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zeroar · 2 years

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Hello world!

Hi! I'm Zero! they/she pronouns please!

This was meant to be a quick about-me, but I ended up doing something a lot more comprehensive! So yeah, here's that!

I write/work in disability advocacy, social justice, and education. I focus on autism, ADHD, PTSD, cPTSD, and LGBTQIA+.

I am disabled, autistic, dyspraxic, and an ADHDer; I have PTSD—both the acute and cPTSD colors—and prolonged grief disorder; I am nonbinary.

I diagnosed myself with all of these as I grew up and received formal diagnoses for most of them in my 30s. My career in math education mostly ended in 2020 shortly after my love died in the first year of the covid pandemic. Both autistic and career burnout caught up with me; all of these things made continuing being in a classroom untenable.

Although I no longer teach in front of a class, I still write and study on the topics of education, mathematics, and math education.

I have "traits consistent with" being bipolar and having borderline personality disorder (BPD), although I have not been formally diagnosed with those ones. I am probably subclinical for bipolar—"subclinical", as in, a diagnosis would not be appropriate—and I believe that my BPD is better explained through the lens of neurodivergence, PTSD, and cPTSD.

I'm interested in connecting with other advocates, educators, and social-justice-oriented content creators!

More on Diagnoses and Accommodations!

I define "Diagnosis" to mean, "Associating a named condition with the person." There are "good", "neutral", and "bad" diagnoses. I believe the purpose of a diagnosis is to provide perspectives, frames of reference, and actionable accommodations.

Basically, does knowing the diagnosis help the person make sense of their state of being? For external conditions like PTSD or even something like a broken bone, the diagnosis is frequently the first step to recovery. For conditions that are inherent like being autistic or being nonbinary, the diagnosis provides a frame of reference to better understand and interact with the world.

Note that most people want a so-called "accurate" diagnosis, but they define accuracy based on some arbitrary listing of what the condition is and how it affects people. To the point that, eventually, anti-autism groups like Autism Speaks will release what they'll claim is a genetic test for "true" autism.

When that happens, they'll arbitrarily define people as autistic based on if they have those genetic markers or not and say anyone who was self-diagnosed or diagnosed by any other method other than their genetic test are not "actually autistic". Their plan has many objectives, but none of those objectives are about helping autistic people live and thrive with their lives.

It would be like if someone wanted to make all their dishes better by washing and cleaning them and your first step was to throw out any dishes you disliked. Sure, maybe that world seems "cleaner" to you—the person doing the cleaning—but those dishes are not benefited through stripping their status as "deserving to exist" and throwing them in the trash.

A good friend recently introduced me to a wonderful quote that encapsulates a lot of what I believe with respect to accommodations and diagnoses. It comes from Marcus Parks, one of the hosts of the podcast, "The Last Podcast on the Left". He has said, "Your mental health is not your fault, but it is your responsibility."

Too frequently, mental health ends up stigmatized due to the fact that society only really makes a big deal about it or even notices it when it causes friction. We've gotten a little bit better over the years as disabled communities have grown online and we started comparing notes, but for far too long, we only got "diagnosed" as a way to other us.

If you're undiagnosed, good luck! I hope that you will luck into everything you need. But once you get a "good" diagnosis, then you really do start to understand more and more about yourself and what you need in order to not just continue living, but in order to thrive as best you can.

I usually use the analogy of glasses/contacts. I have something like 20/400 or 20/600 vision, which is legally blind, but so long as I have glasses or contacts, I can pretty much get by with only minor inconveniences. It's not my fault that I cannot see, but it is my responsibility to accommodate my vision, and, when my vision is unaccommodated, to not do something like get in the driver's seat of a vehicle.

Because, for the most part, my vision is well-accommodated and only minorly stigmatized by society, I did not list "impaired vision" up front when I was discussing my identities. That being said, it still impacts my life and how I interact with the world. I need to do things like have back-up glasses when I go out wearing contacts or else risk being stranded. I have to think about wearing contacts during any scenario where my glasses are in physical danger.

(I once knocked my glasses off my face swatting at an insect for them to tumble down in front of me... the me sitting on a riding lawn mower at the time. Goodbye glasses. So, now I don't wear glasses to mow the grass).

Especially since 2020, the financial cost of accommodating this condition has been staggering for me, but even then, having impaired vision is something that is well accommodated for me, so although sometimes annoying, it doesn't make me feel like my life is completely different from someone who does not need glasses.

And that's really my current goal for most things I am working on in this advocacy space:

To help people accommodate themselves in ways that are going to give them the best chance for success, and,

To change societal views away from these boogieman-like representations of our people and the conditions we live with.

Thanks for reading!

#actually autistic #actually adhd #complex ptsd #actually disabled #disability #human rights #personal #autoethnography #mental health

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marrys-dream-world · 3 years

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Imposter

Read on AO3

Summary: Adrien's mother is kind and sweet and loving. The only problem is that it isn't her at all.

Notes: This is based off on this post by @infinitysgrace and a post athat I can’t find anymore, but was about how Emilie’s eye color could be wrong in the wishmaker flashback because it wasn’t her, it was a sentimonster. I took some liberties with sentimonster lore because I’m not 100% sure about all that, but I think it turned out well.

One of Adrien’s earliest memories is of crying.

He was young, perhaps three or four, and his room was blurry through his tears. When he grew older, he would get used to his father’s insistence that a night light was coddling Adrien, but at the moment, all he knew was the darkness surrounding him. The room was too big and his bed was in the middle of it, the light from the huge windows playing shadows that tricked his eyes. So he started crying, hoping it would call his parent’s attention and that they would come to him.

(When he grew older, he would learn that crying was useless.)

He felt more than saw his mother coming in, leaving the door open in a crack of light. Her arms wrap around him and she hums soothingly, the sound filling up his chest. She’s warm and smells sweet, like her favorite lavender perfume. He sinks into her, tears drying and sobs reducing to whines. He has tired himself out with that and would probably fall asleep even if left alone, but his mother doesn’t leave. She tucks him in and stays as his eyes close.

The last thing he sees are her wide blue eyes.

Both his parents have drastic mood changes, but Adrien would say that his mother is the most prominent example of this. His father is usually just stoic and, if Adrien pushes him enough, gets annoyed with him. At worst, he’ll get angry and rage at Adrien, calmed down only by his mother’s calm words as she diverts his attention so Adrien can get away. His mother, though, always feels like whiplash.

“Why can’t I go with you?” Adrien, aged seven, asks his mother. He’s sitting on her bed as she packs her bag for another trip with his father. He stopped keeping count of them after the fifth.

“You’re too young, baby.” She said and even the pet name didn’t stop the sting from her dismissive tone. “Next time, okay?”

He bits back a ‘you said that last time, too’.

“But I’m already- “

“Adrien.” His mother chides, frowning. Her (disappointed) green eyes held him down. “I said you could stay here with me if you weren't going to be disruptive. Can’t you behave, just this once?”

He swallows back a lump in his throat. “I-I’m sorry, mother.”

But she already turned her back to him and packed the rest of her bag in silence. His mother leaves out her customary goodbye kiss when she leaves for the trip. He isn’t allowed downstairs to see them go and Nathalie insists it isn't a punishment, even though it feels like it. Adrien mopes in his room, not feeling up to enjoy his free day, no tutors or photoshoots, when all he can think about is his mother.

That’s why he’s taken back when she walks in his room.

“Mother?” He gaps, unable to hide his surprise. “I thought you left. Aren’t you going to miss your trip?!”

“I changed my mind, Adrien. Your father and I decided that the trip would be more productive with just him.” She said, eyes warm. Adrien always thought it was beautiful how her eyes could look blue or green, depending on the light.

“But why?” He asked. She had been so excited for the trip!

“To stay with my precious son, of course.” His mother said, taking him into her arms.

All his questions evaporated right then and there.

After their last trip, his parents decided to take a break from traveling. To network, his father informed him, which meant more boring family dinners and stiff ties. His mom always tuts when he complains about it, so he stays silent this time. At least it’s a dinner with Chloé, his best friend, and her family, so he and her are really only required to have dinner and then they can go off and play in the hotel rooms.

“Arnold- “ Mrs. Bourgeois starts during dinner, before being nervously corrected by her husband.

“It’s Adrien, dear.”

“Oh right, Adrien. You grew up really well, you look more like your mother everyday.” Other people say it gushing, followed by a ‘so cute’ and pinches to the cheek. Mrs. Bourgeois says it like it’s a fact she approves of; Chloé even copies the small nod her mother makes. “You have her eyes.”

“Thank you, ma’am, but I don’t think so.” He says as politely as he can, but everyone in the table still throws him confused glances.

“You don’t think you look like your mother?” His father asked, raising an eyebrow.

Adrien shook his head. “No, I just don’t think I have her eyes. Mother’s eyes are blue and green and mine are just green.”

The Bourgeois family looks at him like he grew a second head. His parents, however, become tense all of sudden.

“Emilie, Gabriel, I think your son might be colorblind.” Mrs. Bourgeois says dryly and Adrien waits for his parents to come to his defense. They don’t.

“Maybe. You know how children are.” His mother says, lightly. “I love your hat, Audrey. Is it new?”

The topic changes to Audrey’s new fashion exploits and Adrien and Chloé are finally allowed to go play.

(Nathalie takes him to an eye doctor Mr. Bourgeois recommended the next day. The colorblind tests come back as negative.)

At age eight, Adrien was already used to working on fashion shows for his father’s brand. It didn’t make them easier to go through, however.

It’s a summer one, this time, and his clothes are light and airy and his skin felt itchy and hot in the air conditioned cat walk. Looking at the bright lights around him hurt and the camera felt like it was looking uncomfortably deep into his soul. Was it too obvious that he wanted to run away? The crowd claps everytime he comes and everyone is smiling. Except for his father.

After the show, his father spends the rest of the ride in silence as his mother tries to defuse the heavy tension that permeated the air with small talk and gushing compliments about the clothes and Adrien’s performance. It falls flat as she hardly looks like she’s up for talking, dark shadows under her eyes and skin paler than usual. Whenever Adrien asks her if she’s sick, she denies. As soon as they arrive home, he drags Adrien from the car towards the house, grip strong on his left upper arm.

“Do you enjoy embarrassing me in front of everyone, Adrien?” His father asked calmly, but his hand tightened on his arm.

Adrien couldn’t speak. It felt like it was happening to someone else, his mind weirdly detached from the situation. The only thing stopping him from floating away was the pain in his arm.

“That’s enough, Gabriel.” He heard his mother, voice muffled. It felt like he was underwater in the pool and she was speaking from far away. Her hand, though, he felt acutely as she extricated his father’s hand from his arm. “Adrien, go, please.”

He runs away without second thought, only pausing guiltily at leaving his mother with his irate father when he starts hearing his father’s screaming. Adrien hides under the blankets in his room, heart racing long after the noise stops as he tries to focus his mind into anything else. He startles when he feels a hand touching his blanket cocoon.

“Shhh, it’s okay, baby.” He hears his mother’s voice and frantically tears his blanket away.

Adrien relaxes as he looks into her wide blue eyes and comforting smile, trying to leap for a hug. She stops him.

“Let me see your arm first.” She says and he reluctantly takes off his jacket, wincing. The bruise on his arm doesn’t look pretty, so it’s for the best that he doesn’t go out much after fashion shows. “I can’t believe I let you get hurt.”

Her tone is soft and she looks, weirdly enough, genuinely confused as she touches the bruise on his arm and coos in apology as he flinches.

“Father is just stressed.” Adrien parrots back his mother’s usual spiel after his dad does something less than exemplary. “It’s just how she is, it’s okay.”

"It 's not okay.” His mother says right away. “I’m supposed to not let anything hurt you, Adrien.”

She says that with such a passion that he can believe she actually means it. But instead of the elation he expected when he heard it, all he felt was a surge of anger. Because why now? After all those moments when she scolded him for avoiding his father or not looking him in the eye, why now?

“There isn’t anything we can do about it, is there?.” He snaps, echoing her words to him from what felt like yesterday.

She deflated. “I’m sorry. There isn’t.”

His father went away from a trip again and his mother, once again, decided to stay.

Spending time with his mother during father’s trip was great, especially since she was in such a good mood and looking much healthier than she did these days. She lets him have an extra scoop of ice cream for dessert as soon as Nathalie turns her back on them, she spends the whole day playing with him in the garder, she helps with his homework and makes him a snack between classes. They play the piano together, making up different tunes and giggling.

“Don’t I have to practice this?” He asked, pointing to the sheets of the classical song he was supposed to learn.

His mother wrinkled her nose.

“You already work too hard, Adrien, it’s nice to have some fun once in a while.” She said, twisting her wedding ring on her finger. She usually didn’t wear it when spending time with him, only when she spent time with father, so it caught his attention. “Besides, nobody has to know.”

They watch a movie he picked that night. His mother rarely did that and when she did, she was very picky about it. Artist stuff, he supposed. This time he got to choose, though, and he picked on based on a manga he liked, Astroboy. His mother seemed excited in the beginning, but her mood quickly subdued as the movie went on.

“Are you not liking it?” He whispered to her and she shook her head.

“I am, baby, don’t worry. Are you?”

“Yeah. It's not really like the manga, but I like it.” He said. “I just think it’s a little unfair, you know. How he doesn’t know he isn’t really the scientist’s son, that he’s just a robot.”

His mother’s arms tighten around him. “I don’t think it’s unfair.”

“Really?” Adrien watched as the images from the screen played on his mother’s blue eyes.

“Really.” She repeated. “Him knowing would be crueler.”

At age ten, Adrien is awakened on a rainy night by his mother shaking him.

It was the night his father was supposed to come back from a trip and he had spent a fun day with his mother, studying and playing (“You need both to be a healthy boy, Adrien!” She grinned at him and he beamed back at her). His mother had looked a little skittish earlier, looking over her shoulder often only to just find Natahalie and fidgeting with the ring on her hand, that she usually wore every time his father was traveling. She wouldn't tell him what was wrong and insisted she hadn’t been sick. Nevertheless, he worried.

“Mother, what’s wrong?” He asked, sleepiness fading away as he noticed how frantic she looked.

“Adrien, I’ve been thinking about this for a while. Every moment I’ve been conscious, it’s been on my mind. Can you trust me?” She asked him, stroking his head with the hand that wore her wedding ring, and he nodded. “I need you to pack a small bag and come with me, okay? We’re going on a trip, just you and me.”

“A trip?” It was all he ever wanted, but the look in his mother’s blue eyes made him hesitate. “Is everything okay?”

“No, baby.” She said, kissing the top of his head. “But it will be. Hurry up, I need you to pack while I handle some things. Meet me downstairs in five minutes, okay?”

With anyone else, even his father, he would have asked more questions. This was his beloved mother, though, so he just got up and started to pack his clothes and some of his stuff that he couldn’t do a few days without. He carefully closed his door, running down the stair and to his mother by the door. She looked damp, her outfit changed and an umbrella hanging by her feet along with some bags.

“Adrien?” She asked, turning her green eyes to him. In her left hand, she held her wedding ring.

“Mother? Are you okay?” He asked, noting how much paler and shakier she looked than when he saw her upstairs.

“Yes, of course.” His mother said as she put her wedding ring back on. “Whatever I said to you upstairs, forget it, okay?”

“W-what?”

“I didn’t know what I was saying.” She said, eyes staring straight at her ring. “Don’t worry, it won’t happen again. Go back to bed, baby. Your father is back earlier than expected and he won’t like to see you up so late. ”

He nodded, unwilling to argue, and took his bag back with him to his room. His mother suddenly acting weird and standoffish wasn’t anything new, it was fine. She would go back to being his sweet, kind mother soon enough. He was sure of it.

(She never did.)

#adrien agreste #emilie agreste #gabriel agreste #miraculous ladybug #sentiemilie #ml fic #my stuff

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todoroki-waifu · 3 years

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Todoroki x F! Reader

Scenario: You’re going through some strange changes, but he’ll continue to stay by your side.

Word Count: 938

Genre: Fluff

Warnings: Female reader, Shouto and reader are aged up

——————

“Shouto!” You shout your husband’s name, trying to get his attention to the approaching enemy from his blind spot. You both responded to an emergency call on a group of villains attacking the downtown area. They weren’t particularly strong, but they were large in numbers and consistent with their attacks.

You immediately turned to Shouto using your quirk to defend him against the attack. Before he could thank you, another group charged towards you both, separating you from your beloved even more.

Shouto always kept his eyes on you even while fighting the hoard of criminals. He’d be devastated if anything should happen to his wife. Suddenly, his fear was becoming true as he saw a blast heading your way. He was pinned down by the enemy, using all of his strength to push him off and run to save you.

——

You gasped when you saw the attack after throwing a villain away from you. Before you could react, a wall of ice shields you from the offender. Ice continues to travel on the floor, reaching the rest of the villains and freezing them in their place.

Once everyone was restrained, the rest was handled by the police and sidekicks who showed up a few minutes later. Shouto is immediately by your side, frowning at your shivering state.

“Thanks for saving me, but maybe you could warm me up now?” You laugh a bit as Shouto gently takes your hands.

“That wasn’t me.” He frowns at the frost on your hands and forearms.

“Wait, what? It wasn’t me either.” You feel Shouto stroke your head, finding a few more patches of ice littering your ___(h/c) hair.

He knew that you didn’t have an ice quirk which made his frown a bit deeper. Shouto feels your fingers shaking in his and he quickly envelopes you in a hug, activating his left side to send a wave of warmth through you.

You let out a sigh of relief, shivering much less as you snuggled more into his chest. Once you’ve taken enough heat, he feels you pull away slightly.

“Are you okay?” He asks and you nod in response.

“I’m glad, but let’s go to the hospital anyway to get you checked out just in case. I want to make sure that ice quirk isn’t from the enemy.” Shouto takes your hand as he leads you in the direction of the nearest health facility.

——-

Thankfully, you had no acute issues and all your vitals were stable. You mentioned the ice incident and the doctor seemed puzzled by your report.

“Could it be from the villains?” Shouto asks.

“Based on your wife’s exam, I don’t believe so. The most likely possibility could be that she might be developing another quirk. It’s not common, but it has happened."

"Ohh, that sounds cool!” You were getting a bit excited at the thought of having a second power.

“Now, it’s not one hundred percent, but I’d like for you to come in a couple times this week so we could run a few tests.”

Once you agreed, you were given a copy of your discharge papers and directions where you would meet the team who would be studying your new ability.

——-

A couple weeks pass by and your ice powers have been erratic. You could be eating dinner with Shouto and all of a sudden, you’d freeze your food. Shouto was so supportive during your new power growth. He’d unfreeze whatever you froze and would try to train you on how to control your second quirk. But due to its lack of consistency, his training was ineffective.

It was frustrating that your new quirk never appeared on command, but at least it was reliable when in danger. Which you were happy about because Shouto would have been against you participating in missions. You were a pro hero, too, and you wanted to do your part in helping people.

You were off duty today, still getting researched on while Shouto was out patrolling. Finally, you had the results of your study and you were excited to share it with your husband after his shift.

——-

Shouto arrives home earlier than usual. There wasn’t much activity so the rest of patrolling was left to the sidekicks. You greeted him as soon as you heard him enter, Shouto catching you letting out a small yawn.

“Tired, my love?” He presses a kiss to your cheek.

“Yeah, I’ve been really exhausted lately.”

“I’m not surprised. Your powers are growing. You’ve also been both working and going to the hospital. Maybe you should take the rest of the week off?"

"Right. About my powers.. .so, I’m actually not getting a second quirk."

"You’re not? Then what is it?” His bi colored eyes show concern, thinking of the worst possible situation. Shouto steps closer to you, holding both of your hands as you smile at him.

“Well, I’m pregnant.” His eyes widen at the news, not expecting that to be the cause of your additional quirk. It wasn’t even on his mind. Yes, the two of you wanted to have children, but you weren’t actively trying. You and your husband were in no rush and were letting things happen on their own.

“Oh and th-” You interrupt his train of thoughts as you begin your sentence only to turn your head into your elbow to let out a small sneeze.

As you did, a quick burst of flames shot out from one side causing Shouto to be even more stunned. You excused yourself, looking unfazed by the fire you just created as you smiled widely.

“They’re twins.”

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7spaceace7 · 3 years

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By Fireflies’ Glow (Bagginshield)

Soooo I made a Bagginshield fic based off of this post and it’s on my Ao3 if you prefer to read it there, but here it is! The firefly scene didn’t make it into the movie’s cuts, so I made it myself and made it gay for good measure.

Word count: 2237

Warnings: None, unless you count unreasonable amounts of pining

Rivendell’s magnificence only extended into the evening, after the last light of day passed over the mountains surrounding it. Streaming waterfalls cascaded over the cliffs below, leading into rivers and streams down past the elven borders. Dusk crept up on Eastern skies in parallel to the setting sun, until the moon above followed its path high into the sky. Where there was sunlight cast into the water, silver moonlight now shone upon its surface. Bilbo had never seen an evening so beautiful, not in all his years.

The beauty of Rivendell had so captured him that the hobbit had spent nearly all his time wandering about the kingdom. While his dwarrow companions dined together, Bilbo explored the main halls of Rivendell, and the hobbit was quick to continue his self-guided tour just after Thror’s map had been translated. There was no doubt that Bilbo had fallen in love with the Valley of Imladris. He had to see as much as he could before their journey picked up once more.

At least, that was his excuse to distract from the real reason he had put distance between himself and the others. In truth, he did not feel welcome at their table. Bilbo was acutely aware of his outsider status to the dwarves; he may have been a contracted burglar of this company, but the hobbit knew he was still viewed as little more than a burdensome stranger without any experience of the larger world. The worst part was that he couldn’t blame them.

It was no secret he was inexperienced. What he had in his skills of gardening and baking (the best cakes from scratch in the Shire, you see), he lacked in the practical adventuring repertoire of sword fighting and travelling across Middle Earth. He was a Baggins of Bag-End after all, such respectable hobbits didn’t just up and leave on journeys with strange dwarves who ate his pantry stock.

But then, Bilbo supposed he wasn’t a respectable hobbit anymore. He had left that title behind as soon as he grabbed his signed contract and rushed out of his rounded door all that time ago. Instead, he was a member of a perilous quest to slay a dragon and reclaim a dwarven kingdom. However, the title of “adventurer” didn’t seem to belong to him either.

Another rounded corner of the path led Bilbo to find himself back where his exploration had started in the gardens. He hadn’t meant to come this way again, but it seemed his feet had started wandering on their own when the hobbit became lost in doubt. Bilbo didn’t mind, though.

The gardens of the elves were some of the most enchanting he’d ever seen. Hedges encircled the area, trees sprung up their lanky limbs that seemed to welcome all who ventured there. It was well-kept, organized, and filled with flowers of all colors he’d only ever seen in books. The colors seemed to glow by moonlight as well, transforming into translucent blues, purples, and greens. Bilbo used to daydream about places like these from reading his books, wondering what it would be like to live in a place where such beautiful things can grow. Lord Elrond’s offer of staying in Rivendell returned to his mind.

“Master Baggins,” Came the rough voice of Thorin Oakenshield, pulling the hobbit from his thoughts in surprise. Bilbo’s head turned to see that the gardens had already been occupied by said dwarven king, who sat upon the backless, stone-carved bench alone. He held an expression that Bilbo could not place. At the least, it was not a glare or look of disdain toward him as usual. “I was beginning to think you’d run off. You made quick leave after reading the map. You weren’t at dinner, either.”

“You’re right, I was..”The hobbit shifted to his other leg. The words didn’t find him to explain that he didn’t think himself welcome in their company. Exploring didn’t seem much like a Baggins pastime either, so Bilbo’s sentence hung unfinished. “I didn’t realize someone else was here. I expect you wish to be left alone, I’ll take my leave-”

“The others are resting,” Thorin said before Bilbo could take even a step away. His gaze turned away from the hobbit and back to the open trees. “I couldn’t find sleep.”

“...So you came here?”

Thorin bowed his chin in a nod. The halfling recalled many sleepless nights of his own being comforted by the fresh air found in his garden back home. He allowed himself to wonder if this was something he and the dwarf had in common.

“I never took you for a lover of nature.”

Perhaps on better terms, Thorin might have seemed amused. “I assure you, I am not. The gardens just happened to be far enough away from the sounds of Bombur’s snores.”

“I see. It is rather peaceful. In the gardens, I mean.”

“Indeed.”

Moments of silence stretched between the unlikely pair while the two admired their surroundings, even if Thorin wouldn’t admit to elvish work capturing his attention. Bilbo remained awkwardly at the steps of the garden where he was first stopped. He didn’t mind standing since Hobbits had more resilience in being on their feet for long amounts of time, but to Bilbo’s surprise, Thorin made room on the bench beside him.

The halfling’s lips twitched in figuring what to say, should he say anything at all. Finally he decided that he ought to try and test the waters. If Thorin was offering him a place to sit, he would take the opportunity and see where it took him. The Tookish part inside told him that this could be his chance to reconcile their strained first impressions. Bilbo walked over and took his seat at the far end of the bench.

“I have my own garden, back in Bag-End,” He started, after the silence became too heavy to hold any longer, “You might have seen it when you arrived that night. It’s certainly not as impressive as this, but then I’m just one hobbit compared to many elves. Besides, it has all the flowers I really need, all of my favorites. The Shire has perfect weather for my hydrangeas best of all.”

The dwarf didn’t speak as he watched him ramble. Bilbo didn’t think Thorin much the type for listening about gardening techniques and therefore spared the details, but a quick glance over to the dwarf proved that he was, indeed, listening. Still silent as ever, but this was a bit different. The exiled king seemed at peace for once. Like he was grateful to hear of a hobbit’s silly affinity for plants instead of a mountain kingdom to be reclaimed.

It was a sight Bilbo found himself having trouble looking away from. He willed himself to focus on the fireflies gathering around the bushes instead.

“Gardens were not to be found in the mountain,” Thorin’s voice softened at the mention of his old home. He always regarded the Lonely Mountain with careful, almost protective, thought. Bilbo’s eyes settled back on the dwarf and clung to every word. “Nothing grows underground, of course. No grass or soil to grow it, and there was no true light, save for the forges and fires burning.”

“None at all? Did you never go outside..?” Bilbo asked. He had known dwarves were the type to mostly stay underground, but such a concept still seemed so foreign to him. Hobbits were known to spend practically all of their time outdoors, and there was light everywhere he could remember. Thorin, however, shook his head.

“Dwarves in that time were born into the darkness of caves. They grew used to seeing rock instead of sky, and I was no different. From the moment I could walk, my time was devoted to training, watching my grandfather as he ruled so I could one day take his place. Learning of the kingdom and its people, of how to protect and serve them, everything a young prince must know,” Thorin explained. His eyes cast toward the ground as he hunched over, deep in thought. It seemed a painful memory sprung from his words without his meaning to. “There was no time for anything but such duties, especially as my grandfather’s health began to fail...”

Thorin trailed off with regret held in his eyes.

“There was little I knew of the world outside of Erebor’s halls, and that’s how it would have stayed were it not for the snake residing there now,” The exiled king finished with bitten words. Bilbo shifted uncomfortably.

“I’m sorry to hear it.”

“I have no need of your pity,” Thorin’s words were said without malice. Instead, they were filled with shame, like he believed he did not deserve sympathy. Like this horror was his fault, somehow. “Especially from someone who knows a very different life.”

“Actually, it doesn’t sound completely different.”

The dwarf’s taken aback look was all he needed to continue.

“I mean, I certainly wasn’t an heir to a kingdom, but in the Shire you didn’t go much of anywhere else. Sometimes to Bree if you were the type, but that would get you odd looks from the rest of town, and by no means were you considered the respectable sort. In fact, I’m sure by now I’ve probably been declared mad beyond all reason, going off on adventures with strange dwarves and a wizard.”

The light brown curls framing Bilbo’s face bounced when he chuckled. Thorin found himself wondering why he noticed this.

“Hobbits simply don’t care much for learning what outside the Shire borders holds. We don’t get visitors, and we don’t do any visiting of our own. So..I suppose in that regard, I understand not knowing much else but what expectations you’ve been born to,” Bilbo finished with a hesitant smile. It was a smile simply for Thorin in that moment, reserved for his eyes and his eyes alone. And yet, the dwarf looked away, startled by its intimacy.

“I see both our clans have deemed us mad, then,” Thorin said, clearing his throat to hide the sudden topic shift.

“How do you mean?”

“The other dwarrow leaders called our quest a fool’s death sentence. I made mention of it before we left your home, but in truth they did not use as-- encouraging-- words as I led the others to believe,” The words of mockery bounced back bitterly to the forefront of his mind. “They believe we won’t make it alive to even reach the mountain. It is why we take on this task alone.”

Bilbo’s mouth twitched in thought again. “Well,” He began, “Perhaps they’re right.”

Thorin’s shock bubbled up instantly, paired with a list of insults in Khuzdul that he had half a mind to repeat from the aforementioned dwarrow council. The hobbit knew that look and raised his arms in defense.

“What I mean to say is, yes, perhaps you won’t reach the mountain, perhaps that’s how we’re fated to finish, but,” Bilbo took a breath, calmed his nerves, “It is still a noble cause to see through the end. And I know each of those who’ve followed you this far would agree. Anyone who doubts you hasn’t got the courage to see it as such.”

Thorin’s eyes softened. He looked down at the smaller creature, such a curious thing by anyone’s standards. A hobbit of the Shire, fond of books, green gardens, and the comforts of home, and yet it is he who has remedied his doubts of his birthright.

“...Thank you.”

Bilbo simply nodded. Even if he himself wasn’t fit for this journey, he truly did hope these dwarves would succeed. They’d all lost so much when their home was taken from them. Especially Thorin. Thorin Oakenshield, who’d braved unfathomable death and destruction and still stood, facing up against an almost impossible task. And here he was, thanking a small hobbit for mere words.

Their lives could not be more different-- and still, they were familiar.

A soft, shining glow from the middle of the garden grove brought their attention away from one another. Dozens and dozens of fireflies had snuck their way closer and completely surrounded the pair on the bench. Their patterns blinked and glimmered for all to see, with shimmering water nearby to exemplify the view. Thorin, surprisingly, was the one captivated most. His cobalt blue eyes shimmered from their reflection, trained on their light.

“Perhaps you were right. About us being raised too differently,” The hobbit mused. A smile tugged at his lips as he watched the king become a prince again. “I don’t remember being so enthralled by the nightly fireflies.”

Thorin chuckled. A small, but genuine, bout of humor. Honestly, it almost shocked Bilbo into the next age.

“Forgive me. I suppose I just never stopped to notice them before. Not in all my journeys across Middle Earth,” His smile lingered. Bilbo’s brightened.

They held such a gaze for some time in comfortable silence. At first meeting, Thorin had sized up the simple hobbit for a commoner, unfit for the wilds of the journey the company had planned to cross. And perhaps that was still the case. Only time would tell if Bilbo was truly a loyal member of this quest, but for now, they had this moment to share.

That is, until Gandalf’s voice was heard passing along the bridge mentioning the dwarven king by name.

#Bagginshield #the hobbit #bilbo baggins #thorin oakenshield #thilbo #thilbo bagginshield #the hobbit: an unexpected journey #Rivendell #Fanfics #lil bit of both canon compliance and canon divergence #obviously in my AU no one dies tho #did i mention the pining

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sparklingpax · 3 years

Text

We return to another episode of Kuni rambles incoherently on tumblr with a phone at 18%

Alternately titled, someone take my phone the f r ag away from me

Ok. I apologize if someone else has come up with this idea first and this is therefore a pale comparison to the original idea, but um, here goes.

I want an au (?? Might have a different name based on what I'm talking about Actually, but brain Fried so I can't remember) where optimus gets to talk to his youngest self--to Orion Pax :0

Note: the times it mentions Optimus is like. from Op’s pov? Since Orion never learns his name?? If that makes sense?? Sorry this is so confusing aa a a--

so anyway Sorry for typos and grammar stuff, I'm typing this on my phone as it slowly dies Hfkdjsj hH 😳

///

Orion is pulled from his study books at the sound of footsteps.

A shadow is cast over him.

Wonder and disbelief spark in his gaze as he stares up at the rather grand figure before him.

This mech--plating a nearly exact match to his own in the red, blue, and silver coloring--seems to possess an air about him that is...neither true confidence, nor uncertain existence.

At the very least, it seems he knows who he is, and his purpose in this world. Something Orion is still working on.

Silence rests between them.

Optimus, meanwhile, feels an overwhelming sense of yearning.

Seeing Orion--seeing himself--he wishes he could go back to those days.

The simpler days of youthful naivety towards life.

When Cybertron still thrived under golden days and the silvery illumination of the moons at night.

When the buildings stood tall and beautiful and untouched.

When he could never have known the awful sight of a corpse at the end of his own sword, or the unnatural cries a bot makes as it is brutally murdered next to you, and you can do nothing but continue to fend for your own life...

"You are...studying for a quarterly exam?" Optimus asks, leaning closer to see the book. He recognizes the cover and feels a twinge in his spark.

He remembers the book.

...And that he never enjoyed Chemistry much.

"...I am.....but...how did you know?" Orion stands slowly to meet the gaze of the mech standing over his desk. His gaze turns to light worry and confusion.

Orion is acutely aware of a feeling in his spark that...a lot about this mech feels familiar.

Somehow even...intimately.

"A-actually...um...."

He stammers in the silence, fishing desperately for the words to use that would ask his question, yet still be polite.

After all, 'are you related to me?' is definitely an awkward--perhaps intrusive--question to ask a complete stranger...

Optimus continues to regard the young bot, slightly amused.

He knows what Orion is hoping to ask, but also that it would be hard to ask a question like that upfront, at least when he was a younger mech.

"Orion Pax," Optimus says, placing his servos on his hips.

"Y-yes?"

"Be careful not to stay up too late with that book. Tests require knowledge, but they also require one to be awake to take them...and sleep--"

"--helps a processor function, yes..." the smaller mech sighs, frustrated. He's heard that one before, but his mind isn't thinking about that at the moment.

Alright, so he knows my name, too. But...I've never met him? There's absolutely no way he doesn't know me somehow... but how could I possibly--

"Orion?"

He jolts at his name, almost blurting the question before pulling himself back.

The mech standing over his desk gives the gentlest of smiles and rests a firm servo on Orion's shoulder.

"I know what you are going to ask, Orion."

"You...do?"

"And I will tell you as much as I can."

What is he, inside my head now?

But he receives an answer that shocks him more than that would.

"I....am you, Orion, and beneath my title and age from my timeline....I am still you," he pauses, beginning to look a little sad now.

Orion blinks a few times, absolutely shocked.

"....but you're so....tall..." Is all he manages to murmur before realizing what he just said and instantly feeling heat rush to his face.

Optimus tightens his jaw as he doesn't wish to embarrass the archivist any further by laughing.

I was less careful with my thoughts and emotions once. If only I still knew how...

"I am a Prime, and I am fighting a war."

"A war?" Orion frowns in thought.

There's hasn't been a war since the revolution against the Quintesson oppressors.

What need had Cybertron to fight again?

"Is it an invasion of Cybertron to come? Or a resources conflict?"

And me? Fighting in that war? But...I fail every self-defense practice with Megatronus, at that's true no matter how hard I try...

Optimus feels his chest grow heavy as he remembers the pain Megatron's anger alone had caused him after the council of Halogen.

The guilt, regret, frustration at his friend's obstinance, fear, sadness...

He realizes quickly that he can't possibly unload the heavier truth to Orion--to himself--all over again.

He can't...bring himself to tell Orion that his closest friend and mentor would be the leading force in a centuries-long, gritty, bleak and somewhat horribly hopeless war against him and his cause.

So he instead offers a rather sad smile, and chooses not to answer the question.

"Orion, hear my words, even if you don’t understand them at present. No matter what happens or who around you turns for the darker path, you must never lose your spark, hope, or your character."

"My spark....and character?" He echoes, distantly. "Hope?"

"Indeed," Optimus affirms, feeling an uneasiness of his own.

The light in his eyes has dulled, yet they also maintain a grim light to them.

One that tells Orion that this mech has seen things he wished never to have seen, and never to see again.

A grief so strong it....scares him.

Orion feels a wave of uneasiness wash over his whole body.

Something very dark is somewhere in the future...and now he has something to do with it?

And...it involves him becoming bigger, taller, stronger? Learning to fight...to kill, maybe?

To kill means to take a life. To end it.

Orion swallows, at last processing the other part of what the mech had told him.

He had to become a Prime??

"I--but I couldn't...not in any dream could I..." He trails off, feeling almost too much at once.

I cannot kill.

Optimus senses the turmoil he's set in the younger mech and feels guilty immediately.

"Do not worry," he consoles him, reaching for his smaller servos. He then looks Orion in the eye, knowing the firmness will settle his mind. "My being here alone may be enough to stop what might happen to you, to this planet..."

Orion indeed beings to feel the pounding in his spark settle just a little.

A war would mean all kinds of devastation he couldn't begin to imagine...but this mech was from another timeline.

Perhaps we...are destined for another future.

"Above all, know that if you never lose yourself, then....whatever you become will be just as true as that," he tells him. The words are weighted with something profound.

The archivist knows in his spark that it will be a long time before he can grasp that emotion, but he is fine with that.

Orion blinks at him, feeling a new wave of mixed emotions he can't define. He feels himself tense as he tries to control it.

But the mech's hand reaches to his arm.

He nods encouragingly, and Orion just knows the Prime doesn't want him to pent up his emotions.

"In my eyes, Orion, you have always been a prime..."

Optimus draws back at last and slowly begins to leave.

It must be time for him to go...

Orion stands at his desk, staring, a forearm still raised.

"...Or so I am told by those around me..."

The mech adds with a mild chuckle before finally leaving the room.

Orion continues to stare at the now empty doorway ahead of him.

Was that even real?

Himself?

From another future?

And yet...there is that feeling in his spark...the gut instinct telling him to trust in what this mech had been saying, that it was all real...

He plops back into his seat, staring at the ceiling.

He is too lost in thought to try and get back into his late-night studying.

And then it sinks in.

I never asked him his name!!

He deflates a little and facepalms.

Orion, you dumbaft....

///

Nhjdjdjs I hate this, writing skils have left the chat

bye ;w;

#transformers #transformers prime #tfp #tf #kuniwrites #orion pax #tfp orion pax #fanfiction #transformers fanfiction #transformers prime fanfiction #tfp fanfiction #Megatronus #Megatron

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kpopfanfictrash · 5 years

Text

The Supers and the Not

Member: Jimin (BTS)

Prompt: Okay. The original request was for Cyborg!Jimin, but I made a few tweaks. I’ve been recently intrigued by this Stephen Hawking excerpt, where he warns about the future of designer genetics v. humanity. So.... Jimin is not a cyborg, but a genetically engineered superhuman. AND, GO. (OH, + this dialogue: “Are you warm enough?”)

Rating: PG-13

WC: 3,637

↳ part of my 30K milestone drabble game

The term superhuman has held many meanings throughout history.

In comic books, superhumans are superheroes. They are beings who use their powers for good, who protect society from unnatural adversaries. The term has changed greatly since then. When science grew bolder and human curiosity surged, the word superhuman began to transform. It became a label; one which separated a new category of human from old.

The supers from the not.

Back in the old days, designer babies (as they were called) were edited merely for defects. Scientists easily identified potential genetic diseases like sickle-cell or Huntington’s, sending in nanotech to modify and fix the code. Obviously, there was debate around this and obviously, humans were wary – but the benefits were proven to outweigh the cost.

Scientists did not stop there. No longer did they research disease, but the human psyche itself. As the map of human DNA filled in its corners, their research became riskier, more complicated and far more exciting. Once all human defects were eliminated, what else remained but the good traits?

Good traits – which could become great.

The first superhumans were not called super. Super was a nickname generated by an overenthusiastic media before they grasped what their existence truly meant. The supers were a class of human beings all on their own – able to see further, hear better, run faster. They were taller, more beautiful and far more intelligent. This was the real kicker – humans have survived extinction based on their wit alone. The appearance of supers meant regular humans could no longer compete.

The so-called supers were turned against the not.

You are not super. Your parents could not afford you to be. While many your age were conceived in a tube; their embryos tested, operated on and perfected; you were conceived the old-fashioned way, with a virtual roll of the dice.

Still, you have always done well for yourself. In a world where you were born at a natural disadvantage, you have always managed to survive. Survival is truly the best-case scenario given your circumstances. Always, you have harbored the unique ability to assess a situation, determine its risks and choose the right outcome. Some call it luck, others skill, but you know it for what it truly is – the only option.

Take now, for instance.

Currently you sit in a white, pristine lobby on a white, pristine couch in front of a white, pristine receptionist. She keeps glancing your way, wrinkling her nose as though you have a strange smell. Warily, you shift in your seat and wonder if somehow you do. Maybe her sense of smell is so acute she can pick up on an aroma you cannot.

Or maybe she is only an ass. This option seems more likely to you.

When the door to the waiting room swings open, you look up. A woman holds it ajar with her hip, checking the hologram hovering above her wrist.

“Y/N?” she asks, sounding utterly bored.

“That’s me,” you say, rising to your feet.

Swiftly, she looks your way and wrinkles her nose. “Follow me.”

She turns, the door nearly falling shut behind her. You are forced to run in order to catch it, barely grasping its edge before it closes on your hand. From behind you, the receptionist snickers and, glowering, you step through the door. The hallway beyond it is equally pristine and white.

The assistant is already halfway down the hall.

“So,” you pant, practically jogging to keep up with her stride. “The ad didn’t mention what specifically I would be doing. Do you have an overview?”

For the first time since meeting, the woman smiles. Paused in the middle of the hall, she looks at you as though you are something to be pitied and you repress the urge to slap the look from her face.

“And yet you still answered the ad. Most peculiar.”

Drawing yourself to your full height – which is still several centimeters below hers – you glare. “As though I have a choice,” you say coldly. “There aren’t many jobs left which accept normals.”

“Pity.”

She walks past you, opening a doorway you had not yet noticed. The seams of it blend into the wall, barely even noticeable unless you have super vision. The room beyond seems darker than the hall. Finally, the walls surrounding you are not white – it takes you a second to adjust to the lighting.

“He’s waiting,” the assistant says, as though you are a gigantic waste of her time. Maybe you are.

Walking forward, you hear the door fall shut behind you. The new room is utterly silent, nothing to be heard but the sound of your breathing – and his. Your potential employer stands behind a large desk, as though this were a formal gathering of businessmen, and not a rather sketchy job interview.

Fuck, supers are beautiful.

It is hard not to be dazzled by his outward appearance. A sculpted jawline, bright gaze and sharp nose – standing before him, you feel rather meek in comparison. Before you can speak, the man clears his throat.

“Sit,” he says, waving at the chair opposite. “Please, Y/N, sit. Are you warm enough? Sometimes the temperature of this room is far too cold.”

Of course, he would need confirmation of this. Most supers can sustain greater temperature fluctuations than normals. It is one of their many improvements.

Warily, you take a step closer. “You know my name.”

He smiles politely. “You did fill out an application, you know.”

“I know.” Stiffly, you pull the chair back to sit.

Silence stretches between you, both of you staring and trying not break first. Finally, he speaks.

“How silly of me.” Chuckling good-naturedly, the man ducks his head. “I haven’t introduced myself. I’m Park Jimin, but you may call me Jimin.”

“Most supers prefer to be addressed by their surname.”

Jimin’s smile falters. “Yes, well… Ah. All the same, I prefer to be called Jimin.”

“Alright.” You say this as though it is neither here nor there. “Jimin, it is.”

“Wonderful.” Jimin flicks a hand over his desk. A blue hologram appears. “Down to business, then. You’re probably wondering why my ad was so cryptic.”

Uncaring, you shrug. “Not really.”

“Why not?” Jimin pauses. “That would have been my first question.”

He seems genuinely curious and in response, your gaze narrows. The underlying implication is obvious – you normals do not think things through before acting. Not in the same way they do. Normal thought is somehow ages behind that of the supers.

Gritting your teeth, you lean forward. “The ad didn’t surprise me because, based on prior experience, supers tend to be vague about illegal requests.”

Jimin’s cheeks color. Slowly, he lowers his hand and the blue hologram fades. “I see.” Quickly, he glances at the door you entered from. “You’ve answered this kind of ad often, then.”

“Not a question.”

“No, merely an observation.” His gaze becomes shrewd. “I can see you don’t trust me.”

Not wishing to implicate yourself any further, you remain silent.

Jimin arches a brow. “Well, do you?”

“No,” you say simply. “I do not.”

“I can hardly blame you for that. My kind can be… well, cruel to yours.”

Again, you say nothing. Part of survival is knowing when to hold your tongue. Part of survival is knowing when to play the part of the lower, sub-species and when to let them know you understand.

“I need you to trust me, though,” Jimin says quietly. “I need you to trust me, since I’m going to be very, very honest with you.”

Despite your best interest, his words pique your curiosity. Supers do not often care about honesty.

“It will be difficult to undo years of training,” you note.

Jimin laughs. The noise escapes before he can help it. “Yes,” he muses, leaning back in his chair. “I suppose so. Perhaps it would be good, then to tell you who I am.”

“You’re Park Jimin. You’re a super.”

His eyes are dark brown with flecks of gold at the center. The effect inspires warmness, emotion and you trust absolutely none of it. Everything about this man is designed to draw people in. Idly, you wonder how much his father paid for it.

“True,” Jimin says. “But I am also Park Jimin, of Park Enterprises.” Launching into what can only be assumed to be his Wikipedia biography, he continues, “My father is Park Jiwoo, researcher and entrepreneur. I have no siblings. I am 169 cm tall, which is considered below average for a super and I –”

“Okay, none of that matters to me,” you interrupt, waving your hand. Jimin ceases talking immediately, blinking owlishly and you wonder if this is the first time he has been interrupted. “God,” you groan, slouching low in your seat. “You supers are all the same, aren’t you? Listing facts and figures like that’s all people care about.”

Jimin bristles. “That is what most people care about.”

“Not normals,” you say, softening a tad. “Not humans, really. Tell me something different. Tell me something personal.”

The blue light from his desk makes him seem almost haunted. Likely, the lights in his room are intelligent; designed to reflect his mood and adjust appropriately. You wonder what they glean from him now, since he seems stressed in your gaze. Dark circles shadow his eyes, his grip tense on the table before him. Uneasily, you wonder what a super could have to be worried about.

“I don’t really know what you mean.” His brow puckers. “Do you want my government ID number, or something? That’s personal.”

“God, no,” you choke out, trying hard not to laugh. “If you gave me that, they’d just think I stole it.”

His lips lift in a ghost of a smile. “You’re right, they would.”

“I know I’m right. I want something different. I want to hear about…” Glancing around, you wonder what could possibly make you trust this man. What could possibly make you relate to this super. There are photographs on his desk – a family photo, which is interesting. Looking up, you meet Jimin’s gaze. “Tell me the last time you cried.”

“The last time I… cried?”

“Or, can you not?” Politely, you cross one knee over the other. “Are you supers so far removed from humanity that you no longer feel? Were your tear ducts removed along with your defects?”

“I can still cry,” Jimin mutters, gaze heated.

“Then, prove it. Tell me.”

Slowly, he leans back in his seat. “Last Thursday. 10:12 AM.”

“And what happened to make you cry?”

“I learned information which scared me.”

His honesty catches you off guard. Either Park Jimin is a very good actor, or he is telling the truth. He truly does look fearful, which does not bode well for you. Fearful people tend to make bad decisions – and fearful supers tend to make cataclysmic ones.

“What information?”

Jimin shakes his head slowly. “I can’t tell you that. Not without you trusting me. Not without me trusting you.”

“Then, trust me.”

“You say that like it’s so simple.” Jimin slowly exhales. “Meeting you like this goes against everything I stand for. There are so many things which could go wrong... I have done the probability calculations over and over – twice while we were sitting here – and it is ludicrous to think I might find the solution, when –”

“Jimin.” Quietly, you interrupt.

He pauses before he looks up.

You meet his gaze. “Why am I here?”

Jimin’s expression morphs from stoic to helpless. “Because... you’re normal.”

“And?”

“And,” Jimin says, closing his eyes. “That means you are immune to the problem.”

The way he says problem sends a chill down your spine. He speaks as though he has exhausted every option and this is his last resort – and likely, you are. That is what tends to come from meetings like this.

This is not your first meeting from an unlisted number. This is not your first interaction where a person has disguised their voice while answering the phone. It isn’t your first time meeting someone in an unknown location and receiving details of a task said person needed performed.

You do what you must. You receive payment. You survive.

This seems different, though – Jimin seems different.

With his eyes closed, Jimin looks almost human. You suppose that he is, but not in the same way you are. His skin is flawless, the milk of it dusted with blue veins and dark lashes. When he opens his eyes, you expect the illusion of his beauty to fade. It does not.

“What’s the problem?” you say, pushing these distracting thoughts aside.

“It’s easier… if I show you.” Reluctantly, Jimin reaches out to pull up a hologram. Blue strands of DNA twist before you in mid-air. “There have been many accepted edits of the human genome. Some are more progressive than others. The ampliointelligens procedure, for example, is the most widely known. It is where –”

“A person’s intelligence is increased,” you interrupt, bored. “I know. It’s Latin.”

Jimin quickly covers his surprise. “Of course. Anyways, the procedure was considered the first of the… super procedures. The ones which diverted from genetic correction to genetic improvement. And, as with any new field… there were errors.”

“Errors?”

This fact is news to you – nothing about mistakes was reported to the public, which explains Jimin’s trepidation on the matter. In the entire history of the supers, there has never once been any admittance of error. Their strength is their narrative, after all. The supers deserve their positions, their wealth and their influence because they are better. Because they can foresee things normal humans cannot. All of this fails to be relevant if they are proven to be imperfect.

“The concept of intelligence.” Jimin uses air quotes on the word. “Is hard to understand and even harder to change. Gene editing is simple. Take something like Huntington’s disease – we know the genetic defect which causes it. We can simply screen the DNA, cut out the harmful bit and replace it. That’s an over-simplification of the procedure of course, but – there’s low risk of something going wrong.”

“If you say so.”

“However, with something like intelligence… there’s still debate about which portions of the human genome are the most impactful. There are several accepted versions of the ampliointelligens procedure because of this disagreement.”

Hearing him say this, you blink. Again, this is news not known to the general public and you wonder why Jimin is telling you this – any one of these tidbits would be worth a fortune if the supers have covered them up for so long.

The surprise on your face must be obvious, because Jimin then sighs. “The variables increase with intelligence. There isn’t one DNA strand to consider, but millions. Trillions. Each tweak a surgeon makes has far-reaching repercussions; ones which geneticists admitted were impossible to know definitively at the time. And yet…”

“And yet, people underwent the procedure.”

“People were greedy. They are greedy,” Jimin corrects with a tick to his jaw. “Once a reasonable procedure was created, people wanted it – no matter the cost, no matter the risk. If there was a chance their children could be super, they took it.”

You notice Jimin says the word super with a bitterness usually reserved by your kind. This surprises you, if nothing else. He doesn’t seem to enjoy what he is any more than you do.

“So.” You tap your fingers against your knee. “Back to the problem you mentioned.”

You assume this problem is why you’ve been asked here. There’s something Jimin needs and the sooner he asks it of you, the sooner you can leave. The sooner you can cease sitting before him, becoming oddly charmed by a man you despise.

He nods. “We’ve known about a mutation for years, but it has recently transformed into something insidious. One of the ampliointelligens procedures is the cause of this mutation. The DNA edit takes over, it spirals out of control and overpowers the human ability to empathize. This leads to rash decision-making, high levels of narcissism and the inability to relate to others. It can be… crippling.”

“Narcissistic and unable to relate?” Pressing your lips together, you keep them from twitching. “However will you separate them from the rest of the supers?”

“It isn’t the same,” Jimin says, a bit heated. “Supers can empathize, even if they place less value upon emotion than normals do. Supers still factor in an emotional response.”

“How noble.”

“You don’t understand.” Jimin leans forward. “Those afflicted by the mutation are incapable of decision-making – and what’s worse, they control every major resource in the country. Yes,” he says, spotting the look on your face. “The problem is bigger than just supers versus normals. If this disease spirals out of control, there won’t be a world left to save.”

“Is that what you intend to do?” you ask, unable to help yourself. “Save the world?”

“I intend to try,” Jimin says quietly.

Maybe it’s this that convinces to you how serious this is. Jimin stares, brow furrowed, and you get the idea he doesn’t lie very often. Slowly, you tilt your head and observe him.

“How many?”

His brow furrows. “I’m sorry?”

“How many supers are afflicted?”

Staring at you, Jimin seems to sag in his seat. If he had a glass of alcohol in his hand, you imagine he would drink it.

“About half the existing supers underwent the affected procedure,” he admits. “And it does not seem to be a question of if, but of when.”

“Oh.”

“Take my father, for instance,” Jimin continues, not looking away. “He began to exhibit symptoms last Thursday morning. I, on the other hand, have yet to show any.”

“How…” You pause, licking your lips. “If the procedure is as certain as you say, how does the public not yet know? How has it been kept quiet so far?”

“Those in power have methods of silencing.”

Not wanting to know more than that, you glance away. “I take it you think these methods will not remain effective for much longer?”

“I do not.”

“So, then why am I…” Glancing sharply upwards, understanding dawns. “You want me to be your guinea pig. You want to perform experiments on me because I’m immune. Because I’m normal.”

“Lord, no.” Jimin winces. “At least – not in the manner you speak of. I would like to compare samples of our DNA, yes. I’d like intelligence testing, brain scans – all of that would be on the table, but what I need you for most is observation.”

“Observation. Like, me in a glass room and a strait jacket?”

“It’s the other way around, I’m afraid. I need you to observe me.”

“You?”

“Like I said.” A sliver of desperation seeps into his tone. “I have no idea when my mind won’t be… my own. I’m seeing firsthand how my father has changed. I need someone neutral – someone not prone to the problem themselves – to weigh in.”

“And that person… is me?”

“Based on this meeting, I think so.” Jimin meets your gaze. “Y/N, has your intelligence ever been tested?”

“Are you serious? Intelligence testing is reserved for supers. Surely, you know that. Normals have no need to be tested.”

“And yet,” Jimin says calmly. “Since you entered this room, you’ve corrected me multiple times, synthesized complicated arguments and even translated Latin to English. Whatever you are,” he says, leaning forward. “It is more than what you let on.”

He sounds so self-assured in this statement, you almost believe him. Pushing the idea away, you glance at the door and gather your thoughts. No matter what choice you make, there’s no good way out. You were stuck from the moment you agreed to this meeting. Jimin has revealed too much to you – and yes, information is power, but not the kind that you hold.

Knowing weaknesses about the supers places a target on your back. Slowly, you return to him.

“I don’t have a choice, do I?” you say softly. “If I don’t agree to your terms, you’ll just send people after me when I leave.”

“No. I won’t.”

“Why not? I would, if I were you.”

“Because.” There’s something hard, something unreadable to his gaze. “I really need you to trust me.”

Variables flash through your mind, a fight or flight instinct warring in your bones. Eventually, you ignore all of it and instead, listen to the voice which whispers in the back of your mind.

“Find,” you say slowly. “I’ll do it.”

Jimin sags into his chair. “Thank the fucking gods.” He sighs. “I didn’t really have a Plan B.”

“You didn’t?”

“No,” Jimin says. “I’m afraid this is my final resort.”

“Then, why –”

“I think that’s enough chit-chat for today.” Pushing back his chair, Jimin stands from his desk. Pressing a button on the side, a noise buzzes in the hall. “I think it’s time you reviewed the terms of the contract. One of my assistants will show you to your rooms.”

“Rooms?”

Without thinking, you stand as well.

“Of course,” Jimin shrugs. “You’ll be staying with me for the duration of the work period. Everything is outlined in the contract – which you will have until the end of this week to make amendments to. Will that be that satisfactory?”

“I…” Blinking at him, your mind reels. “Yes.”

“Good.”

Clasping both hands before him, Jimin morphs back into the image of super. Banished is the distressed man you saw briefly but still, he lingers around the edges.

“I look forward to working with you, Y/N,” he says quietly.

The door opens to reveal the tall assistant from earlier. She glances in surprise from you to Jimin, as though she did not expect you to stay.

Seeing her reaction, your smile broadens. “I look forward to working with you, too, Jimin,” you announce, walking towards the door.

It is mainly for the benefit of the assistant, but you cannot help but realize there is some truth to the words. Despite all you have said, that voice still exists deep within you. The one which usually warns you of danger is unusually silent in his presence. This unsettles you for a moment and then you walk past, stepping into the hall.

#bangtanarmynet #btsbookclub #jimin fanfic #bts fanfic #jimin drabble #bts drabble #bts scifi au #jimin scifi au

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docmary · 3 years

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Vaccine hesitancy, molecular mimicry, and blood clots (oh my!)

There were many mixed messages in the world of coronavirus last week. Just as it appears that Michigan is the lead state in the fourth wave of the virus, the US is about to hit a “vaccine wall” as demand drops for vaccinations even though the supply is greatly improved. In the first three months of the rollout for the Pfizer, Moderna, and the Johnson & Johnson/Jantzen (J&J) vaccines, getting shots into arms of the most vulnerable has required a full court press from public health departments and the healthcare establishment, as well as persistence on the part of those trying to wrangle an appointment. The results from state to state have been uneven.

Figure 1

So far 14 states have administered fewer than 75% of the doses distributed to them with Alabama having the lowest vaccination rate per capita. Twenty states have administered more than 80% of the doses distributed to them with the most vaccinations per capita in New Hampshire.[1]

Vaccine Hesitancy:

The good news for those who want to get vaccinated is that it is a whole lot easier to get an appointment now. That said, the goal of herd immunity is a long way off and with demand dropping for jabs, we may not get there. Vaccine hesitancy is an important reason for declining demand and that is a shifting picture.

In a study that was put out by the Kaiser Family Foundation (KFF) in December, 52% of Black Americans said they would “wait and see” before signing up for the vaccine while only 20% said they wanted the shot as soon as possible. The share of Black people who were skeptical of the vaccines was higher than for White respondents (36%) and Latinx (43%).[2]

By March of this year, 55% of Black respondents to another KFF survey said they had been vaccinated or wanted the vaccine as soon as possible. Twenty-four percent were still holding back. Blacks have been one of the hardest hit demographics of COVID-19 and that has, no doubt, played a part in changing minds. Another possible reason for the turnaround in willingness to get vaccinated is because there has been a concerted outreach effort tapping trusted sources such as Barack Obama, sports stars, and other influencers such as Black ministers to address vaccine hesitancy among Black people.

The Urban Institute’s September 2020 Coronavirus Tracking Survey, a nationally representative survey of adults ages 18-64, asked people whether in the last 12 months they had ever felt a doctor, other health care provider, or their staff judged them unfairly or discriminated against them based on their race/ethnicity, gender, gender identity, sexual orientation, a disability, or a health condition and about the consequences of these experiences. This survey indicated that perceptions of discrimination and unfair judgement while seeking health care were higher among Black adults than among Hispanic and White adults in the previous 12 months (September 2019-September 2020).[3]

Figure 2

A “food desert” is described as an urban area that does not have a grocery store within one mile or a rural area that does not have one within ten miles. There is also a “pharmacy desert” that generally occurs in primarily Black neighborhoods in urban areas as well as in rural areas. People of color are less likely to have a family primary care provider and so access to information about the individual’s risks and benefits of getting vaccinated from a trusted source, much less getting an appointment for the vaccine itself, is often more challenging than it is for White people. My guess is that these experiences and the barriers to appropriate care contributed to the initial skepticism among people of color generally and Black people specifically in the initial rollout phase.

FIGURE 3

Meanwhile, Republicans and Evangelical Christians were the most likely groups to say they will not get vaccinated, according to the KFF survey.[4] I do not have an explanation for that. I also don’t know how wearing masks got politicized last year. If anyone has an explanation that doesn’t involve a gang of Democratic, cannibal pedophiles, I am really interested in hearing it.

Molecular mimicry and autoimmune disease:

There are science-based reasons that some are reluctant to get vaccinated. An issue that has been little discussed publicly is molecular mimicry. The theory is that some part of the spike protein of SARS-CoV-2, the virus that causes COVID-19 and is replicated in our cells, is similar enough to our own tissues that the immune system starts attacking our own cells thinking that those cells are the virus. Thus, the vaccine could trigger an autoimmune disease like rheumatoid arthritis, lupus, multiple sclerosis, or other autoimmune condition.

In one study looking for similar protein sequences between the SARS-CoV-2 virus with protein sequences in humans and other mammals, as well as other human coronaviruses, the number of shared protein sequences at two particular sites was quite high for humans, rats, and mice but miniscule or not at all with other human coronaviruses, cats, dogs, rabbits, chimpanzees, gorillas, or macaques.[5] Sadly, the investigators did not include bats, which I think of as flying rats, but that’s just me. It has been hypothesized that the original source of COVID-19 was from bats. Could the virus have molecular mimicry with bats? If so, what does that mean for the species?

These authors believe that much of the damage seen in the “cytokine storm” that causes the worst damage in COVID-19 may, in fact, be due to this molecular mimicry between the virus and, for example, lung tissue. It should also be noted that molecular mimicry from the whole SARS-CoV-2 virus is much more likely than it is from a small part of the virus (the spike protein). If the vaccine can trigger an autoimmune disease, so can the whole virus.

The presence and level of autoantibodies (AAbs) that attack our own cells, frequently detected in patients with COVID-19, are significantly associated with hospitalization and more severe prognosis. Clinically, these patients are more likely to have respiratory distress, acute cardiac injury, acute kidney injury, multi-organ dysfunction with such common complications as coagulopathy and thrombocytopathy (put a pin in this one as it is also at play with blood clots). [6]

Blood Clots and the J&J and AstraZeneca (AZ) vaccines:

Last week the J&J vaccine rollout was put on pause by the Food and Drug Administration (FDA) because six women developed unusual blood clots after receiving this vaccination. This was six out of seven million shots given. Some saw this as an over-reaction by the FDA that would likely lead to more vaccine hesitancy. However, these blood clots are different from clots that occur from “the usual suspects” like oral contraceptives and smoking.

Figure 4

A normal number of platelets is between 150,000-450,000 per microliter of blood (there are 1,000 microliters in one milliliter). If you have less than 150,000 platelets per microliter, you have a deficiency called thrombocytopenia. In the clots associated with the viral vector vaccines (J&J in the US and AZ in Europe), the platelets tend to stick together in the veins of the brain, which causes a blockage known as a cerebral venous system thromboembolism (CVST). This creates back pressure of blood in the brain itself, causing damage in the same way a hemorrhagic stroke would. [7]

“Normal” clots are usually treated with a blood thinner called heparin. With vaccine-induced prothrombotic immune thrombocytopenia (VIPIT), there is a deficiency of platelets and so that treatment would only make things worse. While the Centers for Disease Control and Prevention (CDC) and the FDA are getting the word out to doctors not to use heparin, they are also looking for ways of figuring out which people are more at risk for this extremely rare complication. Putting the vaccine on pause was clearly the ethical thing to do and this kind of transparency gives me greater confidence in the vaccine rollout.

As is the case with molecular mimicry, the danger of VIPIT happening if a person gets COVID-19 is much higher than it is from either the J&J or the AZ vaccine.

“…If the mechanism is the same, one can speculate that the high occurrence in COVID-19 vs. vaccination is because the whole virus is more thrombogenic [likely to cause clots] than the spike protein alone.” Paolo Madeddu, professor of experimental medicine at the University of Bristol[8]

Symptoms associated with VIPIT include headache, tiny red spots under the skin, blurred vision, fainting or loss of consciousness, impaired movement in parts of the body, or coma. With either of these vaccines these blood clots, so far, only occurs 4-20 days after vaccination. Scientists believe that symptoms before or after that window are likely due to another cause.

It is important to note that COVID-19 itself has been reported to lead to thrombocytopenia (low blood platelets) in up to 41% of positive patients, with the figure going up to 95% of those with severe disease.[9]

Cause for cautious optimism:

Two separate studies published in the New England Journal of Medicine on April 9 indicated that in the case of the AZ vaccine, used in Europe, VIPIT was due to rogue antibodies against platelet factor 4 (PF4). This complication is similar to heparin-induced thrombocytopenia (HIT) and is diagnosed and treated the same way. It can be diagnosed with a lab test called ELISA that is pre-treated with PF4. If there is a big immune response, that means the patient has VIPIT. To be clear, there are lots of things that can cause blood clots and health professionals want to know what the cause is because the appropriate treatment is dependent on what is causing the problem. VIPIT from the AZ vaccine is treated with the administration of intravenous immunoglobins (IVG) and anti-coagulants. The J&J vaccine was not used in either of these studies and so we do not yet know if the same is true for that vaccine, but both are the same type of (viral vector) vaccine and both use an adenovirus as the viral vector.[10]

If we can get the one-and-done J&J vaccine back in use safely, that would be especially helpful for vaccinating unsheltered people. It would also be much easier to use in rural areas because J&J can be stored in a regular refrigerator unlike the Pfizer and Moderna vaccines that must be kept frozen.

My take:

For those who choose not to get vaccinated, for whatever reason, hoping to ride the coronavirus out, you should know that even without a vaccine, the SARS epidemic that hit Asia in 2002 did eventually go away, or, more likely, mutated to a less lethal virus. It took four years, but it can happen. However, that is not what always happens. Case in point, smallpox, which was around since at least the fourth century until it was declared eradicated by the World Health Organization in 1980. I don’t think I know anyone who has had smallpox and I may not know anyone who knows anyone who has had smallpox. In that case, the vaccine worked as intended.

Maybe you may feel like you are strong and healthy and even if you got COVID-19, you are unlikely to get significantly sick. Consider the possibility that you could be asymptomatic but still spread the disease. There are just no options that are completely risk free. Choose wisely.

[1]Romeo, A. (4/15/2021). America is about to hit a “vaccine wall” as demand drops—with or without Johnson & Johnson, Yahoo News. [2]Bunn, C. (4/12/2021). Vaccine hesitancy among Black Americans has turned a corner. Here’s why.”, NBC News. [3]Gonzalez, D., Skopor, L., McDaniel, M., Kenney, G.M. (4/2021). Perceptions of discrimination and unfair judgement while seeking health care, findings from the September 11-28 Coronavirus Tracking Survey, Urban Institute Health Policy Center. Retrieved from: https://www.urban.org/sites/default/files/publication/103953/perceptions-of-discrimination-and-unfair-judgment-while-seeking-health-care_0.pdf [4] Hamel, L., Lopez, L., Kearney, A., Brodie, M.(3/30/2021) KFF COVID-19 monitor: March 2021. Retrieved from: https://www.kff.org/coronavirus-covid-19/poll-finding/kff-covid-19-vaccine-monitor-march-2021/ [5]Kanduc, D., Shoenfeld, Y. (9/18/2020). Molecular mimicry between SARS-CoV-2 spike glycoprotein and mammalian proteomes: implications for the vaccine, Immunol. Res. doi: 10.1007/s12026-020-09152-6 [6]Macela, A, Kubelkovak, K. (3/22/2021). Why does SARS-Co-V-2 infection induce autoantibody production? Pathogens, 10(3). doi: 10.3390/pathogens10030380 [7]Taylor, A. (4/16/2021). Blood clot risks: comparing AstraZenica vaccine and the contraceptive pill, The Conversation. Retrieved from: https://theconversation.com/blood-clot-risks-comparing-the-astrazeneca-vaccine-and-the-contraceptive-pill-158652 [8]Russell, P. (4/15/2021). Vaccines carry far lower risk for rare blood clots than COVID, study shows, Medscape News UK [9] Op cit Taylor, A. (4/9/2021). [10] Grenacher, A., et. al. (4/9/2021). Thrombocytic thrombocytopenia after ChAdOx1 nCoV-19 vaccination, NEJM. doi:10.1056/NEJMoa2104840Schulz,NH, et. al. (4/9/2021). Thrombocytic thrombocytopenia after ChAdOx1 nCoV-19 vaccination, NEJM. doi: 10/1056/NEJMoa2104882

#vaccination #covidー19 #astrazeneca vaccine #johnson and johnson #blood clots #molecular mimicry #autoimmune disease

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r0h1rr1m · 4 years

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rambly inception thoughts p.2

this has been kicked off, specifically, by disliking that i failed to include yusuf in this post but there’s already so much going on there re: exact limits/mechanics of imagination in dreams, how to call down projections, moral relativism, crack chara psych, and speculating on the future of ari’s career--and i explained most of it poorly anyway so it’s probably for the best!

to start with, i’ve always imagined that there’s a huge variety in the caliber/class of chemist u can hire in dreamshare. the title probably applies even to people whose capability starts and stops at sourcing base product for somnacin and/or the finished drug. the next level up can maybe mix up different kinds to standard specifications. idk how much education/training u’d need to be able to do this, bc i v much do not chemistry, but i’d bet there’s a lot of variety in ppl’s qualifications in this category, too. a standard formula might affect different ppl slightly differently, like any psychotropic drug (is that even the most sensible analogy to real-world science? idk and i don’t want to risk hours of ultimately fruitless wikipedia spiralling), but in the same vein, the variances will all probably fall within a reasonable range of the same functionality. without, like, some sort of neuro degree, probably, the most fine-tuning a chemist could do is optimize doses/known variants of the drug through trial and error in preparation for a job.

our man yusuf definitely has a high-level neuro degree

so, just like the rest of the team, yusuf is obviously a total powerhouse in his field. like i said, it must take sophisticated knowledge of brain chemistry in order to do what he did on the fischer job, as well as the same mad genius as the rest of them. (as an aside, can i just say how utterly delightful a team dynamic is “group of geniuses who surround themselves with enough people who are the same kind of batshit to normalize it”? i’m weak) and idk how someone gets famous in like neurochem but yusuf is so brilliant he was probably p well known. js imagine the comedic potential of whatever rising-star chemist meeting yusuf and js going dr. ____?! who published those completely revolutionary but completely balls-to-the-wall studies on x and then after throwing the discipline into an uproar either a) dropped off the face of the earth and is now known as smth of an urban legend/cryptid in the community or b) still corresponds w experts in the field but now about the wildest shit and ppl kind of have to mythologize/not think too hard abt the dude who walks in ppl’s heads in order not to risk js breaking everything

so yusuf knows his shit and his initial assertion that 3 levels is impossible can be trusted to carry a lot of weight. which means the fact that he proceeded to do it more than secures his place in the cast of demonstrable prodigies

now, bc this is ostensibly a continuation of a post that’s loosely focused on charas’ moralities, let’s look at the 2 parts of the movie where we most directly confront yusuf’s: his dream den and hiding the sedation from the team. i’m going with the assumption that any legitimate/legal research and application of dreamshare has been discontinued.

come yell at me for over oversimplifying, but that makes the question of the dream den seem p straight-forward. yusuf faced giving up dreamshare research (or came onto the scene after it was already illegal, which could make for some rly interesting stories abt how he would’ve found out abt it) and couldn’t, so he had to find a way to continue on his own. and since it would be in rly bad faith to assume he doesn’t have the full consent of all his test subjects, that’s js that. (i’m not going to argue abt the difference b/w ethics and morals, and i’m laughably unqualified to discuss the ethics of human experimentation anyway so moving on)

hiding the fact that the team was sedated was a major plot point and is discussed w according frequency, so i’m sure most ppl have their own opinions abt what this says abt the parties involved. i’ll readily admit that my view is heavily colored by the fact that i js plain like yusuf. he’s a likeable guy. (i’ll try not to go off on a tangent, but i know that my reasons for disliking cobb are a little unfair; it’s more about narrative structure than any of his personal failings. the fact is i have a weakness for hypercompetence, and cobb is presented as someone who used to be the best, but is no longer reliable. he shows flashes of his old brilliance running the mr. charles gambit successfully and improvising capitalizing on the appearance of fisher’s browning projection on l2, but he’s desperate enough to be untrustworthy and further, he’s untrustworthy in a way that is eminently predictable by the audience. we know from the get-go that his shade is gonna sabotage something, and it’s hard not to blame him for that. we also know from the get-go that he’s desperate enough to drag other ppl into a fool’s mission, and that he’s hiding something dangerous from arthur, who by all appearances should be the person cobb can trust, and the person to whom it’s most important to know that kind of shit. i’m not gonna pretend i anticipated that big twist in the parking garage on l1, but it makes a ton of sense in retrospect and all this makes it easy to see why cobb is so widely mistrusted/disliked by the fandom. and i went off on a tangent, whoops.)

so picking back up at yusuf is a likeable guy--he seems p friendly and easy-going and i thoroughly enjoyed every scene of him on l1. i’m gonna say a lot of his moral considerations come in the form of deciding what is or isn’t his responsibility. mbe he avoided or suitably resolved the thorny ethical question of human experimentation in the same way i kind of did: by saying that the participants agreed to it on their own and leaving it there. this kind of reasoning is how he would’ve let cobb take responsibility for sedating and then informing the team. it’s also probably how he decided to cue the kick early on l1 and make it everyone else’s problem. which i do think was the right decision! it would be absurd to suggest that this highly intelligent man’s patterns of reasoning are always questionable. but i do see a pattern.

as for the advice he’d give ari, i think a lot of this relates back to my mention in the earlier post of whether or not she could let an institution/legislation dictate her ethics to her. i’ve since decided that it’s simpler to assume the institutions are all outside the law, though, so i’m not going to think abt that anymore unless directly prompted. one thing we do know abt ari, though, in contrast to my suppositions abt yusuf, is that she has a v strong sense of responsibility. she took it upon herself to manage cobb, and she took it upon herself to save the job, fisher, saito, and cobb when it looked like everything had been ruined. thinking abt it now, this makes for further interesting contrast w arthur, whose sense of responsibility seems to revolve around personal loyalty, eames, whose sense of responsibility is acutely pragmatic, and saito, whose sense of responsibility is on the grand scale of stopping a monopoly (suitably ironic).

again, idk if i’ve rly made any kind of point, and now i want to go back and build elaborate hierarchies of skill in each job description (architect, extractor, etc) like i kind of did for chemists but, well. if u made it this far bless u, i hope u have a wonderful day. vote

#inception #yusuf #ariadne #arthur #eames #saito #if u haven't check out p.1 cus there's a lot there that i never rly expanded but am figuring out how to #running my mouth #yes absolutely #dom cobb

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yamisnuffles · 4 years

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Your Sweet Lips On Mine

The angels, Crowley and Aziraphale, share their first kiss under the Roman stars. Follow up to the comic version. Very fluffy. A little angsty. Surprisingly horny.

Read on Ao3

- - - - -

Crowley still remembered how to shape stars between his hands. Sometimes he dreamed of doing it again, here on Earth, form one in his palms and let it grow. If they wouldn’t let him back up to the stars, he would bring the stars down where they could touch him, burn him, turn him to star stuff himself. Because as much as he was a creator, he was a destroyer. The stars had been made to die. All of Her creation had but especially here on this little blue planet where her youngest children lived and died in flashes of time. He’d started that, too, the dying. He’d already ensured the humans would come and go before they really had a chance to live. Perhaps it would be kinder to speed it all up a little more, end it before Her planned ending for them was due. It wouldn’t be great, it wouldn’t be ineffable, it would just be an end and sometimes he thought that would be better.

But then he would wake up, shake himself from that reverie, and he would remember that as long as there was life, there was a chance. He might have been as much a destroyer as a creator but not everyone was that way. He’d stood astride the Babylonians and watched with joy as they learned to map the heavens. He’d found joy and camaraderie in Socrates and his endless questions. He’d seen painters and sculptors and artisans spring up in civilizations across the globe and create and create and create with what limited tools they had. What limited life. They deserved every second of what they had.

And then there was Aziraphale. Crowley had known for millennia now that Aziraphale was a light for him when things got too dark. He’d deprived himself of that for the past eight years because he hadn’t felt worthy of that comfort. It wasn’t until now that he finally realized why those last years had felt so bitterly cold. So empty.

Love. Aziraphale loved him. He’d felt it on him like a warm, familiar blanket for so long that when he’d been without it, he’d been more lost than he had as a snake, deprived of limbs. How had he never so much as imagined that such love was meant for him?

Crowley was suddenly aware of every bit of his corporation. He was smiling so wide his face hurt. His skin was tingling, aching to touch, to hold. His heart was pounding. He wasn’t sure how he could even talk with the way that it seemed to have jumped into his throat but he had to know that this was really okay.

He reached out a hand to cup the soft curve of Aziraphale’s jaw. The touch grounded him, assured him this was real. That this was really happening. “Can I?” he asked over that star bright, heady feeling.

“ Please .”

Aziraphale’s reply came deep and husky, nearly a moan. It sent another shiver dancing across Crowley’s skin and propelled him forward. He had just enough time to wonder if anticipation was enough to kill him before his lips were on Aziraphale’s.

How could it feel so blessedly wonderful to press one set of lips to another? Sometimes Crowley wasn’t sure if he remembered what it was like to be in Heaven but he was nearly positive it had never been anywhere near this wonderful. Aziraphale’s lips were warm, wet, and inviting. And soft. So soft. Crowley might have lost himself in them if he hadn’t been so acutely aware of everything else that was happening.

It wasn’t his own body that he was aware of then as much as he was every bit of Aziraphale’s. Strong arms holding their bodies flush together and each point of contact in between. Through the fabric of the Principality’s toga, there was the soft swell of a stomach and plush thighs and the telltale iron of muscle under it all. Firm palms pressed into Crowley’s back, one moving down and the other up. When fingers found the base of one of his wings, Crowley broke the kiss with a sharp intake of breath.

“Oh,” they both said at once.

“Your-”

“Yeah, and your-”

They laughed together, still tangled in each other’s arms. They’d apparently each manifested their wings at some point and halos glowed delicately above their heads. Crowley chuckled and buried his burning face in Aziraphale’s neck.

“Sorry about that,” he mumbled into skin that was satin soft, honey sweet, and infinitely distracting.

“Whatever for? You’re not the only one.” A beat and then, “Do you think that will happen every time.”

Crowley snorted and drew back just enough to look Aziraphale in the eyes. “I certainly hope not. Would make things a little difficult when the humans are about.”

“Yes, yes, I suppose it would.”

“Guess the only thing we can do is keep testing.”

With the light from the halos, Crowley was able to see the very charming shade of pink that colored Aziraphale’s cheeks at that. “Further… experimentation would seem prudent. Although-”

“Yes?”

“Well, that would require putting our wings away and I rather enjoy seeing yours.”

“Really? I’ve been neglecting them. Though, they’re a fair sight better than yours.”

Crowley carefully straightened a couple coverts near the base of Aziraphale’s wings. When the other angel shivered, Crowley raised an eyebrow. The blush in Azriaphale’s cheeks deepened and spread back to his neck.

“Like that, do you?” Crowley asked with a lopsided smile.

“As you said, neglect. They haven’t been touched in some time. Perhaps you could help groom them later.”

“Later?”

Aziraphale hummed in affirmation. “I believe we have something else to get back to.”

He closed the distance between their lips again and Crowley was left wondering how he’d forgotten that this was all he wanted to do for the rest of eternity. Their first kiss had been soft, if clumsy. There was still clumsiness- lots of bumped noses and accidental knocking of teeth- but he couldn’t bring himself to care. There was plenty of time to learn and until then, he got to feel Aziraphale’s lips beneath his own and the humid mixture of their breath. His tongue was allowed entry into Aziraphale’s mouth. He wasn’t sure which of them followed with a moan, given the way their voices blended into one between them. Probably both. Didn’t really matter.

Crowley hadn’t returned to his serpentine form since he’d been released from it but he could still feel it there at times, just below the surface. He was fairly certain it had been written into the fabric of who he was as a reminder or perhaps a warning. He usually only considered this fact in darker moments. The moment was far from dark but he remembered it now, in a flash of inspiration. He trailed long, slow kisses from Aziraphale’s mouth, along his jaw, and down to his throat. Once there he let his tongue split, just at the end, so that he could lick along the edges of a fluttering pulse.

Aziraphale sucked in a sharp breath. “ Crowley .”

Crowley smiled against Aziraphale’s now slick skin and continued his ministrations until he felt Aziraphale going a tad wobbly in his arms. With every bit of restraint in him, he stopped and pulled back. It took a few moments for him to find his voice again with the taste of Aziraphale in his mouth. When he did, he said, “I forgot to tell you. It’s important and I meant to, I mean, I know you can feel it but that doesn’t mean I shouldn’t say it. What I mean is…”

Crowley bit his lip and felt the sting of too long canines. He could just leave it as is. Aziraphale knew. Crowley knew he knew and it wasn’t like saying it aloud would change that. The thing was, he’d kept those words locked away for so long that he didn’t know what would happen if he finally let them out. Words had a power to them. As someone who’d seen creation spoken into existence, this was a truth that existed at his very core. An aching, terrified part of his heart still worried that disaster would follow if he put to words what he felt.

Aziraphale furrowed his brow. “What is it? You don’t look well, my dear.”

“M’fine. Better than, really. The best I’ve ever been.” Crowley blew a breath out between sharpened teeth. He’d need to watch himself if he didn’t want to go full snake, apparently, but that was a problem for another time. Right now, he owed Aziraphale three simple words. “I know that you already know and that’s great but I should still tell you- you deserve to hear-” Another breath. “I love you. Have done for a really long time now.”

The skin around Aziraphale’s eyes crinkled and the blue of them shimmered. “I love you, too. I have for, oh, I’m not even sure how long. I scarcely remember when I didn’t.”

Crowley tried to reply and was mortified when he only managed a strangled jumble of sounds. His throat was so tight. He wondered if maybe he’d had too much wine and passed out. This could have been a deliriously wonderful dream. He’d certainly had similar a few times throughout history. He needed to touch and remind himself that it was all real.

He swallowed hard to try to loosen the words caught in a lump in his throat. He wrapped a hand around the back of Aziraphale’s neck where the skin was covered in down soft hair. “Can I? Again?”

Aziraphale treated him with a fond smile. “You know, you don’t have to ask every time.”

“Yeah, I know. Just like hearing you say yes.”

Aziraphale’s smile widened and he let the tips of their noses brush. “Then yes. As many times as I can say it, yes .”

#good omens #fic #good omens au #go au: tmgt #angel!crowley #crowley #aziraphale #anthony j crowley #ineffable husbands #my writing

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letterboxd · 3 years

Photo

Chameleon.

For Japanuary, J-horror auteur Kiyoshi Kurosawa talks to Aaron Yap about upending genre expectations with his dreamy new travelogue To the Ends of the Earth, the unconscious connections between his films, and how it’s time for a proper evaluation of Robert Zemeckis.

Kiyoshi Kurosawa’s continued, uncontested position as a horror auteur isn’t unjustified. Emerging as a key voice in the J-horror boom of the late ’90s, Kurosawa hypnotized us with his chilly, haunting, atmospheric—and often apocalyptically tinged—visions of baffling serial killers, ghosts in machines, insidious doppelgangers and vengeful apparitions.

Bong Joon-ho once called Kurosawa’s 1997 mind-bender Cure one of the greatest films ever made. Pulse, his terrifyingly prophetic 2001 film, for my money—and many Letterboxd members’—might still be the creepiest of all contemporary horrors. “It is the only film I’ve ever seen in which every single shot feels genuinely haunted,” writes Connor.

Rarely behaving in a traditional scary-movie fashion, Kurosawa’s idiosyncratic horror films often test our expectations of genre, then deliver beyond those boundaries to probe his recurring themes: identity and isolation, humanity’s relationship to technology and nature, and deep-seated anxieties that nibble away at society’s crumbling fabric. Pulse, besides being an exercise in deftly crafted dread, is a great, telling, melancholy movie about the overwhelming loneliness of the digital age.

Yoko (Atsuko Maeda) and her travel show crew in ‘To the Ends of the Earth’.

However, the general focus on his horror “side” tends to eclipse a filmography that’s far richer and more versatile than he’s usually given credit for. Over the past two decades, we’ve seen him seem forge a thrillingly chameleonic, unpredictable path that’s included an ecological thriller (Charisma), an Ozu-esque family drama (Tokyo Sonata), a metaphysical romance (Journey to the Shore) and an alien invasion sci-fi (Before We Vanish). No one is really doing it like Kurosawa, and To the Ends of the Earth is arguably his most exciting and enigmatic left-turn yet.

To the Ends of the Earth is a commissioned piece to celebrate the diplomatic relations between Japan and the Central Asian republic of Uzbekistan, but that doesn’t diminish that it’s unmistakably a Kiyoshi Kurosawa film, not a tossed-off, exoticized, postcard-pretty travelogue. His signature languorous pacing, shrewdly slippery tonal calibration, and acute spatial sensitivity are at full bore, servicing a loosely plotted tale of TV travel show host Yoko (former J-pop singer Atsuko Maeda) and her crew attempting to complete shooting an episode in the Uzbekistan capital of Tashkent.

If anything, this movie should really confirm him as a filmmaker of bold, fictive playfulness in a comparable register to Jacques Rivette, Olivier Assayas and Christian Petzold—something that 2013’s hour-long, similarly fish-out-of-water head-rush Seventh Code, also starring Maeda, hinted at. In To the Ends of the Earth, gentleness, compassion and dream-like bursts of song and fantasy percolate through a disquieting maze of displacement—cultural, artistic, gendered—and the result is an adventurous, unpindownable, thoroughly humanistic work of curiosity and imagination.

Some years ago you did a “double feature”-themed interview with the Belfort Entrevues Film Festival where you revealed the sources of inspiration for some of your films. What film, if any, was a chief influence for To the Ends of the Earth, and can you tell us in what way? Kiyoshi Kurosawa: When I make my work, I often consciously refer to films from the past, but that’s usually the case with genre films. For example, Cure was greatly inspired by The Silence of the Lambs. However, To the Ends of the Earth is not a genre movie, so I wasn’t consciously thinking of any specific films. However, the composition of the story, that the main character appears in every scene, is based on films by the Dardenne brothers. Viewing their films The Child and Two Days, One Night, it’s clear to see how the depiction of just one person can turn trivial incidents into something serious and suspenseful.

Atsuko Maeda and Kiyoshi Kurosawa on the set of ‘To the Ends of the Earth’.

Watching Bright Future, To the Ends of the Earth and Creepy back-to-back recently, I noticed several parallels and motifs which may or may not be intentional. For example, a jellyfish makes an appearance in a scene on TV in Creepy, or there’s a TV report of a blaze in To the Ends of the Earth that momentarily hints at a bigger natural catastrophe that echoes the jellyfish swarm in Bright Future, or other apocalyptic moments in your films like Charisma and Before We Vanish. Do you find that some of these motifs work on a subconscious level for you, or were some of them intentionally threaded in? It’s a very interesting point. Some of them were intentional and some were not at all. It’s true about jellyfish, they appear in both Bright Future and Creepy. However, this is the first time I’ve noticed. The endings of Charisma and Before We Vanish were already written in the script by necessity, so of course, it’s intentional. The depiction of the blaze on TV in To the Ends of the Earth was introduced to show something happening in Japan while the main character is taking a small adventure in Uzbekistan. I wanted to show that her boyfriend was in some kind of crisis there. While the fire on the TV is merely an accident, it does appear apocalyptic. I may have overdone that a bit. Perhaps some kind of unconscious thinking was at work.

That amusement park ride scene in To the Ends of the Earth has stayed with me in the way it suggests terror out of something seemingly mundane. What are some scenes from other films that have stayed with you? The amusement park ride scene wasn’t introduced to express terror. What I wanted to show was how crazy the assignment is and Yuko’s professionalism. She takes on the assignment without fear. This may have been a bit overdone as well. However, I thought that Atsuko Maeda, who didn’t hesitate to actually ride it three times, was a real professional. Apart from that, if I think about the movies that force people to experience horror, what comes to me are Roger Corman’s Pit and the Pendulum. Tobe Hooper’s The Funhouse, George Miller’s Mad Max: Fury Road. I also remembered the episode in Freddie Francis’s Torture Garden, where a grand piano has a will to kill people, which was great.

Your films tend to be very location-based; environments and spaces appear to play a significant part. The pandemic has been the ultimate test of our relationship with spaces and each other. How has the pandemic impacted you as a filmmaker, and are there themes and ideas that you are interested in exploring further as a result of Covid? As you pointed out, when I make a movie, I pay great attention to the location. The moment I find a good location, I feel that the script will be transformed into a movie. It is the moment when fiction and reality are fused. It’s hard to say anything though, I haven’t made a movie since the pandemic started. What I can say, at least, is that sitting in front of the computer at home is not cinematic at all. So far, I don’t feel that something new will be born from it. What should I do? After all, I feel that a movie can only be made by going out in the city with a camera after utilizing the best epidemic prevention system possible.

If you had to pick a film that’s a personal favorite, which would you pick, and why? It's too difficult a question. Japanese movies and foreign movies have different viewpoints. Also, there are completely different categories of movies [that] greatly influence me when I make films and the movies I saw when I was young that make me nostalgic. It’s impossible to choose just one. But, well, the one that comes to mind is Sam Peckinpah’s The Ballad of Cable Hogue, which is both nostalgic and heavily influential for me.

You’ve spoken about your fondness for American filmmakers like Tobe Hooper, Robert Aldrich, Steven Spielberg et al. Are there new, or more recent American filmmakers and films that have caught your attention or that you’re particularly excited by? I don’t know much about young American directors, but what I always care about is Alfonso Cuarón. Of course he is not a new, young filmmaker, but an auteur. Also, since this is a good opportunity, I’d like to mention Robert Zemeckis. He made such masterpieces as Cast Away and What Lies Beneath around 2000. For some reason, he has never been properly evaluated at all. For a time he was devoted to animation. However, he made a spectacular return to live-action films with Flight and continues to shoot unique masterpieces like Allied and Welcome to Marwen. Of course, not many people appreciate these works. However, he does not seem to care about public opinion at all and continues to boldly shoot new works. Perhaps Zemeckis is the American film director who makes the most authentic films today.

What are your movie-watching habits like? Do you continue to watch movies on physical media or prefer streaming these days? What was the last movie you saw in a theater? Basically, I like to watch movies at an ordinary movie theater in the city the most. When I can’t go to the movie theater, or even though I know the film is going to be boring but I have to watch a movie for business, I have no choice but to watch it on DVD or Blu-ray. Of course, I also use VOD once in a while. The last movie I saw in the theater, as of today, was the Japanese film The Voice in the Crime. I saw that just yesterday. I saw it with my wife at a cinema complex in Shinjuku, Tokyo. It was the latest work by the director who made the previous masterpiece Flying Colors, and I expected much from it. It was speedy and quite well done until the middle of the film, but by the ending, it was too boring. Unfortunately, it wasn’t a good movie.

What’s a memorable film-related moment from your childhood, perhaps something you experienced with family or friends, or a film that scared you or made you cry? The movies that my generation often watched growing up were mainly monster movies. The most unforgettable one was Matango. Like Godzilla and Mothra, it was directed by Ishirō Honda. I went to see this movie with my friends. It had a rather cute touch in the promotional materials depicting a mushroom with a monstrous appearance. However, the content was completely different from a normal monster movie. Shipwrecked survivors on an uninhabited island encounter monstrous mushroom creatures washed up on the shore. These are not unknown creatures such as Godzilla or Mothra, but the horrifying ending of a human being. The characters are being infected, changing one another into mushroom humans. All of us children trembled from the bottom of our hearts. In retrospect, the work is an extreme horror aiming along the same line as [Howard Hawks and] Christian Nyby’s The Thing from Another World. It was probably the first time I encountered horror which was not “to escape from destruction” but “when a human being becomes something not human”.

Is there a filmmaker or film you think about a lot that you don’t get to talk about much and would like to show some appreciation? I haven’t talked much about the Battles Without Honor and Humanity series directed by Kinji Fukasaku. I don’t know how well this series of Japanese movies is known abroad, but when I was a high-school student I saw this and quickly became a big fan. I’ve watched a variety of yakuza movies since then, and it’s safe to say that nothing beats this series. As the title suggests, the films depict a yakuza world without “Jingi” (yakuza’s moral code), and it was really humorous and exciting to see the betrayals and the destruction. After I saw this, all those traditional yakuza movies dominated by the strange ideology of “Jingi” looked like a childish fantasy.

Related content

The Japanuary Challenge 2021

Explore more J-horror, ’80s J-horror and ’90s J-horror

Follow Aaron on Letterboxd

‘To the Ends of the Earth’ is available for rental in the US via distributor KimStim. From February 5-25, Japan Society’s virtual cinema hosts ‘21st Century Japan: Films from 2001-2020’, featuring films from Hirokazu Kore-eda, Naomi Kawase and Takashi Miike, the online US premieres of Sion Sono’s ‘Red Post on Escher Street’ and Yukiko Mishima’s ‘Shape of Red’, plus a special focus on Kiyoshi Kurosawa (‘Bright Future’, ‘Journey to the Shore’, ‘Real’).

#Kiyoshi kurosawa #to the ends of the earth #j-horror #j-horror films #japanese films #japanese cinema #japanese horror #japan society #japanuary #letterboxd #sion sono #tokyo sonata #robert zemeckis #aaron yap

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gypsydanger01 · 4 years

Text

Violet Tulips

Fandom: Pacific Rim

Pairing: Chuck Hansen/OC

This is a short angsty fic I wrote where my OC is working on a project that could improve the connection between Jaegers and their pilots, aiding them in their fight against the Kaiju. My OC is tormented by the possibility of Chuck dying.

PLEASE let me know what you think and send me asks or prompts. I think I might write a string of one-shots around Chuck/OC (Romina)

Disclaimer: I do not own Pacific Rim’s plot or any of it’s characters, except for my OC Romina

Romina couldn’t focus on the task at hand.

As one of the shatterdome’s lead research physiologists, she was charged with studying and gaining a better understanding of the neurological strain caused by a new prototype. Whenever the engineering team presented a new system for neural handshake and thought flux, she always made sure to personally test it multiple times. With the threat of an incoming Kaiju double and triple event, Pentecost was being pressured to develop and employ better systems in the Jaegers. The council wanted immediate innovation. Romina lightly shook her head: innovation takes time, rushing it will only end in disaster. At this point, any mistakes could cost the program both its Jaegers and the lives of their pilots. Of the Hansens. And if the Jaegers fall, so does the world.

The machine she’d been working on began to beep, acute and insistent as she tried to pinpoint where the issue lied. The biological tissue she’d hooked up had fried, but she couldn’t understand why. It shouldn't have overloaded. Great, just great

When the ninth trial failed, she pushed away from her desk.

“Dammit,” she hissed. This needed to be solved. It could be the system that saved him. She felt for all the pilots, bonding with them during their physical and neurological evaluations, followed by conversation at meal times in the cafeteria. And yet, he was the constant in her mind. Chuck Hansen.

She looked over at the flowers he’d left for her to find that morning. Violet tulips. Under the arrogant facade he put up, she could see his soft side and his affection for her. What had started as an uneasy introduction had bloomed into a close friendship and later on a relationship. As Hermann’s mathematical predictions pointed closer and closer to a triple Kaiju event, she was plagued by the possibility of his death. By the idea of losing him to the nightmare outside.

She didn’t want to think about Striker Eureka falling, taking the Hansens with it. Nor could she stand the thought of Pentecost delivering the news that would finally break her.

One evening, Chuck had asked her for a favor.

“Rome, you don’t need to stay and watch, I don’t want you to go through that. It’s getting harder and” he’d sighed heavily “harder.”

She’d reached up to him, heart aching to comfort him, but needing to be comforted herself. She wanted to make him swear he’d come back to her, always. And yet, she knew it’d be selfish: he would do his best, but ultimately it wasn’t something he could promise.

“Romina, the next time the Kaiju siren goes off” his eyes set intensely on her face, “I’m expecting your usual good luck kiss”.

He looped his arms around her waist.

“But I want you to go back to our room. Think of us. Think of science. Think of all those things that wiz through that brilliant head of yours, aye?”. He couldn’t meet her eyes, “I just don’t want you to see if anything goes wrong”

It tore her insides, but the times after, she waited in his room or at her lab. She hated it at first, but found solace in imagining them safe, far away and happy.

Far from the ocean.

She’d wait for news and it would always find her through one of Pentecost’s secretaries. He’d promised her that if her worst fear came true, he’d personally find her. One evening she went to her lab and was so afraid she’d see him approaching from the farthest glass wall... She never waited in the lab again.

No, she waited in their bed. Surrounded by his scent, she didn’t dare to move until the secretary knocked at the door and she finally heard alarms sound off through the base as the bay doors were opened.

“Can you do that? I can’t... It’d kill me for you to have to see that”

She gazed into his eyes for a few seconds, memorizing the specks of color intertwined. “Alright”, she’d offered softly, hugging him closely.

Violet tulips. They sat neatly tied together on her desk.

She melted when she was with him, the same way he softened around her. But she’d be damned if she didn’t solve the physiological aspect of this neural handshake enhancer. If anybody walked in, they’d say she was on a warpath. Her curly hair pinned back, her eyes set cold like iron on the task at hand.

She looked back at the machine, pushing the image of a pilot’s limp and bloody body back into the depth of her mind. “Come on, Romina”

She grabbed another vial and started the tenth trial.

#pacific rim #fanfiction #chuck hansen #oc #oc story #striker eureka #jaeger #panpacific corps #angst #romance

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steajitos · 5 years

Text

seventh

you looked up at him as he looked down at you and did the same, the sunlight that had peaked through the blinds had illuminated over your eyes which gave a lighter tone to the original color either way still taking your boyfriend’s breath away. “you look beautiful, y’know that?” he stated

rating: explicit warnings: just lots of smutty themes with some fluff sandwiched somewhere there requested: definitely

the thought of coming home to your shared apartment to see your face, after going-over the area with natasha and sam in search of any suspicious bustling, has distracted him ever since. he couldn’t focus on what the objective of the mission this afternoon was, all he could only think about was your voice begging for his name.

and now that steve has arrived he couldn’t wait any longer for the things he has been planning to do to you the entire night.

in the meantime, you cheered in joy to welcome him back with a big hug being thankful to see him again without much damage acquired, though unable to help yourself from jumping into him instantly with legs wrapping around his body as he easily caught you. the excitement made you become quite frisky, midst his beard brushing against the skin around your neck which had sent shivers down your spine.

“how was your day?”

“wasn’t as great until i got to see my favorite girl again tonight,” he answered with a smile.

it was impossible not to smile and turn into a shade of pink every time after hearing your boyfriend shower you with his praises. things only picked up from there before hearing him whisper, “been waiting and thinking about doing so much things to do to you tonight, doll.”

he gradually leaned closer until both your lips linked together, him getting the taste of nothing but sweetness while you were having various feelings on what his tasted like. however yours were definitely softer and plumper, moreover steve couldn’t resist on sucking around your lower lip.

then your fingers ran through his thick beard and relaxed at the sides of his face. he proceeded to make out with you all the while carrying your weight to the bedroom, laying you down with your back pressing onto the soft mattress.

the kiss didn’t last long since steve broke the kiss. he paused for a moment to look at you then continued to flood your lower jaw with his kisses, with it only escalating furthermore as his hands were toying around with your silky nightgown eagerly wanting to rip if from your body. he didn’t notice how badly he wanted to be inside you already and instinctively used an amount of his strength to stretch the fabric that resulted with a ripping sound. “hey!”

“sorry, sweetie, i promise i’ll buy you a new one,” he chuckled.

as a result of it steve followed by tearing the entire apparel until you were completely naked underneath him. he threw the clothing aside and started to reach for the zipper of his pants, tugging them down until it dropped down to his ankles. his arms extended and used a greater effort to flip you around, making you shriek with your face facing the white bedsheets, “i want to see you on all fours, doll.”

you submitted to his command and went ahead to get on your arms together with your legs, making sure to stick your ass out for him to give him a better sight of your dripping pussy. he willfully used the tips of his fingers to skim over the wetness that had accumulated, enjoying each second as he grew erect.

steve used two fingers then slowly inserting them inside wanting to test you on how long you could last before having to beg for his dick. he made sure to keep on a torturous pace while you bit onto the sheets still being a little embarrassed to moan loudly for your boyfriend’s name — the only sound that could be evidently heard around the room was your pussy clenching for him every time he sinks his fingers completely.

your palms were getting sweaty and your fingers were gripping onto the surface. you were enjoying the attempt of him fingering your soaked sex but deeply you knew you wanted more. you wanted to feel his cock throbbing for you as he thrusted into you with great force until your body was completely wrecked.

“steve, please!”

“what was that, doll?” he pretended to be unaware of what he was purposely doing to you, “i need you to speak up for me, tell me what you want.”

“i want your cock, steve, please!”

“that was just what i wanted to hear from you." he chuckled and acutely curled his fingertips once more before pulling them out which released a loud squishy sound coming from your cunt.

steve used the same hand to fist the base of his cock, the wetness his finger accumulated from you had coated a sheer layer just on top of the slit. he positioned himself for a second before finally pushing his hips forward. a loud moan instantly left your lips, feeling yourself adjust to his size and clamping tightly around the throbbing tip that made him groan also.

one of his hands grasped onto your shoulder, the other relaxed over your ass. his movement didn’t waste any second as he continued to ram in and out your pussy.

with the dampness that served as enough lubrication for him, steve licked his lips and savored every inch of your tautness. the sight of your asscheeks bouncing against his skin was gratifying, giving a number of slaps while gripping onto it like a soft pillow —it was what he had been daydreaming the whole time and now he got to experience it.

the night pretty much revolved around you getting fucked from behind. your room was completely filled with gasps for breath combined with hoarse moans from your boyfriend, you weren’t too sure how thin the walls were but you didn’t mind whether the room next door would have heard the pair of you. and it ended with you kneeling in front of steve and jerking him off until he released thoroughly over your face.

.・゜-: ✧ :-　　-: ✧ :-゜・．

after every exciting events that happened, the next morning your body rolled over to the side only to find nothing but empty, cold bedsheets.

you assumed he had to leave early due to something important happening around the area or maybe even for a meeting, so you happily moved along and continued to work the daily tasks you do in order to feed and provide yourself a roof to live under.

but it was difficult to get through once dusk had masked the sky, your window pictured the darkness with streetlights being the only thing that served illumination. it crawled into your nerves as you tried not to worry too much knowing that he was practically a super soldier with a highly trained assassin along his side.

while dressed in one of your sleepwear, you tried to read a book or watch the news channel the night felt lonely and it was harder to fall asleep, your mind was clouded with anxiety and the long for steve’s body to be wrapped around yours.

furthermore when you woke up the second morning, you expected him to either be by your side or in the dining table waiting for you to wake up. you wiped the tiny trails of drool that streamed down the corner of your lips as you got up with blurry visions still trying to adjust to the surroundings. the apartment was motionless and it was the same as how you left it last night.

steve wasn’t anywhere to be found.

this continued on for six days, the entire span of it consisted of you trying to cope living without seeing him — almost the entire time staying at home and cuddling yourself with a blanket covering half of your body. you could barely eat much and you always glanced at the screen of your phone, hoping he would either text or ring but he doesn’t. he never answered any of your calls too.

and on the seventh was when you finally heard a knock on your door. the sun was about to set and you just got home an hour ago from a short jog around the neighborhood. you haven’t changed your dri-fit clothes yet seeing the evident stains of sweat had remained, however you planned to head into the shower just a few moments from now anyway.

though it was quarter past seven in the evening and the minute you heard a knock on your apartment door, you assumed who it was. who else could it have been?

you stayed quiet, stood in front of the door while you patiently waited to hear anything other than a knock come from the other side. it took a few more minutes until steve decided to quit the knocking and eventually pleaded down, “please answer the door, y/n.”

if only he could’ve saw you roll your eyes at him.

“go away, steve”

“if you could open the door and let me explain,”

“i don’t want your explanation,” you said coldly despite the fact that every inch in your body was itching to unlock the door.

your pride was getting the best of you.

as much as you hated how steve left you without even so as a note in the fridge, you knew it was also unfair that you wouldn’t let him explain what happened after so long. even the fact that he still built the courage to come home to you without hesitating already proved something.

you thought about it for a good while and decided to unlock the door and let him in, giving him a number of minutes to explain before you could decide if he could stay with you or not. for steve, it was enough time knowing well that you would understand the hardships he’s facing being captain america, saving the world, and all that.

“oh thank god you’re alive,” he ran up to you with a genuine sigh of relief and being unable to help himself from tightly wrapping his arms around your body, squishing you almost until you were out of breath.

“s-steve, i can’t breathe.” he let go of you and apologized instantly.

then steve proceeded to detail everything that had happened the whole time he went missing. from the day he had to rush up to the avengers tower, his travel to wakanda in attempt of battling hundreds of freaks this thanos guy had created, and having to fail the mission which resulted to wiping nearly half of the earth’s population.

his narration was heavy and you became aware of the guilt that pang onto you, realizing how clueless you were to even recognize that half of the town has much likely vanished. you felt bad for him and for the rest of his team, it was depressing enough as it sounds that they couldn’t save everyone and the fact they their loved ones turned to dust too.

for steve, he was thankful and lucky enough that he didn’t have to come home to some pile of ash scattered on the floor.

“you can hate me all you want now, but at least i got to explain my side,” he stood up and was on the verge of walking out thinking that you were still pissed at him for leaving you, but you weren’t anymore.

you stopped him even if you didn’t have enough strength to actually prevent him from walking out the door. but he took the signal and faintly smiled, seeing your face no matter how raddled you have gone through will always be the most wonderful sight for him. he was really fucking lucky you weren’t included in the snap.

“i’m sorry too,” your hands chose to rest on top of his chest and simultaneously having to feel his heart beat.

“sweetie, you don’t have to apologize for anything.” he took your hands and pressed a sweet kiss onto the back of it then moving forward to plant one onto your forehead.

his kisses were gently and complete with his care. whenever you felt his lips press onto any part of your skin, your heart flutters and you felt like you could melt into his arms. “i was actually going to shower before you appeared in front of my door out of nowhere, you should join me.”

obviously he didn’t hesitate on agreeing to come with you, coincidentally also longing for a shower as his suit already worn out and muddy. he had a few bruises and cuts that never mattered to him, the sting of it only getting shrugged off.

showering with him was definitely something you missed after a while. he helped you clean yourself all the while continuing to kiss you under the flow of warm water that slowly rinsed off the bubbles on your skin. it felt very comforting and you wished for more time to spend with steve being this lovable.

when it was over steve got in the bed and proceeded to narrate everything that happened in his mission until you dozed off.

.・゜-: ✧ :-　　-: ✧ :-゜・．

steve was always the first one who woke up. he stayed right where he had lain down and looked to his side, seeing your face in a smile knowing that maybe you were having a good dream.

you looked adorable and he badly wanted to kiss you — it wasn’t that he wasn’t kissing you enough already, but that’s just the primary instinct he goes for when seeing or even thinking about you.

without even hanging himself back, steve leaned on to kiss you timely as your eyes fluttered open. a wide smile was present upon your lips, your cheeks being cheery as every, and you just had the greatest morning knowing everything that happened last night wasn’t just a dream.

“good morning, babydoll,”

“g’morning.” you smiled and stretched your arms over to the headboard along with your legs over to the footboard.

“how was your sleep?”

“good. now that you’re here,” you mumbled after burying your head onto his bare chest

“i’m not. it’s early morning and you’re joking.” embarrassed, you tried covering your face using both the palms of your hands but steve softly pushed them aside.

this time it was your turn to initiate a kiss, pushing yourself until your lips latched onto his. the taste wasn’t all sweet but you couldn’t blame either of you since you just woke up.

you broke the kiss for a short pause, “know what could make this morning be better?”

“what?” he asked genuinely having no clue what you had running around your little mind.

with one swift move your body went over his, your legs straddling on either of his sides as he was in between. this caused his hands adjusting from cuddling you close to his chest to gripping on your waist. you squealed as it took a little time for him to process what was going on.

“whoa.”

and when he felt himself already start to grow out an erection just by the sight of you on top of him and the feeling of your panties pressing against his crotch with only thin layers of fabric getting between, he swore under his breath.

thereon you peppered kisses onto his lower jaw, feeling the scruff create light pinning effects onto your cheeks and other parts of your face. your hips were gently swaying on top of him, enjoying the sensation of rubbing yourself against him while trying to let yourself focus on leaving a few marks around from his neck until the collar.

it may or may not have been because of the yearn of your lover’s presence that pushed you into this, but you were certain you didn’t mind having the cheesy, morning make up sex that’s about to take place.

“oh steve.” a small whimper came out of you as your panties began soaking through.

steve immediately took advantage of your growing sensitivity and turned you over. your were the one at bottom now and he had an arm supporting his weight on one side as he stayed on top. he mocked your actions and repeated the way you placed kisses onto his body, but this time adding his free hand to slip under your gown.

the combination of his lips and hand movements already sending you to sensations you’ve always couldn’t hold back. you were already whimpering relentlessly for his name and he hasn’t done much. fuck.

when you felt his fingers tug your undergarment to the side you had let out a groan out of impatience.

“m’gonna make it up to you, babydoll.” he pressed another kiss aside your ear after whispering.

as he jerked his dick out from his boxers, the bed dipped down and he pulled your waist effortlessly close to his lower body. you could already feel the head of it pressing onto the entrance of your cunt and he didn’t hesitate to push himself further until it slowly disappeared from underneath him.

he didn’t take advantage of you in any way. he made sure you were still on the pill, allowing him to feel every inch of him reenter you while enjoying every second of it. your moans were sweet and sound to his ears, even only that could already make himself climax.

with all the thoughts that were running around his mind, the only thing that stood out was that he really wanted to make you feel good after everything. he wanted to cherish your body and make you feel important. he wanted to make love to you unlike the other times you two had any physical contact. he wanted you to be his for the rest of time.

it was generic but after what happened and with everyone’s loved one’s vanishing, he could only just move on from the past and enjoy what was left. and this time he was lucky enough to have you stay in his life; he wasn’t going to waste this further.

with every thrust he did he would’ve said how much he appreciated you. he took everything at pace and made sure you were feeling nothing but amusement. “that’s it. you enjoying that, doll?”

you couldn’t answer clearly only having to mumble out. the way he moved himself in and out of you was pleasing and didn’t caused you any discomfort in spite the fact that he grew in size. “you can come for me if you want.”

steve tried his best to restrain himself from changing to a quicker pace seeing how well you were enjoying it. your nipples were hard and poking through the fabric as your breasts bounced gradually every time. he didn’t want to ruin the scene and it didn’t mind him at all, waiting until you got to release the orgasm and every other emotion that was built in your system.

however that wouldn’t be the only thing he had in the list of making things up for you.

#steve rogers #steve rogers smut #steve rogers imagine #steve rogers/reader #steve rogers/you #steve rogers fanfiction #steve rogers fluff #captain america #captain america/reader #captain america smut #captain america imagine #chris evans #chris evans imagine #chris evans smut #chris evans/reader #chris evans fanficton #avengers #marvel

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philcusic-blog · 4 years

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iloveurscratchybeard · 5 years

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Moirae - Part 10

Episode: “Irresistible” PREVIOUS CHAPTERS | AO3

Scully knows too well what it feels like to be waiting to die. Hands bound, mouth silenced, the monster waits for her outside of the trunk while the lights in the sky approach. He waits in the house with a hot bath running and little shampoo bottles lined up in tidy rows.

She knows the taste of blood, the metallic bitter of iron and sweat, knows the drowning feeling of slipping into an unconsciousness and losing control over yourself. She knows all of those final prayers by heart, had the slideshow of her life play out in her head several times. She knows how it feels to almost die. But she also knows what it's like to be a survivor. She won't make it easy for them. She will fight with every fiber of her being for her life. She refuses to let them win. God never lets the Devil steal the show, she had told Mulder once, and she's fairly certain that Pfaster may actually be the devil.

Until Mulder delicately lifted her chin with his fingertips and all of her emotions came flooding out, she hadn't realized how much she had been bottling up. Her life lately had been a never-ending coaster of highs and lows and the punches kept coming. She became good at grinding her teeth through them, never one to easily allow what she was feeling to bleed through. Growing up, that was Melissa. She was the one with plunging, never-ending emotions. Crying that her life was over when Bobby Jacobs dumped her at the sophomore year homecoming dance. Threatening to run away when their father grounded her for a month when he found cigarettes in her backpack. She started studying the color of people's auras when she befriended a group of girls who were known as "witches." Of course, their father disapproved and that spurred her interest further, but it seemed to Dana that that was when Melissa finally became content in her life. Among her crystals, she was infused with nature and the elements and it brought a sense of inner peace to her that Dana wholeheartedly envied. She wished that she could be that sure with her own life. Melissa always said Dana's aura were shades of blues, which are very strong and calm individuals, interlaced with some brown and tan shades, which indicate people that tend to overthink normal conundrums, and can often be perceived by others as uptight and elusive. She couldn't argue with her sister. As much as she wanted to be a free spirit, she just never could let go and allow that of herself. She always kept within these lines that she had drawn at an early age. You must do A before you can do B and then work towards C. Precise and exact measurements. Go to bed by 10 pm and wake up at 6 am. Do all of the homework and then as much extra credit as you can muster in. Be the best, and then be a little bit more...

Melissa had informed Dana over wine and some vegan take-out one night recently that Mulder's aura was magenta and red. She explained how rare of a combination that was. People with dominant magenta are a bit eccentric and constantly have the compulsion to go against the status quo. Magenta is a color symbolizing struggle but isn’t necessarily negative. It is often an indicator of artistic abilities that have yet to be realized. When it's mixed with red, it means these people are extraordinarily passionate and make the very best kind of lovers. She couldn't hide the blush in her cheeks and that's when Melissa Scully became acutely aware of just how much her sister could validate that statement.

"Dana Katherine! Why haven't you told me? I want ALL the details. Spill!"

Scully had shaken her head and buried her face into her wine glass, forcing several large gulps down.

"You've been sleeping with that hot partner of yours and I'm just now finding out about it?"

"It's not like we're a couple, Missy. It was just one time at first. It just happened. And then I almost lost him again and..."

"And what?"

Scully's face dropped. "I didn't know what I would do without him."

Melissa, ever the intuitive one to her younger sister's emotions, became serious. "You're in love with him."

"I haven't really thought about it, Melissa. I've been through a lot lately."

"You are! I can see it in your face." Her sister was too damn perceptive.

"It's not like that. We rely on each other."

"Dana, you should have seen him when you were in the hospital. He was circling the drain. He was ready to kill everyone in his path to avenge what they did to you. He's in deep."

She thinks about the time before she was taken. They were spending more time together outside of the FBI since they were no longer partners. It started innocently enough, him stopping by in the evenings to get her medical opinion on some findings as a guise for just wanting to see her. It usually ended up with mind-blowing sex and falling asleep in each other's arms. They never talked about the shift in their relationship, but they both felt the drive to be together, missing the other's presence in their life.

Being with Mulder was easy. He didn't place the expectations on her that Ethan always had. They understood each other and were two like minds on opposite sides of the spectrum. The physical side of their relationship was just a bonus- a way to expel all of the energy that sparked continuously between them. She didn't overthink it. She was still on the pill from her relationship with Ethan, but with the stress of the work she had slipped and forgotten to take it a few times. Her period was weeks late before Duane Barry abducted her. If only she had been able to take the pregnancy test. It was probably for the best that she didn't because it would have just been another devastation from the unknown horrors that were done to her without her consent during those missing weeks of her life that she can't get back. To live with a question mark over your head is a terrible burden. To have to fight the devil with your bare hands and have your newly healed body battered and bruised only compounds it all.

And now, here she was, another night from hell and Mulder is the one putting her back together. Melissa's words from weeks earlier rang in her head. 'You're in love with him.' He is the brick wall with which she puts her back up against. He is the roof keeping her dry from the downpour. He is magenta with a hint of red. Fine, long bones with swimmer's muscle and brilliance encapsulated. He is a full bottom lip, strong angular nose, and pupils that reflect the dark storm of his past. He is hands on her hips, tongue spreading lips, and a thick cock filling her to the brim. He is passion and lust and sarcasm and truth. And maybe Missy isn't so off base, after all. Maybe she is in love with him.

He brings her to his motel room for the night and regulations be damned. He helps dress her in her satin pajamas, careful over her bruises, and kisses the rope burns of her wrists. He tucks her in with tenderness and climbs into bed behind her, willing her demons away with the pressure and weight of his body wrapped tightly around her. When she closes her eyes, she sees the devil's vile stare in between flashes of white light and anonymous faces with surgical masks.

"Mulder, tell me a story."

He nuzzles his nose into the back of her hair. "Hmmm?" his baritone vibrates into her body, the ripples of it sending warm comfort where she is cold all the way through. He's quiet for a moment. She knows he is considering what to tell her, searching his mind for something that doesn't fall into the dark realm of his morning slideshow stories. Finally, a low chuckle rumbles into her neck and he places a single kiss there before clearing his throat.

"So did I ever tell you about the time that Langly tried to make waffles on a CPU?"

She doesn't hear the story, instead focusing on the even rumble of his voice, the comforting drabble reminiscent of late night phone calls that she's been drifting off to since their first case. Blanketed in the sound of his voice surrounding her like a shroud, the devil retreats back to hell, and Dana Scully falls asleep in the arms of her lover.

Tagging @today-in-fic and my writing motivators @pickingoutchinapatterns @alabama-metal-man @baronessblixen @frangipanidownunder @scully-eats-sushi @shyromanticfreak @spookydarlablack @observeroftheuniverse @i-gaze-at-scully @peacenik0 @tumblessuckthis and @tshining

A/N: I am always open for prompts if you have anything you’d love to see with this story moving forward! Things will probably be slower in the next few weeks with the busy holiday upon us, but hopefully will have one more chapter out before the end of the year! Thank you!

#moirae #my writing #chapter 10 #post Irresitible #Scully POV

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forsaken-melodies · 5 years

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Do the whole list I dare you

“Oh you just had to go and dare me didn’t you? Very well. You want a peek inside my head darling you have it.”

BY THE FATES this took forever. *snicker* I hope you find out what you were looking for! And remember, I’ll do this thing for ANY of my boys, if asked. NSFW is, of course, below the cut. I take no responsibility of you reading something you aught not, given that I have warned you!

A = Aftercare (What they’re like after sex)

J’areth is heavy on cuddling. When he is with a partner he trusts enough to not simply quickie and run, the man is all about taking care of one another’s comfort after the fact, be it a nice soak and a nap, a small meal while clad in naught but the tousled sheets. He is as affectionate as one would expect of a solitary partner, to each and every one of his lovers, without fail.

B = Body part (Their favorite body part of theirs and also their partner’s)

Now that is difficult. A well made form is as good as a well written song to J’areth, and it doesn’t matter the verse, he likes them all! However if he had to pick, hes rather fond of lips, a well built jaw, masculine or feminine, and a throat he can nibble while the deed is done. He is a bit nippy when things get going after all!

C = Cum (Anything to do with cum basically… I’m a disgusting person)

When it comes to cream the catte has copious amounts of it, but never fear, he does his very best not to waste a single drop. Buried within his partner is where he finds his peak, unless otherwise asked. However if he must make a mess, he will insist that it gets cleaned up.. one way or another. This goes for his partner’s release as well, though depending on the flavor, he may insist on a bath in the tub instead, so make certain your diet is pleasing!!

D = Dirty Secret (Pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)

Secrets? What are those? Sweetie if you ask him he’s bound to tell you about anything he likes, he has very little true shame in the way of sex. (Though he has been known to be shy with those he harbors deep seated feelings for.) From toys to positions, top, bottom, switch, you name it, you ask, and he will give you a rather definitive answer of yes or no.

E = Experience (How experienced are they? Do they know what they’re doing?)

He has led a very… interesting… life up until this point. His first excursions to Ul’dah landed him in the debt of a particular Lalafel’s cronies… and he was forced to pay it off any way he could. Young then, he gained quite a bit of experience in the subject, early on it was forced, but he learned, survived, and then, thanks to the kindness and compassion of a very few souls, broke away from that life. Now, He simply does as such because he -enjoys- it. And he gets to pick WHO and WHEN… and he can say no. Something he never had the luxury of before. Experience? He has plenty, and he bets he can show you areas that you didn’t even know you HAD to gain pleasure from.

F = Favourite Position (This goes without saying. Will probably include a visual)

Positions depend upon the partner, relative size, gender, how rough or gentle they want it. Absolute favorites? Face to face, either laying down or sitting up, so that he can hold his partner, and often lavish them with kisses and nibbles. However if he is with a more.. dominant.. partner, never let it be said he didn’t enjoy being pinned against a wall or the bed and ravished until he can barely walk!

G = Goofy (Are they more serious in the moment, or are they humorous, etc)

That entirely depends on his partner and their pleasure. If they are more relaxed, there may be some soft joking or taunting, a light bought of wrestling.

H = Hair (How well groomed are they, does the carpet match the drapes, etc.)

His body hair is near non-existant save for a little darkened trail leading down from his navel to his nethers. Below the belt, it is well trimmed, shaped and everything is kept as velvet - soft as his fur or the hair on his head, and yes, everything is that ebony black, tinged with navy blue. Yes, my dears. that color is -natural-.

I = Intimacy (How are they during the moment, romantic aspect…)

This goes along with G. If they are more the romantic type, he can do that too, seriousness and silver tongued, singing his partner’s praises past little kisses. He lives to please, and will often cater his responses to his partner. HOWEVER, if it is someone he cares for, he will be more likely to be romantic, more-so than outright -sexual- with his actions. Massage, cuddling, sweet nothings and the like.

J = Jack Off (Masturbation headcanon)

Masturbation? Yes. Often. Boy is insatiable. So much of his emotion is based upon -touch- that touching is often something he does to calm himself from a rough day, or even simply when he’s lonely, and none of his lovers are available. He will often picture one, or more often than not, more than one of them, sharing his bed and his form. If he is feeling -particularly- needy, he may combine one of his many toys with the act to enhance his daydreams.

K = Kink (One or more of their kinks)

Well, that’s a long list Lets go with simple things. He’s a biter. He uses his claws. He will attempt to be careful if asked, but when you are with this one expect to go home with a few ‘love marks’. He adores being able to make his partners growl, groan, moan or generally make a LOT of noise. His ears are sensitive, and his hearing extremely acute, and the reverberations of such noises during the act enhance it for him. He has been known to ‘play’ as someone’s affectionate pet, however he is just as eager to be the one holding the leash. Be forewarned, boy’s a switch.

L = Location (Favorite places to do the do)

Bed, bath and beyond? Seriously. Whether at home or somewhere in the wilds, he is equally happy. Partner have a kink for getting it on where they may get caught? J’areth would be more than happy to play into that role, just warn him ahead of time so he wears the right pants! In all fairness, where-ever his partner or partners are most comfortable tends to be his venue of choice.

M = Motivation (What turns them on, gets them going)

Teasing, sexual tension, foreplay. He LOVES getting all worked up and taking a tumble when he can’t hardly think straight. But he is equally fond of a slow build up, and can even enjoy imparting experience on those of lesser knowledge.

N = NO (Something they wouldn’t do, turn offs)

Honestly? No underage. That should be a given, in this day and age. Nothing to do with scat, nothing to do with vomit. There may be -mild- bloodletting from claws, or teeth, but NO gore, vore, or otherwise nasty things like that. Past these things, Ask. The worst that will happen is he will give you a funny look and tell you no if he doesn’t like the idea. He’s very open about communication, really.

O = Oral (Preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc)

Oh now that? THAT is a big favorite. He loves it. Giving, receiving? He’s all around fond of using that tongue of his to his partner’s absolute pleasure. He is quite skilled, and being a bard by class, one can just imagine what he can do, given the chance. (Oh, and a hint for male partners? No gag reflex, and he can purr while he goes down on you. Interested?)

P = Pace (Are they fast and rough? Slow and sensual? etc.)

That one depends on how worked up the two of you are before hand. He has been known to go a bit overboard with the foreplay, to the tune of a really rough tumble wherever he and his partner fell, however he is equally at home taking HOURS pleasing one another. (and yes, he -can- last that long. Can you?)

Q = Quickie (Their opinions on quickies rather than proper sex, how often, etc.)

He’s been more than known to have a few of these. It can help relieve stress, bond, quickly with a busy partner, and when someone nearby is in heat, well. You can expect a fast rutting from the poor lad, so driven out of his senses by the scent. Don’t worry though, if that is the case, and you wanted something longer? Give him about a half an hour and he’ll be ready to go again, and this time, take his time doing it.

R = Risk (Are they game to experiment, do they take risks, etc.)

You want to go at it in the middle of hostile territory? At the top of a tree, dangling over the branches? Sure, sounds fun! You just got this new swing from the leather worker and want to try it out? Game. Whips are a no go but the occasional spanking from a crop? Sure. Basically, along the lines of communication again. You want something from the catte, you gotta tell him. He’ll normally be game to try anything once, but if you don’t ask, you’re likely to get told to do it yourself!

S = Stamina (How many rounds can they go for, how long do they last…)

As mentioned in previous questions, Hours. His longest session to date has been six hours but he is more than willing to test that limit. (and no, that wasn’t solid sex all the way through, lest you worry about friction rashes and the like.) As far as how -often- in a setting can he go at it? He’s got about four -good sized- releases in him before it becomes a bit too sensitive to be touched.. or looked at. Frequency? as previously stated, give him about a half an hour in between to catch his breath, and maybe cuddle a bit, and he will be ready to go again.

T = Toy (Do they own toys? Do they use them? On a partner or themselves?)

Yes. He has a variable box from the goldsmith, leather worker, and other shops. (along with several different scented lubes from an alchemist friend. Cause safety after all.) Between various sized plugs, cages, phallus’s, crops, blindfolds, bindings, Even a few strap ons for the more adventurous femme fatals. He’s a kinky boy. He’s certainly used many on himself, and is more than happy to use them on partners!

U = Unfair (how much they like to tease)

Oh explicitly. He LOVES driving his partner up a wall, and down the other side with -wanting- him so bad they can barely speak the words. Rarely is it fair, often its dirty whispers or the subtle touch in public, where they cannot react to it, to drive them insane by the time they are alone.

V = Volume (How loud they are, what sounds they make)

He purrs, he mewls, he yowls. He groans sweet nothings and praises the fates for bringing his partner to him. He is -very- vocal. (and you might want to make sure if you don’t want to be heard, the room is soundproofed, or tell him he -has- to be quiet. Fair warning, gags may be necessary.)

W = Wild Card (Get a random headcanon for the character of your choice)

Since joining his current free company, he has actually cut -back- on the random encounters. More so than not he has been spending his time either with his chosen lovers, or with close companions. It’s not that he won’t accept other advances, however when he has attempted to ‘find some strange’ in the past few weeks, They’ve all been engaged, and that rather killed his mood.

X = X-Ray (Let’s see what’s going on in those pants, picture or words)

He is fairly average for a man standing at roughly 5′9″.He is 1.8 inches in Diameter, 5.5 inches flaccid, 8.5 inches erect. It is circumcised, kept immaculately clean, a slightly darker tan than the rest of his body, especially when aroused. He has a small steel ring through the frenum, which shines a bright sapphire blue. His scrotum is of average size as well, and holds fairly close to his form, is smooth, with a light dusting of hair, clearly kept as trimmed and clean as that which rests above his length.

Y = Yearning (How high is their sex drive?)

May as well be a rabbit or a randy teenager. The man’s sex drive is through the roof. Aroused at the drop of a hat, though keep in mind that doesn’t necessarily mean he’s -hard-. It might not -show- just how dirty his thoughts are, but believe me, they are.

Z = ZZZ (… how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)

After the first go? No chance. Pulling an all nightter? by the end of it hes curled up like a content kitten who’s had all the fish and cream he could desire, ready for nothing more than a good snuggle and to purr his partner to sleep as he snoozes.

@garlean-nonsense Thank you for the ask/dare. Hope you found out what you wanted to know! *wink*@ellwelune you said you were curious about the ask settup. You should totally do it too!

#garlean-nonsense

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