#this post and any other Blaze related posts are in no way inspired by or related to the fact that chris said blaze is his favorite character | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

webwanderer · 8 months ago

Text

WIP Ivantill fic?!

I tried to cook something Ivantill related, headcanon story post Round 6. Based on my and other fans theories. I just wrote this part but I plan to expand it way more. I just wanted to have a feedback before going on with the fic🙏

(I know this is lacking context so far, pls spare me)

TW: indirect SA mention, slight gore description.

Till's POV

As sudden as a bolt from the blue, I felt a shiver run down my spine. Something cold as ice breezed over my nape and a sharp tingle roared along my nerves, paralysing me there where I was sitting. Still as a statue, I held my breath. Or better, my lungs refused to inflate, my ribs acting as a cage for my squirming meat. I could feel my flesh melt to putty. The muscles of my thigh were melting off of my femur, and all I could do was sit there and witness my body liquefy. Terror set in as I felt a large palm envelope my forearm. A visceral scream filled my mind. That hand was burning a deep mark on my skin. I was suddenly drowning in a white blaze that was hungrily devouring me whole. The flames were dancing around me and I could not breathe, the air lit on fire the last parts of my body that weren't already inflamed.

There was no way out of that hell.

Until, I felt a hand wrap around my chin and a velvet thumb gently rubbing my cheek. I opened my eyes and looked up. There I saw some dark iris gazing down at me. For a moment, the scorching fire vanished, the noise made by the cries in my head calmed down, and I could finally breathe again.

There, I realized how soft his hands could feel.

Ivan sat next to me.

«Are you ok?» He asked me.

I looked at my arm: there was nothing but fair skin. Despite not seeing any trace, I could still feel the weight of forceful fingers engulfing my frame. At that moment I stood there lifeless, frail, thin as an ink stained piece of paper abandoned by a taunted poet who lost his inspiration. I didn't know what to do with myself.

I hesitated.

«Cheer up, Till.»

Ivan's POV

It had been a few hours and Till disappeared from the cafeteria of the Base without mutterings a word. I was sitting at one of the many metallic tables, staring mindlessly at my empty mug. I was brought back to reality when a warm hand touched my shoulder and I felt a presence sitting next to me. At the corner of my eye I was able to catch a glimpse of shiny pink locks and a pair of glossy emerald eyes. I tuned to face Mizi.

«I think he's in his room. He must still be metabolizing everything that happened. It will be hard, but I'm sure he'll manage to go back to his hot-headed self.» she said with half a smile.

Even though her eyes wanted to scream the opposite.

I nodded slightly and laid my attention back on the lonely cup.

It didn't matter that Mizi and I were on good terms, the silence created between us two started to fit uncomfortably tight on me.

«Er-um… Ivan, I was thinking that maybe» I listened attentively, despite still looking at the mug, «you could go and check on him?» she rushed the last part of the sentence.

I understood her, though. This situation must have been really awkward. Still I wonder how could I look so calm. The reality was that, earlier, as I was staring at that stupid cup, my emotions were stirring messily inside of me. Blood and words and thoughts all mixed together to create an anxious mingle that was corroding me from within. Was it because I was worried about Till? Why did he run away to his room like that? Or maybe it's what happened in our round? Why did I do it? How could I do it?

I was meant to die. I was meant to die and save Till. Touch him, fake an aggression, be disqualified, lose. But I've never been strong enough. When it came to him, I could never control myself. And so I kissed him. I fucking kissed him. And I hated it. I hated myself. I forced him to kiss me. I forced the ungovernable spirit I adored to follow an order. How fucking egoist, hypocritical. Perhaps I'm actually no different from Them. I'm just a sack of scum. I had promised myself to never show this side of me. My love should have stayed a secret. Among the exhausting demands of our owners, the relentless routines and the abuse, my love is now one of the many burdens that Till has to carry. I'm one of the deadweight that saddles him. I went too far.

I was about to explode, when Mizi arrived and woke me up from my brooding.

«I can go and check on him» I answered back.

I didn't let my emotions transpire. I wanted to spare Mizi, at least. She already lost Sua, she didn't need my emotional baggage as well.

I got up and left the Cafeteria. I was directed towards the dorms, towards his room, when suddenly I heard a distant humming. I walked fast and reached the end of the corridor, on my right the way to our dormitory, on the left the provenance of that faint melody. I followed my hearing. A few steps and I saw a small bench in front of me. A shady figure sitting on it, not facing me. I slowly approached the shadow, entranced by its voice like an eager seaman bewitched by a siren. Once the sound became intelligible, I immediately recognized the boy in front of me. Till was sitting alone, looking out one of the windows of the Base and humming some song.

Apparently he was too immersed in his song and didn't hear me.

Without thinking, I stretched out my hand to touch the back of his neck.

He jumped under my touch, freezing on his seat. With my palm I reached under his chin and held his face. With that action I hoped to show him that I was no harm. My figure was towering over him from behind, when he turned his face upwards to meet mine.

There, I realized how soft his gaze could feel.

Pale as a ghost but cheeks lit red, eyes puffy and melancholy frowned brows. He was staring at me as he just witnessed death.

I sat down next to him. I asked him if he was okay. He didn’t look okay. I briefly recalled something.

「«Do you have anything to say to your next opponent?»」

«Cheer up, Till.»

A.N. Tbh I'm very proud of this and could go on a 1h rant explaining my writing choices but I'll refrain from doing that (for now). Anyway, I wanna hear your opinions to see if some of yall would be interested in a full fic🙏

Also tell me if the way events are told is digestible enough. Like, I tried not to write a boring linear story but give it a little spice, but idk maybe I went a bit overboard with it lol.

#alien stage #ivantill #ivan #alnst till #alnst #vivinos #round 6 #gimme feedback pls #toxic doomed yaoi #current wip #wip

12 notes · View notes

ashleywool · 10 months ago

Note

Hi, I saw the show on February 4th and it was so amazing!! You were so fantastic as Jessica; I related to that character a lot and even wore an outfit inspired by her/ Caroline to work the next day lol. I also really appreciated how you stayed at the stage door for so long talking to people - fully expected you to leave before you made it the whole way down the line (which I would have supported as it was very loud and very crowded/ overwhelming. I almost left twice). Anyway, I was wondering if you have any thoughts about being recognized just in daily life because of htdio. Obviously being on broadway puts you in the public eye a little bit but not to the level of a tv show or movie. Would it be weird if someone came up to you and said they loved the show, or would you be excited? (Largely asking this because I’m 95% sure I saw Amelia Fei in a coffee shop yesterday and I wanted to say something but instead I just stood there, frozen, actively listening to the songs from the show.) I might ask some other people from the cast this too so if you see they’ve replied and don’t want to answer, that’s cool. Thanks for reading my long rambling message and hope you’re feeling better after the surgery you posted about!

First of all, your username is excellent. Fact.

As to your question about how I feel about being recognized: it's a good and reasonable question in and of itself, but knowing it was asked of one autistic person to another adds all kinds of intriguing nuances. And if there's one thing I love about Tumblr (and one thing that I wish people on not-Tumblr would do more often), it's how invested people get in all the intriguing nuances. So...here goes something.

I should probably preface this by saying that I'm still in the relatively early stages of being known on this level for this thing, and I'm still working through what it all means for me in both my professional life and my personal life. In many ways it feels like I'm relearning how to be a human with a whole new set of social rules or expectations or limitations that did not exist for me before--and, in a perfect world, would not exist. On top of that, the cultural concept of "fame," and the social rules surrounding it, is evolving rapidly. So whatever I say, feel, or believe right now may not necessarily reflect where I stand a year from now.

But back to your question.

Would it be weird if someone came up to you and said they loved the show, or would you be excited?

First of all, I can guarantee with 100% certainty that absolutely no one, no matter how famous they are, will ever get tired of people saying "I love your work." You might think it's tired and cliched and doesn't really mean much to them because they've heard it before and you're just another voice in the chorus.

But the thing is--we know you're not just another voice in the chorus. You're you. The story of how you became familiar with my work, and how and why it resonated with you, is completely unique to you. Your life. Your memories. Your relationships. Your pain. Your joy. We might have drastically different upbringings, cultural backgrounds, life and work experiences, political views, religious views, whatever...and yet, something in the work I did transcended all of that and connected with you.

In a world that expects us to be constantly and aggressively polarized and divided over all sorts of things, what could possibly be more important than that?

If my very soul doesn't joyfully blaze like a bonfire of gratitude at every single voice that tells me they love my work...then what's the point of the work? What's the point of anything?

THAT BEING SAID...

Yeah, sometimes getting recognized can be a little jarring. While I luckily haven't had any outright negative experiences with being recognized (yet), anticipating the possibility of being recognized certain places has raised several etiquette considerations that I simply never had to think about before.

For instance, when I waited outside the Barrymore for two hours one frozen morning to get rush tickets for the last Thursday matinee of Harmony, a few people on that line recognized me from Ohio. They were very nice, and not at all intrusive, but I remember thinking, I hope nobody recognizes me in the audience at the actual show. I didn't want my presence to distract anyone from their experience with a show I was not working on. Especially a new musical that had opened while we were in tech, we had signed each other's opening night cards, and now we were closing within a week of each other.

My concern about being recognized in that space was not rooted in "I don't want people to talk to me," but rather in "this is their show and I don't want things to be about me right now."

I got a box seat at the matinee, which all but eliminated the possibility of people recognizing me (or even really seeing me), and even if they had, it's not like I'm, you know, a celebrity celebrity. So my concern about being recognized may have been a bit disproportionate to the situation.

But that could change one day. No matter what my humility-cum-imposter-syndrome impulses want me to think, the plausible and pragmatic reality is...that could change. So I might as well start processing all of those things now, when my presence in the public eye is at a significantly-increased-but-still-manageable level.

What sucks, though, is that I haven't been able to find or access very many mental or emotional health resources specifically tailored towards "how to process and cope with a life in the public eye." The few therapists out there specializing in those issues wouldn't take my insurance; they're overbooked with celebrity celebrities.

And that's a bummer. Fame-related mental and emotional health issues are not just relevant for wealthy A-listers, especially in the age of social media. An ordinary person who's not even looking for the attention can post one video and go viral within 24 hours--sometimes for positive reasons, sometimes for negative reasons, but either way, they are overwhelmed, because nothing in their upbringing even thought to prepare them for a situation like that. Whether you're an A-lister, an accidental viral star, or a mildly niche-famous T-list Broadway person, I don't think humans, on a neurological level, were built for fame.

Our natural trajectory of cognitive and emotional development is intended for our families and immediate communities. We are not naturally neurologically equipped to handle attention from "the masses." It's well-documented that we have a more difficult time empathizing with "the masses" than with individual people--psychology calls this the identifiable victim effect.

This effect is not rooted in cruelty or apathy--it's a well-documented neurological survival mechanism that all humans have, and all humans need in order for their empathy to function at all.

But try telling that to anybody on American social media during an election year. Everybody needs you to believe that all of the people on ~the other side~ are numb to human suffering or are refusing to take action on behalf of a group of people because their brains sometimes have to focus on other stuff.

You ever see a celebrity post an innocuous, uncontroversial Instagram picture from their regular degular life, and the comments are like, "don't you realize there's a WAR going on? how can you just SIT there, eating a BURRITO, with your CATS?" Or like, "well, it's obvious you care more about your CATS than about [insert cause/issue/group of people]." Or like, "it's been X amount of time since Y atrocity and you have said NOTHING about it. What's the matter, are you afraid to speak up for [victims of atrocity] because it'll interrupt the aesthetic of your burritos-and-cats feed? Your silence is DEAFENING."

To tie it all back to the original question: no, it's not inherently weird or bad or awkward to be recognized in my current daily life as a T-list Broadway person. So far, it has been a generally positive and harmless experience.

But I'd be lying if I said I didn't worry sometimes about my future ability to just eat a burrito with my cats without someone making an Internet about all the things they think they have the authority to tell me I should be doing instead.

#taking authority #some recognition #goal after goal after goal #fame #people are weird #social interaction #the internet

4 notes · View notes

heiserosandhesapollo · 2 years ago

Note

that blazed post was satire right

REAL fucking suspicious that all these rolled into my inbox in a single night, back to back. Almost like you forgot to turn on anon for half of them 🤔🤔🤔

But let's go ahead and give you the benefit of the doubt.

"How to be a trans man (according to the internet)" was loosely inspired by Sherman Alexie's "How To Write The Great American Indian Novel" in the sense that I wanted to do non-rhyming couplets that directly contradicted each other to point out how people outside of a marginalized group stereotype and fetishize said group. (Alexie's poem is much, much better than mine. He breaks the format pretty quickly and the last two lines are the greatest gut-punch I've ever read in a poem. I am white and did not want to appropriate an indigenous man's pain, so I tried to only take broad inspiration from the opening lines and go in my own direction.)

Now, with that context, let's examine the title.

"How to be a trans man" denotes a set of instructions or rules for behavior. But the poem has a parenthetical, "(according to the internet)", which implies that these are not the author's (my) rules, but rather something that comes *from* the internet. Reading the poem I used as inspiration, and the last two lines, "In the Great American Indian novel, when it is finally written,/ all of the white people will be Indians and all of the Indians will be ghosts," we can infer that this is a poem not about representation, but about cultural appropriation (and, really, genocide). It is not meant to be serious advice, but layers of irony about how colonizers use literature as a tool to erase an entire culture.

When you take irony into consideration, you can then look at the structure of my poem.

Every couplet (except the final one) starts with "You must", with the second line starting with "but". This sets an expectation, then immediately limits or contradicts the expectation. For instance:

"You must have a common, boring name,/ but nothing as common as "Aiden."" If you pay any attention to how trans men's names are treated, you may have heard jokes about trans men having the names of "Drowned Victorian orphans", which is just a way to say that trans men pick old fashioned, pretentious, or "weird" names. A trans man who is not out may see these jokes and therefore try to steer towards really common names, especially ones that are common *right now*. This meant that a few years ago, there was a flood of trans mascs naming themselves "Aiden". But again, if you've paid attention to the treatment of trans men the last few years, you'll know that "Aiden" is used to insult trans men with "basic" names.

Again, look to the title of the poem. This is how *the internet* tells trans men to behave - giving them one set of instructions and then immediately punishing them for following it. The poem uses an ironic structure to show the irony that trans men experience daily.

All of the lines in the poem were either things I have been told to my (digital) face, or seen other trans men on Tumblr, Twitter, Youtube, and Tiktok been told.

Now, not to be mean, but perhaps do some literary analysis when you find a poem that rubs you the wrong way. Look at the title, structure, imagery. Perhaps even look at the rest of the author's work - if you search my blog for "trans", you'll find multiple poems about the trans male experience (my personal favorite is "I relate to werewolves for more than just aesthetic reasons"). These, taken together, paint a pretty straightforward picture of my views on the trans male experience.

I'll admit, had I gotten these asks when I first posted these poems, I would've freaked out, wondering if I was being too subtle. But at this point, with over 4,000 notes on the post and tons of people in the tags telling me that they have felt the exact emotions of the poem... I think you and anon either aren't taking the time or don't care to actually analyze a (pretty straightforward) poem.

1 note · View note

thrashkink-coven · 7 months ago

Text

This post probably isn’t speaking in reference to angelology but I find it extremely interesting so I’m going to run with it.

Do angels actually look like that?

It is my personal opinion that when they are not being perceived by humans, angels probably don’t “look like” anything, in the same way that colors aren’t actually a “thing” in objective reality, our brains and eyes filter information and create color for us to discern between different light frequencies.

There are many wacky descriptions of biblical angels beyond those that were written by Ezekiel, I can’t provide sources off the top of my head but one that comes to mind is that angel who was so tall that it would take several lifetimes to walk across his body. Then there are various Christian depictions where they are just winged androgynous and attractive young men. I honestly don’t think any depictions are more true than any others. I imagine that the forms that angels (and by extension demons and other gods) take are representations of what they’re trying to communicate to humans at the time. When the thrones present themselves as inconceivable spinning wheels with many eyes, they are communicating how non-human, cosmic, huge, and wise they are. Their many eyes see everything. When the cherubs present themselves as animal headed, many winged etc, these things are meant to show us how mystical they are in nature and how removed they are from mundanity. Their animal heads (lion for example) often represent their qualities or the domains over which they have authority. These angels are usually in charge of natural things, the animal kingdom, the movement of the cosmos, holding the sky in place, etc.

As opposed to the Archangels and the lesser guardian angels frequently appearing human. Due to their roles which are highly influential on humanity, they appear as something familiar, but in a more perfect form- a more beautiful and androgynous form that inspires awe but not terror. Could Michael possibly appear as a blazing lion clad in armor with a million eyes and 50 thousand wings? Probably, but because his role is in protecting and guiding humanity, he probably just won’t, unless he’s trying to get a specific point across.

In my personal experiences with angels, the forms they take vary wildly. My patron angel Jophiel usually doesn’t take the form of a human or an animal, he appears as places and sometimes colors. One day he may be a garden of sweet lavender, other times he might be a hazy pink light, and other times he’s enormous like a planet or a mountain. It entirely depends on the context. When he does appear human it’s almost exclusively by my request, and even then, he just appears like the vague idea of a person, usually cloaked in silk robes. He’s obviously beautiful, but it’s very obvious that he’s “different”. Whenever I’ve asked Jophiel to show me his “true” form, he acts as if it’s a silly or nonsensical question. “What do you look like when no one is looking at you?” how exactly would an angel even answer that question?

There’s no way to verify what angels should actually look like because they’re not animals. For all we know Ezekiel was tripping balls and nothing he says is legitimate. The angels seem to be somewhat consistent with the ways they interact with us. When they want to be relatable, they mimic us, and when they want to establish how different we are, they become Erdrich horrors.

"biblical angels" you do realise there are angels in the old testament that are literally just regular looking guys, right? you do know that the hallucinogenic incoherent descriptions are in like. two books. and the rest of the time angels are just guys. you know that, right?

and I'm not saying don't have fun with weird angels. I'm saying, either the eldritch forms are for special occasions, or the society of the angels is Many-Eyed-Many-Winged-Interlocking-Circles, Four-Faces-Six-Wings, and Mike.

#witchcraft #paganism #pagan #magick #occultism #demonology #angelology #biblically accurate angel #angelic magick #angel work

136K notes · View notes

savagetrickster · 4 years ago

Text

Smirk Upon Me.

Mirio Togata (NSFW) | BNHA

Request: Hi! I saw your bingo event and I would like to give you a suggestion for the prompt “Stolen kisses”. How about Pro Hero Deku, or Mirio, x Vigilante! Reader (NSFW possibly)

anime | character: bnha | mirio togata

word count: 1.3k+

prompt: stolen kisses

themes/warnings: 18+, Pro-Hero!Mirio x Vigilante!Reader, sex on the street, public sex, wall sex, vaginal penetration, unprotected sex

a/n: I haven’t been writing nsfw pieces for a while so I’m a little nervous about this one. I’ve made it less explicit but still retained the spiciness (I think) ‘cause writing this made me quite…fired up. I hope reading would make you so too ;) pardon me for any errors i failed to catch; this is not beta-ed.

special mentions: this idea concept was inspired by the many nsfw bnha fics that carried this ‘hit by libido quirk’ concept i.e. one of them was @/shoutodoki’s Libido

Taglist: the bottom of this post :D (if you’d like to be added, just drop me an ask.)

Mirio had never felt this aroused in his life before.

Like any other man, “Lemillion” the Pro-hero had his own moment of needs, but this burst of lust right now was too much even for him.

He won a victorious battle against that perverted villain but the libido quirk of hers still hadn’t let up one bit.

Fortunately, he was lucky to be in a rather secluded resident area where most houses were already dark and quiet with slumber, and the streets still with occasional passing vehicles.

The last thing he needed was civilians to see Lemillion struggling to tame the massive erection bulging through his skin-tight hero costume.

The merciless ache to release the urge gripping him had crippled his ability to think straight.

It was apparent that all rationale thoughts had been wiped clean of his mind when he jumped at your offer.

Life as a vigilante was never boring. You’d dealt with many interesting cases.

But nothing could be more amusing than bumping into the all-famous ‘Lemillion’ battling, no, more like struggling against his libido evident in the not-so-subtle tent stiff in his suit on your way home.

You’ve never liked Pro-Heroes; they’ve always come across to you as a bunch of narcissists who only did ‘hero’ work to validate their own existences and inflate their egos. That doesn’t mean you liked villains either, of course. Hence, you were a vigilante partly due to Stain’s idea of a hero.

Lemillion was one of the Pro-Heroes who didn’t irked you, and honestly, you’ve been harboring an attraction toward this man ever since you ‘accidentally’ ended up fighting alongside him months ago in a villain attack.

So you had no qualms helping him with his problem.

Besides, you were familiar enough with this libido quirk to know that the victims of this quirk wouldn’t be able to muster thoughts properly until the libido effect faded off by itself, which could take hours. Or the victims released it with sexual intercourse.

And of course, you wouldn’t want to give the latter with Lemillion a miss. The sight of Lemillion and his erected cock bobbing at you in his tight suit was enough to make you soak through your panties.

You were reminded once again about the other effect the libido quirk had on its victim, or rather a related effect from not being able to muster proper thoughts when he urgently pushed you up against the wall right there and then, in the middle of the goddamn street.

The sexual frustration pent up from trying to suppress his lust was enough to make Lemillion toss what remaining traces of reasoning he possessed out the window.

He got naked fast, and the splatters of pre-cum flung into the cool night air brought your eyes down to watch his cock spring stiff before him. Slippery fluid of his pre-cum cascaded from its flushed head, coating the slightly curled, generous length in dribbles. It should not be surprising to find a cock of such thickness and length on a man like Mirio Togata, but nevertheless it took you by surprise.

Theorizing about this man’s girth from the way it bulged under his suit and seeing it in flesh was worlds apart.

Shoving your dress up and yanking down your soaked panties, a satisfied groan escaped Mirio the moment he pushed his aching cock into your drenched fold in a needy haste. The guttural groan dragging through his throat ended with a strained comment of how tight you felt around him as your velvet walls stretched to wrap around his sheathing cock.

You couldn’t help chorusing after him at how well he stretched you, fitting between your heated walls perfectly. He was so big and hard; you could feel every bit of his arousal pulsing in the stiffness of his cock.

The man didn’t spend a second more to think about the possibility of being caught thrusting himself into you by any peeking eyes from the windows nearby.

Going at it with the Lemillion on the street was far too thrilling for you to care either.

Legs spread apart by the crooks of his elbows, you bit into your bottom lips as you watched him hammer himself into you like a starved man.

Your moans mingled with his as you savored the pleasure scrunching up his face and the feral way he pistoned his thrusts between your legs.

Every thrust left a blazing trail of pleasure in your clenching wall. The ruts he plummeted into you were with fervor and deep — deep enough for his swollen tip to graze your womb every single time.

Your hands draped over his broad shoulders slid down his back, clutching onto him like he was your lifeline as white, hot flashes began to blind you in the building heat between your intermingling fluid.

The tight, clenching muscles ridged across his back as his cock delved desperately into you, its bulging girth pushing apart your sopping folds in a frenzied speed. The wet, squelches slapped violently in the silence of the quiet street as he arched his back with his hips in a emphasizing angle, as if dedicating all his willpower and absolute strength into his thrusts.

Like he was a man on a mission as he pounded his cock into you.

Breathy groans from you were accompanied by low growls rumbling in his chest as you stared at the dark houses behind him between weakly fluttering eyelids and lips hanging open in a euphoric daze.

One particular brutal prod of his engorged cock against your womb hit the spot, prompting the heat curling in your core to snap.

A sinful moan slipped feverishly from your lips as a hot burst of pleasure surged through you, lighting every nerve in an electrifying euphoria.

High on the orgasmic thrill convulsing inside you, you felt your clenching walls grip his cock in a choking hold and heard him drag a broken groan through his throat at the peak of his own orgasm.

Mirio couldn’t help the delirious sigh sifting giddily through his lips, relishing the relief he desperately sought earlier engulfing him as his twitching cock released its bulging load in spurts of white, thick ropes onto your walls.

The moan from your high withered to a whimper as he rocked his pelvis languorously against yours, jutting his cock into you over and over until there was nothing left to ejaculate.

You were surprised no one woke up despite how vocal and raunchy you two sounded.

The carnal heat between was quickly dissipating in the cool air as quivering, ragged breathing heaved and fell with your joined bodies.

“…Did I say you could cum inside me, Mr. Lemillion?” You teased between your harsh pants. You could feel his seeds pouring between your legs, leaving you in warm trails of trickles down your thighs.

Amusement tugged a side of your lips, carving a playful smirk as you felt his body stiffen under you. You heard him curse just as you were leaning away from his shoulders.

“M-My bad, I’ll take responsibility if anything happens. I swear I will—”

You pressed your lips into his and your tongue slyly darted into his opened mouth mid-sentence, sensually sucking on his.

Your lips quirked into a smirk once more against his as you drank in the delicious moan you felt rumble from the depth of his chest.

The brush of his hand against your cheek made you break away before he could do anything more.

The smirk never left you as you gazed down at his flustered face.

“Just kidding, I’m on the pill.” You tilted your head haughtily at him.

You laughed and pushed yourself off him, walking away in the direction of your house, but paused partway.

“Oh yeah, feel free to steal back a kiss anytime, Mr. Lemillion.”

You threw him a wink over your shoulder.

”You know where to find me.” A curt gesture at a certain house ahead, you turned to go.

“The name’s Mirio Togata!”

You heard him call after you, and your lips curled.

tags:@shoutodoki, @princessbunnie666, @glaringlights, @platinumbelle, @shamelessyouthqueen, @lowermoons, @xaki, @shippingangel, @itachianddazai, @khemz1312, @kageybee, @toothirsty4main

#mirio x reader #mirio smut #bnha mirio #bnha smut #mirio togata #mha smut #mha x reader #mha imagines #anime smut

638 notes · View notes

quirkwizard · 3 years ago

Note

Do you have any more ideas for Hero Toya? How he'd train, his costume, his hero name, etc.?

Do you have any ideas of what hero names, Toya could have adopted if he had inherited Endeavor's heat resistance?

For context, here is the post where I talked about Toya being born with the proper heat resistance.

He would certainly go to UA. Most of his training would likely be based around better controlling his fire. Since his Quirk is already pretty strong, learning to temper his fire would help him not accidently harm someone or cause too much collateral damage. He would likely unlock the blue flames at some point, but if he has been trained properly and has the natural resistance, I think that he would have a much better time controlling them. Once he officially becomes a hero, I could see him raising from the ranks relatively quickly. Not only did he start off with a lot more training from a much younger age, even if Enji's training wasn't as bad back then it still would have help him get a head start, his natural tenacity and existing connections via Endeavor would help him a lot. That and, given the reaction of people in and out of the story. all the Todorokis seem to have the bizarre to make people attracted to them. So, if not through any of that other stuff, he could try to coast off of that. I could easily see him making it into the top twenty by the time the story starts, if not the top ten even. Which, if Shoto is still born, could work as substitute for his angst over his burn scar. With two extremely famous hero relatives, now he'd have daddy issues and brother issues.

As for anything related to him as a hero, I think that Toya would take a lot of inspiration from Endeavor. Not only because Endeavor is a bigger, more positive influence on Toya's life in this version, but because their Quirks are pretty similar. The only difference I can imagine would be one of color scheme. Since Endeavor's dark blue suit is meant to contrast his bright orange flames, Dabi's blue flames could fit better with shades of red. For equipment, he'd still need those gauntlets that would help regulate his body heat, but a bit different. Since Dabi does not seem to have much fine control over his Quirk inherently, though that may just be because of his injuries and lack of real training with his Quirk, I think he could need some special equipment to help regulate the flames. Similar to how Endeavor has those shoulder pads to help guide the flames that allow him to fly, so to could Dabi have a certain structures on his suit or gauntlets to help move the flames in a certain way. Like he could have rotating cylinders to would shot the fire out like a flamethrower or a ball of fire. As for names, there are a couple obvious picks. You could easily go with something fire related like The Blazing Hero: Inferno. However, I think that he may want to something a be more, like The Ignited Hero: Prodigy. Heck, if Endeavor ever retires, Toya might just want to take on the name Endeavor in his honor like Iida did with his brother.

#My Hero Academia #Quirks #Toya Todoroki #Dabi #Cremation #Enji Todoroki #Endeavor #Shoto Todoroki #Half Cold Half Hot #MHA Meta #MHA Theory

48 notes · View notes

michelemoutons · 4 years ago

Text

tagged by @gaslypodium! i did do a similar one on my main but i want to do it again >:] it's a bit long though so hop on under the read more and we'll get to the good stuff

1. Why did you choose your url?

of course i had to reference my favorite driver, michèle 😌 back in the day the press really did not know how to Act around her so she had a lot of tabloid nicknames. and the german one was literally ‘black volcano’ bc of her hair and her (reported) temper

2. Any side blogs?

this is a sideblog! my main blog is @knapp-shappeys.

3. How long have you been on tumblr?

i’ve been lurking on here since abandoning google+ in 2015, but didn’t make an effort to take care of my main until 2016. i’ve been on motorsport tumblr since march 2021

4. Do you have a queue tag?

i don’t use queue except for my (almost) daily group b posting, and i don’t have a special tag for it

5. Why did you start your blog on the first place?

i got into group b rally first. i ended up picking up f1 bc i’d been seeing a lot of f1 on my dash (thanks alix) and had also come across a picture of seb and schumi with michèle at a race of champions and thought hmm those don’t look like rally drivers! :) i wonder who they are! :)

i got up to something like 100 motorsport-related posts on my main and then had a blazing moment of realization that this was certainly not what anyone had come to my main blog for, so i made this one! alix inspired me on this front as well.

6. Why did you choose your icon/pfp?

michèle and fabrizia my beloveds! yes the posts on this blog may be overwhelmingly related to f1 at this point, but my original entry point into motorsport was learning about their story. and i love them dearly

7. Why did you choose your header ?

this was the picture that technically started it all for me.

so long story (that you can skip if you want, i don’t care) my parents took me to stare at cars in a dealership one afternoon when i was about nine years old. i was dragging my feet/complaining about being there, so they had me sit in a chair and wait. now i hadn’t brought anything to read. i was bored out of my mind and settled on staring at the pictures on the walls. right next to me was this picture of a woman standing next to a yellow-and-white car against a backdrop of a mountain.

my first thought was, “that’s a pretty car.” my second was, “wow, she’s beautiful.” third, “i wonder if she’s asian?” because she had long black hair like me. so i spent a lovely hour piecing together a story about her in my head before my parents came back and collected me, and i promptly forgot about the whole thing even though it was arguably a formative Fruity Moment.

fast forward to a few months ago, when i was doing research for something else and came across the same picture. i remembered being 9 and seeing michèle mouton’s picture on the wall, and decided to read her wikipedia page. lo and behold: i became a motorsport fan.

8. What’s your post with the most notes ?

pfffft got no clue but i had one with 50k on my main somewhere back in 2017

9. How many mutuals do you have ?

i don’t keep track of this. if you follow me we’re automatically besties

10. How many followers do you have ?

44 here (hehe) and 332 on main

11. How many people do you follow ?

😬 a lot, i should go clean it up a bit

12. Have you ever made a shit post?

oh what is microblogging platform but to create shitposts day in day out

13. How often do you use tumblr a day?

i check it a few times: once in morning, sometimes in the afternoon, mostly at night because that’s when a good amount of my internet acquaintances are awake (we love time zones!)

14. Did you ever have a fight/argument with another blog?

no. life’s too short

15. How do you feel about the “you need to reblog” posts ?

i ignore luck ones on principle but as for awareness posts, i’ve said this before but i come to social media to have a laugh and relax, not to be aware of news or educate others. i do have a life away from the screen where i do stay informed and in touch with reality, where i do educate myself and other people in my life and participate in physical actions like boycotting and donations and (barring pandemic times) volunteering. that’s my activism. that’s just me of course, different things for different people, and no one’s better or worse than others for trying to do something in their own ways as they are capable to help others. hopefully that made sense too

16. Do you like tag games ?

of course i do!

17. Do you like ask games ?

yes! i love being asked things!

18. Which of your mutuals do you think is mutual famous?

how would you even keep track of this? haha

19. Do you have a mutual crush?

i don’t have crushes on people i’m only acquainted with through a screen

no pressure of course, but tagging @totowoof, @jedivszombie, @p1tstop, @maranello, and @hon3y-badg3r

#em speaks #abt #this got very drawn out hehe

6 notes · View notes

tellerford13 · 4 years ago

Photo

MO ASTOR- CHAPTER 36

We don’t own the bikes, brothers, or any “related” Sons of Anarchy, trust us, if we did we wouldn’t have the time to write. No money is being made from our stories. So, please don’t sue. It’d be a fruitless endeavor indeed. That being said, Harley, Journee, and any other newbies are ours, and we don’t share. :Whispers in creepy voice: “My precious.” The universe This reality is a mix of cannon, and our own ideas. We strive to keep the boys cannon, but since we will be shifting around some of the events, that will reflect in our writing and their personalities as well. It’s our goal to provide you with quality fiction, and solid, fleshed out OFC. We appreciate constructive criticism and love LOVE reviews, they are a writers life blood and definitely help encourage us and inspire us. A/N: Oh My God We’re Back Again. It’s been a long time, but we never lost our love for Mo Astor. We’ve been plotting, and writing, and editing behind the scenes. We’re back to posting once a week. Thank you to all the readers who’ve left comments, favorited, and waited patiently. Grab a drink, sit back, and get ready to become lost in the world we’ve created.

Mo Astor Chapter 36

Jax

It’s been a long time since it was just me and my baby sister. I’m looking forward to the one-on-one, though I’d never admit it out loud. She’s been my rock through some hard times.

I imagine she’d say the same for me. When life around you is constantly shifting, you look to each other to remain stable. That’s something most don’t understand. That bond you have with someone who holds you down through all the bullshit is lifelong. It doesn’t break when you do jail time, have a difference of opinions, or get busy with life. So yeah, I guess civilians right, we ain’t like them.

“Morning,” I call as I walk into the house and disarm and reset the alarm.

“You’re making me regret giving you a key.” I follow her voice into the kitchen.

“You love it when I visit,” I retort.

“Did you tell the incubator I’m coming with you?” She asks cutting straight to the point.

I snicker. “Believe it or not, she prefers you.”

Journee scowls.

“Proves how fucking stupid she is,” she mutters.

“Jesus, Baby J. hold a grudge much?”

“Pot meet kettle. Mr. Let’s measure our dicks with Kick.” She finishes rinsing off her dishes, and piles them into the dishwasher.

“That was setting boundaries.”

“Riiight. Whatever you need to help you sleep at night. At least I own my crazy ass tendencies.” She pouts.

“’Cause that’s better?” I lean against the counter beside her.

“Oh, yeah bro. Always best to know yourself.” She winks

“You’re full of shit.”

“Guess that’s why my eyes are brown, huh? Wait that can’t be true. Cause your eyes are sky blue, J.”

“You’re supposed to be coming along for moral support,” I reminder her wryly.

“I am.” She pats my cheek as we head out of her house towards my bike. “I’m breaking you down to build you up stronger.”

“That’s some fucked up Gemma logic.” I mutter.

“She did raise us to be like her.”

“You say that with a straight face and it becomes a scary story.” She laughs.

“I know.”

“Such a little shit.” I’m smiling as I say it. Like a true little sister, no one can get away with more bullshit than her, and she knows it. It reminds me of the year she and Tommy were as thick as thieves. He was a lot like her in many ways—more soft spoken and thoughtful. As an only kid she had a crazy patience for him, reading him books, and letting him trail along beside her.

Part of me wondered if they’d have ended up together if things were different and she’d be a Teller for another reason. Especially with how things ended up for me and Lee.

I push the thought out of my mind. What if’s did nothing but drive you crazy.

“So, what exactly did I agree to go to anyway?” she asks.

“Don’t you think you should’ve asked that beforehand?” I tease.

She shakes her head. “You know I’m your ride or die.”

“I do. Basic check-up, and then lunch. I get the feeling she’s got some new man.”

She whistles. “Damn that fast?”

“Hey. If it keeps her from dicking with me and Lee, and doesn’t affect my boy, let her be happy.”

“All kidding aside.” She shuts the door to the dishwasher and turns to me. “ I’m proud of you, big brother. You’ve come a long way.”

My neck grows hot. “We both know Lee had a lot to do with that.”

“Your, opening your eyes and seeing what was in front of you did that. You and Lee were always just a matter of when not if.” She starts the wash cycle.

“So sure.” I roll my eyes.

“I could see it. Over the years you got so close, but something always kept you from clicking.” “Deep down I knew in order to keep her I’d have to get my shit together, and I wasn’t ready to do that. So I stayed back ‘cause fucking things up between us wasn’t an option, you know?”

“Things came out the way they were meant to.”

“You really think that?” I glance into her soft brown eyes, and she gives me that Madonna smile that makes me feel like everything is going to be alright. I can always be real with my sister because I know she’s going to give me the truth. Wither I want it or not.

“I do.” She reaches over and places her hand on mine. “You both had some work to do before you could commit to forever.”

“You think I have it in me? Forever and kids and all that?” I ask cautiously. So far, I’m screwing up the baby thing with my first born. It’s scary thinking of another person depending on me, let alone a child. It changes everything, and our life is unpredictable.

“You are your father’s son. Is there even a doubt?”

“Naw.” I lie, trying to fake it till I make it like I always do.

“Didn’t think so. You’re paying for lunch right? ‘Cause I’m starving.”

I laugh.

“You about to try to put a hurting on my wallet?” I hand her my spare helmet before climbing on my bike.

“Better than putting a hurting on your ex.” She says with a shrug, clipping the helmet on.

I chuckle, pulling my helmet on.

“You have a valid point. Damn you are our mothers’ child.”

She blows a raspberry, before mounting my bike. Little sis knows since she’s doing me a favor, she has the upper hand—and she’s going to milk that shit for all it’s worth. It’s the Teller way.

~~~~~~~ I’m pleasantly surprised and slightly bewildered by the manicured lawn and uncluttered space by the garage. The large black garbage cans are lined up neatly by the curb on the street.

Pulling into the driveway, I remove my helmet and pause to take in the freakish cleanliness it’s lacked in prior visits. This is above and beyond the duties we assigned the prospect keeping tabs on Wendy’s house.

“Well. This is different,” Journee whispers.

“Yeah.” I frown and turn to look over my shoulder.

“Maybe Ma sent over multiple prospects to tidy up.”

“Nu-uh.” Journee shakes her head.

“She said this was your mess to handle.” I purse my lips. “Which means it’s up to me to help you out with the pile of shit you’ve landed in.” Journee sighs.

“I feel the love.”

Journee shrugs. “I’m only speaking the truth big bro. You choose poorly for your first baby Mama. I told you how I felt about her long before you decided to give her your crow.”

I scowl. “No need to rub it in.”

“I’m just reminding you to listen to me. Sometimes I know things.” She flicks my ear and climbs off the back of my bike gracefully.

“Let’s get this torture session over, please.”

“You think it’s bad for you? I got eighteen years of this bare minimum.”

Storing our helmets in my saddlebags, I wrap an arm around her shoulders. “Come on, be my buffer.”

“I should let you go up in flames,” She mutters.

“That’s not sisterly,” I say with a grin.

“Jaxass.” She mutters.

We climb the steps, and the door swings open to reveal Wendy before we can even knock. My jaw drops at her appearance. I glance over to find Journee equally shocked.

She looks like a fucking Stepford wife in a pale-yellow sundress complete with a flared skirt and heels. Last time she dressed like this a waffle iron came flying at my head.

“Jackson. Cat got your tongue?” Wendy smirks.

Journee growls. “Aaaah, the little cocoa sidekick.”

“You know it only takes nine months to bake a baby, and you’ve got what...” Journee taps a finger against her cheek. “Less than three months left?”

“Nice to know you can count,” Wendy sneers.

This is a new woman in front of me. I’m glad that she’s gotten the idea of us getting back together to be a family out of her head, but this one-eighty makes me uneasy.

I scan her body, and notice the thick strips of white medical tape over her entire right forearm.

They stand out against her nineteen-fifties get up.

“The fuck.” I grab her arm. “What are you hiding?”

“Your mark. Which meant nothing.” She spits, tugging her arm away.

“Let me see.”

“Fuck you, Jackson.”

Journee moves forward, blocking the doorframe with her body to keep me from dragging the smart-mouthed bitch out.

“I swear to God. If you’re using again.” My breath quickens, and my visions tints red as rage builds up inside me like an inferno about to blaze out of control.

“You can take it off on your own. Or I can make you,” Journee says softly.

“One of these days, someone is going to put you in your fucking place. You don’t even belong here,” Wendy growls.

Journee climbs up another step, getting in her face.

“I know exactly who I am, where I belong, and where I’m wanted. You could never say the same, could you? Poor little lost girl, with loose legs begging to belong.”

Wendy blinks and turns away. Her hands tremble as she unwraps the tape and thrusts her arm toward me. “Look your fill. You dick.”

I peer down at the unmarred skin, and my knees nearly go weak with relief. “It better stay this way.”

“I have someone to take care of me now, Jackson. I don’t need your bullshit concerns.”

“The minute you give birth to my baby you can do whatever the hell you want. Until that time, your business is mine.”

“It’s my baby too.” Her tone makes me stand up straight.

“What was that Wendy?” My voice drops an octave. “Is the junkie with no job trying to tell me she thinks she’s the better parent?”

“Inside.” Journee whispers.

Of course, We always have to keep up appearances here in town.” My mother’s voice plays in my head.

The fresh scent of cleanser and scented candles greets me. The house has never looked this good.

Who turned her into June Cleaver? I search the place for clues. The laundry basket resting on the couch has t-shirts that are far too big for Wendy, and the black boxers are a dead giveaway.

I don’t feel anything for her. I haven’t for far longer than I care to admit. But I do worry about the company she’s keeping with my boy still in her belly.

He’s not a junkie. Shit’s too put together for that.

“Going somewhere?” Journee asks, nodding toward the kitchen.

I spot the half-packed boxes and bare spaces on the counter.

“I don’t want to stay in this house of lies.” Her dark eyes burn into mine.

“And where do you plan on going?” I ask. She looks away.

“Do you really want us to have to find you?” Journee asks.

Wendy crosses her arms under her breasts, pulling the material tight around her waist.I take in the bulge that’s grown over the past month.

“I’m just preparing.”

“You’re not supposed to be lifting heavy things right now.”

“I have help,” She snaps.

“You aren’t the only person who’d ever want me.” Her hands ball into fists. “If you can move on, so can I.”

“No one is saying you can’t, you crazy bitch. Calm the fuck down before you distress my godson. There’s no reason for everyone to get all worked up. We get it. Wendy bagged herself a new man. Good for you. We’re here to get our report on the baby, and we’ll be gone. The quicker you update us, the sooner we’ll be out of your hair.” Journee holds her hands out like she’s wrangling two high school kids about to fight.

Huffing, she stalks over to the large chair and sits down crossing her ankles, like some kind of proper lady. I’m in the fucking twilight zone. I lean forward with my arms on my knees, drinking up her reports. My boy is growing properly and healthy. It’s more than I could’ve hoped for, considering how fast and hardcore we were living when she got knocked up.

We were both empty shells looking to fill up spaces neither of us could ever fit into.

It’d been fun for a while, but it had never been built to last. She wasn’t even a consolation prize post-Tara tear down— Wendy was a pretty thing to warm my bed and play by the club rules without question. Now I’m paying for my poor choices.

“You satisfied?” Wendy asks. Journee looks at me, and I nod.

“For now.” Journee nods her head, and we both rise.

“Same time next month, Case.” Journee drawls. Such a little shit. Makes a brother proud.

She scowls as we leave.

“What. the fuck, Jax?” Journee whispers.

I shake my head. “Not sure, but if he keeps her shit together for the next 2 and half months, I don’t much care.”

~~~~~~

Sitting down at the table in Hannah’s, I wait for J to finish most of her meal before bringing up the main reason I wanted to go out to lunch after.

“All right Baby J, so…I gotta admit there's another reason I brought you along today.” I begin, wiping my hands off with my napkin. She rolls her eyes playfully at me. “Of course there is. So, which of my skill sets will you need for this favor? I've got a few spots saved in the woods for disposal and Hap gave me an amazing cleaner kit for my birthday.” She says with an excited grin and a bloodlust in her eyes. She is so her father’s daughter. I can't help but chuckle, shaking my head in Disbelief. By looking at her you'd never guess what she was capable of. But with her dad the Sergeant at Arms of Grim Bastards, and her mentor Happy Lowman…there’s a side to her that I never want to get on the bad side of. “Well I do need your skills, just not those ones.” I say, taking a sip of my water. She raises a curious eyebrow at me before smirking.

“Sorry bro, my other skills are only allowed to be enjoyed by my husband and my wifey. As kinky as my old man is, I don't think we're ready to swing just yet.”

She teases with a wink and I damn near spit my sip out. “Jesus J, not that either! Shit little sister, I’ve only just begun playing in Lee's pussy myself. No other dick is going to be poking around in her till it’s been claimed to completion.” Her eyebrows shoot up.“Already planning on making her your second baby mama?” "Second and final. But not just yet. I just got her to say I love you to me. If I plant the seed too soon, I'm worried she'd rip out the roots.”

She rolls her eyes. “Naw Bro, Lee'd never terminate.”

“Oh I know, I wasn't talking about the baby. I was more concerned with her going Loreena Bobbitt on me.” I say honestly, shifting in my seat at the imaginary pain. She bursts out laughing, nodding her head in agreement. “Yea, that uh, that might be more likely.” She says between adorable little snorts.

I nod my head in agreement. “Exactly and seeing is how I ain't planning on changing my singing voice anytime soon, I'm real careful how I'm navigating this one.” Feels like the story of my life right now. It’s been a unique experience having the girl be hesitant with me.With Tara and Wendy, we went full steam ahead, and the crows afterwards all but jumped on my dick the minute I looked at them.

Lee is different. And being with her like this has shown me just how special she is.

She’s worth the time and the energy to make this work for both of us.

J offers me a soft, approving smile. “That's good to hear.” I nod. It’s a relief knowing how much baby sister supports us. None of this would’ve happened without her, and I know she’s got my back to help me navigate these new relationship waters. “Besides she's got that IED thing in her arm.” I add.

She bursts out laughing again and this time I'm a little confused.

“It's an IUD dumbass. Lee doesn't have a fucking bomb implanted in her arm.” She teases and I can't help but chuckle.

There's a joy in her eyes I haven't seen since before the whole Kyle debacle. I'm not the least bit surprised her old man helped put it there. I've known about his crush on her for years, but I knew better than to say shit. I figure if Chibs was taking his time there had to be a reason. Brother was one of the most strategic mother fuckers I knew. I was fifteen when he patched in, and after losing my old man, I saw him like the big brother I never had. There was no one I listened to and trusted more than Filip Telford.

I loved Ope and, there would always be a lifelong bond between us, but when he met Donna, we both felt something sever between us. He became a family man almost overnight, and I wasn’t done sewing my wild oats. Plus, the way the whole thing went down with him hurting J, it never sat right with me. Those two had been headed in a direction that would’ve been something real special. But then Mary got involved, dragged him away and he came back with Donna.

I can still feel my anger at the look of heartbreak he’d put on Journee’s face.

He’s been out a few months now and I rarely see him. The separation has been painful, but he’s trying to go the way of the straight and narrow for his family. Donna’s laid out the rules damn clearly. If he gets into trouble again, she’s out. Should’ve had brown babies Ope. This was the real danger of marrying and procreating with a Civi. They never fully understood our world, and few respected the price that sometimes must be paid to be apart of it. I don’t resent Ope for finding love, but I do resent his love for taking him away from his family.

“All right, Well then I'm lost Jay boy. If it ain’t cleaning and it ain’t playtime…what could you need from me?” She asks, taking a sip from her drink. My stomach flutters excitedly. I reach into the pocket of my cut. Producing the crinkled, early stages of a sketch I’ve been working on, I slide it over to her.

“Need the artiste in you little sister.” She glances at me and then opens the paper. My excitement turns to nerves as I watch her eyes studying the picture presented to her. "What am I looking at here J?" She asks and I scowl slightly. "I mean I know I'm not a great artist like you, but you can tell it's a crow.”

She chuckles. “I mean I know that, but I’m wondering why I'm looking at crow?”

"Right so, I need your help J. I want to design a new crow for Lee. After the shit with Kick, I need her inked. I want everyone to know she's claimed.” Her eyebrows shoot up again. “Wait what? A new crow, but your dad designed the first one. Why do you want to do new?” “I know dad designed the first one, but he designed it for my mom. And then ya know other old ladies got it and it just sort of became trademark.” I pause. “But there's nothing trademark about my old lady. I want her to have one just for her, cause she's damn special to me and she deserves something that represents not just me but us. Like you and Chibs did. Seeing the crow designed specifically for the two of you made me realize, I don't want her wearing the same generic shit that both Tara and Wendy got. Lee is never gonna be an ex, I know she's my forever and I want this crow to be more than just the generic SAMCRO trademark.”

I explain my thought process to her watching the smile tugging at the edge of her lips.

“So, that's what I need your help with. No one loves Lee as much as me and no one knows her better. I've got an idea and I can explain what I want, but I need your help executing my vision and making it something that represents us both and that she'd be proud to wear.”

I wait for her reaction. She studies the sketch and runs her fingers over the lines. “Where are you thinking she wears her brand?” I can’t help but remember before we were together, standing in my dorm room at Journee's engagement party. Journee running her slender fingers over Lee's chest saying how sexy a chest piece would look. I lick my lips and shift in my seat before clearing my throat. “Depends what we come up with. I know I’m definitely going to want her to get a chest piece so anyone who looks knows exactly who she belongs to, but I also know she's gotta be careful with size given her business dealings in the upper crust. So maybe just property off Jax across her chest so she can cover it up if need be. But this crow, HER crow...I don't want to worry about size. Maybe her shoulder or tricep for when she's in tank tops. After we design it and I give it to her, I'll let her decide where.”

Journee nods thoughtfully. “All right so explain to me what you're thinking.” She reaches into her oversized satchel she almost always has with her, and pulls out a small sketch book and pencil. I chuckle at her. She shrugs sheepishly. “Hey I'm an artist, never know when inspiration might strike.” She says flipping the book open to an empty page. “So I like what you have going here with the crow but what if you go with a two headed crow. Sort of like you and her becoming one.” She explains, masterfully sketching out what I'd already drawn and adding on to it. “Now, tell me what else you're thinking.”

By the time we’re finished, the idea is a fully formed tattoo. The two crows each have a wing.

A bleeding heart in the middle of the crows speaks to our passion and dedication for each other. One crow clutches an A.K. 47 for the club, and the other crow clutches an olive branch to represent the peace she brings me. With her, I’m completely balanced. Journee’s thrown in a few other hidden easter eggs to symbolize Lee. My name sits above the entire thing to let everyone know who my old lady belongs to. I love that in a way Journee is woven in there. There would be no me and Lee without her wonderfully “subtle” match making ways. We stand to leave, and I toss 20 extra bucks down on a 24-dollar bill. SamCro always makes sure to tip extra well in town. Keeps our business running and our business owners happy to have us. As we're walking out my phone rings and I can't help but grin when I see Lee's name on the caller ID.

“Hey beautiful, I was just thinking about you.” I say answering the phone. “How'd your meeting go?” I ask as we walk towards my bike. "Hey baby, went good. I think your mom and I were able to nail down the last of the details for the taste of Charming festival coming up.” I can hear the relief in her tone.

“Glad to hear it Darlin. J and I just finished up lunch. Headed back now.” I pause.“I mean, headed home.” I correct, winking at the smirk J gives me. “Glad to hear it darlin.” She mocks on the other end. J and I get to the bike and she grabs her helmet. “How’d your meeting go with Wendy?”

“Went good. I’ll tell you more about when I get there.”

“Okay baby.” I can hear her hesitation for a moment.

“Something wrong?”

“No, not at all. But umm Sack came by this morning with a few boxes of your stuff. And I hope you don't mind that I started unpacking some things. You know I hate boxes.” My heart damn near soars at her words. “Of course I don't mind Lee. You know how I hate unpacking, so unpack away. I can't wait to see it. My shit mixed in with yours. Bet it's gonna look amazing.” I say honestly. After our bathtub wall breaking session we both wanted as much of my stuff into her house as soon as possible.

Mostly cause I didn't want her changing her mind on me. “I think you'll like it. I’m headed back to the house now. You done for the day or you got Club stuff you gotta do?”

“I got some free time babe. I'll head over after I drop J off.”

I mount my bike so J can get on while I finish up my phone call. “Okay sounds good Jax.” She grows quiet for a second before a sweet "I love you Jackson," comes through the earpiece. I can't help the smile hearing her initiate the L word that been circling my head for months.

“I love you too Harley.” I say sincerely, picturing her bashful, smile on the other end.

“I'll see you soon babe.”

“Okay, bye baby.” She says before disconnecting the call. Journee is settled in her seat behind me and I can practically feel her smile. “How'd that feel?” She asks learning forward to wrap her arms around my waist. “Pretty Amazing, I’ll never get tired of hearing that from her.” I answer honestly, pulling my helmet on. I can always be honest and real around J. “I know the feeling.” She says giving me a squeeze. She leans forward to place an affectionate kiss on my check.“I'm so happy for you Jackson. For both of you.” She says.

I thread my fingers in her course curls and cup the back of her head. After Pressing a firm kiss to her cheek, I rest my head on top of hers for a moment. “Thank you, Journee. For everything.” I sincerely say.

There is no doubt in my mind if it hadn’t been for my baby sister I wouldn’t be in this amazing stage with Lee.

Knowing me I would’ve fucked us up by now. She gives me a squeeze before situating in her seat. “All right, enough with the chick flick moment. Take me home chauffer, time for me to go see my old man.” She says like a little kid getting ready to open presents as soon as she gets home. “Yes ma'am.” I tease starting my bike and heading out. ~~~~~ A/N: In case ya’ll were wondering this was what Tellerford was thinking Lee’s Crow Looks like. It’s based off a Design the show produced and was tweaked to fit our image lol. So we thought you might like a little glimpse into what’s in our head.

#sons of anarchy #sons of anarchy fanfiction #Jax Teller #chibs telford #Mo Astor

8 notes · View notes

stillebesat · 4 years ago

Text

The New Hire

Sanders Sides: Roman, Logan, Virgil Blurb: Roman has never known his brother, Logan, to break a promise. Until now. Fic Type: General, Human!AU Inspiration: For the Anon who asked to see Roman’s POV from my other Fic The Interview. Warnings: None Taglist in Reblog. Author’s Note: This fic is Roman’s POV of events that occur halfway through Chapter 4 of The Interview, but you don’t necessarily need to read it in order to enjoy this oneshot. :)

Roman ran a hand through his hair as he stalked through the halls of StoryTime!, growling under his breath as he descended to the next floor.

Of course. It was just like Lo to vanish from his office right when Roman needed him. For being known to never leave the building, Specs sure had a knack for not being where he was supposed to be when Roman’s Creative Muse decided it needed a second opinion.

Must be a twin thing. He distinctly recalled Logan complaining that Roman had done the same to him.

Still.

It was really unlike Lo to so completely disappear from the upper levels that it had forced Roman to search the entire building for him.

He exhaled, turning to go down yet another hallway, head on a swivel. It was unfortunate that their twin telepathy didn’t extend to tracking because if Roman didn’t know better, he would think Specs had left early.

Ha.

The sun would split in two first.

And--Roman glanced at his phone as he came to the balcony overlooking the lobby below, swearing under his breath when he saw the time.

Sure, he supposed his Creative Muse was at fault for having a light bulb moment right before he was due to go interview yet another starry-eyed dreamer for StoryTime!’s creative team, but he hadn’t thought half an hour would make so much of a difference until he couldn’t find Specs.

Now though he’d have to--there!

Roman straightened, a thrill of triumph rushing through him at spotting his twin about to enter the elevator below with some other guy in tow. “SPECS!” He called, his voice echoing around the lobby as he rushed for the stairs. “THERE you are!”

Finally. Maybe he could tell Lo his brilliant idea on the ride up. Maybe two minutes would be enough time to get his opinion before Roman had to bound and gag his Creative Muse so he could focus on being dull and boring long enough to get through the interview process before once more allowing his muse to run free.

At least this time Remy had sworn up and down that this interview wouldn’t be a waste of his time because he was certain that this Virgil person would pass Roman’s stringent pre-qualifications for getting hired.

Crofters he hoped so. He was tired of having his new hires wash out.

Forgoing using the stairs in favor of sliding down the railing to get to him that much quicker, Roman landed in front of his twin before the elevator doors had finished opening. “About time I found you!” He said, jabbing a finger at him as his brother dropped a smile that Roman long ago discovered meant trouble though he had no idea how that related to him or the purpled haired disaster in a suit standing next to his twin.

He’d have to ask later. Creative Muse needed answers. NOW.

“You have perfect timing as always, Roman.” His brother said, placing a hand on the kid’s elbow, pulling him inside the elevator. “I was just heading back upstairs to find you.”

Roman blinked. “Find me? What for?” He demanded, following the two of them inside, hitting the button for the ninth floor. “I’ve spent the last twenty minutes trying to track you down and now you want to find me?”

Sometimes their ability to know when one of them needed another was a freaking curse. But seriously, what were the odds that they would both go seek out the other at the same time!

Roman ran a hand through his hair, fighting back his irritation. And with a stranger in the elevator there was no way he could use this brief interlude to get Lo’s opinion. He didn’t tell just anyone his brilliant ideas before they were fully realized. “Of course you do this to me two minutes before my next interview--”

“For Virgil right?”

Roman gaped at him, eyes narrowing as the doors slid shut. Okay, their twin telepathy didn’t extend that far. “How did you--”

“I just hired him for your department.” Logan said, gesturing to the third member of their little elevator party.

Roman froze, blood roaring in his ears as he clenched his hands, fighting to not hit the emergency button that would stop the elevator in place so he could have longer than twenty seconds to clarify that he hadn’t heard what he just thought he’d heard.

“You. WHAT?!”

They’d freaking TALKED about this! After the disaster that occurred two years and ten months ago with Logan’s meddling they had come to an agreement that his twin wouldn’t interfere with Roman’s methods for hiring people!

Surely Logan. His twin. The superhuman computer that could recall the most mundane information at the drop of a hat hadn’t forgotten that little fact and hired this fashion disaster of an emo in front of him without consulting Roman first. Right?

Wrong.

“I hired him--am I not speaking clearly today?” Logan asked, looking to the kid with a raised eyebrow. “You did the same thing when I told you you were hired too.”

The kid--Virgil shook his head as he crossed his arms, rubbing the spot Lo had grabbed when he’d been pulled into the elevator. “No. It’s just a statement that not many people will find believable...apparently.” He said, mismatched eyes -which really had a unique color shade that Roman would love to take a moment to dra--NO. Stay FOCUSED. One Creative Muse idea at a time!...after dealing with this potential PR disaster.

“Oh no, it’s believable,” Though he hoped the kid’s portfolio was a cut above his ability to dress himself, otherwise Remy would receive quite the earful on what qualified meant when he got back. “If I allowed your interview to be scheduled in the first place.” But If Logan liked him enough to hire him...Roman was pretty sure that wasn’t a good sign. A pity. Remy had been quite convincing that Virgil would work out.

“But, Specs!” Roman growled, glaring at his twin as he held out his hand for what could only be Virgil’s portfolio under his arm. He hoped Lo had actually looked through it this time before pulling the trigger. “We agreed you wouldn’t interfere--”

“With your hires.” Logan finished. “I know. But trust me, brother.” He said, stressing the word as he handed Roman the portfolio.

Brother.

A word that should never have been used between them while within StoryTime!’s walls.

Roman froze, eyes flicking to Virgil and back. “He?”

Logan’s eyes glittered, but not with anger. No, Roman would have thought they were filled with silent laughter as he adjusted his tie. “Knows we’re related, thanks to you.”

WHAT?! HOW?! Oh no. Lo couldn’t blame this on him! He’d never even seen the kid before now!

“To me?! I haven’t said a word--” He denied, taking the portfolio and flipping it open as he leaned against the wall, barely taking in the images on the page. He valued his independence far too much to let just anyone know that he and Logan were related in any way shape or form.

Gah. He fought back a shudder. No. NO. Roman would do anything to keep that particular secret from getting out. He’d done his time in school being treated like he and Logan were the same person unable to form their own identities outside of being the Prince Twins.

And yet.

Somehow the secret had gotten out.

HOW?!

“Virgil.” Logan said, turning to the third occupant in the elevator. “Care to explain?”

And WHY was Lo taking this earth shattering revelation so calmly?!

“I…” Virgil flushed under their combined stares, setting his chin stubbornly. “The Sherlock screenplay.”

….Come again? That screenplay hadn’t ever seen the light of day! Well...beyond the one picture he’d posted ages ago. Roman frowned, flipping to another page, watching from the corner of his eye as Virgil visibly paled, hands gripping onto the railing around the elevator.

“I-I noticed that Logan’s name wasn’t completely covered when you took the picture”

And Roman thought you couldn’t stop a heart more than once.

Apparently he was wrong.

Surely. SURELY that photo he’d posted wasn’t their downfall. He’d been careful to cover Logan’s name! He was sure of it! Yet this kid was telling him that--that---

“And I dug around a bit--” Virgil swallowed, darting glances between the two of them. “Do people here really not know you’re related?”

Ha. They both shook their heads. “No.”

That was the whole point of Logan becoming known as Specs here. Why Thomas had agreed that his real name wouldn’t be found anywhere in StoryTime!’s records. Why Logan had taken to wearing glasses again instead of contacts. To give them a chance to be seen as individuals and not as a pair.

Virgil scoffed, gesturing between them. “But you two look exactly the same!”

“Only a handful know.” Logan clarified, pointedly adjusting his glasses.

“Like three people--Specs does great as Clark Kent--” Roman jerked his head up from the portfolio. Wait. “Don’t tell me you hired him because he’s blackmailing you!?” He demanded, jabbing a finger at Virgil.

Surely Logan wouldn’t let himself be backed into such a corner! He was the one who’d ensured that people wouldn’t connect that they were related. One little picture couldn’t have done so much damage that Logan couldn’t get out of being blackmailed into giving the kid a job because of it!

Virgil flinched, but took a step forward, eyes blazing. “I wouldn’t do that, Princey.” He growled.

So the purple wallflower did have some bark. “Princey?” Roman repeated, narrowing his eyes. Not the most unique of nicknames but...usually people didn’t do that here. Nickname him back. It was always ‘Yes, Mr. Prince. No, Mr. Prince. I can’t take it anymore and I quit!, Mr. Prince.’

It was...refreshing in a way.

Virgil faltered, glancing to Logan. “I--I---uh.”

Crofters, he was like a feral kitten confronting a Lion.

Logan shot him a look, eyes glittering with that hidden humor again, before giving Virgil a reassuring smile. “Go on, Virgil. Speak your mind.”

Logan was encouraging this? WHY?!

Virgil set his jaw, staring Roman down despite the obvious tremor to his hands. “I’m here because you were willing to give me a chance, sir. No other motive. I want to work here on my own merit. Not through...through blackmail.” He practically spat the word. “My Two Princes theory was just that. A theory until Lo--Specs here confirmed it.”

Logan visibly winced at that.

Huh. Roman tilted his head. That was....something. "Well…color me impressed that you got Dr. Roboto here to confirm anything, kid. Usually he's sealed tighter than a jar of Crofters." Usually Roman was the only one who could convince Lo to reveal things he didn’t want revealed.

He snapped the portfolio shut as the elevator doors opened, hiding the artwork from any potential prying eyes. No need to let anyone else see them just yet. Not until Roman actually agreed on the hiring of this kid. Not until he could actually sit down and look at the images himself. "Don't count your eggs though. I'm not so easily swayed."

Logan rolled his eyes. "Page twenty-eight." He said tapping the top of the portfolio as they stepped out onto the landing. "Then you'll understand one of the factors that lead to me hiring Virgil."

Roman scoffed. "One image led you to hire him over my head? Are you addled?"

What could be so good that Logan chose to defy him and hire the kid? Sure, Remy had sworn that Virgil would be a good fit. But no one could be so unique as to get hired on one page alone!

"I would…agree." Virgil said slowly, biting his lip as he glanced to the portfolio in Roman’s arms.

Roman blinked. Come again? “You agree?”

Sure, people usually agreed with him to try and stay in his good graces, but most artists would preen over the knowledge that one image got them hired.

Virgil shrugged one shoulder, glancing between the two of them as they made their way down the hallway. “Well...yah. Compared to my other works, I don't see how that one-"

The kid thought his other works were better? Logan hired him on this one mystery image that he was confident would rock his brother’s world and it wasn’t even a piece that Virgil thought was his best work?

How good was this kid?

How stupid was his brother?

Logan shook his head, pulling open the door to Roman’s office, gesturing them inside.

Typical. Roman fought not to bristle at the fact that his twin was taking charge in HIS domain.

"I can assure you both that my cognitive function has been unaffected in my decision.” Logan said at least allowing Roman the dignity to enter first. “Your overall work is beyond noteworthy, Virgil, and while the one drawing is A factor.” He stressed the word, eyes once again glittering with that humor as Roman took his seat, plopping the portfolio on top of the desk. “For my decision to hire you, it is not The factor. Your work shows a much larger variety than any others I’ve seen.”

Roman frowned. Okay...so maybe his brother wasn’t soo addled. But still. One image? “The thing weighs a ton, I would hope it would show some range.” He said, once more flipping through the pages to see what was so great about this ‘page twenty-eight.’

Honestly...from his quick glances at the other pieces...he could see why Remy and Logan had both been impressed. There was variety, creativity with lighting and color, a feel of familiarity that already sent butterflies fluttering in his stomach, and if it weren’t for the fact that he was on a mission Roman would have stopped to inspect each piece more closely so he could figure out why it felt so familiar when he’d never met this kid before.

It really didn’t help that he couldn’t see why Logan would decide to blatantly break his promise.

“I wouldn’t think you’d mind the size, Roman.” Logan said, straightening his tie. “You are the one interviewing for ‘fresh blood’ are you not or was there another reason you were whining to me just last night about the lack of talent in your department?”

HEY! He pushed to his feet, hand resting on the page before the supposed glorious I-can-break-my-promise-and-hire-you-on-the-spot artwork that had Logan running rogue in his department.

His bemoaning the lack of creativity in his department was a thing said in total confidence and shouldn’t be broadcasted to the new guy even if he was in on their little sibling secret no matter how good this art piece was.

"A Prince does not whine!” He declared, flipping the page. “I merely bemoan the lack of talent people these days seem to ha--” Roman froze taking in the aching familiar Sallyized version of Jack Skellington that had been his obsession and lock screen on his phone for the past six months. “WHAT?!”

He didn’t realize he yelled the last word until Logan smirked, adjusting his glasses as he closed the blinds on the windows to Roman’s office.

Yah probably not a good idea to let others see him totally fangirling, but AAHHHH!!!!! He couldn’t believe it!

Roman shoved to his feet, heart pounding like a drum in his chest as he practically climbed over the desk to shove the picture into the Virgil’s startled face. "You drew this?!"

No way no way no way! He HAD to be dreaming!!! This kid was his beloved Stormcloud?!

Virgil blinked down Jack Skellington before raising an eyebrow, mismatch eyes shining with confusion. "Yes?"

Oh. OH. OH! CHRISTMAS HAD COME EARLY!! Roman placed the portfolio on the desk, careful to keep it open to page twenty-eight because he wasn’t quite convinced just yet that he wasn’t dreaming and if he closed the portfolio maybe it would disappear but no. This had to be real! He pulled out his phone, quickly pulling up Stormcloud’s webpage with the Sallyized version of Jack front and center with the exact same stormcloud signature on the bottom, before shoving his phone in Virgil’s face, the kid practically going cross eyed in the process. “You're telling me this is you?” He asked, anticipation filling every fiber of his being. “That you're--!"

"EmoKnightmare478?" Virgil asked without missing a beat as he ran his hand through his hair. “Yah. That's me, Princey, but how--why?"

“YES!” Roman cried out, grabbing Logan and pulling him into a waltz around the room that only lasted for like two seconds before he had to stop and just jump up and down in a circle with Specs like the fangirl he was at this wondrous turn of events. "YES YES YES YES YES YES!!! I CAN'T BELIEVE IT, LOGAROO!! YOU FOUND STORMCLOUD! HE APPLIED! HE WANTS TO WORK--!! LOGAN! AHHHHH!!!!"

“Am I...missing something here?” Virgil asked, resting a hand, protectively on his artwork, safely keeping his distance from Roman’s prancing.

“Roman’s been a fan of your account for the past couple of years.” Logan said simply, looking over his shoulder at their new hire as he turned in place with Roman. “He looks forward to seeing your bi-montly updates like one looks forward to opening presents at Christmas.”

Virgil went white, his other hand reaching to grab onto the desk as he swayed. “You’re a Fan?” He squeaked.

"OF COURSE!!” Roman cried, finally freeing his twin from his finger-numbing grip to fall down to his knees at Virgil’s feet, arms spread wide. Even the Greats had people that they secretly admired. “Do you know how much I positively adore your twist on a Nightmare Before Christmas series?” He asked eagerly. Every piece had been simply superb. A gift from the Gods. A supreme act of creativity that Roman could only hope to replicate. Stormcloud had taken his favorite Halloween movie and brought it to new heights, giving complexities to even the minorest of characters leaving him in awe every single time.

“Tell me.” Roman said, still on his knees, clasping his hands together like a beggar. “What would it take to commission you to draw the entire cast Sallyized for me? One large painting to hang there over my desk? Anything's on the table. Name your price."

“I--I--uhhh--” Virgil leaned away, hands scrambling on the desk.

Logan exhaled, grabbing Roman by the shoulder. “Perhaps you should tone down the adoration and stop terrorizing your new hire?” He suggested, tightening his grip.

Right. Right. Roman batted away Lo’s hand, rising to his feet. Of course. This wasn’t a Comic Con convention. He had to maintain some sort of decorum, but THIS WAS HIS STORMCLOUD HOW COULD HE NOT BE EXCITED?!

“He’s--He’s not--” Virgil drew in a shallow breath.

Not what? Not serious about his request for a commission because he definitely was!

Logan shook his head. “Well...even if he’s not, I shall assuage your fears anyway. You will still have your job even if you refuse, Virgil. Crofters forbid it doesn’t do Roman any harm to be told no every now and then.”

Roman scoffed at that. Oh, yes it did. He much preferred getting what he wanted thank you very much and being spurned by his favorite artist for a commission he’d been dreaming of for months may just kill him then and there.

Still. Logan did have a point. As Virgil’s potential new boss, he did have to set clear boundaries and this definitely had blurred the lines a bit. “Oh yes, your job isn’t ever in question with this, Stormcloud.” Roman said, offering him a smile as he spread his hands peacefully. “Specs hired you and from what I’ve seen so far,”

He would need to take a very in depth look at the artwork within that portfolio when he got a chance. He needed to see what else Virgil had designed. But that would have to come later. “I second it, but.” His eyes went wide and pleading as he clasped his hands together. “I will be very very very heartbroken and will be giving you super sad puppy dog eyes like this every time you see me for the next--”

“Three hours?” Logan asked, adjusting his glasses as he pulled his brother back another step to give Virgil space to breathe.

Roman made a face. Way to ruin the moment. “I was gonna say a week, but probably.” It would hurt, but he could handle the rejection...maybe. Probably. He didn’t know for sure. People didn’t usually say no to him when they knew who he was.

Virgil swallowed, licking his lips. “You...really would…pay me? The Prince? Would...pay me?”

“Of course! I said--” Roman turned to Logan. “Did I not say that, Lo? Any price. I said that!” He wasn’t a heathen expecting Stormcloud to do such an intense art piece like that for free. No. Roman knew the value of art and Virgil’s artwork would be worth every single penny!

“You did indeed.” Logan nodded.

“Great!” Good to know they’d been clear on that. “Here.” Roman took Virgil by the arm, pulling him to a seat at his desk. “Specs will draw up your contract for the position. Wages, hours, expected responsibilities, rules and policies, so on and so forth. I trust he was quite thorough in whatever interview he gave you right before you found me right? Right. But you and I.” He smiled conspiracally, pulling up a chair. “Need to talk shop. Come on. Commission. How much?”

Logan rolled his eyes as he slid into another chair in front of Roman’s computer, his fingers already flying over the keyboard to pull up the necessary forms to print out. “Of course, leave the boring paperwork to me.”

“It’s what you’re good at Specs.” Roman waved vaguely in his direction, his full attention on his favorite Stormcloud. “Come on Virge, can I call you Virge? Name your price.”

“I--I---Okay...uhmmm. Well…” Virgil rubbed the back of his head before dropping his hand to where Roman had touched him. “Were you actually wanting one large painting of everyone together or individual pieces that form a scene if placed side by side?

Individual….Pieces?! Roman leaned forward, fighting to not grin like a madman. “I was thinking the former, but the latter intrigues me. What would be the difference?”

“Well…” The corner of Virgil’s mouth twitched as he rested a hand on his portfolio. “You said name my price. Does it have to be just...monetary?”

Oooooohhh. Roman smirked to his twin who shared the same smile back. More and more he was seeing why Logan had gone over his head in this. Their new hire was going to fit in rather well here if he was already thinking like that. He hardly doubted that Lo had had time to fill Virge in on their whole betting system here which meant he probably was thinking to set himself up nicely here at StoryTime! before his first day.

“No, no it does not.” Roman sat back lacing his fingers together. “What were you thinking instead? A higher wage? A better position?”

The soft typing from behind him stopped and he could only assume that Logan was waiting for Virgil’s answer as well.

It was one thing to claim to not want to blackmail the twins. It was another entirely to not try and make a grab for power when you had the chance.

Virgil gave a soft growl, shaking his head. “I told you, Princey. I’m not here because I have blackmail on you or want to take a bribe.” He spat the word, his eyes alight with an inner fire, Roman hadn’t seen in a long long time. “Personal commissions are and will always be considered separate from my job here. I won’t argue for things that I haven’t yet proven that I deserve to get.”

Roman relaxed a little at that. “Alright…” He said slowly, listening as Logan began typing again. “But if your asking price doesn’t include money, power, or position.” He raised an eyebrow. “What then are you wanting me to pay in?”

Virgil visibly swallowed. “Well, I would charge per character piece of course.”

Of course. If they had been talking money then Roman could see how this whole thing could get extremely pricey for him with each character being on an individual piece.

But Virgil didn’t want money.

“And for Jack.” Virge placed a trembling hand on his portfolio. “My price--” He licked his lips, but didn’t break eye contact as Roman leaned forward. “My price would be that I can wear my hoodie to work.”

A...hoodie? Roman again shared a look with Logan. The price of having the magnificent Sallyized Jack Skellington gracing his office walls all hinged on the ability for the kid to wear a hoodie?! WHY?!

Logan raised an eyebrow, before shrugging a shoulder showing that he had no clue either why a hoodie would be worth one divinely inspired Jack Skellington, before he returned his attention to the laptop, a slight wrinkle between his eyes forming as he frowned. “You are aware that our dress code is--”

“Business casual, yes.” Virgil said, pulling at the collar of his shirt, his fingers trailing down his tie. “And I can,” the corner of his mouth twitched in distaste. “follow that to a T, if this particular option doesn’t work for you, I promise. You just said--”

“Name any price.” It was unconventional but it worked and maybe, though he highly doubted it, the kid would look better in the hoodie rather than the ill-fitting suit he currently wore.

Roman nodded, pulling out a pen and paper, quickly scrawling down the names of a dozen characters from the movie that he for sure wanted Sallyized.

Best to write it down now than spend the next whoever knew how long trying to remember just which price belonged with which piece.

“For Jack.” He said, fighting the giddy feeling rising in his chest as he circled the name and wrote ‘wear hoodie at StoryTime!’ next to it. “I’ll allow the wearing of the hoodie here for low key, everyday work things. BUT.” He stressed the word as he looked up. “Any meetings, presentations, or red carpet events you’ll need to nix it. Deal?”

Virgil let out a breath, relaxing as he leaned forward giving Roman a large genuine smile. “Deal.”

Logan’s Pov -The Interview: Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Chapter 5 Virgil’s POV for Chapter 3 of The Interview

#The New Hire #The Interview #stillebesat #Sanders Sides #Roman #Logan #Virgil #Creativity #Logic #Anxiety #StoryTime!

67 notes · View notes

mst3kproject · 5 years ago

Photo

Curse of Bigfoot

This is a very bad mummy movie from the 60’s which was re-edited and re-released as an unbelievably bad bigfoot movie in the 70’s. It would belong on the Satellite of Love even if it didn’t have a small part for Jackie Neyman Jones. Remember her? Debbie from Manos: the Hands of Fate? Yeah, as far as I know she’s the only member of the cast ever to do any non-Manos-related film work for the entire rest of her life and it was this.

Once upon a time, somewhere in the American Southwest, Primitive Man was terrorized by Even More Primitive Man. In modern times, a Bigfootology professor is giving a guest lecture to a class of students. First he shows them a clip of a movie just as bad as the one we’re watching, then we get an inaccurate history of bigfoot, including the tale of two idiots in a pickup truck who get a big, hairy ass-whooping. Then, half an hour into the movie, we finally get to what’s supposed to be the main plot. A professor of archaeology takes some of his students into the wilderness to help excavate an ‘ancient Indian campsite’, but along with the expected potsherds and prayer sticks, they find a tomb containing a mummy from a lost prehistoric civilization. It comes to life and shambles off into the forest to kill people, because it’s a movie and mummies do that.

This movie does not waste time. It starts sucking right out of the gate. Almost everything that’s going to be wrong with it is introduced in the first ten minutes, as if the movie wants to prepare us for the ordeal ahead.

The opening sequence is an incredibly drawn-out scene of a woman getting up in the middle of the night to calm her barking dog, only to be killed by a zombie that wanders out of the woods. This scene is around six times longer than it needed to be. We almost have to watch every moment of the dog drinking a bowl of milk she pours for it. The woman’s voice was dubbed in post, and neither the voice nor the physical acting is any good. The sequence is supposed to take place in the middle of the night, but was clearly filmed at high noon, reaching Attack of the The Eye Creatures levels of not giving a shit in having the sun appear in several shots, standing in for the moon! The actual attack happens off screen, because the film-makers could not afford effects.

Then this part ends, and we realize that what we just saw was supposed to be a clip from a horror film that the professor was showing his students. This provides a fleeting moment of hope, as we think perhaps its overwhelming badness was intended as parody. No such luck. We then move into the two loggers getting stalked and killed by bigfoot. The monster costume is different, but this piece is identical in anti-quality to the zombie scene. The film-makers were just morons, and these mistakes continue throughout the entire ninety-minute run time.

It’s actually astonishing that the movie is so consistent in its incompetence, because we are in fact watching two different films here. Curse of Bigfoot has a backstory similar to that of They Saved Hitler’s Brain, in that somebody in the fifties made a short movie and somebody else, years later, added useless filler to expand it into something they could show in a late-night TV slot. They Saved Hitler’s Brain feels very bifurcated, the new material being both narratively and stylistically different from Madmen of Mandoras. But if you didn’t know that Curse of Bigfoot was twenty minutes of extra film sewn onto a 1963 movie called Teenagers Battle the Thing, you might not immediately notice.

If you’ve been following this blog for a while you’ll probably remember that I thought Madmen of Mandoras was a significantly better movie than They Saved Hitler’s Brain (even if it still was definitely not a good movie) – the added footage was distracting and pointless. These two films, however, I would say are about equally awful. The footage added to Curse of Bigfoot is still pointless, but it looks exactly like what was originally shot for Teenagers Battle the Thing, the only noticeable difference being a slight change in the film stock! Both are depressingly earth-toned movies in which it takes for-fucking-ever for anything to happen, with night scenes shot in the blazing daylight, and lines dubbed in by bad voice actors over bad physical performances. Both feature shitty monster suits and every possible cost-cutting measure.

This leads me to wonder whether Curse of Bigfoot might be terrible on purpose. The people tasked with turning Teenagers Battle the Thing into a full-length movie got a couple of the actors back to play their older selves in the added footage. Making stuff match was clearly on their minds. Could they have actually thought things like, “we’d better use the wrong filter for this, or it won’t be as bad as the day-for-night in the original footage!” or “we need to pad this attack a bit, to match the pace!”? If so… I don’t know whether to be impressed, or just to crawl under the bed and cry.

On the other hand, Curse of Bigfoot does at least try to do one thing better than Teenagers Battle the Thing – it wants to have something to say. It spells this thesis out for us in the opening narration and in the professor’s speech about horror movies: our society has forgotten about monsters.

We in the twenty-first century don’t spent much time thinking about monsters unless we happen to be film-makers, political commentators, or maybe paleontologists trying to figure out what the fuck this bugger is. It wasn’t so long ago, however, that they were very real to many people. Archaeological evidence suggests that people in New England believed in vampires as recently as the 1820s. Nowadays, monsters have been taking out of the ‘scary’ category and placed in the ‘fun’ one, and so when people report things like bigfoot or a sea serpent, we don’t take them very seriously.

Bigfoot, sea monsters, and vampires don’t really exist, obviously, but in losing our fear of monsters we may have lost a proper respect for nature. Every so often the newspapers in my city carry a story of some tourist who tried to get a better selfie with a grizzly bear and got mauled. We are so used to thinking that we have tamed nature, that there are no monsters left, that we don’t recognize danger when we’re confronted with it. This certainly seems to be a theme of the stories we’re presented with in Curse of Bigfoot: it never occurs to the woman in the opening that her barking dog may be trying to warn her of danger, or to the two loggers that the mysterious figure in the woods might mean them harm.

The party of archaeology students certainly don’t think they’re heading into any danger, despite the fact that they repeatedly do dangerous things. A group of them climb to the top of a cliff to see where a fallen stone came from, and never worry about falling. When they pry open the tomb entrance, the strange smoke that wafts out might be considered a warning sign, but they ignore it. They head right into this dark hole without any worries about rodents, rattlesnakes, or cave collapses. When one character warns the others that the mummy has just moved, they laugh it off. A couple go for a walk through the dark woods at night to get to a vending machine, without a second thought.

Lest you think I’m in any way praising this movie, I’m not – I just like my reviews to be at least a certain length, so sometimes I really dig for material. This was a dig on the level of saying The Incredible Melting Man is about how we treat the elderly. My high school English teacher might buy it, but I doubt anyone else would.

One thing I do wonder is why they chose to reframe this as a bigfoot movie. The footage from Teenagers Battle the Thing makes it very clear that this is a mummy movie, although they couldn’t afford any of the genre’s traditional accessories. Instead of a museum and a treasure, we get one cabin in the woods and… that’s all. When the characters talk about the situation, they always describe the monster as a mummy, and even when they theorize that it’s the product of a lost civilization, the idea that it may not be human never crosses their minds. It is not particularly tall. It is not remarkably hairy. It looks nothing like the bigfoot the two loggers saw, although it does somewhat resemble the zombie from the opening. Why the man telling the story decided this being must be bigfoot is an absolute mystery.

The only thing I can come up with as an explanation is that bigfoot movies were popular in the 1970s. Having seen a number of these, I can’t say I find them particularly inspiring.

Curse of Bigfoot is almost incomprehensibly boring, to the point where I’m not sure MST3K could have done much with it if they had featured it. In the opening sequence it takes forever for the woman to be attacked and then we don’t see it. In the logger sequence it takes forever for the guy to be attacked and then we don’t see it. And in the main plot it takes forever for anyone to be attacked and then we don’t see it! The only attack we see is when the mummy attacks the sheriff at the climax and that really, really wasn’t worth the wait.

Congratulations, Jackie Neyman Jones – you managed to be in a movie worse than Manos.

#mst3k #reviews #episodes that never were #curse of bigfoot #teenagers battle the thing #fuck this movie #all these movies have bigfoot in them #70s #we're running out of plots #cryptid cinema

42 notes · View notes

celestialholz · 5 years ago

Note

Inspired by your recently posted Continuum story and if you still do the event: It ended with Q thinking, he will find out about the others secrets. So what if, in a positive turn of events, he does find them out and can blackmail himself to the top of the proverbial food chain of the Qs. Now he can do whatever he wants without any stupid council telling him no. Picard is torn between feeling glad for Q or unsure about one of the most morally gray beings he knows gaining absolute power.

Oh, excellent. Love a good follow-up! ^_^ Allow me to reward this wonderful ask with something rather different and a little longer than usual, though it may have to avoid our positivity tag just this once…

(Related to this, for context: https://celestialwarzone.tumblr.com/post/615422269797384192/the-continuum-is-not-entirely-sure-what-to-think)

Got any fun, fluffy or just Soft™ headcanons you’d like as fics for our positivity event, friends, despite this delightfully dark diversion? My inbox is open!

Seven o’clock creeps up on Jean-Luc Picard as though through treacle, slow, heavy and plodding; the problem with deep space, he’s been musing since morning, is that everything is so desperately far away, and inevitably, there are days where little of merit can be accomplished until they’re where they ought to be. With a sigh of something suspiciously like relief, he heads from the ready room and his sixth tea of the day to meet his First, deeply glad to leave the trail of electronic paperwork behind.

“Long day, sir?” Riker asks conversationally, though the question is rather rhetorical; he imagines the weariness will be etched into his features, plain for all to witness. Inactivity has never really suited him for any length of time, and this is their second day in a row of simply ‘boldly going’.

“At least we’re only several hours away from Deep Space Eleven,” he replies simply, expression quirking into reassurance. “Can’t imagine you’re faring any better.”

Riker’s lips twist into a warm grin. “Well, at least holodeck two’s been mostly free. You’re relieved, Captain.”

“Oh, you have no idea,” comes the dry riposte, the grateful smile. “Safe travels, Number One.”

“Is that an order, sir? I could really go for a battle fleet right about now.”

Amusement creeps into a smirk, head shaking.

“Yes,” he answers wryly as the turbolift doors slide shut. “Deck nine, officer’s quarters.”

Safe from prying eyes, Picard lets out a lengthy sigh; he’d always been more tolerant of steadiness before Q’s continued presence in his personal life, acknowledging it as something to merely accept as a drawback to the job he adored, but forty-nine entire hours of tedium had left him almost wishing he could snap them to their destination himself.

Well, at least he could finally sink his teeth into some delightful diplomacy tomorrow - and in the meantime, perhaps the god could whisk them off somewhere wondrous, full of exploration and academic curiosities to sate… though he’d seemed uncharacteristically distracted recently, and unusually unwilling to discuss the reasons.

An ancient city, perchance, he ponders quietly as he makes his way down hallways. Interesting enough to avoid eye contact, quiet enough to speak your mind.

He smiles, keying in his code on autopilot, and as the door opens to simple, vividly white nothingness, all hope of solving the enigma easily fades into the ether of his quarters. It’s uncomfortably familiar, and he’d rather thought they’d moved past such things…

“Q?” He questions softly, stepping in with a series of rapid blinks, beginning to simply wander for lack of a clear path. “Q, why on earth are we back here?”

“Earth, dear? Oh, hardly.”

His brow creases as he finds him, and the prickles race higher up his spine; it’s almost identical, down to his lover’s white robes, the metaphorical distance between them painfully obvious.

To hell with this, he thinks furiously, wasting no time in closing the symbolic gap; there aren’t realms between them now, simply things not yet disclosed, and his hand claims his lover’s in silent acknowledgement.

“What is this, Q?” He urges, grey gaze earnest. “Are you alright?”

Grasped fingers tremble then tighten, free hand flung out to the void.

“You see this, Jean-Luc? It’s mine.”

Something distinctly unpleasant splinters through the captain’s very being. “Yours?”

“Yes.”

“I don’t -” Picard swallows, almost dreading the response. “What does that mean, mon dieu?”

“Oh, whatever I feel like, really,” Q answers cryptically, unnervingly blank for a being usually so theatrical. “What do you think it should mean, mon capitaine - this, perhaps?”

He clicks sharply, and the void shifts instantly to space, pure black and twinkling.

“Or even this.”

Another snap sends them into chaos, swirls of brightly coloured gas spiralling madly around them, and every inch the commanding officer, Picard abandons his astonishment, frantically clasping his other hand in a pointless effort to cease his whims.

“Q!” He states firmly. “That’s enough!”

Disturbingly neutral eyes blaze with the scope of the universe; fire and stoicism, the ultimate parallel. “I don’t need to click, Jean-Luc.”

I know you don’t, but what else am I supposed to - he silences his inner desperation, focuses down.

“Tell me what’s wrong, dear,” he demands gently. “Please.”

Kindness is all it takes to strip down shields, both clasped hands squeezed almost to the point of pain as a shadow steals over omniscient vision.

“They threatened you.” His voice trembles. “Just before Utirion, they were keeping something secret…”

They’re back to the starkness of white in a blink, though the captain barely notices, too locked to those wondrous eyes, the unfolding, pained narrative.

“I found out, Jean-Luc. Oh, they can misdirect all they like, of course, but the right application of blackmail works wonders.” The faintest of smiles half-raises a lip. “And my son can’t lie to save his own omnipotence. It was written all over his vaguely ionised being.”

“Threatened me?” Picard repeats, desperate for full clarity, and the darkness only seeps further into an anguished deity.

“Oh, only for a moment.” He sets, rigid, livid. “More than long enough.”

An understanding shivers between them for a protracted moment.

“So, you -”

“Made sure it wouldn’t happen again.”

Picard curses himself for the shudder that braces across his shoulders; there was nothing to fear from this entity, he’d long since known that intimately, but that phrasing -

“How?”

A frown etches into an ancient expression for a second, distressed at the clear horror in his beloved human. “I didn’t kill them, I assure you. Oh, I was almost angry enough, but - well, I’ve learned from the best. Billions of years of acquaintance rather familiarises one with weak spots.”

Picard’s mind whirs as he slots together pieces of a bankrupt jigsaw, eyes widening.

“So this, the void, space, is truly - mon dieu -”

“Capital D,” Q expresses, brow quirking. “King of the proverbial hill, Jean-Luc. Captain of the starship Continuum.”

He glances pointedly down at his robes, and Picard balks, spontaneously letting go of hands.

“You are not God!”

His lover’s features flicker in recognition, almost entertained. “I wasn’t, then.”

Picard reels, stepping away, struggling to process the magnitude of what such a concept could mean; he’d always accepted the wealth of power that stood insurmountably between them, but one thing needles at him above all others, a nasty, clawing anguish he can barely describe before the words burst forth.

“… And you did all this for me? To keep me safe?”

Confusion claims the all-powerful entity, stare shining. “And I’ll do it over and over again, if I have to. Didn’t you know that, darling?”

A soft, strangled cry tears itself from Picard, dashing back solely to tightly embrace him.

“You can’t do that!” He protests furiously against a robed chest, even as arms encircle him fiercely. “This isn’t healthy -”

“Less of your human morality, thank you,” Q scolds quietly, eyes falling closed as he drops a kiss to his captain’s skull with a gentle shiver. “I’m reliably informed that homelessness is desperately bad for the soul, Jean-Luc.”

Tearful eyes meet his, divided almost perfectly by outrage and despair. “I’m not worth this, you fool.”

A head shakes in pure exasperation, expression almost unfathomably tender.

“Au contraire, mon capitaine,” he whispers, and they hover in an extended breath, fractured and ironically whole in perfect harmony.

“Now what?” Rises a deceptively simple question from his beloved, and the ashes of bitterness sweep across Q’s lips, crease into his face as he stares into eyes that believe he’s ultimately capable of using his absolute power for kindness.

It’s enough, he acknowledges silently. It’s always been enough, that belief; it doesn’t require further proof over time.

“Oh, now?” A finger runs up a cheek, smile warm. No regrets, Q. “An ancient city, perhaps… well, at least after you wake up.”

Picard’s gone in an instant after a tender touch to his temple, and God swallows fire.

Jean-Luc Picard has more than enough to deal with. He doesn’t need the burden of knowing the lengths a homeless, frightened entity will go for him, however many times he must.

————–

“Can’t say I’m not mildly offended. Infinite scope of time presented permanently to me, mon capitaine; I run ten minutes late in an exceedingly rare instance of miscalculation, and you fall asleep on me.”

A familiar voice permeates his consciousness, rouses him from a deliciously restful slumber; he blinks, briefly confused, and meets an amused gaze.

“I…” Since when had he ever come back to his quarters and instantly drifted off? “I was asleep?”

“The light was well and truly out, my dear,” Q assures him, eyebrow hitching. “Dull day at the office, I take it?”

He thinks of their seemingly endless trek to Deep Space Eleven and wrinkles his nose just slightly. “Rather, yes. Ought to have asked you for a lift.”

“Indeed,” Q murmurs, gaze piercing. “I’d have done it, too. I’d do anything for you, dear - do hope you know that. Capital of Tenhaglion, then? Rather delightful four millennia ago.”

He offers him a hand, and something in Picard pauses for a long moment as he meets the rich bronze of eternity, the absolute tenderness that resides there, that flashes with the most heated warmth and desperate trust.

… There’s something decidedly different about him today, he acknowledges to himself as he accepts the help, gifts him a bright smile. He’ll have to ask him about it later.

#qcard #jean-luc picard #q #writing #prompts #hello darkness my old friend <3

31 notes · View notes

bleachintothemultiverse · 5 years ago

Text

THE MEGA RP PLOTTING SHEET / MEME. First and foremost, recall that no one is perfect, we all have witnessed some plotting once which did not went too well, be it because of us or our partner. So here have this, which may help for future plotting. It’s a lot! Yes, but perhaps give your partners some insight? Anyway BOLD what fully applies, italicize if only somewhat Mun Name: Phoenix (Pho) (can also be called blaze-bc of my discord username. though i use that name for a oc) Age: 17 (18 in august) Contact: Discord, ims

Character(s) I rp: Aizen,grimmjow, Uryuu, renji, Byakuya, Kusaka, Hanataro Which muse(s) inspires you the most atm?(for MM): Aizen, Grimmjow, Byakuya and Uryuu Current Fandom(s): Bleach, fullmetal alchemist, Yugioh Fandom(s) you have an AU for: Fullmetal alchemist : Brother hood, Yugioh My language(s): English, spanish //Kinda- im learning it// Themes I’m interested in for rp: Fantasy / Science fiction / Horror / Western / Romance / Thriller / Mystery / Dystopia / Adventure / Modern / Erotic / Crime / Mythology / Classic / History / Renaissance / Medieval / Ancient / War / Family / Politics / Religion / School / Adulthood / Childhood / Apocalyptic / Gods / Sport / Music / Science / Fights / Angst / Smut / Drama / etc. Themes/Genres you have an AU for: Modern.

Preferred Thread length: one-liner / 1 para / 2 para / 3+ / novella. Asks can be send by: Mutuals / Non-Mutuals / Personals / Anons. Can Asks be continued?: YES / NO only by Mutuals?: YES / NO. Preferred thread type: crack / casual nothing too deep / serious / deep as heck. Is realism / research important for you in certain themes?: YES / NO. Are you atm open for new plots?: YES / NO / DEPENDS. Do you handle your draft / ask - count well?: YES / NO / SOMEWHAT. How long do you usually take to reply?: 24h / 1 week / 2 weeks / 3+ / months / years. I’m okay with interacting: original characters / a relative of my character (an oc) / duplicates / my fandom / crossovers / multi-muses / self-inserts / people with no AU verse for my fandom / canon-divergent portrayals / au-versions (as main or only verse). Do you post more ic or ooc?: IC / OOC. Are you selective with following others?: YES / NO / DEPENDS.

Best ways to approach you for rp/plotting: message me either on ims or discord. ^^ I am open up to any idea that you may have What expectations do you hold towards your plotting partner: Uh knowing what muse they want to interact ahead of time. Normally I can create a plot if they already know what Muse they want to rp with. How do you usually plot with others, do you give input or leave most work towards your partner?: I say it kinda 50/50 I tried to build the plot equally with the rp partner.

When a partner drops the thread, do you wish to know?: YES / NO / DEPENDS. - And why?: I know some things happen- so its okay if you don’t want to tell me if you are- I normally figure it out after weeks of not responding. (Unless you are a low activity blog- then i figure you are just busy ^^) - Will you tell your partner?: YES / NO / DEPENDS.

Is communication in the rpc important to you? YES / NO. - And why?: Because communication is important, especially for plots we are winging mostly. and if they have any questions about how i portray a certain character. - Are you okay with absolute honesty, even if it may means hearing something negative about you and/or portrayal?: I wanna say Yes. It really depends- If its about me. I want to know why you say that especially if you don’t know me well and we could possibly clear up a misunderstanding or something. But if it for a character Yea sure. As long as it done explaining what they don’t like on it or if there is something I could improve. - Do you think you can handle such situation in a mature way? YES / NO.

Why do you rp again, is there a goal?: to explore my muses and expand on the more complex ones. (Like Aizen for example) Wishlist, be it plots or scenarios: TYBW stuff. more Pendulum arc stuff for Aizen. Muken Aizen related things. What Type of Starters do you prefer / dislike, can’t work with?: I can work with basically any type of starters? As long as it has a clear way to make interaction happen.

What type of characters catch your interest the most?: Characters i’m familiar with. Characters that is well done (Especially Oc’s). What type of characters catch your interest the least?: Characters that seem way to Mary or gary sue. (More Oc related things). Characters who are just- evil because they can be.

What are your strong aspects as rp partner?: willing to learn about different fandoms. Open to literally anything. gets invested in ships easily. What are your weak aspects as rp partner?: Being to anxious to communicate. Forgetfulness. Loosing track of threads (Because threadtracker hates me-) Do you rp smut?: YES / NO. Do you prefer to go into detail?: YES / NO / DEPENDS. Are you okay with black curtain?: YES / NO. - When do you rp smut? More out of fun or character development?: I don’t rp smut. - Anything you would not want to rp there?: N/A Are ships important to you?: YES / NO.

Would you say your blog is ship-focused?: YES / NO

.Do you use read more?: YES / NO / SOMETIMES.

Are you: Multi-Ship / Single-Ship / Dual-Ship — Multiverse / Singleverse.

- What do you love to explore the most in your ships?: Relationship building. Having moments that can be expanded on between the characters. Having relationship conflict. Even know i don’t rp smut- There is so much that can explored with ships that is more then just sex related things.

- What is your smut tag?: N/A

Are you okay with pre-established relationships?: YES / NO. - And what kind of ones?: Familial, Friendship.

► SECTION ABOUT YOUR MUSE.

//you said to pick my favorite muse- so here we go xD// - What could possibly make your Muse interesting towards others, why should they rp with this particular character of yours now, what possible plots do they offer?: Oh jeez- he is the main villian of the series. One of the most unpredictable muses that I have. Possible plots- depends on the time line. If its in the pendulum era. Literally anything can happen. There is a large gap of time (9 years) of things that could of happen but the anime or manga didn’t show. The same goes with his Captain era. We don’t really see much then or anything relating to his time in Muken. There is a lot of different situations that could happen with the right other muse.

- With what type of Muses do you usually struggle to rp with?: muses who are hopelessely romantics. muses who don’t have much to work with in a plot. - With what type of Muses do they usually work well with?: muses who has similar mind set as him or could be as unpredictable. . Characters that could possibly catch him off guard or catch his interest because of the way they act.

- What interests your Muse(s) in general: evolution, Science related things. hollowification experimenting. becoming a god. - What do they desire, is their goal?: Their goal . It depends most verses its to gain access to the royal realm and become the one true god, and change the soul society. - What catches their interest first when meeting someone new?: The way that they handle them selves, there intentional personally. - What do they value in a person?: Loyalty. Hard working. - What themes do they like talking about?: he likes when people talk about themselves. He can learn more about them. But he also likes talking philsophical debates about existence and morals. Or anything that would relate to his mindset about life. - Which themes bore them?: anything to romantic. He does not like that. like full on fliriting. He doesn’t do at all.

- Did they ever went through something traumatic?: Yes //though it can be debated what is consider traumatic to a adult who causes there own trauma mostly// //But like- he had to have seen some stuff in his childhood that would make him more desensitize to murder and killing fellow Shinigami// - What could possibly trigger them?: Experiencing the feeling of dying. Sensory deprivation. //after his 20,000 years in Muken. Which is underground. away from most sounds and sights and feeling// - What could set them off, enrage them?: Making him question his motives. Making him actually feel something. making him loose his goals.

- Is there someone /-thing they hate?: Urahara, Shinji. - Is there someone /-thing they love?: //Romantically- in most verses no// Platonically : Hiyori (only in pendulum arc). Hougyoku. his self.

Is your Muse easy to approach?: YES / NO. - Best ways to approach them?: catch their attention. Literally just talk to him. don’t go trying to challenge or question his ego. Literally just talk to him with any amount of respect . depending on the verse- his responses may very. but other then that- He is rather easy to approach depending on your intentions to be approaching him. - Where are they usually to find?: His office in division five, hueco mondo, (Specifically in Los Noches), Muken. The forest near rukongai (only really applies to pendulum verse).

Something you may still want to point out about your muse?: he is nerd with a god complex. he deserves a more flesh out back story then what the Manga gave him. I try to keep him as close to the manga, keeping all of the things that happen in the manga and anime as canon. Only changing his child hood and early divisions days- as that isn’t really shown and expanding his relationships with some of the visoreds. I also portray him as Aro/ace in most verses so its very Awkward if you try to ship with him in most verses unless discussed in ims or discord. tagged by @skyvar //thank you for the tag snow uwu// tagging @rukia-kuchiki-divided @redeyeschaosdragon @kaibacorpbros (any bro) @viciousvizard @hirako5hinji @bookofaion @gentleshinigami @goofyshinigami @windstormwielding @cxb3r @nightbeat-cat @world-duelists / @loyal-to-chaos (if you want ^^) and you! if you want to do this uwu.

#dash games #about mun #about muse #//wow this was a long one :D but i had fun uwu//#Long post

9 notes · View notes

ckret2 · 5 years ago

Text

Pretty Little Bug (24/25)

Anonymous said: How bout a Mothra x San/Kevin prompt? (or any head of your choice!) Basically, one of the heads develops feelings for the devine moth, and doesn't know how to handle it- Mothra confronts the head that has feelings for her about it while the other heads are sort of questioning it.

A while ago I asked for Rodorah & related prompts. Somebody sent this one. I uh... I'm not gonna write a Mothra/Ghidorah prompt into a Rodan/Ghidorah series? So I moved this to my drabble prompt list instead.

There's a tendency to go Oh Kevin He's The Nice Sweet Friendly One based on the fact that he's scolded for licking up the ashes of dead humans, as if... that's a marker of sweetness? and I think that's also feeding into the tendency to pair him, specifically, with The Nice Sweet Friendly Moth. Thaaat's not how I write San.

So I steered as far from Nice Sweet & Friendly as possible.

This one's double length because I needed two pages to make it as fucked up as possible.

###

Mothra knew something was wrong before she'd escaped her egg. The light filtering through the shell was all wrong. The gravity was weak. And—when she pierced her shell—the air was thin and alien.

And an alien, with three wicked grinning mouths and six sharp staring eyes, loomed over her. "Happy birthday, little bug."

She reeled back from them. "You're supposed to be dead!"

"Only frozen. Recently thawed," they said. Their voice—voices?—was an eerie synchronized three-note chorus, far too soft for the creature she'd once heard bellowing in furious combat. "You're supposed to be dead too, many times over. Just like us." They bent further over her, so she had to tilt her head to look up at them. "Tell us, little bug. Do you know where we are?"

She knew it from the smell of the air, the rusty dirt, the dull yellow sky. "Mars." They must have stolen one of her eggs. And flown it all the way to another planet?

"You've been here before," they hissed approvingly. "A starfarer—also just like us. And also one who can creep into others' minds and leave commands; one who flies; one who is alone; one who recognizes the power of small clever creatures who know how to build civilizations; one who is responsible for the fate of worlds..."

She cut into their list of parallels. "Why did you take my egg? You're listing the reasons you hate me."

Their right and middle heads exchanged a glance. "Are we?" "I suppose we are." They sounded condescendingly amused. But one of their minds was in disharmony with the others—the one whose gaze had never wavered from her.

She focused on their left face. "You. You're..." She didn't want to say out loud what he was really feeling. "You're—fascinated."

"You're fascinating," he countered. "Such a strange, pretty, powerful little thing. Why wouldn't I be?" The other two minds, however, were still revolted by her, wary of their parallels—and that revulsion flared up in response to the left one's keen interest.

Maybe she could take advantage of that. Maybe she could turn them against each other, get them infighting, get away. She turned toward the middle and right heads. "So you've let him—what—bring home an egg he's going to make you all be responsible for? Make you take care of your enemy? You'd let him boss the rest of you around like that?"

Her taunts barely ruffled their mood. If anything, it stirred up a bit of irritation—but at her, not their rogue sibling. "Oh, there's no 'bossing' anyone; we came to an agreement. We always do," the right one said. The middle agreed, "Sometimes he gets curious. We permit ourselves to indulge when we can. It breaks up the monotony."

No luck. The emotions between these two minds and their outlier might have been disharmonious, but they were still in sync with each other. She turned back to their left one—maybe that would be an easier route. "So they're letting you keep me as a pet," she said hotly. "You're okay with that? I can sense it in your mind, I know how you really feel, and this—this isn't how you treat someone you love."

She'd hoped to inspire guilt, remorse. Instead, she was nearly bowled over with his amusement. "It's how I treat something I love," he said, eyes wide and blazing as he gazed at her.

All of the attraction and none of the affection. They truly were alien—or just cruel. She shrank back from the three of them, backing up over her discarded egg shell. "I won't play along. I'll let myself die here. It won't be the first of me to die alone in space, it won't matter—in other bodies, I still remain on Earth."

"Do you? Are you sure?" They followed after her as she retreated, heads sinking down low near the ground, grinning up at her. "Are you sure you're not the last? If we're back from the dead, who knows what else you might have missed since your egg was laid? What else might we have done before bringing you here?"

She went cold. They were right. She had no way to know whether any more of her eggs were alive. She tried to dig for the knowledge in their minds, but they were strong enough psychics that she couldn't get past their disgust/disdain/delight that she'd tried.

"I'll fly home," she said weakly. "As soon as I can cocoon myself."

"We hope you do! We'll hunt you." Tauntingly, their voices almost singsong, they said, "Leave an egg before you go, just to be safe."

"And if I don't? You'll be risking killing me for good."

"You'd risk killing yourself for good. You won't. You're not desperate enough to escape to risk it."

They were right. She wasn't. (Not yet.) "I'll fight you. I'll never stop. I'll fight you to the death, over and over, until I kill you."

"And we will rise from the dead, just like you," they promised, "to hunt you again."

"I'll change," she threatened. "Little by little, every time I'm reborn, to make myself stronger and more dangerous. I won't be a 'pretty little thing' by the time I've become whatever I have to be to kill you for good. I'll be a monster."

They lunged toward her. "Just like us." Two sets of massive teeth loomed before her eyes; she felt the left neck coil around her like a serpent constricting its prey, ready to swallow hole. "Good. Make yourself a monster. We're looking forward to it."

###

((Screenshot of the original handwritten pages below! Reblogs & comments are appreciated. Previous #writing warmup posts are on my blog & crossposted to AO3))

#mothra #king ghidorah #ghidorah #godzilla #kotm #fanfic #my writing #writing warmup #ww 24 #ww 25

77 notes · View notes