muscular arms that give safe harbour-type hugs, so I’m told. They’re open for you anytime.

Shepard

P.S. Miranda, if anything said in these private communications end up in your reports to The Illusive Man, you will learn exactly why a large number of people in this galaxy are personally afraid of me.

TO: JShepReborn FROM: KellyGrrl SUBJECT: Re: Privacy at last

I’m fine, Shepard. I was more worried for you than for myself. After all, you were the one trapped on a Collector ship we have no way of destroying if it came to it, and you would not have been there had our own organization manipulated the situation. The end does not always justify the means, especially where your life is concerned. A highlight of my day is watching you walk away ... that is quite the physique you have cultivated there.

Goodness, that was very flirty, wasn’t it?

Kelly

TO: KellyGrrl FROM: JShepReborn SUBJECT: Flirty McFlirtersson called ...

... she’d like you to know your butt flirts with me behind your back. Don’t sweat about doing it consciously, you have my attention, honey.

TO: JShepReborn FROM: KellyGrrl SUBJECT: Re: Flirty McFlirtersson called ...

Oh.

Oh, my.

In that case, we definitely need to swing by the Citadel some time soon. I have an order on hold at This One’s that will do wonders for my rear end’s escapades.

TO: KellyGrrl FROM: JShepReborn SUBJECT: Re: Flirty McFlirtersson called ...

Tease.

Citadel, here we come.

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

“Commander, you have a new message at your private terminal.”

Commander Jane Shepard raised a brow at the very formal tone in her yeoman’s voice, glancing to where the other woman stood at her own terminal. Kelly was focused on her work, apparently utterly engrossed in what looked like a logistics report. Around them, the command center of the Normandy buzzed with industry, crew members going about their work with warm efficiency. If they were aware of the flirtation between their commander and the yeoman, they gave no sign of it.

The commander activated her terminal, absent-mindedly opening the first message without really registering who it was from.

And stared.

That was ... Yes, that was a very nice picture of Kelly. Possibly not command center appropriate, though.

Clearing her throat, Shepard quickly closed the message, encoding it and sending it through several rounds of encryption back to her own private comm channel before deleting it from this terminal as thoroughly as possible. Acutely aware of her dry throat, she coughed delicately before stepping away.

“I’ll be in my cabin,” she informed the yeoman, biting down on a laugh at the knowing smirk that flickered on Kelly’s face as she acknowledged the information.

Wicked woman, that one, but so much fun.

Definitely worth fighting for.

#niamh does commissions #queenofthyme #mass effect #fanfic #fem!shepard #kelly chambers #fem!shepard x kelly chambers #pre-relationship #epistolary #emails #private terminal #flirty fluff

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bafflement · 1 year ago

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Deaged Oz AU - Crossing The Bridge... Or Not - Part 1

“And you’re certain you can trust the relic to get us to Vacuo?” Yang asked, staring at Tip, who shuffled slightly, biting his lip.

“I mean, mostly? They like creating things, and this would give them a challenge. But… if he gives you a warning, you have to listen to him. If you don’t, there could be very bad consequences. He might not necessarily tell you everything, either… you’ll need to listen very carefully and follow instructions precisely. I should really go with you, but…” he broke off, glancing down at his left leg in vague despair. It had healed, mostly… but the travel down to the vault was long and he wasn’t certain it would hold up for it, much less the trip back. He really hated feeling this useless, but… besides. There was too great a risk that Ambrosius would be distracted by sheer hilarity. After all, it wasn’t often that Oz was in a state this vulnerable and as far as he was aware, this one was unique. He both was and wasn’t Ozma, not fully, not yet. And yet, he’d also never really stopped being. The risk was far too great that Ambrosius, being who and what he was, would find Tip the more intriguing puzzle.

“Hey, Pocketsized. We’ll be okay. I promise we’ll listen, you don’t have to worry about us. Will you be okay, here? I know we’re not all going, but Salem already snatched you once, what if she tries to again?” Blake sounded concerned, reaching out to ruffle Tip’s hair without really thinking about it. Tip let her without commenting, which drove home just how worried he really was about this. But then, after what happened with Jinn, could any of them really blame him?

“She’s unlikely to try it in the same way. I just worry, especially since she already has the lamp. She could easily use it to try to thwart us and if that happens, I can’t even help you. Not really, not like this.” He sighed, looking very young in that moment, the inch or so showing at his wrists just lending itself more to the overwhelming image of confused youth. They all knew it was misleading but… Tip was really rather adorable when he did that, not that he’d be very happy to be reminded of it.

Those going exchanged glances, then Ruby shot a reassuring smile over at him. Penny just nodded, head cocked slightly. She still found it rather fascinating that this small boy was, or rather had been Professor Ozpin. She was aware of magic, of course. Not only had the General informed her of such, she was the current winter maiden. She hadn’t been built to believe in magic and fairy tales, but her father had intended her to grow. This was certainly growth of a sort, right?

Tip sighed as they left, still looking deeply conflicted. He should be there! He should be the one to talk to Ambrosius, he knew him far better than the others did. While creating a way to Vacuo would no doubt intrigue him, the relic could so easily trick anyone they talked to. It wasn’t that he didn’t trust the others, of course he did… but they were still going to converse with someone who might not have their best wishes in mind. After Jinn… were the relics as tired of this as he was? What if, in the end, he allowed something to happen in the sheer hopes of being allowed to be free? After all, they were just as chained to the whims of the brothers as he himself was, and with even less freedom. At least he could move around on his own, wasn’t trapped in a vessel waiting. Why had that never even occurred to any of the previous versions, though? Surely, if it was as obvious as he thought it was, then they would have known by now? Would have set something up, at least enough that the four could have some semblance of lives of their own?

After all, even Ozma had never known just where the relics came from, what they originally were. What if they really were just as trapped as he was, was it possible to free them? Could he free them, did he dare, considering Salem?

Was it fair, to keep them trapped like that though? No, of course it wasn’t. They deserved their freedom… he really hated the Brothers, at times like this.

“Tip?” Oscar ventured, voice soft. “They’ll be alright, you know they will! Ruby knows what she’s doing, so do the others. It’ll be fine!”

“I can only hope that it will, Oscar. I just… they need to be incredibly careful in how they word this request, he’s likely to take things very, very literally. I should be there!”

“No way, Pocketsized.” Jaune interjected, looking stern. “Salem almost killed you, you’re not up to the journey. You know that, you know they’ll be okay!”

“And if they’re not? If something happens because they don’t say the right thing, or make slightly the wrong request?”

“Then we’ll deal with that when it happens. We need to get everybody to Vacuo, you know that.” Jaune sighed. “We’re hunters, Tip. We knew what we were signing up for. I know we’re young, but so are you, you’re eleven years old! I know the wizard doesn’t count, but you do. Putting yourself in danger when the others can and have volunteered for this, you realise we’d just worry more, right?”

“You are my students, Jaune. I should be the one protecting you, not the other way around. I know that I’m young physically, but still… I should be protecting the rest of you. If something goes wrong here, it falls on my shoulders. If I hadn’t been quite so, well, helpless, Salem would never have been able to snatch me in the first place. The injuries I carry are a direct result of my own stupidity.”

“NO, Tip.” Oscar sounded deeply frustrated now, glaring at the younger boy hotly. Tip flinched slightly, but met his eyes, his own self hatred burning bright. “Salem snatched you from Atlas. You were meant to be safe there, we all were. It isn’t your fault that she snatched you, you aren’t weak for being injured. Look, I know, you’re used to being stronger than you are right now. But if you plan to protect us, then you have to let us protect you, too. It goes both ways, we care about you! You matter, Tip. Why else would you be my brother?”

“… I know!” Nora interjected, brightly. “Why don’t we all just calm down and eat something. Pancakes, maybe?” She shot a hopeful look to Ren, who rolled his eyes but got up to make them anyway. Some of the tension in the room faded at that, though Tip’s shoulders were still stiff, his face still anguished. It didn’t matter what any of them were going to say, really, though. If anything happened to his students, everybody would just blame him anyway. He was the one responsible, ultimately. Oh, why had he let them go and talk to Ambrosius alone?

“So, you need a path to Vacuo, a way to get everybody from one kingdom to another quickly? I could probably do that…” Ambrosius murmured, amusement in his voice. “However… just don’t fall.”

Yang huffed as they all made their way back to the others who were waiting for them. That could probably have gone better, though at least Penny was human now? Somehow, though she was unsure what Pocketsized would make of that… after all, they had had a specific mission and that wasn’t really it. But then, with her human she couldn’t be controlled anymore. Nobody could tell her to do anything but herself. For a second, an image of Tip being controlled by the creepy wizard dude flashed across her mind, but she shook her head. It wasn’t the same thing, right? Ambrosius was a smug bastard, though. She really, massively didn’t like him.

From the looks the others were exchanging, that feeling appeared to be very, very mutual. He’d set up the path, though. They’d get there, they’d get to Vacuo. Everything would be okay, though she could see why the Professor was so worried. Maybe he really should have come along? Nah… they’d done just fine on their own.

Ruby’s nose twitched as they neared the rooms the others were currently occupying. Could she smell pancakes? Huh, maybe she was just hungry after dealing with the relic. Pancakes would be really nice right about now, though.

There were definitely pancakes, lots of them, though it was slightly harder to enjoy them while being peppered by Tip’s anxious questioning. At least he’d seemed relatively relieved by what Ambrosius had set up regarding the pathway to Vacuo? He kept giving Penny confused looks, too, and Yang snorted to herself. She’d totally called it, he really wasn’t that impressed.

Tip shifted in his seat, biting his lip nervously. He knew better than anyone the sort of loopholes Ambrosius left in the requests he actually agreed to answer.

Don’t fall.

But then, how hard could that really be?

#deaged oz au #ozpin #team rwby #oscar pine #ambrosius #the relics #rwby ozpin #professor ozpin #headmaster ozpin #li ren #nora valkyrie #jaune arc

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cdroofing · 5 months ago

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sysmedsaresexist · 1 year ago

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So, ignoring that you didn't even bother to check an actual map before making your racist post about being a racist and which voices matter, I want to point out how hypocritical you are

Also, you can be a Tibetan Buddhist but not be from Tibet nor speak Tibetan. And imho if we're talking about the harm the word "tulpa" does to the people from Tibet, I prefer listening to people from Tibet over people who aren't even from the same part of the world as Tibet nor do they even share a border with Tibet.

Imho

You are not in that part of the world, nor do you share a border with Tibet, nor are you culturally informed about ANY of those areas

And you're not a practicing Buddhist

Sooooo

Why do you have more of a right to an opinion than Buddhists and other people from South East Asia? Who are much closer and more informed about current events, history, and culture.

Seems to me you're just moving the bar further and further to avoid actually listening to anyone that isn't white and in agreement with you

Remember, folks, Cambrian here is saying that SEAsian voices don't matter here because they don't border Tibet

Still not addressing the misleading information, though, I figured, but I'm not giving up, either

Our community deserves the apology and the promise to be better

So I just want to tackle this: (click on the image to see it clearly, idk why it's blurry in the Tumblr preview thingee)

This is a quote from an interview we did with radio journalist Laura Klivens.

We are also mentally ill - depression, anxiety, PTSD/C-PTSD.

We struggle to take care of ourselves sometimes because of our mental illnesses, particularly the depression and food-related PTSD.

When we were talking with Laura, we discussed that, though those bits didn't make it to the final paper.

We weren't making a broad statement that all people with mental illnesses are completely utterly incapable of ever taking care of themselves.

We were talking about how if it's a mental illness, it must cause some level of distress and/or dysfunction. It must make it harder to function. NOT that it's always 100% impossible. This quote, taken out of the context of the full discussion, certainly sounds like we're saying people with mental illnesses are all always too bad off to take care of themselves. But that's not what we meant, and we obviously didn't mean it that way given that we're mentally ill ourselves. And the interview even discusses our depression in depth! So obviously we didn't mean it the way that sysmedsaresexist is saying.

Green: SE Asia.

Circled in red: Tibet. (Roughly, hard to get it accurate on mobile but it's close enough.)

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delimeful · 3 years ago

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Helpless (3)

warnings: misunderstandings, spiders/arachnophobia, mild violence

Halfway through the woods, Patton heard the distinct sound of someone mumbling.

He paused mid-step, tilting his head to listen with a fair bit of curiosity. The mumbling was quiet enough that he couldn’t make out any individual words, but he could more or less tell which direction it was coming from.

Whatever the source was, they sounded a little frustrated.

He hesitated. Virgil was always emphasizing how careful Patton needed to be in the woods, though how much of that was due to actual danger and how much was the drider being a worrywart over Patton’s ‘chronic inability to defend himself’, he wasn’t sure.

Either way, this didn’t sound like a dangerous wild animal, so it would probably be okay to take a little detour and see what the matter was!

He followed the noise off the trail into a thick copse of trees, eventually coming upon intricate silvery threadwork that wound between them. He was proud to say he only barely shuddered as he ducked past them, his fear of spiders mostly overcome by his affection for his friend.

The webbing got thicker the further he went, and eventually he came upon the source of the mumbling, which appeared to be a whole person, stuck against the outer edge of one of Virgil’s larger webs.

They looked up upon spotting him, eyes bright for a moment before taking him in and visibly dulling with disappointment, which, aside from sorta hurting Patton’s feelings, seemed an odd response for someone in need of help.

“Hello there,” he greeted, waving. “My name’s Patton, I live over at the nearby town. You seem to be in a bit of a prestickament!”

“No, I did this myself,” the stranger corrected, already looking past Patton with disinterest. “It is an attempt to meet with someone I would like to speak with, and they seem the skittish sort, so I would appreciate it if you moved on.”

Patton hummed, more than a little confused. Something about this seemed familiar. “What are you going to do if this person doesn’t show up, though?”

“My arms are free,” they responded, frowning at Patton’s persistence as they wiggled the fingers of their free hand demonstrably. The other hand was occupied with a worn-looking journal. “I will be able to eat and drink, and thus am in no danger.”

“My friend says these woods can get mighty cold at night,” Patton countered, undeterred. “Can’t you meet your friend in town, instead? Why does it have to be a drider’s web?”

And, oh, that was it! Virgil had just been telling him the other day about someone who’d gotten stuck in one of his webs just like this, a mage who had been all-too-delighted to see him. Patton had hardly registered how they’d met, since he’d mostly been very upset to learn that some people would try to use his friend’s body parts as potions ingredients.

“That’s because the drider is the one I’m hoping to speak with,” the stranger replied, as though it should be obvious. “I sincerely doubt they would appreciate an invitation to town.”

Patton stared at the little notebook for a moment, and abruptly put the pieces together. This must have been the stranger that freaked Virgil out so badly!

And he was lying in wait in one of Virgil’s webs… In that case, there was no way he could leave things like this.

“I don’t think the drider is around,” he offered cheerily. “Sometimes they migrate to different areas for different seasons! You won’t meet anyone while hanging around, so I’ll help you down!”

He circled around the tree where most of the webs were rooted, approaching the stranger’s edge of webbing, and found to his surprise that they really were stuck. How they planned to ambush Virgil while stuck in a web, he wasn’t sure, especially since the gambit hadn’t worked on the first attempt either. Magic, maybe?

“How do you know that?” the stranger asked, craning to look at him with sudden interest. “About drider migration cycles.”

Patton shrugged as he plucked at the threads of the web, testing each one to see where they led. “I’m a good listener, so I pick things up here and there. What do you do?”

It seemed to be the right question to ask, since the stranger perked up, distracted from his inquiry.

“I am a researcher,” they informed Patton. “I’m seeking out information on the more reclusive creatures that live in these lands, like driders! This is the first one that I’ve met in person, so if they’re leaving, I need to catch up right away.”

Patton slid the sheath off of the little paring knife he’d taken to carrying and started sawing at one of the threads. “Are you going to try to capture him?” he asked, keeping his voice as even as he could. “You know, for your research.”

“I’m not a bounty hunter,” they replied indignantly. “The behavior of any being would be unnatural and stilted while imprisoned, especially a sapient one. My research is meant to increase humanity's understanding of driders, not to put them on display for entertainment.”

Patton blinked at them, slicing through another strand. “You… aren’t looking to hurt them?”

“No!” They honestly sounded offended by the idea. “I don’t think I ever could, anyhow, the one I met was very large, and they would likely be able to incapacitate me without any trouble.”

“Weren’t you scared?” Patton asked, remembering the terror that had swept through him during that first encounter, when he’d thought the drider was a giant creepy crawly death dealer. Even after he realized, when Virgil yoinked him with his two front legs, Patton had been a little nervous.

“People are only scared of what they don’t understand,” they informed him, chin lifted stubbornly, “and I know more about driders than any other human. I don’t see any reason to be afraid.”

“Wow… You’re really passionate about this, huh?” Patton grinned as he sliced through the last of the support webbing, and with a few snaps, the researcher fell to the ground, only a few strands of silk clinging to them.

“Of course!” they replied, pausing to pull some of the softer webbing bits off of himself and folding them into a pocket of his bag. “The information compiled on them is often vague or outright misleading, and due to their reclusiveness and occasional aggression, nobody else has been able to correct these false accounts.”

They paused, studying the woods around them. “I am… uncertain on how I’m going to discern which area the drider has chosen to migrate to. I don’t suppose you have any idea?”

Patton patted their shoulder. “Don’t worry about that. I think there’s a friend of mine you should meet properly.”

—

“Virgil!” Patton called brightly. “I’m here!”

He had been leading the way through increasingly dense and shadowy foliage for a fair while, now. Logan glanced up from their connected hands to see exactly where he was being pulled to, his heartbeat picking up in speed despite the possibility that this was a cruel prank or even a mugging.

Sure, Patton had described the drider that he’d met a couple of days ago quite accurately, but that was no assurance that he was actually familiar with the being. Most of the townsfolk seemed peripherally aware of ‘Virgil’’s presence, after all, so Patton could have glimpsed him before. It seemed more likely than them being friends. Driders were notoriously solitary, and ‘Virgil’ had seemed quite averse during Logan’s encounter with him, after all.

There was a crack from above, like a branch snapping.

In the next moment, a heavy weight had dropped down from above, knocking Logan to the ground and forcing all the air from his lungs. As he gasped futilely, he realized there were two hands pinning his arms to the ground, and some very familiar fangs put on full display, mere inches from his face.

“Leave him alone,” a very angry drider demanded, his regular voice layered with harsh, gravely rattling.

Logan wheezed in response, absently noting that there were multiple small black eyes visible against the dark marks under the more human set of eyes and wondering just how the two different ocular sensory organs overlapped.

“Virgil, stop!” Patton’s hands appeared at the edge of Logan’s vision, pushing back against Virgil’s shoulders until he eased up, lifting his crouched spider half up only slightly, as though prepared to lunge at Logan again at any moment. “He’s fine! He won’t hurt you!”

Virgil’s glare finally flicked away, though it turned more bewildered-angry than murderous-angry once landing on Patton. Logan wasn’t sure, but he thought the smaller eyes remained locked on him. “This is the mage I told you about! It’s not safe, you need to get out of here--,”

“Mage?” Logan asked, his voice still coming out a little winded. “What are you talking about?”

“He’s not,” Patton said at nearly the same time, “I promise, he just wants to know more about you! Right, Logan?”

“I’m certainly not a mage,” he agreed, rubbing at his arm. The full force of a drider grabbing him… that was going to bruise. He wondered if there was a way to measure that power. “I’m not sure how you got that impression, I don’t have any of the tools mages often carry.”

Virgil looked back and forth between the two humans with clear consternation, and Patton was the one who answered. “Well, most people are afraid at just the sight of him. And… you weren’t.”

“Of course not,” Logan said, still trying to grasp the connection between his lack of fear and his alleged magehood. “I was enthralled. He’s very beautiful.”

Above him, Virgil made a choked-off noise and shuffled back, giving Logan space to sit up and regain full faculty of his senses. Virgil had turned his face away, and Patton was muffling a smile behind his hand.

“Was that… invasive?” Logan asked hesitantly, glancing between the two of them. “I apologize, this is my first research voyage, so I may have become... over-enthusiastic.”

Virgil flapped a hand at him, as though trying to physically dispel his words. “What exactly does a ‘research voyage’ entail?”

Logan straightened up, trying to look as professional as possible while still sitting on the forest floor. He suspected there might be detritus in his hair. “It’s a journey undertaken by apprentice-level researchers to expand their knowledge in their specific field. Often, once they have thorough evidence and a compelling thesis, they will return to their teacher and present this in order to advance as a journeyman.”

Of course, Logan had no intention of doing that. He was going to spend as long as he could traveling and learning and compiling his knowledge, until nobody could argue that he wasn’t suited to the world of scholars.

“And your field is… spiders? Monsters?” Virgil asked, eyebrows raised dubiously.

“I am attempting to correct the misconceptions that are so rampant in bestiaries,” Logan corrected. “So many depend on them, but I’ve found very few actually capture the intricacies of the cultures and habits of nonhuman magical beings. They read more like old wives’ tales, passed down and warped with time, and both the scientific community and the beings in question suffer for it.”

“Huh.” Virgil tilted his head slightly, and Logan realized that at some point his smaller eyes had closed, the dark creases vanishing amidst the pockets of shade under his eyes.

“That sounds like the bestiary way to help people!” Patton added, and Logan watched in disbelief as Virgil’s expression relaxed further, the drider snorting softly.

“So all I’d have to do is… be a drider in front of you?” he asked, one of his back legs tapping against the ground in a remarkable imitation of the way a nervous human might tap their foot. Logan nodded. “I guess… it could work. And it’d be nice to have someone else around who won’t scream at the sight of me.”

“New friend!” Patton cheered, looking perhaps more delighted at the idea than Logan’s presence really warranted. “Only the spidaring are cool enough to be friends with Virgil.”

“Is the wordplay going to be a regular thing with him?” Logan asked, his face pinching sourly.

“Better get used to it. He’s punstoppable,” Virgil replied, grinning toothily when Logan shot him a betrayed look. Logan thought he seemed pleased, going by the subtle twitching of his pointy ears.

Logan hid a small smile of his own. Perhaps following Patton wasn't the unwisest decision he'd ever made, after all.

#sanders sides #sanders sides fic #arachnaphobia tw #ts patton #ts logan #ts virgil #drider #drider au #my writing #helpless #writing #am i missing tags?

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hella1975 · 3 years ago

Note

Different anon but I also have a question. what does the queen do exactly?? Like is she in charge of the government or is she just a symbol of the government? I am American and thus have no clue

okay i did learn about this when studying law and so im not being like 'god people are so ignorant they should know this, time to do a ranty post about it' im actually more so being like 'it's a little terrifying that we only find out about who has power if we specifically choose subjects that have to teach it' like this should be COMMON KNOWLEDGE IN BRITAIN but a lot of people just.... do not know what the queen does, or the pretty substantial difference between her and the government, so i definitely dont expect an american to know (this is why i specified in that other post to hesitate before saying anything. it wasn't to be rude it's just like. we're fighting for our lives over here as it is besties lmaoo)

so let's get into it!!!! an excuse to dredge up my law a-level for a topic most people go rottweiler mode about when they only have surface level questionably attained information!!! what could go wrong!!!

i would like to specify im going off just the experience of living in england and 2 years doing a law a-level that i was moderately okay at and NOTHING MORE. this is not exhaustive and may very well even be inaccurate. that'll happen when you ask idiots online for their personal rundown of a political topic so dont use this as your baseline. do your own research. seriously.

so in the uk we have a democratically elected government as well as the royal family. the royal family, obviously, have been around for a Long Fucking Time so were NOT chosen by the people, which is where a lot of my person anti-royalist sentiment stems from. the government, however, WERE chosen by the people. hence the whole democracy thing. i promise this is relevant and not me being pedantic. when a law is made, it goes through the house of commons first (the real seat of democracy basically; full of MPs - members of parliament? that one felt obvious but idk if america has that - that have been voted in by the public from each constituency), then the house of lords (full of rich knobheads born into like. literal nobility. or some other pretentious shit that got them title of lord idk i hate them though). these two houses create ✨parliament✨, though they aren't equal bc a while ago im pretty sure there was an act that limited the power the house of lords had, so like i said the real seat of democracy is definitely the house of commons.

to make a law, these blokes all have a little row in westminster and if the majority of them hates it, then nothing can happen, but if the majority of them like it, we have a bill. this is basically a draft. and even just between this bill being created and it getting sent off to be discussed in the house of lords, there is a SHIT TON of stages. like it's read out three different times??? and other stuff???? AND THEN the house of lords debates it, and when they give it the all clear which ultimately they usually do bc like i said they don't have as much power as they used to, the bill is sent off for royal assent.

so now we've got that outlined, it's important to now know that parliament (aka all those democratically appointed people!) have the highest legislative power in the uk. more than the queen does. so when the queen receives this bill, it has been produced, debated, fine-tuned, and debated again about ten times over by the DEMOCRATICALLY APPOINTED PARLIAMENT. all it needs now to become an official law is for her to give it a big ol' tick. literally all royal assent is is queen lizzie going 'yeah this fucks' and there we go.

so imagine if after ALL THAT, the queen looked into the face of democracy and went 'no :/'. legally she has the power to, but socially if she doesn't want to get antoinetted, she actually cannot say no to a law. and she NEVER HAS, and that's why a lot of articles are very misleading like 'guess what queen bitch herself has authorised this time >:(((((' when truthfully, if she said no, it would be even more problematic than the laws themselves, because it would actually infringe on literal democracy. do i hate it bc we've had a tory government for the past decade meaning all laws being created are absolutely abhorrent? yes. yes i do. do i think her refusing their laws, even if it aligned with what i want, would benefit the situation? absolutely fucking not. there would be RIOTS

so what does the queen actually do? jack shit. this is another reason why i hate the monarchy so much, bc not only are they symbols of intense classism and a history of colonisation, but they are living in the lap of luxury on taxpayer money (tax they often see themselves above of!) for doing JACK SHIT. one thing i'll give them is that they bring an UNBELIEVABLE amount of tourism to the uk, but aside that lizzie just sits there with her little hats and corgies doing ceremonies and not much else. and i don't completely begrudge her that! i think taking power from the monarchy and putting it into democratically elected governments was one of the smartest things this dumb place did! even if we are going to democratically elect WANKERS but i digress.

so yeah. old bessie actually has NEGLIGIBLE power these days. i hate her as a symbol. i can respect her as a person.

#like the queen is actually RENOWNED for staying out of politics #which as she should??? bc she's just some lady at the end of the day?? and she's old???#what business does she have ordering about actual politicians even if they are morally corrupt shits???#like when bojo (DETESTED!!!) suspended parliament in like 2019 i think it was #yeah it would have been actually bc that was brexit innit EW i remember the day the election came in so clearly #literal trauma response #anyway #when he suspended parliament it was a HUGE constitutional and democratical row #bc he should NOT have done that at all like most things bojo does #and the queen had no actual right to refuse him even if legally she had the power to #and he KNEW THAT #and the thing with british politics is that the way you have to behave as a politician is INCREDIBLY hinged on our older ways #like honourcodes and duty and shit like that #and the queen is notorious for being incredibly dutybound. she honours her position of limited power even if she doesnt like it #so when he did that the press was less like 'lizzie lets bojo have free reign of the country for kicks'#and more like 'how fucking dare this fucker corner the actual literal queen and DISRESPECT HER like this'#bc that's how little power the queen has despite having some legal power #it was seen as DISRESPECTFUL of the prime minister to ask her to suspend parliament #bc she couldn't actually say no #does that make sense?#basically britain still has MASSIVE ISSUES you're all just looking at the wrong target for most of them #i can point you in the right direction though dw dw we've got PLENTY of wankers in power <3 #*smiling through gritted teeth* i love it here #ask

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hoe-imaginess · 4 years ago

Text

vanilla | dabi

very alpha!Dabi x fem omega!Reader

summary: Dabi isn’t aware that the LoV has an omega up for grabs, not until he accidentally comes across you in heat.

word count: 11.7k

contains: dub-con elements, scent kink, humiliation, masturbation, hella dirty talk, mentions of blood/burns, Dabi being an all around bastard

a/n: commissioned by K to share part of my ABO fic. Most ABO stuff makes me squeamish so I leave out token tropes (aka knots) another private fic that I didn’t plan on posting so it’s kinda uhhhhh bad lmao. will possibly post more but idk.

DON'T let the title mislead you ok Dabi is anything but vanilla

⤰

When he found the safehouse, Dabi knocked at the front entrance.

For a long time there was no response, and he tried again, louder this time and with more exasperation.

“Coming,” he heard a shout finally, muffled across the steel door.

Dabi rubbed his eyes to put some pressure behind them, in hopes it might too take that same pressure away from the sting in his nose.

Some heady omega in the area was in heat, and a bad one; the entire neighborhood reeked of the tantalizing aroma.

He groaned, jaw tensing, and with practiced composure put the fire down in his body. He had enough of it running under his skin every second of the day in the form of his quirk. He didn’t need any more. But it was getting worse the longer he waited there with that smell tiding in the air.

He didn’t even know why he was there, doing such a chore, in the first place.

Maybe it was because this League of Villains business was a promising crusade; he’d heard good things and seen for himself some profit in the affiliation, even despite how profusely he disliked the weird hand-guy, or how awkward the black fog in a suit could be.

The other recruit, Toga—who he found as equally disagreeable as the rest—had all but blindsided him that evening as he exited the dainty bar which they called headquarters.

Could you do me a favor, Dabi? she’d entreated with an attempt at innocent, girl-like charm: a tactic which, as it usually did, failed. The manic grin on her face had only made him want to be away from her company all the sooner.

No, he’d said, and pushed past her.

But she’d skipped after him, steadfast.

Tomura had asked her to run an errand in one of the more dangerous parts of the city, she’d said, but she wasn’t sure what to do. She was just a girl, after all. Couldn’t Dabi do her this one favor and take the responsibility off her hands? She was too nervous to take a trip like that, and so late in the night.

Bullshit, he’d said, but instead of protesting in defense of herself, she’d just giggled like a lunatic, dropping her pretense.

Still, when she said it was a delivery which needed to be made to you, the only member of the League he had yet to officially meet, curiosity pinched him.

Indifferent as he was to comradery, he was undeniably interested in unearthing the particulars of this would-be villainous syndicate, which included being at least somewhat familiar with his allies. He knew you had been an original member even before he and the psycho schoolgirl came into the fold; but little else.

You needed a delivery to be made to one of the League’s safehouses? Well, maybe he could oblige, if only to snoop around. Shigaraki was particularly fastidious with the information he willfully shared, and Dabi would take any opportunity to filch information under the boss’s nose in stride.

After all, if Toga, a new—and undoubtedly incompetent—recruit was being tasked with these deliveries, why not Dabi? Why not Kurogiri, who could make the shipment with ease given his quirk?

What was going on behind the scenes that Dabi wasn’t seeing?

Underwhelming as his first task as a newcomer would be, he saw it as an opportunity. He could be a good and useful asset to the League just for the night, he’d decided, when he told Toga he would do it. He was headed to that side of town anyways, he’d said.

So there he found himself, his foot tapping impatiently on the ground as he waited outside the safehouse.

That goddamn scent that wafted around the building... Why did he feel as though he’d smelled it before? And why did it smell so… sickeningly sweet?

He tried to distract himself by musing over what might have solicited these late-night deliveries, for example: what was in this suitcase he was meant to give you.

Toga had handed it to him with such a twisted, giddy smile on her face that he was half-convinced it was a bomb ready to blow and scatter him into pieces for her sick delight. Once he’d found it locked, he’d given up on guessing the contents after he shook the thing and the rattling inside gave no indication of the secrets it held.

More distraction, he entreated himself.

He thought of the itch of his staples, the uncomfortable tingle on his ridged skin when the air brought heavy wind against it. He thought of anything that might take away from the smell of raw heat in the area, but it was an instinctual pull that left him fidgeting where he stood.

He was about ready to leave the suitcase at the door and hit the road, when there was a commotion from across the threshold.

The aroma that burst from the opening door completely smothered him, made every bone in his body feel like smoldering steel; made lightning shoot down his veins and a low breath catch in his lungs.

You blanked when you saw him there, your pupils blowing wide with shock, then, if he read it correctly, fear.

He sniffed hard, his body scrambling for a source to the scent that begged his alpha inclinations to go wild. The inhalation sent pinpricks of warmth down to his feet. The smell was overwhelming now, almost dizzying.

And it was coming from you.

“Fuck,” he spat, and covered his nose with his arm, backing away from the door.

You slammed it shut, your heart racing.

“What are you doing here?!” you demanded.

“Came to give you this goddamn shit,” he snapped, throwing the suitcase at the door. It landed with a violent thud. His limbs jerked with frayed nerves, like the sun was heating his skin and crawling down to his center. “Are you an idiot!? You know I’m an—”

“I do that’s why I wanted Toga to bring it—”

“She had me do it,” he shouted, and backed himself against the opposite alley wall, a hand clenching and unclenching against his clothed thigh.

Goddamn your smell. Goddamn it. Like vanilla. Horribly sweet. So fucking potent.

He threw his head back against the wall, ignoring the throbbing pain it kneaded into his skull, and breathed hard.

He wanted to bust down the door. His legs twitched at the impulse; fingers tensed and flames licked their tips.

It would be easy. Kick it down. Burn it down. Burn the whole goddamn place down if need be. He wanted to force his way in, wanted to claw at your clothes and shove himself inside you—

Instead he took another deep breath, and loosed it on a shaky sigh.

He’d handled omega heats before, why was he like this now? Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. This was too much.

“You need to leave,” you muttered from the other side of the door, so resolute and aggrieved that he would have never guessed you were keeled over on the floor, legs shut tight and body shivering. His alpha smell was nauseating you; it was strong and dominating and demanding that you open yourself to him. “Now.”

“Yeah I’m goin',” he snapped angrily, storming off down the alley once his legs restored their loyalty to his head, and not what was between his legs. “Fuck."

⤰

Dabi stroked himself hard and fast and rough, nose pressed into his sleeve, breathing in the sweet tang of vanilla that lingered between the fibers.

He growled out his next breath, and it sputtered off into a wobbly sigh as he closed his eyes and thought of you: those perfect tits he was sure you were hiding under your clothes; your ass, which would look like nice, he knew, with his handprints burned onto the skin; and then your cunt—fuck, he could almost imagine how tight it was, how hotly it would grip him and milk every last fucking drop of his cum—the mere vision of it pink and twitching and spread out for him was like an explosive punch to his gut.

He came in thick, hot spurts, some rolling over his knuckles as he quickly twisted his fist over the cockhead, others staining the brick wall in front of him with ropey, white streaks.

“Fuck,” he panted, chest heaving, limbs trembling. A hand shot to the wall and braced himself there for balance, kept him upright while his quivering knees threatened to fail him.

When was the last time he’d even had to rub one out like this? In a dirty fucking alley? And least of all because of some stupid omega?

Goddamn you, he thought.

⤰

“Dabi!” Toga squealed when he returned to the bar later in the morning. She sniffed the air, breathed in his smokey scent, and flashed a hungry smile, tongue dipping out to wet her eager lips. “You smell so strong. Are you worked up?” Then her eyes were bright and thrilled. “Oh? Oh?! Did you see _____-chan? Did you?"

“Yeah, you crazy idiot.” Dabi slammed the bar door shut behind him. "You just forget to mention that she was in heat?”

Shigaraki, who’d been previously uninterested in the debacle, now looked up from his game. “What?”

Toga giggled. “Oh yeah, I forgot about that. Did you smell her? Oh, it’s so nice, isn’t it?” The girl’s eyes twitched and rolled back loftily in ravenous remembrance. “_____-chan smells so sweet. So sweet—”

“You caught her in heat?” Shigaraki asked, accusative but curious. “Are you stupid?"

Scowling, Dabi jerked a thumb at Toga. “Dipshit over here had me take some stuff over to that safehouse you got. I didn’t fuckin’ know."

“You dumb girl,” Shigaraki snapped, turning on her now. “Are you brain dead? Or do you really not get why omegas hide from alphas during heats? Why do you think we have a beta like you go do deliveries now?”

“I know what happens!” she contended. “I thought she could use some company. She smells so delicious. Was it fun, Dabi? Was it fun and romantic and—”

“Try infuriating,” Dabi spat, then set his anger on Shigaraki. “You’re no better. Either of you.” He nodded his head at Kurogiri behind the bar. “Would’ve been nice to know you had an unmated omega in your group.”

“Thought you’d noticed by now,” Shigaraki replied, now somewhat subdued, and tending to his game again. “What, your nose doesn’t work?”

“It works fuckin’ fine. Just didn’t realize that scent you got around here all the time was hers.”

In recollection, he put his sleeve over his nose. The sweet smell had vanished, but the memory of it still haunted his senses, made every nerve in his body flutter with excitement. It was driving him fucking insane.

“How the hell do you two work with an omega?” Dabi asked. “That gets heats like that, no less.”

“We’re not animals,” the leader replied. “Some of us can handle it.”

“My ass. Guessin’ that’s the reason she’s never around, huh? You don’t seem very disciplined. Bet you catch one whiff of that slick and go completely ape shit.”

Shigaraki scowled, affronted.

“It was our mistake not warning you,” Kurogiri conciliated the blame, clearly nervous, and possibly displeased by the crass talk. “We were under the impression that you knew. We’ve taken steps to lessen the risk in our years together. We are somewhat… desensitized.”

“Good for you,” Dabi muttered. “I ain’t. A heads up would’ve been nice.”

“Now you know,” Shigaraki said, scratching peevishly at his neck. “Stop complaining. You’ll get used to it.”

Dabi tsked. “Yeah, you better hope I do.” Then he stalked off.

“Did you do that on purpose?” Shigaraki asked Toga once the other alpha had departed.

Toga keened happily, still enamored with Dabi’s untamed scent. Alphas were so delicious when worked up.

“I forgot,” she insisted dreamily. “Honest, I did.”

“That was a very risky mistake,” Kurogiri was saying, black vapors flitting nervously about his frame. “As a beta, you may not be aware of the risks that both alphas and omegas face when it comes to positions of power–”

Toga pouted and whined, like a child whose gleeful imagination had been thwarted. “I don’t get it. I was just doing them both a favor. Alphas are supposed to take of omegas in heat, aren’t they? What’s the big deal?” She had a stupid smile on her face again, rapt with thoughts of desire. “It must be so nice as an alpha, getting to take any little omega you want… they’re so needy.”

“The big deal, you damn idiot,” Shigaraki started, “is that a guy like that is too selfish to put our objectives before his prick. There’s a reason we don’t mess with that heat and rutting crap here. Complicates things. Makes everyone go crazy. Like you.”

She tittered like a lunatic, proud of her indignity. “She smells so good, Tomura. It’s not fair. Not fair at all.”

⤰

After your heat, once you’d returned to the bar, you ignored Dabi to the best of your ability.

At first, he seemed content enough to reciprocate the caution. You both treaded carefully: any eye-contact made would be swiftly curtailed with averted gazes; you cleared a room whenever he entered, and vice versa, he acted as though you were invisible to him.

It would be fine, you’d told yourself. You’d dealt with the ugly dynamics your omega lifestyle wrought countless times. You could do it again. Dabi was a new recruit, after all. Promising—albeit coarse—according to Tomura. His contribution to the team far outweighed the plights of your personal struggles. You would be fine. It would be fine.

But those lofty self-reassurances were short-lived.

You were sitting in one of the bar’s empty rooms when he sought you out. You smelled him before he rounded the corner, and fear gripped you when the alpha bouquet invaded your senses. But then something else came to seek your submission: an instinctual calling on the wisps of his scent, bringing an anxious and conflicting nostalgia back to you.

God his smell had followed you for days: a smokey aroma, but something so fresh underneath it, like cold mint. You’d never been so enthralled by a scent before, never been so tempted to give in to carnal desire and offer yourself to a being nature had designated as your superior: an alpha.

He stood in the doorway of the room, just looking at you; you stared back, frozen, and made yourself small in hopes that you might avoid whatever confrontation was to come.

“Your heats always that stupidly strong?” he asked.

You blanched and took a deep breath to quell your unease. You wished to anything that the world would swallow you and take you away from what was undoubtedly going to be one of the worst, most uncomfortable confrontations of your life.

“Yes,” you said. “That’s why I have to go away.”

“Why? I mean, most omegas do it. Usually to work it out themselves, right? Bet that little delivery I made was a bunch of toys, wasn’t it?”

“No,” you said, feeling embarrassed by the mere speculation. “It was a suppressant. They don’t usually work on me... I’m trying to find the right one.”

The broad smirk that shifted his scarring tissue made you shift uncomfortably. “Suppressants are useless if your heat is too strong. That shit was bad. The smell is ridiculous. You clearly ain't doing somethin' right if it’s always that potent.”

You shivered at the mention of your scent. It was always what they mentioned—the alphas. They always raved about your scent: like sweet candy, some said. Most often, vanilla. The sniff of it on your very nose was nauseating after so long: an inescapable quality that put you in the crosshairs of nearly every alpha you’d met, made you frightfully easy prey to their predator.

“I’ve...” Shit, should you be sharing this with him? Normally you did, with most alphas you were acquainted with. Especially those you trusted. But you didn’t trust him. You barely knew him. “I’ve never... been rutted properly. So, they’re stronger. The heats.”

“Never been rutted through a heat?” he asked, scoffing. “Sounds miserable. You’re all backed up, aren’t ya? That’s why you struggle with your scent so much.”

You were quiet. You met his interrogation more confidently than you previously thought possible, given how successfully he’d intimidated you up until now. But your fear was draining away slowly, giving way to some sense of adeptness.

Memories of his scent had haunted your every bodily cell since the moment you’d first experienced it. Although facing it again now was overwhelming, you’d steeled yourself since then.

It would be okay, you reminded yourself. Conferring with allied alphas was only a necessary tack if you were going to keep the peace.

“I have, obviously,” you answered. “I’ve been rutted through a heat. But, it’s not the same if it’s not with… well—”

“An alpha?” he finished, and couldn’t help the surprise on his face. “You’ve never been with an alpha in your heat?”

You shook your head. And then there it was, the returning frailty so thick that it seized the room. Why were you so humiliated to speak your truths? They were truths, after all, under his harsh gaze or not.

“…I’ve never been with an alpha at all.”

He actually laughed. “Nah. You’re lying.”

“I’m not.”

“Never even fooled around a bit?”

“No."

A wry, callous grin stretched his staples. He tilted his head and hummed curiously. “You afraid? Of alphas?”

“No.”

“Yeah, you are.”

“I’m not.”

“Omegas are normally dyin’ to get laid when they’re in heat. Especially when they’re surrounded by alphas they actually know, like you are. Would be one thing if you were locking yourself up to hide from strangers, but you’re not. Gross as that hand-guy is, he seems like he’d rut for ya."

“I just don’t... want it.”

“Nah. You’re scared. I can tell. Should’ve seen that look on your face the other day, damn near terrified—like I was gonna jump on you any second.”

You bristled with agitation, frustration invited back in full bloom now that your confidence was weakened. “Sorry if I don’t trust you,” you returned with grim sarcasm. “You’re not very… decent, to put it plainly.”

“Decent? Nah, I’m not. Alphas aren’t supposed to be. But that’s why you’re all nervous, right?”

“I don’t…” You shook your head, thoughts tripping over one another. “My quirk makes it difficult,” you admitted, and bit your tongue shortly afterwards.

”Your quirk?”

You swore it was his pheromones making you talk, clouding your judgment and wringing admissions from you. “Alphas and omegas dealing with ruts or heats… it compromises their quirks sometimes, I’m sure you know. Makes them uncontrollable and disorderly. I don’t want that to happen to me. Heats are bad enough on their own. Actually getting rutted through one…” You shrugged, vulnerable to be sharing your fears. “I don’t know. I heard it can go wrong. It would be too much.”

“Oh.” He snickered. “Afraid you’re gonna get too horny and flip out or something?”

Heat primed your cheeks in a blush. “No. I mean… In a way. But, thats not what I really meant–”

“So you just run away whenever you’re in heat? ‘Cause you don’t know how to handle it? That’s sad. Bet you wouldn’t be such a stuck up mess if you just let someone rut you through it, at least once. That’s what you’re supposed to do. Forget suppressants. Not just that,” he snickered, and smirked slyly, “it’s awfully unfair of you to be such a prude when you’ve got a bunch of alphas around."

You shivered, not simply noticing, but feeling his eyes pore over you. “They’re not interested.”

“Fuck that. Don’t know if you heard sweetheart, but omegas are made for us to fuck and breed.”

“No,” you said, almost indignantly, “they aren’t.” To be reduced to something so primitive and incidental put anger in your veins. It was a sore, but inevitable topic you were unfortunate to suffer so often.

“Yeah. They are. Don’t know how that hand-creep hasn’t tried to jump your bones yet. I sure as shit would have, by now.”

Then, considering his words, he made a curious frown. “Unless you hide to keep away from that guy.” As he thought of these depraved illustrations in his head, put pieces of his own mused puzzle together, the grim smile returned. “Yeah. I can see that. Putting your own sanity on the line because you don’t wanna provoke your boss. You’d rather scurry off than deal with that guy. You really are scared of alphas, huh?”

“No,” you spat. “Tomura is…“ God, you hated this, hated how his smell was driving you crazy, making you pliant. “Tomura doesn’t need distractions. He’s not very… well-equipped to handle these sort of things.”

You wouldn’t mention how the visual of Tomura’s hands gripping you with alpha-driven need, unwittingly cursing your skin with his quirk, obliging your flesh to break away under his clutches and slowly split you open was a terror that kept you awake some nights.

“I stay out of the way for both our sakes,” you said, shaking the fearsome thoughts away. “Everything works out fine the way it is. We want it this way. We know how to focus on our mission and that only."

He shrugged, unconvinced. “Sure, gotta keep the peace or whatever. Don’t wanna turn the League into a rut fest. Puttin’ the greater good over their alpha needs, over what’s in their pants."

You frowned at him, displeased with the vulgarity.

He snickered to see it. “Commendable of them and all that. But…” He pushed from the wall he’d leaned against and came towards you. You inched away, heart beating fast at the sudden approach. “I’m a little more radical about this stuff, I guess you could say. I think you’d be much more useful if you weren’t so pent up.”

When he crouched down in front of you, you backed into the wall that you sat against, but there was no room for escape. He wasn’t smiling now, only perusing you with expressionless intensity. You tried to suppress a shiver when his eyes rolled down your body.

“Never really been all that concerned with this sort of stuff, not gonna lie. I’ll rut when I need to. Otherwise shit starts getting complicated and I can’t think straight.” He shrugged. “But in case you haven’t noticed, my body ain’t all that suited for frantic ruts. I try to take it easy, if possible. But… I always thought it was a little dumb that we’re engineered to think with what’s between our legs, most of the time.”

And so saying, his warm had slid between your partially opened thighs, which shivered at his touch and clamped together quickly to deny him.

But he wasn’t deterred, and shoved against the resistance, slipping the invading hand under your skirt.

“Stop,” you demanded, breath automating into nervous pants. In sudden fear of being happened upon by the others, you glanced around feverishly, your feet shuffling on the ground to push you back against the wall.

“Stop, now.” Your hands were on his arm, trying to push him away. “Dabi,” you insisted, trying to sound firm. But it did little to deter him.

“See? Bet if you weren’t so damn skittish you’d be putting up a real fight.” His hand finally broke through the tight resistance of your thighs, and his fingers pressed against your underwear. They were damp to the touch.

He laughed, and stroked over the wetness with his knuckle, making you keen and try to pull away.

“Ridiculous,” he muttered, looking down between your trembling thighs. “Unless you were playing with yourself before I got here, I’m guessin’ this is because of me?”

He took the wet fabric between his two fingers and rubbed together. “And what��d I do for you to get like this? You’re not even in heat. And I’ve barely got a scent on me right now. We’re just talking, ______. You really that hot for me, sweetheart?”

At the sound of your name coming from his mouth, gravelly and low, you shuddered, and put an arm over your mouth to keep in a stammering moan. But his other hand came and pulled the limb away.

“Please,” you stuttered out. “Stop.”

“Am I the first alpha who’s touched you like this?” he asked, ignoring your plea.

Your thighs tightened around him again, and one of your hands went to his collar, squeezing into it in meager resistance.

That too he ignored, and looked at you with plain impatience. “Am I?”

You whimpered and nodded, unable to form words when your lips were stuck harshly bitten between your teeth.

“Yeah, thought so.”

Then his thumb worked its cruel intentions and circled your clit. The pathetic gasp he received in turn made him chuckle.

“Nah. See, this isn’t supposed to happen.” His thumb pressed harder and your head knocked back against the wall. “I’ve seen some pretty slutty omegas, but this is plain stupid.”

“I’m—” You practically hiccuped through a whine, and squeezed your eyes shut, your quirk threatening to reveal itself, answering the calls of your panic and ready to defend against his assault. “I’m not a slut—”

He brushed up on your clit hard and you whimpered, defense all but surmounted.

“Okay, fine. You’re not a slut. You’re just damn sensitive because you’ve never given your body what it needs.” He grinned his wicked grin. “An alpha.”

You shook your head. “No—”

“Yes.”

You shook it vigorously now, and your hands came back to life, pushing at him. “No.”

“Yes, _____,” he breathed, laughing. “I thought you were supposed to be smart. Alpha, omega, whatever—those instincts make your brain all mushy if you don’t get it under control. You’ve got some dissonance going on in your head. You’re really letting yourself go because of it. You wanna be a good ally for your boss, but you can’t, because you’re too scared to—"

“I’m not,” you insisted, eyes wrenching themselves open to look at him. He was amused, depravedly amused, but still remarkably composed for how ruthlessly he was teasing you. “I just don’t want it–”

He snorted loudly, and you were sure the sound would echo and bring someone upon the spectacle. “You don’t want it? Seriously? Now you’re just in denial.”

His fingers coiled around your panties and shoved against your bare skin; your pussy was wet and warm to the touch.

“I can smell your slick, holy fuck,” he muttered. For the first time, though everything up until this point had been cruelly entertaining but not entirely stimulating, he felt his cock twitch, and his mouth water. He hummed. “Bet you taste like vanilla, too, don’t you?”

“St-stop,” you stuttered, face going hot with embarrassment, hiding it against your shoulder as if it would help mitigate the fluster.

He let go of the arm he’d been restraining, put a hand on your knee, and tried to push your legs open. He was surprised when met with resistance; you kept your thighs locked together like a vice, making it substantially more difficult to move his fingers on your clit the way he wanted.

He scoffed.

“Open your legs,” he demanded of you, and felt your body twitch at the command.

He looked at you, and was pleased to find you staring back, wide-eyed and jolted. His blue eyes narrowed autocratically.

He spoke his command slower, but with more authority, “Open them. Now."

And when you did, he let out a breathy laugh of satisfaction, and admired the mess of wetness between your thighs. “See? See how easy that was?”

One hand gripped the soft flesh of your thigh—shit, the skin was practically begging for his teeth to sink in, to make you bleed, to mark you—while the occupied continued its ministrations, fingers jerking quickly over your pink clit.

"What if I were some enemy tryin’ to get some information out of you, huh? You’d probably spill everything about the League to another alpha the second he gave your pussy any attention. Shit,” he laughed, head cocking curiously as he played with the folds of your cunt, “I’m just teasin' you a little and you’re already dripping, for one. For two, following my every command like a good little whore.”

You shook your head, wordless in your denial. You thought you could taste blood in your mouth from your own lips, teeth digging in harshly to give your body any sensation to distract from the burgeoning pleasure. Your nerves were trampling over one another, all of them somehow alight with fire, but numb all the same.

“Imagine what I, or any other alpha, really, could get you to do with a cock inside you. Ever think of that? And if you were in heat?” He scoffed. “Forget it. You’re pretty much a liability at this point. Don’t know why the hell your boss keeps you around. It’s pathetic.”

Bracing both hands on his shoulders, you loosed a strangled moan of frustration, fingers biting into his clothes, pressing against the lean muscle beneath. He didn’t seem to care, too focused on the pink, twitching flesh now turning red from his fingers' abuse. He swiped his pointer and middle across your clit in a dizzying pace, until the tendons in his wrists burned and his knuckles ached. But your scent… fuck, the fucking scent—

He prided himself on his practiced fortitude against alpha instincts; his body, wracked by the toll of his quirk, was vulnerable as it was. Willpower was necessary to stave off the feral hunger that often made him forget his own fragility and indulge the fierceness of ruts and heats. It always ended with loose staples and bloody rivulets along his skin. Self-aware as he was of his own limitations, he so rarely let himself indulge his body’s desires.

But fuck if you weren’t testing him.

You were close, you knew, your body spasming and breath catching in every interval. You panicked, tried to fight it, but it was as though his fingers had caged your volition somewhere in the back of your mind, and instead propagated all senses to pleasure.

“Fucking tease,” he muttered under his breath, but you barely heard him above the frenzied din in your brain.

Just as you felt something in you stirring irrevocably, both his hands left you, and he stood to his feet.

You nearly toppled over, and spilt over yourself awkwardly to try and catch yourself on the ground. The wet slide between your thighs was horribly palpable, and horribly embarrassing.

You panted as you gathered yourself, looking up at him in flustered awe as you shut your thighs and protectively shoved your skirt back into place.

He was admiring his fingers, the wetness coating them, and when he noticed your gaze, waved them at you teasingly. “See this?”

So wet, you thought, humiliated, as a sticky strand started to spill from his finger. You shivered, your face sweltering and flushed.

“This is your body’s way of telling you that it’s beggin’ to be filled.”

You shuddered, and held yourself miserably, trying to fight the unsatisfied heat in your veins with calming breaths. “You’re horrible,” you whispered, your mouth dry.

“Nah. I’m being a nice guy. The only smart one around here, too, looks like.”

He licked at his fingers, a shudder going down his spine when he tasted the sweetness. It was unreal. “This is ridiculous. You wouldn’t have to worry so much about scurrying away from alphas if your smell wasn’t so strong. If you’re heat wasn’t so strong. And none of it would be, if you just did what you were made to do. You’re repressed. Backed up as hell—”

“I wasn’t made to do anything,” you argued, frustration returning.

“You can keep sayin’ it, but it doesn’t make it any less true. You’re more trouble than you’re worth, honestly. Got everyone jumpin’ through hoops for you because you’re so damn sensitive. I ain’t gonna do that.”

You sat there in a heap, fidgeting uncomfortably and fighting for any sense of self-determination you could. He’d said his scent was scant, but you swore it was filling the room, pulping your thoughts and dizzying your nauseous head.

“Clearly you’ve been stuck with some pretty underwhelming alphas until now,” he said. “So I’m gonna do you a favor. Next time you’re in heat, find me, and I’ll do something about it.”

He wiped his dirtied fingers on his shirt, then left you there.

⤰

A month later, Dabi got a call.

“What?” he answered curtly, thinking it was Shigaraki from a burner number. The boss did that sometimes, despite there being little need for throwaways. It was theatrical and annoying.

“It’s me.”

After a pause of non-recognition, you sighed, “It’s ______.”

“Oh?” You could hear the smile in his voice.

In the alley, Dabi admired the burning body he’d just finished off, the corpse kindling his blue flames nicely as it crumbled to ash.

He laughed lowly. “Yeah. Been about a month, hasn’t it. You had some time to think sweetheart?”

From the other end, you bit your lip. “I have rules.”

Something seeped into his blood and swelled within him. Like a breeze carried from somewhere far off, he got a whiff of your sweet scent, just a ghost of it, and licked his lips.

“Seems a little over the top,” he said. “But I’m listening.”

There was a sound in the alley behind him, and he glanced over his shoulder.

You took a deep breath on the other end, nervously playing with the hem of your shirt. “I’ll be at a different place tonight. Another safehouse, down by the docks. The first rule is that when you get here, you have to—”

Dabi heard the cocking of a gun. The disdainful comrade of the dead, scorched man had the weapon raised and trained on him, spouting some threatening nonsense of vengeance. The flame-wielder huffed in annoyance.

“Can’t really talk right now,” he spoke into the receiver, his hands brightening with his quirk. “I’ll find the place. Better not get cold feet.”

“Dabi—”

But he hung up before you could say more.

⤰

You waited for the better half of the evening shot to pieces with doubt.

You’d gone over the situation a dozen times, and twice that number decided the uncontrollable confusions weren’t worth second-guessing; dictating right and wrong left you light-headed when your body was already a frenzied playground of sensation thanks to your heat.

You started to text him the address when midnight rolled around, just in case he’d gotten lost—then thought better of it. The uncertain doublet came again: You couldn’t do this. It was dangerous. You hadn’t witnessed Dabi’s brutality firsthand, but the hearsay was worrisome enough. He would break you. It would end horribly. Your quirk, or even his, would lash out—

Then the other half of the fretful analysis: Yes. You could do this. It was natural. It was true what he’d said, about you neglecting your body’s desires, and in turn leaving room only for self-sabotage. The thought of him drove you wild with uncertainty, but so did the notion of not doing this; your body was raging at the absence of touch. One which he was apparently willing to give.

Finally you called him, nerves scattered and patience thinned, deciding that whatever he had to say to you on the other line would determine whether or not you should carry on with your plans.

Almost as soon as you heard the ringing from the other line, so too did a chirpy noise come from right outside the safehouse door: a phone.

You blanched. Before you could make toward the door, the metal lever twisted with a creak and opened. He was there on the other side with his phone in hand, and lifted it teasingly when his eyes found you in the dim room.

“If you’re callin’ to give me directions, waste of time,” he said as he slunk inside. “I can smell you across the damn street.”

You shivered, smelling him, too: he radiated a warm scent, then that icy undertone which always perplexed you in the most enticing way.

He shut the door behind him, locked it, and inspected you. He huffed in amusement to see how nervous you were.

“You said you had some rules,” he started, coming towards you. Your heart started skipping. “Sounds like a lot of bullshit, so I wasn’t gonna remind you. But I guess if it’ll stop you from chickening out halfway…”

His hands were on you in an instant, at your sides, squeezing and kneading the flesh underneath your shirt. You froze. The dumbfounded look on your face had him smirking.

“Not that you’ll be able to once I get started,” he went on. “Or even want to. Probably gonna forget you even had rules once I stick it in you.”

The hands went down, gripped your ass, and brought your bodies together. You braced yourself against his forearms, stuttering when he wasted no time and pressed his face into your jaw, licking, kissing, teasing you with teeth.

Your eyes fluttered closed, mouth hanging open as he traveled down. At his touch, your mind slowed to blind submission. The excitement was stroking a fire in you that you hadn’t even known was there.

Fuck, it was too much. Already, too much.

“You gonna tell me?” he asked between kisses. "Or you already forgot?”

As he moved to your neck, he inhaled sharply through his nose. The sweet scent stirred a frenzy in his gut.

“Fuck.” The hands at your ass squeezed so hard that you gasped. “Goddamn girl,” he laughed breathily, grinding against you. “That shit’s good.”

“I—" You choked on your next words when he spread your thighs apart from behind, fingers curling under your skirt to feel for your panties. “The rules, I—”

“You better spit it out,” he warned, coming up to look at you, eyes fixed with hunger. “I’m not a patient guy. I’m really gonna pounce on you in a second if you don’t get on with it.”

It struck apprehension into you. You breathed out the words hurriedly, “Don’t mate me. Don’t give me a mating mark—”

He laughed in your face, making you blush, then went back to kissing at your neck.

“Didn’t plan on it. Don’t want a mate. Probably never will.” He kissed hard at your neck, breathed in your scent again with a hum. “Besides, even if I did, you’re not bad looking and I know your cunt’s gonna be nice and tight, but you’re not worth mating. You’re high-strung. It’s annoying.”

You bristled with anger, but his warmth was making every other sense dull to you. When his teeth teased the skin at your shoulder, you were wrangled back to focus.

“No marks,” you warned, just as his teeth sank in, and nudged away gently to dissuade him. “Don’t leave any. Kurogiri and Tomura can’t see–”

“I don’t give a fuck who sees,” he replied harshly, coming up to look at you. “Who cares? They were dumb enough to leave you unmated and practically dyin’ for a fuck, so forget them. I’m doing you a favor here, remember that. You can have some rules, but I’m doing whatever the hell I need to do.”

His fingers rubbed hard at your panties; they were wet to the touch. "Not like you’re gonna run out now. You’re fucking soaked.” With a pleased growl he went to your neck again, biting hard.

You squealed, but before he could start sucking at the skin, you reeled back and moved away from him. You pushed at his forehead with a hand, and he smacked it away.

“Then no,” you sighed out shakily once you’d gotten his attention. "We’re done here.”

You spoke it with such confidence that it actually earned you his consideration. He stared at you, half-impressed, but mostly, furious.

“If you can’t listen to me,” you muttered, braving his piercing eyes willingly, "then… then fuck off.”

He was scowling at you now, and without warning his fingers pinched your clit.

You gasped sharply and raggedly at the feeling, melting into his touch with weak legs. He had to hold you upright to prevent you from collapsing, and against your ear, he huffed angrily.

“That’s what I fucking thought, stupid slut.”

He shoved you down onto the mattress at your feet.

You were too dizzy to make a protest when he climbed over you, and had no voice on which to loose it when he ripped—literally ripped—your shirt apart and attacked your chest with harsh bites and licks. Your nipples got the worst of it: he went for them with a growl in his throat, claiming the peaks between his teeth, biting down so hard you squealed and kicked.

“You really don’t have a goddamn clue how this works, do you?” he was breathing out harshly. “What an alpha does to an omega?” He looked up at you. Your eyes were watery and trembling as they gawked down at him. “What I can do to you?”

His lips went down, and he shoved your skirt off of your legs, the panties going too. You had enough sense in you to shut your thighs, which made him scoff, and yank them apart painfully.

“Don’t you fuckin’ try it. This is mine right now. You and your little cunt, mine. Like it’s supposed to be.”

He knew even as the words came from his mouth like venom, that your scent, coupled with his long-unreleased pheromones, were pushing him to a point of brutality. He’d never been so prone to complete and utter dominance like this. And now looking between your thighs at the pink, swollen, shaven pussy twitching for him, he knew there was no chance you’d be getting any mercy.

“Look at this shit,” he muttered, dropping to his knees, and as a protest died on your lips, his own pressed against your wetness, breathing in your scent as he did, growling loud and wildly in his throat.

His hands went to your thighs and pulled, bringing you closer against him, ignoring the fingers in his hair that feebly tugged. A shaky whimper came on every one of your breaths, your mouth sputtering through frail pleas he didn’t understand and didn’t bother trying to.

He indulged one harsh, long, angry suck on your clit, and released with a wet smack. You cried, actually cried when he went back in and dug his tongue harshly against you.

“Dabi, Dabi—no, please–”

Your scent made him light-headed, made him forget for a split second where he was, made him forget the constant and residual pain from his quirk, the itch of his staples—made him forget it all.

You came on his tongue without warning, a loud screech dying in your throat as you arched off the mattress. He was too shocked to lick up the sweet cum that received him. His eyes shot open and he looked up at you; you were an absolute wreck: flushed, sweating, shaking, and seized with pleasure.

He tried to count in his head. How long had it been? A minute? Barely? Fucking ridiculous.

He sucked and sucked until you were writhing. He wanted to punish you, wanted you to see how fucking weak you were, how badly you needed this.

“Dabi—” you sobbed out, tears itching your eyes and rushing down your face.

He pulled off finally with a loud breath, smacking his lips, then went back down to lick up your pussy one more time to clean you with his tongue. You jerked and twisted miserably. Then he was climbing over you again, forcing you to face him.

“You see?” he panted. "See what I just did to you? See how fuckin’ quick you were to cum for me? That’s what you’ve been missing. You’re not in the position to be making demands or rules here, _____. This is what you deserve. This is what you need. You need an alpha, you need me, you need this—”

He took your hand and forced it to rub between his legs. You stuttered a pitiful breath when you felt the bulge there, so hot, so inhumanly hot, waiting for you. Under your touch it twitched, greedy to be inside you.

You shook your head, unable to keep your eyes open; the blinding pleasure made a transit to numbing warmth, and your lids were heavy with drowsiness.

Your lip trembled. “Please, I need a minute, please—"

“No. Fuck no.”

He shred his clothes quickly, pulling his jacket off, kicking his shoes off, clawing at his belt and throwing that off too—but getting no further than shoving his pants down his hips so his eager cock could spring free. He didn’t have the time for anything else. He didn’t have the fucking time.

“I was gonna go easy on you,” he muttered. "Just a little."

Manhandling you to a spread position beneath him, he was almost ready to shove into you—then he had an exhilarating idea, and flipped you over, slapping your ass hard and making you yell in surprise. He wanted to take you like this: dominating, and utterly primal.

He forced your hips up, ass out, pussy spreading for him. He took his cock, flicked the head mercilessly against your clit until you were keening. A firm hand on your hip prevented you from squirming away.

“Please,” you sobbed again, gasping, body trembling. The heat. The heat. It was too much. Your skin crawled with euphoric pinpricks of fire. You needed it. You needed it. “Please, Dabi—”

“Please what?” he snapped, fire in his veins, vanilla flooding his head. “There’s no way in hell you want me to stop, so you’re beggin’ me for more. Use your words then. Say it.”

Your shook your head, mouth dry and gaping. “I can’t—”

He smacked your ass again and you jolted, unable to stop from curling into yourself as you orgasmed; the scent of your slick invaded his nose and he realized what you’d done. A dangerous, slow, ragged laugh bubbled from his throat.

“My god you’re so fucking pathetic. Look at that.” He kneaded his hand hard into your ass, pulling and stretching the skin, keeping your pussy fleshed out for him. “Look at this shit. It’s dripping. I want you to admit how pathetic you are.” He started to jerk himself hard, precum spilling over his fingers in messy streams. “Say it.”

You shook your head, pressing it hard into the mattress below. His hand went for your hair, yanked it backwards, and a tight yell tore out of your throat.

“Say it right now or you’re not getting my dick. I can shove it in your throat and get off just fine.” Oh, but how fucking badly he needed to put it in your cunt... “Say it. Say you’re pathetic, and that you need an alpha cock. Say it.”

“Dabi, please—“ Your hips arched upwards, begging, completely overrun with need. He shoved you back down, dismantling your sanity with every second went without feeling him inside of you.

“Say it now or I swear I’m gonna leave you here, _____.” He yanked your hair tighter, his hand flying on his cock. Everything felt so good. Too good. Too fucking hazy. “I’m gonna use your mouth or these tits to get off, and then I’m gonna leave you here, dripping and fucking pathetic and alone. Alone in your heat like you always are, you stupid whore.”

The thought made you whimper despairingly; in turn, he groaned loudly as he worked precum out in rapid strokes.

“Say it. Now. Now.”

“I’m—” Needy sobs wracked your voice, your hands clutching the mattress. “I’m a—I’m pathetic, I’m pathetic—”

“Fuck,“ he moaned loud and heavy, pinching the base of his cock to hold off release, then going back to stroking again, unable to go without stimulus. “What else? What else, _____?”

“I’m pathetic and I need your cock!” you cried out, too desperate for pride, too desperate for anything else. “I need an alpha cock, I need it—Dabi, damn it, please!—”

You practically screamed when he rammed into you, a loud shout tensing out of him as he let go of your hair. He put both hands at your hips to hold you in place for his violent thrusts.

Your mouth was open in vacant stupor, eyes rolling, feeling another orgasm ripping through you almost instantaneously.

“Fuck… fuck,” he breathed, feeling you tighten around him. He growled angrily, biting his lip until the burnt, abused skin swelled and bled. “You fucking—fuck—” Your slickness was in such abundance that little specks flew with every one of his thrusts, making his cock spear in and out perfectly and without restraint.

Every muscle in his body screamed for release, so soon, so quickly. His balls ached for it, spittle flew from his mouth with every ragged breath he took. Your back arched so nicely underneath him. You were such a perfect fucking omega he almost couldn’t stand it.

He shut his eyes tight, hand going to fist back into your hair and wrench upwards. You didn’t protest, didn’t even let a sound leave your throat despite the pain it brought. It didn’t take away the pleasure; nothing could. Nothing could ever take this away: the stretch of his thick, long cock pounding into you, hitting that spot over and over again until you came once more, then twice, then a third time.

He was breathing so raggedly that it branched pain into his lungs; his fingers dug into your hip so harshly that blood spilled from beneath his nails.

“Fuck,” he breathed, almost like a whisper: an angry, desperate, hissing whisper. “Oh fuck, _____...”

Everything was too much: your scent, the sight of you, your perfect cunt gripping mercilessly with every thrust. He bent forward, stuttering his hips into you as his orgasm approached. Copper met his tongue when he bit harshly into your back.

Beyond his control, his quirk joined the fray of pleasure, blue flame flickering faintly along his palms and burning you. But fuck, it didn’t matter. Nothing fucking mattered but the wet slap of his hips ramming into you, the painful bite of his belt at your thighs, his teeth at your back, sharp alpha canines digging in.

He felt the flames on his face rising; along his jaw, in his hair, they had a mind of their own. He had the sense, just a sliver of it, to back away from you, saving you from the heat that licked parts of his face, even as his hand burned char into your hip.

His rhythm was going; he was close. It hurt. It fucking hurt. He needed to let go. Needed to give you his cum. Needed to pump it in your eager little omega cunt.

“I’m—shit,” he choked, swallowing the dryness in his mouth and moaning long and low. “Tell me you want it baby girl,” he panted. “Tell me you want this cum. Tell me.”

“I—” You coughed miserably, body beyond your muscles’ command. “I want it—”

“What? What do you want? Say it, sweetheart—fuck, tell me—Tell me you want my cum and I’ll fucking give it to you—” You squeezed him tight, too tight, and he keeled over with a grunt. "You feel so damn good. Fuck I’m gonna give it to you, gonna fill this tight pussy come on, come on—”

“I want your cum!” you sobbed, tightening around him as if on instinct. He grabbed your hips with both hands, fucked into you primally now, an angry, seething growl in his throat that was far from human.

Flames on his back, on his arms, on his neck. The skin where his hands held you steamed and you moaned in agony, or maybe pleasure—maybe both. He didn’t care. Neither did you.

“Fuck!” he shouted, just as his hips stuttered and fire shot up his spine. He threw his head back, tendons on his neck flaring, arms and legs shaking as he came inside. “Fucking shit—”

He panted for air, felt staples pulling in places all over him, felt his balls burning with pleasure and heard your mangled cry as he gave you what your body needed, what it had always fucking needed.

He didn’t stop fucking into you until his body couldn’t physically answer his brutal needs, and he bent over you, one last and hard thrust sending you flat against the mattress. His searing body pressed flush against you, met your nipped skin in an overwhelming contrast and forced a whimper from your throat.

He bit into you wherever his mouth could reach, claimed you in any way he could without irrevocably mating you. Lost in the heat of it all, in the pleasure that burned up his spine and gave him vertigo, he wanted nothing else but you: to dominate you, make you submissive, fucking own you until you knew nothing else but him and his cock and his seed inside you—but he couldn’t mate you. Wouldn’t.

Maybe not yet.

His flames subsided on their own, leaving smoke to rise all over his skin like overworked geysers; a steaming form on top of yours. The pungency of the expelled fumes would have surely made you nauseous any other time, but your senses were dulled to discomforts and pains alike.

You panted heavily beneath him, quivering under his weight. He lay his head against your back and breathed.

Wanting to push himself upright he twisted a hand into the cushion next to your head, tried to work himself up, but unable to with the debility of his worn muscles.

“Goddamnit,” he rasped, then, forcing strength into his limp limbs, pushed up on a shaky arm and righted himself dizzily. He had to close his eyes, reclaim his vision from the black spots encompassing it, then blinked the room back into focus.

You made some mousy noise beneath him. Then you squirmed, tightening around his oversensitive dick and making him grunt.

He pulled out of you carefully, slowly, every inch dissuaded by the tight squeeze. Wetness made a sleek mess of it all, slick streaks down to your knees, on his own skin, too; splattered against his pelvis, dripping down his balls and his thighs. He shivered. All of this, all of this mess for him, because of him.

His seed spilled out of you when his cockhead, red and twitching, released itself. His cum was hotter than what should have been normal. As it dripped down your thighs it felt like a simmering stream.

The mess, primal though flattering as it was, was quickly something of an agitation on his sweltering skin, and he wanted to be rid of it. A hand was at your back to steady himself, and he pushed at it again to keep his balance—that was when he noticed the full scope of the burns he’d left on you. The burns, the bruises, the blood. He looked upon the violence he’d done with careful regard. He knew from a simple glance, and from experience, that the burns were so severe they would be beyond full healing. You’d have them there forever. A token of his brutality, of his lust.

He closed his eyes and breathed out a sigh to steady himself.

“Oi.”

He pushed at you, and your limp body moved jointlessly beneath him. He wet his mouth to alleviate some of the dryness. His heart raced and his ears felt stuffed by warmth.

“Oi, you bring a towel? Something to wipe this mess up?” Your cum on his skin was cooling uncomfortably. “Oi.” He shook you a little harder when you kept to your silence, and a quiet whine answered him. “C'mon.”

There was a tiny movement: you attempting to push on your arms. But they were utterly useless to the command of your body. A raspy sound came from your throat, like you were trying to speak in murmurs.

He leaned in. “What?”

You tried again, to little betterment. He tsked, impatience entering his body again despite how languid it felt, and smacked your ass lightly, making you jump.

“I can’t hear you dummy, speak up."

You gave up, and trying to muster what little forte you could, moved a shaking arm and pointed to a bag off to your left. He understood, reached for it, his muscles screaming at him in ache, and set about cleaning himself with a towel he found inside.

He thought better of doing the same for you, but was again drawn to the wounds he’d left on you. Provoking an alpha-like possessiveness in him as they did, they were unsightly, and some far away part of him regretted what he’d done. He cleaned you carefully, in the smallest form of apology he was capable of evoking.

When the rough towel wiped over your sensitive clit you shivered miserably, and he huffed a quiet, weak laugh, his eyes heavy-lidded.

“Such an omega.”

He tugged his pants back up his waist and sunk down into the mattress at your side. He’d mastered his breathing again, though there was a heat in his lungs, like smoke, which made every breath feel powerful and choking. The smoke had all but gone from his skin, however, extinguished by his mind returning to lucidness.

But there was still a trace of the ferocious alpha in him there, his legs and depleted cock twitching when he breathed in and smelled you, a warmer vanilla now: something changed and unpure now that you’d been rutted. And he knew, possessively, with a shot of primal instinct going down his spine and making fire roll through him, that he’d forever changed you.

He looked over at you, realizing for the first time that you’d been completely inanimate. You barely looked to be breathing; your inhales came in irregular, heavy intervals, as if each breath taken succeeded a reminder that you were still alive, awake.

He knew it was the adrenaline still rushing in his veins that made him do it, but he reached out, pushed at your head gently so you would look his way, and brushed the matted hair from your face.

Your skin was flushed with sweat. A damp spot in the mattress must have been tears, and probably drool. It wasn’t particularly nice to look at, but it stirred something in him nevertheless. You were a mess. An utter mess. His mess.

Your eyes were closed, pupils fluttering beneath the lids like shaking leaves.

“Open your eyes,” he said, for no particular reason.

But they shut tight at the command, and your breathing picked up, as if you were debating between obeying or not.

“Open them,” he told you again, no firmer, but apparently, it was persuasive all the same. Tears slipped from your ducts when you complied, eyes shining and trembling.

He ignored the part of him that ached to fall into his greedy impulses again. It was alluring. Not just because you were an omega, but because you were you. And he’d fucked you. He’d taken you. He was your first alpha.

Without further instruction to do otherwise, your eyes started to close again, and the hand that still held your hair from your forehead tugged lightly, entreating your eyes to stay trained on him.

“Nuh uh, wake up. Talk to me a little, before you pass out.”

You hummed groggily in response, your mouth open but too dry to form around words. You sealed your lips together, swallowed the dryness.

“Can’t move,” you managed raspily, staring at him, looking exhaustedly vulnerable and knowing you did, too.

He watched you, debating leniency, and decided he’d give you some, just for good measure.

You made an uncomfortable whine when he took your forearm and dragged you to him. He didn’t try to hold you, or keep you against him. Instead when you curled into your little ball against his side, moaning as you did at having to stretch your body’s abused muscles, he let you. What he didn’t deny of intimacy, however, was the arm he draped over you leisurely, just to feel you as he lay on his back and stared at the ceiling.

His thumb brushed over the flesh of your hip, and felt the corrugated, slowly cooling flesh there. The sensation made him grimace. It was so like the gnarly, repulsive texture of his own skin. Not as severe by a long shot, but nevertheless, unpleasant to the touch.

“Hurt?” he asked.

You blinked lazily, his voice sounding like a waning echo to your numb ears. “What...?”

“Your hips. Look at them.”

You forced your eyes open; they rolled themselves into nausea when you shifted to look. When you noticed the pinkish, creased wound on your burned skin, you froze, then started to shiver in your dismay.

“You… I…” Your unsteady hand moved, a finger traced over the rough, still raw skin. Clearly, the pain was lost on you, lust granted. But the sight had your stomach twisting, its emptiness sloshing uncomfortably at the sight of your own damaged flesh; you could even smell it, strong and sickening like cooking meat.

“You’re lucky that’s all I did,” he muttered, selfishly flippant. “And you’re lucky I did it there.”

You took a shaky breath, and shut your eyes, resigned to your body’s lethargy. “Asshole.”

He humphed. “It’ll heal,” he lied. “I’ve had worse, clearly. Done worse, too. It won't get infected.”

You were quiet afterwards, volitionally so, barely keeping your hostility in check. He was more than aware of your chagrin, and didn’t particularly care. If you started feeling it later, he’d go get you meds for the pain. But he’d known omegas to be particularly resilient in their heats. There was very little that registered above the natural pleasure of being filled by an alpha.

“I’m…”

He glanced down at you, saw your mouth opening and closing in determined hesitation.

“I’m not a whore,” you managed croakily, and irritably.

He started laughing. “You gonna hold that against me?”

“I’m not a whore.” You scowled, resentful of his carefree ribbing. “And I’m not”—you sputtered, breathing hard through a phlegm-choked cough–“a slut.”

His laugh subsided into a low chuckle in his chest. You didn’t see the wry grin on his face, but heard it.

He shrugged. “I say shit when I’m high on fucking. Don’t take it so personally.” But he couldn’t stop now that the warmth of craftiness was twisting in him. “Besides…” The arm draped over you shifted, found your ass, and gave a generous squeeze. You whimpered in objection. “You basically are my whore, now.”

You shivered with frustration. Despite the wild—incredibly wild and earth-shattering sex, you were conceiving a poorer and poorer image of him the more he gloated. With renewed strength, you rose on your arm and pushed his hand off.

“I’m not,” you insisted testily.

“I get you don’t know how this shit works,” he started, “so guess I’ll explain it to you.”

There it was again: the possessive, ravenous wildfire in his veins that coaxed his arm to reclaim its spot at your back, bring you closer to him. Adjusting his position, he let your head rest on his stomach; your legs curled comfortably around his own for comfort. He watched your head rise and fall as he breathed steadily.

“May not have mated you,” he went on, anticipating your griping, "but I’m your alpha now.”

You tensed at the declaration, he noticed, but no more than that.

“And it’s gonna stay that way unless you let some other one take you in a heat, which I don’t see you doing. Unless you’re just so dick hungry after this that you let any guy fuck you.”

One of your feet dug opposedly into his calf and he snickered. “Didn’t think so. To the last part, I mean. Trust me…” His hand smoothed over your ass again, and he smirked when you moaned quietly. “You’re gonna be hungry for it.”

“I can’t handle anymore,” you muttered, breath puffing against his stomach. Even those giddy times you’d imagined your first alpha taking you, envisioned a night of passion that would end in ardent nurturing, wrapped under your dominant’s embrace, protected and warm and wanted—you now balked the indulgent, cherished ideal of it. This was not what you had expected. Dabi was not what you had expected.

“I can’t,” you started, lacking the confident breath to loose your doubts on. “I don’t even… feel it. It’s gone.”

“You’re still in heat. It’ll pop back up when your body’s ready. I’m hoping you don’t need a biology lesson for this shit, but point of a heat is to get you knocked up. You get that, right?”

“Obviously.”

“Obviously,” he mocked. “And obviously since I’m not tryin’ to make you a mother, I didn’t do that. Your body’s gonna keep beggin’ for it until I give it to you, and I won’t. So you’ll get your heat back once your junk down there realizes it’s empty and wants to try again, except it’s gonna be a lot crazier this time, since you’ve finally had a taste. Told you that you were only hurting yourself by holding out this long."

You started to follow the logic. It wasn’t anything you hadn’t heard before. But to hear it fleshed out like this, by the alpha who had taken you, felt somewhat like a hazardous warning.

“I just… “ You shook your head against him. “We did it. You said that would be enough. That it wouldn’t be so bad, now…”

“You thought one fuck would fix it?” he asked, condescension taking an amusing slope in his tone.

You didn’t answer, and he grinned.

“You got a lot to learn, sweetheart. Gotta get you through the whole heat, first. Life would be easy for you omegas if one fuck could take care of your problems.” He hummed. “No, you’re gonna be dyin’ to get bred up until your heat is over. I’m not gonna do that, but I’ll fill you up for a little relief.” Something about his own words made him twitch in anticipation, and he put a hand on your head, pinched a handful of hair gently in his fist. “Until you need it again. And again.”

You heart was beating fast. He felt it against his side. “We don’t have to,” you said.

“Don’t have to what?”

“I’m too tired,” you insisted, feeling your body lag into the mattress. “I won’t want it anymore. I’m done. This will be fine. I don’t need you.”

He laughed with such smugness that your cheeks went hot.

“Now you’re just being dumb… But fine. Think what you want. Give it a couple hours. You’ll be clawing at my dick before morning.” He picked idly at the drying blood under his nails, frowning to see it, but too amused by the prospect of your ignorance to regret his violence anymore. “And now, I’m gonna make you work for it.”

“I won’t. You got what you wanted. And I… you made your point.” You shoved off of his body, pushed away from him scornfully on limbs that were seconds from giving out, and sat yourself upright.

Your spine curled and straightened enticingly as you arched up; he watched with covetous appreciation, then saw the red blood drying on your back. He tried not to put out a spiteful laugh.

Let you find the mess he’d made later, he decided. For now, a more urgent matter was making sure his dick didn’t get too hard before you were ready to go again. But you stretched so nicely like that, reminding him of how your body had dipped so obediently for him when he’d bent you over and fucked you cross-eyed.

“You need to leave,” you said.

Snorting, he went back to picking at his nails. “I’m stayin’ right here. Even if I didn’t still have a job to do, this is a nice bed. Better than the couches at the bar, ya know. Nice little nest you’ve made for yourself."

“Then… I’m leaving.” You tried to stand, and failed, legs sliding out from under you and giving your body back to the mattress beneath.

“No you ain’t,” he snickered. “Even if you could find another place to wait off the heat before it came back again, you’re gonna run back to me.”

“I don’t need you,” you insisted decisively, angrier now.

“Yeah, you do. I’m your alpha now, remember?” He saw your shoulders rise with a heavy, angry breath. “You said it yourself. You’re pathetic, and you need an alpha cock. And right now, that’s mine."

“…Fuck you.”

He cackled patronizingly, like it was the funniest thing he’d ever heard, giving no stock to your anger at all.

Indignation compelled you to your feet, wobbling, a hand going between your thighs to feel the hot throbbing there.

That was when you noticed the blood, and some of the bruises. You shook your head, infuriated with yourself, and with him.

“You’re… sick,” you muttered. “I can’t believe I let you… You’re a sick bastard."

He chuckled dismissively, and stopped himself from reaching out to grab you like he wanted to—that attitude of yours made you really fuckable.

Instead he rested back into the mattress, forcing his hands to keep busy on his nails, on his staples.

“Keep it up sweetheart,” he muttered. "When you’re wet for me again in a few hours, I’m gonna remember you said that."

“Fuck you,” you said again, too disillusioned to think carefully on the foreboding, and found your clothes.

Then, forgetting he’d torn them, you threw the tattered garb at him.

He ignored you, unfazed, flicking the ineffectual shirt off his chest as you rummaged through your bag for a new one.

You pulled it over your head, then, with a final glare of indignant reproval, walked off.

He didn’t bother asking where you were going. He knew you would be back.

#dabi x reader #bnha #dabi shtuff #dabi

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lesbiansforboromir · 3 years ago

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"Yet even so it was Gondor that brought about its own decay, falling by degrees into dotage, and thinking that the Enemy was asleep, who was only banished not destroyed.

'Death was ever present, because the Numenoreans still, as they had in their old kingdom, and so lost it, hungered after endless life unchanging. Kings made tombs more splendid than houses of the living, and counted old names in the rolls of their descent dearer than the names of sons.

Childless lords sat in aged halls musing on heraldry; in secret chambers withered men compounded strong elixirs, or in high cold towers asked questions of the stars. And the last king of the line of Anarion had no heir."

Faramir's explanation for Gondor's ‘decline’ is... incoherent.. what the hell are you on about m’love?

The way this reads is so completely misleading when looking at the actual history and reasons for Gondor's receding borders and the loss of the watch on Mordor. Faramir puts the onus on Gondorian Kings wanting to live longer and not having kids... babe? Did you forget... the plague? Gondor WAS watching for activity in Mordor. For 1640 years! And then there was a plague so devastating that it turned the country’s most populous city into a near ghost town. It took 200 years for Gondor to recover, and even then it never truly reached the population levels it had maintained before. Osgiliath was never the same! And by then Mordor had taken the fortresses at the Morannon!

There is absolutely no mention of Kings or Stewards who were desperately seeking to extend their life in Gondor’s history. Where are these tombs more splendid than the houses of the living? All the Kings not buried in Osgiliath are buried in the Silent Street... There is no mention of achingly elaborate tombs anywhere!

There WERE however some Kings who did not marry or have children! ... Two, there were just two of them... out of thirty three. Narmacil I was Atanatar's son and reigned in the HEIGHT of Gondor's wealth. He essentially allowed his nephew Minalcar to run the country whilst he had a great time writing poetry and kissing men. And Minalcar did a really good job! He fought wars, he made alliances, he built the Argonath and when it actually came around to his time to be King, he had a nice and peaceful reign! And when his son Valacar wanted to marry a Northern Princess? Even though the worry in Gondor was that that would ‘weaken’ the King’s line and reduce their lifespan? He supported him! Gave his blessing!

The other King who never married or had any children was Earnur! You all remember Earnur? Oh sure, he desperately wanted to extend HIS life past its natural limits! Fighting in two wars and then riding off into an obvious trap just because he'd been challenged really gives me a whole 'old man in his dotage fears death' vibe. And that was the ‘last king of the line of Anarion who had no heir’. You know WHY he was the last king? Because the King before his father Earnil II (King Ondoher) and his two sons had died! In a massive fuckall war with the Balchoth that nearly saw Gondor destroyed! PRINCE Faramir was TOLD to stay behind! But he was so anxious for his family and so wished to not simply sit and wait for death that he HID amongst the ranks of the Eotheod and went to war anyway!! AND DIED!! Asking questions of the stars??? Making strange elixirs?? Mused uselessly on heraldry??? WHEN? FARAMIR?? Was Ondoher daydreaming about stars and heraldry as he was cut down by a chariot??? Was Artamir brewing potions mid-battle?? WHAT are you talking about!!!

Where are these men fearing death who brought Gondor into it's decline that Faramir is talking about? Is he lying? No, I actually believe Faramir when he says he would not even snare an orc in a falsehood. The things Faramir says are things he believes. But then how, when he is so well known for his loremastership, can he be so misleading and plain wrong about something so basic to Gondorian history? Well I have a suggestion but it means Faramir’s at least a little homophobic so bear with me and I promise this is relevant.

So, obviously, the ups and downs of Gondor society in terms of queer liberation would be complex and rely upon a diverse number of factors. However, I’d say that, if you looked at an overall trend, it goes up in times of peace and takes a hit during times of strife. The basic reasoning for this is that one of the fundamentals of Gondorian society is the concept of doom and fate. This can give both correct and erroneous impressions of cause and effect throughout history. Gondorians tend to believe everything happens for a reason. And due to the (sometimes quiet but always present) elf-and-faithful-numenorean-ruled thinkers, who push ideas of proper marriage, celebacy, romance-superiority and other cis-het-normative agendas, the ‘reason’ that bad things happen is often blamed on the queer liberation of the times. The populace is open to being given reasons for bad things happening and Academia in Gondor is very much elf-revering, so it is often respected scholars who are pushing that narrative.

HOWEVER, the queerness is rarely what is actually remembered or recorded in history, the wording of records are often bound up in the faithful numenorean rhetoric of ‘heretical kings’ and ‘they fell into the trap of king’s men ideology’ and so on and so forth. Scholars might understand what this means at the time, but it gets muddled further down the road and even academics in the future have trouble finding the intended emphasis. So! By the time we reach 3018 TA, the academic community as a whole has reached a general consensus that ‘the old sins of our past’ are to blame and that, whilst queerness was a part of it, it was more a symptom than a direct cause.

So! The thought process I’m proposing for Faramir should be easy to guess at now, but I’m going to go more specific for the sake of... me uwu.

GONDOR has not known peace for the last 500 years, not since Steward Denethor the first’s reign wherein the so called ‘watchful peace’ ended and Sauron returned to Mordor. NOW, before Denethor, his uncle Dior was the Steward and, as you’ve probably guessed, he had no children and nor did he marry. I would suggest that Dior lived through one of the most tolerant and open portions of Gondor’s history. I think he not only was open about his choice not to marry, but he also had a socially accepted partner and lived with him all his life with only a small, vocal minority voicing their objections.

But then Sauron returned! And it was brutal, bloody and horrific. And that vocal minority saw an opportunity to use Dior’s life as a method to push Gondor once again into it’s regular crisis of conscience, faith and purpose. ‘We betrayed our founder’s’ and ‘We should have been ruled by Dior’s son but because of his weakness against his ill-fate we are doomed, he abandoned his duty! A pitiful fate but pitiful for us as well!’ And so on and so forth, there are reems of academic works written about it.

Now, this doesn’t have an immediate crushing effect on queer rights that one might fear. Denethor I loved his uncle dearly and would not hear a bad word about him, as did Boromir I! And Cirion? Cirion was almost more alternative than Dior. He sold off portions of land when the Stewards had been told to keep them IN TRUST for the king’s return. He made enduring and reciprocal alliances with the Eotheod ‘middle men’, he was very much anti-traditionalist! However, it was after his reign that Gondor truly felt the backlash of all this, spurred on by Cirion’s very alternative views, actions and methods. Because whilst he may have been an effective and charismatic Steward, Cirion had not found so much time to be a good father. And Hallas had been fifteen when his father had left him behind and ridden to war. He had a frightening and lonely childhood and was very open to the idea that his father was wrong, had gone too far, that things should be ‘brought back to normal’. Stability being key and all. The vocal minority had his ear.

And since then, whilst opinion has still fluctuated, the constant unrest and simmering crisis of Gondor’s day to day has made progress against such concepts difficult and slow going. And it’s informed the opinion of history too, a lot more academic writing has compared Dior to Narmacil I (the first unwed and unmarried King) and has tried to find parallels between them and Earnur. Any explicit discussion of queerness has been relegated to Sindarin scripts (the language only really understood by academics and the upper classes), but the underlying tone is there HENCE!

“falling by degrees into dotage, and thinking that the Enemy was asleep“ = Dior ‘abandoned his duty’ and Narmacil I ‘was indolent’.

“the Numenoreans still [-] hungered after endless life unchanging.” = A melding of heretical beliefs that occurred over centuries into one monolith that applied longing for endless life automatically.

“Childless lords sat in aged halls musing on heraldry; [-] compounded strong elixirs, [-] asked questions of the stars.” = This is all both reaching back to heretical practices in Numenor, whilst also harkening back to the periods of time in which Dior and Narmacil lived, peaceful times where more introspective and experimental pursuits could be indulged.

SO! This is where Faramir’s erroneous and misleading opinions come from. And why he is at least a little homophobic. There, I told you all I’d get there.

#soap operas in mannish sindarin #gondor #tolkien #lotr #erran vs tolkien #do I fucking dare put this in faramir's tag... no #no one in there will want to hear this #lotr meta #tolkien meta

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ukaiknowsbest · 3 years ago

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GinTae in Kintama Arc - Manga vs Anime Differences 1

Hi. I'm back with another anime vs manga post. this arc is big and it has a lot of issues. i hope you get smth from here.

also if i sound mad..pls do be informed that I am frustrated by many aspects of the anime adaptation of this arc.

Anime show both Otae and Gintoki's POV which was interesting and a nice touch.

also hhhh in the anime he's doing S-M play with a man instead of a woman.

Okay this is where it starts to get wacky as fck.

In the manga panel, Otae is clearly drawn together with the yorozuya and on the opposite and equal side to Sadaharu and right above otose and co. too.

in the anime by order of appearance

shinpachi, kagura, otae and kyuubei

otose, catherine, tama, gengai, katsura

sadaharu, tsukuyo, sarutobi, hasegawa

First of all pray tell me why the holyfck did kyuubei appear with the Yorozuya first? Not only that but it looked like she was in a unit with Otae. This was where my suspicion of how the anime really loved to favor kyuuta/e started. It's just so illogical. Kyuubei's main interest in life is Otae, not the Yorozuya, even if Gintoki is a dear friend to her. There was absolutely no reason for her to appear with Shinpachi and Kagura first. It's too misleading and blatantly shippy. Kyuubei appeared first before Mdm. Otose, Tama, and Katsura just because whoever made this anime wanted to show her with Otae without regard for who are the most important to Gintoki. There's a reason why she was placed AT THE EDGE of the manga panel in the same manner as Tsukuyo and Sarutobi for fcks sake.

Next I am actually miffed that Sadaharu appeared last. Not only that but he appeared together with the Gintoki simp squad. Also putting Tsukuyo in blatant center is another proof that the anime may have favored Gintoki x Tsukuyo a little to much. They already positioned Sarutobi, Hasegawa and Katsura on the edges (as they should) so why was Tsukuyo treated differently? What is she doing there in the center anyway other than fanservice? Then again, congratulations to the Gi/nT/su and Ky/uuT/ae ppl, I can see where you are coming from now. (throws confetti)

Note that I'm basing all my assumptions on Sorachi's paneling. It's not a coincidence why Sorachi arranged his characters like that in his manga. As we see how this arc progresses, the ones in the center are the most important to Gintoki: Shinpachi, Kagura, Otae, Sadaharu, Tama. Note that by the start of the chapter we already get a clue as to how the arc was going to end and who will be the main solutions to Gintoki's problem for the arc. Moreover Otose, Gengai, Catherine also symbolize home to him. The ones on the edges: Kyuubei, Katsura, Hasegawa, Tsukuyo, Sarutobi where the comrades who figure out his identity last. Come on!

But then the anime said "fck it we do what we want, let's make kyuubei and tsukuyo look more important than they should be, xoxo."

As for this at least the manga and anime panel kinda look the same. I'm bothered by how small and insignificant Otae is though. shrugs

Overall thoughts

I'm just getting started and it doesn't look promising.

I just want to make it clear that this is not hate to kyu/uta/e or g/ints/u. However I also admit that this is a criticism of the directorial decisions of the anime. Most of this is subtle but they still take away the underlying message that Sorachi was already laying out from the start of this arc.

#gintae #tae shimura #gintae thoughts #kintama arc #spoilers #yall want some spicy hotcakes #well i do

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heyyitza · 2 years ago

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The Wilds S3 Inside Man Speculation

Hi, yes, hello. I was actually never planning on posting anything The Wilds related. I was perfectly content just being part of the fandom from the outside. But, I finished the show last night and as I was sitting earlier today taking my exam, this wild thought came to mind. BTW, I don’t know if anyone has come up with this yet because I haven’t really scrolled through the tag so apologies if someone already came up with this.

I think the inside man might be Josh. Hear me out.

There’s no way in hell Shelby is the inside man, especially given the fact that we were shown she already started questioning the whole situation with Fatin right before they were extracted. She also made sure Leah knew she knew the whole situation was a setup. There’s no way in hell she would then backtrack and become Gretchen’s operative when she was trying to discreetly help Leah try and break them all out.

Also, the show has already shown us that they’re willing to use camerawork in order to mislead the audience. Back in season one, they showed Dot speaking with Gretchen, making it seem like she was the other operative apart from Jeannette, when the finale revealed it was actually Nora.

Also, the women have already had two operatives aware of the entire situation, albeit one of them died hours after landing on the beach. This makes me believe the operative is going to be a guy: Josh.

Now, I know y’all are probably like, “huh? Josh” yeah, I know. But I’ve been thinking.

Regardless of whether or not you like the guys, they were pretty fucking incredible with keeping Josh’s sa quiet because they promised him that they wouldn’t talk about it. They were so good at keeping it quiet that Gretchen and co. we’re freaking out most of the season trying to get the missing Day 15 information because they believed it could destroy their whole experiment.

And, if it weren’t for Josh, the boys could have most likely been the reason it would have gotten discredited.

And now you’re probably also asking, “if it weren’t for Josh what?”

Now, I say this because of that one montage (I think it was the second to last one, don’t @ me though) where Gretchen was talking about motherly instincts and all of that shit. The scene where we see her holding a bowl of gummies and walking into Josh’s room. When she walks out, almost all of the gummies are eaten and she has a million dollar smile.

I don’t know if anyone else thinks this, but I believe that Josh most likely told her about his sa, especially when she was asked what happened and she said something along the lines of “male problems” or some shit when talking about why the boys failed (FYI that’s such a fucked up way of calling sa, especially since not all assaulters are male).

Josh is… Naive? Gullible? We saw on the island he was willing to do what someone asked of him (cue the scene of Kirin telling him he failed his test of being independent). Gretchen knows this. And she can very much use it against all of them.

She can very easily manipulate him into thinking that what he’s doing, cooperating with Gretchen and telling her everything the group is doing, is to help out the group or whatever sick, demented way she can twist her logic.

Now, we know Seth’s bitchass is the other operative (can’t wait to see Kirin beat his ass again in season three when they all find out), but it’s just way too obvious to make him the only operative. Especially not when the boys and girls are finally together. There has to be another one. That’s why I think it’s Josh.

Obviously, this is all just theory and speculation. It would also be fucked for her to make both Josh and Seth the operatives, especially since she knows what happened, even though technically the operatives shouldn’t know who the other one is in fear of blowing the whole operation up.

Also, Josh could very easily fold when pressed for questions, but I don’t know, maybe the island changed him. I did notice a shift in demeanor in him when he was having his interview.

But it’s a thought. Let me know what you guys think.

#the wilds #the wilds amazon #season 3 speculation #josh herbert

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niqhtlord01 · 4 years ago

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Humans are weird: Speech Writers

( Don’t forget to come see my on my new patreon and support me for early access to stories and personal story requests :D https://www.patreon.com/NiqhtLord ) The politics of the universe hold just as much sway as the governing laws of nature themselves in the distant future. With the passage of a few laws empires rise and crumble in the ever changing cosmos like the changing of the tides with the Draconian Empire as a prime example.

Spanning 17 star clusters and ruling over nearly 83 different worlds they were considered the prime super power of the galaxy at the time. Their fleets numbered in the thousands and their armies the millions of professional soldiers ever ready to take up the banner of conquest.

Most neighboring civilizations had either been wiped out from fruitless attempts at military defiance against Draconian expansion or had negotiated unfavorable deals to secure their independence with the empire.

Such was the scale of the military that equally as large was the governing body that oversaw the day to day functions. Legions of clerks and data archivists researched and gathered data for additional armies of legislators, governors, senators, and high council members and even the royal family themselves as a sea of information and statistics flowed daily over the span of light years.

To be a member of such a labyrinth of government was to be a one of many; a cog in a machine whose purpose is so far reaching that one risks being buried into the depths of obscurity.

And such we find regional overseer V'tet Darorn of Sector 12.

Unlike many of the Draconian species, he was not considered normal by many measures. While other of his species were thick with muscle and scales of such redness they made blood look pale, his frame was slender and his scales appearing as a rust red. Where other's wings on their back were full and strong, easily able to carry them high into the sky, his wings had developed a genetic deformity that made them extremely painful to fully open and thus remained closed.

V'tet had obtained a seat on the overseer council for sector 12 of the empire more through family connections and contributions to the empire then by initial skill. That was to say he was not dedicated and hard working, but in the grand mechanisms of the governing powers of the Draconian Empire new comers rarely gained more higher postings. This frustrated V'tet as he had developed new ideas that would push the power of the Draconian Empire to even greater heights, and yet was never able to sway his fellow council members to vote with him leaving him in a state of limbo.

That was until fate saw fit to intervene and introduce V'tet to one of the strangest people he had ever known.

Her name, was Rayah Amari. ---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The council chamber was a vaulted circular room of black stone and a vaulted ceiling made entirely of stained glass. Each piece of glass was from a different world under the domain of the Draconian Empire with the piece in the middle being made from the very planet beneath their feet.

At the center of the room was a descending pyramid built into the floor with levels of chairs and desks for each of the some several hundred council members to sit. At the very bottom stood a pillar known as the "Speaking Stone" which any council member must mount to earn the right to address the council. Not only was it symbolic, it also weeded out the weak as whomever mounted the stone would be gazing upwards at all of his fellow members and feel the weight of their gazes baring down on their every word.

Though any council member could mount the stone to speak, not many could handle such a matter save for several of the most senior members whose years of experience had numbed them. Indeed, some of the newer council members would go so far as to attempt to bribe senior members to mount the stone for them to push forward their motions with promises of wealth and political support.

It had been rare for a new council member to last long atop the stone and so it was quite the surprise when young V'tet began his descent from the stony steps towards the speaking stone.

As he passed by others he would nod a greeting or shake a hand but his descent was never stopped until he reach the bottom level.

Obrik and Htvala stood before him and blocked his path to the stone. Together they were the most senior members of the council and their respect was such that they had warranted seats beside the speaking stone itself.

"Come to propose your new plans once more?" Obrik's voice was a low grumble, like that of thunder rolling over the distant hills.

"You should let us speak in your stead." Htvala's voice was of a higher pitch which made him sound far younger than he actually was.

V'tet smiled. "Thank you, but I shall be fine."

He moved to get around them but Obrik stood in his way once more.

"Think carefully young runt." His tone dripping with smug superiority. "You wouldn't want to make your proposal and choke at the last moment."

Htvala snickered. "You never were one for words; it's not too late to make us an offering."

"You are both most generous, but I shall be fine." V'tet side stepped once more and approached the speaking stone.

"I've recently hired someone to take care of my short comings." he said as he slowly clambered up the stone. As he climbed the stone the murmur of conversation surrounding him slowly died away until finally he stood atop the stone and saw every council members eyes fixed on him.

He stared up at as many councilors he could as he slowly turned on the spot taking the grandeur in before stopping to read some of his notes on a scribbled piece of paper, to which Htvala and Obrik chuckled.

As if ready, V'tet set his notes and papers down and clasped his hands behind his back.

"When I was a child," V'tet began, " I considered taking my own life."

Whatever the councilors had been expecting this was certainly not it and a rush of gasps filled the chamber.

"Doctors had told my parents that my disease would only grow worse with age and eventually I would never be able to spread my wings again."

He began slowly pacing atop the stone while the eyes of every councilor were glued to him.

"Can you imagine it?" He asked, stopping in place and spreading his hands out to his colleagues. "To be blessed with the gift of flight only for it to be taken from you; to never feel the rush of air beneath you nor the softness of clouds against your scales ever again?"

Several of the councilors reached for their own wings while some flexed them instinctively.

"So when I learned that one day this would be taken from me I went to the tallest cliff I could find and planned to leap from it." V'tet stood at the edge of the speaking stone as if reenacting it, the tips of his feet hanging off the edge. "I planned to feel the rush of wind one last time before I faded away to join the eternal glide of our ancestors."

"I leaned forward over the edge," he spoke as he too began leaning over, " and just as I was about to plunge into the void once again my father came from behind and pulled me back." He spun in place and took several steps back to the center of the stone.

"He looked at me and said "What madness has taken hold of you?" to which I replied that I knew what would become of me, that I knew what the disease would take from me."

He stopped and put his hand to his head and pinched his brow and he appeared as if holding back emotions. After several seconds passed in silence V'tet spoke again.

"My father knelt beside me and put his hand on my shoulder and said "My son, just as the clouds are ever changing so too must we; for to remain stagnant as a mountain is not our way."

"He took hold of me in his arms and to my surprise leapt with me over the edge I had nearly fell from mere moments before." V'tet was circling the stone now, his arms wide in motion as if gliding through the air as he captivated the council. Obrik and Htvala looked on and scoffed at the seemingly childish antics unbecoming of a councilor.

"As he carried me in his arms as we flew home he spoke to me words I have carved into my heart. He said "Every problem we face will always have a solution, even if it was one we had never considered.""

V'tet stopped and spread his arms once more to the chamber.

"I tell you this story as now our great sector faces problems that even now seem impossible." V'tet's gaze wandered over the councilors as he spoke. "Our citizens earn less and less with each passing cycle while prices soar ever higher making their goals ever farther from their reach; but do not despair!"

V'tet's voice rose and he smashed his clenched fist into his chest. "For as my father taught me and as each of you know in your hearts there is no problem that we Draconian can not over come!"

A chorus of approval cam from a few of the councilors and some even clapped.

"When the Yupori war machine invaded did we cower behind our walls?"

"No." was cried out by several councilors who had served during the Yupori Crisis Wars.

"When our very sun spat ever growing deadly belts of radiation, did we flee from this sector with our tail between our legs?"

"No!" came a chorus of councilors who served the trade commission that had made countless negotiations with numerous other political bodies to import a rare element so powerful it stabilized their sun in a matter of weeks, saving billions from lethal radiation.

"And when our very own surrounding sectors sought to steal our glory and present them to the emperor himself, did we allow such a travesty of justice to unfold?"

"NO!" was the reply of some hundred councilors who served as the old guard who had stopped a plot from sectors 11 and 13 to mislead quota reports to make them appear more beneficial to the empire when in reality sector 12 had out performed both sectors combined.

"NO!" V'tet shouted. "When impossible tasks have been set before us we Draconian haven risen to meet each and every one of them; and we have emerged victorious in each and every one!"

The councilors were now cheering as they became swept up in their achievements, V'tet's words filling them and swelling them to the brim with pride.

V'tet was in full motion now, as if he was a hurricane made manifest that sought to sweep every councilor present up in his gale. "This challenge of wealth is not some monumental undertaking, nor is it some impossible task, not even is it something we should hide and fear from the very discussion of!" V'tet was staring directly at Obrik when he said this as Obrik had been the one in the passed who had pushed for delaying talks of economic reform in favor of the current system.

"No my fellow councilors, my conquers of the impossible, my defiers of the very fates themselves!" V'tet turned back and faced the massed audience. "This is but another marker for the very foundation of our greatness!"

The cheers were much louder now and several dozen councilors now were standing and clapping their hands while Obrik and Htvala's eyes narrowed at V'tet.

"For as my father told me I now tell you all!" V'tet stopped his speech and appeared to be in pain. The cheers and applause died down as the councilors wondered if something was wrong when they noticed V'tet's wings twitching.

Slowly and with painful bellows V'tet cried out as his wings shakingly stretched out. The creaking and breaking of muscles and bones reverberating up through the chamber until even the lowest members could hear the pain.

Finally, through gasping breaths shaking hands, V'tet stood proudly at the center of the speaking stone with his wings fully outstretched.

"Nothing is impossible for the Draconian!" V'tet roared and the chamber erupted in jubilation as nearly every councilor stood to their feet and cheered the young councilor.

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"I heard you put on quite the performance."

V'tet looked up from his files and smiled.

"Given by these messages of support I would say so."

V'tet had returned to his office some hours later after the council finished for the day. After his speech the days discussions had been shifted to tackling the economic problems facing the sector with almost laughable ease.

His companion had been waiting for him in his office and it was her he now enjoyed the quite evening with. She sat comfortably across from his desk swirling a caramel liquid in a crystal goblet.

"I could almost hear the applause from here." Rayah Amari said as she smirked and took a sip of her drink.

V'tet set down his data pad and stood up from his own chair to face the window behind him. The view overlooking much of the city from the council chambers to the slums of the grit district.

"I still find it hard to believe that your speech worked."

"Don't sell yourself short." Rayah quipped, finishing her drink before pouring another. "You did well reading it and going through the motions."

V'tet shook his head and looked at her. "I have given speeches before, yet none of them have ever been as impactful until I hired you to write them."

"I am but a humble word smith." She raised a glass to him and relaxed back into her chair.

"Now who is selling themselves short?" V'tet said as he sat back down and poured himself a glass.

"I've read your previous speeches; they were decent enough but they failed to sell capture you audience."

"How do you mean?" V'tet looked puzzled at her remark. " I laid out the facts clearly for all to understand."

"But it lacked spectacle and flare."

V'tet must have still appeared confused because Rayah leaned forward and pointed her glass to him.

"Arguments made with reason are good, but there is a time and place for them." she said. "You were making your case before you even got in the door, and no one wants to listen to the ravings of a man on the street."

"Then how did your building get me inside?" V'tet asked.

"By blinding them with emotion."

"Emotion?"

Rayah grinned. "When people feel emotions while listening to something they immediately become more invested in it, regardless of what it is." She put down her glass and cracked the sore muscles in her neck.

"My speech opened with something known to every Draconian, your wings." She motioned to his which had folded back tightly behind his back. "Every Draconian has them and uses them and deep down fear what would happen if they couldn't use them."

V'tet nodded at this, as not a day had gone by that he did not think of his wings.

"You lure them in with a tale of sadness, but you end it with a high not; a moment of inspiration that things will be better."

"Is this important?" V'tet asked, to which Rayah nodded. "Despite what some people think the majority of the population likes a happy ending."

"Next we stoked the pride of the people you would most need the support of." She held up a single finger.

"Mentioning military pride ensures you will have support from a few of their members as they enjoy being seen as proud defenders of their people, regardless of the problem they face."

She held up a second finger. "The merchants and money lenders who are often overlooked now have been moved front and center as their support will be helping the people, which will in turn boost their image and importance thus giving them a stake in your venture."

She held up a third hand. "The old guard who would most likely be opposed to change. By mentioning the previous clashes with neighboring sectors we've shifted their focus to what is best for the empire; something they are more likely to support given their national pride."

V'tet nodded as he followed along. "So by making each of these parties feel something, and giving them a reason they could benefit from it; the speech ensnared them?"

"I wouldn't say that," Rayah said as she finished her drink and set the glass down, "but it got them interested enough that their own imaginations will begin painting pretty pictures of what could be if this succeeded and they were the ones who most contributed."

Hearing this strategy V'tet was not ashamed to say he was impressed beyond measure that a single speech could have such depth of underlining themes and sentiments.

"Hiring you was one of my best decisions yet it seems." he spoke as he smiled to her.

Rayah shrugged. "I've had of practice with using emotions back home. You'd be surprised how often I could get people to vote against their own interests."

"Then I look forward to a long and mutually profitable cooperation." V'tet said as he raised his glass to her.

"As do I councilor." Rayah said with a devilish smile crossing her face. "As do I."

#HUMANS ARE WEIRD #humans are insane #humans are space orcs #humans are space oddities #scifi #story

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