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be-gay-do-heists · 3 years ago

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hello yall :) the holy month of elul started last night, which is typically a time for contemplation, so since it is impossible for me to stop thinking about leverage, i decided to write an essay. hope anyone interested in reading it enjoys, and that it makes at least a little sense!! spoilers for leverage redemption

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Leverage, Judaism, and “Doing the Work”: An Essay for Elul

When it comes to Elul and the approaching High Holidays, Leverage might seem like an odd topic to meditate on.

The TNT crime drama that ran from 2008-2012, and which released a new season this summer following its renewal, centers on a group of found-family thieves who help the victims of corporations and oligarchs (sometimes based on real-world examples), using wacky heists and cons to bring down the rich and powerful. In one episode, the team’s clients want to reclaim their father’s prized Glimt piece that had been stolen in the Shoah and never returned, but aside from this and the throwaway lines and jokes standard for most mainstream television, there’s not a ton textually Jewish about Leverage. However, despite this, I have found that the show has strong resonance among Jewish fans, and lots of potential for analysis along Jewish themes. This tends to focus on one character in particular: the group’s brilliant, pop culture-savvy, and personable hacker, Alec Hardison, played by the phenomenally talented Aldis Hodge.

I can’t remember when or where I first encountered a reading of Hardison as Jewish, but not only is this a somewhat popular interpretation, it doesn’t feel like that much of a leap. In the show itself, Hardison has a couple of the aforementioned throwaway lines that potentially point to him being Jewish, even if they’re only in service of that moment’s grift. It’s hard to point to what exactly makes reading Hardison as Jewish feel so natural. My first guess is the easy way Hardison fits into the traditional paradigms of Jewish masculinity explored by scholars such as Daniel Boyarin (2). Most of the time, the hacker is not portrayed as athletic or physical; he is usually the foil to the team’s more physically-adept characters like fighter Eliot, or thief Parker. Indeed, Hardison’s strength is mental, expressed not only through his computer wizardry but his passions for science, technology, music, popular media, as well as his studious research into whatever scenario the group might come up against. In spite of his self-identification as a “geek,” Hardison is nevertheless confident, emotionally sensitive, and secure in his masculinity. I would argue he is representative of the traditional Jewish masculine ideal, originating in the rabbinic period and solidified in medieval Europe, of the dedicated and thoughtful scholar (3). Another reason for popular readings of Hardison as Jewish may be the desire for more representation of Jews of color. Although mainstream American Jewish institutions are beginning to recognize the incredible diversity of Jews in the United States (4), and popular figures such as Tiffany Haddish are amplifying the experiences of non-white Jews, it is still difficult to find Jews of color represented in popular media. For those eager to see this kind of representation, then, interpreting Hardison, a black man who places himself tangential to Jewishness, in this way is a tempting avenue.

Regardless, all of the above remains fan interpretation, and there was little in the text of the show that seriously tied Judaism into Hardison’s identity. At least, until we got this beautiful speech from Hardison in the very first episode of the renewed show, directed at the character of Harry Wilson, a former corporate lawyer looking to atone for the injustice he was partner to throughout his career:

“In the Jewish faith, repentance, redemption, is a process. You can’t make restitution and then promise to change. You have to change first. Do the work, Harry. Then and only then can you begin to ask for forgiveness. [...] So this… this isn’t the win. It’s the start, Harry.”

I was floored to hear this speech, and thrilled that it explained the reboot’s title, Leverage: Redemption. Although not mentioned by its Hebrew name, teshuvah forms the whole basis for the new season. Teshuvah is the concept of repentance or atonement for the sins one has committed. Stemming from the root shuv/shuva, it carries the literal sense of “return.” In a spiritual context, this usually means a return to G-d, of finding one’s way back to holiness and by extension good favor in the eyes of the Divine. But equally important is restoring one’s relationships with fellow humans by repairing any hurt one has caused over the past year. This is of special significance in the holy month of Elul, leading into Rosh haShanah, the Yamim Noraim, and Yom Kippur, but one can undertake a journey of redemption at any point in time. That teshuvah is a journey is a vital message for Harry to hear; one job, one reparative act isn’t enough to overturn years of being on the wrong side of justice, to his chagrin. As the season progresses, we get to watch his path of teshuvah unfold, with all its frustrations and consequences. Harry grows into his role as a fixer, not only someone who can find jobs and marks for the team, but fixes what he has broken or harmed.

So why was Hardison the one to make this speech?

I do maintain that it does provide a stronger textual basis for reading Hardison as Jewish by implication (though the brief on-screen explanation for why he knows about teshuvah, that his foster-parent Nana raised a multi-faith household, is important in its own merit, and meshes well with his character traits of empathy and understanding for diverse experiences). However, beyond this, Hardison isn’t exactly an archetypical model for teshuvah. In the original series, he was the youngest character of the main ensemble, a hacking prodigy in the start of his adult career, with few mistakes or slights against others under his belt. In one flashback we see that his possibly first crime was stealing from the Bank of Iceland to pay off his Nana’s medical bills, and that his other early hacking exploits were in the service of fulfilling personal desires, with only those who could afford to pay the bill as targets. Indeed, in the middle of his speech, Hardison points to Eliot, the character with the most violent and gritty past who views his work with the Leverage team as atonement, for a prime example of ongoing teshuvah. So while no one is perfect and everyone has a reason for doing teshuvah, this question of why Hardison is the one to give this series-defining speech inspired me to look at his character choices and behavior, and see how they resonate with a different but interrelated Jewish principle, that of tikkun olam.

Tikkun olam is literally translated as “repairing the world,” and can take many different forms, such as protecting the rights of vulnerable people in society, or giving tzedakah (5). In modern times, tikkun olam is often the rallying cry for Jewish social activists, particularly among environmentalists for whom literally restoring the health of the natural world is the key goal. Teshuvah and tikkun olam are intertwined (the former is the latter performed at an interpersonal level) and both hold a sense of fixing or repairing, but tikkun olam really revolves around a person feeling called to address an injustice that they may have not had a personal hand in creating. Hardison’s sense of a universal scale of justice which he has the power to help right on a global level and his newfound drive to do humanitarian work, picked up sometime after the end of the original series, make tikkun olam a central value for his character. This is why we get this nice bit of dialogue from Eliot to Hardison in the second episode of the reboot, when the latter’s outside efforts to organize international aid start distracting him from his work with the team: “Is [humanitarian work] a side gig? In our line of work, you’re one of the best. But in that line of work… you’re the only one, man.” The character who most exemplifies teshuvah reminds Hardison of his amazing ability to effect change for the better on a huge stage, to do some effective tikkun olam. It’s this acknowledgement of where Hardison can do the most good that prompts the character’s absence for the remainder of the episodes released thus far, turning his side gig into his main gig.

With this in mind, it will be interesting to see where Hardison’s arc for this season goes. Separated from the rest of the team, the hacker still has remarkable power to change the world, because it is, after all, the “age of the geek.” However, he is still one person. For all that both teshuvah and tikkun olam are individual responsibilities and require individual decision-making and effort, the latter especially relies on collective work to actually make things happen. Hardison leaving is better than trying to do humanitarian work and Leverage at the same time, but there’s only so long he can be the “only one” in the field before burning out. I’m reminded of one of the most famous (for good reason) maxims in Judaism:

It is not your duty to finish the work, but neither are you free to neglect it. (6)

Elul is traditionally a time for introspection and heeding the calls to repentance. After a year where it’s never been easier to feel powerless and drained by everything going on around us, I think it’s worth taking the time to examine what kind of work we are capable of in our own lives. Maybe it’s fixing the very recent and tangible hurts we’ve left behind, like Harry. Maybe it’s the little changes for the better that we make every day, motivated by our sense of responsibility, like Eliot. And maybe it’s the grueling challenge of major social change, like Hardison. And if any of this work gets too much, who can we fall back on for support and healing? Determining what needs repair, working on our own scale and where our efforts are most helpful, and thereby contributing to justice in realistic ways means that we can start the new year fresh, having contemplated in holiday fashion how we can be better agents in the world.

Shana tovah u’metukah and ketivah tovah to all (7), and may the work we do in the coming year be for good!

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(1) Disclaimer: everybody’s fandom experiences are different, and this is just what I’ve picked up on in my short time watching and enjoying this show with others.

(2) See, for example, the introduction and first chapter of Boyarin’s book Unheroic Conduct: The Rise of Heterosexuality and the Invention of the Jewish Man (I especially recommend at least this portion if you are interested in queer theory and Judaic studies). There he explores the development of Jewish masculinity in direct opposition to Christian masculine standards.

(3) I might even go so far as to place Hardison well within the Jewish masculine ideal of Edelkayt, gentle and studious nobility (although I would hesitate to call him timid, another trait associated with Edelkayt). Boyarin explains that this scholarly, non-athletic model of man did not carry negative associations in the historical Jewish mindset, but was rather the height of attractiveness (Boyarin, 2, 51).

(4) Jews of color make up 20% of American Jews, according to statistics from Be’chol Lashon, and this number is projected to increase as American demographics continue to change: https://globaljews.org/about/mission/.

(5) Tzedakah is commonly known as righteous charity. According to traditional authority Maimonides, it should be given anonymously and without embarrassment to the person in need, generous, and designed to help the recipient become self-sufficient.

(6) Rabbi Tarfon, Pirkei Avot, 2:16

(7) ��A good and sweet year” and “a good inscription [in the Book of Life]”

#leverage #miko speaks #jewish stuff #jumblr #leverage redemption #spoilers #lr spoilers #leverage redemption spoilers #written for a non leverage audience because i want my rabbi to read it alskdjflaksdjf #elul

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seranavolkihar · 4 years ago

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this is in no way the same thing you all are so fucking stupid

#am*zon is unfortunately a lot of the times the most accessible option for people with tight budgets bc of the quick and direct delivery and #often lower prices. if you dont have access to transportation it's definitely the most sensible option as much as you may want to avoid it #and even besides all of that if it was simply a matter of choice then there are often literally thousands of other carriers who sell #whatever object you may need - american politics is a 2 PARTY SYSTEM. THERE IS NO CHOICE.#also i am not black/a poc nor american so i will not speak on behalf of them but rather regurgitate what i have seen them say and that is t #stop telling them to choose the biden as the bc thats still evil and he will also harm marginalised groups if he is in #power. as white people we need to stop thinking that our experiences are universal and trivialising BIPOC issues smfh im disgusted by this #some rich white straight cis man has NO RIGHT to be saying things like this trying to compare these wildly different situations and guilt #people into voting for biden ..... daniel kibblesmith eat shit and die #also i wont say anything about chick fil a except there is no reason to support them go buy your fried chicken somewhere else #anyways there is no ethical consumption under capitalism #ALSO one last thing if you think b*den being president of america would stop facism in america you are a clueless fucking clown

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misnomera · 4 years ago

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On racial stereotyping of the Haans in TMA...

Right so as someone who is ethnically Chinese I have NO FUCKING clue how I didn’t notice this more distinctly in my initial binge of tma (going too fast and not paying closer attention to character names and descriptions, probably) but the Haan family storyline is, all horror elements aside, pretty fucked up in terms of racial representation re: stereotyping. This got long as hell, but please please please take a moment to read through if you’ve got time for it. thanks.

To start off, the Haans are one of the few characters in tma with an explicitly specified race and ethnicity—Chinese—and pretty much the only explicitly Chinese characters in tma, other than the mostly unimportant librarian (Zhang Xiaoling) from Beijing. But like, Haan isn’t even a properly Chinese surname, at least not in the way that it’s spelled in canon (it should be Han, one a. A quick google search tells me that Haan as a surname has...Dutch origins??).

Of course, that could be chalked up to shoddy anglicization processes within family histories, which certainly isn’t uncommon with immigrant families, so I’m not going to dwell on names too much (although I also find it interesting that John Haan’s name is so specifically and weirdly anglicized that he changed his own surname?? Hun Yung to John Haan is a very big leap of a name change and frankly not very believable. ANYWAY, this is not that important. I don’t expect Jonny, a white Englishman, to come up with perfectly unquestionable non-Cho-Chang-like Chinese names, though it certainly would be nice. Moving on).

What really bothers me about the Haans is how they almost exclusively and explicitly play into negative Chinese immigrant stereotypes. I don’t even feel like I need to say it because it’s like...it’s literally Right There, folks. John Haan (in ep 72) owns and operates a sketchy takeout restaurant. They’re all avatars of the Flesh—and John Haan is Specifically horrific and terrifying because he cooked his wife’s human meat and fed it to his unknowing customers. Does that remind you of any stereotypes which accuse Chinese people of consuming societally unacceptable and ethically questionable things like dog/cat/bat meat (which, if it’s not already crystal fucking clear, we don’t. do that.), which in turn characterize us as horrible unfeeling monsters? John Haan’s characterization feeds (haha, badum tss) directly into this harmful stereotype that have caused very real pain for Chinese people and East Asians in general.

And Jonny does nothing to address that from within his writing (and not out of it either). And, speaking on a more meta level, Jonny could’ve easily had these flesh avatars be individuals of any race (like, what’s Jared Hopworth’s ethnicity? Do we know? No? Well then). Conversely, he could’ve easily, easily had a Chinese person be an avatar of any other entity. So why did he have to chose specifically the Flesh?

(This is a rhetorical question. You know why. Racial stereotyping and invoking a fear of the other in an attempt to enhance horror, babey~)

On Tom Haan’s side, Jonny seems weirdly intent on having other characters repeatedly comment on his accent (or rather, lack thereof) in relation to his race. Think about how, in ep 30 (killing floor), the fact that Tom Haan had spoken a line to the statement giver in “perfect English” was an emphasized beat in that statement, and a beat that was supposed to be “chilling” and meant to signify to us that something was, quote-unquote, “not right” with Tom Haan. Implicitly, that’s saying that it was unexpected, not “normal”, and in this case even eerie, for someone who looks Chinese to have spoken in fluid, unbroken English. Mind you, the line itself was perfectly scary on its own (“you cannot stop the slaughter by closing the door”), so why did Jonny feel the need to note the accent in which it was spoken in? Why did Jonny HAVE to have that statement giver note, that he initially “wasn’t even sure how much English [Haan] spoke”?

This happens again in episode 72 with a Chinese man (and again, his ethnicity is Explicitly Noted) who we assume is also Tom Haan. This one is rather ironically funny and kind of painfully self aware, because the statement giver expresses surprise at Haan’s “crisp RP accent” and then immediately “felt bad about making the assumption that he couldn’t speak English,” and subsequently admitted that thought was “low-key racist.” Like, from a writing perspective, this entire passage is roundabout, pointless, and says absolutely nothing helpful to enhance the horror genre experience for listeners (instead it just sounded like some sort of half-assed excuse so Jonny or other listeners could say “look! We’ve addressed the racism!” You didn’t. It just made me vaguely uncomfortable). And again, having other people comment on our accents/lack thereof while assuming we are foreign is a Very Real microaggression that east asians face on the daily. If Jonny needed some filler sentences for pacing he could’ve written about Literally anything else. So why point out, yet again, that the crazy murderous man was foreign and Chinese?

At this point, you might say, right, but yknow, it was just that the statement givers were kind of racist! It happens! Yeah sure, ok, that’s a passable in-universe explanation for descriptions of Tom Haan (though not John Haan, mind you), but the statement givers are fake made up people, and statement’s still written by Jonny, who absolutely has all the power to write overt discrimination out of his stories. And he does! Think about just how many minor (and major!!) characters are so, so carefully written as completely aracial, and do not have their ethnicity implicated at all in whatever horrors they may or may not be committing. Think about how many lgbtq+ characters have given statements, and have been in statements, without having faced direct forms of discrimination, or portrayed as embodying blatant stereotypes in their stories (though lgbtq+ rep in tma certainly has their own issues that I won’t go into here). Jonny can clearly write characters this way, and he can do it well. So why, why, am I being constantly, repeatedly reminded in-text of the fact that the Haans are East Asian, that they’re from China, that they’re Chinese immigrants, that they’re second-generation British Chinese or whatever the fuck, and that they’re also horrifying conduits for blood, gore, and general fucked-up-ness? It’s absolutely not something that is Needed for the stories to be an effective piece of horror; the only thing it does is perpetuate incredibly harmful and hurtful stereotypes.

And listen, I love tma to bits. It’s taken over my blog. I’ve really loved my interactions with the fandom. And I am consistently blown away by Jonny’s writing and how well he’s able to weave foreshadowing and plot into an incredibly complex collection of stories. But I absolutely Cannot stop thinking about the Haans because it’s just. It’s such a blatant display of racial stereotyping in writing. And I’ve certainly seen a few voices talking about it here and there, and I don’t know if I’m just not looking in the right places, but it certainly feels like something that is just straight up not on the radar for a lot of tma fans. And I’m disappointed about that.

Just, I don’t know. Take a look at those episodes again and do some of your own thinking about why these characters had to be specifically Chinese (answer: they didn’t.). And in general, PLEASE for the love of god turn a critical eye on character portrayals and descriptions whenever they are assigned specific races/ethnicities (Some examples that come to mind are Jude Perry, Annabelle Cane, and Diego Molina), because similar issues, to an extent, extend beyond the Haans, though I haven’t covered them here.

You shouldn’t need a POC to do point out these problems for you when they’re so glaringly There. But for those of you who really didn’t know, hope this was informative in some way. I’m tired, man. If some of the only significant Chinese characters you write are violent cannibalistic men with a perverted relationship with meat, just don’t do it. Please don’t do it.

EDIT: Since the making of this post Jonny has acknowledged and apologized for these portrayals on his twitter and in the Rusty Quill Operations Update, which went up September 2020. A long time coming, but better late than never. This of course doesn’t necessarily negate the harm done by Jonny’s writing, and doesn’t make me much less angry about it, but is appreciated nonetheless. For more on this topic there’s a lot of productive discussions happening in my “#tma crit” tag and in the notes of this post

#tma #the magnus archives #magnuspod #tma 30 #tma 72 #tma crit #racism #sinophobia #racist stereotyping #tw cannibalism #tw violence #long post #tom haan #john haan

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linguacoreana · 3 years ago

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Something really bad is spreading within online language-learning communities, and it’s not intentional. In general, the positivity and motivation on langblr, language tumblr, or studygram, study Instagram, are really common. It’s good to motivate people to make positive changes to improve their language skills. However, jealousy is a powerful byproduct of the motivation-focused social media accounts. What can we do to overcome polyglot envy?

What is polyglot envy?

Polyglot envy is the jealousy that language learners experience when treating language acquisition as a leaderboard. It’s natural human psychology to compare yourself to people similar to you. In school, it’s classmates. At work, it’s coworkers that joined at a similar time to you. In our world controlled by social media, people that share a hobby will compare themselves just as much.

Generally, online language learners will experience some jealous feelings when comparing the language abilities of their (perceived) equals. This could be about someone’s speaking ability, frequency of studying, or the sheer number of posts someone makes about their target language. The triggers for envy are endless. This could be someone’s flag emojis in their profile. Speaking practice videos might trigger this feeling. At the heart of it, comparing your skills to another person’s skill create something that I call “polyglot envy.”

Why do some people experience this?

Online language learners are particularly motivated, which contributes to something that may turn into toxic competitiveness. If you are motivated enough to learn a language, which most people don’t even want to do in school, it’s almost guaranteed that you will feel seek out constant improvement. That’s on top of the fact that language learning is a hobby that is generally social. You will therefore always be encountering people that can share their skills. This dangerous concoction can create a situation where online language learners become obsessed with being better than the others.

Be wary of social media

A big reason that some polyglot envy can be so severe is because of how social media presents language learning. Because you are only seeing a portion of someone’s life, you cannot see the blood, sweat, and tears. Nobody posts the day that they don’t want to learn. It would be really strange to see someone post “didn’t feel like learning language today; did nothing” on Instagram.

Social media is a curated perspective of someone’s life. In regards to language learning, you only see people’s successes and not their failures. Videos are edited to include only the best takes of someone using a language. Instagram posts only go live when the poster actually accomplished something. It’s not intentional that people give an inaccurate view; it’s the nature of social media that people only post the interesting parts. That’s not to underestimate the performative posts that exaggerate people’s abilities for views.

Like any social media niche, language learners can get more views by using inflammatory titles that aren’t necessarily accurate. Titles like “POLYGLOT speaks OVER TEN languages” or “WHITE GUY surprises STOREOWNER with his PERFECT CHINESE” are bound to get more clicks, but they can create a false image that you should be doing everything you see. However, what people do not post is the effort that goes into learning a certain grammar point. There is nothing glamorous about posting a video about how you didn’t understand the difference between these two tenses then looked up 7 different resources on the topic, and you still don’t fully get it. The problem is that that is the reality. For everyone, even the most seemingly genius people online struggle.

Social media will never communicate this to you. A major step in overcoming polyglot envy is to recognize this inaccuracy to reality.

Stop comparing yourself!

I think the most important part to avoid polyglot envy is to attack the source of the envy: comparing yourself. We are all different people. It simply makes no sense to compare yourself to others; there are millions of factors that contribute to the reason we are at our current levels in our languages.

Imagine a person who is mother of two children, has to work 40 hours a week, goes shopping, laundry, childrearing, and only finds 10-15 minutes a day to improve her French. How can you compare her to the 19 year old part-time university student who doesn’t need to work and has all the time in the world to learn ten languages? With the given situation, 10-15 minutes a day is a huge accomplishment.

The flashiest online polyglots dedicate most of time to language learning, so assuming you need to be at their level will only hurt you. Even if you compare yourself to someone in your age group with a similar lifestyle to you, it is still really bad to assume their situation because the internet conceals the uncomfortable truths about language learning. You can see them post their aesthetic notes, but you did not see deeply they understood the material. The person with the ugly notes might have worked harder, but social media could have you thinking the most beautiful notes or most enthusiastic speaker has the best skills.

Although I love to post my language efforts of the day onto my Instagram, I always try to make an effort to show the real side of my thinking in the caption. “lol I don’t get it, and I think I never will” caption so many of my posts, and I put an effort to show my weaknesses. I don’t want to push the idea that everyone should have an easy time with language learning or that I am some perfect language learner.

Think relatively

It is important to remind yourself that any studying is good. The thought that “I am not studying enough” should never cross any language learners mind. Of course, there is room for motivation and pushing yourself, but we should be very vigilant that we are not setting unhealthy expectations. The average person spends no time learning languages, so spending 10 minutes a day is totally fine. The average American or European does not know any Chinese characters, so it makes no sense to beat yourself up over the fact that you do not know the same number as another language learner. Knowing 2000 is better than knowing 1000, but knowing 10 is better than knowing 1. The fact that you have studied a language at all is already a victory in and of itself.

#language learning #language #polyglot #studygram #studyblr #langblr #social media #envy #jealousy #polyglot envy #mental health #mental wellness

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glitter-garbage · 3 years ago

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12. — thread

Shadowgast, ~1600 words, gen, red thread of destiny, soulmate au (spoilers for the eiselcross arc)

Sent by @quinn-of-aebradore 💜 ...ps: this is not edited at all (one word writing prompts: send me one and a pairing if you like. I might fill them some day!) ---

When Bren learned he had magic, he also learned that he could see things that not everyone did. It wasn’t natural, he had to focus, and later on, he even found out there was an actual spell for it. Still, on more than one occasion growing up, Bren would see the delicate red threads that connected people around him.

“Those mean whoever is connected to you is your soulmate,” his mother explained, “Can you see mine?”

And, sure enough, his mother had a little thread connecting her ankle to Leofric’s. He longed for his own thread to appear, though his mother explained that not everyone had one.

Bren didn’t have to worry, though. He was only fifteen when not one, but two threads connected his ankle to his best friends of all people. By that time, he had already been whisked away to the Academy along with them and the experiences they shared, the successes, the pain, the power, all of that just cemented their connection in his mind.

Until he broke, that is.

After the fire came the Sanatorium, and for eleven years Bren, now Caleb, did not think about that again. Only when he got out did he notice that his ankle was free. Nothing connected him to anyone anymore. It was okay, he was a garbage person. He didn’t deserve love like that anyway.

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Nott had a red thread. It vanished out to the horizon, and Caleb never saw the thread move in a way that indicated that her soulmate was closer. He wondered if she knew, for a while. Then, he learned the truth. Veth’s soulmate, her husband, kidnapped, imprisoned. He was happy she had met him though, and confident they'd free him. She deserved happiness, he would help her in any way he could.

Two couples in his little group had threads connecting them to each other from the start. Fate worked in mysterious ways, Caleb thought. Beau and Yasha did not seem that close, though Beau’s attraction was obvious, and cringe-worthy at times, but Caleb was sure things would go well for them in the future. Jester and Fjord’s thread almost made his heart break- he had allowed himself to get way too attached to the two, but neither of them were for him, obviously. Destiny had other plans.

Molly did not have any threads, like him. After learning about his past, Caleb wondered if he had gone through something similar to Caleb, the snapping of a thread after a traumatic event. He allowed himself to grow closer to the tiefling tentatively, allowed feelings to bloom slowly. Molly was warm to him, and he thought perhaps it was another form of destiny that would tie them together.

That had been a mistake.

The last one to join their family was Caduceus. He had no thread too, and Caleb had no curiosity about it anymore. His interest in destiny had all but faded.

He loved his friends. He had friends. That was enough, for someone like him.

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“The Luxon is the basis of how we've been able to free ourselves from the binds of the lineage the Betrayer Gods left for us and to carve our own fates, choose our own paths and sidestep these destinies placed upon us nonchalantly by gods that use us as playthings.”

The Shadowhand was interesting. Dangerous, powerful, enticing. Caleb considered what he said about freedom from destiny, the ability to find your own way. He had certainly strayed from his path, but perhaps that was not the worst thing.

Essek Thelyss, too, had no thread attached to him.

Perhaps because Caleb was no longer obsessing over what destiny had in store for him, perhaps because he was beginning to accept that his own imperfect path was better than the one that had been set for him, Caleb felt empathy towards the drow even after he had betrayed them.

They were so much alike, and Caleb kept his heart more closely guarded now. He did not feel his heart breaking when they learned of Essek's schemes, and that too helped. In any case, he did not see Essek again for a long time. Did not think much about him. There was too much on his plate for that.

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Astrid smiled at him from across a dinner table and his stomach dropped. Caleb felt the wheels of time turning, felt again like Bren, determined and ambitious and blind to the truth. Eadwulf looked at him with a raised chin, a smirk on his face. He too remained handsome, impossibly so.

When they walked out of Ikithon’s tower, Caleb could make out the thin red thread that still connected their ankles. He thought he was stronger, that perhaps he was ready for this.

“Race you to the top,” said Astrid with a childish smile, before turning back to the tower.

It hurt. He could feel the emptiness of what could have been, what would never be again in a way he hadn’t felt in a long time.

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Imagine his surprise when arriving at the Vurmas outpost in Eiselcross, the powerful figure of the Shadowhand could not meet his eyes. Imagine his surprise, when he saw his eyes lighting up when they chose him instead of his old teacher to go down into the ruins. Imagine his surprise when he saw Essek battling, using gravity itself as a weapon, and felt only fondness and admiration for the man. When he showed off his tower and saw the same in the drow’s eyes. And attraction, of course. That went without saying.

It all came to a head when, together, they worked to cast a spell that would shorten time itself and give the Nein their much-needed rest.

Thought it might have felt like seconds to their friends, Caleb watched for long moments, holding magic in his palms to assist, as Essek opened a gash through the fabric of space and time. Real fabric, made of threads of all colors that together seemed to make up what he saw as the world around him. Time seemed to stop around them as Essek carefully worked around the fibers.

“This… Have you been able to see this the whole time?” he asked.

Essek’s jaw was clenched and there was sweat running down his forehead, but he nodded, “Not really. It takes a lot of effort to see this. A lot of energy.”

Caleb hesitated but gave in once Essek’s questioning gaze found his for a moment, “I have always seen the red threads. I- I had my own, for a while.”

“Annoying little things,” muttered the drow, focusing again at the slow-going task of weaving time with his bare hands, “There was a time when I hated them more than anything.”

“You used to have yours, too?”

“Hm? No,” said the drow distractedly, “I hated them because I had none, and I thought I should. The Dynasty looks like a tangled web if you watch for them since so many entanglements are made complicated by consecution. But I never had one, and even though I looked for… someone that could perhaps make it appear, it never did.”

He moved his wrist to the side, and the universe seemed to shift with it. Caleb felt a little dizzy.

“But I had never heard of someone who lost theirs. I thought they were supposed to be, ah, perfect,” Essek smirked, “Unless you did what we are doing right now to yours. That is, changing it fundamentally. Somehow, I do not think that is what happened.”

“Nein,” Caleb chuckled wryly and then held himself straighter, keeping the spell steady as Essek continued his labor. “I… strayed from the path, I think. I did something that was not meant to be.”

Essek looked at him like he was the most fascinating thing he had ever seen, even though the elf himself had the building blocks of reality in his hands at the moment. Caleb flushed.

“I think Caduceus would say that you did exactly what you had to do.”

“Maybe so. But isn’t it hard to know that others will have this… this gift, this sure thing while we will not?”

Essek looped a bright white strand against a colorful, prismatic one while he hummed, thinking.

“I felt the same way for decades. But whatever we will have or not, in that sense, will be of our own making. And isn’t that a gift on its own?”

---

The moonlight shone down on the beach, turning the sea a glittering mass of waves. Other than the full moon, magical globes and luminescent beetles illuminated the space around them. Their friends gathered around smiling tearfully in perfect dissonance. Caleb himself felt his heart beating so fast he thought it might leave his ribcage and seek quietude somewhere far away from his anxiety-ridden body. He stood beside Caduceus, who hummed a sweet song under his breath as they waited.

Finally, the glittering door at the end of the path opened, and Essek slipped out, bare feet delicately touching the sand. Jester came from behind him, and once their arms were locked, they walked on slowly, passing their friends and family on the way to Caleb and Caduceus.

He looked stunning in delicate iridescent robes, and Caleb tried to swallow down his anxiety. Violet eyes framed by silver lines, mouth poised in a gentle smile, cheeks flushed, Essek walked slowly until he was face to face with his intended.

Essek reached for his hand, and they stood silently, gazes locked while Caduceus conducted the ceremony. When it was time, Caleb drew a small spool of red thread from his pocket. Gently, he took Essek’s hand in his and tied a knot around his little finger. He offered the spool, and Essek repeated the gesture, biting his lips nervously. Caduceus cut the remaining thread, leaving their hands connected.

“You are now joined together, not by destiny, but by your own choice. I think that’s very nice,” Caduceus smiled placidly until Veth cleared her throat, “Oh yeah. You guys can kiss now.”

Caleb smiled at the phrasing. He lifted his hand, pulling Essek’s forward until the drow was close enough for him to count his freckles. Their hands tingled as he came impossibly closer. Essek’s mouth was warm against his.

For the first time in Caleb's life, he felt destiny favored him.

---

#critical role fanfiction #critical role #shadowgast #soulmate au #writing prompt #cute

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maxwell-grant · 3 years ago

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Red of Overly Sarcastic Productions once said :"If you can imagine your Batman comforting a shared child, then congratulations, you're righting Batman. If not, you're just writing the Punisher in a funny hat". This got me wondering: could the Shadow comfort a scared child?

Could he? You forget who was there to lift young Bruce to his feet at his first brush with death (sadly far from his last).

But it's an interesting question to pose still, because children were straight up not in the pulps, not in any I've read, and I can't recall any episodes of the radio show that feature them much (there's gotta be at least a few, because they had everything in that show). The most interaction I think The Shadow's ever had with children (from comics that I can discuss here, because Marshall Rogers' "Harold Goes to Washington" is way, way too much for me to go into right now, and the less I talk about some other DC comics, the better) is in the Street & Smith comics.

There's Jerry from the Devil Kyoti arc, a kid who was traumatized by an encounter with the villain who Sayre's looking after and who ends up having some kind of hidden power that allows him to see The Shadow and defeat the villain. There was a blonde Jerry who showed up later in the Monstradamus arc, but he isn't a kid so much as he's diet Jimmy Olsen or a replacement for Harry, but he had weird eyesight-based powers and a familiarity with The Shadow, so I assume it's the same character.

There was also Donald Jordan - Shadow Jr, and okay, I may have to talk more about this weird little failed experiment some other time, but the basic gist of it is that The Shadow had a friend in Tibet named Harry Jordan (and someday I'm also gonna write about the weird prevalence and significance of the name "Harry" in The Shadow's mythos in and out of universe) who was murdered, leaving his son orphaned and with nowhere to go. And, I'll admit that I have a real weakness for The Shadow calling people "son", which he does a lot in this story.

And as you can expect, it then turns out that the kid's also learned how to cloud minds and has basically the same powers The Shadow has in these comics, and they solve the mystery of his dad's murder together, and yeah, you can absolutely tell that they are setting up this kid to be The Shadow's Robin. Although, interestingly, they don't have The Shadow actually recruit the kid, instead it's Jordan who asks The Shadow if he can go with him and join his mission, and Cranston even states he's going to have to "earn" his way

"Must I stay here, sir? It will always remind me of dad - I'd like to devote my life to your fight against evil and evil doers!

Now, "Shadow Jr's" career was incredibly short-lived, it only lasted for about two other issues, and I have no idea what happened in his final appearence called "Snake Eyes" in Shadow Comics #77, I cannot find that issue anywhere and I really want to. But the one other solo story of his I've read was...well, I think it kinda illustrates why the idea of The Shadow having a Robin was doomed from the start.

...Yeah. Even The Shadow at his most sanitized and family friendly is still The Shadow, and there's no room for children in his network, obviously he shouldn't and wouldn't have children be in those positions or make decisions expected from grown-ups who have already had encounters with death and danger, why would anyone do that-

The only instance I can think of The Shadow interacting with a child in the pulps was during The Prince of Evil, when he has to rescue a young boy from Stark's thugs.

Cranston, dazed, tried to stagger to his feet. Before he could do so, the thug had picked up the limp figure of the boy and was darting out into the street. There was a scream of horror from pedestrians.

A heavy truck was racing at top speed along the avenue. Straight into the path of the truck, the thug threw the senseless boy!

The driver of the truck jammed on the brakes. But it was too late to halt the heavy vehicle. The broad-tired wheels rolled toward the limp head of the lad on the pavement.

An instant before it could crush out his life, Lamont Cranston dived headlong into the path of destruction. His shoulder struck the boy, rolling him toward the curb. A quick wriggle, and Cranston swerved aside from the grinding death that loomed over him.

He picked up the boy. One glance and he knew there was no time to lose. The attempted killer had leaped into a waiting sedan and had already made his escape.

The boy was all Cranston could see or think about. Brass knuckles had fractured his skull. He had suffered a concussion of the brain. A glance at his bluish lips and the fixed glaze of his staring eyes told Cranston that unless the boy was operated on immediately, he would die.

A leap, Cranston was in his car. He laid the boy gently on the seat beside him, then headed the car toward the nearest hospital. Traffic lights were ignored.

The boy was taken to an emergency operating room and a skilled surgeon went to work. When it was over, Cranston asked only one question: "Will the child live?"

"Hard to say. We'll do our best."

"Spare no expense. Put him in a private room. Engage day and night nurses."

Cranston's face was pale. He knew that he himself was indirectly responsible for the boy's attack. A supercriminal had made a prompt answer to Cranston's message over Jackson's telephone. That telephone must have been tapped. The attempt to kill the boy was a vicious warning for Lamont Cranston to mind his own business about the Harmon family. It was a follow-up of the attack on Jackson's dog.

Cranston felt a surge of hot anger. He kept it under control while he answered routine police questions. He told all he knew - which was nothing.

He had only one angry thought. He intended to drive straight to the office of David Chester. He'd get the truth out of the sleek Chester, if he had to batter him with vengeful fists!

Cranston was actually halfway to Chester's office before common sense returned to him. He realized he had lost his sense of balance. He was behaving exactly as the crooks wanted. He was playing their game, not his!

He parked, and the hot rage drained slowly from him. He stopped thinking about the limp figure of a young lad on a white operating table.

This is definitely because Tinsley writes the character differently than Gibson, but I actually cannot think of another occasion where we got to read about The Shadow actively wanting to hit someone with his fists. It's very, very rare to read about The Shadow actually getting mad in the first place in such an undignified way. And I think with this passage, you'll start to notice a pattern.

The problem isn't that The Shadow cannot interact with kids or that he can't comfort them, he does it to his agents and adults he wants to help just fine, he knows how to address people in their language, or any language. The problem is, The Shadow is constantly surrounded by danger everywhere he goes, because he is The Shadow. He can be any number of things at any number of occasions, but usually, when The Shadow shows up, it's usually because people are going to die, and people are going to kill, and it's his job to address that and work the scales.

Children should not be anywhere near this, and if The Shadow's interacting with a child, it usually means that some grave danger or tragedy fell upon them, and he's here to either prevent greater tragedy or address the fall-out, and he'd be the first to agree that neither of these options should be happening at all. It doesn't mean he's not gonna do what's right and give life and limb to protect them, but, it shouldn't be up to the Boogeyman to look after them in the first place. Maybe it shouldn't be up to the Boogeyman to protect us.

But then again, as I mentioned when I talked about my own reasons for liking The Shadow so much, there are many kids who would like nothing more than to have the Boogeyman by their side to protect them. There's comfort in knowing that the scariest man in the room is unconditionally there to protect you, and that is the comfort that The Shadow gives best. Not as Cranston, not under a friendly face, but as what he is.

Due to a lack of scenes from the pulps or satisfying scenes from elsewhere, I will instead be pulling one from a fan story written by Kimberly-Murphy Smith, editor and writer of The Hot Cornerm where The Shadow rescues a child who was kidnapped for blackmail. I couldn't care less that it's fanfic, and if you do, come back in 20 or so years after The Shadow's been made public domain and it's gonna be just as official as anything licensed (on my “to write about” list: how fickle the separation between “official” and “fanfic” is, and the many times it plainly didn’t exist). There’s aspects of her writing I don’t care for, but I really like this scene and I do think The Shadow’s more gentle interactions with people are necessary to getting the character.

Annabelle.

She stopped crying for a minute. "Who's there?" she said, her voice choked.

A friend. Your mommy and daddy sent me to pick you up.

"Mommy? Mommy's here?"

Sh-h-h. Annabelle felt a gloved hand gently stroking her hair. She's waiting for you at home. So, we need to hurry up and leave.

"'kay." She looked around. "Where are you?"

It's kind of hard to see me. It's dark in here, plus you've been crying so much your eyes probably hurt.

"Yeah."

Don't be afraid. I'm here to help.

"'kay."

The implicit trust of children was simply amazing at times. Adults trembled in fear of The Shadow's wrath, but children somehow seemed to understand that he was there to help them, even if they couldn't see him.

Sit up, Annabelle. I'm going to pick you up. Be very quiet.

One hand took each of her arms and guided them around a neck she could not see. "Why are you wearin' a blanket?" she asked as the fabric of his cloak brushed against her shoulders.

Sometimes I get cold at night.

"Even in the summer?"

Even in the summer. He gently stroked her cheek and wiped away her tears. Now, you need to be very quiet so those bad men in the next room don't hear us. I'll bet you're tired.

She nodded.

He rocked her on his arms, projecting a very gentle hypnotic relaxation into her with his powers as he did. You probably didn't get your nap, either. Poor thing. Lean on my shoulder and go to sleep. And when you wake up, you'll be back with Mommy and Daddy.

She yawned, then snuggled against his shoulder and went to sleep.

The Shadow sighed with relief. Now to get past the men out front. He gently pulled the pistol out of its holster under his left arm and slipped it into the belted waist of his overcoat within easy reach, then secured his grip on Annabelle and draped his cloak over her.

She clutched the edge of his cloak in her hand like a security blanket and snuggled against his shoulder again.

(Art by Jill Thompson)

#replies tag #the shadow #pulp heroes #fanfic #I think about the -Sometimes I get cold at night- response a lot #and how superhero capes can easily be likened to oversized blankets #and The Shadow is one of the main reasons why capes became so popular among American heroes #seriously you can see how practically overnight so many heroes at the time imitating The Shadow acquired capes #and what is a hero if not a childhood fantasy manifest #they are all just wearing blankets to battle #I think my posts are turning into too much of rollercoasters

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bumblesimagines · 4 years ago

Text

Green Thumb

Part 4

Request: Yes or No

TW: Drug mention, needle mention, overdose mention

I'm still unsure on the twins ages in age of ultron since one source says 16 and the other says 26 lmao. Imma just say the twins are 17 or 18.

You stared down at the city below with a frown. You knew Clint wouldn't rest until Natasha was found. Everything had happened so quickly and even if you had tried to catch her with a root, you would've been pulled along. A sigh left you as you sat down at your desk. Your room in the tower felt like a cell. Gray walls, white bed, white desk. The only real color in the room came from the line of potted flowers on the desk. You felt your stomach grumble, standing up and leaving the room. You headed to the kitchen, getting a granola bar. You opened it, taking a bite from it. You almost choked, hearing crashing and arguing. You swallowed the bits of granola as you followed the noises to the laboratory. You headed up the stairs, dodging a flying Steve.

"What the fuck?" You turned your head, seeing the Maximoff twins. "What the fuck?" You repeated, watching them in bewilderment. Another one left you when Thor crashed through a window, raising his hammer and letting the electricity power the cradle. Nothing happened for a moment before the cradle burst open, causing Thor to fly back.

"I should've stayed with Laura." You whispered, staring at the red man that emerged from the cradle. He slowly stood, looking between everyone. His gaze settled on Thor, lunging for him but Thor grabbed him and threw him to the side, causing another crash.

"(Y/N), stay close." Clint called, eyeing the twins. You quickly walked over to him, hearing the crunching of glass beneth your shoes. While Thor and Steve took the dramatic way, you chose to use the door and head to the room Vision was in. Thor raised his hand, stopping Steve from attacked. The man stared out into the city, staying silent and motionless. Thor set down his hammer as the man landed on the door, apologizing to Thor and mimicking his cape.

"Thor, you helped create this?"

"I've had a vision. A whirlpool that sucks in all forms of life and at its center is that." Thor explained, pointing at the crystal in the mans forehead.

"What, the gem?" Bruce asked, watching Thor look at him.

"The mind stone." He corrected. "It's one of the six infinity stones. The greatest power in the universe with destructive abilities." Thor explained as he faced everyone.

"It looks like a citrine." You muttered, continuing to unwrap the rest of your granola bar, swiping away the crumbs that fell on the floor with your foot.

"A what?" Clint asked softly. You glanced at him.

"It's a type of gemstone. It's supposed to motivate you to take action." You shrugged lightly. Gemstones were pretty interesting to study, even more so when they had so called 'destructive abilities.'

"Stark's right."

"Oh, it's definitely the end." Bruce said quietly.

"Why does your vision sound like J.A.R.V.I.S?" Steve asked as he watched the man walk forward. Tony explained why, still in awe and surprise. The man looked at Steve.

"You think I'm a child of Ultron?" Though it sounded like a question, it was obvious it was a statement.

"You're not?"

"I'm not Ultron." The man replied softly, almost confused. "And.. I'm not J.A.R.V.I.S either."

"I looked in your head and saw annihilation." Wanda said, stepping forward as she glared at him. Clint scoffed softly, walking towards everyone. You followed, tossing the wrapper into the trashcan.

"Look again."

"Your approval seems jack to me." Clint said, gaze staying locked on the twins. Wanda's gaze went to Clint before going to you. You maintained brief eye contact. It wasn't everyday you met another meta.

"Her powers, the horrors in our heads, Ultrons powers.. They all came from the mind stone. Nothing compares to what it can unleash." Thor revealed. "And with it on our side-"

"Is it?" Steve interrupted, looking at the man again.

"Are you? On our side?"

"I don't think it's that simple." He replied softly.

"Sounds pretty simple. Death or life for humanity." You said, shrugging. He looked at you, giving a small nod before looking at the others.

"Then.. I'm on the side of life. Ultron isn't." He took small steps forward, not wanting to agitate anyone.

"What's he waiting for?"

"You." The man stared at Tony. You were already coming up with names for him. Tony Jr was the one sticking.

"Sokavia's our best bet." Tony said.

"Nat's there too." Clint told them, looking at Bruce when he approached the man.

"If we're wrong about you..." Bruce started softly. His threats were always amusing until he turned green. He stared at Tony Jr, letting it up to his imagination, if he had that.

"I don't want to kill Ultron." Tony Jr walked around Bruce, continuing past everyone.

"He's weak.. And in pain but that pain will roll over the Earth, so he must be destroyed. Every forms he's built, every sense of his presence on the net. We have to act now and not one of us can do it without the other." Tony Jr turned, facing them. He looked down at his hands.

"Maybe I am a monster. I don't know if I will become one.. I'm not what you are. I'm not what you intended. So there may be no way for you to trust me but we need to go." Tony Jr finished his speech, picking up Thors hammer and handing it to him. The room stayed silent as everyone took it in. Thor took his hammer, clearing his throat and nodding.

"Alright." He gave a small smile, walking away. You sighed, turning around and walking towards the bar.

"Don't even think about it." Clint called as he walked past you. You huffed, watching him go.

"Seriously?" You rolled your eyes, looking over your shoulder at the twins. They walked away in amusement, following Steve's directions to the lockers. You walked to your room, putting on the outfit Clint had designed for you. You looked at a picture of you and Clint, smiling softly. You left the room, walking down the hall. You noticed Thor and Tony Jr talking outside, arms crossing as you approached the glass. You stared at the two, gaze locking onto the reflection of the twins. You turned to face them, seeing Wanda pause and stay in her spot.

"Sorry about choking you." You spoke first, looking between them. Wanda gave a small nod, hand gently gripping her arm.

"Did you get experimented on like us?" Pietro asked, head tilting. Some white strands fell over his face. You shook your head, biting your bottom lip as you thought on how to explain it.

"From what Bruce told me, my mother had drugs in her system during labor. It was an unknown drug that they still haven't identified but Bruce says that it might've given me some freak cell mutation that gave me these powerd. It's weird. Clint said it took a long time to even find any information on my family. I don't know if it's true or something that they told me to make me feel better about being orphaned." The twins gaze softened, glancing at each other. Wanda licked her lips, glancing at the ground.

"When were you orphaned?" She asked softly.

"When I was a baby. My mom died in labor and my dad had been found dead with a needle in his arm a day later. I was put into an orphanage cause my parents were seen as a Jane Doe and John Doe. Again, it's weird." You told them, shrugging lightly. Pietro took in a soft breath, gaze becoming distant.

"We're orphans too. I'm sure you already know what happened by now but.. A bomb killed them." Pietro said softly. He took in a deeper breath, giving a small smile to lighten the mood.

"I suppose that's another thing we have in common." He pointed out with a small shrug. You nodded, smiling softly. It was nice to be around people your age who understood you. Even Wanda seemed relaxed and more comfortable.

"(Y/N), what'd I say?" You looked up upon hearing Clint's voice.

"You were the one who left me alone to change." You reminded him with a soft huff, going around the twins and approaching him. Clint shot you a pointed look, glancing at the twins. You understood why he was distrustful of them.

"Clint, they're like me." You said quietly as you walked with him to the aircraft.

"You're not like them."

"Yes, I am. They're metas and around my age. Weren't you the one who said I had to work on my people skills?" You cocked a brow as you stared at him. Clint stayed silent, giving you the answer.

"They were fighting for their country after it was attacked. They have all the right to be distrustful-"

"After one conversation, you can tell apart the difference between good guys and bad guys?"

"I don't know, Clint, you tell me. You were the one who chose to take in a kid who almost choked your best friend to death and attempted to impale Americas biggest playboy with a fucking branch." You hissed lowly, frowning and looking forward.

"You were, and still are, a kid." Clint said, voice becoming hard and stricter.

"Oh, well, fuck me, I didn't realize the twins were in their eighties."

"Quit giving me attitude, (Y/N). I want to protect you. You don't know if they're gonna stab us in the back when we least expect it. If we destroy Ultron and they stay on our side, you can play dolls with them." Clint said, approaching the aircraft.

"Whatever." You entered the aircraft, taking a seat. The others entered not long after. The twins sat down beside you as Clint headed to the front.

"We didn't get you in trouble, did we?" Wanda asked quietly, glancing over at Clint. You shook your head, toying with the roots in order to relax.

"No, just.. Strict dad drama." You muttered. Wanda tilted her head, making eye contact with Pietro before it clicked.

"Oh.. He adopted you? That's nice." Wanda gave a small smile. "Maybe the Avengers aren't so heartless."

"We aren't." You assured, looking between her and Pietro. "It'll take a while but.. We can all grow to trust each other."

"I hope so." Pietro breathed out, hands going to the belt as the aircraft lifted up. You chuckled at the nervous look on his face.

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livethinking · 4 years ago

Text

«Poetry is not a luxury»: Maya Angelou, Gwendolyn Brooks, Margaret Walker and poetry as resistance

«Poetry is not a luxury»[1], Audre Lorde said. Poetry is not a game, another amusement to dampen the boredom of a humdrum life but it’s a need, a necessity as instrument to the battle against oppression, to self-determination and to identitary resistance because «poetry is power»[2]. And this is as much true and confirmed when poetry becomes activism, when lyricism expresses, and thus bears witness, a discomfort and makes it universal, fathomable through the poetic language; when writing in verse is the only way to express ideas and makes sure they’re recognised in their own dignity, thus it’s necessary in order to save and let respected the existence of that human being who has thought it, in order to this existence can be recognised as such, can arise from oppression and systematic hate, can give voices to those whose lips were ripped off, such as women, for whom «[…] poetry […] is a vital necessity of our existence. It forms the quality of the light within which we [women] predicate our hopes and dreams towards survival and change, first made into language, then into idea, then into more tangible action. Poetry is the way we help give name to the nameless so it can be thought»[3], so, poetry’s place where they can expresses opinions, needs, dreams, hope, in other words themselves, where the cultural system gives preference to other voices, wherein censorship is not official, i.e. perpetrated by an organisation or a law, but it’s cultural because it’s the culture that systematically chooses (a given social class) what creative expressions are more or less are in line with its own values or strengthen them. That’s why for centuries poetry (but also the whole literature) has been place wherein affirm ourselves and the individuality of our own identity, or express pride for a communitarian identity; as it was for women, who found in poetry an instruments they can express their real self through, getting out of the patriarchal control and out of the role they were bonded to by society and came less to the expectations of this one. In this way, women could so analyse her being woman, dreaming to choose who are and what to do, self-determinising and exploring their femininity beyond believes given by a certain historical moment; as it was for black community, wherein black poets could express the a beauty, the varieties, the complexity of their subculture, their traditions, history and so express the pride of being part of this ethnicity, fighting against racism and networking against the oppression perpetrated by a system that privileges white citizens (and more often men). These two concepts converge into the poetic experience of black women poets, for whom poetry became a place wherein speaking of their experience as women and black citizens, wherein they can exist and affirm their existence, «The white father told us: I think, therefore I am. The Black mother within each of us – the poet – whispers in our dreams: I feel, therefore I can be free. Poetry coins the language to express and charter this revolutionary demand, the implementation of that freedom»[4]. Let think of great poets like Maya Angelou, whose poems «often respond to matters like race and sex on a larger social and psychological scale»[5], or like Gwendolyn Brooks, whose poetry, especially the latest, is a political and civil poetry, taking as cultural reference heroes and subjects of the battle for liberation of black people (such as Winnie Mandela, wife to the anti-apartheid activist), but also like Margaret Walker who «through her work, she “[sang] a song for [her] people”, capturing their symbolic quest for liberation. When asked how she viewed her work, she responded, “The body of my work… springs from my interest in a historical point of view that is central to the development of black people as we approach the twenty first century”»[6].

1. Maya Angelou: I know why the caged bird sings

«The poignant beauty of Angelou’s writing enhances rather than masks the candid with which she addresses the racial crisis through which America was passing»[7]. That of Maya Angelou is a lively and melodic voice, her poems can talk even when there’s no human voice to give them sound, they have as mode,s the language of the intense, brave speeches of the great activist of the battle for black people’s rights like Malcolm X and Martin Luther King Jr. Angelou was able to bring together all temporal planes in her writing: both in her poetry and autobiographies, she managed to give voice to the last, to make it a new present, part of the hic te nunc of the existence in action and not anymore as something disappeared with time, but as something that is still here partly, that is still a being. A past that is personal, her life, her youth, her terrible traumas, the beauty of growing before as a girl than as a woman; a pat that is of her community, the troubled story of afroamericana and who that the lyrical I becomes a We, the collectivity becomes a person. The personal experience is thus an exemplum for the common one and becomes even global. The present meets the past, that of when a given poems was born, that of readers, of the poet, it’s the daily battle which becomes memory, it’s the journey to the self-determination in a place where is hostility but also the future, it’s the caged bird that sings and whose song is heard by the free birds, the future is a song overcoming its own time: «The caged bird sings/with a fearful trill/of things unknown/but longed for still/and his tune is heard/on the distant hill/for the caged bird/sings of freedom»[8]. “The caged bird”, dr, Maya Angelou’s favourite metaphor, taken from Paul Laurence Dunbar, famous afroamerican author, is a symbol for the inner freedom that wins ones the oppression of the external, is an eternal song that’s heard until now and if it’s clearly listened, one can hear the thousand of voice from the past and here we can find the beauty in Maya Angelou’s writing: the ability to speak through not one but a thousand of voices, voices of both the present and the past, giving relevance to the last ones, and consequently she was able to tell the future, to be understood by who’ll be after her.

2. Gwendolyn Brooks: writing poetry that will be meaningful

The poetic voice of Gwendolyn Brooks, the first afroamerican woman to win the Pulitzer Prize, is raw, bitter when the language gets filled with political and cultural meaning, when brings a message without forgetting the sweetness, the beauty of a poised, refined style. Worked, studied poems, perfect verse and rhymes, but also intense, hard, which don’t take away to be tough, to tell the truth on oppression, pain, on the battle to re-humanise her own identity in a culture where it was deprived of its otherness, of being an Other Ego, an Other Truth. This happens especially with the her most famous poem collection, In The Mecca, a turning point for Brooks’s poetics. «I want to write poems that will be non compromising. I don’t want to stop a concern with words doing good jobs, which has always been a concern of mine, but I want to write poems that will be meaningful […]»[9] and this was so. Brooks managed to delineate a world, give multiple meanings to the words she used, to the poems, to speak with the voice of her great gallery of characters. In her poems, there’s her Lyric I, but also her characters. Such a polyphony that only few, even among novelists, can make it in such little verbal marks. «The words, lines, and arrangements have been worked and worked and worked again into poised exactness: the unexpected apt metaphor, the mock-colloquial asides amid jewelled phrases, the half-ironic repetition – she knows it all»[10]. A poetry that can speak to its people, community, that hopes, fights for a future where Gwendolyn Brooks «[…] envisioned “the profound and frequent shaking of hands, which in Africa in so important. The shaking of hands in warmth and strength and union”»[11].

3. Margaret Walker: poetry as hope, poetry for the people

Margaret Walker’s poetics is the voice of a whole people, is culture that becomes creative work of a lonely person for the universality and becomes bringer of values. It’s the song of a choir, a choir for the last, of the story of slavery, of that community that still fights for the right to exist; it’s a choir that still sings and never stops to sing the lines of this wonderful poet.

One of the most loved and praised poem of Margaret Walker is “For My People”, which contains all the characteristics that made unique Walker’s poetry and it’s an excursus through the past and more recent history of US Black community, from the tragedy of slavery, to civil battles still fought nowadays in the heart of the New World; «poems in which the body and spirit of a great group of people are revealed with vigour and undeviating integrity»[12]. She uses as reference cultural elements of her community, recalls heroes, events that form that culture as vast as unheard by those who spit poison to not lose the position of privilege, and if this culture isn’t heard, then Margaret Walker addresses also to the deaf. She speaks to them as well, making universal a history that’s particular. Walker speak to everyone through her rhymes, she speaks to the humanity; her poetry talks about tragedies but is full of hope because she knows there will be always someone who still listen, fight, defend, doesn’t forget, «[…] the power of resilience presented in the poem is a hope Walker holds out not only to black people, but to all people […] “After all, it is the business of all writes to write about the human condition, and all humanity must be involved in both the writing and in the reading”»[13]

Viviana Rizzo

References

[1] LORDE, A., “Poetry Is Not a Luxury”, in Audre Lorde, Sister outsider, Trumansburg N.Y., Crossing Press, 1984, p. 371

[2] TODOROV, L’arte nella tempesta. L’avventura di poeti, scrittori e pittori nella Rivoluzione Russa, trans. ita. by Emanuele Lana, Milano, Garzanti S.r.l., 2017, p. 120 (iBooks)

[3] LORDE, A., “Poetry Is Not a Luxury”, in Audre Lorde, Sister outsider, p. 372

[4] Ibidem

[5] EDITORS, “Maya Angelou”, in Poetry Foundation, web, 2021, (https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poets/maya-angelou, retrieved on 24th February 2021)

[6] EDITORS, “Margaret Walker”, in Poetry Foundation, web, 2021 (https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poets/margaret-walker, retrieved on 24th February 2020).

[7] HOLST, W.A., “Review of A song Flung up to Heaven”, in Christian Century (giugno 2002), pp. 35-36, cit. in EDITORS, “Maya Angelou” in Poetry Foundation

[8] ANGELOU, M., The Complete Collected Poems of Maya Angelou, New Work, Random House Inc., 1994, p. 194

[9] EDI TORS, “Gwendolyn Brooks”, Poetry Foundation, web, 2021 (https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poets/gwendolyn-brooks consultato il 24 febbraio 2021)

[10] LITTLEJOHN, D., Black on White: A Critical Survey of Writing by American Negroes, New York, Grossman, 1966, p. 91, cit. in EDITORS, “Gwendolyn Brooks”, in Poetry Foundation

[11] EDITORS, “Gwendolyn Brooks”, in Poetry Foundation

[12] UNTERMEYER, L. “New Books in Review” in Yake Review, vol. XXXII, n. 2 (inverno 1934), p.371, cit. in EDITORS, “Margaret Walker”, in Poetry Foundation

[13] EDITORS, “Margaret Walker”, in Poetry Foundation

#Black women #literature #poetry as resistance #Maya Angelou #ethnicity #resistance #black history month #Margaret Walker #poetry #Black community #Gwendolyn Brooks #activism #people #Black people #battle for civil rights #black lives matter

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bxckybarness · 3 years ago

Text

Whatever It Takes - Steve Rogers

summary: you and steve are sent to vormir to retrieve the soul stone

word count: 1500+

warnings: ANGST, character death

You had to admit, it was a good idea, or at least the best one you’ve had in 5 years. Go back in time, retrieve the stones, bring them back to the present, heal the world. You’re surprised someone hadn’t come up with it sooner and you silently thank the universe for Scott Lang. Who knows if anyone would have thought of this, even with the amount of intelligence many of your fellow Avengers had.

You looked around at your friends, all adorned in new white and red suits and standing in a circle on the newly built platform in the compound. Everyone had their assignments - you and Steve would be sent to Vormir to retrieve the soul stone. You chuckle as you think about it again because of all the people to be sent to a completely different planet, they chose you. You were nervous but fine with it, as long as Steve was with you.

As you come back from getting lost in your thoughts, you hear Steve giving one of his infamous hero pep talks. You glance up and meet Steve’s gaze. He finishes his sentence and gives you a smile, almost as if he sensed the nervousness within you. And he probably did - he knew you too well. You had been dating for the past 3 years, after all.

“See you in a minute,” you hear from Natasha, who stands next to you. The platform whirrs to life and you glance around at your friends one last time before being thrust into time.

“Well this place is ominous.”

Steve lets out a small laugh in agreement and joins you where you stand. Vormir was certainly no paradise. The black cliffs against the dark, cloudy sky seemed to taunt you. You shudder, not wanting to know what secrets lay beneath them. You glance over at Steve, who is already looking at you.

“Whatever it takes,” you say.

“Whatever it takes,” he echos.

You take a breath and turn to face the cliff before you but before you can move, a cloaked figure stops you in your tracks.

“Steve, son of Sarah,” he says, following that up with your and your father’s name.

You and Steve quickly react, Steve retrieving his shield from his back and you, pulling a gun from its holster on your hip.

“You know us?” Steve questions.

“It is my curse to know all who venture here.”

You give each other a quick look when the cloaked entity moves into the light, revealing its face. By the gasp that comes out of Steve’s mouth and the hushed words that follow, you know he’s seen this person, or ghost, before. You bring your weapon down to your side and place a hand on his shoulder. Without removing his gaze from the person, he softly whispers, “Red Skull.”

You get it now. You’ve heard stories of the infamous Red Skull from both Steve and Bucky. You wonder how the former head of HYDRA ended up as a ghost on a far away, foreign planet but decide that’s a question best answered another day.

Before you can think on it further, the Red Skull continues, “Consider me a guide. To you and all who seek the stone.”

“Great,” you say, moving your gun to aim at him once again. “So you can tell us where it is, and we’ll be on our way.”

The figure turns and floats to the edge of the cliff before you, gesturing to whatever lies on the other side. You and Steve follow, finding nothing but a far drop to the barren land below. Something about this didn’t feel right and your instincts were proven true by the ghost’s next words.

“In order to take the stone, you must lose that which you love. A soul for a soul.”

Suddenly, this mission didn’t feel like such a good idea anymore. You step back from the cliff and let out a sigh. How could this have happened? Of all the people to send here, why did it have to be and the person you loved most? You turn angrily on your heel and find Steve still glancing over the cliff. That’s enough to tell you, there’s no way out. You needed the stone, and one of you would be going back alone.

“Steve…” you start, “We have to get that stone.”

“Yeah,” he responds timidly, stepping away from the fall and joining you.

“We both know who needs to do this,” you say softly, tears already forming in your eyes.

He nods, tears adorning his own face now, “I guess we do.”

You needed to do this. As one of the only Avengers without a special power or suit, you weren’t good for much else other than being backup. You were a good fighter but the team needed Steve in order to complete this mission. You had no family, no other friends, nothing to keep you around except for Steve.

Steve, however, had made up his mind, too. He would be the one to go. He had lived a long life. Hell, he had lived a few lives over. You were special. You kept the team together with your humor and your kindness. If his death meant he could save you and millions of others? Well, he could live with that.

After a moment of silence, he steps up to you, his hands finding the sides of your face. You gaze up at him and find a pained expression on his face and tears freely flowing down his face. When he speaks, his voice comes out soft, barely audible.

“I love you.”

“I love you too but-”

“No, doll, listen to me. You’ve given me so much more than I ever thought I deserved. I didn’t know if I could love again, but you make it so easy. You have to promise me you’ll move on-”

“Absolutely not Steve,” your words cutting him off. You had never seen Steve so vulnerable and you were sure he could say the same for you. You silently cursed the universe for putting you in this position before continuing, “You’ve done the same for me. You need to go back. You’re better than me, they need you. The world needs you.”

He sighs and places his forehead on yours before closing the gap between you with a soft kiss. You close your eyes and relish it, knowing this is the last time you’ll ever experience this. You wrap your arms around his neck and pull him in closer. But before you know it, the moment is over, and he’s pulling away. You take a few seconds to open your eyes, not wanting to see the personal hell that surrounds you but you realize your mistake when you hear Steve stepping away from you.

You open your eyes and see Steve briskly walking toward the cliff. You grumble under your breath and run over to him. You take him by surprise and quickly kick him behind his knee, causing him to fall. You know that kick was like a playful hit to him, so you take your chance and run ahead of him while he’s down.

He’s quicker than you and you find yourself cursing the universe again, this time for the super soldier serum that runs through your boyfriend’s veins. Before you can reach the edge, he grabs your arm and throws you behind him. You hit the ground with a painful thud and take a second to catch your breath before standing again. That’s when you notice that Steve isn’t standing where he was when he threw you. Instead, he’s standing on the edge of the cliff, his feet teetering over the edge.

Tears once again flowing down your face, you reach him right as he jumps. But you’re smart and have a plan. You jump with him, maneuver the grappling hook off your belt, attach it to him and deploy it all within seconds. You’re rather impressed with yourself for saving him until you realize the position you’re now in. Steve’s attached to the cliff above you and holding on to your hand for dear life. The look on his face is one of pure terror. He knows if he let’s go, he loses you forever.

You look up at him with a soft smile, tears cascading down your cheeks again.

“I love you,” you say. “It’s okay. I’ll be with you.”

You say it again as he desperately pleads with you to think about this.

You say it again as you swing into the cliffs.

You say it again as you push yourself off the wall of rock with enough force to break the hold he has on your hand.

You say it one final time as you fall.

______________________

Steve’s eyes open and he sits up. He’s dazed and his mind feels foggy, he doesn’t know how he got here. He knows he’s sitting in a pool of water and he feels something warm in his palm. He brings his hand out of the pool beneath him and opens it to find a yellow stone - the soul stone.

Immediately he remembers.

He remembers how determined you were to keep him alive.

He remembers the look on your face as he held you, dangling above the void.

He remembers the pained scream he let out as you forced him to let go.

He will always remember.

And he will make sure your sacrifice is not in vain, whatever it takes.

#Steve Rogers imagine #Steve Rogers x reader #Captain America imagine #Captain America x reader #Captain America oneshot #Steve Rogers oneshot #marvel imagine #marvel oneshot #marvel x reader #Steve Rogers x you #Captain America x you #marvel endgame imagine #endgame imagine #marvel #Steve Rogers angst #Captain America angst

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limitlessgojo · 3 years ago

Text

Blood Bound: Red Strings of Fate (Ch 8)

Warnings: Action, Coarse Language, Fighting, Descriptions of Blood

Previous Chapter: Bird of Flame

Next Chapter: Wait For Me

Tags: Soulmates AU, Angst, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, Fem!Reader

Taglist: @lessie-oxj @rizzo-nero @whoreuc @fkngkumiko @isl3t @gojoussunglasses @onepotatostand-blog @s-t-f-u-b-i-t-c-h @sunaswife

Notes: If you want to be tagged for every update, please mention it in the comments below ty <3

Ayiieee, this is a very big and significant chapter in the story. At 2.6k words it probably is the longest chapter in the book lol. Happy reading uwu. Feel free to yell in the comments^^

Chapter 8: Red Strings of Fate

You brought over the book you had on alternate worlds. It wasn't much help. Talking about how a mirror dimension existed.

Another you is possibly alive in the next universe, but with different circumstances due to a difference in choices made or the environment and all that.

You quickly made your way to the library. Once you arrived, you looked around for Noritoshi. You couldn't find him for the first 5 minutes and thought that he wasn't there yet.

But suddenly two hands placed themselves on either side of your shoulder. You could feel the heat emanating from the body behind you. This feeling… "Noritoshi senpai?"

"Mmmm." You turned around and looked up to see him with a small quirk in his lips. His eyes sparkled with excitement (which was a rare sight to see).

"Come." He led you by your elbow to the desk where books were all spread out. "I did some research and looked into the vision we had on the first day we met." He said as you both took your seats.

"It is possible we had visions of an alternate world. But it's now highly unlikely because of the marks that appeared on our wrists earlier. May I?" He gestured to your hand.

You nodded and handed it to him. He held it so gently, his touch making you shiver slightly. You tried to play it cool, but his eyes shot up to yours and you flushed.

He turned your wrist around to reveal the Phoenix branded on it. It glowed bright red as he stroked it with his thumb. You felt all tingly inside.

He brought out his wrist and put it beside yours. The Phoenix markings were identical in size and shape. But his wasn't glowing yet.

You reached out your hands this time to take his. "May I?" He nodded and you examined his wrist, then ran your thumb over his marking.

As you both expected, it glowed bright red. "So.. what does this mean? For the both of us?" You asked him meekly.

He sighed and took your hands in his. Both of your markings stayed bright red as you held hands. "I've been reading up on soulmates-"

"I know, you took all the books. I couldn't find any when I tried to look it up." You pouted. He chuckled at that. His fingers were now playing and slightly fiddling with yours.

"I think we might still be needing more proof, but this is pretty strong. I asked around the Kamo household as well, and they were able to find out that soulmate bonds are established when red strings actually literally come into existence and bind two people together." Noritoshi continued. He then proceeded to show you all his findings and the books he had so far.

"Hmmmm?? So we are or we aren't?" You pulled back from him, looking confused. "I think we are. My clan has confirmed for me that having past life visions, shared markings, and visible red strings tying two people together makes up a soulmate pair. It seems like we need a bit more time for the strings to manifest." He hummed, reaching over to take your hands into his again.

“Sorry I took time to confirm before I could talk to you about this. It’s been weeks since our first shared vision and I’ve been swamped with clan affairs.” Noritoshi admitted.

You shook your head, “No senpai, I was also doing my research on this. It seems unusual, even for jujutsu sorcerers to have such a shared experience so I could only talk to my family about it. We considered the possibility of seeing an alternate timeline as well, so I couldn’t make any immediate assumptions.”

“You were able to find more than I did though senpai. My parents said soulmates are able to share emotions and possibly thoughts. But that’s rare even for soulmates. I only heard about sharing past life visions, we couldn’t find anything on the marks and red strings. Real soulmates are so rare and interesting; they are said to give birth to children with powerful cursed techniques." You mused while linking and unlinking your fingers through his.

You both stared down at your hands, fingers entwined with each other, marks glowing a low red. It felt warm to hold his hand in yours. Noritoshi was so careful, cradling and caressing your fingers like they were made of glass. His hands were much bigger than yours.

"Thinking that far ahead already? I would like a baby boy." Noritoshi looked at you with a mischievous look in his eyes. You pushed at his chest. "Who said anything about wanting children?"

He looked at you with the most gentle eyes only reserved for you. "Only time will tell what happens, dear y/n."

◇◇◇

The next day, your fellow first years gathered around you (ambushed you??) before the start of class. “Y/n, is something going on between you and Noritoshi?” Mai asked.

“Ahhh uhmm no nothing really.” You were lying through the skin of your teeth here, with the secret of the century literally branded on your skin. “Awwwww, and I thought you looked cute together.” Miwa gushed with a smile.

Mechamaru felt oddly out of place with the girl’s gossip, but he still spoke up “Kamo san seems to favor you from what I see. But hey that’s just me.”

You blushed and sputtered out. Curse you and your honest demeanour. “No, I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“Hmmmmmmm” Mai stared at you from upclose, seemingly trying to psychoanalyse you. “We’ll see who’s right with time.”

You just laughed nervously, shaking her off. “Mai chan, you’ve been watching too many dramas. I’ll watch one with you later.” And with that you’ve successfully managed to distract your fellow first years into talking about having a movie night. Whew.

◇◇◇

Days passed and still no red strings appeared. You and Noritoshi agreed to take things slow as this is both incredibly new to you. But you had something else to look forward to.

You were finally assigned to your first mission. Luckily (or not? Thanks to Utahime’s suspicions over your relationship) Noritoshi was chosen to accompany you to exorcise a group of 2nd grade curses together.

The night was dark. Now that you’re both out in the forest, the distant lights from the city started to dim. “Watch your step.” Noritoshi warned you. You giggled at him and flew above the branches as he stared slightly affronted. “You should watch your step, Noritoshi senpaiii~,” you sing-songed.

‘How could she have such a cheerful disposition at a time like this?’ he wondered. “Stay close to me.” He ordered. Now knowing that you were a Special Class Jujutsu sorcerer definitely didn’t help his ego in wanting to show off a bit. But he can show it through years of experience.

You smiled at his protectiveness and hovered near him, holding onto his sleeve as usual. Suddenly a black mass came hurtling towards the two of you. Noritoshi prepped his bow and arrows, while you stopped its movement.

You brought it close to you and examined it. "Looks toxic." You said. A screech caught your attention and Noritoshi launched an arrow towards the source of the sound.

The Grade 2 curse jumped out of the shadows, shrieking out loudly causing both of your ears to hurt. It had fast movements, tossing out globs of toxic sludge while rapidly moving through the woods.

You placed one arm around Noritoshi's chest, while the other stretched out towards the grade 2 curse, blocking off all the attacks. “While I’m with you, the attacks won’t reach us senpai. I’ll cover the entirety of our defense.”

Noritoshi smiled and easily manipulated his arrows to hit the curse. It disappeared in a flash. You both turned and smiled at each other. “Well done my dear.” He said.

“You were amazing as well, senpai! But I sense more cursed spirits up ahead. We need to have a look.” You sighed, to which he agreed. You both moved forward until you came to a clearing, which led to a cliff with a sheer drop.

The stench of cursed spirits was almost unbearable, and two more came out rushing at the both of you. They seemingly appeared from the ground, but you noticed how they moved with the shadows.

You quickly pulled out your twin blades and cut one with ease. Noritoshi stayed right behind you, guarding your back as he forced back the other curse with his blood manipulation.

In all the confusion, a massive curse loomed over Noritoshi. It was definitely a grade 1 curse at least, which both of you were not expecting. It had the shape and body of a scorpion, but the face of a white tiger with long blood-red fangs.

It reared up, running towards Noritoshi. So your body acted on pure instinct. “Extension cursed technique: Niflheim”, you froze the curse then rushed towards it.

You tackled the cursed spirit without thinking and plunged your twin swords through its gut while slipping off the edge of the cliff. It faded out of existence as you plunged down.

All your life, you’ve been this carefully crafted, logical, and steady person that is built from hard work and experience.

And yet all of that just flew out of the window when you saw Noritoshi in possible danger. As you fell down, you could hear Noritoshi screaming for your name.

You tried to lift your body with your cursed technique. You slowly gained traction upwards, until red strands of blood wrapped around you.

"Blood Manipulation: Crimson Binding!" Noritoshi chanted and reached down to quickly pull you up. You landed on the hard ground and he released his technique as soon as you were in the clear.

"Are you insane?! Pushing it and jumping off the cliff to exorcise it?! There are so many other ways to take it down with your technique. And I could have dealt with binding it before exorcising it! Why on earth?" Noritoshi gasped out.

He was absolutely livid, red faced and eyes wide open. And that was a major understatement. You just sat on the ground, shell shocked at your own actions and at the way he was yelling your head off.

You messed up big time, and you know this because Noritoshi never raises his voice towards you.

"Why did you risk your life for me?! I could have handled that. And you don't even know me." Noritoshi’s voice was growing hoarse. You felt your throat close up and body tense. It felt like he punched you in the gut. He wasn't entirely wrong. You just met him, and you already put your life at risk to save the man.

But his words stung. They echoed in your mind and heightened your insecurities. It was like he was putting an invisible wall between the both of you. 'You don't know me.' 'I thought I did, or at least it felt like we did with each other'.

Realising that you stayed silent, you looked up at him to see his angry expression growing into something else, like worry.

You quickly smoothed yourself over. "No, apparently I don't. I’m sorry for not knowing you." But you didn't apologise for saving him. That's one thing you would never apologise for. Because that's one of your duties.

A flash of regret appeared across his face. Noritoshi came close to you and took your hands in his and looked into your eyes. He opened his mouth to say something, but was interrupted by the red strings that burst forth from your joined hands.

You stared in wonder as they wrapped around both your shoulders and bodies to bind you close to each other. You flushed as you stared up at him agape. His eyes were focused on the moving and glowing threads around the two of you before he turned to look at you.

Your eyes met once more and you were thrown into another vision.

"My love, how are you feeling?" A man was sitting beside your bed. You had bandages on your arms and everything felt so heavy. “I’m much better, as a matter of fact I think I could go out right now and get some sunshine.” You smiled.

The man gave the most exasperated sigh, "You're far too reckless. Testing your luck every time. Please, let me protect you and stay by your side."

“Yes yes. Of course, I will always stay by your side. And protect you."

"Protecting me shouldn't entail giving your life up for me. We stay alive together." He said angrily.

"Okay. It's okay." You soothed the man. "We will survive." You whispered as he leaned down to catch your lips tenderly in his.

For all his stoic behaviour, he kissed you so lovingly. Rubbing your back and patting your head softly. You turned to bury your face in the crook of his neck and pressed a deep kiss there.

"Read me a story." You asked him after a period of silence.

He brought out your favorite novel about a Princess who was sent down as a blessing from the Moon. Her father found her inside a bamboo shoot.

She was to live the life of a human, but eventually had to go back up to the heavens.

Unfortunately, she loved her human parents who spoiled her and raised her like a princess. And parting with them was terribly painful.

"I don't know why you enjoy such a depressing story." He sighed after he had finished. His lashes were so long that they were almost resting on his cheekbones.

"It's because their love is beautiful. The love that the daughter had for her parents. The love she had on earth, before she forgot everything and had to return to the moon." You dreamily explained.

He smiled. "Ever such a romantic, my love. I should do better in our relationship to please you."

You snorted, "No you've done well. It is fine as we are." You elbowed him jokingly.

But he turned to you so seriously, "I love you so much, my dear. You don't-"

The vision ends abruptly before the man could end his sentence. Your arms were now wrapped around Noritoshi's waist and his were around yours. You simply stared at each other for a while.

"Noritoshi senpai… so it's true, you're my other half." You murmured. Your pinkies were linked by the red flowing thread.

He hugged you tightly. "Yeah. And you're mine."

Everything was very quiet. You felt his nervousness, but it felt right. To hold him in your arms like this. It was like you found a piece to yourself that was missing all your life.

Noritoshi carefully brushed away the hair from your face, before leaning down to press his slightly shaky lips against your cheek. It was such a sweet gesture that you leaned to it.

You both were clearly out of your element. The idea of being in a relationship was very new to you. You've never dated before, but all the sudden the heavens dropped your soulmate right into your lap.

"Don't ever do that again." He said, lips brushing against your cheek.

You blinked. "What?"

"I won't blame you for trying to protect me. But think properly and don't be reckless when you act. I'm capable and strong as well. I don't want you to get hurt." He said.

His earlier words came rushing back to you. ‘You don’t know me.’ Your heart dropped. But you replied, "Okay Senpai."

He pulled you up as the red strings faded from view, "Let's patrol the area to make sure everything is clear then head back."

Blood Bound: Table of Contents

#kamo noritoshi x you #blood bound #red strings of fate #kamo noritoshi x y/n #noritoshi fluff #jjk fanfic #jjk x reader #jjk x you #jujutsu kaisen #jujutsu kaisen fluff #jjk imagines #noritoshi x you #noritoshi x y/n #noritoshi x reader #kamo noritoshi x reader #news #jujutsu kaisen fanfic

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sylverstorms · 3 years ago

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Fantasy Cruise

This piece is made for a very special someone, @standoutofthecrowd as a gift. The characters in this story are original and do not belong to any fandom. If you give it a read, I hope you enjoy ❣

Warning! The rating of this is M for Mature themes. ;)

They called it the Fantasy Cruise.

The hyper-luxurious ship of not-so innocent dreams, which promised to make anyone’s fantasies a reality during its five-day trip across the Mediterranean.

Well. So long as the money was there for an individual to afford one of its limited, mind-boggingly expensive tickets. Whoever said dreams were cheap clearly hadn’t heard of that cruise.

The advertisements all over the world promoted the experience as ‘starring in a romance movie’. And wouldn’t anybody be excited to star in their very own epic adventure?

“No.” Quinn deadpanned, dragging her luggage behind as she followed Lena into the fifth circle around the same deck, where their cabins were supposed to be.

“What do you mean no, stupid, isn’t this amazing?!” the other girl asked excitedly.

Quinn wondered what exactly was so amazing about getting lost on a piece of wood floating into the vast blue sea. Her glare met Lena’s back without much of an impact.

“No means no. It’s fine at best.”

“Don’t be a spoilsport, Quinn! Just look at this!” the redhead said, turning around to throw an arm around her shoulders and motion towards the polished-to-a-sparkle saloon, as if that would change the brunette’s entire worldview. “I won us free holidays to the world’s sexiest cruise. You should be beside yourself with excitement right now and buying me a shit ton of drinks as thank you!”

Quinn shook her head. “Correction; You won a trip for you and Mike –but then you had to go and break up and drag me into this, at the last moment.” As always. The woes of being a best friend.

“Because your single ass could really use what this dreamy ship has to offer.” Lena stated.

“It could also use some rest and relaxation at my grandparents’ seaside house.” The brunette countered. “Instead of being the wingwoman to the universe’s most annoying redhead.”

Lena grimaced. “And a sucky wingwoman, at that. Most of the guys I’m interested in come onto you.”

“Except I’m a tad too gay to care.” Quinn let out a small, exasperated sigh.

“Well, then this cruise is your chance! There are a ton of girls here and I can guarantee they aren’t straight as arrows, hon.” Lena replied. “Tell you what. When we find our rooms, we’ll take a look around. And if nobody exists to catch the great Quinn’s interest, I’ll leave you alone for the rest of the trip.”

Quinn’s brown eyes immediately lit up at the sound of that.

“I should be offended at how much you perked up just now.” The other girl commented. “But, anyway. Do we have a deal?”

They shook hands. “We got a freaking deal.”

It only took another hundred turns to find their respective rooms.

…

Quinn was no stranger to waiting for Lena to get ready. The woman could show up anywhere from a quarter to an hour later than their arranged meeting time, so it was nothing out of the norm.

Alone in the empty corridor, Quinn checked her smartwatch, then leaned back against her door with a bored huff. She could already feel the ultra-comfy, queen-sized bed within calling her name, but if she gave into the urge to rest Lena would surely come in like the human wrecking ball she was and ruin it for her.

Giggles from down the corridor reached her ears, then.

Two girls were walking towards her, one raven-haired, the other blonde. Quinn didn’t really pay them any mind, until they were close enough to tell the cute laugh belonged to the blondie.

The stunning blondie.

Quinn hoped –but wasn’t betting on it— that she was subtle in her double-take. Because as soon as the beauty entered her field of vision, all else faded into the background. The girl’s hair was shining like silken strands, her pink lips glossy and glistening, absolutely kissable, her pretty face and killer body taken straight out of a dream.

Hazel eyes met brown for a single, earth-stilling second.

Then the girls were past her and Quinn blinked, checking the blonde’s back out before she disappeared around the next corner.

Damn, she thought. Maybe all that crap about fantasies coming to life weren’t complete bullshit, after all.

“Why do you look like a fish out of water?” Lena’s voice came, shattering the dream to pieces.

“Because I felt like one, waiting for your sorry ass to get ready. Move it or I’m going for a nap.”

“No, you’re not~ we’re hitting the pool.” Lena sing-songed.

Ugh. Maybe I can find someone to keep her busy for the next four days. Quinn thought. She’s happy, I’m free, win-win.

If she only knew…

…

“Hey. Hey look.” Lena whispered. Quinn huffed over her drink. “How about that guy? How would you rate him?”

“Why do you assume my answer’s gonna change? All guys get a zero out of ten from me. Period.”

“He’s an eight at least.”

“Sure, Lena.”

“How about that sexy over there, who’s been staring at your abs for the past ten minutes?”

“Hm?” Quinn turned, following her friends’ gaze under her glasses.

The drink nearly dropped from her hand when she saw the blonde from earlier on the other side of the crystalline pool, fair skin glittering from suncream. The brunette’s throat went dry.

“Ah, now she’s speechless.”

“Tsk. Don’t be an idiot, she’s probably not even gay.”

“Do you have eyes? Even I can tell she’s interested.” was the immediate reply.

“From this distance you couldn’t tell a dude apart from a girl, you idiot.” Quinn teased with a smirk.

“You’re the idiot if you don’t act fast and another girl chats her up first. Remember; We’re here to have a good time. Stop being uptight; There’s your good time, all blonde and waiting for you.”

“Yeah, yeah, Lena, whatever you say-” But her friend was already rising from her sunbed. Quinn didn’t pay her any mind, at first, thinking she was just going for a swim or for a guy that caught her eye.

Instead, five minutes later, much to Quinn’s terror, the insufferable redhead was taking a seat right beside the cute blonde.

To say the brunette rushed to the other side of the pool would be an understatement. She could not recall a single instance in her life where she ran faster. It was practically teleportation.

“Hello, girls. This one has had too much to drink so excuse me, I’m taking her away~”

“Lies, they needed to know you have the hots for blondie but you’re too pussy to make a move-” the redhead began.

Quinn covered Lena’s mouth with a hand, pulling her into a headlock with the other. “Shh, don’t listen. We’re leaving. Sorry for the interruption.”

“Sad.” Miss Cute Blonde spoke up with a shy smile. “So… you’re not interested in me.”

“I… did not say that.” Quinn replied, heart suddenly in her throat. “I also didn’t say I don’t want your number.”

“Oh, good.” Another darling smile.

God. Head empty, girl too pretty. Quinn mentally slapped herself to get her shit together. “And definitely didn’t say I don’t want to see you at the bar later. At, like, ten o’clock.” Thank whatever higher power graced me with this sudden bravery.

“Maybe I’ll be there.” The blonde said.

It was only after Quinn went back inside with her friend in tow that she realized she didn’t even ask for the girl’s name.

“You’re welcome.” Lena laughed.

“Shut up…”

“You’re such a useless lesbian, by the way.”

…

Night had well settled over the ship. The massive pool at its pinnacle stood illuminated by both the moonlight and the soft LEDs within it, creating a beautiful setting, equal parts calming and seductive. Perfect for drinks and dates.

Quinn adjusted her blue button-up shirt as she walked out into the deck, greeted by the wonderful sight. There were tons of well-dressed people all around, but her eyes caught on one individual only.

“Hi.” She greeted, surprised she could speak at all, with the gorgeous blonde right there and dressed up just for her.

“Hey.”

“You look beyond beautiful. Only problem is, I can’t keep calling you ‘cute blonde’ in my head.”

“You look sexy. And you can call me Paisley, Quinn.” she replied in her sweet voice.

“You… know my name.” Don’t blush, don’t blush—

“I asked your friend.” came the shy admission.

“Yeah? What else did you ask about me?” Quinn smirked, slipping into the stool next to hers.

“Um… if you like girls…?”

“If I like you?” Feeling bolder, she raised a challenging eyebrow.

“If you like me…” Paisley chuckled there at the end. It was a sound that shot straight to Quinn’s heart.

And that– was worrying.

Because this was quite literally her dream girl in front of her... except she’d already paid the price of dreams, before. It had felt similar, then, since the first moment. A zap, undeniable attraction. An instant connection. And then… she’d been left bitter and alone.

Cold. Afraid to approach women for anything other than one quick, meaningless night.

“I think it’s quite easy to tell I do like you. A lot of things about you. Your hair, your eyes, your smile, that melodic voice. How come a girl like you is single? That’s a crime.”

“Um. Long story, I guess. How come a girl like you is?”

“Long, unhappy story.” Quinn grimaced.

“I have time.”

They ended up chatting the night away, until the small hours of the morning.

…

The deck had nearly emptied.

Paisley and Quinn were walking side-by-side, admiring the dark waves as they gently lapped at the stark white shell of the cruise. It was time to say goodnight, but both were hesitant to go. To break the moment. To lose the chance for more.

Slowly, they turned to face each other.

“I had a great time.” Quinn began. “Thanks for the amazing company.”

“No, thank you…”

Neither moved to leave. Instead, they gravitated closer. Perhaps it wasn’t a smart move. Perhaps it would only lead to more trouble in the end. Perhaps it was fated. Perhaps it was fleeting.

But.

Quinn knew she would regret it for her entire life if she let Paisley slip away without first knowing exactly how soft her lips would feel against her own.

“So…” She began. “In the hypothetical scenario I wanted to kiss you before we go… would you like that?”

A brilliant smile, enough to rival the moon in its shine. “Hypothetically… I would.”

No more needed to be said.

The lock of their lips spoke the rest for them. Slippery, soft, tasting of daiquiri and strawberry lipgloss, that kiss was everything.

That kiss was the beginning of everything.

…

A full day had passed and they spent every moment together.

Swimming, laughing, trading interesting little facts and life stories. Trading kisses. What they had was a bond that formed so suddenly yet so powerfully it defied even logic.

As love often did.

And it was love. They both knew it, instinctively. Perhaps they weren't ready to admit it, perhaps the word was scary to fully register, yet that didn't make it any less true.

Every kiss fed something more than desire. Every caress, over an arm, over the gentle curve of a neck or a thigh, carried more than a physical aftershock.

They both knew they were on the same page on what they wanted, come nighttime. It was a wonder they hadn't ripped each other's bathing suits right by the pool so far. But they could only play nice for so long.

Quinn could feel her skin alight with want at every wayward trail of Paisley's nails on her. She wanted to have everything with the girl, even if it was just for a few days, just for one unforgettable night. They could worry about the rest later. They were already in too deep, anyway.

Paisley's back pressed against the door to her room. Her mouth was already onto Quinn's, tongue over her own, soft sighs and breaths filling the nonexistent space between their bodies.

Quinn's hands slipped under the blonde's top, caressing her tight, quivering stomach.

“Ah, at this rate we'll never make it inside.” Paisley panted.

“Good. Then whoever comes this way will know you're mine to have.” Quinn replied. Her teeth caught the sensitive shell of an ear. “You'd like that, wouldn't you? For them to walk in on us like this? With my hand in your pants, rubbing you slowly?”

“Mmh.. Fuck...”

“With my fingers in your pussy, working deep?”

“Fuck Quinn...” Paisley groaned, pushing herself down on the thigh trapped between her legs. It only made the ache at her center worse.

Quinn couldn't help but rub herself against her, to ease her own lust. Their lips locked again while Paisley fumbled blindly for the electronic lock. It was a wonder they got the door to open with how focused they were on each other. Quick steps took them to the plush mattress at the far end of the room.

The brunette pushed gently, taking great pleasure in how easily her lover allowed herself to fall. Pale wrists were pinned onto the bed while thirsty tongues and bodies sought each other out...

But then they both pulled back. Paused. Stared into each other's eyes. The mood shifted like the wind before a storm. All the previous lust melted into something softer and far deeper, the urgency muted as they slowly started peeling each other's clothes off.

“You really are the most beautiful girl I've ever seen.” Quinn whispered.

“You're the most stunning I've seen.” Paisley said back, a hand caressing her brunette's strong shoulders.

As much as she wanted to melt under the ministrations, Quinn wanted to bring her girl to that serrated edge of bliss, first. Thus began her descent down the marble plane of the blonde's neck, pausing to mark the skin with her teeth before soothing it with licks and kisses, enjoying every hitched breath she drew.

God, she feels so good...

With a light caress over Paisley's thigh, her mouth licked over a hard nipple, paying it the proper attention before moving further down. Her blonde was quivering by that point, non-verbally begging for her release. Every muscle taut, every breath shallow, eyes blown into swirling black pools. She was breathtaking.

Everything about the moment was.

When deft fingers finally dragged over soaked flesh, the reaction was as immediate as it was loud. Quinn decided she could easily get hooked on the sound and repeated the same motion with her tongue, from bottom to top.

She could feel in her mouth how ready to topple over the edge Paisley was for her. How she tried to last longer but couldn't help it. Quinn didn't think she could wait any longer, either. She needed to see her unravel more than she needed oxygen, right then.

With the insertion of fingers and a powerful suck, Paisley was crying out into the room, arching, clenching and contorting for her. Quinn, brought to the edge by her voice alone, couldn't help but grind down on her leg to mirror her release.

They both lay together after that, basking in the quiet closeness of their afterglow, hands roaming, worshiping, until the sunrise greeted them with its golden glory.

...

“I'm scared.” Paisley admitted between them. “That when the cruise ends, so will we. And I'm not ready to let this go tomorrow.”

“Neither am I. Not tomorrow. Maybe not ever.” Quinn said. “I haven't felt this way before. I don't generally feel things so... powerfully.” But this one slipped right under her defenses, somehow.

“But how will we make this work? You live here. I live on the other side of the world.” The blonde lowered her head, expression overtaken by sadness. “We'll just hurt to be apart.”

“We'll hurt, yes. But we won't 'just' hurt. Every relationship comes with pain— I think it's unavoidable, whether one’s partner is near or not. The question is, whether that pain is worth it. And I'd rather hurt yearning for you than for not having you at all.”

“I— I don't know what to say...” Paisley trailed off. “I only know I can't bear to lose you.”

“You won't lose me if you don't let me go. I will never abandon you, never let you face this shitty world alone.”

“Do you promise?”

“I promise.”

A promise sealed with a kiss and intertwined fingers below a gorgeous sunset.

And as it turned out, love can defeat any obstacle if it's real and true. Physical restrictions don't matter when it comes to what the heart needs. Distance bends before it. Even time can. Laws of physics and reason cease to apply.

The heart will love what it is meant to love.

#creative writing #original character #oc x oc #fanfiction #original work #quinn and paisley #love story #wlw #lgbtq #the gay is everywhere #happy pride 🌈#gift fic

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ellestra · 4 years ago

Text

Superpowered life

I really liked how this episode took time to humanise both John Walker and the Flag Smashers.

I like how it gives us those moments from Flag Smasher’s point of view. Showing the small moments like Karli taking time to make sure the guy Walker shot is OK. And then her clear heartbreak for the friend who sacrifices himself. This is so different from the opening of last episode when Sam was killing LAF men left and right and Batroc didn’t care his people died. They were treated as disposable but Flag Smashers aren’t. They think themselves the heroes who fight for those who lived through Blip.

Last episode we saw the hurdles the returned have to go through but we also got a taste of the way those extra five years changed those left (from Hayward to Sarah). This episode we see the Walker and his group created as enforcers of the Global Repatriation Council so the returned at least have a body that takes care of their needs (even, as we see with Sam imperfectly) but it just makes those who grew up in the world without them more resentful (this movement seems to attract a lot of young people for whom the world without half of humanity became norm).

They had to give up a lot and their needs got swept under the rug when billions of people came back wanting the world to be just like when they left. It’s a misplaced anger (it’s not like those people had a choice and they are refugees often with even less than FS) but it is understandable and it’s no wonder there are so many people willing to hide them. And it’s hard for them not to feel vindicated when GRC sends men to “pacify” them. Making the Flag Smashers so diverse and throwing a guy dressed in American paraphernalia to fight them somewhere in Europe just drives home how not completely wrong they are.

But it looks like neither Walker nor our heroes are really the Flag Smashers big problem. It looks like they stole the serum that makes them super soldiers form Power Broker and that’s what was in those creates not vaccines. I wonder if they want to make so many more super strong followers or d the powers wear off with time and they need to keep taking it.

In many ways John Walker is a lot like Steve. He wants to help people and make the world better. He believes in the ideas of America and wants people to believe in them too. He wants to be the hope Steve was. He jumped on top of grenades. And he got really good at throwing that Shield fast (the way he saved Hoskins was pretty cool). He’s the best man for the job, isn’t he?

He’s even appropriately bashful about being lauded for his accomplishments. Feels weird about being trotted for shows in public. And have doubts he can live up to being Captain America. He’s also a little cocky and likes to use his influence (the government line, releasing Bucky) but that’s not that different than Tony. Or Thor. And he even has the same Big Three idea as Sam. He’s just like our heroes.

He’s just like those guys before they learnt their lessons about humility and blind trust. So isn’t us, or Sam and Bucky, not wanting to have to deal with that journey again just unwillingness to give him a chance?

But then the uncomfortable parts hit you. From the fact that he took the job over a black man. Sam isn’t completely wrong about becoming his own symbol and not just using Steve’s clout. The fact that John took it like it was something he deserved is already telling something about his confidence and show points us to the “white men confidence” on that by making it uncomfortable. From the way they have people of colour telling him he can do it. To the black best friend/sidekick. That last one really hit hard.

This is, however, not fully on John really. It’s on people who created him. In universe, the men who lauded Sam for giving up the Shield only to give it to a white dude. In real world on all those who keep creating protagonists like these.

This hit differently when the character of Captain America was created almost century ago and we were already so accustomed with him it’s easy to ignore the dissenting voices for the comfort of it’s always been like this. But there is still to many media that repeat this pattern over and over again with new characters.

The patterns so ingrained it has to be pointed out again and again how skewed that is and the show rammed it home with Walker calling both Sam and Bucky Steve’s wingmen. He was implying he wants them to be his now and they both went clearly “sorry, man, we are the protagonists now”. And that made him resort to threats and that is on him.

The thing about Steve was that there was plenty of brave, smart, decorated men with him in that camp. He wasn’t chosen because he was better then them at fighting but because of his heart and willingness to stand up for what is right no matter what. And when he jumped on the grandee he didn’t know he would survive. Walker has special helmet. And he clearly enjoys the privileges and power that comes with the position.

It’s all fun when he is the main character in this story - saving the Avengers and getting them out of trouble - but when they refuse to be appropriately grateful and fall in line his generosity turns to anger. And that really drives home that white man entitlement, doesn’t it? (I hope it does.)

And the show doesn’t stop there. There is still the way US government treated Isaiah Bradley. Bucky got pardoned for everything with just Steve’s backing but the man who protected Americans from him got nothing but abuse. All Bradley can have is being left alone while Bucky is recognised as an Avenger. At least Steve was always a hero but Bucky used to be a villain and he still is better off. It reminds us how long this has been and issue. (The kid is Eli, though, isn’t he?)

And then there is the way police treat Sam. The tone they use when they ask Bucky if “this man is bothering you”. And then complete change when Bucky says “do you know who that is” and the celebrity status hits and suddenly Sam isn’t jut a black guy but Mr. Wilson, the Avenger. But it really hits when it turns out Bucky is to be arrested because he missed his therapy session for a trip to Europe. The policeman is still polite and all “Mr. Barnes” and “sorry about this”.

We see Bucky’s super soldier serum powers in work (with jumping and running) and Walker I think just has the suit and good coordination but it’s clear their greatest superpower is being white men.

I liked this episode take on racism better as it was better at showing it as a background didn’t involve Sam ignoring his sister’s agency and her knowledge. And because it showed the status his celebrity grants him better, especially when contrasted with the life of Isaiah Bradley who has powers but not fame so none of the perks and all the burdens of being experimented on.

And I like the way it shows it also gets to those who are discriminated. After all the kid who calls Sam Black Falcon is black too. It’s just Falcon. No qualifiers necessary. But then Sam calls Bucky White Panther. The colour coding gets to all of us. (In Polish pantera = lampart and both mean leopard so we actually say żółta pantera = yellow panther along with black but I’m glad no one uses that for people.)

I also liked that Sam thought Bradley meant white people when he said Bucky’s people. I mean he wasn’t wrong since Hydra was pretty much white supremacist but still funny.

The only thing that bothered me was Bucky’s therapist forcing Sam into the session. The excuse was flimsy, the was no real indication she knows they fight all the time and the whole thing seemed to be only for that one line when Bucky admits he’s afraid Steve was wrong about him. But the execution of this was clunky and the moment with Bradley worked much better.

#the falcon and the winter soldier #sam wilson #bucky barnes #isaiah bradley #john walker #lemar hoskins #karli morgenthau #flag smashers #falcon #winter soldier #james bucky barnes #james buchanan barnes #doctor raynor #tfatws #christina raynor

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monstersandmaw · 4 years ago

Text

Nonbinary incubus x reader (nsfw)

Edit which I’m including in all my works after plagiarism and theft has taken place: I do not give my consent for my works to be used, copied, published, or posted anywhere. They are copyrighted and belong to me.

"Keep the Tumblr stories to around 3k words, Ghosti."

"So how long is this one?"

"Oh... uh..." *shuffles* "...Five and a half thousand?"

Haha, yes, as much as I tried, this one is also a bit longer than I wanted, but, for the third story available for the $5 tier on early release this month, I give you 5.5k words of nb incubus x reader. We also have a new location to add to Starfall Springs, and it's not quite what you might expect for the sleepy little town...

Contents: our incubus would probably have been assigned male at birth but they use they/them pronouns, gender/body neutral reader, erotic dancing, and come-marking if you squint...

This has been up on my Patreon for a week now on early release so it’s time to put it up here on Tumblr.

“I’m sorry, what did you just say?” you asked, blinking at your friend in open-mouthed incredulity. “Starfall Springs has a… strip club?”

The gnoll grinned, the look absolutely feral for just a heartbeat. “Oh yes. The Silkfoot family tried to have it closed down, especially after their youngest son was seen frequenting it, but Sarrigan actually helped to fund it as one of his business ventures after he started up his antiques company… It’s doing really well…”

“Well… I don’t know what to say! I never would have thought that a sweet, sleepy little place like Starfall Springs would have something so…”

Mako’s brows rose - as much as a gnoll’s could, anyway - and he yipped softly in amusement and dug you in the ribs. “We’re definitely going there now for your birthday.”

“Mako, I’ve never… I… I don’t know if it’s my kind of place, you know?”

“Come on, it’s not as if it’s that wild. As you say, it is Starfall Springs after all…”

You swallowed, not entirely sure you believed him, but in the end, you agreed to go.

Your birthday dawned bright and warm, and before any of your friends or family could message or call, you took yourself off to the dinky little harbour in the town to treat yourself to a takeaway breakfast from the bakery, and a coffee from the tiny little cart that made the best damned coffee in the universe. It was something for yourself, and it had become a sacred ritual back in the city. Now, as you strolled through the quiet streets, with nothing but your own footsteps and the whispering promise of the sea at the end of the cobbled lane for company, you smiled. Moving to Starfall Springs had been one of the best ideas you’d ever had.

“Morning!” Khargrin smiled as you stepped into the bakery and inhaled blissfully, eyes fluttering closed for a moment at the sheer gorgeousness of the scent of bread and sugar in the air.

You returned the smile to the enormous orc, and placed your order for two of their fresh pastries.

“Still warm from the oven,” Khargrin chuckled as he slid them into a paper bag for you. “Here.” He frowned slightly. “Anything special about today? You’re earlier than usual,” he asked, still holding onto the bag as you went to take it.

Laughing, you admitted that it was your birthday, and he promptly refused to take any kind of payment.

“I didn’t tell you that so you’d give me free breakfast, Khar,” you groused.

He let go of the bag as if it had burned him and said with such melodramatic flare that a mummer would have been proud of the display, “You’ve touched it now! You have to take it! Get out of my shop, foul human! Begone! And have yourself a wonderful birthday while you’re at it!”

Shaking your head fondly at the big orc’s antics, you accepted but didn’t leave right away.

“Any plans for today?” he asked as he bustled about, stocking the display with goodies from the back.

“Quiet day, I think,” you said, “But Mako has plans for tonight… I’m wary.”

“Knowing that gnoll, it involves Midnight Aurora, doesn’t it?”

“Midnight Aurora?” The name wasn’t familiar to you. “You mean the club over on the north side of town?”

The orc nodded. “Yup. And before you say anything about it, my sister works there…” he added with a twinkle in his eye and a lopsided grin on his handsome face.

“I will think very carefully before I tell you about my reaction to my experiences there then,” you grinned. “Anyway, see you Khargrin.”

“Enjoy your day,” he said. “And your night. And if it involves my big sister at all, I don’t want to know.”

You snorted and headed out into the brightening day. The fresh wind hit you full in the face, bringing with it the sharp tang of iodine from the sea, and you watched two merfolk spiralling through the water like racing dolphins, breaching the surface and sending sparkling droplets spraying up against the side of a moored fishing boat before they cleared the boundary of the harbour and disappeared out into the wider ocean.

“Gorgeous, aren’t they?” a quiet voice said from beside you.

Tearing your eyes from the horizon, you turned to find someone tall and slim standing beside you. With lilac skin, long, silver-white hair, and elegantly-tapering ears, they might have been a tiefling, but you couldn’t see any horns, and something about the intensity of their ruby red eyes made you wonder.

“Mmm,” you hummed noncommittally.

Their gaze flickered to the pastries in your hand and their Cupid’s-bow lips curved into a smile that made your stomach flip over, revealing double canines, both top and bottom. “Khargrin makes the best almond croissants in the whole world,” they commented.

“Just needs one of Sophie’s coffees to go with, and I’m all set for my birthday breakfast,” you blurted unthinkingly.

At that, their eyebrows rose. “It’s your birthday? Happy birthday.”

“Thanks. I’m not sure how I feel about being another year older, but -” you shrugged. “It is what it is.”

“Well, not to be inappropriate, but you look wonderful. May I get you that coffee?”

Were they flirting with you? You weren’t exactly known for being able to read people all that well. You blinked. “You don’t have to do that,” you said, stepping back. “I mean… you don’t even know me.” People in Starfall Springs were just like that, you knew from first hand experience already, but still, it was… unnerving for someone like you from the city.

That blinding smile never flickered, but they did shift a little. Oh. They had a tail. Perhaps they were a tiefling after all. They also had hooves, dark and shiny, visible beneath the wide cuff of their loose, black linen trousers. Looking a little more closely at them, now that you were no longer distracted by that gorgeous, heart-flutteringly beautiful smile, you realised that they wore a sleeveless vest, white, and that their chest was flat and their stomach obviously toned. Their arms too were slim but muscular, and they bore tattoos in geometric patterns from their fingertips right the way up their arms and neck to their earlobes. You swallowed. You’d never met someone so alluring in your whole life and your skin began to tingle.

At that moment, their pupils dilated visibly and they swallowed, long, tapering ears drooping a little. “Never mind,” they said. “I’m being overbearing. I’ll… leave you in peace. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean…”

Before you could call after them, or tell them they’d got the wrong idea, they turned around, their long white hair swinging in a thick plait right down their back to their tail, and hurried away. Halfway across the street, a swirl of dark, inky magic enveloped them, and they disappeared completely.

“What the…?” you hissed.

Even Sophie’s amazing coffee didn’t taste quite as good as it usually did, and for the rest of the day, as you picnicked with your friends on the sloping meadow above the Temple, lounging while music played through a little speaker and chocolate frosting melted in the sun, you kept recalling the way those garnet red eyes had turned from warm and playful to achingly sad.

“What’s up with you?” Mako asked, lolling over onto his back with his front paws bent, like a retriever begging for a belly rub.

Affectionately, you reached over and scratched his upper chest, which still made his hind leg kick. His powerful hyena jaws softened and he moaned. “Oh that’s so good,” he moaned. “You give the best scritches.”

“Hey!” came the disgruntled protests of his boyfriend from beside you. You didn’t stop, and he shook his head fondly. “Honestly, it’s probably true. Good job I can do other things to you, huh?”

Mako growled playfully, but left it at that. “What time shall we come by to pick you up for tonight?” he asked a while later, glancing up at you with his big, brown eyes.

You shrugged. “What time do we have to be there?”

“Nine?” he asked. “We could go for drinks somewhere else first? Or you could come to ours and we could have something to eat and drink there before? Up to you.”

With snacks and a few drinks in you, the three of you left Mako’s apartment that night and headed over to Midnight Aurora. You walked up a narrow, cobbled street to be met by Erin, Aemilius, and Florian - a satyr, vampire, and a cervitaur respectively - halfway down.

Aemilius heard your approach first, turning to face you to clap and cheer. “Happy Birthday!!” he practically sang at the top of his lungs, and you rolled your eyes, trying to hide your smile.

Together, the six of you headed up towards the top end of town, which looked magical that night, bathed in summer moonlight, with the bars and restaurants in the area now lively and bustling where they normally sat quietly during the day. Twinkling strings of fairy lights illuminated the way, and a shop sign swung in the slight breeze as you passed beneath it, showing a triple moon in glinting silver.

Midnight Aurora wasn’t as packed as you’d worried it would be, and honestly it was more of a theatre than a club, though beneath the stage was a dance space on the floor, currently full of tables. Tonight was obviously a more formal night. A bar filled the left hand side of the room, illuminated by LEDs beneath the counter in the shifting patterns and colours of the bar’s namesake, and a drow and a goblin worked seamlessly together to keep patrons happily topped up. Erin was apparently dating one of the bouncers, which was how you’d all been able to get tickets at short-ish notice. Normally they sold out weeks in advance.

Mako dug you in the ribs. “Not quite what you were expecting, huh?”

You had to admit that it wasn’t. It was classy but relaxed, buzzing but not overwhelming.

Currently onstage was a tall, powerful, muscular female orc and you tried not to look too hard at her, knowing that somehow Khargrin would know you’d been admiring his sister because… wow.

Swallowing, you looked away and croaked, “Drinks?”

“Thought you’d never suggest it,” Aemilius grinned. “First round is on me,” he said. “Take a seat and I’ll join you shortly.”

“Do we not get a say in what we have?” you laughed as Mako and his boyfriend steered you towards a table right in the middle of the floor while Aemilius strode away, lost in the low light and crush of people in seconds.

“Just let him have his way,” Erin said. “He probably knows what you want better than you do anyway.”

Deciding, not for the first time that night, just to go with it, you let the entertainment wash over you. It wasn’t all erotic dancing - there was a tap group that absolutely blew you away with their skill and synchrony, leaving you as breathless as had the bovitaur and his set of half-naked orcs that had preceded them.

“I think the variety is going to kill me,” you hissed at Mako and he snickered.

“Glad you’re enjoying yourself. They’re all really good, aren’t they?”

You had to nod. It wasn’t worth shouting over the appreciative audience’s wild applause. An octomer had just begun her set, involving a rope and a tank below, and you watched as she began and her coiling limbs hauled her effortlessly up out of the water by the rope.

Somewhere just shy of midnight, when the final act was announced, however, a strange and excited hush descended on the crowd, and you looked to Mako who just winked at you. “Wait for it,” he said. “Happy birthday.”

“O…kay?” you frowned warily.

The lights cut out without warning, and from the pitch black, two slender spotlights flashed on, illuminating a pair of dark hooves in the centre of the stage. The lights travelled slowly, teasingly, up over smooth purple skin, up a pair of slender, well-muscled legs, revealing a pair of glittering and very tiny silver hotpants, a lashing tail like a whip, a toned stomach with strangely familiar, geometric tattoos going up the dancer’s sides, over their ribs, and up their neck. A long, white ponytail dangled down the dancer’s back, and you gasped as red eyes blinked out at the crowd.

It couldn’t be? The meek and shy person you’d met earlier that morning was… here? Looking like that? They carried themselves with a quiet, contained dignity that drew you in and demanded your entire attention. Where this morning you’d found their bashful, flirtatious shyness alluring, now it was their stance that knocked you breathless as they stood with the self-assuredness of a tango dancer, waiting for the music to begin.

The music started with the slow pulse of a sleeping heartbeat, and they swayed their hips from side to side, eyes now closed. Even from that distance, you could see the way their eyelids had been kohled, adding further length and depth to their already almond shaped eyes, and a shimmering powder had been applied to their high cheekbones to heighten the sculptural quality that their face naturally possessed.

As if they had no idea they were dancing before a crowd, the strange, alluring dancer swayed, sinuous as a banner in the breeze, twisting and turning slowly, caught up in the low, hypnotic beat. You could barely breathe as you stared, transfixed. The energy in the room picked up, thrumming, and everyone seemed to be sitting there with their mouths open and their eyes half-lidded.

The difference between earlier on the seafront and now was almost unbelievable. Gods, they had the most incredible figure, and with the same shimmering powder accentuating every highlight on their bare chest and stomach, their dark purple skin gleamed in the lights.

When the beat changed, becoming faster and more energetic, they finally opened their eyes but their gaze locked above the crowd, as if they were still pretending not to have noticed you all staring in wonder at them. It didn't take an expert to see that they’d been classically trained at some point, and the graceful arrangement of their wrists and hands over their head made you think of meadow grasses blowing in the wind before the tension returned with a snap and they evoked the sheer commanding power of a paso doble dancer. They were mesmeric, and it was easy to see why they’d been placed last in the order for the evening.

Erin leaned over to whisper in your ear, “They’re an incubus…”

“Oh,” you breathed. And suddenly your reaction to them earlier made sense. Your stomach dropped unpleasantly. “Oh,” you said again. Had your reaction just been an accident then? As far as you knew, incubi and succubi could control the way their influence worked on people, but if they’d simply sparked that lust in you, did that make it real? You felt a little sick at that.

The longer you thought about it, the less the show held your attention. They were undeniably exquisite, and an extremely talented dancer, but it lost its magic for you the moment you realised that your reaction probably wasn’t real. The incubus was feeding off the lust in the room, the crowd’s desire for them, and the action of feeding created more lust.

As the dance seemed to be working towards its finale, you found you could bear it no longer. Abruptly, you stood and turned away, heading for the bathroom. You were the only person moving in the room besides the incubus on stage, and no one even noticed you leaving. Mako tried to grab your wrist as you left, but you were gone before he could follow or stop you.

At the door to the bathroom, you glanced back and found that the incubus was looking straight at you while dancing without breaking step. Even at this distance, they were truly stunning. You smiled sadly, and ducked out, remaining there until their set finished.

When you emerged, the theatre was buzzing. The chairs and tables had been cleared as if by magic, and the space had been opened up for the patrons to dance now. Mako and his boyfriend were quietly making out in one corner, though they were being relatively subtle for them, Erin was nowhere to be seen, and, as you looked around, you spotted Florian with two dancers and… was that… underwear dangling from one antler? Well, he was certainly entertained at any rate.

A movement to your right caught your eye, and you saw that Aemilius had found a partner to dance with, drawing the eyes of anyone nearby. With his sense of rhythm, he could probably have worked at Midnight Aurora himself.

“Flashy vampire,” you chuckled fondly as you watched the pair of them dance. The elf he’d found had glowing white skin, which complemented his own extremely dark skin beautifully, and you watched for a while before going over to the bar. Leaning against it, you waited alone for the glass of water you’d ordered to come your way.

To your surprise, when you turned around to pick it up, you found the incubus standing beside you. They were clothed now in a loose, white t-shirt that mostly hid the form of their beautiful body beneath, but anyone who had seen them dancing knew what lay under the shapeless top anyway. Their long legs were still on full display though, covered down to the mid thigh by the white t-shirt, and they wore a pair of platform heels that did obscene things to the muscles of their thighs and drew the attention of passers by.

“Hi,” you smiled, not wanting to be seen as prudish, especially after they’d witnessed your exit during their spectacular performance. “You dance beautifully…”

“Thanks,” they smiled. “Can I get you a drink since I didn’t manage to get you that coffee this morning?”

You tilted your head. “Why?”

Their smile broadened. “It’s your birthday, and I didn’t get to give you your actual present.”

Something anxious twisted inside you. “My actual present?”

“Mmm,” the incubus hummed. “Your friends were hoping I’d give you a private show.”

“They were?” you asked, turning to find Erin graining at you from the other end of the bar. “They already paid you?”

You watched with sinking dread as they nodded. When they saw your evident lack of enthusiasm, however, they said, “I don’t have to though. I don’t want to make you uncomfortable.”

“It’s not that,” you said. “And I don’t doubt your… uh… talents… I just… I’d rather have something… real, you know?”

“It’s just a lap dance,” they said, prickling slightly.

“I know,” you hastened to reassure them in case they thought you were thinking of other things they could be doing to you which the club definitely wouldn’t allow. “I’m not suggesting otherwise. I just mean… this isn’t really my thing, you know?”

That sad expression you’d seen earlier crept back into their red eyes and they nodded. “Not everyone is comfortable with being around an incubus. I understand. Let me use the money to get you a drink, and you can give the rest back to your friends.”

The congealing atmosphere between you suddenly made you want to choke. As they turned away, you reached for them and grabbed their forearm. The tattoos on their arm flared white hot and you gasped, reeling backwards as a short but intense blast of energy sent you staggering backwards. You hit the bar and wheezed as the air was knocked from your chest.

“Fuck,” the incubus gasped, darting over. “I’m sorry. Are you alright?”

This was not going the way you hoped at all. “What was that? I didn’t mean… I wasn’t going to hurt you…”

“They’re protection runes,” the incubus explained, touching you carefully at the elbow to steady you and get you to raise your head a little. “They stop people grabbing me while I’m working…”

“That happens a lot?” you asked, flexing and making sure nothing was bruised. You were fine. Surprised and winded, but fine.

With a wry look, they admitted, “It’s an… occupational hazard.”

A few people were watching the exchange now, tossing you dirty looks, and you wanted nothing more than to leave the place altogether. “Look, I didn’t mean any harm. I was just trying to get your attention before you went.”

“Well it worked,” they grinned, and you found yourself laughing. They glowered over their shoulder, and the small audience bustled off elsewhere.

“Guess it did.”

“Should we start over?”

You looked at them and nodded. “Sure.”

“I’m Ferren,” they said, extending their hand to you. When you eyed it warily, they laughed. “It won’t hurt you.”

Taking it, you saw the black, geometric shapes pulse white for a moment and let the tingling rush of sensation sweep through you at the contact. Then rather hoarsely, you grunted your own name. Their fingers tightened around yours and then they withdrew. “I’m sorry,” you said. “I… I get the feeling like I’ve insulted you, but I didn’t mean to, I promise.”

“Honestly, I understand,” they said. “Some people like the rush that being around an incubus gives them, and for others it feels… unnatural. I’ll be careful with my ‘influence’ around you.”

“Is that what happened earlier today?” you asked as you let them steer you towards the quieter end of the bar.

They shrugged. “I don’t normally have to be so active about controlling it. Normally I actively have to concentrate to turn it on, as it were, you know? To affect people I really have to try.”

“But not with me?”

“Apparently not,” they chuckled ruefully. “Now, please, for the love of all the gods, will you let me get you a drink?”

You nodded.

What began with one drink on your birthday turned into an hour spent at the bar talking with Ferren about everything, from how they began at dance school, and would have gone into the ballet if they hadn’t suffered with a suspensory ligament injury at sixteen, to how they lived in a small, traditional caravan on the edge of Starfall Springs and loved sour apple sweets almost more than anything.

Drinks that night turned into coffee the next morning - despite the late hour at which you’d returned home - and coffee the next morning turned into a long walk along the seafront, lunch, and then takeaway supper, eaten on a bench overlooking the cliffs just outside the small town.

“Ferren,” you sighed, setting your small container down on the ground beside the bench.

“Mmm?”

“How… How did this happen?”

“How did what happen?” they asked, “You mean ‘what geological forces created these cliffs?’ or ‘how does the tide go in and out?’ or —”

“— no,” you snorted and turned to face them. “How did I end up spending the entire day with you when it was only supposed to be coffee this morning? Is this that incubus charm of yours, or is it just… you?”

“It’s just me,” they said a little dazedly, staring into the depths of their own unfinished food box. “I promise I haven’t used even a scrap of my magic on you. I’ve been really careful.”

At that, you sat up and looked at them a little more closely. In the afternoon light, with the softly refracted light from the waves below casting a cool glow on their lilac face and dark red eyes, they looked like a sculpture or even a doll. Their skin was flawless, their lips full but without pout or pretence. They were just… themselves. Not a dancer, not even an incubus, just… Ferren. “You sound… You sound as if that’s not exactly common for you?”

They shrugged. “People expect us to be promiscuous. I’m used to one night stands and quick fumbles in out of the way corners. It’s been a long time since anyone’s just… listened to me like you have. I hope I haven’t bored you.”

“Bored me? Ferren, I’ve never had such a full day go by so quickly in my life! I still just thought that… maybe it wasn’t real somehow… that you’d just made me feel at ease around you…”

“So you’d fall into my arms and into my bed, you mean?” they asked with a bitterness that cut deep.

“I’m sorry. I don’t know anything about your kind. I was wrong to assume…”

They shook their head and a few strands of their white hair wafted into their eyes. On a whim, you reached up and tucked them back behind the tapering line of their ear and they shuddered noticeably.

“Should I not have touched you again?” you asked, glancing at their tattoos which, mercifully, remained dull and dark.

“No,” they hissed, turning to face you fully. “Gods, no, I… I want your touch but… I don’t want to freak you out. I want it to be what you want…”

“Kiss me,” you breathed.

Their red eyes widened and their lips parted. “Are you sure?”

You were. They were beautiful and gentle and sweet, and you wanted nothing more than to kiss them. “Can you sense my energy?” you asked.

In return, you were met with a question of their own. “Are you asking me to use my magic on you?”

“If that means finding out how I feel, then yes.”

Raising their elegant, tattooed hand to your face, they traced the line of your eyebrow with the pad of their thumb, and then circled your temple. Their eyes glowed as if lit by the sunset from behind, and they opened their mouth, inhaling deeply. The light in their eyes flared bright and they gasped, letting go of you suddenly and smiling. Their hand hovered in the space between you like a butterfly caught in amber. That smile though, blinding as always, illuminated their whole face.

Their fingers then moved back and traced your jaw as they leaned in to kiss you, eyes locked on yours until you let them flutter shut against the rising tide of emotion inside you.

Ferren’s kiss began with breathtaking tenderness, but the moment you let slip a groan, it deepened and they let their tongue taste you. You were sure you tasted of the meal you’d just shared, but honestly, it didn’t matter. You reached for them and tugged them closer until they shifted and instead sat straddling you on the bench, their knees on the wood of the seat on either side of your thighs. Their hardness ground against you as they kissed you, and you gasped as they pushed you back against the bench.

The air shimmered around them like a dusty road in summer, and you stared in open wonder at them for a moment as they drew away and tipped their head back. Another shudder ran right through them and their tattoos began to glow again.

“Ferren?” you asked, cautiously trailing a fingertip over the white lines on their neck that had, only a moment before, been black.

“I haven’t felt like this since I was a teenager,” they panted. “Your energy is incredible. I feel… I feel drunk…”

“You need to stop?”

“We probably shouldn’t do this out here on a public bench,” they laughed, their voice breathless and rasping.

“Your place or mine?” you asked.

“Mine’s small,” they said, letting their head roll forward again to let them look at you, “But it’s up to you. You really want to do this?”

“Can’t you tell by now?” you smiled. If this was all ‘you’, it felt fantastic.

Their answer was a smirk, but they clambered off you, hooves clopping on the stone path beneath the bench, and you saw the obvious tent in their trousers. They raised their eyebrows at you and the smirk became a broad, amused grin. “What a state you've left me in, eh? How are you with teleportation?”

“Excuse me?” you asked, surprised by the conversational sidestep.

They held out their hand to you and that inky darkness began to swirl around them, beginning at their hand and working up their body.

“I have no idea,” you said taking the offered hand and standing. “Does it hurt?”

“Not at all,” they smiled as they pulled you close to their chest. “Ready?”

“I have no idea,” you said, “But I trust you.” And you did. Despite having only met them the previous day, you absolutely did trust them, which was rare for you.

The darkness billowed up around you and obliterated your vision, but when it cleared, you were standing in the centre of a small, cosy, colourful waggon, with an arching, painted wooden roof to create a cylindrical space. At one end was a bed that took up the width of the tiny waggon, and it was towards that that Ferren led you, still holding your hand. The whole thing felt extremely personal and intimate in a way you’d not been expecting. This was their home, their sanctuary, and they were sharing it with you.

They lay you down on your back and you rested on your elbows as they undressed you slowly, reverently, revealing your body inch by inch. “You’re stunning,” they whispered once you were completely naked. And, under the vehemence of that ruby red gaze, you actually believed that they meant it. They didn’t waste any time in divesting themselves either, and when they stood before you, you gasped. You’d seen most of them already on stage only recently, but somehow this felt entirely different here. This was just for you.

“I won’t feed on your energy unless you tell me to,” they assured you as they pressed kiss after kiss up your inner thigh until you were gasping and bucking beneath them, begging with your whole body for them to touch you where you truly needed it. “Look at what a mess you’re making of yourself,” they crooned when they finally deigned to turn their attention to your arousal. And it was true.

“Please…” you hissed, head thrown back into the pillow behind you while they still only teased. “Gods, please!”

At the feel of their mouth on you, you bucked, but they held you steady with surprisingly strong hands, and you were nearly tumbling over the edge into orgasm in moments.

“I want… I want you to…” You tried to speak but your mind kept being wiped repeatedly blank by the waves of pleasure that their wicked tongue and devilishly hot mouth sent rolling through you.

Pausing, they hummed their question against you and you yelped a broken cry at the vibration of it, fingers scrunching their sheets to a tangle beneath you.

“I want to feel what it’s like,” you managed, speaking more deliberately this time and trying to focus. It didn’t really work because they started circling their tongue while they stared questioningly up at you with those red eyes. “Oh gods… What it’s like when you… I want you to…”

They licked a long, teasing stripe and you arched again and swore. “You want me to feed on you?” they purred. “Truly? You’ll make me come just from that you know? You’ll make me spill untouched. I can already tell.”

“I want you to come on me,” you said, trailing your fingers up your stomach for emphasis and Ferren inhaled sharply, pupils blowing wide until their irises were little more than a slim halo of ruby, glowing like hot embers.

Without a word, they moved so that they could keep pleasuring you with one hand while lying beside you. They kissed at your neck, raking their twin set of double canines over your skin, slowing the pace until it was too slow for you to come just yet, but more intense than you’d ever experienced in your entire life. You felt like you were going to tear apart at the seams and burst with want. “Ready?” they whispered in your ear and you shivered inarticulately.

Their tattoos pulsed white, then faded, then flared bright again. They opened their mouth and you stared, amazed, as a coiling, shimmering mist began to float towards them from you. At the same time, your body ignited from within and you yelled with pleasure. White hot and searing, the sensations came from everywhere, not just where they touched you, and you convulsed as your orgasm tore through you with a blinding intensity.

You didn’t even notice that Ferren had shifted and was now lying atop you, cock in hand. They spilled over you a second later, forehead coming down to rest on your collarbone as they emptied themselves all over your stomach and halfway up your chest. That strange energy still twisted between you as they jerked and twitched, finally lying still atop you.

“Gods,” they hissed, a good few minutes later. “Gods, I’ve never ever come like that…”

You shifted and grunted softly beneath them, and they slithered off you to lie on the narrow sliver of bed beside you.

“You alight?” you heard them whisper.

“Are you?”

With a little chuckle, they said, “Ask me again in about ten minutes.”

“Ten minutes?” you asked, feigning coy disappointment.

They shot you a sidelong look and laughed. “Alight, five. Tops.”

___

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#exophilia #incubus #incubus x reader #monster x reader #monster lover #non binary monster #non binary character #gender neutral reader

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