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yaut-jaknowit · 6 months

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False Freedom

Pairing: We'ar-ow (Female Yautja) x GN!Reader

Word Count: 3659

Summary: You're let to roam around the ship at your free will. Not like you could escape easily. Only to run into trouble.

Author Note: Any errors, let me know!

P.S. Happy Thanksgiving! As a gift to you guys, I'm gonna post two things today. Stay tuned!

Masterlist

Ao3

The plain metal door slid behind you and clicked with a lock. Most of the tightness in your chest that made it hard to breath washed away. It freed you to relax and slump against the forementioned door. You still couldn’t believe that We’ar-ow had allowed you to leave her quarters… by yourself. She had said it would be good for you or something like that. Go explore, be curious.

Yeah, you’ll surely be curious as you map out an escape route from her room and towards the ships. That was your plan A for escape. It might take time to figure out how to operate one of them. Thankfully, the tablet should help you that. Give you the basics on learning on how to fly an alien spaceship. You sighed heavily through your nose and pushed off of the door.

Without We’ar-ow marching in front of you, leading you to wherever she wanted, this new found freedom was nice. The unfortunate new mark carved into the top of your back would further ensure a single Yautja wouldn’t dare hurt you. Nervously, you glanced down at the tablet and silently reminded yourself. If trouble was to rise, We’ar-ow could be called with a single button. Nothing bad should happen though… right?

You rapidly shook your held before standing tall, shoulder squared and chin level. Who cares? If you didn’t start now, you’ll be stuck here for longer. An extra day, an extra hour, minute, it did not matter. Extra time you didn’t want to be for. Then, you finally started a path towards the elevator door.

One of the things We’ar-ow has given you is a code. A code to enter most places on the ship. Most, but not all. You hadn’t encouraged yourself to ask if that meant the bay for the ships.

In all honesty, We’ar-ow expects you to try and escape, as close to impossible that is. Nothing is impossible though. Aliens were thought to not exist at all but look where you were currently, in space, so far from home, from earth.

The number pad clicked at every touch before chiming a high-pitch beep. The elevator doors finally opened at your command. You entered it swiftly and pressed the needed button to go the floor destined. Afterwards, you mess about on the table to pull up the map system that showed the entire layout of the ship.

Once it came to stop and opened to reveal a mostly empty hall, you stepped out and gaze both ways. Only a few bodies filled the area, none that paid attention to you. Thankfully. From there you used the map to start an unsteady path to your right.

The mothership was exactly the same on either side. What differentiated between them was the placements of the sparring rooms and the cafeterias by the looks of it. There were probably smaller, less noticeable changes that didn’t matter. You did your best to remember where the emergency escape pods were for one of the halls that connected with this one. The pods were on the outer edge of the ship.

As for one of the hangars, those were closer to the belly of the ship. There seemed to be a huge cargo bay down there as well for supplies and whatnot. Just the extra stuff needed to survive in case of an emergency or such. These aliens surely know what they’re doing when it comes to this kind of thing. Space, beautiful but extremely dangerous.

Through the lowly trickle of people, you stayed off to the side, out of their way, and head bowed to follow the map. Thankfully, no one gave you trouble, either warded off by We’ar-ow’s scent on you or the sight at of her mark scaring your skin. Whatever it was, worked. They stayed away as you went on your marry way down this hall and onto the next.

The hairs at the base of your neck rose sharply. Every instinct that controlled your body reverted to a prey mindset as you paused mid-step. Only a few feet into this new hallway. The sounds of your heartbeat thundered in your ears as the only thing you could do was freeze. Freeze like a deer in headlights, watching their doom approach them.

Unlike that, you didn’t know what was following you. Who or what was watching you so closely, so deadly. It caused your skin to crawl and prickle.

Every instinct screamed at you to move or even press the button. To know that there was hope that someone on this alien ship was willing to protect you. Even if it was someone you would happily slash her throat and promptly run for your life.

Your bottom lip found its way to be worried on between dull teeth. Then, your hovering foot came down to complete a hesitant step. Despite your ancient instincts trying to drive you away from this place, you ignored it and kept going. If you turned tail to run away from whoever this was, you could only be seen more of the coward the Yautjas saw your kind as. You pushed through and continued this pathing down the infinite hallway.

All you wanted to do was map out the area for an escape.

From the weight of the unknown stare, you knew it wasn’t We’ar-ow. There couldn’t be a possible way for her to reach this level moments after you and get to that hall before you. Plus, that heat… Your skin crawled, knowing whoever it was wanted you dead.

Dwainet came to mind but it’s not only him that felt threatened by your presence. Other Yautjas have shown and expressed their dislike for you since you’ve arrived so long ago. You don’t think Dwainet would show himself near you after the beat down with We’ar-ow either. Not when she played with him like a skilled warrior and a child sparring. It was all a game to her.

Off to the side, you stopped to study the map a little more closely. A few shoot offs of other halls connected to this main hallway. A few shops lined this side, vendors selling various things from weapons to jewelry of sorts.

As the human you were, curiosity gripped your heart and tugged on it. Timidly in the near empty hall, you approached the lonely vendor that had a few weapons and armor in his section. Despite wishing he wouldn’t take notice of your form, his eyes darted as you grew closer. You cursed mentally and turned to leave. Death wasn’t on your list of plans today.

The male Yautja chirped, the translator staying silent behind your ear. With his head, he motioned for you to come back towards him. Instead, you stayed put, unsure if fleeing was an option, if he would give chase to hunt you down.

“Come hereth. I see the interest in your alien eyes, ooman,” he commanded, voice high, airy. Well shit. You held the tablet to your chest while your eyes scanned the objects set up on the tables. “You’re the Monarch’s pet, aren’t you?” Your knuckles turned a shade of white but you nodded.

This new Yautja placed a hand on the table and leaned over the weapons. The inside of your cheek started to bleed from how hard you were biting it to distract yourself, some. His warm breath fanned over your face, spilt tongue darting out to taste the air. “Pick something,” he stated and stood straight once more.

It took some willpower not to let shock morph over your features. Was this a trick of sorts to lie and say you stole something? No one would believe you, a pet, would have currency to buy things. You turned your head to look at him from the corner of your eye with suspicion.

He chuckled and put his hands on his hips, thumbs slipping into the waistband of his pants. “Ah, you are smarter than the average ooman. I give credit where it is due.” His alien smirk fell though as he peered straight at you. “Seriously though, pick something. Anything of the sort.”

His words are what caught your attention and the way he spoke carefully. This Yautja was offering for you to pick something but hadn’t said you could have it. Play this smart, don’t cause trouble.

On the table between the two of you, your eyes swiftly darted from item to item before landing on a small dagger. The smallest of them all and closest to fit more comfortably in your own hand.

Carefully, you pointed out the dagger. “That one.” You didn’t touch it or anything on the table, not playing into his hands. You hoped.

A grin spread across his face, upper mandibles both flaring. An action you could almost was a challenge or threat of sorts. Yet, you stayed where you stood without moving, a white-knuckle grip still held onto the tablet in your hands.

He once more rested a palm against the table and leaned in closer then before. “Ahhh, you are harder to trick than the average ooman. Glad to see it.” Then, strangely enough, he held out his hand towards you, a human gesture. “I am called Wourk. You may take the weapon as a prize. I give you the blade, free of charge.”

Once more, you looked at the newly named Wourk closely. His hand still hovered in the air, you decided to play it safe and not take it. “Why?” you questioned in all honesty. It would a loss to him. Why give up product for nothing in return? You did not trust this Yautja, not one bit.

Wourk snorted and leaned away from you. “Some secrets are meant to stay hidden. Take the blade. It is yours to weld,” he answered. You narrowed your eyes on him once more before finally forcefully uncurling one of your hands. Your knuckles painfully ached at how hard you had been squeezing the tablet, creaking from the movement.

Your eyes darted between your limb and himself, to ensure he wasn’t going to double cross you. The lukewarm metal touched against your fingertips. Wourk hadn’t moved and just watched with amusement.

Swiftly, you snatched back your hand with the dagger. Now further from him, you respectfully bowed your head. “Thank you,” you said politely before inspecting the craftmanship of it. With the limited knowledge, the metal reflected light off of it. “It’s beautiful.” The Yautja hummed, an upper mandible jerking upwards.

This entire time, he was just entertaining himself during the slow periods. You gazed back up at him with just a hint of a smile. Oh, you poor ooman.

“Run along, ooman.” Wourk leaned back on another tablet behind him and used a hand in a shooing motion. Your face turned sour but you did stalk away without giving him another word. Despite rarely being around other Yautjas besides Dwainet and now We’ar-ow, there was no kindness in their biology. Just straight to the point.

When you reentered the barely filled hallway, a shiver ran its course through your body. Goosebumps raised the hairs along your arms. Watchful, observant eyes pinned you down where you stood. You did your best to shake it off and slip the blade into your pocket, hoping it wouldn’t cut the fabric or yourself somehow.

With the tablet once more leading you through the halls, you meander your way. Just a helpless ooman, figuring their way on a ship alien to you.

A ooman that’s so weak, pathetic, just one flex of his muscles could snap their fragile neck. A ooman he stalked, watched, carefully in the halls of the mothership. The ooman could not sense him in any way, that he knew of. He was safe, using his cloak to keep from their sight. One day, he’ll extinguish the damned creature’s heart. Like the way it deserved to be as the weak link.

His prowess aided him as he stalked after it. Every step calculated to ensure there wasn’t a chance he could be seen. He watched as a vendor gave you a small, useless blade and sent you on your way. If he were to attack, like that could do anything damaging to him. No, he’ll have your head pulled from your body before the thought to use it could cross your mind.

There was nothing and no one that could stop him. A Yautja on the hunt with his prey before him… only he had to play this smart. He couldn’t have the murder coming back to him. The Monarch would deprive him of life he guessed from the way she defended it. A game this Yautja was willing to play. The hunt, always, always fun.

Taking turns to more populated areas of the ship, you fast-walked without drawing attention to yourself away from here. Anywhere safer than those eyes. The eyes that had yet to leave no matter what you did. No matter what turn, where you headed, they stalked your every move.

In all honestly, you had hit every section on this level just to escape. But it followed. Your heart pounded violently in your ears at each twist and turn. Without realizing it, you had begun running and now heading towards the elevator. The area wasn’t heavily populated, probably desolate at this point but you needed to get to the safety of We’ar-ow’s room. At least, hopefully, no one could reach you there. That you knew off, possibly.

Your hand slammed against the number pad to open the door in frantic feeling. Whatever was chasing kept pace, easily and calmly. The device screeched at the incorrect code, snapping you for a moment out of your thoughts. The code was shakily inputted. After the three time, it finally took it and opened up.

All it took was three seconds to react, get in, and smash a fist against the button to close. Your back was to the furthest wall as you waited for the doors to seal shut. The only thing you could do was watch and pray it doesn’t get in here before they shut.

Either it was toying with you or wasn’t as quick as you believed it to be, the doors were able to close fully. The tightness in your chest fell away as you took a shaky step forward and pressed the needed button to We’ar-ow’s room.

With the eyes off of you, relief briefly flooded your system and allowed a moment to think and truly breathe. Air filled your lung completely for the first time within the hour. You settled against the wall next to the buttons for a moment. Long enough for the elevator to stop on the desired floor and open up to reveal the short, blank walkway to her door.

Hesitancy kept you stuck in the elevator as you just stared at the door. From one monster to another…

Something small, minute, in the belly of your stomach didn’t sit well with that thought. We’ar-ow hasn’t been outright cruel or abusive… besides the branding marring your skin. Everything else, it was all gifts or kind gestures. The tablet, the cushion, the clothing. Yeah, everything someone would do for their pet, but she hasn’t been cruel to you.

The doors in front of you started to close. In a panic, you rushed forward and slipped through before they shut. So close to the entrance of the lion’s den. You swallowed thickly, unsure how much more stress in one day you could handle.

Behind you, the elevator made a thud noise, terrifying you out of your mind. In an instant, you sprinted forward, abandoning the tablet on the ground. Your shoulder roughly met the door as you tried to run it over but it held steady. Frantic and terrified, you banged on the door, voice caught in your throat.

You fell forward but caught yourself barely for a massive hand to push you further into the room. Everything was a blur until your mind could finally catch up to see the scene before you.

We’ar-ow, in all of her mighty, snarling glory, stood defensively before you. Her long, lethal claws glinting in her quarter’s light as her fingers flexed, ready to tear into flesh and bone. A threatening, dangerous snarl ripped through her throat, daring, challenging anyone to take step forward. Nothing, no one did.

Her door closed, sealing the two of you safely in her place. From the overwhelming, mind breaking terror running through your veins, you fell to your knees and wrapped your arms around yourself. That didn’t help an ounce to calm yourself down.

Your breaths were ragged, tearing at your throat. Hot tears poured down your face as you stayed kneeled on the ground and stared blankly. In your mind, you were far too caught in the whirlwind to notice anything in the real world. Had you just escaped death from whatever stalked you? A broken whine came from your dry throat.

Something warm, rough engulfed your jaw and forced your head to tilt up. A few second passed. Your eyes finally focused on We’ar-ow kneeling down, completely on her knees and checking over you. Clicks sounded from her mandibles and throat but the buzzing in your head drowned out the translator. You had no clue what was being spoken, nor did you care. The droning noise consumed everything. Nothing made sense right now.

One second you were on the floor. The next, you were being carried swiftly somewhere. We’ar-ow set you down on a cool ledge in what looked to be the bathroom. All you did was make the smallest noise of confusion while staring blankly at the light floors of the bathroom.

Freezing water splashed against your face, tearing you from your thoughts. You gasped harshly and squirmed to get off of the counter, but strong, sturdy arms held you in place. They were pinned on either side of you and kept you trapped.

“Look at me.”

Harsh words were snapped with trickles of what could believed as worry. Your head jerked up, eyes darting to find orange blazing orbs staring into your soul. There was something about that just almost soothed your soul instantly. Instead, you just stopped moving.

“Good, good pet,” she cooed and raised a hand to pet the top your head only to grab the strands. Her hand pulled slightly back to expose the column of your throat to her. “What happened?” Her voice was still softer, even gentler than before as she questioned you.

At the moment, all you could do was give a pathetic, broken cry that barely passed the lump in your throat. We’ar-ow leaned in closer to rest her close mandibles against where your neck and shoulder meet. At first, you tensed up and relaxed, her hand the only thing keeping you sitting up. “Who hurt you?” she tried again, staying soft and inviting. “Tell me who hurt you, my pet.”

A purr began to rumble deep in her chest. It was a sound you hadn’t heard before from the pink Yautja. Dwainet… he’s done it before, so many times before for you. This was different, somehow, someway.

You cleared your throat the best to get rid of the majority of the lump to speak. “I-I-“ your voice cracked, dry from all the running. “Don’t kn-ow.” We’ar-ow continued her purring as she pulled back enough to fill a hand with water. She brought it up to your lips. Too desperate to wash away the scratches in your throat, you gulped it down. The Yautja did this two more times for you.

“What happened?” Now, We’ar-ow was look straight into your eyes, no longer purring. Nervous from the eye contact, your gaze darts around the bathroom. She wasn’t going to let that go. Instead, she grasped your chin once more and forced you to look at me. In her eyes, she wanted to know the truth of how you ended up as a terrified, trembling mess at her door.

Both of your hands played mindlessly with the helm of the shirt she gave you. Then, you explained from the moment you stepped out into the hall and all the way back to her room. The entire time, she didn’t let her or your eyes leave as much as that made you anxious.

Once the last word left your lips, We’ar-ow stood in silence. The cog wheels in her head spun.

Out of nowhere, We’ar-ow scooped you from the counter and held you bridal style. The strength of her body easily taking you from the bathroom to… her bed? The low, half above ground mattress of sorts was neatly put together with furs and blankets. Four pillows lined the head of the bed. The Yautja knelt down to pull at the covers before slipping you underneath them.

The terror and complete puzzlement that controlled your body at that moment held you in place. What was she doing?! We’ar-ow pulled the covers over you, up to your chest and stood back up. “Stay. I will investigate,” she said before turning to take her leave.

Deep down, from the pits of your mind, you wanted nothing more to reach out and stop her. The words ‘wait’ on your tongue. But she was out the door before you could gather the courage to do so.

Her bedroom door closed and made a clicking noise. A lock? But… why? Why did she not take you to your room? Why her room? You gulped and ran a hand through the strands of your messed up hair. All of that running and freaking out did nothing for your hair.

A shaky breath filled the air as you look over the room. Back on her wall of trophies, those human skulls stared at you with their empty eye sockets. One day, will she turn you into that?

#yautja #predator #yautja x reader #yautja x you #alien vs predator #predator x reader #yautja x human #predator x you #predator x human #x reader #We'ar-ow

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alienpossession · 7 months

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When we arrived to Earth for refuge, we have to enter through this port of entry reserved only for the extraterrestrial and unknown to most human populace. The agents that guarded the port told us to get ourself comfortable while they are processing our document. They then suggested that rather than sticking through life on Earth in the fringe of the society and constantly in hiding, why not spend some extra to blend in well to the general population. We didn't really catch what he meant back at that time, but he carefully explained about their latest innovation, human skinsuit. How adaptive the material, how easy to get in and out of it, how realistic it is as one of them turned out to be an alien wearing a skinsuit, and that's when we were sold. We do can get invisible and probably can survive just hiding in plain sight, but the thought of immersing to the local culture and have another sense of community once more felt too tempting to resist.

We looked over some fine selection, before we decided to remain close to each other as the agents revealed to us about how some of the skinsuit came in groups

It was 2 years ago. And I know for a fact, no one bat an eye or even questioned our humanity. People did raise questions about how good we became just from one summer, but we kept our lip tight and just behaved like a bunch of sport-obsessed jocks that we are, that we get better because we trained harder and changed our perspective in sport. Not because 9 ft tall aliens slid into our hollowed out skin and ran amok through the competition for 2 consecutive season

Mask picture credit to: @male-masking-fantasy

#alien possession #male possession #male body suit #identity theft

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olderthannetfic · 3 months

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Honestly the state of white authorship in the US is that I'm real fucking tired of always knowing the exact same type of white female main character is gonna be leading.

The least offensive features, all told in very sanitized and polite way.

"Hi my name is Kimberly Johson, I'm white, tall, with long brown hair, and brown eyes." It's just a very boring description, but it feels like most characters are introduced so boringly and plainly. Probably because it sells. Of course she's also moderately attractive, but not too much so the reader doesn't feel intimidated, but also not too ugly because who wants an actually ugly main female lead?

What's more is that the character often feels without any background identity. There's no real focus on a culture, or a heritage, it's all just this suburban lack of identity beyond what's cleanly presented.

Even in fantasy worlds or sci-fi, there's just no real culture, it's all very clean and basic. Fantasy/Sci-fi world 101 locked and loaded. And it's not even Generic European fantasy 101 either, it's like castles, and all the fantasy races, but you won't see a lick of actual European culture to color the world. It's a very surface level understanding of fantasy.

Where's a distinct culture between the fantasy races? Where's a distinct culture between sci-fi aliens? It's not there, the only difference is the label and how they look. But if you pick up a random book, could you tell what the main characters culture is? What the world is? Or is it just all copy pasted, with some current trends, and that's it? It's just so empty.

The whiteness of the character doesn't matter either. You could replace her with anyone else, and it would fit because many authors just don't go beyond default-skin playable character.

Maybe that's why there's so much. White characters are empty canvases, if it was never mentioned, you often wouldn't even know the character is white, because there's no culture and story telling to prop it up. Meanwhile you take a fantasy latino story, and you will know it's a story based on Latino culture. A black writer will write in black culture, even if it's only some of the barest hints of it weaved in.

And I'm not trying to default-whiteness, meaning that whiteness is so normalized that we don't even see it. I mean it plainly that even typically white US things are basically non-existent and anything hinting at more depth is incredibly hidden and inoffensive and plain, to the point it stops mattering again. It's like white authors writing white characters for bigger trends decided to completely erase anything deeper because keeping everything as barebones and still fantastical is what sells, instead of real individuality and culture.

Dude... Read better books.

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alphawolfstabs · 6 months

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[Everyone Blame Cleav3rrr for this idea guys. It’s totally his fault-]

Imagine Doug Van Housen meeting Billy Loomis..

This will be something like- Billy being in the Animal Room timeline suddenly, and he’s meeting Doug and it’s hhhh

Anyways

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Title: The Vexation

Word count: 2648 Rating: Mature? CW: knives, blood, fighting

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Billy's awakening was accompanied by a relentless pounding in his head, one of the most excruciating pains he had ever experienced. The throbbing beat against his skull, rendering even the slightest movement a daunting task.

His entire body seemed to be in agony, and the awareness of this discomfort hit him almost immediately. Everything hurt, and the pain in his head took center stage, amplifying his irritation. Slowly, he rolled over onto his side, his eyes barely opening. Something felt amiss. Something was undeniably wrong.

With a sudden jolt, he sat up, a hand instinctively clutching his head as a surge of pain swept through him. The room he found himself in was alien, a stark contrast to the familiarity of his own space. Taking in his surroundings, he noted every detail that distinguished this room from his own. It was different—disconcertingly so.

As he rose from the bed, a distinct thud resonated on the floor. Glancing down, he discovered his knife, the trusty switchblade that Stu had gifted him. Stu. The mere thought of his friend intensified the disorientation. Where was Stu? Did he exist in this unfamiliar realm?

Picking up the knife, Billy set it on what appeared to be his dresser, contemplating the mysterious circumstances of his surroundings and the conspicuous absence of Stu. The room held a strange atmosphere, and Billy couldn't shake the feeling that something profound had shifted.

Billy felt a wave of nausea threatening to overcome him as he sluggishly moved around the unfamiliar room. He needed to find some sense of normalcy, something grounding. Spotting a plain t-shirt and jeans, he hastily threw them on, trying to shake off the unsettling feeling that lingered in his gut. Where the hell was he?

Once dressed, he instinctively pocketed his trusty knife in the front pocket, a small yet familiar comfort in this disorienting situation. Memories leading up to this point were a blur, leaving him with a disconcerting sense of amnesia. All he knew for certain was that this place was a far cry from his usual surroundings.

Descending the stairs, he noted the eerie emptiness of the house. A heavy quietness hung in the air, casting a somber mood. His eyes fell on a note resting on the kitchen counter, and he carefully picked it up. The message, 'don't forget to go to the animal room today,' stared back at him, devoid of any signature. A vague recognition flickered in his mind, suggesting that the handwriting resembled his father's. Yet, the idea of his parents being present in this strange place seemed implausible.

His thoughts raced, and the nagging question kept piercing through the confusion: Where the fuck was Stu?

Frustration boiled within him, and he crumpled the note before tossing it aside. What the hell was happening? The uncertainty gnawed at him, leaving him with more questions than answers.

A curse escaped Billy's lips as he stepped outside, a strange compulsion tugging at his stomach, urging him forward. It felt like an instinct, a force guiding him through the unfamiliar surroundings. Succumbing to this unseen pull, he followed it, his senses heightened by an odd sense of purpose.

Upon arriving at the school, two distinct observations struck him. First, this place was vastly different from Woodsboro. The architecture, the atmosphere—all of it bore no resemblance to the familiar surroundings he knew. The second observation concerned a tall figure surrounded by several guys and one other individual.

Dressed in dark clothes with equally dark hair, the tall figure's face caught Billy's attention. It was an uncanny resemblance to Stu, yet something was amiss. This person exuded a deranged aura, a darkness that Billy couldn't associate with the Stu he knew. The observation unsettled him, but rather than approaching closer, Billy chose to keep a distance, at least for the time being. There was an air of caution, a hesitation to delve into the unknown.

Billy surveyed the unfamiliar surroundings before deciding to enter the building. Although he couldn't recall ever being here, an inexplicable knowledge guided him, directing his steps. A subtle internal voice suggested that he didn't have to be here yet, but an insatiable curiosity compelled him forward. He wanted to see, to understand, and to meticulously note every detail.

Navigating through the hallways, he encountered an anarchy symbol on the wall, triggering a vague sense of déjà vu. It was as if he belonged here, and that feeling only intensified when he noticed a guy dozing off in a chair. Rolling his eyes, Billy descended into what seemed to be a basement, a place that, on the surface, appeared to be a hellhole designed to isolate certain individuals.

To his surprise, the atmosphere down there exuded an eerie sense of normalcy. It was a paradoxical thought—how could a place that seemed like a hellhole feel so commonplace?

As he explored further, another striking realization dawned on him: Stu didn't exist in this strange realm. Instead, the mysterious guy from earlier was present. Intrigued, Billy felt an urge to learn more about him, to unravel the enigma surrounding this unfamiliar counterpart. It was a necessity, a gut feeling urging him to comprehend the dynamics of this peculiar place.

Billy's fingers traced over the surface of one of the desks, and he decided to claim a seat. His legs stretched out, ankles crossing, and a semblance of relaxation settled over him. Several minutes passed, and more people filtered into the room, none of them paying any attention to him. That sense of anonymity pleased him.

He observed the dark-haired figure, one of his companions addressing him as 'Van Housen' while another simply called him Doug. Doug Van Housen. The absurdity of the name almost tempted Billy to snort, but he restrained himself, biting his tongue.

The room buzzed with the flickering light of a TV as someone switched it on, broadcasting something that failed to pique Billy's interest. Instead, his focus honed in on Housen, and he meticulously noted every detail—the shoes chosen for added height, the clothing, and the palpable irritation emanating from him.

Though Housen appeared to radiate a dangerous aura, Billy's instincts were driven by a desire to prod, poke, and unravel the enigma before him. He wanted to see what made Housen tick, to uncover the reasons behind his seemingly menacing presence. It wasn't about fear; it was about understanding, peeling back the layers to reveal the truth about this mysterious figure who bore an uncanny resemblance to his boy- his.. friend.

Billy contemplated the idea that he could easily kick the leg of Housen's chair to gain attention, but for the moment, it felt unnecessary. As conversations unfolded around him, Billy remained observant, catching shadows moving behind the door labeled as the exit. He recalled the guy asleep in the chair and speculated that there might be more of them, silently watching.

An uneasy feeling settled in Billy's stomach as the alarm bells rang in his head. The notion of being watched by unseen observers didn't sit well with him.

Amidst the ongoing chatter, Housen's voice carried irritation and impatience. Everyone continued talking, seemingly oblivious to the potential danger lurking behind the door. Billy's attention shifted back to the shadows moving again.

When he saw Housen's hands inch toward the desk, Billy was quick as he stood and reached over and grabbed his shoulder, his voice low and meant for Housen alone. "Not yet. They're waiting, just for you. Wouldn't want them to actually have a reason to mess with you today, would you?" A sly smile played on Billy's lips as he touched a mark on Housen's jaw. "Especially not after this."

Tension gripped Housen under Billy's grip, but as he met Billy's gaze, a fiery determination burned behind his eyes. Billy reveled in the intensity, wanting to stoke that flame.

"What?" Housen retorted in a hushed tone.

Billy motioned toward the door. "The shadows under the door. They move whenever you speak even remotely too loud. They're waiting for you to do something."

Housen blinked, swatting away Billy's hand, but the fire in his eyes seemed to dwindle. He glanced at Billy, then at the guy beside him, commanding, "Beat it." The way he spoke had an immediate and powerful effect, causing everyone to stop. It made Billy twitch, craving more. Housen patted the chair after the guy left, and Billy sat down, anticipating the unfolding dynamics of this peculiar place.

Billy wasn't in the business of making friends, especially not with someone who wasn't Stu. Nevertheless, this guy intrigued him in a peculiar way.

Housen directed a question at him, his tone probing. "What are you here for?"

Billy casually lolled his head to the side, feigning disinterest as his gaze rested on the TV. "Secrets, secrets," he replied nonchalantly.

Housen emitted a noise of acknowledgment, turning his attention back to the TV. The room resumed its chatter, eyes off the two of them. "Why does everyone look at you like you're a threat?" Billy inquired, seeking answers.

Housen shot him a scowl this time. "What was it you said just now? Secrets, secrets?"

Housen sighed after that, seemingly only a willing to share. "Most people don't live; they exist. Yet, I've shown people what living is."

Billy snorted at the analogy. "What a dumb fucking analogy."

A sizzle of irritation began to form in Housen's gaze. "What?"

Billy grinned mischievously. "'Oh, people exist, they don't live!' Come on, man. Be more creative than that." The exchange was laced with a peculiar blend of tension and amusement, as Billy continued to toy with the mysterious Doug Van Housen.

Housen blinked at Billy, a subtle acknowledgment of the inevitable irritation that lay ahead. "Well, you're obviously going to get on my nerves."

Billy rolled his eyes. "Could say the same about you. What's with the fucking clothes, by the way?"

Housen looked at him again. "Style," he answered, the word delivered with an air of simplicity. The response tempted Billy to snort, but he managed to restrain himself this time.

Billy sensed that he wouldn't particularly like this character, yet there was an undeniable allure in the challenge of trying to unravel him. It promised a momentary diversion, a puzzle to solve in the peculiar environment they found themselves in. The dynamic between Billy and Housen, though laced with tension, held the promise of an intriguing dance of personalities.

As a day or so passed, Billy continued to navigate the intricate undercurrents of the peculiar environment surrounding him. One noteworthy observation concerned Housen's peculiar fixation on a particular individual—someone named 'Arnie Mosk.' Arnie seemed like an ordinary kid, grappling with everyday issues, perhaps even a drug problem. However, for reasons unknown, Housen harbored a distinct issue with him.

One day, Billy happened to be passing by the bathroom just as Housen and his entourage emerged, a few of them sharing hearty laughs as if they'd just witnessed something uproariously funny. What caught Billy's attention, though, was the unsettling look in Housen's eyes as they briefly scanned over his face. The glance was devoid of anything good.

Deciding to investigate further, Billy entered the bathroom and found Arnie on the floor, his face soaked with vomit. Sighing, Billy approached, offering assistance. He urged Arnie to report Housen's actions. When Arnie questioned him, Billy skillfully shut down the inquiry with an easygoing demeanor.

Now, the time had come for Billy to address Housen and the unsettling dynamic he seemed to harbor.

Billy positioned himself in the hallway, strategically near a classroom not currently in session. Hidden from view unless one approached closely, he readied himself for what he intended to do.

Taking out his switchblade, he deftly opened it, using the blade to clean dirt from under his nails. The minutes ticked by, and then the unmistakable sound of boots approached—Housen's boots. Billy heard the slam of a body against a locker, confirming that Arnie was the unfortunate target.

Billy shifted his grip on the knife handle and stepped out from his concealed position, moving carefully to avoid triggering Housen's awareness. Uninterested in the exchange of words, he acted swiftly, lunging forward. A firm hand clamped around Housen's head, covering his mouth, while the other pressed threateningly against his neck.

"Don't try anything. I'll make sure you bleed out right now," Billy hissed, low and menacing. He then directed a gaze toward Arnie. "Go, and don't say anything." Arnie blinked for a moment before swiftly making his exit.

Billy emitted a primal noise before issuing a directive. "Let's chat in a more private area." A forceful kick to Housen's foot set him in motion, and Billy guided him toward the bathroom, preparing for the private confrontation that lay ahead.

In the confined space of the bathroom, Billy wasted no time asserting dominance. He forcefully shoved Housen, relishing the satisfying thud as his face collided with the stall. A smirk played on Billy's lips as he scratched his head with the butt of the knife.

"You know," he began, the mockery evident in his tone, "I knew you were insane. What I didn't know was that you seem to move without reason."

Housen touched his nose, inspecting the blood on his fingers before locking eyes with Billy. "You have no idea what you've gotten yourself into."

Billy tilted his head, his smile widening. "You sure?"

Housen took a deep breath and advanced toward Billy. However, Billy, anticipating the move, sidestepped and expertly tripped Housen with a swift kick. He taunted, "Not very good without your little boys, are ya?"

Billy, well-aware of the dynamics within Housen's group, knew that his followers did most, if not all, of the heavy lifting. Housen was more of a barker than a biter.

As Housen lay on the floor, Billy applied pressure with his boot on Housen's back. Bending down, he grabbed a handful of Housen's black hair and pulled, prompting a pained noise. The knife tapped mockingly against Housen's exposed neck.

"Are you living now, Doug Van Housen?" Billy asked, reveling in the role reversal.

Housen emitted a noise akin to a growl. "If you want my blood, then take it, it's yours," he gritted out. His words hung in the air, causing a momentary pause for Billy. It felt like a challenge, an invitation, but also a statement that echoed eerily in his mind. His?

Growling in response, Billy couldn't resist the temptation. He cut a long line into Housen's arm, feeling a surge of aggression. "Don't fucking say that."

"Why not?" Housen breathed out. "Doesn't it make it fun for you?"

"Not at all," Billy retorted, releasing Housen's hair and pushing him to the floor. The desire to inflict further harm waned, replaced by a strange feeling that he couldn't quite define.

As Housen touched his face, he posed a curious question. "How pissed would you get if I said you were like me?"

Billy rolled his eyes. "You'd be a liar if you said that."

"Wouldn't I?" Housen smiled, and the next sequence of events blurred for Billy. Suddenly, Housen was on him, and the knife slid away from both of them.

"You curse someone in your life. As do I. My question is, who is it you curse?" Housen looked down at Billy, and a memory stirred in his mind, prompting a laugh.

"You did not just fucking ask me that. What? Did you read the story of Job and how he never curses God?"

Housen grinned. "You're knowledgeable."

Billy shook his head. "That was an easy fucking guess. What about you? Who do you curse? Mommy or Daddy? Or! Better yet, is it-"

Before Billy could finish his sentence, Housen cut him off with a hard punch to the nose. He felt the warmth of his own blood, and a twisted smile spread across his face, relishing in the sensation.

The room seemed to spin, and Housen's words became distant echoes as Billy's head lolled to the side. His eyes scanned the floor, fixating on the glint of his knife. The instinct to retrieve it surged within him.

In a hazy, almost detached state, he focused on the weapon, his mind tuning out the words that continued to spill from Housen's mouth. The need to reclaim the knife became an urgent, singular thought, overshadowing everything else in the room.

-End for Now!-

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lastbluetardis · 2 months

Text

Sacred New Beginnings (21/?)

Summary: James Noble thought he traded away his chance at love and a happy-ever-after when he signed a contract with a record label that turned him into an international celebrity. But a chance meeting in a dive bar may prove him wrong.

Ten x Rose AU

This Chapter: Teen, ~5600 words

AO3 || Ch1 | Ch2 | Ch3 | Ch4 | Ch5 | Ch6 | Ch7 | Ch8 | Ch9 | Ch10 | Ch11 | Ch12 | Ch13 | Ch14 | Ch15 | Ch16 | Ch17 | Ch18 | Ch19 | Ch20 |

johnnylumic: The gig is up! James Noble’s new bedfellow is finally revealed! [read more]

margaretblaineofficial: Breaking! James Noble and Plain Jane romance is outed! [read more]

henryvanstatten: James Noble is back to female companionship! The cad can’t seem to make up his mind.

dianagoddardeditor: The offices of CelebriTruth would like to acknowledge James Noble has always been forthcoming regarding his sexual identity and we stand tall with the bisexual sector of the LGBTQA+ community.

iantojonesofficial: He’s pansexual you dolt

nerdynardole: He’s attracted to pans??

danthemanbartock: “Bisexual sector”?? We’re not a bloody stocks group lmao.

masterharrysaxon: ew he likes women? lame.

missyursofine: ur lame

realvictorkennedy: Sources claim that James Noble’s ex-girlfriend Reinette Poisson of the up and coming film The Fireplace (in theatres January 5) is “happy” if ex is happy. Further comment was declined.

annedroidunit: No news from James Noble himself on this blossoming new romance. Should we be taking this with a grain of salt? Is everyone overreacting? [read more]

courtneywoods: Omg that’s Miss Tyler! No way. How’d she manage to snag James Noble??

yvonnehartmanhost: This is Yvonne Hartman of London’s Hot Radio Hits. I’d love to chat more with you about Miss Tyler. She’s your schoolteacher? Could I private message you and have a chat?

courtneywoods: Whoa, really? What’s in it for me?

yvonnehartmanhost: We adequately compensate all our sources, don’t you worry dear. Message coming soon.

oOoOo

James can’t sleep. No matter how many sheep he counts, or how thoroughly he cocoons himself in his blankets, he remains frustratingly awake. Beside him, Rose is curled up on her side. With how still and quiet she’s been despite his rustling, James presumes she’s happily lost in her own dreamland.

At least one of us is.

It’s nearly two in the morning when he gives up on the idea of sleep and slips out from beneath the sheets. He pulls on a discarded pair of pants and a soft, faded t-shirt before padding out of the bedroom and towards… Well, nowhere. Where is he to go, exactly? On nights like this when he’s too wound up for rest, he usually blasts music through the house and either runs on his treadmill until he’s about to collapse, or he plays his guitar in the music or living room until he lulls himself into a semi-conscious state.

Neither option is available to him though. Not with Rose in his room upstairs and his mother—who had arrived in the early afternoon just in time to see what had to be his and Rose’s thousandth game of Mario Kart—in the guest room downstairs. He sighs and putters down the steps, his footsteps making only the barest whisper of a sound.

The door to where his mum sleeps is shut, and when he presses his ear to the wood, he hears the familiar droning of her white-noise machine. Ever since he was a small child, his mother needed some sort of sound to fall asleep to. She claims her ever-present tinnitus is too loud if there is nothing else for her ears to focus on.

Satisfied, James moves to the kitchen and flicks on the dim light above the stove. It bathes the room in a muted yellow glow that casts long, alien shadows across the floor and cabinets. He’d always had a touch of insomnia, and when he was a boy, he often woke up in the middle of the night, unable to fall back to sleep. When this happened, he would go to the kitchen and turn on the light above the stove to make all sorts of puppet-creatures, entertaining himself until his mother woke up and scolded him for being awake at such an early hour.

With a small, nostalgic smile, James extends his pointer and middle fingers of his right hand and bounces a shadow bunny across the floor as he makes his way to the fridge. Though he isn’t particularly hungry, he nevertheless pulls out an apple and spends the next ten minutes slowly nibbling on the fruit as he leans against the countertop.

What a mess they’re in. Photos of him and Rose are still going viral, and Donna has received dozens upon dozens of interview requests from a variety of magazines and newspapers. She has denied each and every one of them, even those from the more reputable journals that he normally likes to interview with, claiming that he and Rose would like to be left in peace for the time being until this all blows over.

“He’ll make a statement when he’s ready,” Donna had tweeted, but to no avail; his phone is still blowing up with all sorts of notifications. He has half a mind to deactivate all of his social media and chuck his phone in the Thames for good measure.

His record label called him earlier that afternoon to inform him that they are tightening security around the recording studio and stationing more agents and officers around him and his home. They once again implored him to find a place to live that was more easily securable, as they’d been doing for the past two years as he’d grown exponentially more famous.

Maybe he’s being stupid by being so stubborn, but this is his home, the first place he was able to buy with his own money that he’d made with his own skills and talents. After years of renting grubby little flats and having all of two pieces of furniture and five outfits to his name, he finally has somewhere that’s his. A place where every need is met, and more.

But was every need being met? Wasn't basic safety part of a home?

James groans and chucks his apple core into the bin with slightly more force than necessary and rinses the sticky juice from his hands. He then grabs a bottle of expensive whiskey his label gifted him for his birthday from his liquor cabinet and sulks his way upstairs. His skin is crawling with tension, with the need to do something, anything, to keep this dark cloud from completely engulfing him, from screaming at him that he’s worthless and troublesome and a danger to those he loves.

He ends up in his music room and shuts the door behind him. As long as he isn’t banging on piano keys or beating on his guitar strings as though he needs people from the next city over to hear him, it shouldn’t be that loud, should it?

James grabs his guitar and sinks into his couch. He uncaps the whiskey bottle and glugs down a few swallows. It burns on the way down, but then pleasant warmth blooms through his belly and up his chest. He takes another drink, then balances the open bottle precariously on the sofa cushion beside him.

With how he’s slouched, he can’t really hold his guitar properly, but he makes do as best he can and starts to pluck on the strings in no particular sort of melody. He’s just playing random notes, enjoying the reverberating twang that seems to echo in his very bones.

He remembers the first time he’d held a guitar. He was thirteen and had signed up for after-school music lessons because that was the only activity that had been free. His classmates all awkwardly and clumsily held their instruments as though they were venomous vipers, but not him. The moment he held the ratty old second-hand (or third- or fourth-hand) guitar, it had become an extension of his body. Maybe it was because he was already so gangly that it made it easier for him to hold the instrument or for his fingers to fly across the fretboard to make different notes, but he took to it like a fish to water.

He’d mastered the keys and chords nearly as fast as his teacher taught him, gulping it all down with relish. Hot Cross Buns had nothing on him, and his teacher matched him stride for stride. She gave him new music to practice, and told him that if he signed up for the school’s orchestra, he would be able to rent a guitar to take home. He’d begged his mother to let him do it, and bless her heart, she scavenged up enough money and had worked out a payment plan with the school to afford the required renter’s fees. (Apparently the school didn’t trust a bunch of stupid teenagers with hundreds of dollars’ worth of equipment… shocking.)

It wasn’t long after joining the orchestra that James asked to be taught the piano. His teacher was more than happy to oblige, and the rest was history.

He wishes his teacher could see him now. Miss Brown. Lovely Miss Brown. She’d passed years ago to complications with a health concern. James was in uni at the time. He hopes that if there is an afterlife, she can see what has become of him and know that it was all down to her that he’s made a name for himself.

James is an hour into the whiskey bottle and mindless strumming when a quiet knock sounds on the door. It opens a heartbeat later, and Rose pokes her head in. Her hair is mussed, there are pillow creases across her cheeks, and she’s got small bits of makeup clumped at the corners of her eyes. She’s the most adorable thing he’s ever seen.

But with that wave of affection comes a pang of guilt. He winces and says, “Sorry, did I wake you?”

Rose shakes her head and stays by the door, ringing her hands in front of herself. She’s wearing one of his t-shirts, which makes him smile. She looks great in his clothes, if he does say so himself.

“No, no I wasn’t really sleeping. Not much, anyways. I felt you get up, and you didn’t come back. I wanted to check on you. Are you all right?”

He shrugs. “Are either of us all right?”

A small, ironic smile quirks up her lips. “No, I suppose not. Right. I’ll just… leave you alone then.”

“No, you don’t have to go,” he blurts, because now that he knows she’s up too, he’s desperate for her company. “Please stay. Have a… have a drink with me.”

He stupidly holds up the whiskey bottle and sloshes it in her direction. “It’s vintage.”

She snorts. “I’ve no idea what that means.”

“Nor do I, but it sounded fancy.” He pats the seat next to him. “Come come.”

She does, and plops down beside him, her bare thigh brushing across his and sending his skin tingling. He takes a swig of whiskey before handing it to her. He slouches into her, taking care to rotate the guitar so the neck of it won’t impale her, and rests his head on her shoulder.

“What does m’lady wish to hear?” he asks, strumming a chord from a song he’d recorded last week.

“Anything. Everything,” she sighs, leaning her cheek onto his hair. They’re seated so intimately that a swell of safety overtakes him. Nothing can get to them in this room. The world can’t see them, can’t touch them. He yearns for that to be true.

“Have you ever played guitar?” he asks suddenly. “You fiddled with my piano a while ago, but what about guitar?”

“Once, ages ago in school. Required music class. Teacher spent two weeks teaching us guitar only for us to forget it once the unit was done.”

He laughs. “Sounds about right. Here.”

James takes the whiskey from her and leans forward to set it on the coffee table, then he passes the instrument to Rose. She looks awkward with it, and so he spends the next few minutes coaxing her arms and fingers into the proper positions. She’s still awkward, but much less so.

“You don’t need to strangle the poor thing,” he drawls, seeing how white the tips of her fingers are on the fret strings. “That’s a good way to get a blister in all of five minutes.”

Rose sticks her tongue out at him, but obliges and loosens her grip around the neck of the guitar.

“Good. Let’s learn a few chords, eh?”

Maybe it’s self-centered of him, but he teaches her a simplified version of five chords he used in one of the songs on his upcoming album. He makes sure the chords she needs to play will keep her pinkie and ring finger in one location so she only needs to keep track of two fingers. Beginners’ tutorial, and all that. He slowly helps her move her fingers along the fret to press down on the correct strings for each of the chords.

“Index and middle fingers on these two strings… then move them here… then there…”

Again and again, he works with her until she masters the chords. Rose catches on quickly, only needing slight promptings to readjust her fingers to the proper places.

“See, you’re practically a pro!” he crows when she successfully strums all five chords in succession, albeit quite slowly.

She rolls her eyes. “Come off it, this is nowhere near as complex as the music you make.”

“Not true,” he argues. “I wrote an entire song using these chords. Let me show you.”

Rose watches him curiously as he takes the instrument from her and angles himself in her direction so she has a clear view of the positionings of his fingers. He strums the notes slowly, echoing what she’d played mere seconds ago, and then steadily picks up the tempo and intensity, plucking away in a pattern that has become so familiar to him by now.

Dun, duh-duh dun, duh-duh dun, duh duh, duh-duh-duh-duh.

Down, up up down, up up down, up down, up-down-up-down.

Music fills the room, and he hums along to the lyrics he knows goes with this melody. The music is achingly gentle and soft to match the tone of the song, which is about the night he and Rose talked out their fight and agreed to start genuinely dating. The night he suspected he had fallen head-over-heels in love with her, and dared to hope she might love him, too.

He plays through the entire song, sans lyrics, too lost in the music to realize he’s gone beyond proving his point and is instead just boasting now. But Rose doesn’t seem to mind. She watches him, entranced, her eyes darting from his hands to his face. There’s an inscrutably beautiful expression on her face, awed and delighted and reverent all at once, which makes him feel like he’s created something secret and sacred that belongs to them alone.

When the song ends, she carefully leans over the guitar, cradles his cheeks in her hands, and kisses him. He sighs into her mouth, closing his eyes and letting her surround him. He sets his guitar to the side, wanting his arms to be full of her and not the wood of the instrument.

She notices his lap is empty, and takes it upon herself to fill the newly-vacated space. He groans at the heat of her around him. Her hands slip from his cheeks to tangle in his hair, scratching and tugging in the way he loves best. He’s melting, all of the black emotions from earlier having long since bled away to instead create room for this brilliant, swelling heat building between them.

There’s nowhere else he’d rather be but here, with her hands in his hair, her mouth on his, her body pressed to his. Chest to chest, heartbeat to heartbeat. He can feel every point of contact between, like sparks being set alight across his skin.

His dips his hands beneath her shirt—his shirt—to splay across the expanse of her back. Her skin is warm and smooth, so perfectly touchable, and he can’t help but map out the familiar territory as though it’s their first time again. Her lips and tongue tease and play with his, pulling shuddering groans from him as sensation surges through him. Her scent and her taste and her touch, that’s all he’s aware of. The world could be crumbling around them, and he would be none the wiser, nor would he care.

He holds her tightly, digging his fingertips into the skin overtop her spine as he silently pleads for more. There is an unbearable ache deep inside him, and he gasps when Rose aligns their hips to give him friction, kissing him more deeply. His lips are tingling and his body is throbbing with want, but he doesn’t want this moment to end. He wants this to build up forever, for the next second to feel even better than this current second.

She reaches down and fumbles with the hem of his shirt, tugging up, up, up until she’s able to fling it to the floor. He doesn’t get the chance to reciprocate, as she discards her own top just as quickly as his. She’s perfect, so perfect, and he can’t believe she’s his; his chest tightens, overwhelmed with the depth of this emotion he’s never truly felt before.

But then she puts his hands on her breasts and tenderness slips to the sidelines in favor of his building desire. He leans forward, away from her searching mouth to instead latch his lips onto the jut of her collarbone. She shivers in his lap and tightens her grip on his hair, a silent request for him to stay there for a little while. He obliges, kissing and nipping at her chest and neck until the skin has flared crimson. Not enough to leave any lingering evidence, but enough to mark her for the rest of the night.

When he moves away from her neck, Rose hauls his face towards hers to kiss him desperately, finesse long since gone but it still feels fucking amazing. He’s so hard now that he thinks he’s two seconds away from begging to be inside her, and yet he’s glad to stay like this, kissing her and being kissed by her.

“Want you,” she mumbles into his mouth, writhing down on the hard length of him and hissing at stimulation. “Please.”

As if she had to ask. He wraps an arm around her hips and slips his other hand down the front of her knickers. Wet heat radiates around his fingers as he carefully pushes them inside of her.

“Angle’s weird for more,” he murmurs into the side of her neck. “Fingers okay? Don’t wanna let go.”

“Fingers are fuckin’ great,” she rasps, rocking into his hand. “More. Faster.”

He smiles into her skin and picks up the pace. He anchors his arm around her waist, hugging her tightly as his other hand works between her legs, driving her higher and higher. She’s shaking against him, so close now, and he redoubles his efforts. He licks a line up her neck then kisses her right below her ear, where he knows she’s most sensitive, and grins when she softly cries out.

“James…”

He fucking loves when she says his name like this. Like there’s nothing else in her mind other than him.

“Let me see you,” he whispers.

He curls his fingers into her once, twice, three more times before she breaks. She arches, writhing herself into his hand as she trembles around him. She moans through clenched teeth, making every effort to be quiet as she rides out her high.

Expertly, he brings her down, slowing the motions of his fingers and not touching her where he knows she’s too sensitive. She lets out low groans of pleasure as she slumps into him, breathing erratically. She tucks her forehead into his neck.

A moment passes, then two, and he extricates his hand from her pants, surreptitiously wiping it on his own. He’s still achingly hard, but knows his turn will come soon. Right now, he’s happy to have his arms full of Rose.

She’s not, though. When he goes to rest his cheek in her hair, she straightens and gives him a searing, toe-curling kiss. All his patience is suddenly gone. He lets out the most undignified whine as he grabs her arse and grinds up into her. She grins into his mouth, and slowly, so fucking slowly, rubs herself up… and down… and up… until he thinks he’s going to combust right here on the couch.

“Rose,” he rasps. “I need… please… touch me…”

She keeps that infuriatingly steady pace, and part of him is annoyed, but a greater part of him is so fucking aroused and wants her to keep going as she is. She tilts his head back, using her slight height advantage from being in his lap to press him fully into the couch. He’s helpless to do anything but follow her lead, and trust her to take care of him.

“Close your eyes,” she whispers into his ear, blowing softly and sending a violent shudder through him.

He does, letting the blackness envelop him. His pulse is pounding so furiously through his body that he can see it beating behind his eyes. He rubs himself into her again, chasing that delicious friction, desperate for more.

Rose dances her fingers down his chest, scratching through the light dusting of hair on his pecs then down his belly. His muscles jump and quiver at her touch while he ruts up into her. He’s sure he could finish like this, and would be happy to, if not for wondering what Rose wanted to do to him.

Bless her, she doesn’t make him wait any longer. For a moment he’s confused as her weight shifts off his thighs, but then it settles on the cushion beside him. Her hands are at the waistband of his pants, and he wriggles to help her get them halfway down his arse, just enough to free him from the stuffy confines of the fabric.

And then she’s got her mouth on him.

James shudders out a groan and digs his nails into his palms to keep himself from thrusting up into her hot, wet mouth. He’s throbbing in time with his racing heart, and he can’t see anything through his shut eyes, but God he can feel everything. The tease of her tongue, the oh-so careful scrape of her teeth, the pressure as she sucks…

“Oh, fuck,” he croaks, his voice cracking around the word.

She covers his clenched fist, coaxing his fingers to relax, to open. He thinks she wants to hold his hand, but then she takes him by the wrist and moves his hand up until he brushes the silky locks of her hair. He opens his eyes for just a moment, and Christ the sight of her kneeling beside him, her mouth on his cock, her eyes closed in her own enjoyment… it nearly makes him come on the spot.

He holds on though, not really wanting this to end. Once he has his fingers tangled in her hair, he lets his eyes flutter shut again, happy to let his other senses surge into overdrive. He doesn’t guide her movements, knowing she doesn’t like it when men do that; instead, he relishes being able to touch her like this while she gives him the best goddamned blowjob of his goddamned life.

She gets one of her hands into the fray, playing with the base of his cock where her mouth can’t quite reach, then lower to his balls. She rolls them and squeezes them, whiting out his vision and stealing his breath. The pressure in his cock mounts, throbbing and aching in warning.

“Rose,” he gasps. “I’m gonna come.”

“‘Kay,” she mumbles around him, sucking him even harder, and Jesus fucking Christ he’s done.

Heat and electricity sizzles down his spine as he releases into her mouth, moaning and cursing and hissing wordless sounds. Rose strokes him through it, seemingly able to time her upstrokes with each pulse of his cock, heightening this pleasure into something otherworldly. It’s a good thing he’s sitting, because he can’t quite feel his legs and he thinks his knees have been replaced with jelly as he trembles and shudders through his orgasm.

When he’s done, he comes to to the sensation of Rose kissing his shoulder, her arms wrapped loosely around his hips while one of her hands idly strokes his softening cock. He shivers, sated and sleepy and so, so satisfied.

Rose tilts her head up to give him a pleased smile. “Good?”

He doesn’t deign to reply to that, and instead kisses the grin right off her face.

oOoOo

James can’t concentrate, can’t focus as he watches the clock. He and his driver dropped Rose off at her school an hour ago, where police had to set up a barricade to keep reporters away from the building. Rose’s cheeks were scarlet as she saw all of the attention around her place of employment.

“Why do they care this much about me?” she’d murmured, covering her face with her hands.

“Because they care that much about me, and I care about you,” he replied grimly, thunking his head into the back of his seat. “I’m so sorry. This is madness.”

They’d had to slowly inch through the school traffic, showing identification multiple times before Idris made it to the front of the school. Several other teachers were making their way into the building, looking both frustrated and curious about all the ruckus.

“Good luck,” he whispered, not knowing what else to say as Rose braced herself to slip out of the car. “Idris can pick you up again after work. I… I don’t think you should go home yet. You can stay with me again. If you want.”

Rose nodded silently, then drew in a deep breath. Before she opened her car door, she leaned over and kissed him. When they pulled apart, she gave him a heartbreakingly feeble smile and said, “Have a good day, dear.”

He forced his own smile for her sake, but his stomach was in knots. She had a meeting with her superiors that morning, likely demanding to know what the hell was going on. He offered to be there with her, but conceded that she was right in saying he would probably just make it worse.

That’s how he finds himself in the recording studio, sipping at a strong coffee that he doesn’t really taste and watching the clock tick aimlessly by. He asked her to let him know how her meeting went, and surely by now it should be over. It’s almost eight in the morning; the meeting can’t still be going on, can it?

But there’s no word from Rose for another hour. By now, he’s going mental, convinced she came to her senses and realized she needs to break up with him. This theory eventually evolves into some mad lunatic having broken into her school and murdered her like in one of those American crime dramas. He’d sent her a little “Hope you’re okay 💜” text a half hour ago, but the lack of response only cements these insane thoughts into his head.

Finally, at quarter-past nine, his phone lights up with a call from Rose. He answers it immediately.

“Are you okay? What happened?”

There’s nothing but a small sniffle on the other end of the line, and his stomach drops.

“Rose?” he asks, forcing his voice to remain gentle. “What happened?”

Sniffle. “M’on leave. ‘Til after the holidays. Security concern with me bein’ here right now. Can… can someone come get me? I don’t know where to go.”

“We’re on our way,” he promises, taking his phone away from his ear for a few seconds to fire off a text to his driver. “We’ll come pick you up. Are you at the school?”

“Yeah. I started for the bus stop. Wasn’t thinkin’. More photographers saw me. I ran back inside. Everyone’s lookin’ at me like… like I’m an alien.”

“Oh, Rose,” he whispers, his stomach aching for her. Idris pops her head into the office, and he mimes driving as he rushes toward her. “We’ll be there soon, all right? Stay inside. We’ll be there soon.”

He ends the call, and together, he and Idris make for the car.

“Rose?” she asks. “The school?”

“Yeah. Thanks.”

Bless her, Idris doesn’t ask for more details. He’s always liked that about her: she’s willing to listen to him whenever he wants to talk, but will never force him to speak when he’d prefer to stay silent. He’s had other drivers who make small talk, or ask him about whatever latest story about him went viral, but not her. He prays she never decides to quit her job.

Traffic is manageable and they make good time to the school. There are still officers posted around the school, but not quite as many. He can see reporters and photographers lingering at the café across the street, and he finds himself itching to throw hot coffee on all of them.

He takes a deep breath, forcing those awful emotions away. He’s better than that. He’s better than them. Rose doesn’t need him being angry and vengeful right now, she needs him to be steady and comforting. He can do that. He’s the steadiest person in the world…

When they get to the front door, he nearly vaults out of the car to rush into the school, but a pointedly-cleared throat and the clack of the door locks activating stops him.

“Low profile,” Idris reminds him, and he sulks for a moment, but sends Rose a text that he’s here.

She emerges a moment later, pale-faced, with nothing but a laptop bag slung over one shoulder. James opens the door for her, and slides across the empty seat to give her room. The moment she settles herself, Idris takes off again, and he unbuckles his seatbelt to take Rose into his arms. She slumps, defeated, into him, and somehow that’s even worse than tears.

She takes a few minutes to tell him about her meeting, and how ultimately the school couldn’t justify putting their students in danger while she’s facing such sudden and viral recognition.

“How could I argue with that?” Rose sighs, rubbing at her temples as though warding off a headache. “’Cos it’s true. There’re so many unauthorized strangers near the school ’cos of me.”

“Because of stupid journalists,” he corrects, but it falls flat.

“They said they’ll reevaluate over the coming weeks. I might be able to return to work in January, if things have died down a bit.”

James desperately hopes it will, for her sake. He couldn’t bear it if he’s the reason Rose loses her job.

“Surely it’s illegal to sack you because of who you’re dating,” he says.

“I’m not sacked,” she reminds him. “I’m on leave. Really, I should be happy. Gettin’ paid to stay at home…” She looks far from happy, though. “I was about to start some of my favorite books with my kids. Frankenstein. Never Let Me Go. To Kill a Mockingbird. Now someone else gets to do it with them, and all I’ve got to look forward to when I get back is bloody Shakespeare.”

“Not a fan of Shakespeare?” he quips weakly.

“Shakespeare’s fine, but not the way they make us teach it in schools, all boring and textual, when it’s supposed to be a performance to be experienced. I’ve been trying to get the school to sponsor an annual theatre trip for the kids, but of course no one wants to invest in the languages and arts anymore.”

James makes a mental note to change that going forward. Yes, he’s sure his donations to various medical research charities are being put to good use, but how much money can he say he’s donated to music and art and literature? He’s ashamed to admit to himself he doesn’t know. How awful is that, given the arts are how he makes his living.

“I’m sorry.” The words feel hollow, but what more can he say? They’re so weak compared to the ache of sorrow buffeting him. It’s because of him that Rose can’t do the job she likes. Because of him that everyone wants to get a look at her. Because of him that her life has been turned upside down.

So it surprises him when Rose immediately says, “I’m not.” She threads her fingers through his and gives them a squeeze. “This… us… what we have together, I wouldn’t trade it for the world. Wouldn’t trade you for the world.”

His throat swells shut, and all he can do is offer a weak smile and kiss her knuckles. It’s only then that he realizes Idris is absently driving through the streets of London, taking the routes she always takes whenever he asks if she can just drive him around for a while to nowhere in particular. Well, he supposes that’s right; he didn’t exactly tell Idris where to take them.

Before he makes an executive decision about their destination, he turns to Rose. “D’you wanna come see the studio?”

“Oh, I don’t want to distract you from your work.”

He waves a hand. “Nonsense. Album’s mostly recorded by now. Just a few more songs to tidy up, then it’s off to production. C’mon. Please? I think it’s “take your girlfriend to work” week.”

He shamelessly pouts, happy to see it trigger a laugh. Then she’s nodding, and they’re off.

He’s like a giddy little boy as he guides Rose into the studio. He gets her all checked in as a Very Important Guest, and apologizes when she has to sign multiple nondisclosure agreements before she’s permitted any farther.

“No unauthorized photos, videos, recordings, et cetera et cetera,” he explains, grimacing. “I’m not the only artist here. But you’ve been pretty social-media-phobic throughout our relationship, so I don’t think we have anything to worry about, eh?”

Rose is unbothered, and soon enough, she’s an official guest of James Noble. He guides her straight into his workspace, where his now-cold coffee and untouched guitar waits for him. Rose takes in the room with awe. He remembers feeling like that when he was first shown this place. It’s a large lounge space with cushy sofas and spacious desks, and half a dozen guitars resting on stands while a glossy grand piano stands proud in a corner by a window that looks out over the city. Adjacent is the recording booth, with well-insulated sound-proofed walls and a variety of microphones hanging from the ceiling. The recording booth alone is about the size his old studio flat had been.

“This is incredible,” Rose gasps, spinning slowly to take it all in.

“I’m very lucky.”

And really, he is. This office building is one of the best in the city. He and other major recording artists have their own dedicated rooms, while most other artists need to schedule appointments to use the other joint spaces. It was only after the major success of his third album that he was promoted to this room. If he ever falls from grace, he’ll be back to the shared studios.

“Have you had breakfast yet?” he asks, opening his phone to the app tied to the lovely little café in the basement of the building. “I’m a bit peckish and want a new coffee.”

“No, I haven’t. Bit too wound up to eat this morning.”

James places an order for a coffee for him and a tea for her, as well as two breakfast sandwiches to be delivered to his office. Within ten minutes, he and Rose are lounging on the couch, enjoying their breakfast in a peaceful silence.

He doesn’t know why he’s so nervous to have Rose here in the studio. It’s not like he hasn’t played for her before. But somehow it’s much more… official.

He licks his fingers of lingering bacon grease then wipes them absently on his jeans before heading to his piano. “I told you about the holiday concert I’m part of in a few weeks. I planned to start rehearsing. Just sort of… putzing around with different carols I might have to sing.”

“Might have to sing?” she asks curiously.

“Yeah, I dunno what I’ll be singing ‘til the time of the show. An online auction will go out in the week leading up to the concert. People can donate a quid to vote on a holiday song for me to perform. They can donate another quid to vote on one of my own songs for me to perform intermittently throughout the show. It’s a charity concert, remember. Gotta get the public involved somehow.”

“Bet you’ll make a killin’ after this weekend’s drama,” she drawls, a small but genuine smirk on her face.

He rolls his eyes. One of the well-meaning higher-ups of his record label told him the same thing. All of his music has been streamed more frequently this past weekend, too. Really, this bit of viral recognition has been great for him professionally; usually that thrills him, but this time it just makes him sick.

“Part of my charm is my near-perfect memory,” he continues. “For my hour of the show, we won’t know the results of the poll ‘til I get on stage and the MC dramatically reveals them. This week I was gonna work on the new album and start practicing Christmas tunes so I don’t make a complete arse of myself on stage. So lay it on me, Rose Tyler—give me something to sing.”

Time flies. No, it soars. For the first time in over forty-eight hours, neither of them is sulky or maudlin; they’re carrying on, goofing around, and singing Christmas carols. James is delighted when Rose joins in, watching in awe as she duets perfectly with him. Her voice is beautiful.

She seems to realize what she’s done, and while her cheeks flare scarlet, she doesn’t stop. He makes an effort not to stare at her, to not make her uncomfortable, but he steals glances at every possible moment. He tries to make her laugh as often as he can too, embellishing his voice to near operatic proportions or giving himself silly little accents as he sings. The one that makes her laugh the hardest is a Southern American twang, and he falls back to it a few times.

Lunchtime comes and goes without them realizing it. They’re left alone for the day, to his relief. Professional courtesy, and all that. God, what an awful world it would be if all of his fellow celebrities were as nosey and gossipy as the paparazzi.

It’s mid-afternoon when he suggests they pack it in for the day. Rose gets up from where she’s sitting cross-legged on the couch, bounds over to him, and throws her arms around him. He catches her, confused but very accepting of this affection, and he holds her tightly.

“Thank you. This morning was… well, kind of awful. But this afternoon was perfect. Absolutely perfect.”

He melts, and buries his nose into the side of her neck, breathing her in. “One day at a time. Baby steps.”

“Baby steps,” she agrees, squeezing him harder and making no move to let go.

He doesn’t mind in the slightest. He rocks them slowly from side to side, rubbing long, slow strokes down her back and enjoying this perfect moment of peace. Everything is quiet. Everything is good.

And James thinks, dreams, dares to hope that maybe, just maybe, they can make this work.

#doctor who #ficandchips #dwfic #ten x rose #ten x rose au #james x rose #romance #smangst #my fic #sacred new beginnings #pls like and reblog to share with more people 🥲💜

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blueiskewl · 5 months

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‘Faces of Sanxingdui’: Bronze Age Relics Shed Light on Mysterious Ancient Kingdom

A golden face with patinaed turquoise eyes stares out of the darkness. Illuminated around it stand three other bronze heads — some have flat tops, others round — all looked over by a giant bronze statue almost 9 feet high. All have the same piercing, angular eyes.

There’s something about the “Faces of Sanxingdui” — as this collection of sculptures is being billed — that feels both familiar and alien. Currently on display at the Hong Kong Palace Museum, they may appear Mayan or Aztec to the untrained eye, but these over-3,000-year-old sculptures weren’t unearthed anywhere near Mesoamerica’s ancient civilizations. They were discovered on China’s Chengdu Plain, at an archeological dig site called Sanxingdui (which translates as “three star mound”).

Thought to be the largest and oldest site left by the Shu kingdom, a civilization in southwestern China once only hinted at in myths and legends, Sanxingdui was not discovered until the 1920s, when a farmer stumbled across objects while digging an irrigation ditch. The site has since been found to contain the ruins of an ancient city made up of residences, sacrificial pits and tombs enclosed by high dirt walls. Archaeologists from the Sanxingdui Museum say the city was established some 4,800 to 2,800 years ago, until it was abandoned around 800 BC for unknown reasons.

The Chinese government has long promoted Sanxingdui as evidence of the country’s long, uninterrupted history — with the discoveries included in history textbooks for more than a decade. And while thousands of visitors have already flocked to the groundbreaking exhibition in Hong Kong, some analysts suggest that the items are also being used to support the Chinese government’s vision of national identity.

The mysterious and talented Shu

The Shu kingdom, which emerged in the Sichuan basin during the Bronze Age, is believed to have developed independently of the Yellow River Valley societies traditionally considered the cradle of Chinese civilization. Its inhabitants created exquisitely crafted bronze, jade, gold and ceramic objects, depicting fantastical beasts, kings, gods and shamans with bulging eyes and enlarged ears.

Around 120 of the items are currently on display in Hong Kong, and it’s the first time many of these objects, most of which were excavated between 2019 and 2022, have been showcased outside Sichuan province.

Remarkably, the sculptures predate the Terracotta Army, a collection of earthenware statues depicting the armies of China’s first emperor Qin Shi Huang, by at least 1,000 years. Wang Shengyu, an assistant curator at the Palace Museum said the objects are far more advanced, imaginative, and artistic than those being produced anywhere else in China at that time.

“You can tell that it’s very sculptural and very artsy,” Wang said at the exhibition opening, pointing to a roughly 1-foot-tall bronze figure whose fantastical, braided hair extends out to three times the height of its body and, had it not been broken, would stretch much further. “You can imagine how magnificent it was. From above his nose and all the way up, it would’ve been over 1.5 meters (4.9 feet) tall, according to the fragments (archeologists) found. The end of the pigtail is on his shoulder.”

Little is known about the Shu kingdom other than what’s been discovered on the 3.6-square-kilometer (1.4-square-mile) site outside Chengdu. There is no evidence of a written Shu language, and historical literature contains scant information about its culture other than a handful of myths and legends, including a reference to a Shu king called Can Cong whose eyes were said to have protruded — perhaps explaining why so many of the 13,000 relics recovered from the site feature bulging eyes.

After the Shu state was conquered by the Qin dynasty in 316 BC, Shu culture was “buried” under the “mainstream” culture that later emerged on China’s central plain, Chinese authorities wrote in a 2013 UNESCO submission seeking to have Sanxingdui and two nearby archeological sites recognized as World Heritage Sites. They are currently on UNESCO’s “tentative list.”

Since 1986, eight excavated pits at Sanxingdui have yielded giant masks of gods with bulbous, insect-like eyes and protruding ears, mythical creatures with gaping mouths and an almost 4-meter-tall (13-foot) bronze “tree of life” sculpture decorated with ornaments like a Christmas tree. All the items were found shattered, burned and buried, leading experts to believe the pits were used for ritual sacrifices. Some have now been painstakingly re-constructed by archaeologists. “It took 10 years to reconstruct the tree,” said Wang Shengyu, an assistant curator at the museum who helped curate the exhibition.

That tree is not on show in Hong Kong, as it is considered too precious to send abroad, but a section of one of six others discovered and ornaments are on display at the museum, as well as a 3D holographic projection of what experts think it would have looked like – its layers and branches adorned with birds, flowers, fruit, dragons, bells as well as jade and gold foil ornaments. The set are thought to have been part of a theater space.

‘Historical myth’ of a continuous civilization

The exhibition places these items in the context of other ancient civilizations and includes the Shu among the many societies to have existed in the country’s “5,000-year history.” According to a press release from organizers, museum and Hong Kong government officials at the opening stressed the “continuity, inventiveness, unity, inclusiveness and emphasis on peace and harmony” of Chinese history.

Henry Tang, chairman of the governing body behind the West Kowloon Cultural District (where the Palace Museum is located) and a former candidate for Hong Kong’s top leadership role, said in a statement that the district and museum are looking to “promote cultural and artistic exchanges between China and the world, ‘tell China’s story well’, and strengthen the public’s cultural self-confidence.”

But the narrative that the Shu kingdom was innately Chinese is contentious, according to Ian Johnson, a senior fellow for China Studies at US think tank, the Council on Foreign Relations.

“Over the past few decades, the (Chinese Communist Party) has been trying to push a historical myth that all the peoples who have ever lived inside the current borders of the People’s Republic are ‘Chinese,’” he said over email.

“The basic idea is that the PRC (People’s Republic of China) encompasses people who naturally belong together and therefore, from today’s standpoint, form a nation. Hence any effort to have autonomy or even independence is taboo — it runs against history.”

The People’s Republic of China was established in 1949, and its government has often used China’s continuous history as evidence that ethnic groups such as the Tibetans and the Uyghurs have always belonged to China.

Johnson said that there was little support for the idea that civilizations along the Yellow River had much in common with those in the Sichuan Basin.

“They have commonalities but are not the same — just as ancient Assyrians and Phoenicians and Greeks weren’t the same, even if they shared certain things in common,” he said, adding: “sponsoring these kinds of exhibitions are popular and win the government credit.”

When asked to comment, the Hong Kong Palace Museum said the exhibition was “curated based on academic and archaeological research” and that it reinforces its mission to deepen audiences’ “understanding of the lives and cultures of various regions and ethnic groups as well as exchanges among them in ancient China, which have contributed to the magnificence of China’s civilization and its ‘diversity in unity’ pattern of development.”

By Christy Choi.

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applesontheground · 11 months

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mirage 🎠

here go the first of my three vignettes for my fave horror protags of 2022, the haywoods + their adopted mentally unstable retail worker (angel).

first up is my fuckin cowboy... ❤

SFW | Word Count: 832 | OJ Haywood x GN Reader 🎼: x (OF COURSE I HAVE A NOPE PLAYLIST THIS MOVIE STILL STICKS TO MY BRAIN-)

You considered the fact that there were many people before you who spent too much time alone out in somewhere so arid and so silent and would start seeing things after awhile.

...Hearing things, though?

You stared at the sky for another long pause, hands still on the fence that kept your boyfriend's horses secured as you tried to catch that noise again. It wasn't an animal kind of screaming, one that mountain lions or even strange birds would be so close to calling. Nothing like an imitation.

It was a person, a person who was experiencing a deep sense of danger. How the hell it sounded as though it came spiraling from the sky, you weren't sure. That's what was making your slog around in your usual chores come to a halt in the first place to hear it again.

"[Y/N]." Speaking of your boyfriend, you heard the mellow hum from the other side of the pen, "[Guy/girl], you good?" When you didn't answer yet, raising a hand to quiet him as you kept listening, you then realized you were being silly.

Your eyes fell to your shoes, and you huffed, “J, you’d tell me if I was crazy, right?” From the other side of the fence, he mumbled, “Mm hm.”

You turned to him, and clarified, “OJ, really. I’m not the only one hearing shit, right?” His eyes cast over to you, chin settled on one arm as he merely let that question sit in the air. Your eyes slid from his, combing through your mind one last time before he finally replied, “No, [Y/N]. Sometimes I hear it, too. Sounds too much like us to be any animal.”

He then mosied over, minding the pacing horses to stand next to you from the other side of the gate. You slid across the hot surface that had been baking in the sun, settling your shoulder against the part of his arm that was now leaning over it. He was stock still as you looked at the sky with him and you murmured, “Is it the wind? We don’t get any animals this far out that can mimic like that, right?”

He hummed again, but then gently nodded with his head to the blemish almost straight ahead of the two of you in the plain horizon, fairly visible from where you two stood at the edge of the first corral by the house out at the Haywood Ranch. OJ commented, “Think it’s that rodeo show he puts on. All that alien shit, maybe it's some kind of special effect.”

You caught the circle of tall lightposts out in the dust, the two of you watching now in a stale silence. It wasn’t the usual peace that OJ and you would share, sometimes for hours on end (which drove his sister Emerald crazy whenever she found the time to visit the two of you), but more like a heavy rock settled in your stomach that came from knowing what that neighboring park represented.

The owner had been making deals even before OJ had taken over his family business with Em and it was still their father in charge. He knew he had the prices to not only push the Haywoods off this part of the land that they had lived on for so long, but also take their family's horses with it. You didn’t even know the guy’s name, but according to Em he had been a child star trying to chase after the glory, the money…whatever it was he had lost back then.

It still made you desolate at times to realize Otis had never gotten to be your father in law. A freak accident had happened only a few months ago, and you were only left with word of mouth from the paramedics who had tried to save him, and the consolation that you could muster as someone just as wordless as your boyfriend, especially in grief. You assured yourself that it was more because you and OJ were in no hurry to take your relationship to something more serious, even without his father here now.

OJ’s hand moved from the fence, sliding back to the top of it to go around your shoulder, still mute as he put his arm around the back of your neck. You slid even closer, gently knocking your head next to his, like it’d help you know what he was thinking.

“I’ll do whatever I can to keep you from selling those horses.” You sighed, “I don’t know how, but I want them to stay here with you. With Em, with the family.” You expected no answer, but he finally spoke just above that hum again.

“Hm-hm. You know I'm a firm believer in the real being real." He shook his head, making your own nudge slightly as you smiled to him, "It's not always recognized right away, but when time comes. I'm sure."

You hummed at that.

"I like that idea."

#oj haywood x reader #final boy x reader #✏️#🎠

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warmhealerr · 2 months

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Dearest Ta'rath (they/them). I've been writing about them on and off in my notes app. I will post minimal lore someday. No I do not know what they're doing with their hands here, the pose just happened. I have taken design liberties when compared to their game self! :) [ID : A colored sketch of Ta'rath, a tall, extremely thin alien humanoid with golden skin. They are a githyanki. They are standing against a pink background, next to a screenshotted portrait of them. They have pink eyes. Their curly hair is in a mohawk, adorned by golden beads on the sides. Their body's skin sags unnaturally in contrast to their face, adorned by black spots all over. They are wearing maroon ribbon like bandages around their ears, neck, and arms. Their plain gray pants' maroon ribbon belt is tied into a bow tie. End ID]

#myart #bg3 #baldur's gate 3 #githyanki #described #ta'rath tag

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kustovshik · 1 year

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Tender Horrors

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This is actually my first attempt to write something into actual story. Ironic that it's the most self-indulgent thing I ever did. And also funny that it's vore.

If it's a little bit wacky please forgive me, as English is not my main language. And I had to re-read it like 10 times before actually being able to post it.

Word count: 4,766

Warning. This story contains: Soft vore, unwiling and clearly distressed prey, mentioned fatal vore and hard vore(none actually happen), somewhat possessive pred, fearplay and hurt/comfort.

Descriptions of some scenes might be disturbing for someone so read carefully.

Characters featured: Somnolence, Al, Vesper.

Have fun reading. :)

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Figure shot up in the bed in the middle of a night, fighting with heavy blanket covering it’s frail frame. Heart pounding in little ears so loud that if not for the weight of oversized cover he would shake it with each bump. One single eye shot open as creature frantically looked around without moving it’s head. In sudden panic he was searching for traces of something, any sign of danger. But couldn’t find it. It was just him in dark bedroom. There was nothing in there aside from him laying in bed. Blanket still was surrounding him with soft warmth and grounding with it’s weight. Closets all are shut tight, door and window locked. It was just him in his somewhat messy with all things laying around the floor room.

And after slow painful moments of tension figure finally moved. Pale hands clutched into fabric as if his life were depending from it. Breath hitched in attempt to form something akin to a broken sob. Yet nothing came out. Little alien knew that it will attract them. If he’ll be loud it will attract THIS back. And if it’s back then he’ll… HE’LL-

He closed black eye shut trying to calm himself down. Hoping that familiar darkness will help him with this task. It didn’t. The moment he closed his eye, everything that happened rushed back in crazed line of memories he’d rather forget.

He was running. Adrenalin playing in his blood. The dark forest, so painfully familiar and so hostile towards him. Uneven dark ground sliced with thick long roots making him trip and slip every now and then, loosing his footing. And all he can do is to scramble his way back up and continue running. Deathly pale trees so tall for him that their pitch black leaves was almost covering bloody red sky with single circle of yellow moon on it. Even without any clouds to cover cursed skies, it did not bring any light into this forest. Humid air was making running figure’s breath hard and so unforgivably loud that he was sure it did hear him. And if it heard him, then the hunt is on. The hunt is on and he’s the prey. And the pure realisation of that was devastating to the point that everything blurred. All the same trees that for a running creature were like a silent watchers, because on every single one of them in wide spreading branches and black leaves it could hide.

Life or death marathon ended when the forest ended as abruptly as it appeared in front of him. And as much as he wanted to stop the momentum did not allow it. Little alien flew out of dreadful forest into some kind of plain. And what he saw run shivers down that small spine of his. Bones. Tens, hundreds, thousands of bones littering every little scrap of the ground around him. Piles, even mountains of all kind of a bones from skulls to ribs, to entire limbs. Some of them pure white, other have more yellow in color. But all it was forgotten when his eye caught glimpses of jagged teeth marks on some of the remains. Sometimes he was even seeing little pieces of remaining meat on them, hoping it was just play of imagination. There supposed to be stench that he could be able to smell by now. And it wasn’t there. ‘‘That’s what remained of their last victims…’’ his mind whispered as a reminder that if he’s here. Then he’s next. He felt bile rising in his throat. He wanted- needed to get away from here. He’s next and he needs to move. Move away from this field, no, from this graveyard of a feast for however long that thing was hunting on those grounds. And that’s how the first step was made. Clumsy and slow, he stepped backwards only to hear sickening crack underneath small feet. Frantically looking towards the sound, already knowing what on this field happened, he could see crashed bone underneath his feet. Bones never should even be this soft in the first place. Small figure goes completely rigid. As if he was just a little robber trying to steal and getting caught.

And that when he finally noticed it. Dark and massive body, that by any means shouldn’t be able to move this quiet was crouching on all its hands in mere foots from his position akin to a hunting cat. Small alien painfully noticed the face, better to say lack of it, focused onto him with those long fangs seemingly going into pitch black void at the base of them. Black liquid was slowly dripping from hole of a face onto the ground and bones with audible in surrounding silence sound. As if it was counting seconds until the moment to strike as they both just stand there and stared into each other. No one dared to move their attention from the other, and while hunting beast was focused on it’s prey, the other was paralysed and breathless. He did not dare to avert gaze even for a split second, fearing that if he moves, or stops looking, it’ll strike. All this running was futile in the end. Yet panic was slowly rising in his whole frame as he stood there unmoving, tail curled tightly around one of the legs and antennae pressed flat against head. He couldn’t even think that if he stands like that it does not notice him. It already did. And if it did, then he’s done.

And then it happened. Completely silent and fast it was moving all six limbs to reach towards it’s little prey. The sight of imminent death, the dread, or maybe all the stress that little prey was collecting inside as if he was just a broken musical instrument with strings pulled so tight they finally gave up. Something snapped and the next thing he saw was just darkness.

And now he was just sitting here in his bed, trying to stop frantic shaking from reliving that one hell of a nightmare for the second time in one night. Slowly black eye opened and face morphed into one that showed only tiredness and somewhat pain from all this struggle to get peaceful sleep for at least one night. And when it became just too much, he broke. It all started with a whimper, growing into soft sobs that he tried to shut down even knowing that he’s safe. He’s in his room and not in this forsaken forest, not on the bone field and there’s no beast hunting him. And yet he just couldn’t stop. And so caught up in futile attempts to stop this massive breakdown to not attract more problems he did not notice how a shadow, just a little too dark and big for his own liking, carefully slid out from under is bed. It loomed ominously over sobbing figure from behind, doing nothing but watching. And if you look close, you could’ve made out sleepy confused violet dots of the eyes littering it’s face as it observed crying creature carefully.

And crying came to a halt. Of course he felt that. The stare of something at him, the omnipresence, the change of ever so peaceful atmosphere in the room. The tension. It found him. It found him here when it was suppose to be his little safe spot. Was it just a lie, was it just toying with him all along? And if it’s here then he… THEN-

- Al…. - a long low hum sounded from behind him, as the thing moved head a bit too close to little alien. It’s hot breath on the tips of his antennae. And that was all for little unearthly creature named Al to make him trying to jump up, mercilessly tangling in the heavy blanket. He needed to run. To get away from here. He’s going to become one of the piles. One of the laying BONE-

That’s when Al almost freed himself from blanket and jumped onto cold floor, he felt as two massive black hands with claws just a bit too long for them to look real caught him, bringing him back and pressing into something warm and soft and just as black as the hands. Oh no. It got him. It got HI-

- Al, shhhh. - the same low gruff voice from before sounded somewhere above him. It was familiar, he knew this voice. But couldn’t help but attempting to squirm out in his never-ending panic. And all he could feel as arms held him more tight in return, pressing his small body more firm against something while pure darkness enclosed on him. That’s when struggle turned into violent shakes. He knew he couldn’t get out this time.

- Baby, please… - the honest plead in the voice was not something alien’s panicked mind expected to hear, and when long thin fingers started to rub circles on his back in awkward attempt to calm little one down, he froze. Finally daring to crack open barely seeing eye from all the crying and weakly look up. Only to see pitch black round face with four softly glowing eyes in the dark. It took a moment as recognition finally hit him hard, it all started to make sense. Al got soft satisfied chest deep rumble from bigger creature in return.

- V-vesp- - Al tried to rasp out, only to be stopped when long claw showed in front of his mouth as if showing him to stop talking. - Shhh. Yes, baby, I’m here. - as it was said Al could feel as something ever so gently moved down and nuzzled his head from the top in a way to reassure little thing that everything is fine, - I got you.

And that’s when Al finally and completely broke down pressing into black soft fur of another as much as he could to try to hide from everything outside this warm embrace. Ugly quiet sobs filled the room once again, now muffled only by big creature’s body as it held small alien close and secure. And after Al’s cries finally died, as all of that stress finally got back, he wanted to know just one thing.

- Vesper? - his voice came out small and weak, laced with poorly hidden dread behind it.

- Yes, starshine? - came response with the same painfully soft voice as Vesper slowly moved all of his eyes to look down at little fearful alien.

- …w-whytheydothat? - little blurted out a bit too quiet without thinking. As if he was afraid that it could sense that.

- Al, you’ll need to speak louder for me to hear. - another deep rumble shook his frame, as long claws carefully grazed alien’s back, making the latter one flinch and hide his face into softness of others body.

- I asked. Why… - Al broke off in attempt to collect not only his thoughts but his voice, and only then continued, - W-why is all everybody want from me just my f-fear? - Al’s voice still came out as muffled, but now Vesper could actually hear it properly. And what he heard took him by surprise. It stung. And monster knew exactly why. He knew and it only made it worse as something ugly from the inside of his mind awakened. The image of past him along with dark bitterness slowly rose up in monster’s chest, and he acted before even thinking.

- Al… - as he spoke in low possessive voice, a long violet tongue suddenly broke up from his mouth, coming in contact with pale grey skin on little creature’s cheek, leaving a wet trail, resulting in hard flinch and loud whimper from Al, as he tried to move away just slightly.

- Your fear is intoxicating. - And just as quickly as it came it disappeared back, as Vesper slowly sat there dumbfounded as what he had just done. And looking at fearful eye that now stared at his four was not the same as it usually is. Not at this moment. So he continued speaking in attempt to ease the tension - But… You’re mine, Al. I can’t just stay away and do nothing when you’re in such distress. - he did not add ‘when I’m not the cause of it’ into the words.

And somehow that worked, as he could feel Al slowly shifting to hide his face again with little shudder. Alien did not want to think how this big boogeyman of his partner did exactly what he was afraid the most. He tasted him and stated the one thing he hoped never to hear again, not from him. It pained alien how he was both in need of this strange comfort from Vesper and was so terribly horrified.

- I can leave if you want. - careful words as Al’s only source of protection for now tried to shift away to come back into hiding.

- NO! - small hands clutched into black fur, earning hiss of surprise from the boogeyman. He did not expect that little attempt of giving space to his terrified little alien to end up like that.

- Stay. - Al knew he was acting miserable as he literally whined, trying to clung even closer to his monster husband. Which earned another deep rumble from the latter. The sight of desperate and weak little creature clinging to him as if it’s dear life was depending on it clicked something in monster’s mind. Vesper could feel that swelling feeling in his chest just like before, yet this time different. A dark disturbing desire to held something that is his as close as he could. And he knew that knowing his little husband it’s the last thing Al needed right now. But he couldn’t just sit and not think about it. The thought was so persistent, so if he wanted he could call it something akin to a parasitic worm, slowly and steadily wriggling it’s way into your mind, pushing every single other thought or any attempt to control himself aside. Claws suddenly twitched behind alien’s back as Vesper fought with himself,

- Al. - with a low growl came the first and the last warning, that one big monster could let out in attempt to make Al realise what situation he was getting himself into.

- Please… - came desperate response and it was enough for him to snap. All four wide open violet eyes now focused on little gray alien, observing his every move. He did not want to scare him off now, not when his little star is so close. He inched his face closer to Al’s head and inhaled deeply. Sweet aroma hitting his receptors as only now Vesper noticed that he was practically drooling over his scared little husband that was so oblivious to everything around. A low purr found it’s way in monster’s throat and he did not stop it, earning small nuzzle from Al in return to the sound. This was it. Vesper finally let his mouth hang open. And if his lower jaw was normal then with quiet pop the top one split in two. No movement further occurred as he froze on place, hearing hitched gasp from below. Al, who finally found the courage to stop hiding face and dared to look up to find familiar shine of scary but those kind beady purple eyes was met with sight that so lively reminded him of his recent nightmare.

- Ves… - A split open monstrosity of a maw, opened like flower petals where each of those ‘petals’ had rows of elongated and curled inwards inky black fangs. The main difference was that instead of a black void this time he could distinguish actual soft flesh the same in colour as the eyes all wet with strings of dripping thick saliva. Long thin tongue was curled inside so careful so it wouldn’t be in the way of others teeth. And he just sat there paralysed with the sight. Sudden warmth and wetness of few drops of drool on his forehead snapped Al out of his little terrified trance. But as he managed to find back his voice, - per…?

It all collapsed on him. In one swift move he could feel as at least half of his body got engulfed into others maw, that dangerously clasped at the middle. He closed his eye in complete and total defeat, panic surging back and he just could stay still and do nothing only tremble. But just as Al thought that it’s going to be the end of him, fangs, faintly grazing on his pajamas and skin will tear into his insides, reaping his frail body into shreds, as Vesper would bite, reducing him from lover into piece of meat to shred. Alien did not even noticed how he started silently crying too occupied into his own spiralling thoughts. Nothing from that happened. The sudden sensation near his shut eye made body flinch hard, as he realised that it was that long tongue, lapping on his tears and covering face with layer of spit. Same fate was awaiting clothes too, as they all were damp from the excess. The texture was gross on his skin and as he tried to wipe it off his surroundings shifted quickly, forcing abrupt yelp to escape. At that time he realised that Vesper moved his head up making small body slide even further from the impact. The movement making him dizzy and Al just had to let his eye to open just a tiny bit only to see soft flesh of a throat right in front of his face, spasming in audible, almost deafening from closeness gulp as pooled drool around him disappeared in one moment. Alien wanted to say something, just anything to talk some sense into his husband, but voice was failing him miserably so he tried the last option. He pushed as hard as he could at slick flesh he could reach, with hands slipping again and again. And dark monster was having none of it, with low hum opening jaws just enough to ever so gently push him further, making finally first real gulp. At the time Al as much as he could tried to squirm, which did not help him at all as his head and shoulders got sucked into hot tightness of other’s throat. He could feel the same sensation of tongue, wrapping firmly around his legs, faint touch of sharp teeth ends earning in more attempts to fight back from him each time it happened. Small alien still did not understand why even be bothering with being this gentle, when he clearly was food now. He was preyed on and it pained his little terrified mind.

After first came the second, then the third gulps, with disappeared feet into gluttonous maw. Forcing fragile body further down monsters esophagus. Everything around Al was moving, pressing on him softly. He quit squirming at the time as it was useless in his position now. From descend he could hear booming heartbeat right next to him, swooshing of powerful lungs. It wasn’t long until he finally felt slipping into more bigger space, stretching and pushing at the walls aimlessly. Alien knew exactly where he did end up. This is stomach. Of his husband. That he trusted enough to come close to. So he gave into those growing thoughts of betrayal, while slowly curling on himself as tight at he could. He hated how surrounding fleshy walls clung back to him so soft and gentle in cruelest kind of mocking. As if it was trying to hug him. But he knew better than that as he could hear fain groans of others body. And with that came first quiet sob.

On the outside Vesper was sitting with his stoic calm demeanor only until the moment he felt Al finally slip down into his stomach, making quite noticeable bump on his belly. Not big nor small. Perfect just for him. But something wasn’t right, and shudders from inside him was speaking louder than anything. That was the moment when mind snapped back from the haze of previous blissful moments to ugly truth. He just did the one thing he wasn’t suppose to do at all. Vesper so desperately tried to wipe his face with thin fingers, rubbed tongue on the palate in useless attempt to get rid of sweet taste in his mouth that he tried to cherish in last moments. And when he stopped, he almost hit himself. Just how terrible he can even get. Because instead of trying to calm down his terrified husband he was trying to what? Groom himself out of any trace of what he did. A ‘good’ partner he is indeed.

With deep but barely noticeable on black face regret his claws carefully poked bump on his belly, trying to catch attention from alien trapped inside. And when it didn’t help he just sat there, carefully caressing his gut with both hands, as if trying to hide it.

- Al, listen… - he tried to speak when finally felt movement from the inside, it was small aliens attempt to get away from places, where his hands moved, only to push himself more into soft walls of his captor with irregular from all crying breath. It pained Vesper’s heart and at the same time that evil thought that he wanted more of that was always persistent. When no more movements occur, monster allowed himself to continue.

- Please. - he felt small shudder coming from the inside, which must be result of his voice vibrating off of the walls a little. But he was right about thinking for one thing: Al absolutely didn’t like it here, and how voice were coming almost from every side from the organ, shaking his frame. He did not like how humid and dark it was, reminding him of that forest. He was devastated that now, now Vesper was acting as if he cared enough to not to just devour him right there. And there he was, sitting and trembling inside. Words came out before he could think,

- Y-you ate me. - hoarse from all the crying and tiredness voice was laced with poorly hidden pain. Which made surroundings carefully close more tight on him, engulfing into more tight embrace. Made him squeak in surprise, - S-stop, don’t crush me.

- I… - what could he say to that. He did that to him, didn’t he? Just gobbled up his small lover in favor of keeping something his. And now Vesper was pressing a little bit harder on his own stomach without even realising that. As he heard last one he did try to relax and moved his hands away, - I am sorry, Al. I should’ve- - as he tried to start apologising, futile attempt to ease their current tension was stopped when Al spoke back.

- But you did. - simple truth that no one from them both wanted to hear, and yet it was necessary.

- Yes. Yes, I did. - came in defeat from Vesper, as he let himself hunch in shame. He couldn’t deny the obvious. But as he felt little movements as Al was slowly shifting to lean into outside wall heavily, monster slowly put down his hand back on his belly. It did give out a happy gurgle in return, making alien tense just for a second before slowly reaching hand and pressing down on nearest wall.

- Am I…? - came in quiet question that both of them thought of, but only one knew and dared to answer.

- No, you’re not. I promise. - it was so hard to swallow rising in his throat purr, just for the sake of not hurting Al even further. It was pleasant to him but right now he couldn’t just indulge into it. So instead he tried to answer in the only one way he could, slowly moving to press his hand against the place where he could feel alien pressing his into.

- Just try to sleep. I wont let it take you back into that realm. At least not when you’re in… there. - that wasn’t cheap way to buy trust of his little starshine back, it was a mere fact. If monster was right about something, that this that creature would not dare to attack someone else’s prey. Even it knew some sort of pride about hunting. But that wasn’t important right now, as he felt slow nuzzles from the inside and widened all eyes in shock. That was completely unexpected to feel.

- Vesper? - the lack of response to his attempts to get comfortable was making Al a little bit uneasy, but at the same time short silence was a little bit comforting. And now alien could actually see not only bad sides from being in a place like this. It was wet and all those noises around could twist thoughts into wrong direction. No, anyone on his place would think he was going to die horrible death, knowing who Vesper, no what he is. It was strange as a feeling of long awaited relaxation for stressed mind and body to kick in in this warmth and soft surrounding kneading at his frame. Only now he could feel just how incredibly tired he was.

- Yes, starshine? - monster could finally let out relaxed sign, feeling Al settling down.

- …don’t do that again… - soft mumble came to him as an answer.

- I- - he thought of a proper answer to that, and couldn’t find any, when Al continued mumbling softly.

- …without asking… - were the last easily distinguished words before alien’s mind finally shut down, falling into peaceful slumber, leaving the only awakened one with comforting weight in his middle. A rare moment of extreme closeness they can both share.

- Yes. Of course. I’m sorry. - even if little starshine couldn’t hear it, he still answered. Not daring to move from the spot entirely. Only shifting slightly and adjusting his weight just to get a little bit more comfortable on others bed for the last bits of the night. That’s when he finally let all of hidden emotions roll back onto him in waves. First came bitter rage for someone who only dared to hunt his little cinnamon roll. He still vividly remembered the pure panicked look in the eye of his lover. He was reeking at the time, and said fear was wrong. It wasn’t fear that he brought. His little star was trembling because of someone else and it was driving him crazy at the time. This is how rage turned into possessiveness. And then he lost it. Vesper couldn’t be more angry both with himself for how he acted and the other one. He needed to deal with this as one beast to another. He must’ve been starting to growl pretty audible as he felt soft shifting inside, making him huff in defeat. His husband needing him right now. Everything else could wait for later.

At the morning when one alien slowly stirred awake in his bed, woken up by sun filling rather small room with dimmed through curtains light. Al cracked an eye, slowly sitting up as he was still sleepy from the night. Rubbed his face to get rid of his sleepiness. One fast glance at the clock and his one eye widened in shock. It was midday already and he just woke up.

And then it hit him. The previous night and all what had happened with... Vesper. Name made him quiver from sudden unease, but even through that he could feel how traitorously face was heating up from embarrassment. He was so close to…

Nose caught smell of something delicious nearby and made Al break off from his thoughts towards nightstand where stood his favourite cup filled with green tea and still warm pancakes on a plate. With a note right behind it all with crudely written words ‘I’m sorry’.

He knew that Vesper could never hold pen right having such long claws as he had which messed with his handwriting. But in the end it was the cutest thing in Al’s opinion. So he slowly said to a seemingly empty room, knowing well that his big boogeyman was deep in the slumber to hear him.

- I know, dummy… - as a peaceful smile crept it’s way on little’s alien face.

#v/ore #soft vore #monster vore #fatal vore mention #Somnolence #Vesper #Al #vore story #i tried to get all warnings right #i hope it worked

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mindofharry · 2 years

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Scott Street

In which, Y/N is an alien who escaped her planet and Harry is a nerdy human, studying her species. What could possibly go wrong? FLUFF! AND FLUFF! AND MORE FLUFF! please reblog and leave feedback is you enjoyed. Happy reading! :-)

✧ ✧ ✧

Y/N hated her planet.

Boring. Misty. Plain.

If a human was to see her planet, they wouldn’t be able to comprehend it. It would be the most beautiful thing they’d ever seen and vice versa for Aliens and Earth. But when you live on a planet for so long - it gets boring. Simple if you will.

Y/N sat on a rock near her home, running her fingers through her long hair. She loved her hair. When you turn 16, you get a permanent pattern. Blue and a strand of pink. Her mother and father had yellow strands, while her brother had white. Pink was her favourite colour and she thinks that Gods knew that.

She looked up at the sky and sighed when she spotted the planet Earth in the distance. Was there anything out there? She hoped there was. The army seem to go out there all the time. They come back with lots and lots of loot each time. Food too. But it’s not as nice as their berries. Everything is so fresh here and Earths food is…. a lot more processed.

Y/N would like to go on adventures with all the men. But her job is to mate and look after the farm and children. Which until a couple months ago, she was happy to do so.

But she hadn’t found her mate yet.

Y/N is one of the most beautiful women in pack. Men and Women sought after her, and of course she indulged a few. But there was no one that made her heart beat so fast she thought it would jump out of her chest. No one made her think of carrying their child, or building a nest together. She couldn’t figure out why.

Maybe her mate was on this planet Earth.

Y/N’s tail perked up at that.

She bit her lip looking around and saw the men gearing up for their next mission to Earth. Her parents work too much to even notice her gone and her brother is in the army - he would never notice either. She looked around again and saw the children with their mothers and she deflated. She wanted that so bad. What was wrong with her that she couldn’t have what they have?

So Y/N decided then and there.

She would go to Earth.

Y/N immediately got up and skipped towards the ship. Without anyone noticing, she hopped on the small ship, and behind the tall packages. This would totally work.

Ten minutes later she was getting dragged out by her brother.

“I will tell mom and dad if you do it again,” Her brother, said in their native language. Y/N stuck her tongue out at him and then turned around thinking of another plan.

She would get on that ship one way or another.

And she did. She ate a bunch of the invisibility berries (that no one is allowed to eat,) and made her way onto the ship. And this time, she wasn’t found.

The ship moved fast, but Y/N slept the whole ride. She dreamt of a family of her own. A nest of her own. A man of her own.

She woke up when she heard a bang come back door of the ship.

“We will leave the ship here. Change into your human forms and stay in them at all times. Meet back her in 3 days,” She heard her brother say.

Human form?

She waited ten minutes for them to leave and then she pressed the button on the back of the door to open it.

Bright. Green. Beautiful.

Her eyes watered as her hair began to move with the wind. She stepped out of the ship and let feet sink into the grass.

“Wow,” She muttered.

Y/N giggled and began to run around, spinning and twirling in this random field. After playing around for a few minutes she heard a snap coming from the trees near the ship. She turned around and looked for any sign of life.

“Woof!”

Y/N moved onto all fours, trying to protect herself. What was this creature? The thing moved towards her, wagging its tail. Y/N growled.

“Hey, boy!” Someone whistled.

Weirdly enough - Y/N could understand him.

Harry moved out from behind the trees and saw a big huge ship.

“Fuck,” He muttered. Then he looked down at his dog and saw….

An Alien? An Avatar?

“Ma’am” Harry said putting his hands up, he started to take off his jacket to hand to her. She backed away.

“Hey, Hey, It’s okay. I’m not going to hurt you,” Harry said softly.

“You are man?” She asked with a thick accent.

“Human. Yes, a man,”

Y/N stood up, showing off her body. Harry tried not to look but it was no use. She’s beautiful. Blue. But beautiful.

“We can mate?” She asked hopefully and Harry blushed a deep red.

“No, we can not,”

She pouted and walked towards Harry. Harry stepped back.

She pointed towards herself, “I will not hurt you, mate,”

Harry shook his head, “I am not your mate. Definitely not your mate,”

Y/N laughed, “You are funny, mate. And your dragon is so cute,”

It was Harry’s turn to laugh. His little simba a dragon? He couldn’t even shit without getting scared.

“He’s a dog,”

Y/N shook her head, “Dragon,”

There was definitely no fighting this woman.

“Do you have a place to stay. To sleep?”

“A nest?” She asked and shook her head sadly. But then she smiled, “You will take me to your nest,” She stated.

Harry sighed and leaned down to put Simba’s lead on and then waved towards the woods.

“Let me take you to my house. You can freshen up and then we can talk,”

Y/N shook her head, “House? No, Nest,”

Harry sighed again - “My nest, yes,”

Harry ushered her through the woods and then to his home which was right next to the field. Luckily there was no one around this area and he lived alone. He opened up the door and led the alien woman inside.

“Make yourself comfortable…”

She smiled, “Y/N,”

He smiled back, “Harry,”

The reason why he was so cool around this was because this is what he studied. What he went to school for. But he had only seen pictures of them, never in person.

While Harry grabbed a pen and paper, Y/N walked into his room. Harry followed her.

Harry sighed, looking at the blue naked woman on his bed. He tried to peel his eyes away, but she made it extremely hard. Currently, this ‘alien’ was rubbing his duvet covers, her eyes wide.

“Can I get you a shirt? Or dress? Or anything?”

The woman, furrowed her eyebrows, “Shhhhirtt?” She asked.

“Oh for god sake,”

“Who is this god you speak of, human?”

Harry laughed to himself, “You have a lot to learn,”

#harry styles #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles one shot #harry styles x y/n #harry styles smut #harry styles imagine #harry styles blurbs #alien!y/n #harry styles one shots #harry styles angst #harry styles fluff #harry styles fanfic #harry styles asks #harry styles x ofc

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fatehbaz · 2 years

Text

Are concepts like “invasive species” actually a little outdated? Can the concept of “alien species” actually support xenophobia and/or racism? Now that we live in a global ecological apocalypse, in “the Anthropocene,” do we need to learn to live with or collaborate with certain non-native and invasive species, to mitigate their harms rather than eliminate them? What even counts as “natural” during the Holocene, anyway? Is the coconut sentient? Who created the Great Plains? Should Aotearoa New Zealand be purple? Even if we work with non-native species, does a newer paradigm of ecological restoration provide a colonialist/imperialist absolution that protects plantation monocultures and European-US academics while destroying and subjugating Indigenous foodsheds and lifeways?

In response to my post about how it’s unfortunate that the rugged fjordlands of Scandinavia and the globally-unique landscapes of remote mountainsides in Aotearoa have come to be associated in photographic representation or public/popular consciousness with fields of purple-colored lupines, a non-native plant which, especially in the case of Aotearoa, was introduced as part of colonial/imperial campaigns to spread European agriculture and which choke-out rare and sensitive native species:

This was in response to some headlines I posted, including:

And, yes, in the case of Iceland, non-native lupine can still harmful. Yes, (1) Iceland has not changed much since Pleistocene glaciation and (2) the lupine does enrich the soil in a way that Iceland’s native plants could not do previously, but think about the relatively tall canopies of lupine on the previously lightly-vegetated “barren” or “rocky” landscapes of Iceland: The lupines choke-out the native lichens and mosses.

But.

So I see that there are several posts on this site from within the last couple of weeks (July 2022), which have been circulating among ecology-themed blogs, and which have received a lot of attention, posts which basically begin by saying something like “the more we think about it ... maybe we need to begin accepting/working with invasive species rather than aiming for their total elimination.”

And cool, it’s good that this has apparently now become a popular-ish consideration, though there has been a lot written/discussed about this very issue among environmental historians and cultural historians in decolonial/anticolonial and academic circles for at least two decades now.

And generally, I agree. Like with non-native bullfrogs and their firmly-established new distribution in, say, the Mediterranean California biome, where the bullfrogs’ success is linked to the simultaneous success and state enforcement of non-native monoculture plantation crops in the San Joaquin Valley, meaning that “simple” elimination of the bullfrog wouldn’t really be possible as their is simultaneous ecological degradation from agricultural irrigation, associated soil death/loss, etc. In other parts of the Rocky Mountains, I’ve seen single large non-native bullfrogs roll up on mating balls of native boreal toads, and the bullfrogs obliterate the mating ball, eat one of the toads, and literally directly kill the native toads while also preventing their reproduction. Or like with cane toads in Australia. I was on a rural roadway in Northern Territory one day when many cane toads were emerging from the soil, covering the road, and multiple drivers passing by would swerve to hit as many as possible, before making a u-turn to return and kill more toads. But I asked myself at the time “is the violence helping?” Because how many thousands and thousands of cane toads are able to breed at once in a single ephemeral seasonal pool nearby? Killing 100 toads may save a few native snakes from death by consuming the toads, but will the road rage really stop the toad invasion?

But there’s more to it.

Specifically: (1) Indigenous/cultural autonomy, and (2) the existence of species that still always require highly-specific microhabtiat.

Yea, lupine kills Aotearoa’s life. Maybe Aotearoa’s a uniquely serious example? It’s not just a remote and isolated island archipelago adrift at the extreme limits of the planet’s most expansive ocean. Aotearoa is also home to the globally-rare and unique temperate rainforest biome. And islands host essentially “closed systems” where small or localized ecological damage can quickly cascade to destroy life island-wide. And Aotearoa is also home to an incomparable number of unique endemic species found nowhere else. “Ancient” or “primeval” species like moa (now extinct), kakapo, tuatara, etc.

But Iceland’s status as “little-changed since Pleistocene glaciation” doesn’t mean lupine colonization is not-bad.

I’ve addressed this specific question before here, in response to the ask/question: “... i’m working for someone who is part of the ecological landscape alliance and we’ve been having big talks about the concept of “invasive” species vs “native” plants and how the concept is rooted in xenophobia, and also talking about how maybe invasive plants aren’t that bad?? ...” This post addresses concepts like assisted migration, invasion biology, and creolization; arguments like how post-glaciation global Holocene change is potentially entirely anthropogenic; Crosby’s “neo-Europe”; and how concepts from authors like Tsing and Haraway have been influential in the disc horse, though potentially dangerously supporting white, European-US academics’ hand-wringing self-absolution.

And I’ve also elaborated, here, more on those same concepts and why we ought not be so quick to dispel with notions of alien, invasive, native species, using Pablo Escobar’s escaped hippopotamus in Colombia as a case study to discuss “justified” killing of invasive species, naturalization, anthropogenic change in the Holocene, potential problems with so-called “re-wilding” restoration projects, as well as the case study of the coconut’s assisted migration. This one contains a longer response to your specific argument/question/proposition.

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For an example of how the language of “alien” and “invasive” used in ecology and science communication can support eugenics, racism, xenophobia (in this case, plants and insect pests as threats to industrial plantation monocultures in Hawaii, California, etc. being used to support narratives of Asian invasion/subversion of US interests):

Biotic Borders: Transpacific Plant and Insect Migration and the Rise of Anti-Asian Racism in America, 1890-1950 (Jeannie N. Shinozuka, 2022)

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For an example of how the Anthropocene and global ecological apocalypse might require “working with invasive species” and, specifically, learning to avoid exalting notions of “purity” and instead valuing “damaged landscapes” and “impure species” without enacting undue mass killings against introduced species, try this good tale of the preservation of the “junk-bird”:

Hugo Reinert. “Requiem for a Junk-Bird: Violence, Purity and the Wild.” Cultural Studies Review. 2019.

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For a similar example of how the mass killing of non-native or introduced species can be bad, try some of Anna Boswell’s essays. Her writing on stoats is especially well-known/respected, as she criticizes how silly/violent it is for the colonial New Zealand state to have introduced stoats in order to perform mass killings against introduced mammal species, before the state then turned to demonizing the stoat itself:

Anna Boswell. “Sanctuaries and the Stoat-Free State.” Animal Studies Journal. 2017.

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For an example of how we may as well learn to live with some invasive species, since, at this point, there is not a single “untouched” landscape in any remote corner of the planet that has escaped the ecological effects of industrial extraction and its supply chains, creating a web or network of “planetary urbanization”, and therefore notions of alien, invasive, wilderness, etc., all must be interrogated and questioned:

Lindsay Bremner. “The Urban Hyperobject.” Geoarchitecture. 24 August 2015.

Maria Kaika and Erik Swyngedouw. “Radical urban political-ecological imaginaries.” Derive. May 2014.

I also made a compilation post of the juiciest excerpts from here, which you might like.

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For an example of how local/Indigenous people can simultaneously acknowledge the harms/danger and violent/imperialist origin of an introduced species while still trying to respect the introduced creature (in this case, these Indigenous Marind communities recognize that non-native African oil palm destroys their food forests and supports devastating Indonesian colonialism and capitalist plantation industry, but also have a nuanced respect for the tree):

In the Shadow of the Palms: More-Than-Human Becomings in West Papua (Sophie Chao, 2022)

For an example of how not only a non-native plant can come to be perceived as locally useful and functionally naturalized to the point that it becomes central to regional cultural identity, but also how a non-native plant can support marginalized communities and their pursuit of autonomy. Therefore, alien/invasive/native denominations are complicated. (in this case, ex-slave quilombola and other Afro-diasporic communities of Brazil guarding Blackness from imperial/state recuperation through relationship with non-native dende, African oil palm):

Palm Oil Diaspora (Case Watkins, 2021)

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These final considerations -- human foodsheds, Indigenous lifeways, cultural autonomy -- ought to be discussed right there alongside the “purely scientific/ecological” considerations.

So I’ll repost something I said in the Colombia feral hippo post:

Also regarding degrees of “naturalness” and the Pleistocene [...]. So a question that scholars, theorists, ecologists, etc., ask regarding “re-wilding” is: To which moment in history are we trying to turn the clock back to? In the US, for example, are these re-wildling actors trying to rehabilitate landscapes to their conditions before the 19th-century intensification of Indigenous genocide and settlement of “the West”? Or, a return to before English colonies and the deforestation of New England? A return to 1492? Outside of the Americas, as re-wilding campaigns in Europe try to return lynx and European bison, are we returning to a time before Roman state-building and imperial expansion? Or even earlier, a return to landscapes before agriculture in the eastern Mediterranean and Mesopotamia, to the Pleistocene? [...] What is a “natural” environment during the Holocene/Anthropocene, during the past 12,000 years, anyway? The myth of “wilderness” dismisses millennia of Indigenous influence on ecosystems. Even before sedentary agriculture, urban settlement, and state-building in Indus, Yangtze, and Tigris-Euphrates valleys, we know that there were urban constructions along the western coast of the Indian subcontinent (now submerged beneath the sea), and at Gobekli Tepe before the end of the Pleistocene. [...] Or, at the very least, these humans helped instigate transition from woodland to grassland inadvertently by harvesting herds of mammals/megafauna. [...]

And then, dialogues of historical/social analysis and ecology meet, with controversial concepts of “hybridization”, etc. Some ecologists, especially in recent (2000 until present) disk horse argue that, with so many non-native species (especially plants and invertebrates) now so widespread globally, should we begin to accept that conditions have simply changed so much that people ought to work with non-native species to forge a “new” understanding of what counts as “natural”? (You’ll see this issue discussed in places like Aotearoa/New Zealand, Australia, and other settler-colonial places. But careful: Does this disk horse function as a roundabout way of sneakily implying that humans, too, can “become-natural” to anywhere? So that, if a European colonial power inhabits a “new” place, they also can frame themselves as natural? Would this be a “settler absolution” that works to literally “naturalize” imperial occupation?) And these scholars also ask: How long does a creature have to have lived in a place, in a landscape, before it has been present long enough to be considered “natural”? When you see a European dairy cow grazing on non-native pasture in Aotearoa on land that was temperate rainforest, home to strange endemic flightless birds only decades ago, it is “unnatural”. But maybe when you see a coconut in western Polynesia, it might seem natural. However, the coconut species “swam” there, floating over the seas. It migrated. But has the coconut been around in Polynesia long enough to be considered natural to those islands? Is this also how the yam/sweet potato found its way from Southeast Asia, across the Pacific, to Latin America? Does the fact that coconut migrated on its own, (possibly?) without apparent deliberate human introduction, make a metaphysical/semiotic difference, does it mean that the coconut is more natural because it found its own way rather than through direct human introduction? But even if humans did “unnaturally” introduce a species to a new region, do we consider that species “natural” or “native” species after enough time has passed? What to make of the human-induced spread of apples and other fruits from the Tien Shan slopes, or the human cultivation of tomato in the Andes? If humans propagated an apple variant 8,000 years ago, has enough time passed that the apple variant has become “natural”? Are the Asiatic steppes actually “natural” grasslands if humans, during the Pleistocene, burned woodlands and helped create those grasslands?

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And specifically about your proposition that lupines in Iceland pose relatively less danger to ecosystems, so is it really that bad? Here’s an excerpt from the first post I’ve linked at the top:

At the end of the day: Sure, kudzu or English pasture grasses or coconuts or European earthworms or domesticated cattle might be generalist species which can successfully inhabit landscapes across the planet. So whether humans introduce them via agriculture, or whether they "naturally" expand by some accident or by drifting across ocean currents, they might exist in this strange ontological space between "native" and "alien" which confounds human conceptions of what "belongs"? And this is worth considering! This is good to think about! But there are still, and always have been, those "small" landscapes, those isolated pockets, those relicts and remnants in shaded stream corridors, where small populations of endemic species teeter on the verge, with highly-specialized adaptations to highly-specific microhabitats. You're not going to "assist the migration" of or "accidentally introduce" a cave-obligate salamander from a limestone cavern or a temperate rainforest-dwelling land-slug to a desert biome. But, again, I still think it is good to stop and ask ourselves whether categories of “natural” and “alien/invasive” in ecology make sense, are outdated, or if they reinforce racism/xenophobia. And, again, I haven’t read enough -- I haven’t grappled with these questions enough -- to have an opinion which I’m comfortable sharing definitively, so I don’t want to discourage this disk horse too much.

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Hope some of this is interesting.

#abolition #ecology #imperial #colonial #hippo

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